I’m Not a Lesbian, but I Played One In College

        Now that I have your attention… welcome. The taboo sentiments that circle around the topic of homosexuality are enough to make me torch the nearest discriminating heterosexual with rainbow gasoline. Seriously, no matter what you think of the topic ,no one civil right should be trumped by one’s disapproval of another’s civil rights. Point, Blank, Period!

        The title, obvious. I pulled a Katy Perry once in undergrad; I kissed a girl…and I liked it. One time, end of story. Nothing dramatic, nothing scandalous, just truth. What?!!! I went to a majority white college… girl on girl kissing is required in the student constitution to get your diploma…lol. So, should I be persecuted for a seemingly innocent homosexual act? Should I be banned from heaven because, in all actuality, I find the feminine form more attractive than that of a male’s but prefer the male’s over a woman’s? Or do I get a pass, the left blinded eye of justice, because I am a “redeemed” homosexual and I didn’t even send in $10.99 for a free healing prayer cloth? News flash, it is not the act that makes a person homosexual.

        I’ve never had sex with a woman, I just can’t picture myself ever taking it that far….so I’m a lesbian on paper…lol. I send in my dues every month at a gay pride rally but that is about it. But if you ask me how do I identify myself….you’ll never hear me say heterosexual. For that matter, you’ll never hear me say I’m homosexual. I just am. I stand in the middle, torn by what a part of me once experienced and what the rest of the world says is appropriate, all the while thinking that they could both exist harmoniously.

        Ignorance about homosexuality makes me cringe. I actually have a co-worker who once, while proclaiming his frustration over his son’s flying to New York from Florida to see his long distance girlfriend, said, “Well, it could be worse. He could be gay.” He said it as if being a serial killer, an international terrorist, or satan himself were all better than if his son were a homosexual with perfect credit and a clean criminal record with the cure to all currently incurable diseases stuffed in his left jean pant pocket. But this of course is coming from the same “Christian” coworker who posted this above his desk:       

I rest my case……….Shame how people can hate but can’t even copy/paste scripture properly…lol

         I have homosexual friends that I have invited to my church over, and over, and over again. I hate having to preface with “the speaker may hit an anti-homosexual rant, but listen to the voice of God between it all.” I want to stand up and shout during service…. “MUCH LIKE THE MILITARY, THE MORE PEOPLE WE HAVE SPREADING GOD’S MESSAGE, THE BETTER OFF WE ARE IN THIS WAR AGAINST EVIL!” But I don’t. I let the masses in the pews clap and cheer and Amen the minister of the day. Deep down I just want to fix it all, help bring a different approach. Telling me that I am wrong will not make me listen to you, but showing me another way for something to be done may get me to see your side. Shouting to the hills that homosexuality is wrong keeps so many lost souls from hearing God’s message. It’s almost as if they don’t think that bringing them into His house, teaching the rest of his teachings, will be enough ground work for God to magically work in their lives the way that He sees fit. It’s almost as if they are shouting that you can’t be Christian if you are a homosexual or don’t disapprove of homosexuals. When in fact they could try the Pythagorean-ish theorem.  If a=God, and b=His mercy, then c=His love for you. One may conclude after hearing those lessons repeatedly that God would work inside of the person. You can’t cut out what you THINK is cancer without first taking tests, blood work ( pardon the religious pun), X-rays, and even the initial incision on the surgery table. Baby steps, not attack. And I am not saying here that it should even be changed…but if you think that homosexuals should be changed…think of a different approach.

I also don’t think that religiously suppressing homosexuals is a healthy method of spiritually reforming people for the heterosexual partners that they may find themselves with. As a female who would one day like to be married to a male, I have fears of being in a relationship with a male who loves another male but because his church tells him he should be with a female he picks one as a front for the public and then begins down low activities…been there, done that… tested negative. That is a touchy subject for me. If you told me that my “now” husband was once with a man… I would always wonder if he still had those same feelings and I would want him to go be with whomever made him happy rather than stick around in a marriage with me simply because I was female. Only God can change an urge. My urge to stop having sex, though, doesn’t make me a virgin again, just like making someone stop engaging in homosexual activities will not make a homosexual a heterosexual. So am I wrong for letting God work his magic on the things that would cause me to hate? Am I wrong for having faith that God will work things out and as long as I continue to love everyone around me, respect them as humans and preach the word of God to get people into His house, no matter their sexual preference, God will be proud of me? Or am I wrong for thinking that it is ridiculous to lose a person over one Biblical scripture rather than gain them through a thousand others?

