Transgender woman finds Jesus and becomes man. People lose their shit.

Antoine is a Lebanese guy who, for the past couple of years, was living his life as a transgender female called Tino.

But on February 26, Antoine took to his Facebook page to denounce transsexuality and publicly declare that with the help of religion, he is now a man.

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In the post, Antoine mentions that he was sexually molested as a child, lost his father at four years old, and could never understand why he felt uncomfortable with his body. He underwent plastic surgery, let his hair grow, and “drowned in an illusion”.

But it all changed when Antoine met a woman who told him: “Only Jesus can save you and erase everything”. He started reading the Bible and realized that it was wrong to change his looks and become a woman. Now he’s a “reborn person” filled with happiness, thanks to Jesus.

That’s when people collectively lost their shit.

Straight people and gay people.

Christians and atheists.

2-year-olds and 74-year-olds who involuntarily lost their shit 5 minutes before reading Antoine’s testimony, voluntarily lost their shit after reading it.

Stephanie is crying so hard she might be the reason why Beirut streets clog up whenever it drizzles.

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Ramy. Just. CAN’T.

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Pamela has so much respect for Antoine that she hashtagged it.

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David lost his shit. But he kept it short and sweet.

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Joyce found the perfect answer to “Can I get an Amen?”

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Amal can’t be tamed. She tells the Christian gays they shouldn’t fall in love with boys.

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Then there’s Joy.

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People lost their shit. And Antoine listened.

He thanked his supporters but also asked them to pray for gays, lesbians, freaks, and porn addicts.

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But it’s not all love.

Yara doesn’t get it.

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Translation: “He went from being a cocksucker with a wig to a cocksucker without a wig?”

 

Adib thinks it’s sad.

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Fuck gender. Elie lost his shit over bad English.

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Mark thinks Antoine is “sickening”. And not in a “YASSSS, bitch, werk” kind of way.

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Khaled is not having it. He even brings pedophile priests into this.

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Noora agrees. She’s afraid Antoine’s rebirth might encourage homophobia.

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In a 2011 interview with The Daily Star, Antoine identified as a woman.

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He teared up when remembering his childhood abuse.

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He wanted to live as a woman.

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The above picture is how I remember Antoine as “Tino”. I would be at Bardo and Bjork’s “Crystalline” song would come on… which only meant one thing. At any moment, “Tino” would jump on one of the tables with her sexy black mini dress and dance. And although that song is utterly horrible, I would look at her in amazement. It was inspiring how confident and free she was.

Back then, Tino would get hate from straight people and gay people. And today, as a he, he’s receiving hate from gay people. And maybe that’s the whole point.

But who knows?

Maybe Antoine is a woman who is repressing her true identity just to conform. Maybe Antoine really did find Jesus and now identifies as a man. Or maybe we should all just stop losing our shit whenever people choose a gender that’ll help them sleep better at night.

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Want more posts you can love, hate, or jerk off to?

There’s the good: 4AM

The bad: Groundhog Gay (NSFW)

The miserable: My Epic Grindr Fails

The borderline tragic: Black Sabbath

And the posts you write when you’re intoxicated: The ex of your ex is your next top

 

 

Grindr top gay escorting tool in Lebanon. Uncircumcised men profiting the most.

Grindr used to be the best place to look for a quick fuck.

Now it’s the best place to look for a quick buck.

Cue the famous dollar sign smartly hidden in this guy’s nickname.

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All I see is signs    $ $

All I see is dollar signs    $ $ $ $ $ $

What was once an app full of faceless torsos is now flooded with prostitutes.

But in the Lebanese gay scene, we call them “escorts”.

“Escorts” just sounds classier!

Hide your kids. Hide the guy you’ve been dating for four days but you call “boyfriend”.

They. Are. Everywhere!

There’s the top escort at a local restaurant…

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The bottom escort…

The versatile escort… (They get paid the most because they are multi-skilled)

The “caps lock, exclamation mark, extra T escort”: ESCORTTTT!!!!!! (Beware of those. They’re feisty little ones and have nothing to lose. Chat with caution.)

However…

In Grindr’s competitive market equilibrium, supply equals demand.

For every sex worker… there’s a “payer”.

What starts out as an innocent conversation at 10:52 pm turns into a nightmare.

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You didn’t reply? No worries!🙂

He. WILL. FIND. YOU.

And he will say it again!

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Metel el sha3ra el bayda. You block one… five others appear.

And if you’re the proud owner of a juicy Lebanese uncircumcised cock, it’s your lucky payday!

Nevermind the haters who discriminated against you and called you “dirty” and “unhygienic” all these years. YOU’LL be the one laughing all the way to the bank with that foreskin of yours.

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Hear that, mom? What the FUCK were you thinking when you listened to that Abouna?!

And in Lebanon, we love sharing.

We share our land. So we must share our clientele. It’s only fair…

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(Translation: “I have to go to Ekhir-Ma3ammar-Rabna and I need a ride! Plus, I’ll pay you 250,000 Liras if you help me double penetrate this dude!”)

You read it right.

250,000 Liras!

Eh Ma3o 7a22. Lesh ma menshajji3 el 3emleh el wataniyye?!

And so what if he’s getting paid $200 but is putting some money aside OUT OF YOUR SHARE to pay for his Grindr subscription? If that’s not smart, I don’t know what is.

Ba3d kel hal shee…you might ask me: “Tab shou kelmit elyom?”

Allow me to answer:

“WLIK MAFHEMTEEHA?

MA SARLEH SE3A 3AM BE7KE!!!

