Format transposed from Cypher Ave’s Twitter account.
Many, many years ago in a city far, far away at Black Gay Pride in Atlanta…YES this is a true story.
In no way am I passing judgment but I just wasn’t down with the gay sexcapades in the mini mansion. These kats were cool but not my type.
I don’t mind letting my freak flag fly but I keep it at half-mast until the time is right. These kats grew up together; they have history.
Their boyhood homosexual curiosities and flings evolved into adulthood closeted flings.
I aint mad though; props to them for at least having an outlet. Which is more than I had growing up.
The mini mansion belonged to my roommate’s “out of town” parents. As they humped around; I drank good brandy and looked at TV.
Far from bored, I was turn’t up. I was impressed with the large house owned by a successful prominent Black family.
The other humpees in the other rooms also had parents who were senior executives at large Fortune 500 corporations.
The parents of these young blk men (getting their freak on) net worth was in the multi-millions. Having met many of them, I was inspired.
Still kinda new to Atlanta GA; as a young Black gay man in this space, I felt the career possibilities were endless.
Well…If these families only knew their boys Cliff was sucking Melvin while Kenny and James jacked off, while looking. How did I know?
I stepped away from the big screen TV from time to time to look but I didn’t touch. You know my snobbish freak flag and all.
About two hours later it was time to hit the town. It was Saturday night in ATL and good times were to be had.
Kenny was gay-gay and was heading off to meet his friends and get his pride on.
It was only 8pm. That meant stopping at the Power liquor store by Bankhead and heading downtown.
Dugan’s on Ponce was the creep spot. Plenty of DL kats postin up in a Str8 environment biding their time until the gay clubs opened up.
The bathroom is where the successful DL dudes would leave their business cards looking for “dates.”
Yeah, my local native friends were teaching my naïve bumpkin ass all the tricks of the trade.
When the Long Islands had kick’d in, the club cruising begins. We HAD to go by Tracks – where the GA Aquarium now stands.
Ride past Club Bulldogs, to see the long line of brothers lining the sidewalk on Peachtree St waiting to get in the small packed bar.
Parking lot pimpin behind The Varsity by Club Apache. Riding down Cypress St. where the male prostitutes would flash for cash.
Then to Tradewinds by Underground ATL. Where I found out Countess Vaughn was bisexual.
Due to her openly holding hands and kissing a butch lesbian and all.
Yep, my gay DL college educated rich dude clique had hipped me to all the gay spots downtown. I learned a lot.
This story is how I learned not to ride with club hoppers on the prowl. Drive your own damn car so you can leave when you want.
Horney muthafuckas on the prowl got ulterior motives and if you’re not careful, you can get caught up in their sex pursuits.
This is the case with my roommate Cliff. He was a pretty boy wannabe Kappa type ni@@a whose parents give him everything.
He stayed on that E&J red cup turn’t up. Triple Six Mafia, Outkast, Goodie Mob, E40. Truth though, this ni@@a knew how to party.
When them college girls break at 8pm, he hunting for dikk until 3am. No hate from me. I was his wing man…but he STAY getting caught up.
Caught up in one way or another. I promise you, b4 this night in question, this kat has run outta gas at least 4 times since I’d known him.
Who the f**k just runs outta fukin gas every 3 months while driving?
This particular night though was live…OMG! I got a past that I’m not proud of. Learn better to do better. I wasn’t always a saint like now.
Keep in mind I hadn’t fully disconnected from the streets of my past. Almost though…but not at that particular time.
The squad I rolled with was all about appearances and being unclockable. They had to maintain the exterior.
Because of whom their families were and the positions they held.
Because we were all masculine our flow seemed to fit. However, masculinity DOES NOT negate gay messiness.
One of their stomping grounds was a straight white leaning club. Frat bros and hoes. The squad knew how to play the “game.”
Chillin with white dudes from Ga Tech. Let me set the image…Four attractive, educated and inviting Black men…
3 with “money” (excluding myself), feeling and smelling themselves, full of testosterone…looking.
On this night, we rollin in two “newer” (at that time) Ford Explorers (bought by parent’s money) up to the “white” club.
My squad knew sometimes, these straight white dudes who were brave on liquor would explore their gay sides.
Not known to me, a different type of victim had already been marked by my squad outside the club.
A sloppy drunk out of town white dude agreed (really) for us to give him a ride to his hotel. My gawd his was wasted.
Apparently this tactic was used by my companions to get heteroflexable frat bros to engage in homo activities due to liquor being an excuse.
Not in this case. Once he was in the truck, my criminal mind (again I’ve grown) at the urging of the James, we rolled that muthafucka.
YES, I feel bad even typing this. But karma will get my (our) asses in the end.
I get in the back seat and push McDrunkskins to one side and proceeded to reach in his back pocket and take his wallet.
Once in my possession, we promptly pulled up to the next side walk and pushed said drunkard out and drove off.
Blowing the horn and laughing all the way as he began to vomit on the side walk. Smh.
Drinking, smoking and high-five’n to our new found wealth, we decided to hit up a staple food spot; IHop in downtown ATL off Ponce.
During munchies time, Cliff gets a “what’s up” booty call on his flip phone & breaks camp. The Ford Explorer caravan has now split up.
Cliff’s childhood homeboy (Melvin) now has to ride with me and James. Cool, Melvin is cool as shyt.
Out of all the squad members, he would be the most likely for me to get down with sexually.
