Tag Archives: #gaylife

Countdown of tears

I remember back in 2010, before I decided to become a meth addict and after I left Tony, the day that I decided it was time to live on my own again.  It was such a surreal day, walking into my sun drenched studio on Pine Grove Ave.  From my window I could see the Chicago Cubs sign that glowed above the entrance to the bleachers section of Wrigley Field.  In fact, when there was a night game, the bright lights illuminated the hallway of my building, casting unusual shadows on the imperfections of the plaster walls as I approached my door after a long day of cutting hair.  Looking back, this is when I created a new identity that somewhat still defines me today.  It’s the beginning of an era when I stopped worrying about what people thought of me and started to love myself.  Up until this point I was still that scared little boy that hid in the shadows of insecurity an uncertainty.  Recovering from the wounds inflicted by life, becoming a target for someone like Tony to sweep down and catch as prey.

I really miss the guy I was then.  He died forever when I moved to Rogers Park and met what I can metaphorically refer to as “The Devil”.  This label can easily describe a few different things that lead to the fall of the strong man that I was starting to become.  The Devil could be Marc, Peter, Mike Northwestern, or the evil life changing drug itself: Crystal Meth.

It’s 2017, and I was able to escape death by a narrow margin.  I sometimes don’t know why I did survive the fate that I truly welcomed at one point in time but I did.  the things that I saw, the other things that I did and those experiences will haunt me forever.  My innocence was taken from me, something that I will never get back.  I’m happy and proud to be the man that I am, but a huge part of me will always wonder who I could have been if I never hit that pipe.  If I never stuck that needle in my arm, who would I be today?

My boyfriend today has a similar background.  He has felt the pain I have felt, and along with that pain comes the pleasure too.  It’s hard for me to think about that too long.  I don’t want to think about the man that I love being in any of the truly immoral situations I was ever in.  If I’ve had an infinite number of sexual partners then the truth is that he probably has also.  My thoughts get preoccupied on the idea that I will never be good enough, that I could never be better then that high.  Can two addicts recover together or will there always be this demon lurking in the dark part of our being that will want to come out and try to sabotage the love that we have for each other?  Is this real? Did I really find the man I am going to be with forever, because that’s what it feels like.  It feels amazing.  It feels scary.

I’m going to continue to move forward down the cracked brick road of recovery.   Maybe I did loose my innocence through the process of self discovery and had a taste of the dark side, but that has made me who I am today.  Who knows, maybe the desire I have always had, the desire to self destruct will never return now that I fed the thirsty part of my tarnished soul.  Now I can focus on being the best boyfriend, brother, teacher, uncle and son that I was meant to me, because I already know what its like to be the worst and I never want to meet that man again.

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Letters to Joey…..2

Dear Joey,

It’s been a little over 11 months since you have talked to me.  At this point, I have stopped trying to contact you.  I’m used to the fact that you’re gone, and having to speak to you again at this moment would only throw a wrench in my life.  Thar doesn’t mean that I don’t think about you still.  It seems like it’s a daily thing, for you to cross my mind, but it’s usually just a passing thought that isn’t made up out of fear or guilt.  I have not cried, nor have I felt empty without you near me in quite some time.  It seems at the moment, dare I say, that I have learned to let go in order to move forward.

You wouldn’t even recognize the man that I have become.  You helped push me to this point, but I did a lot of hard work on my own, and while some credit is yours for leaving me and opening my eyes to the reality of my addiction, most of the credit I take for myself.  It’s only through hard work and perseverance that I was able to succeed.

Today I write this letter as a cosmetology teacher.  I finished school at the top.  I didn’t miss a day, not an hour.  That right there would seem like a huge commitment but I knew that’s what I had to do, and while doing something that I loved, it seemed rather effortless.  I made such a big impression that the school I attended hired me on at their campus to teach the cosmetology program.  I have never felt more blessed then I have this past year.  I have received two pay checks so far, both more then any other paycheck I’ve received in my life.  On top of that, my company has given me a retirement fund, paid vacation and all the other benefits someone should have at my age.  I’m trying to keep Vera’s one day a week.  I can’t just yet let go of my clients or walk away from her.  She has been there for me through this whole process of losing you and re establishing my life.  It’s also time for me to save some money and move out of this house.  It’s almost been a year also since I moved in with my family to also help me escape the loss I felt over you and to give me an outlet to set the stage for my personal growth.  What I have accomplished in a year still makes me stop and shake my head in disbelief.

