Crap I Get On Grindr – XIII – Lagos Edition

Got into Lagos last week, switched on Scruff and a warning popped up.

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Warning unheeded and most days bored while stuck in traffic in sweltering heat in an Uber/Taxify taxi with air conditioning blowing hot air, I browsed Grindr (which by the way doesn’t have a similar warning) and picked up a life few lessons along the way.

  1. Be au fait with the slang or miss out on a promising shag

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Nigeria Recognises Same Sex Marriage

While planning a quick getaway Kasie Anyawu, realised his Nigerian passport was due to expire a few weeks after his wedding day and had to be renewed.

Weeks later after the wedding, he set about completing the online application form for his passport renewal. Not quite used to being married, when it came to answering the Marital status question he chose “Single” from the list of available options. It still felt dreamlike. He still had to pinch himself sometimes and fiddle with the simple gold wedding band on his finger, to remind himself he was married.

He selected “Married”.

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Then came the next two questions – “Name of kin” and “Relationship to next of kin”. When he was single, it had always put his sister down as his next of kin and stated their relationship, but with the change in Marital status a change of Next of kin designate might be required. He paused and thought for a second. Whom should he designate as his next of kin? His sister or his new husband?Read More »

Press Statement

Some of you may have noticed the lack of updates on the blog since the beginning of the year. I have had to take some time off blogging due to a couple of  life changing events recently, which have caused me to pause and do some deep soul-searching.

As part of the introspection, I had to review past blog entries and I realised that though I enjoy sharing my experiences with the blog followers (all five of you), the entries came from a place of deep pain, caused by a myriad of unresolved issues.  

To paraphrase my therapist, I have so much anger in me, that I need an outlet for my frustration and I unconsciously use the blog to vent. Without the blog as a channel of release I may have let off the pent up anger through other channels, which may not be socially or legally acceptable.

In the process of this catharsis, I may or may not have been (I am leaning towards the latter) exclusionary in my writing and may have offended some moral sensibilities and possibly infringed a human right or two.

For example, my contempt for flat arses, aversion to unprepared bottoms, scepticism of the use of PrEP within certain demographics and my predilection for muscular and masculine men, to the exclusion of other body types and deportments when it comes to sex, are common features throughout the blog.

In this non-binary, cis averse, pansexual, self labelling, gender bending, liberal left centrist, politically hypersensitive, woke world that we live in, this sort of narrative has no place on a LGBTQIA+∞ themed blog. Also, with the internet’s capacity to keep receipts ad infinitum, it wouldn’t be a good look for me if in future I launched an Onlyfans page or was plucked from relative obscurity and cast as the lead in an all-inclusive LGBTQIA+∞ stage production. (Guy’s gotta dream, right?)

So after posting a spate of shags in which flat arses were neglected, numerous private Grindr messages, conversations with my barber, a raft of on Social media suspensions and introspection facilitated by circa one hundred hours of therapy, it is with deep regret and sadness, but with gratitude to God for a blog life well spent that I, Kasiemobi Erectus Ricardo Elemuwa Dike Isiaku Mojéishu, on this day Monday 1stApril 2019, have decided to make this post my last blog entry.

I have also chosen this day and platform to announce my bid for President of the United States of America in the 2020 presidential elections. I believe for America to be truly great again, her Presidency needs to be outsourced….away from Russia.

 

Thank you.

🚶🏾‍♂️🚶🏾‍♂️🚶🏾‍♂️🚶🏾‍♂️🚶🏾‍♂️

Crap I Get On Grindr – XII – Lost In Translation

So the other day someone hit me up on Grindr……

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I did my due diligence to see if his profile checks out…..

Screenshots - 2 of 7He didn’t like Unsafe sex & drugs; Presumably likes rub downs; Not sure what’s happening with Instagram and the last one….WTF?!!?

He doesn’t like Black Americans???

I always say to people who get offended by such racially exclusive Grindr profiles, to move on to the next profile. It’s only Grindr. It’s not real life and it won’t impact your livelihood. The Real Sexual Racism

But I was curious to know why this fellow still contacted me. I don’t state my nationality on my profile. How does he know I am not black American?

