A GIRL NAMED FRANK:
THE INTERVIEW OF GEILE BONBON
by W i n s t o n Isaac Trope
Written by estranged Southern Lifestyles Magazine
contributor Winston Isaac Trope , this is the intimate
interview of Lady Gee Bee,
the sexual sensation sweeping
the nation. She tells all about the freedom of expression,
and the accidental birth of a social-sexual revolution…
Known
by her stage name Laydee Gee Bee, Geile Bonbon has become a name synonymous with delectable delight: “delicious”. She
is well liked and well known for both her stage antics and her off-stage candor. She revealed how she ended up in Birmingham,
what early life growing up under the mountains’ shadow in a small country town
was like, and how she came to be one of the most recognized personalities in
the recently rekindled southern sexual revival.
Sitting across from her at Café LuLu in Birmingham’s East District, I’m instantly
in love: hook, line, and sinker. Pulled
in by her deep green eyes and swallowed whole by her warm smile and easy going
attitude. A wink, a brush of the hand, a
slight embrace; one sip of whatever juice Gee Bee was serving up and I was sunk.
We hugged and she lit one of her trademark Pall Mall extra-long
cigarettes. She smiled at me from under
her oversized garden hat and bug-eyed sunglasses. She casually sipped from her glass as the
thick smoke puffed and swirled into the early afternoon air around us.
(Southern
Lifestyles Magazine) SLM: First things first, what is your real name?
(Laydee
Gee Bee) LGB: Francis. Francis
Buchanan. But that’s so boring, isn’t
it?
She wrestles with her purse in her lap, trying to
make room for the large glass bottle.
SLM: How did this
whole “Gummy Bear” phenomenon get started,
anyway?
LGB: I guess I was
afraid of becoming boring. I hate boring, darling. I just wanted
something intriguing, something fascinating,
that no one else would dare try.
SLM: What made you
think, “Hey, I can ‘drop’ candies into drinks”?
Gee Bee smiles.
LGB: It wasn’t my
idea, not entirely. I was with my dear
friend Sharon, living together just a couple
of blocks from where you and I are sitting now.
We were getting wasted, talking about work and I said, ‘Why don’t I put
candy in my pussy?’ And we laughed and
laughed. But then, I guess maybe a day
or two later, she came home with a bag full of assorted candies and chocolates
and what have you; like Valentine’s Day leftovers, right? So we spread them all out on the bed and I
started trying to stick them up inside of me and seeing which ones I could hold
in and which ones slipped out. As I’m
sure you can imagine, the chocolates were a terrible
idea.
She laughed.
So
after doing that for about an hour or so, I opened a bag of gummy bears and, as
they say,
‘the rest is history’.
She winked at me and pulled another Pall Mall from
her purse.
SLM: How did you
perfect it? Was it beginner’s luck, or did you have to practice and practice?
LGB: Oh heavens no,
sugar. I practiced and perfected it for
over a month! Sharon had the great idea
to get a mirror for me to squat over so I could really see what I was doing, so
we’d sit on the bed for hours, laughing and eating gummies and trying to see
how many of the little chewy treats I could keep inside me at one time. We sat there, watching my candy box as it
pulsed and twitched, sucking in and relaxing, dropping slimy, ejaculate coated
gummies onto the glass with funny slurping sounds. It was pretty gross in the beginning, I’m not
gonna lie. But we got used to it, and
once I got really good at squeezing them out one by one without much “mess”, I
knew we were on to something. I took it
to work a few shifts later and tried it out.
I think, that first night alone, we sold over twenty Gummy Bear Martinis
and I was like, “Yep! I finally made
it”.
A young couple stopped by to say ‘hello’ and ask
for her autograph,
which she was quick to give.
SLM: What about
your part in what they’re calling “The NEW
Southern Sexual Revival”?
LGB: Honey, I
didn’t ask to change the world. I wasn’t
trying to make a splash, no pun intended,
or push any limits. What I wanted was a
sure thing when it came to making money and being myself. For me that’s all it was about. As far as the ‘revolution’ goes, I just
happened to be who I am at the right time.
