Devil with White Wings
This is not a sentimental post about a mysterious, handsome stranger or a racy sexpade. This post is about gay bashing, kidnap and armed robbery.
It was about time that the eccentric, morbid queen, like the rest of her kinsmen experience the vicissitudes of being gay. And for like so many times before and like so many people gets physically and verbally abused because of the very fact that she is gay.
After a long usual dry spell, where everyone seems to be getting on with their lives but her, the eccentric, morbid queen was starting feel the usual feeling of unfailing misery. And while no one shared this misery or cared to sympathize, the eccentric morbid queen reached new heights (or rather lows) of her desperation.
Something most gay people go through, due to unforgiving circumstances, and which renders them as a group extremely vulnerable to the outside world.
The eccentric morbid queen was very desperate, ie very vulnerable. And it is at these moments when we suspend our better judgment, and we do things that we normally would never in our right state of mind do.
Now, most of us can sense dodgy guys miles away. No matter how good they are, something seems to be amiss, something does not seem to fit. And it is right there that we should back off and trust our better judgment.
I did not.
And one “gentleman” of one of my least social networking websites, kept pressing to meet. I refused because he gave a location of some nasty suburb off Maadi. And despite repeatedly refusing to meet him, he kept trying nonetheless.
In the end, I gave in. And after interrogating him on everything concerning his body and sexuality we agreed to meet.
Something about his accent, did not put me at ease. One should always trust phonetics. His English was surprisingly competent. And he could hold a conversation. But when he was speaking over the phone, one could not mistake a clear low-class accent.
This was the second clue.
The place he indicated, I knew very vaguely. I ended up there, one time long ago, only because I got off the wrong train station and was lost.
And when I arrived there this time, it hit me, how random and shabby it looks. This was more of squatter settlements or shanty towns people study in development organizations.
The roads were not paved, there was no proper swage system, no urban planning for roads and infrastructure. I started to wonder, where the hell am I?
My “gentleman” arrived. And he instantly recognized me, and I didn’t. Because he was not the person in the picture he showed me.
Third clue.
He then said lets talk a walk and if you want we can go to my place “to have fun”. I consented not paying much attention to the strange, surreal context I was in.
We started walking down the bumpy, unpaved roads, and I was surprised by how articulate he sounds. And yet his “humble” appearance made me even more confused.
He kept talking about his experience in the gay community and his relationships. And while I could not help that his eyes had a cruel and psychotic look, and that there was something inherently coarse about him, I was secretly fascinated by this specimen of low class sexuality.
I rarely get to experience that. I have been always curious about narratives, representations and expressions of sexuality of this particular social group.
But one can do that through books or academic research. Not random dates with gay bashers.
We walked on for about 15 minutes, he talked about his work, his education, his favorite authors. And I pleasantly tagged along, not using any critical reflection on the extremely absurd situation I was in. We reached a relatively quiet and isolated corner, and at a turn there was his “place”. A two story building, unfinished, with cement and debris all around. I followed him, and on the very first floor in a tiny, tiny room, more of a rabbit hole, we went in. It was a grime little dingy room, with ants and cockroaches crawling all over. It must have been not bigger than a bathroom cubicle. It had a barely functional neon light, and a terrible claustrophobic feeling to it.
Fourth clue.
I sat on a “sofa”, he sat opposite me, and he seemed immensely satisfied in a certain way. I was not sure why.
But what I was sure of, was why would anyone want to have sex in this hell hole?
As I sat ants started crawling all over my feet.
And I asked him, “you actually live here?”
He answered, “No, I live with parents, this place is just for ‘fun’”.
Then not two minutes in the conversation, two other more dodgy guys walked in the room and closed the door.
It hit me.
Finally, it hit me.
This is a set-up, not a specimen of low class homosexuality.
I took my bag and walked to the door and told them let, “Let me out”.
