Tale of Men Exhibition – Boys & Stories

Am I really loved?
Throughout my teenage years, the question never left my side. Whether it was about family,
friends, or anyone that I crossed path with.
At some point, it shifted a bit: Am I ever gonna be loved?
My inner self got darker days after days, leading me to that afternoon, when, in a
remarkable easy but nonetheless hard call for help, I swallowed all kind of pills, alcohol
and chemicals. I puked all night. In just a couple of days, I lost 10 kilograms, couldn’t eat or
drink anything and was barely standing up. My mum took me to the hospital where I
stayed the night. No one ever knew what I did that afternoon. I had caught an “unknown
disease” that disappeared right after the hospitalization.
I regretted it as soon as I came home. I didn’t want to die, I wanted to go on and try no
matter how hard it would get. As I write this down, I think that this intent of ending myself
brought me the strength to never do such thing again, even though the idea of suicide kept
on coming back for years after that.

I often wonder why I do porn. What attracts me to do this, what pushes me . 

I can only start to assume that I enjoy performing. I enjoy the fact that there is some sort of witness, that I am arousing the spectator, that this is not going in vane , this is directed to someone. It feels weird to say that without the witness sex almost doesn’t have a purpose, and I also don’t believe it. But I think that there is something about sharing the pleasure, indulging in pleasure, stimulating pleasure, performing pleasure and so on and so forth. 

Performing pleasure is an interesting one as it could almost sounds like I am faking pleasure, but I am not. The fact that the action becomes performative is an extra value, it’s the added kink. Ohh, how I miss the saunas, fucking with strangers surrounded by a group of other strangers passing by, witnessing, touching, enjoying themselves, getting inspired by what they are watching. The fact that not only you are pleasuring yourself and your partner(s) but that you are enhancing and expanding this pleasure to the other people around you who might not be involved in the action. Sweaty bodies moving in a dance that we all know and we get to discover by doing. 

Our first dates were very carefree and always in the moment. We spent hours lost in conversation, exchanging endless song recommendations and sharing dreams of future travels. The sexual tension between us was always visible. As the months passed, our connection only deepened. We navigated together the challenges of settling into a new city, supporting each other through the struggles and triumphs.

Our adventures took us from the bustling streets of Tokyo to the neon lights of New York, and across Europe, with Berlin becoming a favorite destination. Nights at KitKat blurring into mornings.

Parties became one of the highlights of our relationship, with memorable experiences like getting tested at venue doors during the pandemic’s tail end. Each concert we attended together was a shared euphoria, ticking off bucket-list events that strengthened our bond.

Our sexual chemistry evolved into something even more profound as we grew comfortable with ourselves and each other. We explored each other’s kinks and desires, finding new ways to connect and keeping our intimacy exciting and fulfilling. This fiery passion became an anchor to our relationship, constantly evolving.

I have a twin brother. 

When you think about it, I’ve never been alone. We’ve always been super close. We were born the same but growing up I always knew that in my head I was different. 
As a child I thought I was a woman. 

A beautiful woman, almost like a model on a catwalk ; with long, shiny, oiled legs, high heels, long silky hair, and a satiny vermillion red dress that reaches down to the middle of my thighs. 

This is the dress I wear regularly in my head.

I remember, one day, I went to a playground with my mother. I was wearing a dress. 
I was playing around, having fun with all the other children. Until a little boy stopped me and said: 
“Why are you wearing a dress? Are you a boy or a girl?”
I didn’t understand yet that I had to choose. 
From then on, I told myself to be a “real boy.”
That was not always easy 

And It’s only while I came out that I felt better. 

It was on January 24 that I learned the news that I had HIV.

Shock and relief at the same time, I try to digest the news. I know I will get better. I know that I will be taken care of and that my condition will improve. I know that this is not an end in itself, that I will take treatment and that my life will return to normal, but I am not getting better. The physical pain becomes mental and I sink. This is the beginning of my wandering. All means are good to try to think of something else. I party, I fuck, I do a lot of drugs and sometimes I mix it all up.

