A Big Taste of Small Minds [working title]

“You’re such a big boy.”

I moan as I climb back up his bare torso and gently kiss his pink lips against his dark skin.

“I love you,” he whispers as I lay my head on his chest and listen to his pounding heart regulate after his climax.

We lay like this for awhile, skin on skin—contrasting my pale white skin to his rich black skin—and sweat with sweat, feeling the love and connection between us as if we’re one. In a way, we are.

I met Inan two years ago when I was twenty-one. He was twenty-four at the time and looked utterly lost and confused. He had recently come to terms with his sexuality and visited the local gay bar. I went there once in awhile, but never in hopes of getting a date. I just went there to loosen up, relax, and have a little fun while away from the office building that trapped my soul five days a week.

He quietly sat in a back corner, too afraid to do anything else. He was so nervous and cute, I couldn’t resist but to go over there and talk to him. He was shy and wouldn’t look at me at first. I wasn’t offended. I knew he wasn’t used to seeing something like me. I was wearing high-heels with sexy straps around the ankles, dark fishnets accenting the curves of my hairless legs, and my shortest miniskirt. My face was painted pretty and if I had been wearing a padded bra, I could have easily convinced everyone I was a woman, considering the wig I wore. I rarely dress like that, but sometimes, I just can’t resist. I haven’t dressed like that since that night. I haven’t felt a need to since meeting Inan.

I sat across the table from him as he nervously sipped on a beer. I studied him for a moment, wondering it he was always so quiet.

“First time here, big boy?” I asked, provoking him to speak. He really wasn’t big and I didn’t know why I called him that. I did find out why, just not that night—he’s actually a very big boy.

“Yes,” he answered, still not looking up at me.

I sat with him for a little while longer, trying to get him to loosen up some. I told him I’d return with a few drinks and when I did, he was gone. I knew he would be. I figured I had scared him away from the place for good.

-

Inan’s arm wraps around me and holds me tight under the sheets. It was only two years ago, but I can’t remember what life was like before him. It seems like a distant dream.

I returned to the club two weeks later, without the miniskirt and fishnets. Instead, I wore brown dress shows, khaki pants, and a light blue button down shirt with the sleeves pushed up to my elbows. My suit jacket, however, stayed in the car. My short, brown hair lay loosely on my head and I ran my hand through it as I sat in a stool at the bar.

My boss was riding my ass hard that week about the new project the company had been working on and was stressing over the campaign, so I just need to kick back and relax. I made eye contact with a man further down and around the corner of the bar. He smiled, encouraged, and walked toward me. He asked for a dance and I reluctantly agreed. He left me alone after the dance, understanding I wasn’t interested in him. I glanced around before seeing a familiar sight.

“Good to see you back here,” I said as I took a seat across from a guy with real short, black hair.

“Do I know you?” he asked, nervous.

“Imagine me about two or three inches taller with long, flowing blonde hair, fishnets, and a black miniskirt,” I told him and watched as he looked me up and down with confusion. I leaned back in my chair and crossed one leg over the other, imitating the way I had sat the previous time I had spoken with him.

“But, you’re…?” he wasn’t sure what to say.

“I don’t always dress like that. Actually, I rarely do.” I relaxed my position and sat comfortably. He relaxed a little, too. “I’m glad I didn’t scare you away from this place for good, big boy.”

“I’m kind of new at this,” he spoke up again, just as shy as he had been.

“I can tell,” I told him and smiled.

-

Inan’s hand ruffles my hair and I nuzzled my face in his chest, gently biting him. He laughs and pushes me away some as he repositions himself. I lightly kiss him and snuggle back up to him.

We talked for awhile at the club. I learned his name, among other things. I enjoyed talking with him and he seemed to enjoy talking with me. We arranged another time to meet—another date, it seemed. We began to see each other regularly and soon we were serious. After a year, we knew we wanted to be together for the rest of our lives and officially moved in together. We were unofficially married.

Inan helped me in a lot of ways and I helped him. I helped him understand who he was and he helped me to accept who I was. I didn’t have a problem with myself or my sexuality until I came out to my parents. My father, raised a strict Catholic, was not too happy about it—to say the very least. I’ve known since I was seventeen, but was afraid to tell them until I was nineteen and had moved out. I had the ignorant hope that they wouldn’t put me down about it, that they’d still love me, and that they’d accept who I am. Instead, my father disowned me and I haven’t seen either of my parents since. I’m sure it didn’t help that I was wearing my favorite dress—a tight, but classy little red number with a slit coming up to the hip on the side and a bare area on the back—when I spoke to them about it.