So against my own advice, (which technically I didn’t do, as he contacted me first) I sought clarity…..

 

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His response indicated he wasn’t into Black guys at all.

Then why the fuck did he send me a message.

At this point I became furious and sent a message without checking for grammar and spelling as you probably may notice…..

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Now he appeared to be back into all black guys.

But I still wanted to know if Black Americans were excluded from his magnanimous hoe-ness……

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Oh wow, he relaxed his rules. He must have been really horny to want to hook up with black Americans. And now that we have cleared up the confusion he wants to get back on track.

But still I wanted an explanation for the initial exclusion from his whoredom……

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And then I got the told….

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Doh!!!🤦🏾‍♂️🤦🏾‍♂️

I had to laugh.

Didn’t RuPaul Charles something like  “If you can’t laugh at yourself, how the hell are you going to laugh at someone else?” 

Happy New Year!!!!

 

 

Blowing In The Wind

When I observe some behaviours  around me in my daily, I ponder why they take place.

For example: 

  1. During rush hour on the London Underground, why is it twenty passengers get off the train, only five passengers can squeeze back on? Meanwhile when a beggar comes through the same train carriage passengers quickly make way for him to pass, creating a wide path Moses wished he had at the crossing of the Red sea.
  2. On a busy pavement why do some people walk with their head down, eyes glued to their mobile phones and expect me to walk around them?
  3. After waiting in line to be served at the cinema snack stand, why don’t people know what they want before it gets to their turn to be served?
  4. After being alone in an empty room for minutes on end, why do people walk in right after I fart?

The last behaviour galled me earlier this year.

I usually go to the gym very early in the morning when it’s not busy. At that time, there are usually 10 – 12 regular members in a gym that could easily take 100 members, during peak periods of the day. In addition to not having to wait to use machines or weights,  another advantage of going to my gym early in the morning, is the demographic of the members at that time. It is highly urban. (read “Black”), so the possibility of not seeing a bubble butt, is quite low.

Among the early morning regulars are two young black French guys in their mid-twenties who are quite friendly and always say hello to me. Both have smooth dark skin, are both about 6ft tall and built like professional athletes. Their chests are about 42 inches wide tapering into a 30 inch waist. Then their glutes are hard to ignore, there is no second-guessing their presence. They are well formed, round and set high above their equally muscular legs. God took time moulding and baking those chocolate cakes

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When it comes to the derriere, those boys are truly blessed and they know it. I have never seen them wearing loose fitting gym clothes, their gym outfits are always form fitting, accentuating their glutes and overall body musculature. Some days I can make out their abdominal muscles through their tight gym tops – one spots an 8- pack, the other a 6-pack. 

They work out together and some mornings, if I am working out in the same gym area as they are, I would spend and extend rest periods between exercise reps, watching them and fantasising about the things I would do to those glutes.

I would imagine them butt naked in bed and me squeezing each guy’s butt cheek and playfully gnawing away at the other. Then I would explore each hole and spell out their names with my tongue, bringing them both to a point where they would beg for more and give me more names to spell out with my tongue.

 

Then when I am done with the spelling bee, I would sheath myself and take them one after the other while the other watched or participated in some way, while waiting his turn. Sometimes, I’d imagine one was versatile and I would enter him from behind while he ravaged the other one; or I would finger them both while they fucked. Or I would finger one while fucking the other. The permutations of the positions are endless in my fantasy.

These extensive rest periods would probably explain why I spend 2 hours in the gym, 4-5 times a week and still haven’t achieved the well chiselled bodies I see on Instagram.  

Black glutes

I don’t even know if the French guys are straight or gay, nor the relationship between them – whether they are lovers, friends, siblings or cousins. But whatever their sexual orientation (straight preferred) my fantasy remains. (Hopefully they are not related, that would be gross)

Anyway, one early morning –it was legs day- I was using one of the four squat racks in the entire gym. The other regular early morning gym goers, including the stars of my spelling bee fantasy, were in other parts of the gym. I was alone in the vast gym are, with a plethora of gym equipment and my thoughts on how I was going to power through the back squat exercise routine.