It would’ve happened without me, I promise. But I’m honored that people think of me as a
‘trailblazer’ of sorts. If what I’ve
done has paved the way or enabled someone else to find themselves and make it
easier on them then good for them. At
the end of the day, everyone has a right to love who they are and embrace what
they can become.
SLM: That’s
beautiful. Let’s back up a bit and talk
about life before Geile Bonbon.
LGB: There is no
life before Geile Bonbon.
She smiles and winks, but I can’t tell if she’s
joking,
avoiding the subject, or if she’s truly
uncomfortable.
After a long pause, I regain my composure and
continue.
SLM: Well…how did
you lose your virginity?
LGB: First of all,
darling, I didn’t “lose” my virginity; I destroyed
it.
She pauses to light another Pall Mall and refill her
glass.
But,
when I discarded my virginity, it was an accident. I was so caught up in the moment that
I didn't even realize what was happening.
But, by the time it was over, I was so let down by the imbalance of
anticipation to reward that I pretty much gave up on sex for a while. I mean,
years, darling.
SLM: How do you
feel about the term “trans”?
She laughs again.
LGB: Like transgender? It’s silly.
I mean, there have always been transgender(s) and gender confusion,
right? We had all that stuff in our day,
too, darling. But we just called them
Tom Boys and sissies.
She laughs.
SLM: So I have to
ask, the whole world wants to know: boys
or girls?
She finishes her drink and pours another;
a sideways smile creeping across her face.
LGB: Sure, I like
boys. But I like people. I mean, I know most of my money has been made through
the eyes and hands of beady-eyed boys, so chances are if I’m going to bed, I’m
going to bed with you.”
She laughs as she winks across the table.
But
why do you think I wanted to be a woman so bad?
Because I love them so much.”
She grabs my hand and smiles.
I never loved boys. But, then again, I never loved girls either; I just suffered love
ambiguous I guess. A classic case, right? In love with love. But then I fell head
over heels madly in love with a girl at school.
Fourth grade. But I’m sure you
knew that already. That’s one part of
the story I could never deny.”
She looks out at the street, staring out
past
the city into something somewhere far away.
SLM: What about
after you had left it all behind? When
did you start to miss your family? Really miss your
family?
LGB: I didn’t. I mean, not in any conventional sense, anyway. They represented every bad memory
I had from growing up. I couldn’t wait
to put them all in my rearview mirror and get out of there.
SLM: When did you
first decide that maybe you had been given the wrong “equipment”?
LGB: I don’t think
I was born with the wrong equipment, I just felt like I could make better use
with
something else.
She winks again, taking a long sip from her whiskey,
watching the sweat drip off the bottom of the glass and
onto the table.
I
guess I first thought about it, I mean really
thought about it, after I read the article about “The Man Who Had a Pussy”. I’d laughed as hard as anyone at ‘man-gina’ jokes and fag bashing sexisms my
whole life, but that particular story changed how I looked at my own body: he
wrote about his ‘phaliclit’ and being comfortable in his own body,
something I certainly was not, and I
really got into it. I think I read it
every day for a month. It was an
inspirational, deciding factor in my determination to go all the way with the
whole thing. Up to that point, I had wrestled
with the idea, toyed with it even, sure.
But it wasn’t until I read that story that I became infatuated with removing mine for good. I said, ‘Hey! Here’s this guy who was born with a vagina.
How unlucky. But, after I read
it, I said, ‘Damn; that gives me an idea;
I want THAT,’ you know?
SLM: So how has all
this made you a better story? Why do you think you’re so important all of
a
sudden? You’re on everybody’s lips these
days, it seems.
She laughs.
LGB: That’s a good
question. It’s not that I’m so
important, it’s just that I’m an easy target; they needed something to point
their finger at to say, ‘That’s what we’re talking about right there.’ I think I just look the part. I mean, I’ve never considered myself revolutionary, you know? I think it’s just easier for people to grasp
the idea of sexuality when they have something or someone to look at and hold
on to. I mean, your spank bank is only
as good as the material you have in it, right?
It’s way easier to stimulate yourself when you have something to look at.