        I highly doubt that when it is all said and done that I will get to the pearly gates and Peter is gonna chuck up the Dueces with Jesus on speaker phone as they both tell me that I must spend eternity in hell because I didn’t choose to persecute the gays. People use the Bible at their convenience to promote their cause. I say, if you don’t use it all exactly the way that it was written….dont come hollering that nonsense in my ear all out of context. I’ve even heard ministers say that “this is a new time but the messages still apply”. Well, when your wife can’t have a baby you better not turn to invetro, you better sleep with your house servant. When Michael Jackson died he should have risen like Lazarus. I’m just saying… do you see the disconnect here? Why is it that other things can be forgotten, modernized, and substituted, but the principle of homosexuality and adamant hatred associated with it managed to last throughout the ages? Maybe, now, God needs this individual, who happens to be a homosexual, to know the love that God has for all human beings. Maybe this individual needed to hear how Job waited on the Lord, or how Joseph, David, and others over came trials. Maybe they need for you to practice the agape that you preach. Just maybe.

        I know several homosexuals that walk the halls of my church without them ever having to say a word but I have proof….their secret will be safe with me even after I die ( and I love them for EXACTLY who they are). I have several friends who are openly homosexual and I preach the word of God to them. I even have one requesting that I explain to her what “touch and agree” means because I say it around her so much. And I have a homosexual friend who revealed to me their HIV status…I didn’t shy away from them, I didnt think…”that’s what you get”, no… I loved them even more. And I laugh, joke, and talk about God with them whenever I can. I actually have some deep conversations about God with this individual. So yeh… the gays know the Holy Trinity as well… they just don’t always feel accepted by those claiming to be “His” people. You see, I don’t think that its my place to cast the first stone, but it is my place to say, come into God’s house, listen to his word and He will work on you in His time. I love all of my brothers and sisters, straight, not so straight, and flat out crooked. I think that is what I am supposed to do.

        A homosexual engaging in homosexual acts may not directly or indirectly kill me. But a straight man who came to church to hear a word about how God will make a way out of no way but instead hears about the persecution of the gays who then leaves and holds my bank hostage while i’m trying to pull out rent money….just might. No one sin is greater than another. Shouting “no homo” is not only stupid, but saying that you are not the same…when in fact you are. You too are human, you too are a sinner looking to be saved, and you too are praying that one day you will get into heaven despite your faults. So much like weight, who a homosexual loves just happens to be a visual habit that many feel they can pick on while keeping their own personal habits in the closet.

        This is not a rant to say that “Christians” are wrong and homosexuals are right. Just like I am entitled to my opinion, you are more than welcome to be bigoted by yours. *smirk* I just know that I can wake up with my conscience free every morning knowing that I am not hating someone or a sect of persons just because someone standing before me says that I should. God hasn’t spoken that chapter of the Bible to me yet.

        All jokes aside, I don’t believe everything that I read because many a man has had their say so in what I read before my eyes ever set sail across the page. But I do believe that God exists and my relationship with him is one of understanding and love. I am comfortable in that and will not let anyone else’s interpretation of how my Father and I behave taint my relationship with Him or how He chooses to shine through me. Again, you “christian” your way and I will “christian” my way..yes, I made it a verb. lol. It shouldn’t be that way, but as it stands….this is peaceful. Now…back to the gays…..