The two other gentlemen who joined us, were two typical low class Egyptians suffering from malnutrition, and had one of them not had knife, I would have smashed his head against the wall.
They told me, to stay quiet for my own good. And that all will go well if I cooperate. Or else they will slice me up right then and there.
Being a claustrophobic by nature, and realizing I was being mugged, numbed me.
And I sat again at the “sofa”. And came face to face with my “gentleman”. Who smiled and told me “You know deception?”, in English.
He said if I did not keep quiet, there was a whole bunch of other gentlemen who would be more than happy to join in and forcefully have sex with me.
I was beyond myself, outside myself at this point. I knew that I couldn’t scream, because this is an isolated room, in an already isolated building. I couldn’t hit the three, I will be overpowered by numbers. I figured my best bet, was to play along. Giving myself two red lines, if crossed then I will flip and let my panic take over.
They said they wanted everything in my bag. And for once in my life, my intellectualism and selective display of affluence saved me.
Truly saved me.
I did not have much money, I had one credit card that was overdue in its limit, two ATM cards for two blank accounts (zero balance), my phone was a piece of junk (its not worth 50 LE), I had no gadgets, no camera, no laptop, no watch, no sunglasses. Nothing.
Just piles and piles of books.
They actually laughed.
“Do you work in a bookstore or do you go around and sell books?”, they asked sarcastically.
And I was grateful
I was grateful for all those times I picked books over any other pleasure.
They wanted to go through my bag, but I refused and said I will disclose every single item by myself.
They went through everything in my bag, the books, the receipts, the tissues, the wet wipes, my wallet, every single thing, and meanwhile saying disgusting sexual innuendos.
One of the two gentlemen who came in later, the one who had a buck knife, was cross eyed, not very coherent, and kept saying how he wants to sleep with me. And how this was what I came for. He will give me what I came for. I then said no, this is not what I came for! My gentleman then said, no, this is what you came for, I have our chat saved, with every single thing you said. I could not believe it. However, I flatly said that I would rather die and burn in hell, he said he would maim my ass with his knife.
To which I replied, “You can maim it all you want, but I will not sleep with you”.
The other two gentlemen kept pacifying him, saying that I will go unharmed because I seem like a nice guy, who does not deserve such a horrible fate.
They then proposed that for me to go, I will sign a deed, with an undisclosed sum of money. I felt that my blackmail went too far. This is one red line I will not cross. I told him, no way in hell. You can rip me to pieces and I will not sign anything.
I had no idea how on earth I kept my resolve and tried to maintain a semblance of sanity. I was scared. I was scared to the extent of thinking this will never end.
I am trapped. I am trapped here forever.
They took the little money I had, along with my single, overdue credit card, which they kept asking for the PIN which I never bothered to know! My credit card was working fine I did not need to withdraw any money from it. There were my other ATM Cards and my poor phone. I asked them for the SIM card. Saying it has ten pounds or less credit, its not worth stealing.
Thank God, I was given back all my ID cards, my SIM card and little petit monet so I can go home.
My gentleman then volunteered explaining who he is. He said something about this being a ring, a ring of gay bashers and petty criminals that sets up gay people (usually rich, something I am not, thank God!), brings them to these place, mugs them and makes sure they never do “that” again (“that” meaning a whole wide range of things, mainly this particular lifestyle choice).
He went on describing what kind of physical violence and abuse he inflicted on former victims. I felt sick to my stomach.
And I wanted to scream, who made you God?
But I kept quiet. I knew this was not the best thing to say.
The cross eyed gentleman then said, you know we can all be friends, manly friends, and we can help you and we can be there for you, only if you renounce your ways. Do you have any idea what kind of abominable sin are you committing?
To which I wanted to answer, the one you wanted to commit two seconds ago!
But then I realized any kind of critical thinking will only result in me being slashed by knife so I shut up.
My memory is muddles unfortunately, and I am sure I will remember more details later, but for now, I am still plagued by enduring horrific sensations and images.
