A body is a monument for love

Tonatiuh López

Make a space
for my body
dead or whole
push this side apart
this is what I’m controlling
it’s a mold, the inside that I cart.
This will be my monument.
This will be a beacon when I’m gone,
Soon then the moment comes
I can say I did it all with love,love
all with love

from Monument by Robyn and Röyksopp

Cruising
(noun)
1. the action of sailing about in an area without a precise destination,
especially for pleasure.
2. a young child's action of walking while holding on to furniture or
other structures, prior to learning to walk without support.1
3. (for men who have sex with other men and other sexual dissidences)
the act of walking or driving about certain areas, called cruising
grounds, looking for a sexual partner. These meetings are usually
one-off, anonymous encounters. Cottaging is a term used to describe a
certain kind of cruising where anonymous sex meetings happen in
public toilets.It is derived from the use of the word which goes back
to Victorian times; referring to small houses/public houses.2

For me, any kind of encounter I have in my life is an act of cruising. This
means I leave my house, the place where I feel safe, without a precise
destination and no other expectations rather than love and pleasure.
Sometimes I get it. Sometimes I get precisely the opposite. This was the
way I learned to use public space from a very young age. This is the way I
knew the person who invited me to write this text.

Virtual
(adjective)

1
Consulted on 05/10/23 from Google dictionary boxes by Oxford languages.
2
Consulted on 05/10/23 from Birmingham LGBT, https://blgbt.org/cruising/
 1. almost or nearly as described, but not completely or according to
strict definition.
2. not physically existing as such but made by software to appear to do
so.
3. carried out, accessed, or stored by means of a computer, especially
over a network.3

I remember I was about 15 years old when I started joining online gay
chats. I didn’t know where to meet others like me. Once I met a guy there.
When we met in person I had the feeling he didn’t like me. Actually, at
that time I had that feeling from everyone, even from my parents and
sister. I still have it sometimes. This guy was in his early twenties. We
met at the stop where I was usually dropped off from the school bus. He was
wearing a brown leather jacket, black tight jeans,and had black Converse
boots covering his feet. He was an averagely handsome guy: light brown
skin, slightly taller than me (I’m 1.68m) and slim but not athletic. The
thick black glasses over his flat nose framed his dark brown eyes in a
funny way. His lips were thin with a scant mustache over them. I wanted
him to kiss me no matter what. I was thinking about that kiss for the whole
day. I needed his approval so badly. I think it was that way because what I
was often getting from my dad, from other men in the family, from boys and
girls at school, and from other men in the neighborhood, were violent
comments about me, more precisely, about my faggotry.They said things like:

“¡Fat faggot!”

“¡That is not the way a man behaves!”

“¡Let me introduce you to a friend! This little fatty would suck your cock
for a “tostón” (50 Mexican cents).”

“¡Look at him, he has breasts like a woman! (touching them, approaching me

from behind). ¡Let's kick him in his balls to find out if he’s even got
them!”

"¡Pégale al gordo!¡Pégale ya!"4

“Which of the girls do you like? Or should we ask which of our cocks you’d
like to suck?”

3
Consulted on 05/10/23 from Google dictionary boxes by Oxford languages.
4
It could be translated as "hit the big jackpot" but literally it means "hit the fat guy", it was the slogan
of the Mexican Lottery in the 90's and it was the first phrase I heard from a person I liked and which I
didn't dare talk to, while they she was punching my stomach.
At home I kept all this violence a secret. But sometimes I couldn’t stand
it and I cried. Then my mom would hug me tenderly without asking anything
until my dad decided it was enough and then he would come and tear us
apart, saying something like: “¡Stop caring so much for the kid! ¡He has to
learn how to defend himself, you are turning him into a “maricón” (fag)!”
And then he would hit me or push me and tell me to stop crying.

This is how I learned to hate myself, to find my body abject and to be

terrified of putting it into public space. While I write this I feel like a
total cliche. I don’t want you to think about me as a victim. If I’m saying
this is just because I want you to imagine how shame and fear shaped my use
of the public sphere.I felt it wasn’t ok to be me. I even prayed
desperately at night so I could wake up with a new body and not be
attracted to boys. I felt guilty for not being able to change. It was
awful, if someone smiled at me, in the streets or in the school playground,
I always doubted if they were being gentle or just mocking me, or planning
to punch me.

