Friday, March 30, 2012

Daddy, When Will I Become A Man?

(Now I can speak. I've processed and thought this out over and over again and when I'd finished, I said what I had to say to certain people and then I processed some more. When I was done with that I started writing this letter to my dad, Aleksandr, because he understands. He fights this fight with me. He understands me being triggered and when it's all said and done, he's the one that my mind and heart instantly turns to when I am seeking answers, reassurance and strength.)

Dear Dad,

I thought that the day I came out was the hardest day of my life. My palms were sweaty, my heart was pounding in my chest and I couldn't breathe. I was glad when the words were finally out. I had spoken my truth, embraced it with both of my sweaty hands and I foolishly thought that the worse was over. I wasn't a young transgender boy coming out, not only as transgender, but gay as well, in high school. I wasn't even coming out in college. I'm an adult, thought I don't always act my age, I am an adult, bullies were a thing of my past...or so I thought.

I wasn't ready for the new kind of bullying. The kind that adults do. When they hug you and stab you in the back at the same time, pushing the knife deeper. The type of bullying where they say they support you, but then qualify their statement to exclude you, with an army of supporters behind them. I wasn't ready for the "well-meaning" bullies who tell you that you just have body image issues. I wasn't ready for the bullies who tell you to "get over it already" or tell you that you're just being "overly sensitive."

Why didn't anyone tell me Dad?

Why didn't they warn me that every day I'd be faced with someone calling me the wrong gender? Someone telling me that I was too pretty to transition? Someone telling me that I'm going to hell? Someone telling me that I don't exist?

Why wasn't I prepared for the moments, everyday, when my mind says that the pain is too hard, the bullying and the phobia too much, and I should just give up? Why wasn't I prepared for the blogs, the tweets, the articles, the pictures that would so disparage me that i would feel compelled to stop transitioning, stop trying to live my truth, stop trying to live at all?

I know they do It Gets Better videos for gay teens, but what about the transgender ones? Can they even do one for them? Does it ever get better? How can it when those in our own community, the GLBTQ community, disses us, trashes us and insults us, almost daily?

How can it get better when I get told, daily, that I'm not a real man because my cock isn't physically attached? How can it get better when daily I get emails calling me a freak and telling me to go away? How can it get better when those who bully me, and their supporters, get more comfort, support, and encouragement than I do?

What else do I have to do to be accepted? Changing my name, my clothes, getting T-shots, getting reassignment doesn't seem like it will ever be enough. Do they want me to continue to live a lie? Am I supposed to ignore the truth inside of me because it makes them uncomfortable? Because they don't understand? I try to teach them, I try to explain, but I get told that I'm wrong. I get told that I'm just supposed to accept it. I get told that I should just stop trying to fight, because it will never be enough.

But Dad, you're my hero, one of the smartest men I know, so maybe you can help me understand.

When do I finally become a man?


Your Son
Vicktor Aleksandr B

Wednesday, March 28, 2012

My Dirty Daydream

I could write about the utter fuckery that went down yesterday that so upset me that I didn't know whether to cry, vomit, throw my computer across the room, or just walk away from the M/M genre altogether (I did none of those things...okay I did cry, a little bit, but it was mostly because I was shocked by those who supported the fuckery rather than the fact that such fuckery existed), but I'm choosing not to. You guys hear enough of my "woe is me, I'm black, transgender, Messianic Jew, a disabled army vet, and an author of romance trying to make a living at writing during a recession," to probably last you a lifetime, so I wanted to brighten up my blog just a little bit.

So I decided that I would share the lovely, albeit extremely dirty daydream that I had today that helped to brighten my day a little bit, as well as the pictures that sparked said daydream.

So I had a daydream that Shemar Moore showed up to the house where I live to meet me and talk to me about my books. We were sitting on the couch talking and he touched my hand lightly and I turned to look at him and then next thing you know we were all over each other, making out and kissing each other fiercely while we ripped each other's clothes off.

 Shemar kept telling me how good I tasted and how hard I made him.
I kept telling him how hot he was.