KHALAS 2OOLEEHA!!!!”

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DA3ARAAAAAAAAA😛

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This post is in no way anti-escort or anti-big spender. Get your money. Get your dick. I’m just pissed that I’ve been giving away my ass for free all these years.

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The One with the Cockring

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Baby girl, I have nothing to say to him.

So I’m writing these words for you.

Your fiancé fucks guys on the side.

He’s been telling you you’re the main course, but you’re just the appetizer.

On the bright side, he had nothing but nice things to say about you. And you looked very beautiful in that engagement picture he showed me. You seemed happy, holding that bouquet, imagining what your life would look like.

Little do you know he gets his dick sucked every twice in a while.

“I’m getting married soon”, he said nonchalantly after coming on my chest.

I didn’t see that one coming, nor his cock ring.

“Ah, cool. Congrats!”, I replied. You know, cause I’m so open-minded and cool and all that.

Truthfully, it’s not cool at all, and no “Congratulations” is in order. In fact, it’s a “El 3awad bi slemtik” kind of situation.

Every day you spend married to him is a sad occasion.

Every time he skips family dinner and heads to his private office, we’ll mourn your innocence.

Every time you smell a different perfume on his shirt and think he changed his scent, a piece of your soul gets chipped away.

All because he would do anything to conform. Even ruining someone else’s life along the way.

El 3awad bi slemtik.

The Audition

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How was the handshake?

Was it as firm as you like it to be?

When you first heard my voice, what did you think?

Effeminate? Manly? In-between?

Am I short? Tall? Is a 3-inch difference okay?

Am I your type? What you were hoping? Or do you not recognize me without the Instagram filters?

The perfume. A good choice? Momma always said you can never go wrong with CK.

What about the teeth? I ran out of whitening gel. Can you tell?

Do I put two elbows on the table in this fancy restaurant? I didn’t have time to tell you I was raised by wolves.

The nail-biting…

I know, I know. It’s awful.

But I remembered what you did for a living. “Creative Director”, yeah? Does that score me some points?

Do I laugh too loud? I did the pig snort. Were you embarrassed?

I excuse myself to go to the bathroom but pay the check instead.

Is it working?

Am I going home with you tonight?

Or is there a better prospect at 11 PM?

Our cheeks touch as we say goodbye.

Did you feel it? A skipped heartbeat. A hard on in the making.

Did you see it? A one-night stand? Two, tops?

Will there be another rendezvous? A callback?

Do you want some time to think about it?

Check the roles you have available.

Starring role. Supporting role. Guest appearance.

Is this it?

Is there more?

Or am I just ending up on the cutting room floor?

All Desperate. No Housewife.

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You came here to fuck me. Don’t you forget that.

You’re the best sex of my life, and you’re very sweet. But a heart emoticon on Whatsapp is the closest thing we’ll be to lovers.

I’ve never been this comfortable with a guy before, and nothing you do seems to turn me off. Not even when you tell me you’ve fucked that pop star.

But there’s no time to catch feelings.

Let’s keep it simple.

You’re a phone call and a lube bottle away.

Why risk screwing things up?

We’re in my bedroom. Chest to chest. Slow dancing to Del Rey. And it hits me: “this boy is falling”.

I feel bad, until you’re inside me. I honestly wouldn’t have it any other way.

Maybe in an alternate universe we’re seeing where this goes. But right here, right now… is not a normal situation.

The door’s locked and my parents are in the other room. Don’t you forget that.

You’re the best. And I mean it.

You’re my boy. Just not the only one.

Plus, let’s be honest… you don’t make it easy to fall for you. You’re still new to this thing, and you won’t even add me on Facebook.

It would never work, and 8AM traffic is the only drama I can handle right now.

I promise I’ll wake up next to you. But I can’t promise you’ll be the one I leave with on a Friday night.

Now, put your heart aside and wear your cock on your sleeve instead. We’ve only got 20 minutes.

Dirty sheets and condom wrappers on the floor. That’s the only altar we’ll ever walk on.

Black Sabbath

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Church bells. White flowers.
He wears a suit that we picked together.

Shaky hands. A nervous laugh.
He has an ominous look only I can decipher.

A fake smile. A last-minute cigarette.
He’s burning the 5-year pages we came to regret.

Loud honks. A fancy limousine.
He replays our memories scene by scene.

A father walking down the aisle. A blushing bride.
He’s searching for my familiar face on the groom’s side.

“We are gathered here today”. “For richer or for poorer”.
He can’t tell. Is this a wedding or a funeral?

Jesus on every wall. Matching rings.
He stares at her but looks at his everything.

The crowd is silent. The moment of truth.
His heart says no, but his lips say “I do”.

One final goodbye. One last handshake.
He’s convinced tradition is better than heartbreak.

“Mabrouk 3arees”. “3a2belak habibi”.
He’s the one that never was and never will be.

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My incognito friend, thanks for making the visuals come to life.

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NSFW: طيابك يا صبي

Sitting on the ledge of the roof.
My legs wrapped around your waist.
The wolves are howling.
Beirut is silent.
That’s our now.

Smoke in the sky.
Stars in our eyes.
Beit Mery in our lungs.
Liquid in our courage.
Tomorrow is but an option.

Two dollars in our pockets.
A thousand possibilities.
One shot.
No repeats.
The clock says 12:20 am. And that’s where it stops.

“Can we stay here all night?”.
“Only if you…”.
A whisper in my left ear.
A moan begging for mercy.
There’s no pill involved. But this is ecstasy.

All the years we sinned.
All the shadows we chased.
If I die right now,
I would have lived.

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