TELL

TELL S2E1 - My Body - Episode Transcript

Drae Campbell: From the corporate infrastructure [strum] [laughter] [TELL THEME SONG]

[MUSIC BED] DC: Hi, I’m Drae Campbell and this is TELL -- a podcast where queer people tell queer stories. For the past 8 years I’ve been hosting and curating a night of live storytelling at BGSQD -- a queer bookstore in Manhattan. I created this podcast to share those stories with the world, and after a brief hiatus, or long and, sort of, on-going pandemic as you know, we’re finally back for season two.

DC: I’ve been hosting our monthly live storytelling show both on zoom, for the most part, and a few in person, and we have a lot of stories to share. Just so you know these stories were recorded at all different times and places and throughout the quarantine, pre-vax, post-vax, and everything in between.

DC: So, if you need a dose of queer community, or just wanna hear great stories told by the people who lived them, you’ve come to the right place. So bake up your sourdough and strap on your head phones, ‘cause TELL is queering the narrative and telling our stories, on our terms.

[FADE OUT TELL THEME SONG]

[MUSIC: Funky, guitar]

DC: Each episode of TELL features three stories that center around a theme and the theme of this episode is… [echo] MY BODY. Bodies are relatable in the sense that everybody has one, and each body has its own story.

DC: First we’re going to hear from Carla Gaskins-Nathan. Carla is a Black, queer, and genderqueer consultant, educator, healing artist, and artist. I’m so grateful to share Carla’s story with you. This story is about identity, your body, being Black, being queer, and all of the things that those identities hold. This story was recorded in July of 2020…

[FADE OUT MUSIC]

[CARLA GASKINS-NATHAN]
Carla Gaskins-Nathan: Thank y'all. It's great to be here, and thank you so much, Drae. So, I wrote something for y'all. Originally, I was going to do a story about the first time getting worked on in class, so I'm a bodyworker, so I'm going to share a tiny bit about that because I think it's important because it leads into the story I'm going to read for you. So in massage school, some of the things that I also teach now at the massage school or warn students about this that folks forget about is while you're like, “Yo, I'm good with my hands.” You also have to be vulnerable and receive work. And one of the big pieces of learning is receiving work not only from your classmates, but also volunteering and receiving from the teacher. So it's not uncommon for a teacher to go, "Hey, I need a body today." And one of my beginning classes at the beginning of the program, I was like, "Bet son, I'm game, I'll be the body." But what didn't click for me was that that meant that my body, and the parts that that instructor was going to be demonstrating on that day, would then be viewed, and not just viewed like "Oh, I see your back" or "I see the side handles, the love handles'' like, viewed, they're staring at it because they are learning techniques for an hour. So, you know, I go in the changing room, I go to get changed, and in the room. I'm like, "Oh shit, what did I just volunteer for?" So I get instructed to undress to my level of comfort, but was really told I need to undress and only leave on my underwear, come out in a towel in a fluorescent classroom, get on this table and have a classroom full of strangers watch me receive work. Looking at my arms, looking at my back, looking at my hips. And it was a lot. I realized as I started that story for you all, there was a deeper story to tell. So I've decided to weave stories together about this Black body.

CGN: The ongoing policing of this Black body. The world is filled with unsolicited advice givers, those they give their two cents. When you haven't even asked for change, it doesn't matter to them that I have on headphones, which clearly say, "Yo son, don't talk to me." It doesn't matter what I'm wearing. If I'm alone or with people, they feel verbally free to verbally vomit their ignorance and hatred whenever, wherever and however they choose. For some, I think it's racism. Melanin envy, fatphobia, transphobia, queerphobia, or combination platter of jackassery. But I think of my mother, and I find myself grateful for the talk. Really, the series of talks that took place during my childhood. I hadn't even started kindergarten when we had our first talk about this Black body. She sat me down to tell me about its worth and my ownership of it. Over the years, she shared very little, though, about her body. I know in my spirit that my mother did these talks from a place of deep knowing of what people do or will try to do to Black bodies, especially Black, female-identified or perceived bodies. She taught me that no one gets to touch this Black body. That it is mine and mine alone. She taught me to say no. She also stressed covering it that not a certain area shouldn't be seen and how I was expected to sit with crossed legs. While every message wasn't perfect, I understood as best I could. I was instructed to not to be alone with men or boys. When possible, I was always expected to stay in sight. I could tell that she was fearful for this Black body when it was out of her sight. As I got old enough to play outside on my own. I was always required to be in view of our Brooklyn apartment. Luckily, it was a corner apartment, allowing me just a little bit more freedom. Seeing was important to her, not being able to be seen was punishable. No closed doors with friends over ever. If at any time she looked out that window and couldn't see me, trouble. I had to be in the house by the time the streetlights came on or, trouble.