But I think that’s all it is: I’m just something they can use to
validate their new awareness. For years
nobody has tried to open that doorway between social acceptance and sexual
taboo. And here I am, kicking that
mother fucker wide open. So sure, they
think of me as this poster child for the movement. I say ‘movement’. You know what I mean: this new sexual
awareness that seems to be sweeping the public.
I just felt like
I could make better use with something else.”
SLM: What about
writing your story, you know, the inevitable book deal and talk show circuit.
She laughs and lights another Pall Mall.
LGB: It’s funny: You
do all this work, right? You get
everything finally written down and strung
together; you have the perfect story.
Then you open a newspaper or a magazine or an email and there’s this
story that draws you in and tells you something new; something incredible. And there’s a new word; the perfect word. And you’re like, ‘Fuck!’ so you scrap
everything and start over; fresh. It’s
frustrating. I have a journal, a diary
of sorts, that I’ve been keeping since I was little, but I don’t think any of
that would make for a good “story”.
She waves at some passersby who have stopped to snap
our picture.
Gee Bee pulls me up to stand and bows, exaggerating
every motion to their delight.
After a moment they move on and we sit back
down.
She’s outwardly amused at my obvious embarrassment.
SLM: What about
other kids like you? Did little Gertie
Crenshaw’s story mean anything to you?
LGB: I mean, I knew
her story; we all did. It reminded me of my mother and father. I mean, to the
letter. He was two or something when he identified as a girl, right? That’s pretty fucking young. Four?
I don’t know, whatever he was, I mean the kid was young. I was probably three when my mom first found
me going through her purse, smeared from ear to ear with her makeup, and
decided then and there that she and my dad were going to be those parents that
supported their kid all the way. She didn’t care that maybe I just wanted to
look pretty or play dress-up. I mean,
she was only fifteen when she got pregnant with me, anyway, so she couldn’t
have known better. Anyway, sure, we had
all heard of her. Of Gertie. But, don’t you think darling, at some point
you have to ask, ‘where are the parents during all this? Don’t they see how big that issue is?’ No kid
should be confused that young. Ever.
She stares off into space for a moment, gathering
her thoughts.
SLM: Well, when did
you first realize you wanted to be a
woman?
LGB: Something
awful happened to me in high school, but it’s not like I made a conscious decision,
at least I don’t remember doing so. I
remember I always hated having a penis; I think
that had a lot to do with it. I remember
wanting to be like my mother. The first
time I remember seeing how fragile my mom was, I mean really fragile, I was maybe four years old and I fell outside and
skinned my knees up real bad. I just
remember her screaming and crying and pouring over me and coddling me. I don’t think she would have done that if
they had decided not to treat me like a girl.
Then, later, I saw how fucking strong she could be. I remember how she cried when she was telling
one of her girlfriends about my dad and how he left us to be with some guy he
worked with, and her friend just hugged her and held her and they kissed – just
a friendly kiss – but I could feel how powerful they were together, and how
nothing in the world mattered; that
intimate ability to be as weak as you need to be to make others feel
comfortable, and then, at the snap of your fingers, to have that strength and
resolve to just say ‘fuck it.’ I remember
thinking; ‘This is it; I want that.’
The bottle of whisky appears again and she tops off
her glass.
SLM: What was the
first thing you thought after you decided?
She takes another long sip and laughs.
LGB: I thought
about the hassles of manhood. You come
out of the bathroom after about an hour
of dragging and pulling a razor across your cheek and neck; you’re sore and
bloody as hell and you think to yourself, ‘damn; that’s my last shave. Ever.’ It’s something memorable, for sure.
I smile at her, trying not to imagine what that
would be like, but it’s impossible.
SLM: So how did you
feel, back then, knowing that things were different?
LGB: You just have
to tell yourself it’s going to be different, you know? That things have changed. You convince yourself that it’s all over;
it’s all going to get better. You remind
yourself over and over that it’s not his fault, and how if you could just learn
to keep your mouth shut none of this would happen. You tell yourself, just as his fist catches
your eye, that he loves you and just wants what’s best for you. You tell yourself all of this because you’re
scared, or ashamed, or stupid. You tell
yourself all of these things to make yourself feel better when really you
should only be saying one thing; run.
you the same way you remember it? What if all
the friends you've forgotten forgot you first?”