-

“We should get ready,” Inan says and I groan.

“No, I’ve decided I’m not going. There’s no point in going. I don’t care what she said,” I say, planting myself within the sheets. “We’re having such a great morning, why ruin it?”

“Come on. It won’t be that bad,” he continues and rolls away from me to get out of bed. I groan, again.

“Yes, it will. You don’t know them. You don’t know the psychological abuse they’re capable of.”

I haven’t spoken to my parents in four years. A couple of weeks ago, out of the clear, blue sky of my perfect life with Inan, my mother called and informed me my father’s fiftieth birthday was coming and she’s throwing him a surprise party. She wants me to go.

“No,” I coldly said, simple as that.

She begged me to be there, “He’s changed and he really misses you. He regrets what he said and what he did and wants you back in his life. All day long he mopes around talking about how stupid he was for what he did and how much he misses you.”

“He didn’t change. He was always a hard ass and always will be one. He doesn’t know how to change,” I argued.

I eventually agreed and I regret it, now.

-

Inan begins to dress, covering his naked self and I know I’m not getting out of this.

“I didn’t tell you the whole story about the burn marks on my hands and back,” I confess. I feel bad for not telling Inan about the whole thing, but I didn’t because I didn’t want him to think my father was a bad father. He really isn’t. He just has a closed mind due to a faulty upbringing—that’s not to say he doesn’t have a say in his own beliefs. It’s not an excuse. I loved my father very much until he disowned me.

“You fell back on a grill; caught yourself with your hands on the edge and touched your back to it,” he answers, a little confused.

“Yes, but I didn’t just fall on my own. He hit me when I told them and I fell back into the grill. He yelled at me a few more times and stormed off inside the house,” I tell him, sitting on the edge of the bed. I look at his face and know I have to say something else. “He never laid a hand on me before that.”

He doesn’t say anything, just sits on the edge of the bed next to me, pulling on his shoes. I sigh in defeat and stand to get dressed.

“They don’t even know about you,” I tell him, buttoning up one of my button-down office shirts. I don’t know what else to wear. I really don’t have much casual clothing. I normally just wear what I wear to the office. I glanced at the skirt in my closet for a moment with an evil grin. I shouldn’t, I know, but it’s tempting. I’m surprised it’s still in there.

“Would it be better if I didn’t go?” Inan asks as he wraps his arms around my shoulder.

“No, I want you to be there. Besides, you not going isn’t going to make them hate me any less.” I grab his hand and hold it to my shaved face for a moment. “I doubt he changed. I’m afraid to go back.”

“Come on, let’s just go. We don’t need his approval to be together.” He squeezes my hand and leads me out of the room. “And you never know until you go.”

“We’ll just stop for breakfast on the way,” I say, looking at my watch. We’re already going to be late, but I don’t care.

“Breakfast? It’s eleven o’clock,” Inan teases as he grabs his laptop bag and I grab my keys.

“Lunch, whatever. Did you feed Mikey this morning?” I question as I see a vibrating mouse on the floor. I was surprised he didn’t sleep with us. He usually does.

“Where is the little bugger?” Inan asks, suddenly looking around our apartment for the little, black kitten.

“Just leave some food for him.”

Inan hands me his laptop and I go out to start my car while he feeds Mikey. He comes back out soon and we leave. We decide where we should get off the highway to eat—neither of us being immediately hungry—and then we’re silent for awhile.

I turn up the radio and Inan starts to sing along and keep a beat on his thigh. I can’t help but smile and laugh. It’s a long drive to my parents’ house and now I wish I moved further away. I wish I moved far enough away that it wouldn’t be practical to go to the stupid party.

I can’t help but think of the last time I saw my parents. My father didn’t really hit me hard, but just enough to knock me back against the grill currently frying hamburgers. The heels of my palms landed on the edge.

The puffy scarred lines of tissue covering half of my palms suddenly become present and annoy me as I hold on to the steering wheel. The scars really aren’t noticeable, and the one on my back is just a thin line on my lower back, no longer than three inches going across. But, they always seem to grow when I think about them.

I turn the radio down. “There’s something else I never told you,” I confess, again, opening a conversation.

Inan turns the radio even more and closes his laptop before giving me all of his attention.

“Remember how I was dressed the first time we met?” I asked.

“How could I forget?” he remarks, humorously.