CGN: Another talk was about this Black body and in all its beauty and strength that it wouldn't be valued by men. "You, Carla, are Black. Not everyone is going to see you like we do. You have to be careful. White people won't see you like we do." My mother's from the south, and one of the few stories that she shared with me about her body was about her and her sister being chased as young girls in the country, not far from where they lived, by a white man. She shared that they feared for their lives. They ran fast and hard as they could. But at one point, they came to a barbed wire fence with no other choice for safety but to go over it. She showed me the scar, pressed just how serious I was to take her warnings. And I did. I internalized that fear within my bones, along with the intergenerational trauma of being a Black girl. By fifth grade, I had curves and was told disgusting things like "you developing well." Eventually, I grow into a baby gay teen, not sure of my identity. Knowing deep inside that the daddy's little girl that I was raised to be wasn't me. Maybe I was somewhere in this gray space between the son told me they were trying to have, and the girl that they thought they had raised. We fought about this Black body countless times. About what it can wear, how long it had to rock it's hair, and so on. By high school, I had the freedom to make my look a little more gender neutral. Except for the forced dress ups on picture day and special occasions. Baggy jeans, sneakers, sweaters, button-down t shirts and shorts. I'd sneak into my parents' room and dab a little bit of my dad's cologne or use his Old Spice. I borrowed clothes for my nephew, two years my junior, who always had the freshest boys clothes that came out. In young adulthood, I tried my best to hide this Black body. It now had curves, full breasts, hips and thick thighs. It was catcalled, groped, grabbed, stared at and more. There wasn't the language that there is now. So I decided to hide it. Baggy guy clothes looking like I jacked my older brother's outfit that I didn't have. Oversized everything trying to hide these girl parts. When I came out as lesbian, people just told me I was butch. I felt like I only had two choices butch or femme, but neither of them felt like the right place. No matter, butch was what people saw me as and they treated me accordingly. My frustrations grew with my breasts and my curves. Many of my other gay friends could just wear clothes marketed to guys and have things to just lay right. One friend could even wear boys' clothes and could pass sometimes. I found myself jealous. Shirts that were wide enough to hide these hips were way too baggy, with sleeves too long. I had to shop at the big girl store, a.k.a. Lane Bryant, trying to find the least girly thing. Damn, why is everything bedazzled, flared, lacey, or in some weird, bright color? Even buying sneakers got harder. When the 90s fell in love with pastel and bright colored everything, I just wanted primary colors. I envied my male cousin who looked like my dad and my uncle -- tall, slim with hazel eyes. Instead, I was short, thick, with a super girly figure that was getting harder and harder to hide. Slowly, I replaced all the women's underwear with men's underwear. I'd get strange looks in the men's underwear section, trying to decide between boxers and briefs and oh! Boxer briefs. Perfect. I had to hide the men's undershirt, the underwear from my mom. I even bought my own Old Spice, hid that too.

CGN: Once I was on my own, things got a little easier, though I remembered when I was living in a youth shelter -- I got kicked out after coming out, but that's a totally different story for a totally different day. But anyways, one of the male staff pulled my laundry out of the dryer for a while and I feel violated. He had touched my underwear. He saw my boy underwear that no one knew about. It was out now, my secret. Well, at least that's how it felt. Otherwise, no one else knew the internal struggle that I kept to myself. The short haircut was chopped up to the gay, but the other things that I couldn't name were my secret. I tried, but I never could really fully lean into this butch thing. I like my toenails painted. I'm not handy, nor very sporty, and I just couldn't get with these binary gender roles. I'm not sure when my first butch friend came out as trans. I know I was living in Minneapolis at the time. It was known for having the first queer youth center in the country, District 202. I want a few times in high school, but after I graduated and was an AmeriCorps member, a few of my other fellow corps members were placed there. I began spending more and more time there to visit them, making up extra AmeriCorps hours. And that's where I met other young folks. They just did their thing, and more and more didn't find themselves packed neatly into these boxes. Over time, I identify more with being queer.

