Sometimes, I feel like hell is right here on earth, and not in some distant subterranean realm like the Bible says. It’s like an intense feeling , one that cannot be ignored. My name is Elroy Samson. Who am I? Just your average, everyday gorgeous six-foot-three, lean and athletic African-American homo fatale. Yes, I’m Black and Gay and totally proud of both. I’m out to the entire world. The way I see it, life is too short to hide who and what you are. My family had trouble accepting that their favorite son, the family golden boy was a homosexual. My church-going mother Ellen and her man-hating, narrow-minded lady friends like my aunts Gina and Dinah were dead set on me marrying some chick and making my life fit their view of the world. If there’s one thing I hate it’s when other people try to map my life out for me.
I’m a man and I make my own decisions. Especially those concerning my life and my future. Marriage to some random woman was not in my plans. It’s not how I envisioned my life. It’s not compatible with who I am. I’m a gay brother, for one thing. So I told them to take a hike. They basically banned me from the house. I didn’t care. I didn’t need them for anything. Not anymore. I don’t believe in compromise. I am what I am and I don’t hide it, nor do I apologize for it. My father Franklin Samson was cool with me. He knew what I was long before any of them did. To him, I would always be his son. No matter who I shared my bed with. That’s why I got nothing but love in my heart for my old man. My father is a great man. He was the first person I called when I left the state and moved to a major city.
I’m originally from Colorado . I attended CSU on a basketball scholarship. I earned my law degree there. These days, I work for a law firm in New York City . It’s like that. Life at a New York City law firm can be quite hectic. Especially if you don’t know how to navigate the minefield that is everyday life in corporate America . There’s always some drama going on. There are vicious people of both sexes around here. Let me take you on a grand tour. First, there’s senior partner Leland Orwell. He’s a tall, good-looking Black man in his early fifties. He’s married to a college professor named Elaine Brown. They have three grown brats together, college football stud Jeremiah, police officer Elliot and struggling actress Nadine. He’s a good man and quite often the only level-headed person in an office full of hedonistic egomaniacs. Leland was the man who hired me. He’s also totally cool with having a gay Black attorney working for him. As long as I bring in the big bucks, I’m cool with him. That’s just the way I like it.
The other senior partners are Oswald Anderson and Katherine Tyrell. Oswald Anderson is a bald, round little man in his fifties. He’s half Chinese and half Black, born and raised in New York . He’s a brilliant attorney with a penchant for expensive suits, sailboats and loose women, not necessarily in that order. I won’t even tell you the details about the tall, buxom, large-breasted and big-bottomed ghetto girls he brings to the office late at night when he thinks there’s no one there. I’ve caught him with everything from drop-dead gorgeous Ebony girls to totally ugly hood heifers. Oh, well. Everyday I thank the Lord for making me gay. The lives of straight people are way too complicated, for one thing. I keep my private life out of the office. I just don’t believe in mixing work with play. It doesn’t go well, no matter what your race, gender or sexual orientation. Keep your private stuff out of the workplace. Trust me on that one.
The last and certainly most difficult senior partner at the firm was Katherine Tyrell. A tall, attractive woman in her late forties. She’s biracial, of African and Hispanic ancestry. She’s married to an architect named Jamal Sands. He’s the visionary behind all those new, gothic style buildings in lower Manhattan . A Black artist who believes in the classics. Got to give the man credit for being original. They have no offspring together and hardly ever see each other. Katherine Tyrell and Oswald had an affair once, but that’s all in the past now. She’s a very good attorney. If you’re in a jam and have lots of cash, then she’s your best friend. She’s not someone you should invite to meet your folks. She’s a sociopath. Of course, nobody knows this but me. In many ways, she was the perfect predator. Completely amoral, ruthless and without conscience. I’ve heard some of the other lawyers call her a snake in a skirt, behind her back of course. Those who give her a wide berth last longer at the firm. It’s a fact of life. What’s also a fact at our firm is that Katherine has a penchant for younger men. That explains why as the Head of Human Resources, she hires mostly young Black and Hispanic men to join our firm. Sometimes, she takes one of these young hotshots under her wing. Translation : She sleeps with them. When she gets bored, she moves on to the next young stud. You do not want to be in her radar. Again, thank God I’m an openly gay Black man. Were I one of the breeders, there’s no telling what I might have had to do with her just to keep my job. Female managers in the corporate world abuse power and are just as wicked and corrupt as their male counterparts. They just don’t get caught as often. Let no one tell you otherwise.
Working at the firm enables me to live the kind of lifestyle I always dreamed of. I drive a very cool red BMW. I live in a very nice apartment. It’s got two bedrooms, a living room, a large kitchen and a bathroom worthy of one of America ‘s best hotels. I had a good deal, too. One of my first clients owns the apartment building and he got me the place at a nice price after I got a lawsuit dismissed for him. The man’s name is Lawrence Wolfram, a good-looking, forty-something African-American real estate mogul. At the time we met, he was being sued by a former secretary for harassment. The secretary in question was Amber Freeman, a plump Black chick from Queens . I had the lawsuit dismissed without prejudice. Lawrence was so grateful that he rewarded me handsomely. He said that we brothers had to look out for one another. I wasn’t sure what he meant by that but I didn’t care. I got myself a nice spot!