        Being a homosexual, to me, isn’t a crime……hate my theory all you want, I will not change. I say this… premarital sex isn’t favored upon….lets hold everyone to that standard no matter what your preference. Because I would hate for someone to not get saved and know God like I am still getting to know him just because they chose to love differently than myself. I have faith that God can work miracles and if GOD chooses to keep them homosexual…then that is between God and that person. I must uphold the love, grace, and mercy that has been shown to me and display it to others who come in my presence. I’m not a homosexual, nor am I heterosexual,;I am the understanding. I understand what it feels like to want someone to hear you out. I also know what it feels like to hear God telling me what to do, not tainted in my mission and do it in spite of. I also know that God would want me to love far more than he would ever want me to hate. And if I am wrong in that assumption, He’ll deal with me on my Judgement Day. Until then… all humans are alright with me. None of us are 100 % right nor know all of the answers, but I will definitely love you until we find a conclusion or one of us dies. And if these men don’t start acting right I just might cash in my lesbian on paper membership to a full fledge flag waving VIP member… DON’T PUSH ME!!! No hetero.

P.S. If you like this topic, check out my other topic: 200 Men Said…. “Same”phobic Homosapiens <~Click Here

Sincerely,

~*My Mother’s Daughter*~

What Happens in this House….:A Molestation Survivor Speaks

WARNING: This is a very graphic and tough topic. Personal experiences and sexual references are made and PARENTAL DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

        Somewhere, in some part of the world, there is a little girl snuggled in her bed pressed against a wall, head under her pillow with just enough space to inhale for the breath holding ahead and to peek towards the door knob awaiting the return of her personal boogie man. Monsters Inc prepares children for the monsters who reside under your bed and in your closets, but what about the monsters who pin you down to the bed and force you and this secret into the closet….what then?

        I was one of those children, and I don’t know if I have ever stopped being one of those children. To this day, I sleep with my bedroom door locked, a privilege that was not granted to me living under his roof. I have escape routes out of windows in my house just in case an intruder were to ever invade my safe haven. Windows covered in complete darkness resemble the rooms I had growing up because our neighbor’s house was so close and he lived by the rule of thumb that “what happens in this house stays in this house.” Who was I to judge his authority?

(Screaming!) He molested me! *exhales* There, I said it…outloud. Who is this “he”, you ask?

        He was my father, Charles S Carter Jr, and he was the man who molested me from before I could remember until the courts took us away from him when I was 12 years old. People say that I look like him, but I still need a DNA test to even begin that process. He was an electrical engineer with several degrees who spoke several languages, and a normal relationship was as foreign to us as him speaking Korean to me in moments of battle. I was his daughter. His first-born, born from the love that he had once married to my mother, but I would come to learn that although I was not his favorite I would turn out to be Daddy’s Girl. Late night parent daughter talks, asthmatic lungs inhaling the stench of Newports from his chest as the weight of a grown man crushed my prepubescent body into a mattress for no other reason than I was female, easily accessible, and he had a disease that yearned to be fed. Daughter perched on daddy’s lap became a moment to talk about whatever popped up, as eyes were turned to the roaming hands of a step brother who idolized him and my flat chest at the same time. This is where I lived and died daily. I lived with a military man who swore to protect his country but protected the secret of his personal habit even harder. Just ask my crushed toes underneath the Army boots that were now stepping on my feet for not wearing socks or houseshoes…as if being his daughter wasnt punishment enough.

        I remember being punished just for breathing too loudly; popped in the mouth for the escape of a smack reaching his eardrum. A simple tug of his beard meant I was in trouble. One time, he hit me so hard in my tailbone that I lost control of my legs and urinated on myself all in one swift swoop, just to turn around and get a whooping for messing up the floor. A call from the teacher meant that I would have to strip in front of my father and walk the house butt naked and if he saw me ,and felt like it, then I would get a whooping right then and there. I became a master at silently turning door knobs better than he could and dodging in and out of bedrooms and hallway closets just to go to and from the bathroom in peace. Doing number two (pardon the graphics) was the only time I could be in the bathroom in peace without anyone entering.  Fingers entering openings to ensure “cleaning” because I was filthy, followed by my father laying me on the bed to towel dry me off and rub me from head to toe with baby oil. Slow grinding on me was common place. Adolescent hips popping out of socket under the weight of his grinding, hurting, caused me to try to push him off because talking would make him lose his concentration and bring whoopings. He never listened to my cries and held my hands down. There I was, learning the best lessons of male and female relationships from my father. How lucky was I to learn about the birds and bees from my own father? Every girl needs a father in the house, right?

