Kareem (part 10 of 10)

Continued from Part 9

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Joe holds my hand.

“But Kareem… you have to quit it because I wanna be with you. And I can’t be with you and share you with other men”.

“I don’t know what to do. I wanna stop but I feel like I’m stuck”.

“We’ll figure it out. We’ll find another way for you to make money. There are other ways. You don’t have to live this life. Let me take care of you. No more lying”.

“I’m sorry for all the times I lied. I was just protecting you. I didn’t want you to know”.

“I know… It’s okay. I know everything now”, he says.

“We’ll figure it out, right?”, I ask him.

I really don’t know the answer. I want to believe we can.

He takes my hand. “We’ll figure it out. You have me”.

“I know I do”, I say.

We sit on the sofa with my head on his lap. We don’t talk. We sit silently through the night.

I’m so relieved that he wants to give us another shot. I feel safe, even if just for a night. Tonight, I don’t worry about the bills. About how I’m gonna manage. When I’m with him, I’m free from all that.

We slept on the sofa that night. Took off our shoes and got comfy. With a weird mix of love and doubt in the air. That feeling when you wanna believe something is possible… but you’re not sure how to get there.

Three weeks later, I think I have it all figured out.

I arrive to my apartment with a great smell coming from the kitchen. I walk in there and see Joe lookin so cute in the apron.

“Babyyy. What’re you doing?”, I ask.

“What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m devirginizing your oven! I know you’re stressed out cause of the exams. Just giving you a little treat”.

“Well, it smells great. I’ll be right back. I’m gonna go feed Bisi”.

“Don’t I get a kiss and a hug?”, he asks.

“I just dissected a frog. You sure you want that?”, I reply.

“No”.

“Okay then”. I blow him a kiss.

I go inside, feed Bisi then brush my teeth.

When I come back to the kitchen, I see Joe with a concerned look on his face.

“Babe what’s wrong?”, I ask.

Then I see what he’s holding in his hands. I come close to grab the book.

“Babe, don’t look through that”, I scream.

“All of these men? Four years worth of men”, he says.

He flips through the pages.

“December 1? On my birthday? How could you?”

I don’t know what to say.

“We talked about this. I’m done with all that”, I say.

He keeps flipping through the pages and lands on today’s date.

“Elie 12:30 pm Rawche. Is that where you were today?”.

“Baby, no! I wrote that a long time ago. Joe… it’s all in the past. You can’t be paranoid about this anymore. I’m done with it. I swear”.

I finally get a hold of that book and close it. I hug him as he cries.

“You have to believe me. You made a wonderful lunch. Let’s not ruin it”, I say.

He wipes his tears away.

“Okay”, he says.

I give him a kiss. “Okay”.

I take the book and throw it in the trash.

“There. Done”, I tell him. “I’ll pour us some wine”.

“Okay”, he says.

As I walk inside, I feel bad for making him feel the way he is now. For not trusting me. For always being paranoid. And I don’t blame him for it. I just wish he never thinks of that again. Never thinks of me that way again.

I go to my room to undress and get into something more comfortable.

I open the closet door and hang the jeans I just took off.

As I close the closet, I heard a weird sound. Like something falling. I open the closet and see them lying there.

A couple hundred dollar bills.

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Thank you for reading this story. You’ve been amazing.

Follow me on Twitter or Facebook for new stories in the future.

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Special thanks to my amazing friend for taking the above pic of me. You being a ‘top’ and an ‘ass man’ came in very handy.

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Kareem (part 9 of 10)

Continued from Part 8

kareem 9

She instantly recognizes my voice.

“Kareem… Kareem…”, she turns around and sees me.

I walk towards her and hug her. I missed her smell.

“Happy birthday, mama”.

“Today’s my birthday?”, she asks.

“Yes. Didn’t you know? That’s why it’s such a nice weather outside. Because you hate the rain so much, don’t you?”

“Kifak? I missed you”, she tells me.

“I missed you too. Ana mnee7 mama. Meshta2lik ktir ktir”.

“How’s university? Kif AUB? You’re number one in the class, eh?”.

The nurse laughs. “Typical mother, isn’t she?”, she says.

“Sure is…”, I reply.

