A Story of My True Life

Stephen is the name. Most people call me Stevie for short. I'm a young brother living in Brockton. A six-foot-two, 240-pound African American male with mocha skin. Like many other young folks living in the city of Champions, I go to Massasoit Community College. I'm taking up Criminal Justice there. I'm in my first semester. Soon, I'm going to head to Bridgewater State to get my Bachelors. I've got a story to tell you. It involves me and some friends when I was having the most confusing week of my life.

Sometimes, life can sure get confusing, know what I mean? In this life, I didn't get many breaks. I wasn't rich and my family wasn't exactly made up of nice people. My mother Elle doesn't give a damn about it and never has. My father Frank is far away and I'm pretty sure he doesn't care. He's got his own business, his own money and his own everything. My little sister Anna is a nasty little bitch with psychotic tendencies. She would probably kill me if she could get away with it. Most of the time, my parents stay in Haiti but sometimes they come here. My father hasn't been to visit me in almost six years. The real problem comes from my aunt Gabe. She's a manipulative bitch who hates men in general. She uses people like pieces on a chess board. She's the most evil person I know. Her husband Lou, my uncle is a dumb guy who thinks his wife is a saint. I hate the bitches in the house and the dumb guys too. I don't hide my hatred for them. They like to mess me up every chance they get.

Man, do I have stories for you. You're probably wondering why I bother staying in a house like that. Well, I've got nowhere else to go. I came to the United States from Haiti at the age of fourteen. I was just a kid with a visa traveling with his parents. My parents decided that my sister and I would stay in America to pursue our education. And so we did. We ended up living in a house that my parents bought with my uncle and aunt. I started high school. My father made a dumb mistake the following year. He got caught in some immigration bullshit while traveling with my passport. The immigration bureau seized the passport and that's when everything started to go wrong. I was stuck in America without a green card or a social security number. How in hell was I going to survive?

My father told me not to worry about it, that he would support us until the situation got resolved. He was stuck in Haiti, unable to come to America since he got involved with in mess. I went through high school and graduated from Brockton high in 2003 at the age of eighteen. This was one of the most exciting days of my existence.

The next fall, I went to Bay State College. I wanted to study Criminal Justice but my family pressured me to study Computer and Internet Management. Bay State College was this small private school in downtown Boston. I studied the computer business there for two years. I wasn't very good at it. The only good that came out of it was an improvement in my typing skills. I failed miserably in the computer business and didn't even get a degree in it. My whole family came down on me like I was a failure. Yes, they hated me because I failed at something they forced me to do. I would have succeeded if I had been allowed to choose my field of study. In those days, I didn't dare oppose them. I thought they might throw me out or something. I was an immigrant without legal papers living in America. I had to be careful. The family had the papers and the money and the house. Pissing them off was not a good idea.

Still, I was through with rolling over to please them. I had a conversation with my father and told him that I wanted to study Criminal Justice. He agreed and I enrolled at Massasoit Community College as soon as I could. I started my classes there. I took three to start. Five of my classes from Bay State transferred. I would need about two semesters at Massasoit before I could graduate. I began working hard toward graduation. I hoped that by the time I was done, my immigration case would get resolved.

I was wrong. A while ago, my uncle had hired a lawyer to represent me with the immigration department. They were trying to get me the status of permanent resident of the USA. I hoped it would work. Unfortunately, it didn't. One day, the lawyer summoned me to his Boston office. I went there and he told me the bad news. The immigration department had dismissed my case. I had to figure out another way of becoming a permanent resident of the United States of America. Another way to do it was to get married to some American woman and obtain my legal papers that way. This idea didn't appeal to me at all. We'll get to that in a second.