As long as I keep doing the next best thing for myself and the people around me, I’m going to be just fine.  My new career awards me with such satisfaction.  These kids really look up to me for the positive attitude I have and the experience I bring to the table.  I still see Bonnie once a week and she also validates me on the progress I have made.  I barley remember the boy that showed up to her office a year ago having a complete breakdown, just days before checking into rehab.  Also, there is a boy, that just might be the one.  I’m not going to let my fears sabotage this relationship like I have in the past.  It’s brand new, but after last night I really feel closer to the possibility of having a “boyfriend”.

I’ll never forget you Joey.  I’ll always thing about you.  I hope for my sake that we do hold off on seeing each other again.  This time I guess I need my space when not so long ago the obsession of seeing you one more time was all I could think about.  It’s hard to say, but I can’t see you again.  Not now.  I don’t want to anymore.  It has nothing to do with not loving you, it’s the fears of what emotions might be brought back up after all the hard work I’ve done to release those very emotions.  I just need you to know that I’ll love you forever.

Love Always and I mean that….



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Bad boys ain’t no good and good boys ain’t no fun

Of course this is the quote by some unknown (to me) author that dominates as my cover photo on my guilty pleasure known as Facebook.  It reinforces another saying that I live by: “The grass is always greener on the other side”.  This may partially explain my need for perfecting the grass inspired shade of green that I like to keep my hair.  Ironically, I just had to stop writing to take a hair cut, and my client asked me “why green?”, and I used the statement from above as an answer.

There is an AMAZING song by Sara Evans that really hits home for me.  I know I’m not alone, that I live in a world full of dreamers.  There is a huge handful of people in the world that will never feel satisfied.  I don’t think that’s always a bad thing, especially if that drives you to keep perfecting your life and promotes emotional and physical growth.  I’m just as curious about life as I was when I was 16 and knew nothing about the big bad world.  The song is called “I Keep Looking”.


I Keep Looking

By Sara Evans

Back when I was young
Couldn’t wait to grow up
Get away and get out on my own
And looking back now
Ain’t it funny how
I’ve been trying to get back home, yeah

When my low self esteem
Needs a man loving me
And I find me a perfect catch
Then I see my friends
Having wild weekends
Then I don’t want to get quite so attached
Just as soon as I get what I want
I get unsatisfied
Good is good but could be better

I keep looking, I keep looking for
I keep looking for something more
I always wonder what’s on the other side
Of the number two door
I keep looking
Looking for something more

Well, the straight haired girls
They all want curls
And the brunettes want to be blonde
It’s your typical thing
You got ying you want yang
It just goes on and on
They say, hey, it’s only human
To never be satisfied
Well I guess that I’m as human as the next one

Oh, I keep looking
I keep looking for
I keep looking for something more
I always wonder what’s on the other side
Of the number two door
Yeah, I keep looking
Looking for something more

Just as soon as I get what I want
I get unsatisfied
Hey, good is good but could be better

I keep looking
I keep looking for
I keep looking for something more
I always wonder what’s on the other side
Of the number two door
I keep looking
Looking for something more
Oh, looking for something more

© Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
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Auto Biography Of An Addict Part 6 (We DO Recover!)

July 6th 2015 is my clean date.  On July 6th 2015, I walked into Linden Oaks Outpatient Center to start my partial hospitalization program.  At this point all I remember is that I was beaten, broken and unsure exactly what “dual diagnosis” meant.  I smoked my last bowl at 8AM in the parking lot, with the notion to save half of it for when I got outta my program for the drive home that evening.  Within minutes I was rudely woken up to what exactly dual diagnosis was.  I sat down in a chair, surrounded by a bunch of unfamiliar faces.  To me, it was a great representation of white suburban Chicago.  Immediately I felt out of place.  There were people of all ages, and someone was being discharged.  I wanted to die.  This man was seriously smiling and thanking everyone for all they helped him to achieve.  He was probably around 60, and after sharing his story I quickly realized that dual diagnosis included actually THREE things.  Depression, anxiety, and SUBSTANCE ABUSE.  Were you KIDDING me?? I felt like I just walked into a trap.  A comedy perhaps, and the joke was seriously on me.  The only thing I remember about that first day was this grateful man, (for what? SOBRIETY!?), having to pee in a cup, and something telling me to throw that bowl out the window.  Never a guy to turn down a challenge, I looked at the opportunity in front of me to be just that.  They told me the program was about three weeks and I decided that day to commit to a drug and alcohol free program until I was discharged.  The rooms of Narcotics Anonymous changed all that.