It’s one meeting too many.

That evening, I am at an orgy. We have a lot of sex. We consume. Then this guy arrived. All stoned, I find him nice, rather cute, the flow goes. We spend the evening to discuss, to kiss, time seems to stand still. In the early morning, I accompany him home to keep fucking. Kiss, kiss again and again, be obsessed by it, not know stop, find all the means to continue, not listen to yourself, put aside fatigue by substances. At that moment, my body is there but my head no longer responds and he, in take advantage. Completely at his mercy, he injects me.

I transform into a kind of beast, governed solely by its thirst for sex and depravity, my head has really left my body, I am no longer Emilien. I am no longer person.

6:45 a.m. The sun is rising, again. I open my eyes awakened by the phone.  Notifications challenge me and my addiction to pixels wakes me up and eats up my time.  Who cares about me?  Who wants to talk to me?  And what does the news says?

10:22 a.m. Grindr messages, again. It’s you.  I did not expect you to write to me again.  You are beginning to please me despite the distance.  Will I meet you one day or will you block me tomorrow? 

12:35 p.m. Lunch, again. The advantage of the kitchen is that we decide everything.  We choose the ingredients that we like.  We cook them and season them to our liking.  We can only be satisfied with the result, there is no coincidence.  I wonder what you’re having for lunch at the moment? 

2:02 p.m. The coffee is flowing, again I could drink liters of it, an inexplicable addiction.  I like its strong taste and its heath warms me from the inside.  What will I see in the coffee grounds? Maybe you’d prefer a tea? 

6:58 p.m.Netflix, again. Fiction makes me live an imaginary life far from my redundant daily life.  What would we do without fiction and without dreams?  

00h09. Insomnia, again. Thoughts overwhelm me and prevent me from sleeping.  The same worries and the same hopes.  Will I have a happy future?  Filled with loneliness or togetherness?  maybe with you?

I’ve stayed for 6 years with my ex. We wanted different things and we knew we couldn’t make each other happy. So in order to not stand in each other’s pursuit of happiness, we broke up. That was two years ago.

I’ve came to realize that I still love him, and he still loves me. We didn’t break up because there was no more love left or because someone cheated, but rather because there was too much love.

Nowadays we are talking about getting back together. But we still want different things. I don’t want to be in an open relationship, he wants to be in one. It is quite hurtful to me when thinking that I am not enough for him.

He asked me a few times if I wanted to give it a try again, but back then the wound was still fresh. I was still healing and not ready for anything.

But two weeks ago I asked him the same question. He wants to. But he still wonders if he’s good for me, if we’re good for each other. So we’re thinking and talking.

On the paper, my ex is everything I want, physically and personally. But we don’t agree on a very important pillar of the relationship.

I want to be able to look back at my life and think that I’ve been true to myself.

One day in October of that same year, a few weeks after I got the job, I woke up feeling my chest heavy and I couldn’t stop crying. That feeling of panic was consuming my whole body and I just didn’t know why. The following days were tense, I felt like I couldn’t go out of my house or talk to anyone. I was so scared of talking to people, afraid that they wouldn’t understand me, especially at work. The fear of having to speak Dutch had hit me in a way I wasn’t prepared for.  

I just had the first of many panic attacks. I called work and said I was sick. This job was my first try on the Dutch speaking market and I was at the same time excited and scared because I really wanted that job and the fear of losing it because I was not able to communicate properly really got to me. I then talked to my general practitioner, and she thought that it would be a good idea to see a therapist. Meanwhile I was being treated for anxiety disorder with antidepressants.  Some time passed till I had another one and another one after that till I fell into a depressive episode. Those were probably the scariest days of my life because I knew what was going on and still, I couldn’t do much about it. Not long after that, I hurt my back while I was working. It was an extra punch on my anxiety. For over 3 years I went through several specialists, different types of physiotherapy, medications, and injections in my back. The last specialist I saw then told me that what is now happening is that I am a chronic pain patient.