I wasn't very fond of the idea of marrying a woman, especially in the United States. I've seen what happens to some married men. Sometimes, the wife is violent or controlling and turns the husband's life into a nightmare. There were no support groups for men who were abused by the females in their lives. Those poor bastards received no help. I had seen the way my aunt treated my uncle. Oh, she never hurt him physically that I knew of but she often spoke ill of him and belittled him, though never to his face. She was a treacherous and manipulative snake. What if the woman I married turned out to be just like her? I wasn't a great judge of character as far as women were concerned, how in hell was I supposed to tell between the good ones and the wicked ones?

There is another reason why I did not want to marry. Ever since I was around seventeen, I've become aware of something different about myself. I felt a certain attraction to both girls and boys at times. At first, it bothered me a great deal. I was a Haitian brother living in the Black community. Black people didn't like gay people. At all. I've heard a lot of Black folks say that they'd kill a gay person if he or she came on to them. I kept this to myself. I didn't even experiment. I was in denial for a long time. Eventually, I began to do a little exploring. I read books about people who were gay or bisexual. I discovered that not all gay men were effeminate like the stereotypes said but many were as masculine in appearance and behavior as straight men were. This pleased me a great deal.

While I was at Bay State, a friend named Greg took me to fraternity meetings at a nearby school. This fraternity was made up exclusively of young men who were gay and bisexual. Very few of them were Black but that didn't bother me. I felt comfortable around them, especially one named Devin. He was a nice kid from Carver. Yes, for some time, I tried to join the fraternity but there were some problems. I didn't have any money for the special trips they planned. Also, I lived in Brockton and commuted to Boston. Quite often, I had to leave fraternity meetings early to catch my train and bus. In the end, I didn't join but I will remember those guys fondly for the rest of my life. They were good people. Among them, I felt like I belonged.

While at Bay State, I had crushes on several people. First and foremost is Lauren. A slender, bronze-skinned tomboy with dark brown hair and golden brown eyes. She was beautiful. I met her while I was walking from class, after being upset by some guy named Henry and his derogatory comments. From the moment I shook hands with Lauren, I was smitten. I liked her. Also, she was the only girl I felt comfortable with. Talking to her was easy. I don't know why. I would talk to her often. There were other pretty girls on campus but Lauren was the one I liked. She was pretty, she liked sports and she seemed to be just one of the guys wherever she went. I liked that in a woman. Before I knew it, I had fallen in love with her.

Unfortunately, things didn't work out. Lauren had a boyfriend. In the end, I had to acknowledge that it simply wasn't meant to be. I called her once and we talked. I thought she was pleased to talk to me. I was wrong. The next time I called, she didn't pick up. Some man, who might have been her father called me a creep and told me not to call her. I got the message loud and clear. I even got my heart broken. Still, I got over it. Since I had been disappointed by the ladies, I decided to give the gentlemen a try.

Not long after Lauren got out of the picture, I met a handsome Latin man named Marlon. Marlon was handsome, cultured and exciting. We met at a library, while I was helping my friend Wendy with her class assignment. I talked to Marlon when I handed him a flyer. While suffering through the abuse that my family put me through, I discovered that there were quite a few web sites with information aimed at helping Male Victims of Domestic Violence. I listed the info on flyers and handed them out. I gave them to people everywhere I went. I thought I was helping people out. I hope I did.

I spoke to Marlon about why I did the work I did and we got to talking. We had to be discrete, though. I suspected that Wendy might like me. She was a pretty Black girl and actually quite nice. I wasn't about to give my heart to any girl after what Lauren did to me so I wasn't interested in being more than friends with Wendy. Marlon would prove to be just what I needed for the time being. He introduced me to a world I never knew existed. The alluring and secretive world of gay men of all colors. He took me to my first gay bar. He gave me my first same-sex kiss. He was awesome. He was so handsome and smart, so cool and cultivated. He knew about art and music. He took me to restaurants. We walked around in the park together. He was something else. I was smitten with him real quick. We didn't have sex because I didn't feel ready but I liked him. It's too bad that he moved away. Or so I thought. Once, we planned to make a date. An official date. I planned on meeting him there. I was so excited. I was also considering having sex with someone for the first time. I liked Marlon and I trusted him. I went someplace near the Bay State campus, got some condoms and then went to the bar to meet him. I waited for him. I waited until the bar own threw me out. Humiliated, but still hopeful, I waited for him outside the bar. I waited for a long time, then I left. I never saw him again. Marlon had been my second biggest disappointment in the romance department.