The following daysa were agonizing for me.  I couldn’t sleep because I only knew how to pass out.  I could not eat because I needed to smoke weed to be hungry.  This is how my body worked for 10+ years, and I thought I was going to pass out and die if I couldn’t escape my reality very soon.  The program required that you attend three or more 12 step meetings a week.  On or around day 3, I stumbled into an NA meeting in Downers Grove.  What a mess I must have been when I walked in those doors.  I picked up my white key tag for 0-29 days clean and all of a sudden was surrounded by a bunch of overly ecstatic people that wanted to hug me.  One girl in particular stood out to me because of her personality.  Everyone seemed to know her and she looked so happy!  Sober, clean and happy?? Right then I decided in that room that I wanted to commit to this for life.  I wanted what SHE had.

The 28 days that followed were nothing short of a miracle.  I made friends, I learned about grief, acceptance and letting go.  Living in the present was a daily reminder that needed to be drilled into this stubborn head of mine.  Living in the past causes depression and living in the future produced its best friend, anxiety.  Just for Today, an NA motto became a way of life.  The rooms of NA and the walls that made up my outpatient center gave me tools to survive that I never got to learn as a child.  I felt free to grow up for the first time ever.  My last day at Linden Oaks was amazing.  Not because I was excited to leave, but because I was ready to engage with the world again having all the new tools I picked up in order to be successful not only in keeping my sobriety, but also as becoming a productive human being.

Today I find myself getting ready to start school in a week.  I’ll be going back to the beauty school to get my 600 hours in so I can get my educators license.  I want to be a teacher.  I want to give back to an industry that has given me so much.  Nothing seems out of my reach anymore.  I truly feel like the world is mine, and as long as I keep an open mind and don’t let the anxiety about the future govern my actions, all will be well.  I try to live for the moment, the present moment and make the best of it.  I am so much more productive at work then I have ever been before.  My family and close friends a like have noticed a genuine change in my personality and physically have put on a few extra healthy pounds.  I am open to the possibility that there just might be someone out there for me, as long as I don’t get into my own head, trust myself, and trust the man that I’m with.  Don’t get me wrong, I still have bad days, but they are never as bad as the worst day and I feel free to be me for the first time in my life.  I have faith that this new found freedom will lead me to a type of sanity I once thought was lost long ago.  This is my first time trying to live a life abstinent from all substances.  I’m not going to lie and say I’ll never drink again.  I had a drug problem, not alcohol however I can see how drinking can lead me back to the insane path of life I was living.  All I know is that I won’t be drinking today.  Today is what matters.  Today is all we have.

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Auto Biography Of An Addict Part 5 (HItting Rock Bottom; Everything Happens For A Reason)

They teach us in NA that changing geographic locations in order to escape our addiction never works.  That we learn to manipulate new people to get and find the drugs that we want.  I wish I read that book before I decided to move!!  Guess what I did after I moved?  I lied to my family about where I was and what I was doing.  I kept my job in the city and continued to use Meth as a way to escape the reality that had become my life.  After I found a new job in the suburbs, I lost my job at Floyd’s after I walked out one Sunday in a self centered tantrum.  This is nothing new for me, the addict.  I’ve broken many bridges with employers doing the same thing.  After my full departure of the city I then felt so lonely that I manipulated new people to get and find the drugs that I wanted.

I met someone.  He was a good kid.  He was 14 years younger then me but a whole lot smarter then me.  He’s the only name I feel like I need to protect in the story of my life, however eventually hurting me in the end like I set him up to do.  I refused to date him.  To me, I was a horrible person, caught in the grips of addiction and I didn’t want to expose him to the animal that I became.  I loved this guy very much for all the times he was there for me when I needed him.  He didn’t have the label of being my boyfriend, even as much as he tried, but emotionally and physically became just that to me.  I tried to “white knuckle” my way through life at this point with my addiction to meth.  I thought drinking and smoking pot was ok, as long as I didn’t do meth, however I was still using these drugs to mask the reality of my addiction.  I used twice in the period of 8 months that I told this kid I wasn’t using.  He really was my anti drug.  He kept me clean for as long as my brain would allow it.  I never then used because I wanted to have fun.  I used so I could feel normal again.  I wanted independence.  I had my own studio apartment in Glen Ellyn and my boy had a key.  He cooked me dinner, he bought me a puppy for Christmas and he helped me with anything I asked.  This guy was the most loyal human being that has even been apart of my life.  I felt like a piece of shit.  My ship sailed a long time ago and I missed my ride.  If I pushed him away from me, then maybe he would not miss his.  I was no one to even try to spend your life with and I reminded him everyday.  He chose to stick around and I honestly treated him the best that I could in the state of mind and emotion that I was in.

