Recently, I laid into someone calling them the N-word. And not ending with an “-a”, but a hard “-er”. Shocking since anyone who knows me knows that is a word I hardly ever say in any connotation. And if I say it with an “-er”, it means you reeeeeally pissed me off.

There was this guy who seems to be a regular at the gay cruising spot on the weekends. He’s a black male that wears a baseball cap, white t-shirt, and gray sweatpants. Wearing that white t-shirt so often that it’s probably holding up the arm that always has a drink at the end of it. And wearing those sweatpants so repetitiously that they are probably doing the walking for him.

Well, this night he should have been cut off. Because he and I have locked horns before.

That previous clash happened when, as told previously on Facebook, he and I never spoke or made eye contact, yet as I walked by, he grabbed by left pectoral. And when I flinched his hand away, he yelled at me, “BOY!”, like a father to his misbehaving son.

So come this next clash, his memory of that made him treat my disgust for unwanted touch as a game. For he repeatedly kept bumping up against me, and it was not an accident. Because each time I looked at him after, he smiled.

At the end of the night, after I got my coat and bag, I leaned against the wall to put my stuff on. As I did this, he came and bumped up against me again. And again, with that grin. So in response, I looked at him and sternly said, “Get away from me.”

He began mocking my annoyance, which is the first time I ever heard a full sentence out of him. And those full sentences came with slurred speech from those constant drinks in his hand, which I imitated as punishment for the audacity to mock my justified annoyance.

This annoyed him. So in his drunken slurred speech, he said, “He don’t know. I’m from the hood. I’ll knock him the fuck out.”

Sadly, the “I’m from the hood” is a classic response from Black males in sexually permissive spaces when I have had to up the ante on my “No” to them because in my 3-Strike rule explained in my last appearance on “Tub Talk with Damon Jacobs“, they have gotten to Strikes 2, 3, or beyond.

So in response I said, “So. I’m from the hood, too. I’m from Bed-Stuy Brooklyn before gentrification. But I made the conscientious choice to not be a NIGGER!” To which I looked him dead into his drunken eyes.

When those last 2 syllables left my mouth, the area around us, full of white males, including at least 5 on the coat check line in front of us, immediately went so silent the fullness of my voice had a reverb. And getting attention was my intent. To let the room know 2 things:

• 1) something was wrong. Since I am known (by staffers & regular patrons) for not causing a negative scene unless you disrespect me or ignore the need for consent and;
• 2) when those who don’t know me realize it was a Black man who said that hard “-er” to a black male, then you know I am making it very clear to everyone of every color that who I am speaking to had made themselves a display of the WORSE of the Black community.

Afterwards, he mumbled about me, but stop trying to move near or talk to me, which is exactly what I wanted. So I proceeded to get dressed. During that time, some guy showed up talking to the drunkard. Once my coat was on, the guy the drunkard was talking to suddenly fell to the floor. There was nothing for the guy to trip over. No bump on the floor. Nothing. So as a staffer and patron came over to check on him, I snootily looked down at him and said to the staffer, “Consider the company he was keeping, that is not a shock”. I then turned, flicked my trenchcoat, then sashayed away.

What is troubling to me is how many gay males allow such behavior and find my response weird. It is like they have ZERO self-respect to forcefully tell someone “NO” when they have every right to. That is why this drunkard did what he did. Because so many other guys have allowed him to intrude upon their body and/or play with someone else.

Well, that is not the case with me. I did not like letting that N-word fly out of my mouth. But for me, it was me using words as both a weapon and consolation for the physical damage the rage he incited by his intrusion upon my body. That word had to be the consolation. Because while his actions did deserve him getting a good wallop, one thing I say that sounds like a joke, but I feel with all my heart is… I’m too pretty for prison.

And that piece of 💩 is not worth me changing my mind about that sense of self-worth.