I learned a valuable lesson from both Lauren and Marlon. Men and women couldn't be trusted. Not with one's heart. I had admitted to myself that I was bisexual. I was basically okay with it these days. That didn't make life any easier, though. A man had hurt me. A woman had hurt me. I walk around and I hear women say they don't trust men. I also hear some men say they don't trust women. I smiled to myself. The misogynists and the misandrists of the world got it wrong. Both genders were flawed and untrustworthy. Both were liars and deceivers. Neither gender could be trusted. Take it from me, someone who's had relationships with both.

After what Lauren and Marlon did to me, I wasn't exactly fond of members of either gender. I continued to help some people when I could, though. I still had the instincts of the Boy Scout I had been on my island of Haiti. When I started school at Massasoit, I decided to focus on my education. I was twenty one years old. I wanted to get a degree in Criminal Justice and go to the police academy someday. I was also looking for potential solutions to my immigration dilemma. I'm talking about filing another appeal.

At my house, things were still the same. My aunt was still a manipulative and cold-hearted bitch. My mother didn't give a damn whether I lived or died. My father was still in distant Haiti. My uncle was still a meek guy who thought his nasty wife was a saint. My cousins, my aunt's children were still the arrogant little monsters they had always been. My kid sister, now an adult, was becoming a psychotic freak with manipulative tendencies. They messed me up every chance they got. There were nights when I slept in my room, cold, because the heat had gone out and they were too cheap to buy some oil for the basement boiler. Once, my aunt did a nasty trick and cut the phone to prevent me from talking to my friends for a whole week. During that week, everybody in the house had a cell phone. Except me. Isn't life sweet?

It's Spring 2006 now. The days are starting to get warmer. I look around and everything is looking better. Around campus, people are dressing hotter. The guys are looking good. I've seen muscular black-skinned Adonis-types walking around and Greek gods who are tall and have chiseled golden physiques, I swear! The ladies look good too. I almost fell down the stairs while checking out a tall, curvy, big-booty sister. Man, she was a hot one! It's tough not to get distracted. I check out everyone, you know!

I try to stay in touch with my friends. No matter what is going on in my life. My cousin Mario is in New York and he's in a similar situation. He's being tormented by his uncle, a nasty piece of work named Manny. Manny's wife Wilma, who is also Mario's aunt is another piece of work. A fat woman with a temper and some violent tendencies. I try to keep the lines of communication open between him and me. He's a year younger than me and a bit hot-tempered at times. I hope things work out for him. He's a good kid. My best friend Charles stopped talking to me after I told him my little secret. My other friend Evan caught me chatting at a GLBT Forum and stopped talking to me after that. I suspect both Charles and Evan might have some tendencies but I can't be sure about that. Both of these guys are violently homophobic yet they never have girlfriends. Sounds suspicious, don't you think?

Best among my friends is John, an older Black man from Africa who lives in Brockton. He's a nice guy and a generous one too. He's helped me and my father when we both needed it quite badly. I hold him in high regard. He's also one of the smartest people I know. Things are tough for him right now but I pray they get better for him. John and I hang out together regularly. He recently became a grandfather. I was so happy for him.

So, this is my life in a nutshell. A 21-year-old Black male who is a virgin. A bisexual guy who has yet to have sex with anyone, in spite of the fact that he has written two anthologies of erotica that he hopes to publish someday. An activist for the rights of Male Victims of Domestic Violence a stern opponent of the Anti-Male Bias in the American Justice System. That's me. I hope that someday soon I will get my degree and go to the police academy. I hope to become a police officer someday. Also, I hope to be a permanent resident of the USA with full legal rights. My story is not over yet. Hopefully, there's much more to come.