“When I came out to my parents, I didn’t exactly tell them by choice.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I was dressed kind of like that and they, more-or-less, caught me. They began to question me and I was forced to tell them everything. I was tired of hiding it from them. They were the only ones who didn’t know. I didn’t know how they still didn’t know, but they didn’t,” I tell him. I can’t help but think of the irony of it. One of the rare times I do dress like that and they caught me.

I glance down at my khaki pants and brown dress shoes and laugh inside at the irony. I think of the dress I was wearing that day. If the open back had been just a few inches higher, I probably wouldn’t have the scar running across my back.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Inan simply asks.

“Just didn’t seem right at first and then it just never got brought up again.”

I make a right and get off the highway on the off-ramp. Inan and I both pay attention to the road signs, hoping not to get lost and completely letting the conversation drop. I told him what I need to.

We’ve only had reason to visit this town once before, but that once was enough for us to find a nice little burger joint with the best damn burgers and fries in the hemisphere.

“It was a left here, right?” I ask as we approach a crossing road.

“Right,” he answers me.

“Right? Are you sure it’s a right?”

“No, right as in right on left.”

“What?” I’m really confused, now.

“Go left,” he says as I flick on my right blinker.

“What? You said go right.”

“No, I didn’t. Just go left.”

I switch my blinkers and make the turn just in time. I drive down the road for a few minutes before Hector’s comes into view. I park the car and we silently go in. We seat ourselves and a waitress is soon over to give us menus and get our drinks. We look over the menus, lightly discussing our options.

We chat about various things, never getting to deep into one topic as Inan works on his laptop. He’s a columnist for the newspaper and he’s always writing or taking notes. I once asked him what his muse and main inspiration was. He replied with, “Everything.”

“Elaborate,” I said, intrigued by his answer.

“Everything, as in everything I see, do, experience. Everything that happens between us—our arguments and make-ups. Just everything about life in general. I write about human nature, which means everything,” he told me.

We order our food and he sits next to me in the booth, tapping away at his keys.

“Read me something,” I request.

“ ‘This weekend, my hubby and I,’ ”—as he always refers to me as his hubby in his column, not wanting to give out my name—“ ‘are driving four hours to his childhood home up in Charleston so we can surprise his father at his fiftieth birthday. What a surprise it will be. My hubby hasn’t spoken with his father in four years. But I suppose there’s a’—oops, that should be first not frist,” he laughs and corrects his mistake before continuing his reading. “‘But, I supposed there’s a first for everything.’ That’s all I have so far,” Inan explains.

“That’s all that’s happened so far.”

I watch as he minimizes the word document and checks his email. Wireless internet is amazing. It doesn’t take much to amaze me.

I sigh and rest my hand on his shoulder. I’m tired; I didn’t sleep well last night. I was too busy stressing about today. I can feel a pair of eyes watching us, accusingly. I don’t care. I have to get used to people from little town’s in the middle of nowhere staring at us. After all, we’re going to visit my parents.

I just thought of the other people who will be at the party. Will my father embarrass me in front of all them? Probably. He shows no mercy.

“Think I should tell him I’m atheist?” I ask Inan as I think.

“Who? You’re father?” he questions, closing his electronic toy, err, tool—they were often the same thing.

“Yes, it’s not like he can disown me again, right?” I humorously ask. I’m so nervous about seeing that man again.

“Hey, don’t stress it,” he tells me and I lift my head from his shoulder to face him. We share a short kiss before our waitress interrupts us by clearing her throat, obviously uncomfortable by our acts.

She gives us our plates and we stuff ourselves with burgers, fries, and shakes before getting back on the highway for two and a half more hours.

We get bored on the drive and begin playing road games to pass the time and the endless miles.

“Want me to drive for awhile?” Inan asks as I pull up to a gas pump.

“No, I’m okay,” I tell him and get out to fill the gas tank.

“You sure? I’ll drive,” he offers again, getting out of the car, too.

“Yeah, I’m alright. I don’t mind driving.”

“Okay, well, I’m going to run inside, use the bathroom, stretch my legs, and get something to drink. You want anything while I’m in there?”

“Just a bottle of water,” I tell him and flash him a smile as I begin to fill up the gas tank.

I watch him as he crosses the parking lot and goes inside, and then I go back to watching the dial on the gas pump. The hose clicks, signally it’s done and I swipe my pretty purple, plastic card through the slot, push a few buttons, read as the screen flashes THANK YOU FOR VISITING. COME BACK SOON. and take my receipt. Inan returns from the building with a blue raspberry slush and a bottle of water as I seat myself behind the wheel again.