Yeah, life was good. The only thing missing was the right man to share it with. I was a tall, good-looking, college-educated, successful young Black man in the city. If I had been heterosexual, I would have had women all over me. Heck, sometimes I still did, but I had to let them know they were barking up the wrong tree. I like men. Life can be so simple. There’s nothing simple about finding a good man in New York . Now, I’m not going to say something corny like a good man is hard to find. There are plenty of good men around. Most of them are looking for women, though. Unfortunately, most women wouldn’t know a good man if he dropped out of heaven and unto their doorstep. Even when they’re with a good man, sometimes the stuff they do drives him away. That leaves both men and women frustrated, bitter and incapable of trusting. Women don’t seem to realize that their girlfriends sometimes want to sabotage their relationships with their men out of jealousy and bitterness. I know this because I’ve seen jealous and bitter gay men do the same thing in the gay universe. Misery loves company, as they say. Maybe that’s why I have few friends, gay or straight.
My best friend is a man named Julius Randall. He’s a tall, good-looking Black man from Brooklyn . He used to be a big-time college basketball player and played in the NBA for about four years before getting injured. These days, he coaches college basketball and also teaches African-American Literature part-time. Julius is a straight man, and the cool thing about it is that he loves his fellow men, regardless of their sexual preference. When I met him, he was married to a lady named Joanna Tubman. A Latin-American jazz singer and part-time corrections officer. Unfortunately, they got divorced after ten years of marriage. Career pressures on both sides drove them apart. I was friends with both of them. I was also Randall’s divorce attorney. Needless to say, his ex-wife and I aren’t on good terms anymore.
Randall and I hang out often these days. We try to unwind together. Life is tough on a man, especially if he’s Black and gay. Randall showed me that a straight man’s life was no picnic either. After his marriage ended, he was reluctant about dating women again. I introduced him to this gal I know named Chantal Evans. Chantal was this pretty, athletic college basketball player I knew from the Polytechnic Institute. This sexy sister had a penchant for handsome older men. Especially the Black ones. I knew exactly a s she felt. So, I introduced her to Randall and sparks flew. I knew they’d like each other. Two months after they met, they moved in together. Isn’t that a hoot? Sometimes, I felt a bit jealous of those two. They were so happy together. You’ve seen those couples that are making out and displaying affection in public? Well, that’s them, every single day! I showed them a fake smile and tried not to puke. Damn straight people!
The good thing about being friends with Randall and Chantal meant that I no longer felt alone in the city. When my father came to visit, I introduced him to my friends. He was glad to meet them. My father is old school. Always a charmer with the ladies. He and my mother had recently gotten divorced. My father was currently living in Glenwood Springs, where he had gotten a new position as town sheriff. I was happy for him. My dad is cool. One night, I took all three of them to a restaurant. My dad, my best friend and his girlfriend. We had a blast in the city. Those were good times. I wish we could do that more often. My dad returned to Colorado a week later. The next time I got a call from him, he told me about some new lady he was dating. I smiled. That’s my dad. He puts the P in player. If I was a breeder, I might have been just like him. Yeah, I hope we have many long, happy and productive years left in each others lives.
Seeing my best friend so happy with his lady sometimes gives this brother the blues. I mean, how hard is it to find a tall, good-looking, successful or on-his-way-there, openly gay Black man in the big city? What are my chances? Please don’t say slim to none. Man, if I knew it was going to be like this, I would have gone to a different city. I heard good things about Atlanta . They say the city is full of good-looking, successful Black men. Sounds like paradise to me. So, I might move there someday. I thought about maximizing my chances of meeting the right man by going to clubs. One visit to a gay club practically scarred me for life. The place was full of sexy men of all races, but it was a deeply superficial atmosphere. There weren’t that many Black men among the gays. A lot of the gay men at the clubs were very effeminate. I left after half an hour. I wasn’t looking for a female, so dating an effeminate man was out of the question. I needed a strong, masculine man, preferably Black, to rock my world. All the club queens and their assorted fag hags were basically disqualified. Thanks, but no thanks. Effeminate men and fag hags, the door’s over there. Let yourselves out. The real men are welcome to stay.
After this evening, I went home. I was devastated. The gay scene was a total disappointment. Where have all the fine men gone? I thought life would get better after college. The college I attended was fifty three percent female and only forty seven percent male. Of these men, very few were gay or bisexual and even fewer were open about it. I wish there were more men around. Especially Black and Hispanic men. Fewer men meant fewer gay men. What in hell was going on? I thought about going to straight gyms and straight bars and clubs to meet men but those places were filled with heterosexual men and their girlfriends. Hardly any gay men there. Yeah, there was a male shortage and both gay men and heterosexual women were suffering because of it. That’s why a brother like me sleeps alone. That’s just not right. We’ve got to do something about that. Or else start investing in sex toys or something. Word.
So, there goes another night in my life in the city. A tall, good-looking and successful Black man who can’t seem to find love in the big city. I don’t know if things will change and there will be good-looking and successful, or on-their-way men around. That would be a good day in the lives of men and women everywhere. Unfortunately, that day remains a faraway dream. Here’s to hoping that someday I will find the right person to share my life with. I mean, why have all the wealth in the world if you can’t find someone to love you for who you truly are? It would mean an empty, hollow existence. I’m holding out for something better. It gives me something to live for.