I'm A Hustla, Baby

Coming out to Dad was a breeze.

Good ole dad– I’m a chip off the old block.

When he was a big boozer he came to visit my lover and I in New York City.

God bless his drunk country soul.

Back then, my boyfriend was actually my ‘roommate’.

I was trying to hide it from him.

I only wanted to protect him.

My lover and our queer friend James from next door were at the door to welcome poor old dad in, like homosexual vampires.

I was a nervous wreck, but he insisted on coming to visit his son despite the fact that I hadn’t seen him since childhood.

Dad pulled a copy of Hustler Magazine from his suitcase and threw it at us as if he were Moses throwing the Ten Commandments our way.

My lover and James leafed through the pages like an Ikea catalog and said, “Mmmmm, Mmmmm, damn, now wouldn’t you love to just stick your rod in that pretty pink thing,” and giggled at each other in queer tones.

I was so embarrassed for Dad and quite frankly, felt my lover and James were being rude.

Dad popped open a can of Budweiser and sat down with the trio of fags and said, “Son, I have something to tell you...”

I sat there at the kitchen bar like a good gay son and perked up my big ears.

“I’ve been with men before, plenty of them. I never minded a fag sucking my dick after a bar closes when there’s no bitches around to blow me.”

My lover and James put down their cocktails and handed my father his copy of Hustler Magazine and asked him to autograph it.

I told Dad I didn’t want to hear any more and to go back in his closet.