“You better not spill that in my car,” I tease as he seats himself and hands me my water.

“Damn, that was the whole reason I bought it,” he replies. “Oh god, that’s cold,” He says as he sets the frozen drink between his legs, butting it against his crotch. He reaches around and grabs his seat belt to buckle in. I drive off.

We drive the rest of the way straight through. Inan looks around as we enter my hometown.

“So, this is where it all began?”

“Yup,” I tell him, looking around myself. I had so many good memories here and only a few bad ones. I had a great childhood and I missed this town, but Inan and I would never last here—not with all the bigotry. We’d miss the big city too much, anyway.

“There’s my high school,” I told him, giving him a small tour of the town to stall going to the party. “That’s where we all hung out on the weekends and where I met my high school sweetie—well, one of them.”

I dated a girl on and off for two years before it finally ended and then I dated a boy from my gym class. He was the high school sweetie I was talking about.

“And my best friend Daniel Marshall lived down that road. I haven’t talked to him since I left for college. I wonder how Danny’s doing.” This town brought back so many memories and I couldn’t help but tell Inan about all of this. “Oh, shit, what happened to Al’s Bar and Grill?” I ask myself as I pass by a plot of land with nothing but burnt ruins.

“Let’s see where you grew up, now,” Inan suggests, knowing I was avoiding the party.

“Do we have to?” I childishly ask.

“It won’t be so bad, and if it is, then we’ll just leave. I’m ready to go whenever you are,” he continues as I turn down my road.

“Okay, fine…There it is,” I say, sighing, and point to a small blue house on the corner of the block. “We’re supposed to park across the road at the park so he doesn’t suspect anything,” I inform Inan and pull into the park’s parking lot. I have so many memories at that park.

We get out and I hesitantly cross the lot. “I have to tell you, they’re really small-minded,” I tell him.

He smiles at me. “I know that. Otherwise they would’ve accepted you.”

“No, I don’t just mean with sexuality, but race, too,” I lightly say. “They’re old fashioned, and a little racist, and really don’t believe in biracial relationships,” I warn him. I know my parents are going to be rude to him. “Are you sure we have to do this?”

“Come on, I can handle it. You think you’re parents are the first people that are going to belittle me because I’m black, or because I’m with you? Babe, I’m black, I’m gay, and I’m with a scrawny white guy, I’ve heard just about everything there is. I promise, I’ll be okay. I’m a big boy,” he assures me.

“I know you are,” I say and smile seductively. I couldn’t resist. He left it open for that one.

Inan holds my hand as we cross the road and walk up the short side-walk that leads us to the front door of the house. I knock. It feels weird to knock on this door. I never have before, but I thought I should since I wasn’t welcome here anymore.

We patiently wait. “No one’s here, let’s just go,” I told Inan, tugging on his hand.

“Don’t be silly. You know someone’s here.”

I look at my watch. We were half an hour late. “I’m sure the party’s already started, we’re late. We don’t want to crash it, so let’s just go back home,” I practically begged.

Inan opens his mouth to respond, but is cut off by the door opening. A girl I don’t recognize answers and calls to my mother. “There’s some guy here.” She walks away from the door and we stand there for a moment, peaking in. We hear laughter and typical sounds of a party.

My mother soon appears in the door. Her face goes white and expressionless, like she’s staring at a ghost. A glaze comes over her eyes and it’s like she’s looking straight through me.

“Mom?” I asked, bringing her back to reality.

She hugs me. “I’m so glad you came. Your father’s going to be so surprised.”

“I bet,” I scoff as she lets me go.

She looks my up and down, “It’s nice to see you in man’s clothing.” I roll my eyes. She looks to my right a little and sees Inan. She frowns at him and then notices our intertwining fingers and her frown grows. She disapproves of my life style, but still wants me in her life, unlike my father.

“This is Inan,” I introduce him and he releases my hand to shake hers. She turns her nose up to him and turns back to me and leads me in the house. She doesn’t have to like to like who I am, but she didn’t have to be so rude to Inan.

I offer him a weak smile and hope that he wasn’t too offended. He doesn’t seem too hurt by it.

“The party’s already begun, but that’s okay. I’m just glad you’re here, even if you did bring a date,” she rudely says, making sure Inan hears her. My face flushes with anger. How was I raised by these people? I’m nothing like them.