Because he is.

Well next thing you know, Shemar was on his knees in between my legs sucking my cock.

And it was attached! Woohoo! No strap-on or prosthetic for me! I was born with the right genitalia and everything and Shemar told me how pretty my cock was, moments before he started trying to suck my brain out through the top of my cock.

 I was moaning and groaning, thrusting my cock into his mouth, smiling every time he gagged on it before I grabbed him by the back of his neck and dragged him away from my cock.

I pushed him down on the floor and licked all over his balls and up to the top of his dick, before I swallowed him down to the base (yeah, gag reflex-none existent-just like in real life). He was whimpering and telling me how good it was, how amazing. How he didn't want to cum in my mouth, he wanted to cum in my ass.

 Well, I've always tried to be a very accommodating bloke, so I kissed and licked my way up his body to his nipples, licking and kissing on them until he practically growled my name.

And then Shemar pushed up from the ground, picked me up and then practically slammed me down onto the couch behind us. He turned me over onto my hands and knees and then licked up the crease of my ass.

Talk about major shivering and moaning!!

I love rimming. Whether giving or receiving, it is very, very, very delicious. Especially when the people involved know what the hell they're doing.

 Now this is where my daydream got strange. In the middle of Shemar giving me this amazing rimming, I hear President Obama's voice declaring that marriage equality is not a federal issue and all states will honor gay marriages as well as those of heterosexuals.

So Shemar is still eating out my ass right? I'm clutching the couch underneath when the Cherokee Indian man that I've been dreaming about for the last month showed up and stood in front of me, naked with his very large cock in front of my lips.

"Suck it," he tells me.

I don't even question him. I don't ask him where he came from, who he is, why I keep dreaming about him. I just open my mouth and start sucking his very large cock (did I say that already? Seriously, his cock was like a fucking battering ram it was so big).

Now I would love to say that I turned into the perfect fiance and Daniel showed up in this daydream, but I'd be lying.

Daniel was nowhere to be seen in this daydream.

 So here is me, Shemar Moore, and my mysterious Cherokee man and we're engaged in a very sexy man three-way and then Shemar leans over and says, "Can my friends join us?"

I'm all confused, who is his friend and what the fuck is going on in my daydream? When did I lose control of it?

So I'm all like, "Um...sure."

So two new guys show up.

They're both hot and porn stars. I find myself no longer concerned with when I lost control of my daydream, now I'm just focused on how soon these men will fuck me.

So Shemar and Cherokee boy both tell me that they want to fuck the same time.

I'm sorry, say what now?

Since when has that been a fantasy of mine?

Apparently it is one because in this daydream I shake my head and say, "Yes please."

Then Shemar is stretching me and Cherokee boy is stretching him because one of his friends is going to fuck him while he's fucking me.

Can you see how hot this shit got?
So there's nothing but kissing and moaning to be heard from all of us men, in the room by this point. And then Shemar groans out "Places!" You know like we're filming an interracial, extremely sexy porno.

Again, apparently a fantasy of mine.
And just as everyone is pushing into holes and my mouth is being filled with another cock, the doorbell rings and I'm snapped out of my fantasy.

I wish I could tell you that it was Shemar Moore and my daydream became a reality, but again, that wouldn't be the truth. But this daydream is not only good stroke material, but it's a fabulously sexy flat puppy idea and made for a delightful blog post share for all of you.

Have a wonderfully sexy Wednesday all!!

-Vicktor Aleksandr B

Monday, March 26, 2012

Songs for PointyCat-Music I Love

So last night I was watching "Tyler Perry's: Madea's Big Happy Family" the play and at the end of the play the cast starts to sing a lot of old school R & B songs.

You all know I love old school R & B.

So I started singing along and tweeting which songs I was singing at the time.  I was asked by pointycat69 who the singers in question were. I told her that it would be easier for me to just post the songs and videos and give her an introduction to American Old School R&B.

If you know the songs, sing along, I know I will be.

This is part of the play that I was watching last night.