Gee Bee laughs
again.
LGB: When
I was little, you either loved New York, Los Angeles, or Miami; no way could
you live in the middle, that shit just didn't fucking happen. I knew I had to leave, but I didn’t really
plan it out. I
found myself spinning in circles: I had just been proposed to, and everything
looked like it was going to pin me where I was so I got scared. I wanted to head out west, to Hollywood, but
ended up trying to go south. It’s funny
how that works out, right?
SLM: What about the
drive to perform? How do you feel about
the seedy nature of the biz?
LGB: I love the
attention. I mean, it’s that same
combustible combination of cocaine and jet fuel,
adrenaline and tiger’s blood. That’s
what we live and die for. But the same
way an airliner smells like cold coffee, floor mold and seat stains, the club
has its own feel with the sticky floor and heavy stink of lusty body odor and
perfume. The cloud of thousands of miles
hanging dangerously low in the taxiing cabin, reminding you immediately to
locate the bathroom and puke bag that should’ve been stuck in the seat back in
front of you before boarding. It’s
spilled liquor and dried, crusty vomit; hot exhaust and ass sweat. That’s what the seedy nature of ‘the biz’ is:
the sex stains and hand grease of millions of strangers before you. Sitting in the front row, pressed against the
stage, is like sitting in that sticky faded airplane seat; the warm must and
tobacco breath of everyone who ever sat before you. But the distractions and amusements set
before you, coupled with the extra oxygen and overall sweet demeanor of the amusement,
yours truly, remind you that it’s all okay and keep your mind from wondering
what everything you’re touching has touched before. Just as the in-flight movie is there to
engage and distract you from the otherwise awkward and misunderstood exchanges
between restless and weary travelers. But
I love the attention, I guess. It makes
me feel loved and wanted.
For a few minutes,
while we enjoy the food the waitress
has brought out to
us, we sit in silence and watch the city pass us by.
Gee Bee begins
arguing with her purse, fighting to free her whisky.
She is comically
perturbed that the bottle is being stubborn.
SLM: Why
do you keep arguing with that bottle?
Gee Bee laughs as
the bottle finally springs free.
LGB: What happens when the world doesn't
remember you the same way you remember it? What if
all the friends you've forgotten forgot you first? That’s a loaded question, isn’t
it? The short of it: there’s a little
man at the bottom of this bottle and I’m just trying to drink him out.
She wags her slender index finger vigorously
at the half empty bottle of whisky in front
of her.
Come out, little man.
She squints and sighs.
I was sober, once, for a whole
year. Did you know that? That was the most boring year I can remember,
darling. And if
there's one thing I hate more than anything else, it's being bored. Boredom
kills inspiration faster than any drug or drink I’ve found. I fucking hate
being bored. I hate remembering shit,
too, darling.
She smiles, but I
can tell she’s distracted and distant;
pulling away from the interview as she
continues to
wrestle with her clouding
stream of consciousness.
My
friend back home used to say, ‘The secret to joy is pain, Frankie. Love what you are, be who you want.’ She was always ready with good advice. She made you think, you know? To question everything and stop buying into
all the bullshit. Is it the same to witness a birth as it is to
stand by and watch someone die – holding their hand as they drift into
oblivion? I wonder. Does the same flood of emotions that race
into us when a child is born rush out just as violently from us as a friend
dies? Or unexpected death – those
accidents and tragedies that snuff life abruptly, in an instant. What happens, then, to those residual
feelings left behind by the lack of expectation and apprehension? Where are we supposed to store all that love
and hate – all the anger at life? Where
does all that shit go? What if our last
breath is really left over from our first, and we only finally finish it
whenever we happen to close our eyes and slip away for good? What if we were never breathing at
all...simply holding it in, suffocating on that last gasp – until we really
need it? Or maybe we’re not even really
awake until we die. Anyway, that’s why I
argue with the bottle: it keeps drawing me back in.
She finished her
drink, tucked away her bottle, and stood up from the table.
Come,
darling. The day is young and there are
mouths to feed. I have to go get naked
and throw myself at the moon. You’re
coming to see the show, and the first
round’s on me.
