Whistleblowing Review

 
He said he would finally give me a review after three years of no reviews on my final day of work. I was excited to finally know what he thought of my performance. I was nervous too. I hadn't had a review because he was afraid of me. I scare people in authority or in supervisory roles. I see though their lies and misdirections.

I sat at the conference table taping my last receipts as I waited for him to arrive. His boss joked about not being reimbursed because I was too late in submitting them. We didn't have a joking kind of relationship. He took and misappropriated grant funds on two grants they received based on my work. I shot him a glance of "Back the fuck off". He nervously giggled and said he was kidding.

He was twenty minutes late. Not a great start. We went into the small  office for the closing interview. I anticipated what would be said of me. I was a pain in his ass and a whistleblower.

"I didn't have time to get to your review," he said.

He knew about my departure for a month. I don't know why I expected him to do his job. I had been picking up pieces of his work for two years. It is why I blew the whistle. Only the whistle was never heard. He was a "nice" guy. People liked him. That outweighed him forgetting to file a restraining order against a former employee that threatened to come to work and kill me because "I was a fucking faggot and was going to burn in hell."

I stood up and said, "If you don't have my review then there is no point to this meeting." I excused myself and left.

He got a promotion after that. They really liked him. He knew how to take care of the problem employees: quietly push them out.

I saw him a year ago at a meeting. He looked the same: clueless and white. I smiled. While my road had been and was rocky and undulating, I had conviction and ethics. I didn't need his approval. For if he approved, it meant I too was clueless and white. White? Sure. But clueless? Well...maybe sometimes. But that is a different story.

Share |

Fact Lost, Emotions Burst

  
We sat around a table square in shape and posture. It wasn't about exchange. It was about proof and facts. I screamed inside confined by walls unseen and demanded by power. It was too much. I silenced myself fearing voice would sway confidence.

They were looking for a victim. They were looking to shed blame onto someone else. My silence proved and opening. "Delay, delay, delay," they said.

I burst. I exploded. And with it screams of emotion spilled. Fact was lost.

I was furloughed the next day.

Share |

Labyrinthine Corridors Snaking

   

We went to the sex club looking like two trannies, but one of us was a bio-girl. She was my girlfriend, and we were looking for some casual open sex. It was time to try something new. 

We wandered the labyrinthine corridors snaking our way through dungeons with men bent over being fucked by strap-ons, MTFs making out in corners, and women cuffed to walls being spanked with riding whips. Each turn offered a different encounter. We kept walking. 

We stopped at a cushioned bench beckoning us to recline. She unsnapped her red and black bustier revealing her perfectly shaped c-cup breasts. He nipples teased calling for a flick and a lick. We began. A crowd grew. 

It was exhilarating and titillating making out in front of a handful of men. Pants unzipped and semi-hard cocks were pulled out. We wanted more, so she pointed to one of the men and batted her lashes. He read her signal correctly and approached pants still closed. She reached out and grabbed. he obliged letting her unbutton his jeans and stroke his growing hard on. 

The vodka swirled in my head. The fuzziness expanding matched my blond frizzy wig falling off my head. My fishnets caught on one of the silver sequins on her heels causing a ripple of holes up my leg. The ripple found its way between us as I reached out for his cock. She presented it to my lips, and he backed away, zipped up, and proceeded on. 

The crowd dwindled. They wanted only her. They wanted the illusion of possibility and exoticism. They couldn't hand the touch of a drag queen. The always present stubble was a too tactile reminder I had a dick. 

Share |

No Regrets

  
I find little to nothing in my life I regret. Regret would mean I was wrong. I've made mistakes, but I am not wrong. I've hurt others. I've made poor choices. I've taken risks resulting in tragic outcomes. These are moments like all other moments in my life. They hold no more or less weight or sway than the lovely decision to marry my husband or the exciting decision to publish my writing. In fact, these point shape who I am. I constantly look back on them and learn new lessons.

Take the seminary for example, something that could be a regret or at least regretful. While in it, my lesson was cut it of, let it go, break up with your faith if you want to live. After seminary, it was do whatever you can to disrupt the church including speaking ill of it and brining safer sex conversations into its walls. It was a reaction of pain, one I hoped to inflict in equal measure to the hurt I felt. There was no limit. Now, it is reflective still tinged with pain and anger but beyond it was well. It is a detachment that allows me to have conversations of faith without loud outbursts.

Regret is like being stuck in an emotional loop. It re-traumatizes you because your experience of the event never changes. Yes, the facts of the event don't change. I went to seminary for one semester, which can be imperially proven. But the story changes.

