This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 12; the twelfth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.
When my dad said no, I recollected the day when me and John first met. Fathers. They think they have every reason to deprive their children of happiness. John was sipping his espresso when I slipped near his table. “Don’t even think about it” shouted my father, “I’d better see you unmarried”. I said it’s John or none other.
John helped me get up and gave me a handkerchief to clean my bleeding nose. The white handkerchief, the symbol for John’s purity only to be stained by my blood. The blood which my parents gave me. I said, thank you but John insisted that I should have some coffee with him. He stretched his muscular arms and I held to them, till today. That night when we both jumped onto his bed and kissed I could still taste the espresso. The sharp bristles of his moustache kissed me a million times on my cheek. I could taste his bitter lips, and the little coffee bubbles stuck to the roof of his mouth erupted. Our tongues interlocked, with their feeble wet surfaces trying to douse the flames of our passion. I hugged him tightly, his warm breath slowly soothing my shoulders. Tiny droplets of sweat found their way out, just like those water droplets precipitate in those intense chemistry experiments. For one moment, we were the perfect unity, the right combination of the five elements and the senses.
I am gay. John’s gay. There’s nothing wrong in accepting that. Many of the life’s worst truths can be overlooked by accepting them just like the fears. Just like death, sorrow and misery. I never liked Dolores at school nor did I like Clemence in college. In fact I never liked a girl in my life. But my dad says I should marry one. Who? I asked. Slap.
John and I never went to those long walks in the parks or to the seaside. John said that love’s a feeling that shouldn’t be displayed. Anyway we couldn’t possibly kiss outside a restaurant just like those young couples do. I told my dad that I was gay. Slap. In a dad’s opinion the son is always wrong. You can’t be gay as I’m not. I wanted to tell him that homosexuality isn’t something related to the genes. Slap. What did I do? I loved a man and I have something that I shouldn’t have had in the first place. I wish I was a girl. I was one at heart anyway. Every Sunday when we made out at John’s place, once he was Jeanette and the next time we swapped turns. Passion with a P. One night, John gave me a bouquet, and asked me to marry him. Marry?.
That evening Dad asked me, when are you going to marry?
I told him, it’s not when but it’s who.
Slap, you know the answer.
John brought me an engagement ring, and he told me that he would wear the wedding gown. White and flowing. Just like his handkerchief, just like his heart. He didn’t get on his knees. I was shaving and he just asked, with the ring in his palm. Pink Floyd and alcohol. John and the marriage. I cried, I cried because I cut my chin. I cried because I wasn’t a girl. I cried because I wanted to. John loved me. I’ll talk to your Dad. Thanks John!
Who are you? It was John. John who? Stop fucking around Dad. I’ll call the police.
The meeting ended in a disaster. John wouldn’t talk to me, I couldn’t talk to John. Because of who? Dad. I told him that it's John or none other.
You wanna this man? A man? I remember the nurse showing me your balls twenty four years back. What happened? You don’t want a girl? When in the world did you learn to love a boy? What about the church, the bible. Don't you want a happy life? Do you want to be outcast? It was on your mother’s dead body I’ve decided that I’d bring you up the way she dreamed. And on mine you will decide what you aspire.
And as for you, ‘Johnny’ who hasn’t got a John, stop fingering my son and get out on the streets. The next time it will be my Lupara inside your mouth. Get the fuck out of here.
Dad, dad, dad, dad, dad.
Why do men love women? Is it because they have something that men don’t have? I really don’t know. I love John for his heart and also for the carnal pleasures. Every other evening we made out. Our Viagra infested bodies had hard-ons for hours. We used to talk all night. Beer maketh a man. Beer maketh a life and beer maketh good sex. What didn’t we have? We had everything. But my Dad changed everything. John was admitted two days later at the city dispensary with both his hands broken and face bruised. His apartment was torched. My father was a man of his word. John left the city. For a year I didn’t hear a word about him. He simply vanished from the face of the earth. I asked my Dad to tell me where John was hiding. He asked me to marry a girl. I said yes, but he couldn’t find John and a girl for me.
Pain is a reminder of how sweet life is. And misery is its father. My left index finger, once long and slender is now only a stump. It could’ve been worse. I wouldn’t be man today if my left index finger didn’t come in my way that day. I understood what sacrifice meant, and I understood what pain meant too. John didn’t come back and I moved out of the house. What’s the use if you are living in a house with a total stranger? I prefer to live alone. John. I searched for John everywhere; I even lodged a missing complaint at the police station. But there was no trace of John. Who? I asked. Who I am I living for? And God didn’t answer.
The blonde woman in that red parka was bothering me since the past one hour. She smiled and she stared at me. Her golden locks of hair we scattered all over her back, making her jacket a beautiful canvas. I tried to ignore her, but I more I tried the more I was attracted to her. I asked myself several times in the past year. Should I live for John? No love is actually complete, so is mine but I just couldn’t accept that fact. I couldn’t forget John. The woman looked like a hooker, the type of one who prefers hit and run, and then infests you with deadly diseases beyond the doctor’s imagination. She got on my nerves; I turned back to Tom’s for another shot of rum.
One glass down.
Red parka. Fuck!
She came and sat beside me and asked for a shot of vodka. Girls.
“Can’t recognize me can you?”
“Where am I”
“You passed out mate, you are with me”
“Who are you?”
The girl started undressing. What?
“Look at me”
The girl lunged forward and kissed me hard. I cheap lipstick stank like rot. I pushed her aside, and looked at her carefully. There was something unmistakable about that voice.
“John, is it you?”
“It’s for you. It’s for our love.”
Slowly she slid her pants down her legs. Hair. Woman?
“It’s for us, it’s for your Dad, I wanted to make our life complete, look up Pete, I’m your John, no Joanne now. “
“My dad’s dead”
“He died two months ago John, he slipped in the bathroom”
I could see the pain in her eyes. A woman. Why do I want one? I loved John not Jeanette. I was Jeanette too. The mystic aura was missing around John. He looked pale, the breast implants only adding to the list of woes.
A tear rolled down her cheek.
“Pete, it’s been a year”
She kissed me. She kissed me harder.
“I’ve also got my vaginoplasty done".
“I’m a man no more”
There was a sense of nothingness inside me. What happened? Maybe my dad could explain. I could marry Jeanette but the John of the old times is long dead. I longed to see a reflection of him in Jeanette. The more I stared into her; more I was in a state of vacuum. Her hollow mouth, tried to make up for the loss. But I was like a heater that wouldn’t work. I wished that my dad didn’t exist. I wished that John and I shouldn’t have met. I wished and I wished. Only to know they won’t come true, ever again. A tear rolled down my cheek.
“I wish I was woman”.
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