        One day in church I just didn’t want to go back to his house. My aunt couldn’t make me if God told me to go back himself. I’d had enough. Sitting in the police station with male police officers giving me different toys to describe my fathers penis proved unfruitful; I didn’t trust males. They had no choice but to send me back. I got a whooping until I blacked out. My father took me to a therapist to save face…maybe she could figure out where I was “making these stories up”.

        Off of Carmichael Road in Montgomery, Alabama sat my therapist’s office. A soft-spoken caucasian woman who listened intently as my father sat on the other side of the door.  That is until the day she asked me to re-enact with Barbie and Ken what I told the police happened….so, I showed her. She opened the door and invited my father into the room so he could see too. I never spoke of anything again. And yes, you guessed it….I got a whooping until I had an asthma attack and he had to take me to Maxwell Air Force Base to the ER. This time my Aunt believed me and she fought for custody…but she still allowed him visitations until she passed away when I was 15. He came to her house for her funeral and sat in the kitchen and told ever male there not to be trusted around me because I would lie on them like I had lied on him. And he vanished into street legend. I never saw him, or the therapist ever again.

        My father followed me, in theory. I heard stories of him doing crack from friends in high school, but he had taught me the best lesson ever; Never let anyone make you feel like less of a person. I walked those halls of my high school as a virgin…because I was. Guys from all around wanted to be with the virgin and every single one failed. I wouldn’t willingly give myself to someone until I was in college. You see….I was molested, but he didn’t take my virginity.

        Every guy is not my father, nor am I searching for him in every guy that I date….but through all that I wrote above and more that I didn’t write….I was still a human. A demon like him couldn’t touch the best parts of me. He couldn’t reach them with all of his might because his intentions were wrong. My virginity had nothing to do with sex…my virginity was me, my mind, my free spirit, my determination to rise above where people keep putting me, and the favor that was placed over me even though I was entangled in a generational curse. He tried, but I walked out of his house and his presence with the hymen of my integrity and the mission over my life in tack.

        Today, he lives in Baltimore. He’s never been prosecuted, never been made to suffer for what he put me and others through. One day, and maybe soon… I will walk to where they say that he works and tell him that he couldn’t break me. He couldn’t make me feel less than a princess even though my father wasnt a king.

        This is a part of what I went through, but it is NOT who I am. It helped me make decisions about not showing my body to just any guy. You’ll never hear tales of me sleeping with different guys all in the name of love without being in love. You’ll never see pics of me plastered on the internet that show more of my assets than I am showing I am worth. And you will never hear that I’ve stopped breaking the silence. I was molested but I was never a victim. My virginity never has to be born again because it never died. I found strength through this. Dont get me wrong, I’d never go back a second time…. but I made it out, and THAT is something to be proud of. Where I came from does NOT determine where I will go.

       So, to anyone who has been through similar stories….today is not too late to realize that they had the problem and not you. We are of a sisterhood that many will never understand. I salute you and all of your wonderful glory. I stopped holding my father accountable for what he did to me and the effects it had on my life the day I last saw him….that is not my battle. It weighs you down, trust me. I try to find love as much as often in my daily activities…..today.. I love you. One day you will gain the strength to no longer be ashamed of your story…until then I will speak for you, I dont mind. What are sisters for, right?

        My prayer is that, just this once ,you listen to my father: What happened in your house, stays in your house…..including the pain and the shame. We’ve got other little girls to protect. No time for living in the past. Here, take my hand…..I’m with you as we walk out of our molester’s house. God bless!

Sincerely,

~*My Mother’s Daughter*~

This is the house where majority of it happened. On Pinebrook Dr in Montgomery,AL