By: Mary Khon
This antiquated queen has been in such a devastation in the last three weeks that she almost forgot to write to you this month. That’s right, my trials and tribulations y mi sufrimiento continue to exist no matter what I try to do, think, and re-invent.
I‘m only sharing my sorry-life with you not because I want to share my misery but only because I want you to know how tragic I’ve been lately that I almost, ALMOST forgot to write to you. That, queeridos, would have the real tragedy.
But how do I remember I needed to communicate with your, queeridos? Easy. A gorgeous hunk of a Papi reminded me about it. You see, because I’m tragedy incarnated, I was walking, along, in the rain, in the middle of night, in this city full of dreams and false hopes. When suddenly, this sexy papi approached me after he saw me holding my high heels over my right shoulder and my wig being dragged on the ground.
“My Queen,” He said. “What horrible period you must be living that you look so tragic.”
I simply looked at him, speechless. He extended his arms toward me and I simply let myself be taken by his embrace. Not ten second had passed when I felt the tears running down my face, as a deep, low hollow submerged itself from within me.
“Oh, dear,” He exclaimed. “You are broken my queen. You need caring.” He added.
With nothing else to say he tried to make me presentable and we slowly walked until we reached a café. There, while drinking the dark warm liquid that brings spirits up, he simply listened to my sad life story, never interrupting, never saying a word, just listening until my being had emptied its heavy burden.
Once he knew I was done. He ordered us some food and while eating he told me I was his queen, his idol, his heroine. He told me his heart hurt at seeing me as if I was already celebrating Halloween, when in reality there were a few weeks before we could have our gay Christmas. He made me smile. Then he told me that my scriptures are his food and that I need to continue writing no matter the circumstances.
“I have nothing to give.” I told him.
He shook his head and told me he would not accept such nonsense. I insisted that my cup was empty, that my creative muse had left me, that my pen no longer flow.
“Perhaps,” he started to say. “What you need is to have the great experience of your life once again.” His gaze penetrated my soul.
After our meal we continued walking around the city. The sky was still dark; the stars were still missing. In no time, or perhaps in a long period of time that felt like seconds, we were in his quarters. There, he undressed me, kissed me, and found the many erotic places I had forgotten about. He then proceeded to fill my cup, to bring my muse back, and to make my pen flow once again.
You might think that my story sounds like the plot of a porn film. I assure you, it wasn’t. It was real, and magical, and fulfilling. We might have filmed our encounter but only so we could cherish the memories of such a wonderful awakening. That film will never see the light of day, at least I hope.
So here I am, writing once again, preparing myself for what comes next. Perhaps we will meet again and repeat the ritual, perhaps not. It does not matter, honestly. This gentleman, this prince, this man who had worshipped me even before he had met me, knew that I needed to be reborn, that I needed to be exalted, that I needed to be alive. And he knew exactly how to do it.
Our paths crossed just in time, just when his presence was needed in my antiquated life. We had our moment; we have our communion, our encounter in time. And now he will continue to adore me, to follow me, to worship me every time he reads my words. These words I’m writing and sharing with all of you, queeridos.
And as I write these words and you read them, remember that this month we take flight in our gay Christmas, Halloween. Our gay holiday season starts soon and we must be ready to enjoy it, to treasure it, to live it. Of course we must do it with caution because, as all of you know, COVID-19 isn’t over. The majority of us may be vaccinated but that doesn’t mean we cannot get sick from the virus. So, be cautious out there, queeridos. Covid isn’t over and we are not done fighting for our survival.
Listen to me, your queen, your antiquated queen who has, once again, been born again thanks to the kindness of a stranger.
Enjoy Halloween and the many festivities coming our way… just be cautious, safe, and prepare.
Hasta next time, queeridos.