When I started meeting other guys, I was desperately looking for

connection, kindness, and some sort of feeling different from the painful
rejection I usually had while interacting with others. This is why I wanted
that kiss so badly, but I wouldn’t get it from this guy with the funny
glasses and ridiculous mustache waiting for me at the bus stop. He didn’t
even want to walk with me to the mall to have an ice cream or anything. I
was very disappointed but he gave me something better. We sat down on the
sidewalk, right where we met. There we had a small but meaningful
conversation which would shape my sexual life for the near future. “Do you
know that there is a wagon in each subway line where men can touch and even
have sex with each other?”, he said. I was astonished listening to that.
“Yeah, you can just jump in, especially when it’s crowded, and there are a
bunch of men touching, jerking off, sucking and even more.” I was probably
drooling by that time. He continued: “¡Oh! And there is also a place to do
this at the subway terminal. You have to look for gate A; climb the stairs
and you’ll find a public toilet. Get in and stay there at the urinal
holding your dick, or sit down in the loo with the door open and a man will
come for sure.”

That was the way I discovered that the city is another one for gay guys.
There is the conventional city where conventional people do conventional
things, and at the same time, in the same but somehow parallel spaces,
when the glances of two men meet, when a hand brushes a limb and the caress
is somehow returned, right there a city of desire emerges. The search for
desire fulfillment is one of the most unexplored forms of love,specially
for people like me, who were taught that the feelings we got are wrong.
After delivering his message the guy stood up, picked up his backpack, and
held out his hand to help me stand up. We shook hands to say goodbye and he
pulled me towards him. Our shoulders touched. This was closest to a kiss I
received that day. By inertia, the same strength he used to bring our
bodies closer also separated us. He smiled one last time and said: “It was
nice meeting you kiddo. I don’t like young guys that much, but now you know
where you can meet others like us ¡Good luck! ¡Have a lot of fun!"

Right after that, I walked into the metro station. It was just one stop to
the terminal with the public toilets he mentioned. Once there, I walked out
of gate A as he said. I looked for a five pesos coin in my pocket to pay
for the entrance to what was depicted as paradise. I went in. The space was
really small, smelly and deteriorated. But right there in the dark corner
where the urinals were there was a man waving his hard cock at me. I was
happy.

There is no better revolution than the one which changes everything without
changing anything. It was like that for me that day. A social order fell
and a new one arose, one where I could indulge my desire and be
corresponded. It’s funny how a body can use public space for what is
supposed to be private. And it’s also a bit weird how intimate the outside
can become.

Back then, I didn’t know that what I was doing was called “cruising”, but
when I read the meaning of those words that was exactly how I felt. First,
because I was navigating the internet without a precise destination and I
ended up there, in that chat room which led me to a nice guy which led me
to those toilets which led me to one of my first orgasms. Second, because I
was using others' experiences to give my first steps into love+desire and
it was just like learning how to walk; sometimes I fell down, sometimes I
took false steps, sometimes I tripped. Third, because right there, in a
public toilet, I became a public body exchanging pleasure with others’.

During Victorian times, gay English men used the term “cottaging” to refer
to the act of cruising in public toilets or small public sex houses. For me
the word “cottage” makes me think of a small house which is somehow hidden
or discreet. It’s funny how it was there in the “indiscrete” clandestinity
of the public space where I found a place to get what I was not getting at
home or in other familiar, safe places: acceptance. And the product of that
acceptance was pleasure and a sense of belonging: to someone else, to a
community of tireless love searchers, to myself. It was then that I
discovered that my body was able to receive something else beyond the
mocking and violence.

Ironically, in a way, at the beginning, cruising I felt at home. It was

only a matter of time till I discovered that violence also existed there.
As a result of my explorations, of putting intimacy in public space, I also
got beaten, stolen from and abused. That’s how I understood and came to
believe that risk and clandestinity was related to pleasure; but danger and
possible violence were a price I was willing to pay in order to get what
felt like freedom and embrace.

The editor of this journal, Katie Zazenski, sent a set of provocations for
me to consider while writing this text. One of them was:

Is there love here? (referring to the internet)

I have to face this question very often. People find it difficult to

believe that there is love in the things I do. How could sucking a
stranger’s dick in a public toilet be love? How could getting high as fuck
and exposing yourself over the internet be love? How could letting yourself
be sexually dominated by a man you call a master be love? How could having
relationships with heterosexual married men be love? How could eating cheat
food and not doing any exercise be love? Is there love here?

For a period of time I doubted it myself. But now I can say that there is
love for sure; for all of this and to what I wrote before I would answer
Katie’s question with a resounding YES. There is love here.