My suburban job sucked.  I hated work.  I was at a salon all day doing nothing but smoking weed and sitting on dating apps that I swore to my friend that I would stay off of.  I couldn’t take it anymore.  I called my old boss at Floyd’s and begged for my job back.  I knew that I should not be back in the city but I needed to feel how it felt to actually make money and be productive again.  Everything happens for a reason.  The district managers who I figured hated me anyways, denied my request for a re hire.  This left me feeling so broken, knowing there was no way out.  There was no future for me.  I thought this was a guarantee that I was going to fail, a realization that on most days, I smoked myself stupid so I could accept this fate.  Strike 1.

I needed an out so naturally I turned to my dating app to seek meth.  I found it.  I planned it.  I planned it so precisely that I told myself that I couldn’t smoke weed when I got home or I would get to lazy to meet up with this troll that was going to get me high for free in exchange for a night with my body.  I wish I never downloaded this app that night, an app I promised my guy I would never use again.  Strike 2.

While using I got a text from my friend that I’ll never forget.  “I hope that app you were on 2 hours ago was worth our relationship”.  I turned my phone over, already high and finished my night.  Strike 3.  I went hope and obviously couldn’t sleep.  I stared at the wall for 12 continuous hours.  No TV, no music.  Nothing.  My buddy came over to get his things and to tell me he could no longer talk to me, and I couldn’t talk to him, a promise that he has kept to this day.  Strike 4.  I lost it.  I went crazy.  The next day I had to move in with my parents because I couldn’t afford to live on my own, and couldn’t even be sitting alone as thoughts of self harm crept into my brain.  Strike 5.  I went to my doctor and wanted to beg for Xanax.  Everything happens for a reason.  She was rushed into emergency delivery, a month early in her pregnancy, and I was thrown into an office of a doctor that had no clue who I was or what I was going through.  Strike 6.  This doctor suggested Linden Oaks out patient.  I figured this was  a mental health program that I had NO time for.  I shrugged it off, as if she was the crazy one and went home.  I polished off my Xanax and drank heavily for the 4th of July weekend.  I have never been so broken in my life.  I swear I cried for 6 days hysterically every time I had a moment alone at the loss of my friend.  What did I do??

Six or seven strikes of life brought me to my knees.  I emotionally collapsed,  I wanted to die.  I wanted to end my life.  I needed the pain to stop.  The next morning was just as bad as any.  at 7 AM I took that crazy doctors advice and called Linden Oaks assessment hotline.  I had an hour to get there and have my life assessed, whatever that even meant.  I wish I knew then that I made the most important phone call I have ever made in my life.  Recovery was right around the corner.

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Auto Biography Of An Addict Part 4 (Finding myself; the Meth myth)

Ater I graduated beauty school, I dove into my work.  I loved it, but most of all I needed a distraction from the stormy relationship I had with a controlling Italian named Tony.  I was so afraid of him.  I can’t even comprehend why I stayed with him as long as I did.  Maybe because he was hot, and not “gay” in the conventional form.  I stayed clean besides a few nights of binge drinking and smoking pot everyday, which now is not clean at all, however I gave up the hard shit.  I gave up the hard shit, not for myself but in fear of what my future would bring in dealing with the aftermath of Tony.  If I could diagnosis mental illness, I would say that he has some kind of split personality disorder.  He owned a bar, and drove a motorcycle.  Sexy right?  As if he wasn’t crazy enough, he started the Atkins diet and that was the end of our relationship.  The constant mood swings, along with the cheating that came along with him getting a new attention that he was never used to was finally enough heartache.  I built up the strength to walk away, and I don’t regret it, how ever I will always live with the side effects of the relationship.  The details of those five long years would take an eternity to write about and this is about me not him, so we shall move forward.

