Get Up Stand Up - When Love Gets Complicated
- Jenise Justice
- Jun 18
- 3 min read
She was a twin with a tongue like fire. A bisexual Black Muslim who sparred with faith and flirted with freedom.
In this fierce and fearless story from Down Low Sister On Top, Fayemi’s truth comes wrapped in strength, scent, and sacred secrets. But when her brother’s truth crashes into the breakfast table, silence becomes the most dangerous thing in the room.
Family. Tradition. Bondage.
I’m the oldest of three children. My identical twin, Adeeb, is older by minutes. It’s true what they say about twins feeling each other. When Adeeb broke his leg, I felt pain in mine. When I get sick, he gets sick. Even when I started my period, he felt cramping. We share many things, but he’s more passive than I am.
On our tenth birthday, I told him I liked girls.
“So what do I like, boys?”
“I like boys too,” I said, thinking I one-upped him.
“So. I like girls,” he said, trying to one-up me.
“Stop lying,” I said.
“I’m not lying. But I’ve known for a long time you liked girls.”
“Adeeb! You read my journal,” I said, punching him on the arm.
“Ouch! Stop hitting me, Faye. I know you like I know me. I’m your twin.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” I shouted, trying to punch him again. He blocked it.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I guess because it’s weird.”
“I’m not weird,” I said, punching at him again.
“Stop it, Faye,” he said, grabbing my shoulders. I wriggled away. Adeeb got very solemn.
“It’s not normal. We are not normal,” he said. “And what if Dad finds out?”
“He won’t,” I said.
The joking stopped. We looked at each other. The despair in Adeeb’s eyes deepened. Dad finding out about him would be brutal. Adeeb would be kicked out. I would be forced to marry some horrible man. And the worst part — Adeeb’s name would not be allowed to be spoken again. He would be dead to us. I wanted to assure him, but I knew he was right. I promised i would never tell.
My connection with Adeeb took on a whole new meaning shrouded in secrecy. We only talked about our attractions or teenage crushes when not in the house. We discovered something that didn’t translate to our twin sameness — we had opposite tastes in girls and boys. It became a competition to see whose crush was sexier. The competition wasn’t new; it started in the womb. I believe I saw the exit vagina light first.
I think it went like this: “Hold up, this could be a false alarm. Let me check it out.”
It was all in fun. Our parents encouraged us to strive for excellence. So, our competitive edge pushed us to achieve.
We kept each other’s secret for a long time.
A week before high school graduation, we were eating breakfast before going to the mosque. My father was silent. Adeeb was late to the table, as usual.
“Sorry,” Adeeb said, rushing in half-dressed and pulled out his chair.
“Don’t sit,” Father said, pushing away from the table. “Come with me.”
Something in Father’s tone created silence. We all knew something serious was coming. The last time he used that tone, my Uncle Kenyatta was the recipient. He’s my mother’s younger brother and leader of the Free Speech Nation—a group of Muslims pushing for reform of the faith's rules on marriage, same-sex relationships, and…
What did Father say to Adeeb?
This is just one chapter in the powerful stories of bisexual Black women breaking silence and redefining strength on their own terms.
👉🏽 Dive deeper into DownLow Sister OnTop. [Buy Now] and hear voices like Fayemi’s that demand to be heard.
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