Katie asked this question referring to the virtual as a public space. For
me it is that way. The Internet is just a public toilet with a huge urinal
with an overwhelming amount of men for me to love, even if it’s just for a
second. Sometimes I practice cruising from my cell phone, using
geolocalization apps. Sometimes I have cyber sex in a Zoom room with random
strangers. Unluckily,there could be violence there too. Sometimes people
beat me, mock me or abuse me on apps, social networks and/or web community
forums, simply because I dare to show what I am. I would like to say that
my experiences in the physical space prepared me for this, but the truth is
that they didn’t. Insults hurt no matter if they are said out loud in
public or written from behind a screen. But as I said, I’m willing to pay
that price in order to follow my desire which I know is following love.

One could think that it’s in the public space where freedom is performed
loosely, but sometimes it’s not that way.Some of us have to choose between
being free but vulnerable,or being safe but locked inside ourselves. Being
public is a hard decision but once you take it, a revolution is done.

Katie also asked:

What is the capacity for revolution in this space?

As I said, Internet is a cruising ground with infallible possibilities for
pleasure and connection, but it could also imply infallible risks.
Revolution is not always for the best. History has proven that. I would say
my freedom suffered a putsch because of the internet. My sexuality changed
a lot recently after feeling I could get exposed and extorted with some
private content taken out of context, which was not intended to be, and
that I was not willing to share. I became once again afraid of being in the
(virtual) public space unprotected and undone. I'm paranoid and frustrated
because I feel anyone can hurt me and that stops me getting back my usual
sexual joy. It's difficult to trust anyone, just as it was back in those
youth days. And trusting is a basic need when it comes to loving. But still
I believe the virtual/public space is a great source for connections and
intimacy and I still stick to that.

I would say that there is love everywhere there is a lover.And there is a

revolution everywhere this lover is intended to defend his love. No matter
if it’s a “virtual” or a “physical” space. Both spaces are real. So the
love and revolution are real too.

After a lot of cruising – physically and virtually – I’m exhausted. But

even if I don’t know where and how to find love anymore I keep going out
hunting every now and then. There is a doubt installed in me. An immense
doubt. A question about myself and how I relate to others that I will
probably never be able to answer.This doubt worries me and calms me,
paradoxically. Will I be able to perform love again in a physical space, or
should I conform with a virtual fantasy of it? I don’t know the answer, but
somehow an unanswered question is all we need to keep on living. That, and
love… the certainty of love. To be sure that it will exist even if I’m not
able to feel it or find it myself. To know that even if my existence
stops,there will always be lovers tomorrow. That is the revolution for me.
The ultime future. The realization of utopia. But for that to happen love
needs to be public, it should be somehow tangible. Sometimes it happens in
the form of a kiss, some others you just make love+desire become visible
for others just with the right advice, like that guy did with me. And that
is the most simple way to change someone’s reality.

Love is a monument which is placed in public space by our bodies when we

are compelled to defend ourselves from loneliness, violence and isolation.
That is why whoring out and exhibiting my way of loving publically, here or
wherever it’s possible, is a way to stand next to other twisted and
insatiable lovers like me, to help us avoid shame or fear, which are the
main instruments used by fascism, patriarchy, and other forms of
totalitarian powers, to diminish the existence of dissent.

I believe that there is one particular reason why I find love to be such a
powerful, never-failing force, and that is mainly because it is “virtual”.
I say so because love doesn’t exist physically but it’s made to appear so,
there is no restriction for its definition and it’s carried out and
accessed towards a network. The Internet gave me access to love and it also
made me feel I lost it. I don’t worry. I want to think my love is safe out
there, circling around. If something is public it belongs to anyone and
it’s everyone’s responsibility to take care of it. If you are a lover, be
public and other public lovers will take care of yourself. Don’t be afraid,
we are extremely powerful.

I finished writing this text in the subway. On my way to the house I live
in my childhood and youth. And I feel lonely anymore. There's a bunch of
people surrounding me. They might not know but they are cruising too. A
forest of moving bodies follow me and I follow them in while we all hunt
for love. A bunch of monuments greater than any other ever built. I'm
listening to music. I sing for you:

En un mundo descomunal
siento tu fragilidad.
Deja de engañar,
no quieras ocultar
que has pasado sin tropezar.
Monstruo de papel,
no sé contra quién voy.
¿o es que acaso hay alguien más aquí?
Deja que pasemos sin miedo.5

I insist one last time. Don't be afraid. Be public. I promise the outside
will lull you inside.

5
In a huge world
I feel your fragility.
Stop cheating,
you don't need to hide
that you have passed without stumbling.
paper monster,
I don't know against who I'm going.
Is there someone else here?
Let us pass without fear.
From the song Lucha de gigantes (Giant fight) from the Spanish band Nacha Pop.