“It’s all great mama. Bisi misses you.”

“Bisi…”.

It takes her a second to remember her.

“Bisi…Bisi…habibti. Are you taking care of her?”.

“Yes, mama. Don’t worry about her”, I assure her.

I love how she’s remembering stuff. How she’s lucid.

Then she asks: “How’s your dad?”.

I look at the nurse. We’re both thinking the same thing. We lost her.

“Mama… dad’s gone. He’s been gone for ten years. Remember?”

She looks away… at the window. Confused. Then she remembers what she did when he died. To herself. To us.

“He’s gone. You’re right. I shot myself…but I didn’t die…”.

She looks at me. It all came back to her.

“I’m sorry”, she holds my hand.

“It’s okay. I’m alright”. I wipe the tears off her face and smile at her. “Now let’s eat some cake”.

On my way back home, I think of how my life would have been different.

What if my dad didn’t die when I was so young? What if my mother had coped with his death? What if I wasn’t forced to look after myself since I was a teenager? Would things have been different? But isn’t it such a waste of time wondering “what if”?

I feel empowered after the visit to my mother. People might not like my choices but they’re my choices. I did what I have to do to survive and I have no shame about it. I owe Joe the truth. But if he can’t understand why I am who I am… it’s not on me.

I call him for the 15th time. No reply.

I send him a message. “Please answer your phone. We need to talk. I’ll tell you everything”.

I call after 5 minutes. He picks up.

“Hi…”, I say.

He doesn’t answer.

“Kifak?”.

No answer. But I know he’s listening.

“Can you meet me at my place in an hour?”, I ask him.

I can hear him breathing on the phone.

He hangs up. I take his silence as a sign of confirmation.

I go and get ready for him to come.

I wait for three hours. He’s not showing up. Was I a fool to expect him to come?

Then I hear knocking on the door.

My heart drops… I run to the door and open it.

“Thank you for coming”, I say.

“I’ve been walking around the block for two hours. Trying to decide whether to go up or not”, he says.

“I’m glad you did”.

He enters and sits on the chair. The chair means I’m not off the hook yet.

I grab a chair and sit next to him.

I start off by saying: “There’s a reason why you haven’t met my mom and dad. When my dad died when I was a kid, my mom couldn’t take it. She tried to commit suicide. She didn’t die but in many ways she did”.

Joe leans closer to me.

I continue: “She wasn’t able to take care of me so I lived with my aunt for a couple of years. I was left with nothing. I was all I got. Well, I had Bisi, but she couldn’t exactly pay for med school”.

I point at things around the house. “This… my house… AUB… my bed… what I’m wearing… it was all possible because I do what I do. This is how I survive”.

“But…”, he says. “You lied to me this entire time”.

“I couldn’t let you in. Because if I let you in, I might have to change. And Joe… I can’t change. I’m working hard to be a doctor. That’s my dream”.

“But we can’t be together if you don’t quit this”, he asks.

“I can’t quit it now.”

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Read The Finale here.

Follow me on Twitter or Facebook to get updated on the latest parts.

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Best & Worst Gay Tweets from TwitterWorld

You’re allowed to say anything on Twitter and offend anyone you want. But once in a while, I type in “Beirut gay” or “Arab gay” in the search box on Twitter and come across some ignorant-ass folks. It’s not all bad though… I also see some great Lebanese tweeps who support the gay community.

Let’s start with the good.

There’s @Im_Lebanese with her funny tweet about gay marriage in Lebanon:

I AM LEB

Also saw this old tweet by Lebanese poet and journalist Joumana Haddad (@Joumana333).

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I agree with Joumana. If 5% of closeted public figures in Lebanon were to come out, my grandmother would have a heart attack on the spot.

And now for the bad. The REALLY bad. Tweets that make you go “I’m too sober for this intolerance”. Never ceases to amaze me how, for so many ignorant people, “gay” is synonymous with “bad”.

Congrats @ThatOneHippy, @boulaVB3, @SafiiMostafa and @Mrs_Fitzz for making it on the worst list! Hope you do better.

adderallcharbel safi

eman

On another note, why is Arab Idol so hated? Oh cruel cruel world, what has sexy Hassan El Shafei and his mini mohawk done to deserve so much hate?!?!

