The stereotype about us bisexual men is that we're serial cheaters, disease spreaders and that we couldn't be honest if God Himself ordered us to do so. What a load of crap! As if there's a link between sexual orientation and dishonesty. Sounds like a character issue rather than a sexual one if you ask me, but what do I know? In case you're wondering who the hell this is, I'm Simon Rajih. I was born in the City of Baniyas in northwestern Syria, to a Syrian father and Ethiopian mother. My parents, Elias Abdul Rajih and Jerusalem Getachew moved to the Confederation of Canada when I was younger. We settled the City of Montreal, province of Quebec, when I was starting the eighth grade and to be honest, I barely remember the Republic of Syria. Still, it's part of me, whether I like it or not.
Growing up half black and half Arab in a beautiful metropolis like Montreal, surrounded by African and Arab immigrants, was complicated, to say the least. To the Arabs, I was too black. To the Blacks, I wasn't black enough. Nevertheless, I long ago learned to accept myself for who I am and I stopped caring what other people thought of me at a very young age. I attended a private Catholic school in the south end of Montreal, and won an academic scholarship to Concordia University. I decided to study organic chemistry, because I have always been gifted when it comes to science. That's me, the man with the brains. Proof that there's more to Black men than sports, crime and sex.
My life has never been what you would consider easy. My parents came to Canada as refugees, fleeing the religiously based persecution that Christians face in most Muslim countries in the Arab world. Even though I'm a Canadian citizen, it seems that I can never outlive the stigma that comes with being the son of refugees. Canadian society isn't nearly as tolerant as they'd like you to believe. White people walk up to you, the visible minority, the non-white person, and they tell you they're the real Canadians, as if you're something. As if you don't matter. Even minority gals and guys born in Canada get that same treatment from them. I think they're afraid of us visible minorities. If you pay close attention, you'll notice that in Canada, the Arabs, Africans, East Indians, Chinese and Aboriginals are reproducing much faster than the Caucasian population. Someday, the average Canadian won't be white, and I think many of them "real Canadians" fear that this day isn't too far off. If you ask me, they can go fuck themselves. My parents taught me that with education and hard work, us minority types can have a bright future in Canada. It's something which I firmly believe, in spite of all the bigotry I encounter in the great white north.
I'm not the most open person in the world, given what I've seen in my twenty-odd years on this planet, and that made for a lonely existence. One person who came into my life and injected excitement into my dreary existence is Rudolf Vincent. A tall, good-looking young Black man of Haitian descent I met during my senior year of high school. He played football for our school. Rudolf and I came from different worlds, and he was everything I wanted to be but could never be. The guy was smooth and well-dressed, and he was a big hit with the ladies. He dated Mildred, this Jamaican chick I had a crush on. I so envied him but hey, that's life, right? As surprising as it may sound, Rudolf and I became good friends...and eventually, so much more.
You see, Rudolf became the first real friend I ever had, the only person I let get close to me. I've always been a loner in high school. The smart guy with no friends. Well, Rudolf changed all that. The guy set out to change my life by giving me a social life. He introduced me to Roselyn, the cute Haitian chick I went to Prom with. He also made sure his buddies on the football team knew who I was, and I suddenly found myself invited to all the cool parties at school. Rudolf was suave and a total ladies' man, but he also had a secret. He liked both guys and girls. Yeah, Rudolf the macho football player was bisexual. He shared that with me one night, during the summer after our graduation from school. My response to that shocking revelation? I kissed him. We had sex that night, and my world changed. Rudolf and I embarked on a steamy, passionate but secretive relationship. Lasted all summer.
Rudolf and I were constantly at each other's houses. He loved taking me for long drives in his car. We'd go to the movies and also to the beach. Rudolf was really cool and treated me well. Of course, he still had girls on the side but I was okay with that. I was in love with the guy and he told me that I was important to him. The thing about first love is that you tend to be really naïve when it happens. By late August things had cooled off between us, though. Rudolf was heading to the University of Calgary because Alberta is home to Canada's biggest football fanatics. I was staying in Montreal, choosing to study organic chemistry at Concordia University instead of venturing outside of Quebec like so many of my former classmates. The province of Quebec has the cheapest institutions of higher education in the western hemisphere, and they're also among the most highly ranked. The University of Montreal, McGill University and Concordia University are every bit the equals of Cambridge University and Oxford University in England, and Harvard University and Princeton in the States. Believe it!
Rudolf was gone, and I felt lonely. I also felt sexually confused. Before I met him, I liked girls exclusively. My preference was for curvaceous Black girls and Hispanic chicks. After dating him, I found myself wondering about who I was, sexually speaking. I still liked women, but was I bisexual or straight? I had no bloody idea. I started school that fall, determined to put Rudolf and our summer romance out of my mind. I was walking through one of the eateries near campus one day when I met someone apparently destined to change my life. This tall, gorgeous young woman I spotted with a cup of coffee in her hand and a copy of Ayn Rand's breakthrough work Atlas Shrugged. Beauty and brains, eh? I just had to approach her. And so I did. The old "I've seen you somewhere before" trick, you know? The gal in question was Theresa Suarez, a native of El Salvador who was studying economics at McGill University, the archrival of my beloved Concordia University in everything from sports to academia. I smiled at Theresa, and asked her if she went to Concordia even though I could clearly see the McGill University logo on her backpack.
I thought a smart-looking chick like her would see right through my ruse but amazingly, she didn't. Or at the very least she pretended not to see through it. Thus I found myself sitting across from this sexy young Latin woman, discussing Ayn Rand and the competitive world of intra-university sports. Theresa was a big fan of the McGill University football team, apparently she used to play rugby at her old school in El Salvador and found American football fascinating. That's cool. My dad is really into the NFL. Me? I'm a glorified nerd and didn't know the first thing about football but from listening to my dad and his friends, I knew all about college and professional football teams, both in the U.S. and Canada. That's my thing, you see? I've got a really, really good memory. My parents have long theorized that the reason I didn't remember much about my early years in Syria was because I repressed it. The only thing tougher than being a Christian in a mostly Muslim country in the Middle East was being a non-Arab. My mother and I were treated as outcasts by my father's side of the family, that much I remember. That had a lot to do with why the family left Syria for Canada. That and the fact that Christians are persecuted daily in the Middle East by the Muslim majority, a fact the Western media continues to ignore.
Anyhow, since our initial meeting in that café near Concordia University, Theresa and I really hit it off, and we began hanging out regularly. I was thrilled to be hanging around such a beautiful woman. I'm five-foot-nine, slim to the point of being "mad skinny". I have wavy black hair, light brown skin and pale bronze eyes. Theresa is five-foot-eleven, curvy and absolutely stunning, with her bronze skin, curly black hair and pale green eyes. I honestly think she could have been a model if she wanted to, but she told me she had no interest in modeling, preferring to stick to the books. That was fine by me, because I'm the studious type as well. I was really feeling Theresa and struggled with how to tell her about how I felt when fate stepped in and the decision was made for me.
