This is an excerpt from “recollections of a racist white sissy” from SSSY BTCH #4. I’ve submitted this to another zine, but it is still being reviewed as a submission. If it does get published, I’ll link it on this blog. When SSSY BTCH #4 is out, it will be available for purchase through this blog.
excerpt from “recollections of a racist white sissy” from SSSY BTCH #4
I’m walking down the street late at night, a carved-out ginger bowl in my pocket and looking to bum a light, or at least get directions to a convenience store. I come upon two black people yelling at each other, clock them as queens, a swish fag & a fierce femme, both gesticulating and gesturing wildly. This fag catches me coming up in his peripheral and does a double-take.
Me: “Do you know where I can buy a lighter, or can I bum one off of you?”
He starts telling this lady to go home. He tells me in a flurry, “aww don’t buy one, come to my place, it’s right around the corner,” and he just shoos the lady away in the opposite direction. He whisks me back to his place, he procures a bic for me to use and is excited I have weed. It evens out the buzz of Tina, he claims, and would love to smoke with me. I decline many times, and we split a couple of bowls of weed. I help him with his butane torch. he tells me he studies mortuary science and that he doesn’t work a regular stint. “Everyone’s looking for sex. You just have to know the right places to look. People want to pay for service.”
I’m way excited about his morbid studies and ask if he’s performed Y-incisions.
“Yeah, just like this,” he explains as he traces his boney fingers across my ribs and down my stomach. “I like you just the way you are. I love white boys like you,” he coos as he compliments my brown corduroy cut offs, sleeveless plaid, thin frame, defined leg muscles, trimmed and relatively sparse body hair. I just changed out of my heels and a dress and fishnets and this was hella more comfortable. “You are perfect. People love the size of my cock. You will too.”
We chit-chat a bit more; I’m a bit sleepy and he’s rambling in a circular topsy-turvy speak. He’s very charming and keeps insisting he’s clean and has drive and Tina is just another thing in his life. He explains that the lady I saw earlier is his daughter and that she’s a female queen, and that even though she’s beautiful, he still has difficulties referring to his child as she because she was his son for a long time. “Everyone in my life turns into women – my child, boyfriends, every one.” I explain I do drag but don’t explain I’m trans. “Well yeah, I do too, tucking and all. But I’m a man.”
And here’s where the sinking feeling of not being truthful sets in, where I really feel like an object, when I am no longer able to utter a single word without considerable focus and determination.
We go at it, and sure enough, his cock is huge, the largest cisgendered cock I’ve swallowed. I am rock hard, which can be difficult in my life now-a-days depending on the day, and he starts sucking me. He starts tearing into my throat and is surprised I am keeping up. “White boys don’t last this long. I like you.” We go on for a while, and he reiterates again, “Don’t ever change. You are perfect the way you are. Your beautiful chest hair. Your long hair, your legs, your cute dick.” Shortly after, I finally muster the words “I need to go home.” He starts pumping harder. I bring it up again. He starts pressing his finger into my asshole and I can feel some pre-cum in my throat. I pull him out, sit up, and am adamant. “I’m going home to sleep.”
“Please, will you let me fuck you.”
“Not tonight. I leave town tomorrow.”
We exchange numbers. He asks me if he can have some weed. I feel oddly obliged and leave him nearly an eighth and don’t ask him for a cent.
I go to my friend’s home a block away and feel so shitty about being objectified as this boy and shitty for my racist objectification. I don’t even blow a load. The next day, he texts me all day asking “Why? Why are you doing this to me? Come back?”
I do my best to resist walking down the street to get some. My mom calls me during the day to tell me that a friend is in critical condition at home in Baltimore. A childhood friend, white, working-class, Irish-American, had been in a coma for a number of weeks. His heart condition was exasperated by hard drug use and other stress. If I want to see him, this is the time to come home. I walk in circles in DC trying to decide what to do and miss my bus back to Philly and don’t book a bus to Baltimore. I get blazed early that evening, pass out, and leave the city the following morning to go back to Philly…
-memory Summer 2012, DC
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…I will not embrace the strategy of “race play.” We are not conscious agents able to “play” with race. At times, my racist desire consumes my thoughts and flesh. I don’t know what to make of others fetishizing my race. The stakes are certainly different when a black man asserts subjecthood over my puny sissy white object-status. I refuse to initiate objectification on the basis of race and I often remain silent and fuck in complicity.
Everybody! Play! Reclaim shame! “Piss play,” “age play,” and “race play,” it’s all play! Do I belt out “I am what I am” and exalt the praises of s/m in negotiating my dangerous desires? How liberating! To center the racial segregation still well alive in Baltimore and the U.S. occupation of indigenous land in my sex life, to go deeper, to exalt being consumed and consuming race. What, is there some wormhole in this s/m “play” pit, that I’ll be more & more consciously anti-racist by vocalizing and acting on racist objectification as much as possible.
To call myself a sissy and chase BBC (big black cock), fulfill the pornographic role I see on the Internet, Craigslist, and porn shops, is comfortable racism under a thin veil of sexual liberation. As a white bottom, enacting privileged racist sex and desire in this formation is not anti-racist. I know I am racist. It is something else. A recognition of dynamics always at play in desire within capitalism is still commoditization. Why do I have a predisposition to fetishize black men but not black women? Growing up in Baltimore, watching a lot of Internet porn, I was disgusted at being turned on by racist plots and images. Radical feminists decry porn for its misogyny and sexism, its “violence to women,” yet they parse it from the reality of whose bodies are mostly consumed and commoditized: women of color. When will we discuss all the oppressive elements of certain types of pornography and objectification in a wider discourse, not just sexism and misogyny? When we understand objectification as an assault on spirit and the exchange of energy in an ecosystem, a hatred of animism and the autonomy of objects and materials, racist and sexual objectification is especially pernicious…
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I am told I am femme by others. Femme Conference 2012 requested drag queens to perform, and I do so, but I don’t see myself in any fellow performers backstage. I see possible futures for myself if I become a trans woman, and I share affinity with these women. I am a transvestite, a transsexual, a drag queen, a tranimal. I did not find my spirit in others there and seldom find it in femme events or caucuses. My femme artifice is often a sexual sub headspace, and other trans women aren’t on this beat at conferences.
I’m just trying to find other anti-racist white sissies who will talk about what haunts them. If any other POC sissies/faggot tops want to verbalize their oppressive desires and how they negotiate them – if any black tops want to – that’s great, but I don’t expect them to. It’s our responsibility as white sissies to at least bring this conversation out in the open in queer circles and be upfront about our racism. I want to find myself in other trans femmes.
White femmes, can we talk about racist desire and what to do about it? Can we tease out how the subconscious underpinnings of sexuality, even parts of our gender identities, are a psychological dumping ground for base oppressive fantasy? Black and POC femmes – I expect nothing from you and I thank you for reading this plea nonetheless. But maybe your warped desires intersect with mine too.
I’m lost as to what to do and I can’t work on this alone anymore.
-Voyager/Jo/Trapdoor is the author of SSSY BTCH. Email her at firstname.lastname@example.org or find her drag & zine interface at https://sssybtch.wordpress.com. He is exploring what it means to be Slavic-American, resides in Philadelphia, and has been told she’s a performance artist as Ruby L.L. Voyager. She guesses he is.
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