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I Fucked Him

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I know what you must be thinking.

When you talk to your friend at the club, I know what you’re telling him.

“I fucked him”.

You think you’re macho because you fucked me.

That you’re THE MAN because you were a “top”.

Truth is I enjoyed it.

You were a great top.

You fucked me real good. So good that I shat on your bed. But that’s another post.

Just because you were the “top” doesn’t mean you fucked me. I fucked you too. Fucking is both ways. Some fuck with their cocks. Some with their holes. Doesn’t mean I lost my masculinity. Doesn’t mean you get bragging rights. Bottoms shall not be looked down upon.

“Look at that shit. I fucked that ass”.

Ummm…calm down.

I fucked that dick.

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Gays Win Big at the Social Media Awards

So…awesome news:

Yours truly is nominated for Blog of the Year and Best Personal Blog at this year’s Social Media Awards. If you wanna vote for me, that would be so cool of you.

I’m also very happy that my gay buddies have received nominations as well:

Homos Libnani for Best Personal Blog and Best Lifestyle Blog
Lebanese LGBT Monitor for Best News Blog
“I LUV U BUT” Series for Most Engaging Youtube Channel

The LGBTQ community IS an integral part of the Lebanese community. The homos ARE active on social media channels. The gays DESERVE to be represented at the Social Media Awards. And this is what the Awards are giving: recognition. That’s why I named this blog post “Gays Win Big at the Social Media Awards”. It’s not a prophecy. We’ve already won.

Big thank you goes out to the judges who rooted for us and made these nominations possible.

Now vote for your fucking gays and help us represent.

Vote here: http://www.smabeirut.com

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Le Pénis Enorme

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Size matters.

In the gay world, size matters. The bigger, apparently, the better.

Which I totally disagree with.

The worst sexual encounters of my life have all been with big guys. Not big. Like big big. (Though what’s “big” for me might be “average” for you, and what’s “enormous” for me might be “big” for you).

Some big guys are so proud of their tool that they think that’s all they have to offer in bed. They just pull their pants down, lay there and wait for you to service them. To play with it, suck it, ride that thing. They think it’s every gay guy’s dream to have an extremely huge dick in their mouth. Like all my life I’ve been waiting for this moment! For that big huge dick of yours. Well, fuck no, that doesn’t work for me. That’s all you have to bring to the table? A big dong?

I can go on and on about the big guys I’ve been with. Bad. So fucking bad.

I unzipped this guy once and dude… it wasn’t a dick. It was a fucking tree branch. My dick was a fig compared to his. It wouldn’t move. It was so thick that it took two hands to operate it and a mouth opened wider than during a trip to the dentist to suck it. Torture. Like if you fuck that dick, it’ll tickle your throat. I knew it when I saw it that he would be bad. And he was. He couldn’t suck me worth a damn. I’ve had mosquitoes sucking on me better than that.

The last straw? I was on top of him and he pushed my dick away when I told him I was about to cum. That was it. I put my pants on and gave him a piece of my mind.

Smaller guys try harder. It’s true.

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I Love PC

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Going to PC has become a ritual.

Each month…or every 3 weeks…there’s a new PC party with a new theme. Now I could give less shits about the theme (some recent ones were: Wonderland, Paparazzi and Celebrities, Phantoms of Comics, Pacific Cay), but what’s cool is that each time there’s a new location! From the Estral Theater (Hamra) and the Roger Mourkarzel Studio (Karantina) to the open-air Solea V in Sin El Fil, these locations keep things fresh!

The music is awesome. Mostly pop and commercial dance music. Unlike CUNXTSAT‘s monotonous house music that makes you wanna shoot yourself after the first 15 minutes, the music at PC Party allows you to get in the mood when you’re paying for your ticket. Yep, it’s kind of expensive if you think about it (50,000 Liras or $33) but for a party that’s well-organized, fun, wild, and with an open-bar, it’s worth paying that much every month.