From Madea's Big Happy Family "'Cause I Love You"

Lenny Williams "Cause I Love You."

Betty Wright "Tonight is the Night"

Teddy Pendagrass "Turn Off the Lights"

Mary J. Blige "I'm Going Down"

Luther Vandross "If Only For One Night"

Monday, March 19, 2012

A Quest for Help

She screamed and cried out in pain, her arms flailing and her legs kicking as she tried to fight off her attackers. Tears rolled down her face and she screamed as one man replaced the other and her violation continued. Her left shoulder pulled out of joint as she was held down and her soul was torn apart as she realized that this was what her father had done, this was what the exchange of money was for. Her father had sold not only her virginity, but her soul and a large chunk of her spirit to the highest bidder. Her cries for help were met with fists to her stomach, hands to her mouth and furious growls telling her to shut the fuck up.

She was four and no one heard her cry for help.

The same girl six years later is being raped again, this time there was no money involved, but the tragedy is just as bad. This time she is being raped anally, with her siblings in the same room, her cries for help are muffled behind her attacker's hand as he grunts in her ear. When she tells her mother, she is chastised for "letting" the boy do that to her. She is told that she is wrong for letting it happen and knowing that her mother feels this way, she cannot share her shame that she enjoyed it a little bit and that to her, she felt that that was the only way that she should be having sex. That she shouldn't actually have a vagina in the first place.

That she should in fact be a boy.

Taking a shower at her mother's command, she scrubs herself raw, until she bleeds, desperately longing to be clean again. Her shower is over, but the feeling of shame lingers. She cannot feel the way that she does, the way that she always has. There's something wrong with her and perhaps her attacker could see it? Perhaps he knew what she only dreamed of, that she should have been a boy, but more than that, he saw that there was a part of her that while her entire being hated being violated, a part of her longed to have sex in that way.

She'd cried for help, but no one heard her.

This same girl begins drinking a year later and is an alcoholic by the time she turns twelve. She turns to drugs, beginning with marijuana, turning to cocaine and ecstasy by the time she's thirteen. She's depressed and suicidal, she prays for death, she's anorexic and bulimic, obsessed with looking like a girl, a beautiful girl, because beautiful girls don't get raped or sold into prostitution. Girls who actually act like girls, who don't want to be boys, aren't the ones who are attacked, it's only the ones who are boys on the inside, acting like girls who are beat up and raped...right?

Three more rapes occur. Two abusive relationships. Six suicide attempts. Within six years.

She's crying for help, hoping that someone will tell her that it's okay to be him, it's okay to be himself. It's okay to tell someone what has happened, it's okay to be angry, to be sad, to be hurt and broken.

He's hoping that someone, anyone, will care enough to hold him, to hear his cry for help and tell him that everything will be okay, that it will get better.

He's waiting for someone to finally help him.

The Exodus Project Group Home

I got the idea for TEP-GH when I was a sophomore in high school, when I was crying out for help and no one could hear me or would take the time out to help me. My addictions and promiscuity, my eating disorders, depression, suicide attempts, my misplaced anger and apathy were all cries for help, but no one was listening. There were no resources in Polk County, Florida to help a troubled teen beyond juvie, the mental institution and the church, whose solution was prayer and baptism.
I eventually overcame the tragic hell that my life had become. It took years before I got off drugs and realized that I was more than my body. Years before I decided to live my truth and came out a a transgender male homosexual. Years before I told someone the horror and abuse that I'd suffered as a child.
Twenty-eight years before I finally asked for help.

I don't want to hear about another teenager committing suicide or another teen being kicked out of their home for coming out, for living their truth, by overzealous religious parents and being forced to live on the streets, selling their bodies to get money for food, in order to eat. It sickens me and makes me sad.

Yes, I know I could give money and sign petitions, I can do "It Gets Better" videos and tweet about it and I've done all of those things, but to me, for me, that's not enough.