That is liberation. That is something beyond the initial experience. That is something others can never manipulate. That is why I don't regret anything or almost anything. If I did, I would lose my liberation.

And that is something I would regret.

Share |

Shifting Sands of Sinking and Elevation

  
There are moments of utter clarity that mark time in a manner relative. Those moments shine like a beacon pointing to a truth yet unknown. It is a constant shifting, a movement of sand beneath the feet that cause sinking and elevation in equal measure. These are the moments I love. These are the times I am free. It doesn't mater whether it is a step backwards or forwards because both steps lead to the same outcome. That is destiny. Easily redirected. Never changed.

Share |

A Vacation to Proposal

      
We made our way from San Francisco to Seattle to visit his best friend. It was our first vacation together. A road trip was a risky venture, but would prove whether or not we could actually get along. You can lean a lot sharing such close quarters.

We drove past Mt. Shasta up to Crater Lake in Oregon. We found a seedy motel in an abandoned mining town. I think we heard mice in the walls. We had a hamburger in the only restaurant open that wasn't fast food. We kept reaching out to hold hands or trying to kiss, but pulled back realizing where we were and unsure of safety. It was night and hard to get our bearings.

Then, we headed to Mount Hood and Portland. We spent a day and night taking in the blue-collar city filled with brick buildings. The architecture reminded me of my family and unions. From Portland, it was a straight shot to Seattle. Along the way, we found this kitschy diner off the freeway that loved collectible ceramics. We just had to have this hideous cat with polka dots all over it. It was meant as a gift, but now resides on a kitchen shelf.

The trip was going smoothly. I found myself falling more and more in love with each passing day. He was tender and considerate as well as determined to ho things he liked and also willing to trudge though the snow to find a creek off the freeway when I just had to take in nature. He was a fabulous travel partner. He was a fabulous partner.

We went out drinking one night in Seattle. All of us were laughing and joking and singing along to the music being played. Or at least I was singing along. I couldn't keep my hands off him, which made him uncomfortable and skittish. He just looked at me and kissed me. more drinks. More laughter. More affection.

We stumbled back to out friend's apartment. His friend was gracious and gave us his bed. We spooned and had restless drunken sleep. We both woke early in the morning still drunk. I leaned over and whispered, "Will you marry me?" He told me to ask him later when I wasn't still drunk.

It was a great first vacation. We drove back to San Francisco in record time stopping only close to the Oregon border at a hotel on the beach. We drove down dirt paths through redwood trees at sunset. We kissed and held hands and gazed into each other's eyes. We did all the stereotypical romantic things. I wanted to marry him He still wanted to wait until after the trip to decide.

I started searching for a ring immediately when we got back. I looked everywhere but couldn't find one. Then, I walked in to a little boutique on 16th Street specializing in all things skulls, and there in one of its cases was a custom silver skull ring. I bought it grinning ear to ear.

I walked home nervous. It had only been about two weeks since we were back. I didn't know if it was too soon. I threw up a little bit on 18th Street getting closer to home. I almost threw up again on 20th Street.

I knocked on the door and got on one knee. He opened it and turned red. In my hand was a small black box. He opened it and said yes.

Share |

Back Alley Brothers

 
He wanted both of us. My e had yet to kick in, and I was hesitant. I also never had had sex with my friend although everyone thought we had. My friend was eager and willing. he was in perfect balance with his drugs and alcohol.

I downed a few shots of tequila as the music beckoned dancing and 80s nostalgia. My friend sold our story of two gay brothers that laid with each other biblically. Our admirer admired us even more asking how much he'd have to pay for our attention.

It wasn't new territory to me. It was for my friend. He was a slut not a whore. I was both. So my friend brushed aside price settling with "If both of us like you, there is no cost."

He paid for a few beers hoping to loosen me up knowing I was what was getting between him and his threesome. It didn't work. I was still wound up unable to comprehend having sex with my friend. He is attractive. He just was my "brother".

The old fit man followed us to the next bar with promises that there would be some reward. I wanted nothing to do with him sexually, but I loved teasing. He was frustrated and hard showing it in his agitated voice and through his 501s. My friend chuckled and grabbed.

We were outside next to the bar in a small alley with the fog-lined air blowing hard. He unzipped his pants demanding a blow job saying it was owed to him; he waited long enough. My friend started obliging. I turned and waled away. He only wanted both of us, so he pushed my friend off and zipped up.

My friend and I brushed the story aside as drunken antics, but it started us down a path. One that ultimately resulted in a break-up. He realized I wouldn't want him sexually. I realized he wanted me sexually. Those unspoken desires divide friends, and result in other things better left unsaid.

Share |