I eventually found myself living back in Chicago.  I may be from the boring west burbs of Chicago, but the city is the place I will always call home.  I have a deep connection to the gritty alleys and busted roads of Chicago where I was truly able to come of age.  After a bed bug disaster, I left the Lakeview neighborhood and headed back to Rogers Park.  Rogers Park IS my home and always will be.  Its the farthest neighborhood north of downtown Chicago and is Chicago’s only 100% beachfront community.  It’s also a bitch to get too.

I moved in Feb 1st and that evening we had the biggest blizzard to date in my lifetime.  Hundreds of cards were left stranded on Lakeshore drive when the snow came down so fast during rush hour traffic that no one could even get through.  Thankfully I didn’t own a car so that wasn’t me but I wanted to paint a picture of exactly how bad it was.  I was pretty much stranded to my new studio apartment with no furniture or even a bed.  Everything was thrown away after the bed bug extravaganza I encountered at the previous apartment.  It was just me and my laptop.

The shit that poor laptop has seen.  I belonged to every known website that I could think of that I could meet gay men on.  I was pretty much a whore that used my looks and “talents” from my previous job experience to earn acceptance and manipulate people to feed my ego.  Out of those, it was Craigslist that yet again, changed my life forever.  I met Marc.

Marc, who later would become my best friend, then later my worst enemy was a huge meth dealer.  At first I didn’t know this but I’m not an idiot.  I quickly put 2 and 2 together and discovered this on my own.  I only smoked pot with him in the beginning.  I found myself surrounded by this drug and was able to say “no thank you”.  Eventually I drank the Kool-Aid and no thank you became “more please”.  At first meth was the shit!  I stayed up all night and was an object of everyone’s affection.  The sex was good and out of control.  It was not uncommon to go over to Marc’s lair of lies and deceit and find multiple people laying around naked, watching porn on the big screen and others standing around conversing and watching, perhaps eventually joining in.  I find this hard to write about without feelings of euphoric recall flooding my brain.  With that said, I can’t spend too long even writing about the glory days of finding myself while under the influence of meth.

The people I met were a part of a secret underground clan of misfits from the city and this is were I belonged.  I started to prostitute again, for the fun and money.   I sold drugs.  I only hung out with the dealers thinking that was manipulating them with my body to get meth for free, but this manipulation was a two way street.  They used the drugs to manipulate me have sex with them.  On meth, even sex with a paper towel roll could be awesome.  This is the drug that made me loose my mind.  I tried to stop after I was dating my then boyfriend Jason.  He lied to me and continued to use.  I decided to leave him and started using again to get back at him.  Finally it all started to catch to me and I admitted to my brother the true nature of my wrongdoings and he moved me back into his home in the suburbs.

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Auto Biography Of An Addict Part 3 (Coming Out)

Life is tricky.  People come and people go, but for me one person has always been there.  That’s my best friend Beth.  I met her on my first day of High School ever.  After I graduated, I left my Wheaton life behind and reconnected with her.  Beth was a raver, outgoing, and a lesbian.  Everyone loved her and I still do.  My coming out experience could have be a disaster, more then it ever was, if I didn’t have her by my side. I did my first everything with her and I’ll never forget the first time I did ecstasy exclaiming “If I knew drugs made me feel like this, I would have done them a long time ago”.  Whatever I did with her, I felt safe.  She told me what it would do, how I would feel, and how long it would last.  We did everything together, everyday.  Then she took me to The Royal.

The Royal was a scummy banquet hall above the restaurant of the same name located at Milwaukee and Fullerton in Chicago’s Logan Square neighborhood.  Every Thursday they held an event of gay teens under the age of 21.  Unlike other raves at the time that were held in old warehouses or busted up laser tag arenas, The Royal was the same time, same place and every Thursday.  Even on Thanksgiving.  While rolling my balls off on ecstasy, I walked up the stairs to the smell of stale cigarette smoke and the pulsating beat of the music.  I have never seen so many gay kids in my life.  I didn’t even know that something like this could have even existed.  A lot of the people I met there are still life long friends that I cherish so much today.  That place was packed, a full house, probably breaking some fire hazard laws while giving young gay youth a place to express themselves.  It was such an accepting place. It was more then that, it was a movement.  I found there that I loved to dance, and I learned how much someone can actually sweat while dancing.  As my weekly visits continued, I watched my popularity rise.  I never had friends like I thought I did then.

