Wandering

Wandering

As I wander though life, and often too, (and through Facebook), I find myself in clubs, or in photographic memories of clubs I have once been present, or never at all…

I see sexy papi chulos, sexy go-go boys, and I wonder…

Why are they doing that…What do their parents think? What does their community think? Am I their community—a gay latino, if so, then I am in full support and love! Or am I, as a Latino himself striving for better representation of me, is this shameful, or is it sexy?

I wonder then, maybe it does not matter what this go-go boy is in relationship to the community, he is doing his job….

I wonder if his parents are proud, if they are in shame, if they are in touch, or indifferent…what is the sequence of events that causes this interaction of me looking directly at their tanned flesh in soft, thin, underwear-speedos-thongs-jockstraps….

Is this really just a job, like any other….?

What then does this job mean to me?

Am I supposed to want to become him, hot and sexy and slim and brown and beautiful with tattoos and pricings and sexy underwear?

Am I supposed to sleep with him—do anything to get his number, get a kiss, get a chance to bend him over and make him cum into sheer pleasure as I dominate him with skill and power—generosity and love…?

Am I supposed to feel shame because I do not look like him?

Am I supposed to feel inferior because I am not him, not with him, or even like him?

Am I supposed to feel superior because I probably will never have to do that kind of work—is that work deeming, stupid, hard, sad, slutty, the lowest of our culture…?

Am I better than him? Does it matter?

Why then is he on a pedestal, on billboards, in magazines, why does he represent me—he doesn’t really look anything like me… but there he is….

Does he represent me?

What is my story? What is his?

Sexy latino “papi” – papification – this is something which needs to be explored….

But why, its so sexy, so lustful, why challenged or critically analyze a beautiful thing?

He’s hurt; he confuse; I feel sorry for him….who is he, what is his story, what is this expressing…

Penis lust….

This is not art, this is basically pornography, basic scopeophilia, imagination—objectification and hyper-sexualization on a real living being…its sad and scary in this way….

I wander past the go-go boy, and I wish him love and luck.

I do not want to be you, be like you—but I do want to be your friend.

I do not want you to dance sexy, all around me, I want you to tell me your story, dance your story for me…I do not want to be aroused, I want to be stimulated.

Please, dance with me, not in front of me.

And I wander, past, back into the streets, into the shadows of the sun…as if I never even existed….