True Story: The Bahamas Suck

A few years ago I had to take a reporter on a tour of a jail in Westchester to show off the facility's high tech security system. The tour also included a walk past the prisoner's cells, where yours truly was paraded around like a piece of bloody rib eye before some angry, pent-up lions. I found it funny that the cameras whose face-recognition technology I was talking about were capturing the full-on crotch-grabbing, invitations to come inside the cell, and simulated sex acts performed by the prisoners for my pleasure.

And I wondered, was I being taunted or were they just flirting? I mean, the only difference between the jail visit and a Friday night at Barracuda is that after the crotch grabbing and naughty chat I'm offered a cosmo.

But what does this have to do with the Bahamas?

The jail visit, and my recent visit to the Bahamas for work, were both instances where my flaming gayness was so apparent that it warranted hostile behavior from people I had no choice but to spend time with. OR I was being made to feel at home; just in a seemingly mean way.

I'll spare you the recap of the clusters of women I'd see looking at me up and down, shake their heads and laugh. Or the scowl on the faces of the men manning a speedboat when I shreaked after my suit got splashed with water on our way to a god-awful private island with tiki torches and conga lines. But I will recap the colorful conversation I had with two ladies who were running the security check point at the airport in Nassau.

From the moment I walked in with Baby Gooch (my pet name for my Gucci man bag) all eyes were on me. And the glances exchanged Selena and Eileen (of course they introduced themselves)said, "girl, it's on."

Selena: You got a girlfriend? This is a nice bag.
Me: No
Selena: You ever been with a Bahamian woman?
Eileen: Selena you so bad!
Me: Hee hee, does a Bahama Mama count?
Selena: Why you got a ring? You married?
Me: Yes, to a man.
Eileen: Oh no he didn't!
Me: I know you guys don't do that here.
Selena: No we don't.
Me: That's why I'm going home.
Selena: We just do our thing on the low.
Eileen: Can I say that it's a waste that you're a gay?

At this point I realized that, in their own way, Selena and Eileen were trying to be friends. OR, I've matured enough to let myself be in on the joke as opposed to feeling victimized.

Selena: We got a coworker here like you.
Me: How nice.
Selena: He says he loves cock more than we do. Do you talk like that?
Me: Uh
Selena: How about when you're getting f***ed?
Me: Uh
Eileen: Let's call him! (Him being the gay coworker I'm supposed to meet and f*** in front of them)
Me: Ladies I'm going to miss my flight but this has been fun.
Selena: You'll be fine.

Sigh. So I wait. And pull out my Altoids and offer them to my captors. Turns out my hands were trembling! I'm such a silly fag.

Finally the gay coworker comes in and shrieks (damn us, queers) and turns away.

Eileen: I told you he was pretty!

And that's pretty much it. I should have taken a picture of my new clique but I was so exhausted (and scared, sadly) that I just sped off and blew them a kiss.

This experience confirms my utter dislike for the Caribbean, with the exception of Puerto Rico and the Dominican Republic were James and I were treated very well by the locals.And you know I'm never setting foot in Jamaica.

We can add the Bahamas to that list.

Wondering what Selena and Eileen looked like? Here's an approximation:



And what does Nassau look like? Here are some cell phone shots:



Marina at the Atlantis Resort


Mrs.Roper Curtains in my room