Humiliation Train

You’ve had doubts for a while and he lies at first but he’s been unfaithful and when you confront him, your man admits everything. Everyone apparently knows and he suggests that you don’t get involved in his affairs. He has needs that you can’t satisfy and dismisses the issue like you wouldn’t understand. It’s your fault for asking questions and he leaves to meet with his friends before the argument turns to a break-up.

At this moment, you don’t want any visitors but his friends show up at your door without him. They heard about the fight and make it up to you by taking their turn railing you hard and tirelessly while the others wait in line. Your welfare doesn't matter to them but it’s too late. Now that you know what they do when they socialize, you take them all, and when your man comes back home, you tell him everything that has just happened. His friends have left and that does not sit with him lightly but seeing as he’s the caboose, he comes at your rear, pulls down his pants and starts pumping for his load inside your steam engine.

Sonar Silverstud 8P Agent of Fortune

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Sonar, Storyteller

Every story needs a beginning. It can be an introduction or a simple warm up for what follows. Fourth grade is when I realised that I had completed that first part of my story.

We were asked who we wanted to be when we grew up, and while my classmates wanted to be police officers and lawyers, I was trying to understand how they figured that out. What do people that are happy do for a living?

One day in class, we were assigned to compose an original story with structure and denouement, and I wondered if I had what it took to be a good author. There is magic in stories, crafted by wordsmiths, and having recently stumbled upon a folktale I loved, I had reread its entirety in one sitting. The story was The Wishing-Table, the Gold-Ass, and the Cudgel in the Shack by the Brothers Grimm and had been as arousing as I had remembered. Tischlein deck dich, Goldesel und Knüppel aus dem Sack.

We had half a day and I wanted to come up with a fantastic tale of my own. People could be animals and lessons would be learned through experience; if only I could find a story worth sharing. How do authors do it?

Surely, writing about my pet, weekend or any of the other topics we had brainstormed on the chalkboard earlier would have filled the hundred words requirement but none were as exciting as the surprising element that would only divulge itself by previous actions.

There was a story I wanted to tell and each word seemed to come with a sentence and a meaning. I constructed every paragraph ahead of the other and ink filled the pages of my notebook, but it wasn’t a composition of my own. It was in fact the story of someone else, with a table, a donkey and a cudgel in the shack but as expressed by me.

I was always the quiet boy in my class and never asked for much but when I raised my hand for permission to keep writing through recess, the teacher said yes. Perfectly aware it was plagiarism that I was committing, I couldn’t stop. See, I had a reader and a story worth sharing that ignited a flame inside.

Was the houses round in the Grimm's story, because they were to me. Were there four clouds in the sky, because that is how many I could count when I looked up. The details were vivid, almost exaggerated in my mind and they didn’t stop until the end. This must be what it feels like to be an author, I thought.

In the end, there were twenty two pages and I remember my teacher taking me out of the classroom with my notebook in hand a few days after, trying to choose her words amidst a distinct excitement. “You came up with this?”

My very first storytelling experience was on paper. I’ve always been shy and sort of introverted but that never meant that I didn’t have anything to say. There’s something about storytelling that is explosive, uninterrupted. Oh, her disappointment when I admitted the violation. I lost my grade but I was proud of myself for achieving a spark. Judging from her reaction, half a day hadn’t been enough for anyone in the class. What is in a grade, and what could I achieve would I apply myself again?

To conclude, a feel good moment that makes it perfectly acceptable to smile in the inside. “The most beautiful moments are usually followed by a spark, and those found within are by far my favorite.”

Sonar Silverstud

8P Agent of Fortune

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Sonar, Tomboy

I can’t remember a time not being gay and for the first part of my life, thought that everyone was until we hit purbety and start looking at the opposite gender to have babies with. We only know ourselves and I assumed we all go through the same things. When the rest of the guys in my class started crushing on girls, I was glad to be too. It was a sign of maturity, I thought, because men married women and I had been expecting the change.