So yes, I'm still writing, but I'm also working on my main goal, my biggest dream and the deepest desire of my heart which is the group home for at-risk and homeless teenagers, with an emphasis on rainbow kids. Because the transgender boy from the beginning of this post was me. That was my journey, my truth, my story.

I didn't have anyone who helped me before I got in high school and had friends who I could run to when I didn't have anyone else. I know that I'm an exception to the rule, a "walking miracle" as my Granny Mary used to call me. I'm aware of this. But I don't want that to be a truth, I want to help. I have to help. For the 12 year old me who took his first sip of whiskey to dull the pain. For the 13 year old me who had his first hit of cocaine because he knew that if he told his parents that he was really a boy that they would kick him out and disown him (because they'd told him as much in a round about way), and he really just didn't want to deal with reality. I know that I have to do more.

So this is what I'm working on when I'm not writing or doing covers or talking to the boy or working on stuff for Rooster & Pig. I'm working on this, because I know that in order for me to change or save the world, I have to start somewhere. And I'm choosing to start here.

-Vicktor Aleksandr B

Thursday, March 15, 2012

RIP William Neale

I was going to write today's Truth or Dare Lustful Thursday post when I received word on the passing of William Neale, an amazing writer of M/M Romance and one of the organizers of GRL.

I wish that William and I had known each other a lot better than I do, but his death still rocks me deeply and he will greatly be missed.

I had just spoken to William on Friday after he sent me and a group of other male authors emails regarding the Gentlemen's Juke Joint event for GRL in Albuquerque, NM. I'd told him that I felt very honored by him including me in the list of the "guys" and he replied back, Vic, you are one of the guys.

That touched me deeply.

Even in the M/M Romance genre, even within the GLBTQ community, transgenders like myself are ridiculed, scorned, disparaged, belittled, abused, and cast aside. Being transgender, homosexual, black and a Messianic Jew leaves me an open target to a lot of discrimination, prejudice and bigotry, not just from conservatives, religious fanatics and homophobes, but even to some within the rainbow community. Finding people who support you regardless, who encourage you, is a godsend, especially when those people aren't just supporting your life but your talent as well.

That's what William did for me in the few emails that we exchanged. He supported me. He was so nice and sweet. I've seen quite a few tweets and comments describing him as a "sweetheart," which is exactly what he was.

William, you will be greatly missed, by your partner, your family through blood, your family through choice, and your family through support, encouragement and common interest.

Rest in peace my friend, William.

-Vicktor Alexander
(Vicktor Aleksandr B)

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Still Shocked

So about a week or so ago I got an email forwarded to me from my big sister Cherie from a publisher who told her to tell me that they wanted to publish me. A well-known publisher. One that I'd already wanted to publish with but that I'd been slightly hesitant to do so with stuff is sort of out there sometimes.

I was shocked to say the least that this publisher not only knew who I was (hello? Seriously?) but that they had contacted Cherie to tell her to let me know that they wanted to publish something of mine.


So while I was shocked and told Cherie that I was going to write back to said publisher I never did.


Honestly, I still have these moments where I'm waiting for everyone to realize that I'm not as amazing as they all think that I am. I'm trying to stop having this low opinion of myself and for the most part I am successful, but I've got about 28 years of teaching, abuse, mistreatment, rejection and low self esteem to work through and at this point, the fact that I can glance at myself in the mirror is a huge step forward for me.

So I finally decided to write to said author last night.

I put on my big boy pants and just let the publisher know that I'd received the forwarded email, that I did have something finished already that I wanted to sub to them but that according to what I'd heard and the website, they weren't looking for it, but that whenever I got something that met their criteria that I'd go ahead and send it over to them for consideration.

The publisher wrote back and told me to send them my completed manuscript and that they'd been waiting on me to submit something to them.

*cue shocked face*

Are you serious?

This is one of those moments when I start looking around for Ashton Kutcher to see if I'm being Punk'd or not.

So when no celebrity ran into the room to tell me that it was all a joke I finally realized that this publisher actually wanted to publish me. Me! And that they'd been waiting on me to submit something to them.

I was humbled and honored.

I am humbled and honored.