30 mins later Melvin gets a call. It’s Cliff and he has ran outta gas. Seriously muthafucka!
Didn’t you know you were going to be driving this evening? After all the numerous gas stations we passed on the way down here?
Ok ni@@a where you at? We on our way. About 15 mins later, Cliff called back.
“Naw hold up. Two fine kats who I thought were yall said they’re gonna help me out. Imma call yall back.”
I’m scratching my head. NOTE* This is what took place while we were on our way to rescue Cliff.
While Cliff was waiting for us to get there, he spots a Ford Explorer driving towards him. Thinking it’s us, he flashes his lights.
The Explorer stops but it’s not us but two different kats.
They agree to push him to the gas station but told him they would be right back.
By this time in our misadventures James stopped at the famous strip club Magic City. Chillin near the extended the parking lot.
Yes this is a straight strip club, but again, this is Atlanta. Heteroflexable men are everywhere. We parking lot pimpin.
Cliff calls back. “Yo these 2 dudes I just met are gonna push me to the Chevron station. They gotta pick up their homeboy first.”
What? Flag on the play my ni@@a! The trap is being set.
Now keep in mind “push” means, they’re gonna push Cliff’s truck with their truck…not by hand.
Ok, cool. The Chevron is right down the street from Magic City.
We get to this muthafukin Chevron. James, Melvin and myself…in Ford Explorer A. Cliff is at the pump…in his Ford Explorer B.
Cliff’s new friends, two kats around our age and a peculiar looking “older” gentleman in the back seat, were in Ford Explorer C.
YES…Ford Explorers were popular as shyt back then before and around the time of the Firestone tire issues. Look it up.
Drunken cackles between us and them were had as we clowned Cliff’s dumb ass for yet again running out of gas. Really ni@@a?
Yo these two dudes were sexy as hell. Cliff wasn’t lying.
Out of the corner of my eye, one of the “them” glides into the back seat of their white truck. My ghetto “Spidey Sense” tingled.
A long black barrel of a shotgun emerged followed by the dude holding it. A loud mechanical sound of “chick-chick” and he cocked it.
The cocking of the shotgun silenced the banter. As its slowly aimed towards my chest…Terrified! My mind said “oh shyt.”
My country ghetto Louisiana (on my father’s side) instincts kicked in.
When in trouble and being chased by an alligator, snake or bumble bee…you run zig-zag in a Z-formation because they can only go straight.
LIES! Snakes and bumble bees can zig-zag and chase your ass. Alligators can’t though.
Nonetheless this works fine for muthafuckas with guns too. It’s hard for them to aim and get a good shot off.
Not waiting to feel the buck shots like Ricky in Boys in the Hood; the wind was hitting my face.
I heard a distant voice from the gun holder behind me say “where you goin ni@@a?”
I’m thinking “Muthafucka I’m running from you, you asshole!”
In what seemed like 1.5 seconds there was at least 80 yards between me, that gun and that f**king Chevron gas station.
I was Gold Medal at the Olympics fast that night.
I turned around and was witnessing the scene. I didn’t want to see any member of the squad get shot.
With guns to their faces, the squad was giving up wallets, cell phones and keys.
Why hadn’t they run when they saw the first gun?
Was it because these rich dudes had not experienced ghetto, gangs, getting jumped, or shots fired before?
Three trucks needed three drivers. Back when my roommate flashed them mistaking them for us. He told them…
“Yo my bad, I thought yall was my homeboys coming to help me out. They got an Explorer too.”
The two would be carjackers knew they needed a third wheel man to make the set-up complete.
They went and picked up a homeless looking man and I’m sure promised him cash/food/drugs, etc. if he was to drive one of the jacked trucks.
Watching the scene from a distance, after the keys, wallets and phones were taken, all three trucks speed off in procession.
Once I saw the last pair of red tail lights turn the corner, I ran back over to the group. Cliff was the most shaken and upset.
I knew he felt like this was all his fault….in some ways it was. People do bad things. We had just robbed a man a couple of hours b4.
Instant Karma Muthafuckas…
Cliff goes into the gas station and calls the police. The attendants had witnessed everything. shyt was crazy and I was in awe.
Minutes later numerous police show up along with a helicopter overhead.
We told them the details and while some officers speed off in the direction of the jackers, some stayed behind to get statements.
Less than 10 minutes later, popo had found the two trucks. The jackers drove them to the housing projects, less than 2 blocks away…
And parked them in a parking lot surrounded by other vehicles. Obviously these dudes had done this before.
Silver Linings. My person and belongings were intact. The trucks were recovered and towed away. Yeah the squad had to tell their parents.
Truck keys and ignitions had to be recalibrated. Credit cards cancelled and house locks changed.
But no one got blasted. No open or closed caskets. We were all very safe and fortunate.
Looking back, I had no idea at the time this was be an important Life Lesson.
In the coming months my life drastically shifted. I moved out into my own apartment. No more roommates.
I stopped hanging with all them dudes. Not just the squad present that night but ALL of the squad (it was about 9 kats total).
I couldn’t tell you where any of them are right now. Writing this does make me wonder. Only a little bit.
Not only did I quit them cold turkey but it also was the steps leading me to quit the “lifestyle.”
I didn’t want to come to Atlanta and become a Black male or Black Gay male statistic. I wanted more for myself.
I isolated myself; I cocooned and begin to metamorphosis and evolve.
I used that opportunity to transform myself and journey down the road to becoming a real man.