My sexuality was simply tolerated

Image of me, my dog, and my Jeff Goldblum pillow at home. Designed by Katie Catalano

Last July, I published my second piece on Medium — I Didn’t Drink Water at Dinner as a Poor Black Kid — about growing up poor and its continuing effect on my life. It was the first time I’d really written anything personal about my life and shared it with a mass audience. So many of my friends praised my piece, thankful for the insight into my life, but also for the new perspective of their own lives.

But my family felt otherwise. They were embarrassed by what I’d written. And angry — my mom especially. Hindsight being what it…

Dear Readers,

The story I’m about to tell you is something of an unorthodox one for me if you’ve read my other works. I’ve always considered myself an essayist, telling my own brand of horror stories about trauma, adversity, and racial injustice.

But this tale, though wrapped in the guise of a paranormal ghost story, is really just about a Scooby-Doo Gang of rather ordinary people with a rather extraordinary hobby.

2020 has been filled with a lot of scary, anxiety-inducing twists and turns, so unexpected and underappreciated for their long-enduring trauma and PTSD I’m sure they’ll inflict on us…

Are men of other backgrounds only attracted to me because of my race?

Photo by Michael DeMoya on Unsplash

I vividly remember the moment when I began to fear being fetishized. My mind goes back to an amazing date — a moment of butterflies and complete infatuation. I was being treated so well by this super-cool white guy. The boy was fine, too. I don’t quite remember everything he said on that date, but I recall my ears perking when he mentioned his ex, whose name telegraphed his race.

I couldn’t help but ask. “Was your last boyfriend Black?” He paused. “Oh, yeah, he is,” he said. “White guys to the back of the line, please!”

I chuckled along…

It is really freakin’ hard remembering to drink water every day. But in my defense, it wasn’t really a muscle I trained in my youth. I grew up in a Black ass household that prepared bomb ass kool-aid for dinner every other day. My three siblings and our mom lived on food stamps and a waitress’s salary, and the only supplemental income came from my mom’s odd boyfriends here and there. You’d think that meant we drank lots of water — it’s the cheapest beverage right? Nope.

Being poor creates a lot of weird paradoxes. We had no materials of…

Just thinking a bit.

I’m sitting here, in my white partner’s childhood bed, for the first time in a few days completely at peace. I went on a bike ride on his childhood bike. I was waved at and waved back at his childhood neighbors. I keep stopping and staring at childhood photos all over the walls. His home’s walls are filled to the brim with memories, but also… peace?

Every year we’re together, I get a deeper look at what it was like for him to grow up here, in this small 10,000 person town, in a home that…

Jadon-Maurice Forbes

Just a black ass writer with a heart of black.

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