Stepping Out Part Two- The Trying Beginning

An artist, to me, is someone that desires to create no matter the expense both physically and mentally. Why? Because it feels good to having created something that didn’t exist before. It feels like magic. Somewhere along the way though the magic is tainted.

I remember being in school drawing when a stranger would ask to look at my work in progress. I’d politely say no. Their reaction was to be offended when really I was offended. I didn’t ask to look at their math equations. I didn”t ask to listen to their rehearsal. Drawing is something I did because I loved doing it. Not because I wanted to share it, at least not until it felt completed

Somehow and somewhere along the way people thought that art was only worth doing if it got the creator famous. I never wanted to be famous for my artwork. I solely wanted to take the world apart so I could put it back together again. In the end it took me apart. I remember the frustration to want to create something wonderful but I didn’t see the point. I had applied to schools in New York and didn’t get in. My quest seemed over so I decided to switch majors. I became a Creative Writing major for half a year. In the end though I still felt empty because this wasn’t the place I wanted to be.


When I first dropped out of college I just laid in bed all the days. I often stared up at the ceiling feeling empty. The world was meaningless. The past three years had amounted to nothing. I did the art. I tried the writing. It seemed that the simple truth was that I wasn’t a creator. I didn’t want to be famous and I didn’t feel good creating anymore.

So I watched TV. Lots and lots of TV. My favorite show though was Glee. I watched as many episodes I could until I felt  inspired. Music always inspires me but what it works better in a story line. At this point, to me, I was a loser that wanted to feel special. I watched clip after clip until suddenly I remembered something. I had always wanted to learn to sing and dance. The past was the past so why not try something new?

My first dance class was Aerial Dancing. It took place in a studio half way across town, a distance that required me to wake up at six in the morning. I felt elated that morning while driving through the misty fog. It seemed that the rain had fallen and left clouds everywhere, new dreams.

When I arrived there was a woman unlocking the door. She had with her a girl of about ten that was wearing a tutu.  They both welcomed me inside with warm smiles. The dance studio was small with polished wood floors, tumble matts, mirrors, and silk ropes hanging from the ceiling. Immediately, the little girl started climbing before anyone else arrived. Meanwhile, the woman and I began to get acquainted. I told her this was my first Aerial class, first dance class in general. She was very excited and impressed. I felt embarrassed but she went on to say that people usually get intimidated by new things, especially adults.

That’s when everyone else began to file in. Small girls. A tall boy and several teenagers. All of them expressed that they had been dancing for years. In fact they had just been in a show! Suddenly, I felt nervous and intimidated. I began to wonder if I had made a mistake…(To Be Continued…)

The Cop

I met Peter in the club on accident. Three weeks prior we had introduced ourselves on Grindr. He was a twenty-something year old gay cop and I a student at the time. He texted me “Good Morning,” up until the day I accidentally sent him an embarrassing message.

Me: Would you mind sending a nude pic?

Him: no response

Me :OMG! I meant another pic. I’m so sorry! Autocorrect.

Him: no response

So when he greeted me in the club with a hug, needless to say, I was surprised! He had big arms and a nice slim waist. I felt flattered that a handsome respectful guy like this was interested in me.

We chit-chatted a while before I apologized again for the text I sent. He graciously waved it off. He said that it did weird him out but that I seemed like a genuine person that was faulted by autocorrect. I laughed.

The conversation carried on to where eventually he invited me back to his place. That was when a red flag went off in my head. I wasn’t sure what to think about the situation: if I was naive to situations like these or if they actually happened outside QAF (Queer As Folk). He was a nice guy and also a cop so I didn’t think there should be any worries. But what if he’s a secret serial killer, I kept telling myself. So I politely turned him down but told him to keep in touch.

He went back with his friends and I with mine. I asked one of them if what I did was the correct thing to do. They assured me it was but then why did I feel regret? Because this is a new experience, something you moved to Orlando for, so don’t turn it down. Be safe. The voice inside of me said. I grumbled and walked to the bar and ordered a Long Island.

Dating has never been “fluent” for me. I was twenty-two years old and had never brought a boyfriend home for the holidays. I had never technically dated anyone longer than two weeks. I had never also gone home with a guy. I turned around from my drink and went in search of the cop. He was with a couple of friends and told me he was getting ready to leave.

“I want to go with you.” I said. He smiled. I told him to wait there while I informed my friends of what I was doing. They worried and told me to call them when I was at the place. They also asked for an address and the guy’s number. I Have Such Great Friends.

The cop walked us out to his car, which was very nice, but I didn’t know what kind it was. We held hands the entire ride. When we arrived at his place I texted my friends and told them everything was alright. Peter and I cuddled while watching TV. During this my thoughts were that , I didn’t know how old this guy was, what his last name, did he have a favorite color?

We moved to the bedroom where I stripped to my underwear as did he. Throughout the night we kissed and spooned. We never had sex. At times I was the big spoon and him the little, which was another first for me. He was the first man I’d ever wrapped my arms around. Broad shoulders. A Career. Respect. It was a nice feeling, that I could secure a man in my arms, that he did the same.

Warning: The Following Content May Be Graphic For Certain Audience Members. In the morning we kissed and groped. He had such big shoulders. I loved it. Never once did he pressure me to go all the way. Once again I was reminded that he was a man. We finished together and then kissed.

He drove me home afterwards. When I laid down in my own bed I felt happy and grateful. I wanted to see him again, but even if I didn’t I had the experiences he gave.

Stepping Out Part One

I used to get confused on what to write about. Confused because what I wanted to write about was my life. The problem was everything in it seemed small and uninteresting. I studied, read books, worked out, downloaded music, danced, and served tables at a local diner. I still do these things, but somehow recently they all have blossomed.

It happened three months ago when I pushed my studies aside to let myself grow. Since then I have posted a blog, sung karaoke, taken dance lessons, and found out that I don’t want to serve for the rest of my life. These are the basic means to my happiness. How?

Well when I was in school my studies were the last thing I wanted to do. I remember scraping patience from the bottom of the bin just to write a vocabulary sheet. It was exhausting. There were bigger fish to be had like singing, dancing, writing a good story, playing the guitar, learning to rollerblade, and painting. They swam around my head and I just couldn’t keep up. After six years of pursuing one passion I realized others were passing by.

It wasn’t easy though to let go of “mental” comforts. Luxury is said to be owned by those whom can afford them, and college was supposed to support me with a Dream Job. A job that spared me from serving six hours a day for gas money. It was then that I had to ask myself if this was a worthwhile career and the answer was obviously No. I didn’t want to be the person that others called over for more gravy. I wanted to give people interesting things to talk about. I couldn’t do that without first knowing what captured my attention. Everything around me was still blurry. I realized if it took some time to clear my perspective then, for the moment, serving was justifiable.

Time can be defended but it cannot be saved. In the beginning the days rushed over me and I did nothing. I stayed in bed telling myself that I could do things later. What happens then is the bigger fish migrate and someone else reaps the benefits. Happiness I’ve learned is something that has to be seized in the moment, but the moment never comes if one is too lazy to reach out. So I grabbed the edge of the bed and pulled myself out…(To Be Continued).