The last PC-s have been epic for me and my friends. I’ve been taking my straight best friend with me and she’s getting lucky more than I am, even though I’m the one getting half-naked 30 minutes into the party! So that tells you something about the crowd: it’s not totally gay and it’s not totally straight. Straight girls can get lucky, and 17 year old hormonal straight guys can get the over-the-jeans action they dream of. And gay guys…oh those gay guys…can kiss three…four…five?…guys in one night. Blame it on the alcohol. Blame it on the music. Blame it on the sweat. It’s a sexy free-for-all.

People take their dressing up so seriously at PC…which I LOVE. It’s something that’s missing from the rest of the parties and clubs in Lebanon. It’s not about showing off the latest Aishti shirt you bought, the latest iPhone, or the latest nose job. It’s about putting on a show. Dressing up for the occasion. Having an outlet to express yourself. It’s not about showing off (when you wanna show off, you go to Bardo). PC is about showing your true colors and losing yourself in the music. A good party is about not remembering what you did the next day and have your friends remind you who you kissed. It’s about looking at your clothes and shoes the next day and think “How the FUCK did I get so dirty?”. In that sense, PC is a great party

Say what you want. It’s dirty. It’s sweaty. It’s animalistic. And it’s REAL.

Check out PC’s page here and meet me at their next event :).

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Simple Truth, Pathetic Lies

Below is a guest piece written by Zeus DreamCaster. Thanks for sharing your thoughts man. =)

What do you think about what Zeus is saying? Have you ever lied to yourself and tried to justify your homosexuality or sexual identity?

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This time I have an opinion about as issue that I am sure very few had talked about it before. But I found out the best way to say it is through a short story.

Once, I had a gay friend of mine who was telling me how much he cried in the church during the mass. According to him, the way he felt when he was inside made him realize that he should change his life (Pathetic Lie # 1), stop having gay relationships (Pathetic Lie #2), deactivate his Manjam and Grindr (Pathetic Lie # 3), and last but not least, silence his gay instinct (Pathetic Lie # 4). As a close friend, I supported him, approved the decisions he had made, and helped him reach his target.

For my surprise, and only few weeks after this happened, he was telling me about how desperate he is to have sex with a guy (Truth # 1), and that he is seriously thinking about having a sex partner (Truth # 2). Again, as a close friend, I told him to think about it very well before taking any serious decision that he might regret later on.

When I think about this story now, I do not feel but sadness and pity for that friend.

Some people wonder why Lebanese gays are “mafsoumin”, but they do not know how much pathetic they are. The pathetic lies they tell to themselves after listening to lectures done by their priest, or cheikh, or teacher. Besides, the way they try to analyze their personalities and project their decisions is much more pathetic.

What they need and what we all need is to come to terms with our true selves. Just look in the mirror and tell the person you see that you accept him as he is. No one is a saint, and no one is a devil. How do you want people to stop judging you, if you judge yourself first? God will never judge you! According to all religions, God has chosen human beings, among all other species, to be blessed with his love and care. Thus, why do you want to complicate your life? You are the ultimate creation of this world, act like it!

You want to have sex? Just do it. You don’t like Lebanese gays? Stop dating them. People just be true to yourselves before wasting people’s time with your pathetic lies and facts. Stop hiding behind your fingers thinking that you can deceive the sun.

Humans, by nature, have physical needs. So satisfy them, and act normal about it. Don’t dramatize and make a huge fuss out of it. Discover the source of your needs, so that you can overcome them.

Years ago, I had sexual relationships with several guys, and I used to come back home, cry and shower for hours thinking this will cleanse my sins. However, with time I realized that my sins are present only in my mind. I was afraid to see my truth. I was afraid to discover that I was weak and afraid. That I need anything, which was sex at that time, to bring me closer to a man. Interestingly, when I came to terms with myself, I understood my fears and overcame them. I did not have sex for like four years after this.

To cut a long story short, I want to conclude with a quote for Budda. He said, “Peace comes from within. Do not seek it without.”

Search for your inner peace by yourself. Believe me, no one cares whether you find it or not. Do it and save yourself from the rotten apocalypse awaiting us.

Written by Zeus DreamCaster

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4 letters. 2 vowels. 2 consonants.

