Ever Wanted To Be An Amazonian Lesbian But Are Stuck In A Straight Man’s Skin?
The confounding glory of Tweet’s “Oops (Oh My)”
Maybe the one truth that’s informed more of my path to gender-fluid sexuality than any other notion is that I spent the ages between 13–30 unsuccessfully attempting to masturbate to full orgasm. Thus, I always felt like less of a man then every other man, no matter how long my penis was, how physically strong or intelligent I was, I knew deep down that there was something about me that just didn’t quite add up. The frustration it caused made me abandon most everything associated with traditional cis-gendered male sexuality. I didn’t necessarily think at the time to adopt homosexuality, transgenderism, or my current gender fluidity. Still, I indeed adapted to be more female-led in the intention of my actions and my mindset in general. However, it wasn’t until I was 24-years old and heard Tweet’s “Oops” that a lot of who I felt like during and what I wanted from sex, took shape.
Timbaland’s undulating baile/bhangra/reggae riddim was, for me, actually the standard-bearer of aural sexuality in the era. Anything that allowed for seductive hip movements inspired me to grandiose thoughts of erotic pleasure — the pleasure of course that I could provide my partner, but that my partner could not reciprocally offer me, nor I offer myself. I adored songs like Aaliyah’s “We Need A Resolution,” Missy Elliott’s “Get Ur Freak On” and “One Minute Man,” Justin Timberlake’s “Cry Me A River,” Ms. Jade’s “Ching Ching,” and Truth Hurts’ “Addictive.” However, it mostly amounted to a year of sexual frustration.
However, there’s something about Tweet’s “Oops (Oh My)” that made me feel like I was not a black man of average height and a sex life-in-stasis. Instead, I was Tweet, this upstart singer-songwriter who, on the cover of her debut album Southern Hummingbird, looked like some sort of Amazonian lesbian sex goddess. At the age of 24, though, I had no context by which to judge Amazons, lesbians, or appropriately genuflect and worship a goddess. I was just awestruck like never before, horny to the point of cold sweats, and staring at my penis as if I wanted it to explode in a mess of cum and skin. Magically I wanted a vagina to be left behind in its wake and for Tweet to push the buzzer at the front gate entrance to my English basement apartment.
“Oops (Oh My)” is a song that is about a woman stripping nude and masturbating in a mirror. However, a video camera isn’t a mirror. Instead, when a camera visualizes a great vocalist seductively articulating words, the ability of the artist-as-deity becomes apparent. Mystically now able to stare into the soul of the listener, it’s this bit of magic that’s not just how video killed the radio star, but how a song about masturbation becomes a song that made Tweet an LGBTQ icon and one of the heroines of my gender-bending body and soul.
The following run of lyrics, when breathed into life with seductive harmony, still sounds like every fear I ever have in life when Neptune takes control.
I tried, and I tried to avoid
But this thing was happening
Swallow my pride, let it ride
And parted, but this body felt just like mine
I got worried
I looked over to the left
A reflection of myself
That’s why I couldn’t catch my breath
I have no control over She who is in me, anymore. It’s been just over a decade since we first met in real life. Nep — now more than ever — consummates as she consumes. She’s a full-bodied sexual succubus, the 6'8" in six-inch heels Amazon that I always imagined Tweet to be, fucking my spirit to the tune of “Oops (Oh My).” I’m entranced to the point of complete stillness. My toes curled as I wait for my brain, then my cock-clit, and then the rest of my body and spirit, to erupt. And then I catch my breath…
