"I want you to fuck me up my white ass!" my trick for the night barks as he lies spread-eagled on the fresh green blades of grass, offering me his smooth Latino backside. I put the rubber on my dick and am just about to put it inside when I go limp. "What's going on here?" I think to myself. This guy's really hot, and yet I can't get it up.
At first I think it's performance anxiety. Plus, I've had four drinks, and since we're outdoors, mosquitoes and other insects are crawling all over us.
"What's the matter? My ass is really hot for your cock, man!" the trick screams as he grabs my dick and gives me a disconcerted glance.
"I'm sorry, I just can't do this," I say as I pull the rubber off my tool and throw it into the bushes.
"Why? You are a top, aren't you? Don't all black guys love to fuck ass?" the trick inquires as he turns to glare at me, demanding an answer in a thick Spanish accent. He reaches into his pocket and grabs another rubber.
"No, thanks. I'll see you later."
On my way home from that uneventful encounter I start wondering if white gay men really see gay men of colour as people or just objects of desire.
At home, I look at myself in the mirror. I stare at my ebony skin, my legs, arms and face, thinking about my own experiences in the so-called gay community, and I become charged with rage.
But it's not only black men who experience this white racism, according to Peter Ho, the gay men's coordinator at ACAS (Asian Community AIDS Services). In discussions in the programs and support groups Ho runs for Asian gay men, he says the issue of social representation and image is a constant topic.
He describes walking into Woody's with a group of Asian friends and hearing someone say, "Oh, look what the bus brought in."
There is an expectation by the men I meet that I'm supposed to be a top and into anal sex. Yet I've always been repulsed by anal sex. I find it unhygienic and unromantic. I also don't like the idea of relinquishing my power while I have sex. A lot of times when I used to fuck, I never really looked at the guy as I pounded his butt, or we didn't kiss. There just wasn't that connection. Anal sex, to me, is a transaction.
I decide to hit another Toronto cruising ground, still incensed at this Latino guy's attitude. I need to get off, and if that bitch isn't going to do things the way I like, I can definitely find a guy who will.
I race across Yonge Street toward the gay ghetto. A hot young black stud is crossing Church Street.
"Hey, what's up?" I ask as I walk up to him. We shake hands.
"What are you up to tonight?" he asks slyly.
"Do you have a place?" I ask, surveying him.
"Yeah, I do, but what are you into?" He grabs me, and we kiss softly while the crowd behind us leave the bars and pubs.
"I'm just looking for some oral, kissing, stuff like that," I boldly reply.
"Well, I love getting fucked," he tells me.
I stare at the man before me. He's tall, about 6-foot-2, and in good shape, just the way I like it. I notice his sweet velvet ebony skin and get turned on.
Then I realize I shouldn't be doing things just to please somebody else. After all, I deserve pleasure, too.
"I'm not into fucking. Not tonight," I say as I finally get the courage to declare that I'm not into anal sex. I hail a cab and head back to the burbs.