CGN: Throughout my 20s, I struggled with my gender identity, especially when it came to dating. I often found myself in these awkward-ass conversations, getting to know someone. Like 99% of the time, they'd assume I'm butch, and that came with a whole slew of assumptions about what my role should be and what I should do. Often when I was misgendered, I wouldn't even correct people. Depending on how "sir" was said, I liked it. The more often times than not, though, I'd get "ma'am, sir, I mean, whatever you are," which of course, would piss me off. I began to notice how uncomfortable people with me would get when I got misgendered with a "sir". Some people would correct them right away, saying, "She's a girl, she's a lady." They'd be hot, too when they said it. I remember a time when I was driving my parent's car as an adult with my father in the passenger seat. It was totally a driving while Black pullover situation in New Jersey. "Do you know why I pulled you over, sir?" My dad quickly snapped forgetting in that moment all the things he and my mother taught me about how to survive engaging with the cops. See, one of the things that often isn't talked about in this predominantly white cultured LGBTQI community is the difference in passing as male when you're Black. I didn't always pass, you know, because of those damn hips and the breasts. But, whenever I was driving, I passed. The passing that I longed for actually became a threat to this Black body, this Black life. I was very aware of it. Countless times I've been pulled over, accused of stealing my own car, as soon as I'd see those lights in the rearview, damn, I knew my place in that ram. As an officer would walk up to the glass, tap tap, I heard "Sir, whose car is this?" I'd reply, "it's mine." And they'd say, "No, it's not" followed by "Give me your license and your registration." They look at it hard. Look at me. Shine a flashlight in my face. Look at my ID again. Stare at me some more, then angrily say, "OK, ma'am," and make some bullshit up reason why they pulled me over in the first place. For my white queer friends that tried to pass or passed male, they gained white privilege. On the other hand, when I passed, I was met with more fear and different threats to this Black body.

CGN: It was years until being genderqueer was a space that I could really breathe into. For years, I struggled to decide on whether to undergo a series of medical procedures, start hormone therapy. The more I read, the more I talked to folks. It just became overwhelming. Then I had people left and right telling me that I was trans, but holding this very narrow definition then exists now. The only understanding of being non feminine lesbian was really limited binary to being butch, a stud or transitioning. Transitioning in the spaces that I was in focused on medical transitioning only, really pushing towards this really hyper masculine way of being. I began to understand transitioning wasn't for me. I supported friend after friend who started hormones, had top surgery, hysterectomies, and my spirit knew that that wasn't quite my path. So I found myself in this gray area. Hiding, binding, taping, compressing and more. As I shared from the beginning, I was taught to be very aware of my Blackness. A Brooklyn kid of a southern mom and an NYC bred dad with Caribbean heritage. There was never a question of loving Blackness. A huge piece though that was conflicting for this identity was that of being a Black woman. Being a Black woman to me as a spiritual political identity. Yet this gender identity felt like something else. It may not make sense to others, it doesn't need to make sense to anyone outside of this Black body, truth be told, the internal struggle of how could I be a Black woman but not really feel like a woman? Whatever that means? I have these parts, these features and the shape that society deems as female. Sometimes a lady, but always a boi with an "i". I just had to let it simmer for a while. Not easy, often painful, and tear-filled. Denied proper health care, purses grabbed, streets closed, doors pulled shut, car doors locked, and pullovers. Written up for not dressing professionally, even though I was dressed the same as the other male identified staff. Eroticized and fetishized because being with me didn't really make them gay.