Sunday afternoon. In bed. Tryin to sleep. It’s become a ritual. I think about u. About us. Dreamin about running into you at a club. You’ll be sitting there bored with him. And I’ll be dancing. The life of the party. Dancing around you. Showing you I’m OK. I’m alive. I’m alright. That’s how I usually fall asleep. Not today. Today I have to write this down. I want you. I want us. Back. I’m fuckin demented and I know it. We’re bad for each other. A ticking time bomb. A nuclear explosion waiting to happen. I miss u. I’ve missed u for years. I miss u introducing me to your friend. “This is my BF”. Fuck yeah, I’m into labels. Fuck yeah, I’m traditional. I haven’t cried in years. Years. I’m fuckin tough. On the exterior. Ex. Terior. Funny. But as I sit in bed now with nothing but my thoughts and Frank Ocean’s Thinkin Bout You playin, I find my eyes tearin up. You’re the only one. The only thing. That makes me cry. You’re so bad for me and I know it. You’re bad. And I love that. I don’t want your roses and kisses. I want you to slap me. To hit me in the stomach. To bang my head into the wall. Push me down the stairs. And then apologize for it. And tell me how much you love me. Kiss the bruise on my face. Taste my tears. And tell me how much you love me. Then fuck me. Right there on the stairs. While I cry. While you cry. Right there on the stairs. Stained with blood, tears and cum. That’s what I want. That’s what puts me to sleep at night. Dump him. I donno who he is. I don’t wanna know. Dump him. You know no one has ever hated you the way I do. And you know that’s love. Why do you keep talkin to me. You say you wanna be friends. You say you just wanna talk. Friends. But I know you know I can’t handle it. I know you see it in my eyes. In my words. Dump him. He can’t handle u. I can’t either. But I’ll die trying. Your name. Four letters. 2 vowels. 2 consonants. My weakness. My obsession. You’re not worth it. I know. But when I see “Four letters 2 vowels 2 consonants” sent you a message on Facebook or “Four letters 2 vowels 2 consonants” is talking on Whatsapp… my heart starts beating. I feel something. Somethin I didn’t feel that day. I feel alive. You’re no good. And I’m no good. But I’ve had good. I’ve had the nice boyfriend. The sweet boyfriend. Who sang me Happy Birthday in bed. I wish you can do the same. Be the same. Have some compassion. Show me some love. I guess people never change. I sure haven’t changed. I’m still an asshole. Judgmental. Don’t give you the chance to speak. To justify yourself. I’m sensitive. Emotional. And I scream when I’m mad. I push you away. I’m an asshole. And an asshole like me needs an asshole like you. Dump him. Leave him. And call me up. Say “I realized I want to give us a shot”. Say “I realized I love you”. Say “You’re the one. It’s you. It’s always been you”. Say that. I’m a catch. I’m a fuckin catch. With a beautiful pink asshole. Have you seen my Facebook pics? I’m adorable. I’m hot. I’m cute. The pics I upload just for you. To get your attention. And they do. I know they do. You’re a coward. You donno what you want. And I hate that about you. So why can’t I stop thinkin about u? Maybe I want what I can’t have. Maybe I’m a masochist. Not maybe. For sure. Come on. Let’s go back together. Let us slow dance. Forget all the things that tore us apart. That keep tearing us apart. Let’s pretend that I’m not immature. Let’s pretend that you don’t believe in heaven and hell. Let’s drive at 200 km/hr on the coast. The wind blowin my hat away. Your hand massaging my neck. Let’s kiss in the cemetery. Our first kiss. A sign of bad things to come. Let’s pretend. And take it from there. Reality’s not for us. In reality, we won’t work out. Let’s pretend we’re made for each other. Fake it till we make it. Pretend you love me. I know you’ll remember how to if you just gave it a shot. If you just pretended. If you tasted it one more time. Ate it. No one swallowed it like you did. Fed on it. Put it on his lips and worshipped it. Then lied next to me and said: “You’re an angel”. But angels can be bad too. Devils like you do it good. Fallen angels like me do it better. We’ve seen both sides. The purity of heaven. The wrath of hell. You’ve only seen one, so let me tell you. Heaven’s overrated. I want you to live in hell. With me. The blood. The sweat. The tears. The bruises. The cum. The scars. The scars of life. Of love. Open your mouth. Take a breath as if it’s your last. And swallow.