I got myself in the start position, with the barbell resting on the top of my back. Feet shoulder weight apart and slightly turned out. Shoulder blades squeezed back together, abs tight and braced with my hips driven back slightly. I inhaled, sat nice and slow till my thighs were parallel to the floor. Paused, exhaled and powered back up to the start position.

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The perfect squat (even if I say so myself) except that on the way back up, I involuntarily let one off and the air around me became noxious on account of the ewa agoyin (beans), I ate for dinner the previous night. (I chronicle what happens when I eat ewa agoyin here). Though I had done the needful as nature intended before coming to the gym that morning, there was still a little more work to be done.  

Then I heard someone yell behind me to my right “Mon dieu! Vite, courir!!” My God! Quick, run. 

I turned my head slightly to the right, just in time to catch the two French guys avec firm butts and their noses covered, beating a hasty retreat towards the doors of the gym area, with their firm butts disappearing out of sight.

I must have been in the “zone” when I was doing the squat, because I didn’t notice when they appeared behind me. And I do not know why they chose that moment to come to my section of the gym. There were other squat racks and gym equipment at the other far end of the vast gym floor, well away from the not so fragrant air around me.

Again I ask why do people walk into the room just after I have farted?  I am sure the answer can’t be blowing in the wind. 

This happened in June and I haven’t seen them since. 

It is now December

Coming Out – Impasse

 

Continued from Coming Out – Crossroads

Although you going back to see your Dad would mean disrupting your plans to binge watch a Netflix series, you turn right.

Carpe diem and all that. The conversation is going to happen at some point. Better to have it now that you feel recklessly confident than dwell on it for a few hours and give yourself justifiable reasons why not to have the conversation.

You arrive at your parents’ place. Get out of the car, head for the main door of the building and press the buzzer for their apartment.

You hear your Dad’s voice through the intercom:

“Hello”

“It’s me”

“Did you forget something?”

“No, I need to talk to you.”

Your voice is steady. You sound self-assured and not nervous. Logic hasn’t set in. This is a good sign.

“Ok”. He buzzes you into the building and opens the door to the apartment. He is standing in the hallway.

“What is it?” he asks looking at you quizzically

You get straight into it.

“Mum, just told me she told you I’m gay.”

“Yes, she mentioned something like that.”

You sense derision in his response. A slight feeling of apprehension begins to set in. Though your earlier confidence is slightly dented, you remain calm.

He turns around and walks towards the living room. You close the door behind you and follow him. You both sit down across from each other at the dining table.

“How do you feel about it?”

“There isn’t much to say about it. All you must do is see how you can get out of it. Nobody has ever been like that in our family and it will not start with your own generation.”

He has given it some thought alright and it sounds like he has a way out of  your homosexuality.  And like his wife he may also be averse to saying the “G” word. But still there is hope – He has never been keen on Church or religion, so maybe he may yet say the word.

“What if it leads to my unhappiness?”

“If you are determined to get out of it, I don’t think it will lead to your unhappiness. Onye kwe chi ya ekwe. If you agree, God will agree.”

It’s R. Kelly all over again, believing he can fly – “If I can see it, then I can do it”. It’s a mindset thing for him. If you put your mind to it, you can stop being gay. Combined with your Mum’s “Pray away the gay” approach, it just might work.

“I have tried before and I can’t be with a woman in a satisfying way. Should I live alone and do anything? What do you suggest I do?”

“I don’t know of the ramifications of people being gay and what it means truly, apart from what I see on TV about same sex marriage and all that. There are people who have been in it and who have obviously come out of it and started being with women. Try it again and persevere this time”

Hurrah the “G-word”. There is hope! You think he is referring to a man in your village, back home in Nigeria. Growing up decades ago you remember him, then in his thirties as effete and unmarried. You thought nothing of it then. But you remember he had a fearsome and domineering mother who was one of the pillars of society. One day you heard he got married to a much younger woman and had kids. At that time you thought nothing unusual about it. Men get married to women and have kids. Except decades later when you became aware of your sexuality and during trip back home, you wondered if you were “the only gay in the village” and he came to mind. Then the penny dropped when you realised his 5 kids who were born in quick succession, looked nothing like him.