My mom caught on quick.  I never had guy friends anyways, and now the phone was blowing up.  I shrugged them off as just Beth’s cousins that I was hanging out with.  Even the most naïve person in America would be questioning the boys that were on the other end of the phone.  When I was finally confronted by my mom, I explosively confirmed my abnormally.  She tackled me and pinned me to the ground in our new house that she and my step dad just had built.  She kept on hitting me, yelling out slander like “faggot” and Cock Sucker”, the whole time knowing there was nothing I could do to defend myself.  I could not hit my mother like I watched so many men do before.  This was probably the 8th time I had been kicked out of their house, but the first time for being gay.  I told myself that I was never going to go back after that, and I didn’t.  I found acceptance and a new family in the community that at the time was still brand new to me.

I moved what I could into Beth’s basement and my mom threw away the rest of my belongings.  Quickly bills began to add up and not get paid because I had no idea what true independence cost.  Beth was an up and coming DJ at that time, who is extremely successful today, and along with her mentorship, I learned how to spin records.  I submerged myself in the music.  I lived for the parties.  Ecstasy, coke, weed, acid, K, and whatever else I could get my hands on became the way of life along with landing a residency DJ job in the city.  I was now well on my way to disaster.  I loved it.

After my time in Beth’s basement ran out, I found myself living on different friends couches and in their apartments until an old friend Amanda gave me the opportunity to share a one bedroom apartment with her in the suburbs.  She was a stripper and I wanted what she had.  On the eve of my 20th birthday I answered an add for a male escort agency.  I was already dancing at the time, and gay boy strippers made pocket change compared to what Amanda was bringing home every night.  I wanted more.  For the next 5 years I juggled being a DJ, prostitution, dancing, and porn star as my main means to making money.  After being exposed to the true dangers that the life brings, while dating my first boyfriend with the same occupational back round, I made a decision to leave him and admit to my family my shortcomings and loss of morality.  I packed my bags and moved back in with my parents to go to beauty school, again making a decision to run and change my life forever.

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Auto Biography Of An Addict Part 1 (Childhood)

The names in this story are not changed (except mine) cause I don’t give a shit…

My name is Dolce Minaj  I was born on March 16, 1980 to a married mother and father.  My mom was 21 and my dad was 25.  I was the first born, now known as the oldest, of two children.  My mom was the only girl of 5 kids and was a victim of sexual abuse from both her brothers and her father.  She was a lot like the person I would later become.  My mom was energetic, outspoken, and a hairstylist.  She tly had a heart of gold but was mostly misunderstood because of the mental health issues that she suffered from.  My dad was the oldest of 6 kids and the exact opposite.  He was quiet, selfish and never wanted children.  In his defense he always had a job and supported my small family the best he could.  I did pick up a few positive traits from him, the number one thing being his entrepreneur spirit and the ability to talk his way out of anything.  While digging up feelings to write this auto biography I realized that I could not recall one vivid memory of my dad interacting with me as a child.

Most of my childhood memories are of my brother and I doing normal kid stuff.  Our early childhood was spent in Frankfort Square, IL.  The neighborhood of small starter homes had many starter families, and many kids for us to play with.

I can recall at the age of 5 knowing that I was different from the other kids.  I gravitated towards girls and “girl” things.  The bullies on the block where a few years older then me and were twins.  Joey and Jason would called me “Davidrella” and other names to insult me for the feminine way that I acted.  (I have to note now, that Jason currently owns a gay bar and preforms as a drag queen in the south suburbs of Chicago.)  When I was 6 years old, my parents sent me to a Catholic nun physiatrist because of my behaviors and concerns about my sexuality.  When alone in the cold office while sitting on the wooden floor the nun opened up a large closet full of toys.  I was asked to choose whatever toys that I liked that were in the closet and to play with them.  At 6 I knew what they wanted, and I wasn’t going to give it to them.  I told myself not to play with the girl toys and I picked something gender neutral instead.  The verdict was that my dad should spend more time with his son, and I should be fine if they didn’t want me to grow up with homosexual tendencies.  That never happened.  In grade school the names and taunting continued.

I was always the one boy in a crowd of girls.  In 4th grade we moved to Carol Stream.  At Evergreen School, it was apparent I had a problem and the teaches collectively were going to do something about it.  I found myself forbidden to talk to my friends anymore.   I watched the girls play at recess not understanding why I was to stay away from them.  I spent recess sitting alone while avoiding kick balls being deliberately aimed for my head from the other boys in the school.  I sometimes wonder if my parents were in on this, or if it was all the idea of the administration.