CGN: By my late twenties, my gray hue found a name that felt right -- gender queer. But still, I wasn't sure what to do with this body. Internalized isms had created this vicious flavor that birthed a tongue that still plagued me at times. Never quite feeling trans enough, but this genderqueer space gave me new space, more room. The problem was the more I grew to love myself, the more the world told me I was not lovable. With more visibility came more feelings and more threats. Those same worries that my mother had, those worries about the harm that happens to Black bodies, even stronger now, as I embrace my truth. Even within my own community and family, this Black body was being policed, judged and at times threatened. This and more created the perfect opportunity for this body to suffer one of its greatest threats. The medical industrial complex this Black body got sick. So sick that I couldn't walk. At 30, I found myself having to stop working to care for it full time. Later to find out a rare type of migraines was beneath all of these life altering symptoms. This time, this Black, genderqueer body was in the hospital, unable to care for itself. Needing strangers to help me get dressed, strangers having to touch and help me put on this man's underwear. I had to build back up my strength to walk. I had to learn how to properly fall for safety when my Black body couldn't handle being upright. I felt my body betrayed me, and I felt like I had betrayed it. I found myself having to learn to really love it again on a whole new level. It then gave me permission to be like, "Fuck it." Now, in its forties, this Black genderqueer body, Black woman, Black boi with an "i" with she/they pronouns is out of this gray space. And this genderqueer space between the son that they wanted and the daddy's little girl that they raised, loving these curves, these breasts, these love handles, and these sexy-ass thunder thighs. Sometimes I do still have to catch myself in the mirror before letting something slip that's not loving. I touch that part and say, "I love you, Carla." And I mean it. Thank you.

[FADE UP MUSIC BED]

Audience: [woos, cheering, applause]

CGN: I’m glad I ripped that -- the 10-year Band-Aid has been ripped off for performing!

DC: Wow, that was…

Audience Member #1: Amazing

Audience Member #2: Amazing

DC: That was beautiful and amazing.

Audience Member #3: We Love you!

CGN: Aw, thank you.

DC: You can find Carla at carlanathan.com

DC: Next up, you’re about to hear a story from the amazing, iconic, legendary Becca Blackwell. Becca Blackwell is an NYC-based trans actor performer and writer who goes by they. And, I just want to say, you probably should send the children out of the room, unless you want to have a really interesting conversation. I’d also like to say that not all stories have beginnings, middles, and ends and that’s how we “queer the narrative”. This story was recorded in April of 2021…

[FADE OUT MUSIC BED]

[BECCA BLACKWELL]
Becca Blackwell: So when Dre asked me to do this, I thought it was a setup because I was like, “Why are you making a white man talk about bragging?” I was scared. I'm always scared. This is a brag. I'm terrified of performing. I've been doing it for 30 years and I still wanna – like if you were here with me right now, you can hear how clammy my hands are… and I'm by myself. So another brag. So I was just worried, like, “What can I brag about?” You know? Here's a humble brag I had a woman come up to me recently and go. "So why did you pick Becca?" Like, I was some sort of like straight cis guy that was like, "I'm not going to let those queers get all fancy on me. I'll keep this mustache, and I'll go by they, and I'll call myself Becca." [laughter] That’s my only way in. And I was like, "What else can I brag about?" I was looking around my room, I have two of my wisdom teeth. They keep me smart. I stole them when I was high off of the tray when they pulled them out. I was like, "What else? Oh yeah, I mean, my ex wanted a dog, and now I take care of it." I mean, that's that's a brag. I'm like, “What else can I brag about?” And then I was like, "I know, I know what I'll brag about." I got the sweetest looking pussy that you ever seen on a fucking top. And I was just like, "That's the most honest and deep thing that I could think about bragging." And this pussy, this pussy been with me since day one. I mean, she started out tiny. [laughter] She started out tiny. She was adopted. I took her from someone else. [laughter] No, no, just kidding. I like to give my body my story. Could you imagine? Me just walking around like, "I don't know what genitals to have. I know I'll adopt a genital. Because there are all these genitals needing homes! [laughter] I’m, I'm the genital missionary. I'm actually going out in the streets and I'm like, Where do these genitals need to live? There's genitals on the street. They're laying around, and there's genitals that don't agree with their person. Help! help!”