“Even at my age?”

“Yes, you can. People still get married for the first time in their fifties and even sixties sometimes. You are relatively young in comparison. Just try. We are not condemning you. I am trying to…you know…I mean people at home keep asking when you will get married….”

“So am I doing it for show? I would be living a lie. I would be making the woman and myself unhappy”

“It will not be for show. Just try. Everything is by trial. Think of what it means for our custom, our family and everything. Try and see what you can do about it.”

Ah, the shame of it all. Ultimately, it’s all about not bringing the family name into disrepute. Your family’s social standing in the village is very important and should not be diminished by any scandal – least of all not by the sin of homosexuality – and this must be done at all cost. Never mind you have serial adulterers and unrepentant scammers in the family, being gay would cause the family name and status irreparable damage.

“What if I can’t?”

“You can. Just try”

“But seriously, what if I can’t. There must be an alternative. What would you suggest?”

“Well if you can’t, you can continue like that, but you are keeping us unhappy”

“So, you rather I be unhappy?

“You will be happy. Just try. Listen, all of us will be happy including you. I am sure you are not happy with the set up. Just try. When we heard about it, we were not happy. So just try. You too will be happy”

“I am happy with the set up. What I am not happy about is that you’d sacrifice my happiness for yours and the family. Not very fatherly is it?”

“Just try.” He insists.

You begin to get irritated by his insistence that you try and find a woman to marry. You know you must be patient with him (and your mum), as they are relatively new to the idea that their son is gay. Being from an older generation if at all, it will take sometime for them to get used to the idea. But you still feel the need to make your position clear. You get a bit fidgety and your voice is slightly raised when you respond:

“It’s not a case of “Just try”. Homosexuality doesn’t have a switch you can flick on and off. It’s not that easy. I can’t and won’t try.”

“And just so we are clear, I am not changing anything to make you happy. I am sure it’s not what you want to hear but you are responsible for your own happiness as I am mine. So long as I am not harming anyone I will do what makes me happy and I recommend you do the same too.”

“All I am saying is that you should try. But if you have made up your mind not to, well let it be. But my advice is that you should try. Let’s leave it like that for the time being, but think about what I have told you.”

His voice is calm and authoritative. It is the same voice he used to reprimand you when as a young child you caused any mischief. The same voice he used when your mid-term test school results were poor and he took away your TV privileges to ensure you studied harder to get better end of term results. You recognise the finality in the tone and it said, “Do what I tell you or there will be consequences.” 

And with that you get up and leave.

Of the ways you dreamt the conversation would go with your Dad, it wasn’t quite the indignant Nollywood rejection or the mawkish Hollywood acceptance you fantasised about. Rather it felt like a Brexit meeting that typically ends in an impasse.

Forget the planned Netflix binge watching session – there is a lot to think about.

 It’s going to be a long drive home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Coming Out – Crossroads

It is a routine visit to see your parents. One you carry out once, sometimes twice a month. You spend two or three hours with them. You talk about everything but nothing. You help them fix anything that needs fixing around the house, but usually you help find a “missing” icon on the Ipad or other hand-held device.

You watch TV, the news is on. They give a running commentary on all the news items. This time it’s Brexit. There are over 500,000 people involved in an anti –Brexit protest march in London.  You listen to your Dad, a Labour party supporter, bemoan the Conservative Government and confidently assert that a Labour Government would do a better job of the Brexit debacle.

You really don’t know what the fuss is about. Supposedly educated people exercised their democratic right and voted in majority to leave the EU, albeit based on a campaign led by very questionable characters peddling obviously flawed information with a dash of xenophobia. Now a few months to Brexit day, they have changed their minds and want  another vote. Some would call it natural selection.

Somehow your Dad’s running commentary segues into the state of Nigerian politics. Your eyes glaze over. It’s time to leave. Your mother asks for a lift to the corner shop. This is a bit unusual. She normally prefers walking short distances to the shops to get some exercise. Doctor’s orders. The corner shop is a 2 min walk away.