After confiscating my wallet and part of its contents, I was allowed to go. The three gentlemen escorted me, and reassured me that I will go unharmed.
My gentleman then crossed arms with me and made me walk along with him. He said, “I am the devil with white wings”, in English.
Something like batman, he is morally ambiguous, seemingly evil, but only for the right cause.
However his image irked me, and in the midst of my mental and psychological breakdown, I answered back, the devil was an angel. He did have white wings, and the reason why he was cast in hell, was because he thought he knew better.
Of course my gentleman was not happy with my answer. He said no, I don’t mean like that. He kept saying I am not a thief, I am not stealing, I will give you back all your stuff, I just want to teach people a lesson. And I told him, you want to teach gay people a lesson? Why gay people, there are a whole bunch of evil doers in the world, why gay people?
Then I was given the lecture about homosexuality being an abomination to God and society.
I remained silent.
My gentleman then started saying that since I have been around for quite some time, and that I was sexually promiscuous I must be “wide open”, in English.
What a pity! I was called all kind of names because of my refusal to let down my sexual guard and now I was accused of being loose, worthless whore.
But I was grateful I was still alive, my physical integrity intact, and no apparent, serious damages.
My gentleman kept saying come again tomorrow, the same spot and I will give you all your stuff back. “I promise”, He said.
“You have my number”, he said, “call me, and I will send someone with your stuff to give it to you”.
And I said ok. I was not much concerned about the phone and the ATM cards. I felt defeated and violated to inconceivable degree.
I didn’t care if he never gives them back.
My sense of security was shattered to an irrecoverable extent. I did not care if I get my phone back or not.
Did it matter that he returned anything of what he has taken? Did it matter that atrocious, unspeakable behavior was acted out against me because I was gay?
Was the moral scale suddenly completely out of balance just because I was gay?
Has justice really turned a blind eye, and unleashed its sword and started a crazed killing spree, because I was gay?
Can all the world problems, ills and evils be healed by bashing gay people?
I wonder.
It was about time that the eccentric, morbid queen, like the rest of her kinsmen experience the vicissitudes of being gay. And for like so many times before and like so many people gets physically and verbally abused because of the very fact that she is gay.
After a long usual dry spell, where everyone seems to be getting on with their lives but her, the eccentric, morbid queen was starting feel the usual feeling of unfailing misery. And while no one shared this misery or cared to sympathize, the eccentric morbid queen reached new heights (or rather lows) of her desperation.
Something most gay people go through, due to unforgiving circumstances, and which renders them as a group extremely vulnerable to the outside world.
The eccentric morbid queen was very desperate, ie very vulnerable. And it is at these moments when we suspend our better judgment, and we do things that we normally would never in our right state of mind do.
Now, most of us can sense dodgy guys miles away. No matter how good they are, something seems to be amiss, something does not seem to fit. And it is right there that we should back off and trust our better judgment.
I did not.
And one “gentleman” of one of my least social networking websites, kept pressing to meet. I refused because he gave a location of some nasty suburb off Maadi. And despite repeatedly refusing to meet him, he kept trying nonetheless.
In the end, I gave in. And after interrogating him on everything concerning his body and sexuality we agreed to meet.
Something about his accent, did not put me at ease. One should always trust phonetics. His English was surprisingly competent. And he could hold a conversation. But when he was speaking over the phone, one could not mistake a clear low-class accent.
This was the second clue.
The place he indicated, I knew very vaguely. I ended up there, one time long ago, only because I got off the wrong train station and was lost.
And when I arrived there this time, it hit me, how random and shabby it looks. This was more of squatter settlements or shanty towns people study in development organizations.
The roads were not paved, there was no proper swage system, no urban planning for roads and infrastructure. I started to wonder, where the hell am I?
My “gentleman” arrived. And he instantly recognized me, and I didn’t. Because he was not the person in the picture he showed me.
Third clue.