BB: So trigger warning, I'm going to be talking about junk all night, bragging, so my brag is my pussy. I didn't know I had such a good pussy. And as I got older and I decided -- because it was the 90s, I was like, "I'm a dyke!" So, people were interested in my pussy. When I had sex with penis-ed people, they were kind of like, you know, it didn't matter. They were more like, "Oh my God, you really are a red head." That's a lot of the comment I got about that. Apparently, people have not seen a real fire crotch, and it's something I see every day. So to me, it wasn't this unique experience. But every time I dropped trow, everyone was like, "Holy shit, wow, it's like super red." So the entrance way for her already was a brag. She's already got like this like kind of like orange shaggy carpet kind of already like "Wipe your feet and come in." So that's kind of her setup. But I started trying to do sex work, but I was terrible at it. Because again, I wanted to be like, you know, [slurping sounds] pussy -- but that's not actually not how you eat someone out. But I wasn't good at, humblebrag, I don't even know how to do it. Everyone's like, Where's the story going? I'm just trying to follow linearly. There is no linear. Why? Because I have a three-foot bong right next to me. Again, back to pussy. So my pussy being this cutie, this little orange cutie, I didn't know, I used to trim it down because I kind of like, that's how I was raised. It was the, the 90s. The porn I watched, that was the 70s and 80s porn because that was like what my formative years were. Back in the day, we had a cable box. I don't know if you guys are old enough to remember these, but there is like a box and it had a wire that went to the back of the TV, and there was ten numbers, one through ten, and then T, C and P. And they stood for television, cable and Pay-Per-View. And like C7 was like MTV. And I think like C3 was Nickelodeon, but P10 was the X-rated, you know [whistle], you know, this stuff. That porn was just like, [fast pounding sounds] I just remember as a child being like, "Oh, doesn't sound fun, but I'll jerk off and hump my, my animal." The first time I jerked off was by accident. I had a Luke Skywalker doll that was kind of similar to like, like a Ken doll, but it was a Luke Skywalker doll with a different wig on, and just kind of the same like mound. But his knee would bend and I was reaching over to grab Garfield, who fell off my bed. It was very particular story that was happening. And I reached over and I hit the knee, and the knee hit, you know, my little girl. I guess I didn't know what to call her back then. She was pearl. I don't know. She was just in the oyster making herself. And I reached over and rubbed up on that. And that's what I was like "What?" And I couldn't stop. Like, I was kind of holding on to Garfield down there, and then half my body was on the bed on Luke's knee. And I was just like, I'm never leaving my room.

BB: So then I moved on to other weird shit, like scalding hot water pressure just on my junk, you know, when you're a kid. That's it's from being scarred as a child, but kinda sometimes it's fine. Or like pools, you know, you stand next to them at the pool and they're just like, [jet sound]. But then you're basically giving yourself a weird like douche, like a pool douche. And that I wouldn't recommend. Moving forward from five-year-old snatch. Now we're into like teen, older teen, I'm-now-a-lesbian snatch. And it's being trimmed down. And I remember trying to do a heart once, but my pussy hair is like, kind of crazy. So it just looked like, you know, like a chia heart that just goes straight up, you know, no one really knows what it is, it's just like [laughter] huh? You know. I had really long hair too. So I was pretty like femme presenting and pretty. I didn't really feel femme, but I had that long hair because I was like, "I'm going to be an actress." You know, you can't be an actor with long hair, but you can be an actress. And so I came to New York and I was trying to be an actress. You couldn't do it. And I was like, "Oh, I gotta try to do sex work." Because I was trying to be a drug dealer, but New York is such a masculine town, so you couldn't do any of the things you did, I did before, like, you can't work in a kitchen if you have a vagina. I mean, now you can, it's a very different time, but in the 90s, it was not ideal. And I tried. I didn't want to be the Amelia Earhart of working in a kitchen in New York City at like Pita Cuisine that was on LaGuardia Street in 1994. But uh, so then I decided to do sex work, but again, I was terrible at it. And I was dating a lot of femmes and at the time they didn't go down on butches. So I didn't know how pretty my pussy was, really. I just knew the few times that someone put their penis inside of it that they were like "God damn, god damn, it's good, Jesus." And so I was just like, "Just leave the money and I got to go." So then moving forward, I started dating millennials and they just were like chomping on that shit. They were just, you know, they were like, "I'll call you whatever you want." You know? They're just a whole different breed of people, like they're so worried about everyone. They all have ulcers now because they're always like, "Are you OK? Am I hurting you?" But then they're also sitting in their home just being like, "It's not fair!" But then on the outside, they're very much like, "I really, really care about you." So I guess a humble brag, I’m not a millennial, I'm just some like, [laughter] I’m some old cooch that's always like, "Yeah, I went better in the 90s!"

