End of the Beginning

10 PM. January 26th, 2011. Winter season. Leftover sloshy snow covered the borders of the sidewalks and the streets. One of the darkest days that I’ll never forget.

Bouncing on a bare mattress that wasn’t even mine right beside my bed. It was somehow more comfortable though, despite my brother and I both having the same kind of mattress, but in my seven-year-old mind, it was an excuse to jump on it like any child would. My cousin Ashly was over for a sleepover, which meant one of us, my brother Michael or myself, had to give up our bed for her to sleep in, and the other would have to share the other available bed.

10:13 PM. The phone rings.

My mother answers. My pediatrician on the other line. Unintelligible conversation, she comes to my room. “Get dressed,” she said. “We’re going to see the doctor.”

I can still remember what I wore that day; the white with multicolored spots pajamas that I never changed out of but put pants and a sweater over them. A cyan blue hoodie with a rainbow on it that would instantly make you think of Rainbow Dash from My Little Pony but was in fact no way related to the children’s television show. A multi-colored pom-pom scarf and a matching pom-pom hat from Children’s Place. If you were a child in Bushwick or Ridgewood once, most of your childhood wardrobe was made up of Children’s Place clothes, from your winter hat down to your shoes or boots. A purple coat that was darker than my walls. My mother in her soon-to-be iconic updo bun and the nostalgic hot pink North Face jacket.

10:27 PM. We were out the door. I remember being blinded by the streetlights that prevented car accidents to a degree, the smells of the cold water as if it was going to snow again, damp and chilling to the nostrils. But for some reason-and maybe it’s thanks to the gloves-I can’t remember feeling cold despite the winter season. Nor do I remember feeling tired.

We walked up through Halsey Street and took the L train two stops on the Manhattan bound track to Dekalb avenue, where my pediatrician was waiting for us at Wyckoff Hospital.

This is the end of the beginning.

Sweat. Tears. Saliva. Pain. Pleasure. Ecstasy. Tension building. Muscles pulsing. Hearts racing. Bodies about to give out. In particular, Sandra and David. The couple’s usual spot, the House from Hell, Sandra and David are and have been frequenting since the day they first met. A commonplace for the pair, though others don’t dare visit considering the name. Especially intense, the House from Hell was built to torment people and put their minds and bodies to the test. 

Sandra and David always love to come back, as the intensity increases and spices up their relationship each time. Because of their constant returns, Sandra and David have an exclusive membership that gives them unlimited access to any room of the House of Hell. For this moment, they’ve got a three hour window to do whatever they want in the exclusive back room.

The House of Hell is equipped with all kinds of toys and technology, suitable to anyone and everyone’s needs regardless of background and orientation. ‘There’s no discrimination here, thought Sandra, ‘as long as you tell your friends about us and bring them along for the ride.’ By the time Sandra finished the House’s motto in her mind, David was already undressed down to his shorts and ready to party.

“Ready babe?” David asked Sandra as she got down to her bra and boxers.

“Ready as always, you maniac,” she remarks with a smirk and a lustful yet determined look in her eyes. This is her favorite part of the day: Sandra loves to out-time and surpass David in their affairs. 

Not a second later, Sandra is in front of David, almost pressed completely into his lap. They heave heavy, huffing and puffing from forcing their bodies to work so rough and so fast in the seconds that have passed. Sandra starts to moan, her legs not used to the build up of intensity, but she’s determined not to come last to David. David, falling for Sandra’s trick, begins to moan and feel his legs start to give up.

“Come on, baby. You’re not done already, are you?” Sandra teases her boyfriend’s struggle.

“No way. It takes two to tango, woman” David retorts, frustrated with how quickly he succumbs to Sandra’s wit each time they go to the House from Hell.

“Keep going, baby, I’m so close!” Sandra teases again. Despite the music that fills the room, Sandra and David get louder and drown out Hey Baby (Drop it to the Floor) by T-Pain and Pitbull. 

“I can’t take it anymore!” Sandra lets out with a final moan and a gasp of air that sounds close to an orgasm. She lets her body give out on her and release all of her built up tension; her limbs falling limp and slouching into David.

“Guess you couldn’t beat me this time, love,” David is proud of himself for surpassing Sandra for once in their couple’s workout for the day.

“I can’t believe I let you out-pedal me this time,” Sandra sighs, still slouching on the Peloton’s newest tandem bicycle. David gets up off the bike seat and begins to squeegee the sweat off his chiseled chest.

“Better luck next time, babe,” David taunts his collapsed girlfriend. Sandra eventually gets up and wipes off the sweat with her towel.

As the couple walks out the main doors to the House from Hell, Sandra stops to tie her shoe. Whilst this she asks David, “So, will you marry me now?”

“Yes, but only because you let me kick your ass on the bike,” David laughs. 

Once her shoe is tied, Sandra gets up and locks hands with David as the couple walk home, to prepare for another intense session at the House from Hell a day later.

The mirror,

The glass window that points out everything in its view-

The wrinkles, the stretch marks, cellulite, freckles, acne scars, the most beautiful pair of eyes,

The imperfections and the perfections that we fail to see

The qualities that we fail to realize unless we have a digital camera in front of our faces

But we use the mirror to strike a pose and share our bodies with the world,

The mirror points out everything especially at our most vulnerable moments

But again, when was the last time we looked at a mirror and appreciated it for showing us our true selves

We can like what we see in the mirror because the mirror doesn’t hesitate to show us what it likes about us too

The reflection of light and love when we need an ounce of reassurance or a little confidence booster

The one that’s always there when we’re practicing for a big presentation the next day or trying to adjust our hair and our bow ties for a special occasion,

The one that’s there when we say damn I look good,

The mirror says damn right you do!

Yet they’re the ones that get punched and shattered for revealing who we are and the hate they get when we don’t appreciate our truth

Oh how id love to put those pieces back together with a hug

If mirrors could talk I’d say

Mirror mirror on the wall,

You are the fairest of them all <3

As a recently coming-out, or, came out, pansexual Latinx woman in NYC, there are only two sides: you either support, respect, identify with the community, or you don’t. Surely, religion and morals can be argued or discussed, but it all comes down to internalized homophobia. It took me a few years to find myself, and in that process, I have met some of the nicest people that exist in Bushwick, specifically community organizers and ambassadors at Make the Road NY. It happened two summers ago: Bushwick Pride. The first pride that I had ever went to, and in this moment of my life, for the first time I truly felt like I could be myself without judgement or criticism. I felt safe. I felt loved. I felt understood. I felt alive. And there was not a single ounce of disagreement around me.

It saddens me to see that in the most recent of times, however, with the pandemic, that in spite of needing community and togetherness to make it through this the most, the LGBTQIA+ community could do anything but catch a break. I see people like “mattxiv” on Instagram constantly and relentlessly fighting not just for himself, but for the justice of everyone in the LGBTQIA+ community. He receives so much support, with occasional bashing, but his followers are quick to shut him down; he even defends himself from time to time.

A person like Matt makes me want to become a role model for people like me, but I don’t have that courage the way he does. Seeing Matt and others on Instagram posting about safety measures and redefining gender and sexuality stereotypes has opened up my eyes to the spectrum and has helped me understand other people with similar backgrounds and experiences, not just in the LGBTQIA+ community.

Once again: I’m a pansexual. I stand with the LGBTQIA+.