It was a hard time for me growing up in Jamaica. The country is very much homophobic, there are a lot of songs in Jamaica which speaks about killing gay and queer people, Being violent towards them and bashing them for being who they are. From a tender age of about 8 years old I knew I liked guys and I started to express my self as a child as how I felt.  I was teased in my community for being too soft and having too much feminine energy. I constantly battled with trying to be my self and what others wanted me to be. I couldn’t express the true me , I had to conceal who I am because my families wouldn’t approve, friends wouldn’t approve. I couldn’t fit in with the masses and so I didn’t really have a lot of friends.

Whenever I had a feeling about a guy I felt disgusted, sick to my stomach because of all the negative things I would hear about people like me. I stayed to my self because i felt like no one could understand me. I was in a constant battle of denial of who I was. I struggled to accept the fact that I like guys but I couldn’t hold it in any longer, I had no one to talk to or tell how I felt. I started to explore my sexuality in my early teens. I resented every moment I ever had with another man but at the same time I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t control how I felt, I couldn’t help not exploring the side of me I hide from everyone else.

I was outed, 17 years ago, at seventeen by a forgotten love letter written by my first lover. We met during a summer trip, we had a summer fling and after we parted, he sent me a letter. I moved from my parents’ house the same year, to start my medical studies in College. And when I packed to leave my teenager room, I forgot to carry with the letter me. In this letter, he wrote about how we met, how our hands accidentally touched at a crosswalk, how we kissed in Notting Hill and how we fucked for the first time on a rooftop of London. It was just like a dream. But the dream turned into a nightmare as I was getting familiar with the concept of a Freudian slip or acte manqué. My parents found the letter, and read it entirely. When I found out about it, I felt devastated, weak, exposed and naked. My mother’s firsts words to me were : “YOU’RE A SLUT !”. And her first act was to slap me in the face. I remember hearing those words and feeling this slap as it was yesterday. 

Thus, years later, as I was getting naked for the first time in front of a camera, knowing I’ll leave an image of me naked for posterity, I thought about this letter. I couldn’t help but wonder : “Am I a slut? Is that slutty? Was she right about me? What would she think of me?” 

David entered my life in the most unexpected way. I had many penfriends in those days. He was one of them. Writing letters to people in other places gave me some kind of social life. I could share whatever I wanted without being judged. I could be whoever I wanted to be. We both shared a passion for the Star Trek science-fiction universe. All those characters being so unique and would just be their own true selves. After exchanging many letters for almost a year, he agreed to come to visit me for a weekend. I liked him from the very first moment I picked him up from the train station. He just gave me a big smile with his bright face and curly dark hair. I instantly felt that we were connected in more ways than just sharing the same affection for a TV series.

For late spring, the days were exceptionally sunny and warm. We planned the entire weekend before: Hiking in the newly blooming nature, eating ice cream in the nearby little town and of course watching our favourite episodes of Star Trek. We would just constantly talk and laugh about everything that came to our minds. Sometimes he just looked deep into my eyes. It was like he was saying something to me without using words. I felt so close and connected to him, as I had never felt to anyone in my life before. He appreciated me exactly the way I was. I did not have to pretend to be different. I wish I could have stopped time and remained in this exact moment forever.

At night we shared the same room, though sleeping in different beds. On our last night together we could not stop talking. We were lying in the dark, not seeing each other, but feeling the presence of the other. Suddenly David got up from his bed. I stopped breathing. He took my hand and asked me if we wanted to go out for a bit to watch the stars. Only dressed in boxers and t-shirt we sneaked out of the house. And then we were lying in the driveway, so close to each other that I could hear his heart beating. Summoning all the courage I had, I would finally move my hand closer to his, touching him for just a second. But this little touch felt so intense as if my entire body were electrified. He turned his head towards me and gave me my first kiss with a boy. 

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