BB: So I started having sex with millennials, and they started going down on me. And then that's when they were like, "Oh my God, you have like a playboy pussy." So I just remember I was sitting there, and it was taking a lot of me just being like, "Just receive, just receive, just receive." Because when you're a butch you're always like, "How can I help?" Like, you don't know how to relax, you know? And someone eating you out, you're always like, "Does this make me femme, [ha ha ha ha]" you know? And then it's all this weird internal stuff and you're just like, "[hah] I just want to be a normal man, but I hate men," you know? This is what happens when you're trying to get your pussy eaten when you're butch in the 90s and the early aughts, you're just like, "Help! Can't I just be a horny person and enjoy my partner?" No, you can't. No, you're going to carry all the pain from every woman person, and person of color, and the whole world into your sexual, because that's what lesbians do. They're like, "[sung] How can I help? I can't even enjoy myself." That's why they stop having sex at a certain point. And then they open up their relationship, but really they're just trying to find themselves. Anyway, I'm getting eaten out by millennials, and they're telling me I got this playboy pussy. And I'm just like, "Really, really? It's like a playboy…?" I can't believe it. Like, I'm almost mad that I can't see my own cunt. Like, I want to fuck a playboy pussy. So I'm just kind of mad, you know, like, almost like, there's times when I'm just sitting there with a mirror looking at, beating my own dildo against it, like "if you weren't mine, I'd bang you hard." You know, it's just really, it was challenging. And then, I kept this fuckin playboy pussy but then I started taking testosterone, and then something happened. I got me a big ole hook-nose of a clit. Like just like one that's like popping out of the fucking, you know, because I am Irish, man. Even my clit. I remember I had one girlfriend. She was down there doing everything she could. She was like, "Are you sure they didn't just, like, cut off your dick? Because the thing is so small." like she was trying to, she was trying to be like, "I think you're a man." And I was [laughter] like "I think you're a man and your dick is just the tiniest thing I've ever fucking seen." I think it was like her way of helping me deal with my gender issues. And I was just like, "Thanks for the help. Now I'll never come." So I started taking testosterone -- and testosterone, as, if you've seen any of my other shows, you know what it does? It turns you into a stupid ass, horny machine. Like, I started just being like, "Anyone!" So I got this hook nose of a fucking clit. Now I finally got this tiny wee. Now I finally have a normal, tiny, tiny wee, real Irish curse kind of guy. And it's still the pinkest little thing ever. Although I now have deflated labias, which is very common in trans men because I guess estrogen just keeps those labias plump. You know, just kind of like a nice, big, meaty curtain that's just like "And the show's about to begin!" But now mine are like, old duvetyn, just kinda stuck to the side [laughter]. But I still got the fuckin prettiest pink pussy in Brooklyn. Thank you, everybody!

[MUSIC BED]

Audience: [laughter, woos, cheering, applause]

Audience Member #1: "Oh, my God. Oh my God."

Audience Member #2: Go, Becca!

[crosstalk]

BB: Oh yeah, the theater geek joke, duvetyn!

DC: I left my body. I just left my body screaming with recognition.

BB: [Laughter] Now I got to find a fucking lighter.

DC [00:36:01] I can't. You were also, there were so many places that you went. You were Coco from fame for a second. Anybody remember?

BB: Yeah.

DC: Doing sex work, inadvertently where you're like “this is what I do? I got to get out of here.”

BB: I usually put ads in the back of the New York Press because they were free, and ads in the Village Voice at time were like five dollars or something. or like to get the call you had to, it was like, so bullshit. But there was a different clientele versus the New York Press versus the Voice.

DC: You didn't get that fancy Village Voice clientele.

BB: I got a lot of them that were like "me and my husband want to tie you up and turn you in" you know, and I also had this long hair, so everyone wanted me to play like, like, oh God, what was her name? Tilda Swinton in Orlando, like,

DC: Right. I think I knew you when you had long hair and now you’ve come full circle cause you have a lot of hair again.

BB: Well, it’s like, as you lose it you’re like, “One last time, kid.”

DC: I needed that laugh. That laugh was deep and real. It was just a stream of consciousness brilliance that I loved it. I could -- You need a show! Give it up for Becca Blackwell, everybody!

BB: Thank you!

DC: You can find Becca at BeccaBlackwell.com or on Instagram @theirishhorse

DC: For our third and final story, we’re gonna hear from Scotty Salame. Scotty Salame is a New York-based performer, Emmy nominated production designer, and visual artist. He goes by he. You know I love a good, old-fashioned, gay fuck story. And this is what that is. It’s boy meets boy. This story was recorded in November of 2021. Enjoy!

