Monday, June 14, 2010

Slice #3 His open arms and front door...

… from Slice #2, you can see why I was “pushed” out of the closet; I never had a fighting chance to come out. However, every cloud has a silver lining…

My Advanced Finite Math teacher, Mr. Smith (of course I’m keeping his identity safe) and I would always run into each other at local gay bars or whatever. Mr. Smith was a black man, average height of about 5’9”, full lips, sparkly eyes, toned face, toned body (he encouraged us to utilize the workout station in the gymnasium, go figure). He kinda looked like Mechad Brookes (google him).
Mind you, I was only 17/18 at the time, but remember when I told you my bf was a DJ? That’s how I always got into any club in town free; he was my “cousin” if anyone ever asked. Anyway, Mr. Smith came up to the DJ booth one night and requested a song; before he could open his mouth to bid the DJ, our eyes met and he scurried off into the crowd in shame.
“Play Dance All Night by J.Jackson!” I told my bf. “Be right back bay! Ima go get my dance on!”.
I chased Mr. Smith down and grabbed him by the hand and led him to the dance floor—he must’ve known then that everything was all good because we were eventually grinding like gears in a clock. Not only that, dude’s dick was harder than the math homework he gave us! (I had to yell that in his ear over the music, he DIED laughing!).

This all happened in between Winter break and New Years 2007-2008. So, Mr. Smith and I had this unspoken rule when we were forced to be in contact with each other in school: DON’T ASK, DON’T TELL.
Remember: while I was under sedation (in Slice #2), my dad called and threatened my bf and we broke up, right? So, while I was Boyfriendless (yep, it’s a word in my book), on the verge of being homeless and penniless, I came to school the Monday following my release from the hospital.

I’ll never forget it; I came to Mr. Smith to turn in my Finite Math book and he had this look in his eyes like he could see straight through me. We met up afterschool because he gave me “detention” and we caught up on things. Not only did I completely let him in on what had happened in my life thus far, but he let me in to his personal life. When I finally told him that I was homeless, he said the words to me that shattered my heart and mended it back together in the same breath:
“You’re not homeless, you just have one less home to go to” and he handed me the keys to his front door…
I cried like a baby!
(Stay tuned! Slice #4 is going to be even better!)


  1. ¡Enhorabuena! intuyo que eso significó acabar bien la escuela.

  2. Por cierto; soy blanco, no hay muchos negros por Barcelona, sé que los negros en USA soys muy racistas / sectarios respecto a los blancos, espero no haber ofendido por comentar aquí, pido disculpas; no tengo amigos / conocidos negros por lo que no sé si soy racista, en principio, no lo soy.

  3. No Betulo, you have not offended at all by commenting here! I welcome all comments as long as they are respectful and in good taste. I have to use Google Translator to read them though! lol

  4. Your "slice" posts have left me with teary eyes each time. You are an encouragement. Can't wait for the next slice.

  5. Love your writing. Keep it up. You are very talented and I love reading your blog, as well as scouting the eye candy that comes along with it!