My attraction for guys didn’t fade though and seemed to evolve much faster than with the opposite gender. In fact, I seemed to have more in common with girls but didn’t feel like kissing them as much as wanting to spend recess jumping rope and listen to the gush over the popular boys. I assumed that it was normal because that’s just how I felt. Others didn’t talk about it but I wasn’t either; up until people started calling me gay and a homo. I didn’t know what it meant but it was said often and not in a nice way.

Being gay annotated terribly, like a criminal, and no one came to my defence so it must have been true. Mama and Papa didn’t call me gay though, or maybe they didn’t know what it meant either, and I certainly wouldn’t want them too. I didn’t know what to ask or what to expect from them; which is part of the burdening feeling that a middle child fosters. One thing was for sure, I didn’t want them to worry because no matter what a homo was, I would live by the values they instilled. Call me a pioneer or blame my astrological fire sign; I set out to find answers for myself.

I eventually asked one of my bullies directly because evidently, I was not getting it. Surely he could tell me more about queers and fags and why I needed to be reminded every other day.

“It means that you like guys and that you want to suck dicks.”

Who I want to kiss was the problem? That was indeed very confusing because the answer was yes, I do like guys. None of them felt that way? I couldn’t be the only one if there was a term but it seemed to be the grossest thing ever to him. Not only was I gay and a homo, I was a piece of disgusting thrash. If a social chameleon is not hereditary, although a certain disposition surely is, that’s when it started or evolved.

I had to be in class with the rest of my class, recess and get in line with them, compete and graded against and usually picked last at sports. I set my pride aside and learned the art of adaptation. What could have Mama and Papa done? I wasn’t so sure I wanted them to know about my sexuality and a few of the girls that were either incredibly pretty and smart or especially athletic had me thinking sometimes. Maybe that was it? Boys though, made me feel shy and nervous all the time and simply thinking about holding their hands had me gushing like a schoolgirl.

About once per season, I pretended to be sick so we could all enjoy a break from me; myself included. I skipped school and stayed in my room for an entire day of reading romance novels and playing electronic games. A beautiful day to remind myself that I was not confused.

Have you ever felt out of place #Porcupine? Internally, I was struggling to figure how to become the adult that was expected from me despite these challenges. A perfect life with a loving husband to kiss and raise kids with; that was the goal. If only I could figure out what was so wrong about being gay? Was it because I wouldn’t bare him children? My thought process kept going in circles until I recognised the girl trapped inside. Who I associated as, my insecurities and more importantly, my desires. Then one day on television, a guy talking about transitioning and using the words that I struggled with. Hearing them from someone else was incredibly validating and something changed. The problem had a solution that I could plan towards so I thought it through and eventually told Papa that I was having a sex change. I was excited for everything to become normal for everybody.

Thanks Papa Heart for this lesson in time even though I only got more questions. I was grateful even if I was confrontational.

“Are you sure that you will be more understood?” He opened the window and we glanced into the future. I would learn how to do that but first I needed to learn about assimilation and conformity. “People tend to judge what they don’t understand and you will be different to the eyes of the majority. I did have expectations for others. Papa was right and was having a thought provoking conversation with his young middle child.

More importantly he asked me what was so wrong about being a boy; and when he said boy, I understood someone that could become a man one day. The window to the future. “Are you certain that you are equipped to make that decision? What makes you in such a hurry that you need to make a choice? Okay you think about it a bit and if you're still convinced and want to know more, then we’ll find a specialist? Only fools don’t change their minds.” One of his favourite quotes.

The permanence resonated differently this time, and much louder like it came from the past. Where does insecurities originate from? Assimilation and conformity? Does a need for validation hold us back? When had it become important for everyone to be more like Endorsing and stop in their day to cater to my ego? Was it because Happy and Liberated are seen for who they are and I wanted to be too?

We don’t always get what we want the way that we think we should. Some privileges are not mine to have. I haven't questioned my gender since and vowed to become one determined virile and provocative man like the ones gracing the cover of romance novels, strong enough to save my life as well as the my loved ones, and mature into the kind of guy that is described in the women's health magazine I read at the doctors office to one day look at these social barriers straight in the eyes and say, "Shall we dance?"

As a blond? Charming, I love it.

Sonar Silverstud

8P Agent of Fortune

He/him

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