“Sorry we’re late,” I mutter. I’m not even close to being sorry. I’m already ready to leave the party.

“Your father’s out back. He still doesn’t know you’re coming,” she says, excitedly and leads me through the kitchen to the back door.

“Hold on, I want to go upstairs first,” I tell her. I don’t think she heard me, but I don’t care. She keeps going and I turn to Inan.

“I’m sorry,” I quietly tell him.

“It’s okay, I can handle it,” he assures me.

“Come on, I want to show you my room.” I grab his hand and lead him back through to the living room and up the stairs. People I don’t know give us looks.

“Oh boy, I get to see you’re room, now?”

“Yup,” I tell him and lead him down a very short hall.

I open the door, but don’t find my room. All of my stuff is gone. There is nothing in there but some boxes with labels like CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS and CAMPING SUPPLIES. My bed isn’t even in there, anymore. I don’t know why I had the stupid thought that they kept everything like it had been when I moved out and went to college. I’m stupid for thinking that.

“This is your room?” Inan asks, looking around.

“It was,” I grunt and turn to go back downstairs. “I guess there’s nothing else to do here,” I tell him as I lead him back through the kitchen to the back door.

I expect to meet my mother half-way. I figure she would come back for us—well, me—once she notices I’m behind her. We don’t and I lead Inan into the back yard. I look around and see my father chatting with some old buddies in the back corner. His back is to us. He throws his head back in a short bout of laughter.

“That him?” Inan asks, noting the way I looked in that direction.

“Unfortunately,” I sigh and turn back to him. “I don’t want to go over there,” I confided.

“Come on, I’ll go with you. Like I said, I’m ready to leave whenever you are, but first you have to see your father.”

“Why? I don’t have anything to say to him.” I look around the yard and see the grill on the small, concrete patio, far away from the man that I once considered my father.

I sigh and decide it’s safe enough to go over. We cross the yard, dodging various people in the small crowds and walk up to my father’s back. Inan stands back about ten feet, giving me room to do this on my own. I want him by my side, but I know it’s better that he hangs back.

I take a deep breath and prepare myself to get my father’s attention. Before I can do anything on my own, one of the men my father’s speaking with recognizes me and nods to me, greeting me with surprise. My father turns and faces me. His expression holds one of sorrow at first.

“Hi, dad,” I cautiously say. Maybe he did change.

His expression quickly changes to one of anger. “What are you doing here?” he demands.

Then again, maybe he didn’t change. “Mom said you wanted to see me,” I tell him. I look back at Inan, nervous.

“Is that your boyfriend?” he accuses, following my look.

“He’d by my husband if it wasn’t for people like you,” I reply, coldly. Coming here was a mistake. I can’t believe I listened to my mother.

He takes a step closer to intimidate me, but I keep my ground. I know he won’t hit me again, at least not in front of all these people.

“People like me have kept you from ruining your life. Marriage is a sacred and holy union, not to be destroyed by faggots like you.”

I get hot as anger fills me. He has no right calling me that. He doesn’t even know me anymore. “Hey, Bill, lay off him, some,” one of the other men speaks up, defending me a little.

“Stay out of this,” he snaps back. I take a deep breath. “I tried to raise a good, holy son,” he mutters to himself.

“You did,” I tell him. I’m not exactly holy, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“My son died four years ago,” he tells me. This hits me harder than I should. Does he tell people I died?

“Your son is standing here! Your son is a good person, with a good life, and a very good person to share that life with!” I yell at him and look back to Inan again, hoping he’d come up to me.

“Where did I go wrong?” he asks, sympathetically, trying to gain all the empathy he could from the other guests at his party.

“In disowning me. In saying that I died. In brandishing my soul to hell because I don’t follow your path exactly. Because I’m happy with a man who I love very much.” Inan comes to me and I hold his hand; his strength flowing into me.

“A man? He should be shining my shoes right now.” My father sneers at Inan.

“He’s more of a man than you’ll ever be, and I’m more of a man than you’ll ever be!” My face is bright red with anger and hate. I can feel my voice growing hoarse.

“Great, my son the cross-dressing faggot and his boyfriend the no good—”

“Don’t you dare say it!” I interrupt him, knowing where he’s going with it. He looks me straight in the eyes and says it, anyway.

Inan clenches my hand in his fist. He’s as angry as I am, but he holds his temper better than I do. He did much better with conflict than I did. He was trying to stay out it as much as he could. It was my battle to fight.

“I only wanted the best for you!” my father, continues.

