Two weeks ago, the Voldemort of politics was re-elected to the highest office in the land, side-stepping any responsibility for the numerous felony convictions he’d racked up. My mentor and colleague passed and I can’t stop wondering if I’d said enough about how much of an impact he’d had on my life and my career. I’m under fire at work for reasons we don’t need to discuss. With all of this, I can’t keep my dick out of my hand.
I came back from a long trip to be greeted by a regular who sucked the life out of my body. I huffed my poppers and let him do what he felt was most appropriate to my erection. I came and needed more. The following day, after a workout that was 3-weeks overdue, I meandered my way to the cruising park which, I’m not ashamed to know is 3.2 miles from my home, exactly. One gobbled and two came in other ways. But I wasn’t finished…nor do I think I’m finished now.
We all escape, A LOT
Black gay culture is, at it’s core, highly sexual. We are sexy people who do sexy things very well. I’ve talked to enough men on Dear Black Gay Men Podcast to know that our sexuality is a way of communicating much more than our intimate desires. We use sex to celebrate and to avoid; to connect and to isolate. Sex is our reaction to good times and bad times and I think I’m using it to mask what I truly feel right now.
Sexual Escapism is the use of sex as a way to avoid or distract from unpleasant feelings, stress, or other life challenges.
A younger, less mature Jai would have just called this is my hoe phase. I’m single. I don’t have any person that I’m sexually or emotionally committed to. So a period of hypersexuality, in my head, doesn’t hurt anybody. And, with DoxyPEP on my side, it most-likely wouldn’t hurt me. But after countless episodes of the podcast, interviews with people in the midst of trauma, I can identify, at least on a superficial level, that how I’m dealing with the world around me is by not dealing with the world around me.
Much of Black culture, I’d wager, is stuck in the same place though: hypersexual(ized) but dismissing the contributing thoughts, feelings, and ideals, as “Black gay culture”. Since sex is so ubiquitous, it’s be easy to think that a new partner multiple times a week is normal. But common and normal are not synonymous.
How much sex is enough?
I interviewed Marco Deprence from Open Relationship Podcast, Dee Smith from Boy Please Whatever Podcast, and the recording artist, Hemmingw8y about how much sex is enough. We all had different barometers on the right frequency and intensity of our sex lives, but the most salient point in the conversation was the meaning behind the sex. Not all intimacy is created equal and, as a highly sexual culture, perhaps we don’t put enough time, effort, and energy into understanding those nuances.
Right now, my sex is a healing salve: it’s the cast over the current state of things. I don’t think my sex is a hindrance to my life or my career because I’ve been in that place. I’ve been the employee laid off because a boss caught me cruising the apps on the clock. I’ve been the outreach worker pulled into the office because my boss noticed my breaks and lunches were getting longer and longer. And I’ve been the guy calling in to work because a sneaky link sent a sup text message from a T9 Nokia phone. I can say with honesty that this is not that. But I do wonder if our culture has space to reckless and acknowledge that recklessness can be healing?
Dr. Maya Angelou was interviewed by Oprah in one of her last appearances on the Super Soul Sunday. Of course, Dr. Angelou dropped gems to live by, but one thing she said that pricked me deep was “moderation in all things, and even moderation in moderation…” Yes, very demure, very mindful, very cutesy, but right now I need to do some bald-headed hoe shit. I need to live with reckless abandon. But also trust my knowledge of sexuality and sexual risk to put myself in the best possible position to have the best possible outcomes of this season.
What Am I Going To Do About It
The book Ethical Slut by Dossie Easton and Janet Hardy changed my perception of sex and sexual expression. Our lives are constructed with ebbs and flows: of love, of encouragement, of peace, and of sex. What I’ve learned is to check my energy before engaging–hence this article.
My responsibility as a sexual being is to be clear on the energy I carry into every sexual situation and the energy I am taking away from it. Most of us understand that to mean HIV and sexual health status. While that’s a big part of it, what matters more to me is the energetic components of intimacy. I know that I’m dealing with some shit. We’re living in the upside down and America has officially fucked around and is about to find out, if it hasn’t already.
In that confusion, my dick is my safe place. I can huff my poppers until my mind clears and stroke with my right hand until it feels better. If I need a greater escape, I can engage with another person or people. There is no shame in my sexuality anymore. But on each engagement or entanglement, I take a brief moment to tell myself why I am here.
When I pull up to that park, I say to myself out loud, “I need an escape”. Or when I log on to my X (formerly known as Twitter), I tell myself what I need out loud. Even before I send that “outside” message to the sneaky link, I verbalize to myself in a calm voice what I’m bringing and what I’m taking away. If I can’t find the stillness, then I don’t entangle. I give myself the breathing room to sure up my intentions so that I can be clear on my energy.
That brief moment–that subtle respite–allows me to get the most possible clarity about what energy I’m bringing to this moment, to this escape, and to this person. And I get be intentional about what energy I’m taking away. I’m literally speaking to my dick and telling it to move. If you get that reference, I’ll see you on Sunday morning.
