The truth can sizzle and it might offend. Especially when the tale teller is throwing it right in your face.
Someone said gay men live in a state of perpetual adolescence. But don't be offended. It's not about you. It's about Cleon or your best friend. So tap your bestie on the shoulder and say, here's a story about you. And of course the truth must include sex. More
Harvey uses the unique second person voice to tell the tale of the "Every Gay Man." The title implies the protagonist Cleon is black and a "queen." However, Black Queen transcends any label. It is our story--the slings and arrows we have suffered and our triumphs. Oh Yeah, Cleon's about to turn forty. Hemorrhoids and tricky tricks are just the beginning. It's funny. It's rated X. It will make you think. I promise--after you've imagined that scene of Rucker watering his tomatoes in his special way.
You offer wine, soda, beer, and water. All declined with a “nah I’m cool.” For a sense of propriety to prove you’re not not trying to be a slut, you sit on the chair next to the sofa. You offer your name—Cleon, which you hate. You’ve thought of adding something in the front or back of it like Ra or Mac. Cleon has always sounded so sissyish. But Cleon Mac, that means something.
“And did I catch your name?” regretting you sound like someone from a cocktail party scene in an old black-and-white movie. You need to butch it up, you’re thinking to yourself when he answers, “Diesel, nigga. Everbody calls me Diesel.”
Your mind whirls, Now did he just call me a nigga?’ But you catch yourself just before the indignant girl in you speaks up. You realize he’s treating you like one of his homeboys. You’re Cleon Mac, baby. “Cleon Mac is that really you,” you ask yourself. After a moment, it’s clear “Diesel” has nothing else to say. You make small talk about how quickly he got there, what a cute wife beater he’s wearing (it looks like any other athletic T-shirt) and you’re about to ask for the third time if he wants anything to drink, when he cuts you off and asks why are you sitting “way over there?” His legs by now are opened as wide as the couch. You ponder for a moment as a list of rules and mantras about sex on a first date flow through your head like water and go down the drain. Your pipes gurgle. You sit by him. He takes your hand and places it on his crotch and croons, “How does it feel?”