He then said lets talk a walk and if you want we can go to my place “to have fun”. I consented not paying much attention to the strange, surreal context I was in.
We started walking down the bumpy, unpaved roads, and I was surprised by how articulate he sounds. And yet his “humble” appearance made me even more confused.
He kept talking about his experience in the gay community and his relationships. And while I could not help that his eyes had a cruel and psychotic look, and that there was something inherently coarse about him, I was secretly fascinated by this specimen of low class sexuality.
I rarely get to experience that. I have been always curious about narratives, representations and expressions of sexuality of this particular social group.
But one can do that through books or academic research. Not random dates with gay bashers.
We walked on for about 15 minutes, he talked about his work, his education, his favorite authors. And I pleasantly tagged along, not using any critical reflection on the extremely absurd situation I was in. We reached a relatively quiet and isolated corner, and at a turn there was his “place”. A two story building, unfinished, with cement and debris all around. I followed him, and on the very first floor in a tiny, tiny room, more of a rabbit hole, we went in. It was a grime little dingy room, with ants and cockroaches crawling all over. It must have been not bigger than a bathroom cubicle. It had a barely functional neon light, and a terrible claustrophobic feeling to it.
Fourth clue.
I sat on a “sofa”, he sat opposite me, and he seemed immensely satisfied in a certain way. I was not sure why.
But what I was sure of, was why would anyone want to have sex in this hell hole?
As I sat ants started crawling all over my feet.
And I asked him, “you actually live here?”
He answered, “No, I live with parents, this place is just for ‘fun’”.
Then not two minutes in the conversation, two other more dodgy guys walked in the room and closed the door.
It hit me.
Finally, it hit me.
This is a set-up, not a specimen of low class homosexuality.
I took my bag and walked to the door and told them let, “Let me out”.
The two other gentlemen who joined us, were two typical low class Egyptians suffering from malnutrition, and had one of them not had knife, I would have smashed his head against the wall.
They told me, to stay quiet for my own good. And that all will go well if I cooperate. Or else they will slice me up right then and there.
Being a claustrophobic by nature, and realizing I was being mugged, numbed me.
And I sat again at the “sofa”. And came face to face with my “gentleman”. Who smiled and told me “You know deception?”, in English.
He said if I did not keep quiet, there was a whole bunch of other gentlemen who would be more than happy to join in and forcefully have sex with me.
I was beyond myself, outside myself at this point. I knew that I couldn’t scream, because this is an isolated room, in an already isolated building. I couldn’t hit the three, I will be overpowered by numbers. I figured my best bet, was to play along. Giving myself two red lines, if crossed then I will flip and let my panic take over.
They said they wanted everything in my bag. And for once in my life, my intellectualism and selective display of affluence saved me.
Truly saved me.
I did not have much money, I had one credit card that was overdue in its limit, two ATM cards for two blank accounts (zero balance), my phone was a piece of junk (its not worth 50 LE), I had no gadgets, no camera, no laptop, no watch, no sunglasses. Nothing.
Just piles and piles of books.
They actually laughed.
“Do you work in a bookstore or do you go around and sell books?”, they asked sarcastically.
And I was grateful
I was grateful for all those times I picked books over any other pleasure.
They wanted to go through my bag, but I refused and said I will disclose every single item by myself.
They went through everything in my bag, the books, the receipts, the tissues, the wet wipes, my wallet, every single thing, and meanwhile saying disgusting sexual innuendos.
One of the two gentlemen who came in later, the one who had a buck knife, was cross eyed, not very coherent, and kept saying how he wants to sleep with me. And how this was what I came for. He will give me what I came for. I then said no, this is not what I came for! My gentleman then said, no, this is what you came for, I have our chat saved, with every single thing you said. I could not believe it. However, I flatly said that I would rather die and burn in hell, he said he would maim my ass with his knife.
To which I replied, “You can maim it all you want, but I will not sleep with you”.