Your Spidey senses are activated.

You say goodbye to your Dad and leave with your mum. You both get into the car and as she fastens her seat belt she drops her bombshell.

“I have told your father”

Spidey senses go into over drive

“Told him what?” You ask in befuddlement.

“About your lifestyle”

She can’t even say the word “gay”. It is that loathsome sin, greater than any other sin. And as far as she and most women her background are concerned it is a condition, which if remained unspoken and with powerful prayer , will be miraculously eradicated.

“You mean that I am gay. You told him I am gay?” You ask with incredulity in your voice.

Spidey senses are decommissioned.

Immediately you feel a sense of relief, not trepidation. Relief because your Dad is the only member of your nuclear family you have not come out to. You, your mum and siblings had kept it from him. And though it might sound a like a cliche, you never felt you were being as authentic as you could be with him and that was bothersome.

That said, you often debated telling him or not. And if you did how it would play out. And in all the scenarios – which were anywhere between an indignant Nollywood rejection to a mawkish Hollywood acceptance – that you played out in your imaginative mind, you were always present in every scene. Your mum and siblings maybe played supporting roles, but you were always the lead act breaking the news to him. A part of you feels something has been taken away from you and you should be angry, especially as your Mum was key with that indecision of  whether your Dad should be told or not, because of the “health concerns attributable only to an 80-year-old Nigerian man”. But no, you are not angry, you are calm. Just a bit curious how the scene played out between them.

“I thought you said not to tell him, that it may have “a negative impact his health and well-being”. You said it would “devastate him leading to untold consequences” (Consequences your “nagging” failed to achieve in over 45 years of marital bliss” you wanted to add; But not today Satan) “What made you change your mind?”

“I couldn’t keep it to myself any longer. It was worrying me.”

“You decided to share your “worry”, despite the possible outcomes you highlighted. When and how did you tell him and what did he say?

“About a month ago. It just came out and he hasn’t said anything about it since”

You remember you’ve spoken to your Dad, several times in the last month and you had seen him at least twice. In fact two weeks ago, you took him to see his cousin a good hour’s drive each way and he didn’t say a thing. Not a word. He did not betray any evidence whatsoever that he knew. He just kept a poker face. You feel like a fraud.

You wonder what’s been going through his mind ever since your Mother unburdened her soul. Had he always suspected? Did this confirm his suspicions? Was the news a surprise? Either he didn’t care that you are gay, or he isn’t sure how to broach the topic with you.

Just then your Mother’s quiet sniffling break through your thoughts. You hadn’t noticed she has been crying. She can snot cry on cue for Africa – Viola Davis has nothing on this one.

“So why are you crying? I thought you’d be happy now that you have told your husband and your “worry” has halved?”

“It is the whole situation. He hasn’t said anything to me about it. Your lifestyle it is not good, I am sure it is hurting him. You are my son and I love you unconditionally, but the Bible says your lifestyle is wrong…..”

“Thanks for your love, but have you considered giving up your religion, so that your unconditional love for me is without any limitation?”

She looks at you aghast, like someone just stabbed her in the chest. You know only too well that her coming to terms with your sexuality will take some time. After all it took you a few decades to accept yourself – it would be impractical to expect her to be comfortable with it within a year of you coming out her. To help her on the journey, you introduced her to a gay friend’s mother (Aunt M) who shares a similar background and is comfortable with her son’s sexuality. But your Mum remains unconvinced. Instead every time she visits Aunt M she tries to convince her to ask her son to change, by quoting Bible passages and making cultural references.

You speak before she collects herself and says something that would require going into therapy rest of your life.

“Anyway, this is not about you right now. We talked about this a few times already last year and I have introduced you to Aunt M. How you deal with it is your palava. It’s about Dad for now and I wouldn’t know how he really feels until I speak with him about it.”

You drop her at the corner shop.

You drive up to the top of the road.

You must decide which way to go.