“And I got it!” I raise Inan’s hand and gently kiss it in front of my father. I wonder how I can be so gentle with him considering the aggression I exchanged with my father. I know kissing his hand is a mistake as soon as I do it.

My mother rushes over to us. I’m not sure what she plans on doing, or if she even plans on intervening.

“You told him I wanted to see him?” my father demands from her. “You invited him and this street rat to come?”

“His name is Inan,” I interrupt. I’m getting bloody tired of him calling Inan those names—though street rat was a lot nicer than the last thing he called him.

“That colored boy shouldn’t even have a name,” he snaps back.

“Excuse me, sir,” Inan softly and politely speaks up. My father looks at him questioningly. “Colored, sir?” This won’t be good. Inan can handle a lot, and he has taken a lot of crap over the past couple of years. I’m amazed to find out how many people don’t believe in interracial relationships, and unfortunately, he is usually the one to get the shit about it. He’s unbelievably tolerant when it comes to this kind of stuff, but when he does get to the breaking point, it’s never good. He can get quite a temper, and fast.

“Yes. I’m sorry, did you not realize you’re a colored boy?” My father patronizes him.

Inan sighs and looks down before pulling his clenching fist from my hand and bringing it back to hit my father in the jaw. He smiles to himself as he retracts his arm. My mother screams and my father just looks back at us. His lips are shining with blood.

I look from my father to my mother to Inan. Inan’s lips pull back into a large grin and he began to chuckle. He always feels so accomplished when he stands up for himself. He looks back up to my father.

“Get out of my site,” my father grunts, blood caught in the cracks of his teeth and he spits out a tooth. My mother screams again. I look at him with horror and back away, pulling at Inan’s hand.

Instead of going back through the house, I lead him to the gate in the fence that leads around to the front yard. Inan begins to laugh maniacally as soon as we’re on the other side of the fence. I wonder how he can laugh at that, but I don’t blame him for hitting my father.

We reach the road, and Inan finally stops laughing and looks at me. “See, that didn’t go too badly,” he seriously says before bursting out in uncontrollable laughter again. I laugh with him this time, but not as hard.

He pants for breath and I help him across the road. We lean against my car. “I’m sorry about him,” I tell Inan, apologizing for my father’s behavior.

“I am too,” he replies, a little sarcastically. “How did you come from that home?”

“I don’t know,” I joked.

“This sure will be interesting to write about.”

We climb in the car and I realize any connection I may have had with my parents was completely gone now. It doesn’t matter. I haven’t spoken with them in four years and I doubt I will ever speak to them again. I just became an orphan.

I don’t want to know them if they’re going to be like that; if they’re going to be so rude to me, but especially to Inan. They don’t even know him. What right do they have to judge him? None.

“So, what now?” I ask, starting the car and pulling out of the parking lot.

“Let’s just go home,” he replies and begins to tap the keys on his laptop.

***************

‘This weekend, my hubby and I are driving four hours to his childhood home up in Charleston so we can surprise his father at his fiftieth birthday. What a surprise it will be. My hubby hasn’t spoken with his father in four years. But I suppose there’s a first for everything.

‘One our way up there, he explains to me a little more about his parents and a little bit more of what happened the last time he did speak with them. It wasn’t a happy story, but I knew he’d be alright. As we walked up to the house, he felt it necessary to warn me of how very old fashioned his parents were. And by ‘old fashioned,’ of course, I—and he—meant full of hate and racism.

‘We arrived there and immediately his mother gives me the cold shoulder. His mother is nothing compared to the creature we were faced with in the back yard; his father. My hubby exchanged a few not-so-kind words with him before I was brought into the picture. Then, of course, his father used a few not-so-kind words with me, to put it lightly. I bit my tongue and held my temper.

‘But, like any ol’ person who actually has a soul, I reached my breaking point with the man. I’m ashamed to say I hit him (come back to me on the ‘ashamed’ part) and now I wait for a harassment lawsuit to come. We left the party in flash. Needless to say, my hubby certainly didn’t make any sort of amends with his parents.

‘I’m still surprised to see how many people there are out there who truly believe the way we live is wrong. Hell, they believe the color of my skin is wrong. Neither of which I have any control over. I just don’t understand how they can blame me. Now, some people really don’t understand that one’s sexuality is not necessarily a choice, but there’s no reason I should be put down about my race.

‘Until next week, my faithful readers, ado. And, of course, feel free to mail or email me questions, comments, or suggestions.’

Yours Truly,

-Inan