It was 1990 and my parents decision to move to Carol Stream so we could be close to the rest of our family.  This is when, as a family, all hell broke loose.  My dad was sneaky.  He was a liar and a cheater.  My mom was crazy, angry and spent all of her attention on her children while she ignored her husband.  When they argued, it was common to see my Dad hit my mom. Also, just as common my Mom would attack him right back. No one should ever hit a woman, however my Mom was harsh with her words and had an angry steak along with a “my way or the highway” attitude. Vases were broken and holes put into walls.

The following year and a half were crazy. After 11 months in that house, my mom had enough. While at bingo with my Grandma and Aunt she met a looser named Bill. I have no idea what she saw in him. I am assuming it was the attention that she never had. She filed for divorce and we got an apartment in Wheaton with Bill. Despite his white trash appeal, he was actually pretty good to my brother and I. We liked him because he did the things that our Dad never did. He took us fishing, taught us how to shoot a gun and other things that that we were missing without a male role model in our life.

He was a coke head, and also beat my mom. Again she would beat him right back. He always had guns in the house and actually set one off on accident. The bullet went through the dining room wall, through the refrigerator, and luckily got stuck in the door. The bullet had enough force to open the freezer door as it hit my Mom in the head. If that bullet did not get stuck in the door it would have hit my Mom in the head.

Six months into that relationship, while thinking she was doing what was best for her kids, my Mom left Bill and we moved back in with our father. I remember crying that day, harder then when they told me about the divorce, because I didn’t want to go back there. My parents re married and shortly after that my Grandpa died. My Nana moved in. My parents were at their worst. My Dad actually attacked my Mom in front of my Nana and me as my Nana screamed in terror watching her only daughter get beat. She was helpless, and on oxygen. Not being able to do anything else but call 911, I did just that and my Dad fled the house without even putting his shoes on. the marriage only lasted 9 months. Shorty after the divorce my Nana died. I was 15 at the time. She was the glue that held the family together and nothing has ever been the same.

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The Agency Chicago

As far as I was concerned, and as far as I still know, I worked for what was once Chicago’s premier all male escort service.  Just one phone call and $200 could buy you an hour of time with any boy offered on the website.  The Agency offered a buffet of men, all shapes and sizes however known exclusively for its prime selection of fresh, twink, meat.  As it turned out, being 19 year old, 5’8″, 135 lbs, tan, tight and having over seven inches between my legs was the answer to the formula that makes someone a “twink”and an escort a lot of cash.

I just got kicked out of my house for being gay and was sharing a 1 bedroom apartment with my friend Amanda while waiting tables.  I knew I would never make the money I needed to survive on my own for the first time in my life.  I was looking in the classified section of the “Gay Chicago” magazine and i saw an ad that started something like “The Agency Chicago is looking for a few good men…” I knew exactly what they were looking for and exactly what this job would require.  If I knew then how calling that number was going to forever change the person that I was I’m sure I would have dialed it even QUICKER.  Never in my life can I recall feeling as insecure as I felt then.

The man on the other end of the line had a smooth, calming voice.  The questions were minimal. “How would you rate yourself on the scale of 1-10”  I answered with an 8, stating that nobody was perfect and got a laugh out of the man on the other end of the phone.  I met the minimum requirements to meet for a face to face interview, and it was set for 8PM in the Kmart parking lot just off the Addison exit and 90.  Today, an Olive Garden stands in the same space I became a escort.  Its funny how something so commercial can exist in a place that changed you forever.

I jumped in the car, and the story goes that without hesitation or even being asked, I whipped out my hard dick.  I must have been subconsciously turned on by the power of sex and had adrenaline pumping hard through my body.  I was hired on the spot, and thats the moment that Daved became D.J.  This is where my life story of debauchery, sex, drugs and hip hop really begin.

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Ode to my 1999 Ford Explorer

This bitch has not let me down. Starting up everyday over a brutal Chicago winter. Even though the radio started on fire and the driver side door stopped working for me, (resulting in me climbing in and out of the window for most of the summer),  I couldn’t be more greatful to not have a car payment at this time of my life. Thanks girl.

Update: this has been sitting in my drafts folder for almost a year.  I still have the car. 🙂

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