Church and Other Sexually Confusing Things

I came to the conclusion I was gay really early on.  Besides wanting the pink unicorn bag for school, I was simply in love with Batman. I could tell Bruce Wayne was Batman. I mean, all kids know Bruce Wayne is Batman, from watching any continuous five minutes of the cartoon.  I however felt I could connect with him on all levels, whether the billionaire playboy or the guy in a leather outfit with a cape, I felt I knew him. Says a lot about my delusions of grandeur, this ability to understand a fictional billionaire/vigilante, but I got the idea of a double life more. Two different individuals living in the same space.  Basically the story of every gay individual in Zimbabwe.

Several horror stories regarding homophobia had me convinced I was going to die alone, lonely and a pariah. All of the homophobia I have experienced however, has largely come from myself. I used to be very religious, going to church every Sunday and Friday, hoping my gay wasn’t shining through. The worst thing about religion and being gay? Has to be the sex.  There’s this level of self judgment you engage in, when, just as you are about to cum, you hear your pastor’s voice in your head.

You never just get the voice in your head though.  You start imagining him walking across the front of the church with one hand in his pocket, the other gripping the mic in a completely inappropriate manner – bringing to mind the way you personally hold dick.  You imagine the sweat rolling off his forehead as he thunders into the mic “mukasadzingwarira ngochani idzodzi, vana venyu vanopera vose!” Like somehow, gay people are cannibals who literally eat people after fucking them.

And remember, this sexual moment is a result of weeks of planning. You have both been playing around the topic, but no one has yet committed.  Then you send that text, you’ve either sent or received a version of it: “ukuita kunge ukuda kukwirwa iwe.” And they respond with a “Lol” and you know wapinda. And you’ve somehow managed to plan logistics, you’ve promised mari ye kombi, and are checking every five minutes kuti how far.  Then you are struck by thoughts of your pastor whilst you give the sexual performance of a lifetime.

Your pastor is the guy who has repeatedly emphasised to the congregation that “the gays are screwing your children!” Because it’s church, there’s always the three or so dozen women who hysterically scream “Amen! Praise Jesus!” and you wonder if it’s the gay sex they are celebrating, or the fact that their pastor is willing to debate such a hot topic.

It’s hilarious mainly because the entire praise and worship team looks like they’ve sucked dick for rent money at least once in their lifetimes.  And it’s funnier because half the music team at some point has attempted to hit up your various DMs.

Saka unomumira sei imomo?someone will inevitably ask.  The answer: like a boss.  I’ve made my peace with God maybe not approving of my lifestyle. But that simply means I might as well enjoy myself before I die.

So what happens when you are in the middle of fucking, you are about to cum, then you hear the pastor’s voice in your head?

You continue. You push through.  You make sure you make it to the end, and cum hard. You can stress yourself out later about your behavior watunda. And when you think about the fact that you might be the only gay person in church, remember one thing.

We are told about ten percent of the population is gay.  Which means for every ten people in your church, one of them is gay.  So for all those madzimai screaming “amen papa!” when the pastor shades gay people, one of them has a down low husband or child.  So their “yes papa!”s are probably their way of claiming “healing” for their loved ones. So pay attention to them, and look at their family members.  You might just meet amwene/ambuya vako. Show them the respect they deserve, and fuck their sons.