The other two gentlemen kept pacifying him, saying that I will go unharmed because I seem like a nice guy, who does not deserve such a horrible fate.
They then proposed that for me to go, I will sign a deed, with an undisclosed sum of money. I felt that my blackmail went too far. This is one red line I will not cross. I told him, no way in hell. You can rip me to pieces and I will not sign anything.
I had no idea how on earth I kept my resolve and tried to maintain a semblance of sanity. I was scared. I was scared to the extent of thinking this will never end.
I am trapped. I am trapped here forever.
They took the little money I had, along with my single, overdue credit card, which they kept asking for the PIN which I never bothered to know! My credit card was working fine I did not need to withdraw any money from it. There were my other ATM Cards and my poor phone. I asked them for the SIM card. Saying it has ten pounds or less credit, its not worth stealing.
Thank God, I was given back all my ID cards, my SIM card and little petit monet so I can go home.
My gentleman then volunteered explaining who he is. He said something about this being a ring, a ring of gay bashers and petty criminals that sets up gay people (usually rich, something I am not, thank God!), brings them to these place, mugs them and makes sure they never do “that” again (“that” meaning a whole wide range of things, mainly this particular lifestyle choice).
He went on describing what kind of physical violence and abuse he inflicted on former victims. I felt sick to my stomach.
And I wanted to scream, who made you God?
But I kept quiet. I knew this was not the best thing to say.
The cross eyed gentleman then said, you know we can all be friends, manly friends, and we can help you and we can be there for you, only if you renounce your ways. Do you have any idea what kind of abominable sin are you committing?
To which I wanted to answer, the one you wanted to commit two seconds ago!
But then I realized any kind of critical thinking will only result in me being slashed by knife so I shut up.
My memory is muddles unfortunately, and I am sure I will remember more details later, but for now, I am still plagued by enduring horrific sensations and images.
After confiscating my wallet and part of its contents, I was allowed to go. The three gentlemen escorted me, and reassured me that I will go unharmed.
My gentleman then crossed arms with me and made me walk along with him. He said, “I am the devil with white wings”, in English.
Something like batman, he is morally ambiguous, seemingly evil, but only for the right cause.
However his image irked me, and in the midst of my mental and psychological breakdown, I answered back, the devil was an angel. He did have white wings, and the reason why he was cast in hell, was because he thought he knew better.
Of course my gentleman was not happy with my answer. He said no, I don’t mean like that. He kept saying I am not a thief, I am not stealing, I will give you back all your stuff, I just want to teach people a lesson. And I told him, you want to teach gay people a lesson? Why gay people, there are a whole bunch of evil doers in the world, why gay people?
Then I was given the lecture about homosexuality being an abomination to God and society.
I remained silent.
My gentleman then started saying that since I have been around for quite some time, and that I was sexually promiscuous I must be “wide open”, in English.
What a pity! I was called all kind of names because of my refusal to let down my sexual guard and now I was accused of being loose, worthless whore.
But I was grateful I was still alive, my physical integrity intact, and no apparent, serious damages.
My gentleman kept saying come again tomorrow, the same spot and I will give you all your stuff back. “I promise”, He said.
“You have my number”, he said, “call me, and I will send someone with your stuff to give it to you”.
And I said ok. I was not much concerned about the phone and the ATM cards. I felt defeated and violated to inconceivable degree.
I didn’t care if he never gives them back.
My sense of security was shattered to an irrecoverable extent. I did not care if I get my phone back or not.
Did it matter that he returned anything of what he has taken? Did it matter that atrocious, unspeakable behavior was acted out against me because I was gay?
Was the moral scale suddenly completely out of balance just because I was gay?
Has justice really turned a blind eye, and unleashed its sword and started a crazed killing spree, because I was gay?
Can all the world problems, ills and evils be healed by bashing gay people?
I wonder.
Comments
But you seriously gotta do something, a least put a link of their manjam profile (or whatever site it was), so other people don's fall for it !