Turn left and head home, plagued with the thoughts of what your Dad thinks about your sexuality and wondering when/if he would ever discuss it with you or indeed if you’d ever have the courage to bring it up; Or turn right and head back to your parents’ house deal with it now, satisfy your curiosity and start a new chapter of your relationship with your Dad.

You indicate to turn…..

To be continued on Coming Out – Impasse

Crap I Get On Grindr – XI

I honestly can’t remember the last time in the past 12 months a Grindr conversation in London, has converted into a shag for me.

I am largely to blame for this.

Increasingly I am finding Grindr to be an endless source of mirth (second only to the current progress of Brexit negotiations with the EU) rather than a source of sexual gratification. I can’t seem to get past the content of the profile of the guys sending me messages without finding something hilarious about them. And I completely loose interest most times when I read the message.

I really need to change my mindset as I am not getting laid (via Grindr at least 😊) and I feel I am beginning to fall into the group of Time wasters on the app. Or maybe I am too discerning.

I have curated a few examples of what I have seen and done. And I also added a few from a friend of mine who was going through a particularly hard time, when he replied to messages.

I think this one will be waiting a long time……

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I can’t put my finger on it, but there is something not quite right about this profile. A “Daddy without Sugar”?? 🤷🏾‍♂️

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I actually felt sorry for this one. I felt his pain…Poor chap lives in London too.. 😢😢IMG_0603

There is alway one….🙄

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When all else fails, throw money at it…..😏

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This one said he was an “Oral top” and I wanted to know what that meant:

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So my friend Etuk Inyama Etuk, an avid amateur tennis player and Serena Williams fan, was having a really hard time accepting her recent defeat at the US Tennis open. Rather than slam his racket on the tennis court, he took to Grindr to vent his frustration

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Crap_Ekpo_2

Crap_Ekpo_1

🚶🏾‍♂️🚶🏾‍♂️🚶🏾‍♂️

London Gay Pride 2018

London Gay Pride took place last weekend and I went along with a friend to watch the parade. She was visiting from Nigeria and watching a gay pride event is on her bucket list. So I obliged her.

Over 300 float and groups marched/danced/twirled/sashayed along the route and about 1 million people came to watch them.

I am not sure there was a theme this year like there was for the New York Pride, but it was a lot of fun, with loads of costumes, colours and diversity on display.

The sun was out, everyone was happy, except probably for the lone stupid brave evangelist calling on people to repent and go to Heaven. I think a good number of people heeded her call and went to Heaven gay club, after the parade.

Here are a few pictures :

LDN Pride
Lady Gaga?

LDN Pride

LDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN Pride

LDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN Pride

LDN PrideLDN Pride

LDN PrideLDN Pride

LDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN Pride

LDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN Pride

LDN Pride
“Repent and go to Heaven”

LDN PrideLDN PrideLDN Pride

LDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN Pride

LDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN Pride

LDN Pride

LDN Pride

LDN Pride

LDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN Pride

LDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN Pride

LDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN PrideLDN Pride

LDN Pride

 

The end

 

 

 

 

 

New York Gay Pride 2018

I was in New York when the gay pride took place last weekend.

The shops in New York city were filled with pride merchandise and corporate offices and the streets were festooned with Rainbow colours.

The theme this year was “Defiantly Different” and because of the current  political climate in America, it felt to me like the entire march was giving the collective middle finger to the White house.

New Yorkers certainly know how to throw a party and everyone turned out. I can say that the Pride parade was definitely different from any Pride event I have attended. And I have attended a few.

Here are a few pictures from the parade

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Ms. Billie Jean King

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This is Wakanda!!!!

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Cynthia Nixon Side shot

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Officer Owens

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Officer Owens — Bum, sorry Gun

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“He’s my Bodyguard!!!!!”

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Sen Chuck Schumer (D) – With Sweat patch

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Gov Andrew Cuomo (D)

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“He’s my OTHER bodyguard!!!!!”

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Ms. A. Mess

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Mayor Bill Blasio & Chirlane McCray

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Eureka

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Eureka and Kameron michaels

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Asia O’Hara

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Ms. A. Mess II

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