[SCOTTY SALAME]
Scotty Salame: Hi Everyone. [Audience: Hi!] All right, so my ADHD has been full swing today, so where this ticket is supposed to go, that might not be the destination we get to, but here we are. I brought some notes. I'm not going to look at them. My name is Scotty Salame. You may have seen that it looks like salami, but it's not salami. It's Salem. But if you remember Scotty Salami, that's fine. Coincidentally, this story takes place in Salem, Massachusetts. Yes, I did choose to go to college there because it was my last name. No, that was not the only reason it just happened to work out that way. I don't know if anyone has ever been to Salem, Massachusetts, before. OK. During Halloween? Yeah, right. That place is crazy. It is so much fun, but it attracts a lot of different people. And this story is about one of them and his name is Matt.

SS: So I lived in Salem for a long, long time, I went to school there, I worked downtown, I lived downtown. It was really, really fun and so I got to meet a lot of people. Matt, I met through his girlfriend, Aubrey. Now, Matt and Aubrey went -- I went to Salem State University -- they went to Gordon College. Which is, if you're unfamiliar, a very religious school. Aubrey’s mother was a prophet. Just to give you an idea of where we are with with these folks. You know, but they were both. They're both a little soft. You know, if, if, if, if it weren't 12 years ago when this story took place, they would just identify as a, you know, a queer couple in a heterosexual relationship. But at the time, they were straight. So it's Halloween. I had just met Aubrey through another crazy friend of mine, Audrey. We won't have to worry about the names, so it doesn't matter. And we were hanging out on Halloween. And then I meet her boyfriend, Matt. Whoa. He is beautiful. And this is, you know, when Drae was like, “This is the soft. We're going to be talking about soft stories.” I immediately thought of Matt. He had a soft voice. He had soft skin, his soft hair, his soft lips. We'll get to that. So we're hanging out, you know, and the moment I realized I had a little crush on this guy was when I'm talking with Audrey, who is not his girlfriend, and he comes running up from behind me, grabs my hand and we go skipping down the street. And I was like, “Oh, that's fun.” And his, his girlfriend yells, "Oh, he has a crush on you!" And I was like, "What is happening here?" You know, so we were friends for a long time, or we were all very kind of like flirtatious and everyone's just having a good time. And then they broke up. Ohhhhh. No, we don't care. Not, not to stigmatize anything, but Aubrey was crazy. So he was really better off without her. Maybe I'm biased. So anyway, we you know, we, we remain friends and I helped him through his breakup. [laughter] And no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. But yes, just wait. And you know, we like to say it and like smoke weed and just hang out and just do what friends and college like to do, which is sit and smoke weed and hang out. And so one day I'm getting ready for work and he sends me a message he goes "I'm out of weed. Do you have any weed?" I was like "Yeah I have weed, come over, I have to leave for work in like 15 minutes, but just like, come here, we'll smoke." So he does. And he makes he makes some comment. And I don't remember I was feeling real bold that day and I said, "All right, why don't you just take me to my bedroom and blow me about it." Without hesitation, this man grabs me by the front of my pants, drags me to my bedroom and gives me, what might be to this day, the best blowjob I've ever received. I still don't necessarily believe that he had not done that before, but he said he had not done that before. So I had to go to work. I don't even remember. I was like, “Hey, you know, I'd love to give back. I got to go to work. I'm literally my work uniform. I have to go. I am late.” I worked at a yacht club. They did not like when you were late. Before I left, he was like, "All right, why don't you come over after work?" I was like, "Yes, I don't give a shit. What I have to do later. Yes, I'm coming over after to work." He goes, "I just want to say I'm not comfortable with people playing with my butt, like, we're not going to do any anal play or anything." And I was like, "You know what? That's fine." because I've learned that outer course is just as important, if not more important, than intercourse. And so we didn't have to worry about that. And I was like, “Great, don't care. I just want to blow you again.” And so work day goes by. I don't even think I went home to shower or anything. I did not care. I drove right to that man's house, knocked on his damn door. He opens the door and goes, "I cleaned for you." [audience sounds] See, you all got it immediately. I look around his apartment like, "Did you? with what?" I literally said, that's not just me thinking that I said the words out loud and he lived in this pigsty, didn't change anything. And he goes, "No, I cleaned for you. I want you inside me." So, was at work maybe four and a half hours? It only took that long for him to fully change his mind on what we were going to do that night. I was like, "All right, great." So, we didn't waste any time. We went into his bedroom, and I have to explain how his bedroom was set up, so you get the next part of the story. When you walked in, you had to pass behind the back of the headboard to get in the room. It was like a bookcase headboard. So it's like the headboard created the entryway. We all there? OK. So we're making love, and I wouldn't even call it a fucking, we were making love. It was goddamn fucking passionate. Remember when I told you his lips were soft. They were soft. [exhales] Oh God, he's so beautiful. I can like, picture my head and I'm like, “Oh, I can't.” So, you know, we've been we've been hooking up for some time that night. I don't even, you know, the lights were off. It was hot. It was sweaty. His face down. I'm negative six and a half inches from him and I hear noise. I’m like, "That just sounded, like, there's a noise like something just I was out there" and he goes "Oh it was probably a cat" or "No, it wasn't anything" like just fuck you, fuck me. It was like, "Oh yeah, OK, sorry, we're doing it." And we're doing it and we're doing it, and then suddenly the lights come on in the room. Now I lift myself by putting my hand in the center of his (very soft and supple) back and lift myself up. And I am face to face with Aubrey, his ex-girlfriend, who broke into the apartment because she had been texting him all day to get some of her stuff and he was ignoring her because... well he was with me.