Shocked out of my ever loving mind.

More than that I am realizing that a lot of what I've been told from the biological family and so called "friends" for my own good, was nothing but a bunch of horse shit. It's thrilling to find out that I'm made for so much more than being a minister. It's thrilling to know that I'm made for so much more than to be the good little Messianic Jew.

I'm talented and people like me.


Yes that was very much a "You like me, you really like me," moment.

It's just amazing to know that the little voice inside of me, that spark, that hunger, that drive and determination that kept pushing me, that told me to stay alive, to never stop fighting, to never give up, to not let myself overdose, to call someone when I felt like killing myself, to check my email when I was going to commit suicide, to keep believing...that voice that told me I was special, that I'm talented, that I'm creative and that I'm made for so much more than what I think and that I was created to change the's amazing to know that that little voice was right. I'm so glad that I listened to it.

And I'm still shocked.

-Vicktor Aleksandr B

Monday, March 5, 2012

The Nightmares Are Back.....

When I first read Carol Lynne's "Hawk's Landing" and LA Witt's "Static", I had nightmares.

Nightmares about my truth, the reality of who I really am, who I was born to be, and the reaction of my biological family.

The nightmares ended after said "family" had their reactions and I thought that it was all over.

Then came the lovely interrogation on Goodreads.

I had nightmares again, these were worse than the ones before. The nightmares followed me into real life, I couldn't eat, couldn't read, couldn't write, couldn't talk, tweet, couldn't sleep. I spent two weeks shaking and crying. I was filled with shame and pain from people who were supposed to support me and in the nightmares I relived my attack with viciousness.

Then my ex-boyfriend, Jack, started to beat me up. I wasn't safe in my sleep and being without family and without a home, Jack was all I had. I accepted and suffered his abuse, his violation of my person, his brutal ravaging of my body and the nightmares grew worse. More bloody and brutal, more vicious, more heart-breaking. The depression swept over me and I prayed for death. I prayed for peace in the abyss.

My waking life was horrible and my dreaming life even more so.

Then I moved to New York and the nightmares stopped. I had only one and it was right after contact with the biologicals.

Now that Daniel's here the nightmares are back. Frequent and heart-breaking. It has gotten to the point where I don't want to sleep for fear of the next nightmare.

They yank me out of sleep and I wake up gasping like John Barrowman in Torchwood every time he died and came back to life.

I'm overjoyed that Daniel's here, really, really happy, but because of that I am very aware of how much I have to lose and how devastated I'd be if I lost it.

I'm not a pessimistic person, I see the glass as half-full and always look for the silver lining, but my dreams are different, I have no control there. I can't get restraining orders on the biologicals there, can't call the police on them, all I can do is wake up.

And so I keep waking up, gasping, holding back the tears, and hoping to YHVH that Daniel can't see the fear in my eyes, hope that he doesn't think I'm not worth it and leaves me, hope that eventually the nightmares will finally stop.

For good.

Before I can't sleep at all.

Friday, March 2, 2012

Love Across The Big Pond: Ebony and Ivory in NY

Just quickly wanted to let you all know that Daniel is here with me in New York.

*waits for sounds of excitement to die down*

Yes, yes, I know, it's really exciting.

What this means is that Ebony (me) and Ivory (Daniel) will be exploring the depths of our love for each other for the next 2.5 weeks.

Which essentially means very little of The Vic for the rest of you.

Yes, yes, I's heartbreaking for you really. I apologize for that. I truly do. I wish that I could change it. I don't.

You guys are awesome, don't get me wrong, but I am loving the fact that my Brit boy is here with me.

Even if he is correcting my spelling and vernacular all the time (I speak proper American, he insists that I speak and write proper English. *sigh of exhausted frustration* I learned American! Isn't that enough?). LOL.

Anyway, just wanted to give you all an update. We are heading to Buffalo from NYC now for a week and a half and then we're going back to NYC and then Daniel is returning to England *gasping sob* without me.

Blog ya later!

-Vicktor Aleksandr B