SS: This is burned into my brain. I will never forget it. She has a full view of what's going on. I've lifted myself up. She knows where everything is. And it must have been like two and a half seconds, but a year went by where we, we were staring into each other's eyes. She's like... [laughter] And I'm like... [laughter]. And she makes some sort of like [bah!] noise and shuts the light off. All right, I have to give her that. Thanks, girl. Shut the light off and like, scurries out of the apartment she just broke into -- the noise was her breaking a window to reach in to unlock the door. I told you, she cray. [laughter] So anyway, the lovely Matt lifts his head up out of the pillow, looks at me and goes, "What was that?" He had no idea what it just happened! I was like, "Nothing. Nothing." No, I-I I told him what happened. I told him it happened. I was like, "Uh, that was Aubrey." Fully expecting that to be the end of it. And he goes, "Welp," and just puts his face back down into the pillow. You know, it -- I only got to experience him a few more times before he, he had to move away. And we kept in contact for a little bit, but it was a very lustful time, but I might have been a little bit in love with him like, aw, I know. He was a genuinely good soul. And absolutely stunning. And his softness wasn't just his features, it was also his personality, it was his voice, it was the way he interacted with people. And I will always remember that. But I will always remember being caught by his ex-girlfriend fucking him in the ass. There's not much more I can say about this story, so I hope you guys enjoyed it. Thank you.

[FADE UP MUSIC BED]

DC: Scotty! Salame! Oh, my goodness, Yessssssss! Wow, that's why I love queer stories. I’m like… and we're back! We're back, baby! Oh, I needed that. I needed that. Thank you. Give it up for Scotty. I really loved that. I really loved it.

DC: You can find Scotty at Scotty Salame (that’s s-a-l-a-m-e) dot com.

DC: Thanks for tuning in… and queer folks, remember – If you don't tell your story, someone else will, so get out there and

Audience: TELL! QUEER! STORIES!

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[FADE UP TELL THEME]

DC: TELL is created, hosted and produced by me, Drae Campbell. The stories are recorded live, on zoom or on location at the Bureau of General Services Queer Division -- a pop and pop book shop and event space in the LGBTQ Center in Manhattan. Go say hi to Greg and Donny, who run BGSQD, and tell them we sent you, or follow them at B G S Q D.

DC: The TELL Podcast is produced by Emily Boghossian, recorded at BRIC House in Downtown Brooklyn by Zak Sherzad, Eric Haugesag, and Onel Mulet, and edited by Lauren Klein. Our theme songs were written and recorded by Drae Campbell and Peter Lettre. Charlie Hoxie and Kuye Youngblood are the wind beneath our wings.

DC: Remember to follow us on Spotify, rate and review us on Apple Podcasts, google us on google play, and slide into our DMs @tellqueerz or @draebiz on Instagram. That’s queers and biz with a “z”, obviously. And you know what if you like me specifically, check me out on DraeCampbell.com.

TELL is part of the BRIC family. For more information on this and all BRIC Radio podcasts, visit bric arts media dot org.

[END MUSIC]