The inconvenient ebbing

Have I mentioned I’m bisexual? Oh, that’s right. We’re calling it biflexipan now. I feel like I must have brought it up at some point…

When I was young, I didn’t really understand my own sexuality or how it worked. I say now I’m a Kinsey three (and I know I am since Buzzfeed proved it for me — where were they in 1989!?), but that’s something that vacillates. I only average out to a three. I couldn’t get a grip on who I was for a long time because I didn’t realize that the oscillation around three was something I didn’t really control. I assumed that I must be gay (or mostly gay) because other guys turned me on and I wanted them to fuck me and only gay men want to be fucked by other men (at least as far as I knew). My pesky insistence on also being turned on by women and really enjoying sex with them (plus my inability to feel a real emotional connection to another guy) had to have been rooted in my inability to let go of the assumption and expectation that I should be straight. Like I didn’t want to disappoint my mom by turning out gay so I never let myself feel it and live it. Also, many of my gay friends told me “bisexual” meant “gay as soon as he figures it out.” Perhaps I was only fooling myself into liking women because I was afraid of the alternative.

I remember a gay friend telling me at about this time that I was confused. I also remember reacting very negatively to that word (mostly because this same guy told me I couldn’t exist and I really felt that maybe I did), but really, I was confused about how I worked. I didn’t get that how my attraction changed was natural for me and not something I could influence. That it just happened. I also had no understanding at all that emotional sexuality is separate from…sexual sexuality. It wasn’t until I met Belle and the enormity of the emotions I felt for her swamped everything else I felt that I decided to stop worrying about it. I still didn’t understand me and I knew I wasn’t “cured” of my attraction to men, but because I loved her as much as I did, none of it seemed to matter as much. For the first time in my life, I was with someone with whom I felt a deep need to procreate.

FF about twenty years.

So now I’m in this part of my life where on Wednesday I have my face buried in snatch and on Thursday I’m sucking dick. On the one hand, how fucking awesome is that!? But on the other, it’s a bit jarring. I am not the perfect Kinsey three I average out to. There’s a certain fluidity to it, but there’s zero fluidity in the logistics of how it plays out. I see Drew when I see him and those dates are set weeks or months in advance. Whether or not I am especially interested in his…er, services, there they are.

Up to this point, it hasn’t really been a problem (and even now, to use the word “problem” suggests there is one and there really isn’t). Some visits, I’m really into the idea of him being here and others perhaps less so, but this time I was way over at like a Kinsey one-and-a-half. However the tidal forces of my sexuality work, they were ebbing relative to the idea of mansex. But, you know, even one and a half twigs is enough to kindle a campfire with, so things weren’t awkward or weird. He knew something was up. I dropped vague hints. Still, a fine time was had by all.

I suspected this mismatch of opportunity and desire was going to happen when, in the days leading up to his arrival, I found myself rolling my eyes at things he would say to me that otherwise would have been funny or whatever. This wall, or whatever it is, has always been there and when it’s up I can never get over. Whatever guy I was with or who wanted to be with me would say or do something and I’d be like, Oh god, what a fucking guy thing to say/do, and get immediately turned off. Often enough, the “guy thing” works for me, but when it doesn’t, it does not. This kind of experience used to really throw me for a loop. Cause me to spin into a kind of perpetual re-evaluation of who I was and what I wanted out of life. Now I’m just kind of, Feh. I’ll get over it.

Of course, this is in no way a reflection on Drew. Luckily, I like him as well as have sex with him so even in the middle of this little episode, things are good between us. There have been guys in my past with whom I really only wanted sex and, when this thing came along, I’d run away from them faster than Jerry from Tom. My affection for him is genuine so this isn’t a crisis. Just a little thing.

Just about nine hundred words into this post and I realize I have no way out of it. Seems a pretty fair metaphor. This is just who I am and there’s no way out of that, either.

3 thoughts on “The inconvenient ebbing

  1. The oscillations of true bisexuality are certainly a force of nature to reconcile. It took just the right amount of Zen and and an extraordinary wife to be able to see it for what it is.

  2. Every time your write about this topic it strikes a nerve with my own feelings about it. Do we really need to read the labels? After reading your post, I thought; where do all these labels come from and more importantly are they even relevant to the enjoyment of sex? I think back to when I was a child of about 5 or 6 years old. I played with boys and girls and thought very little about the gender identity of myself or of my playmates. I knew there were differences and I recognized that boys and girls played differently, but I picked my playmates based on the playtime activities that I liked, not my biological sex or theirs. My penis didn’t factor into my decisions about playtime. At that age simple labels were “boys” and “girls”.

    When I turned 8 or 9 I may have became more aware of the differences between “boys” and “girls” mostly due to adult intervention. I began to realize that clothing, toys, games, bathrooms, were segregated between the boys and the girls. Identity choices were already being made for me based on my biological gender. It isn’t a problem for most children because their biological label fits with what they liked to do. Girls liked to play with dolls and play house emulating “mommy”. Boys liked to play with trucks and sports games emulating “daddy”. Genitalia didn’t factor into gender identity nearly as much as how your were labeled by your parents and other adults. I may have realized I had a penis, but the only reasonable explanation for being segregated from girls due to my penis, had to do with going to the right bathroom. And of course most boys were more physical (roughhousing) in play activities then girls; which was another reason to segregate them. (Although I knew several tom boys that kicked ass back then too…BTW these were the kind of girls I liked to play with in my youth…maybe that’s a clue to my sexual submissiveness….maybe not).

    Of course if you were labeled a boy and you liked to play with dolls that was a problem for your parents. It would often would result in being teased by both your playmates and adults causing confusion, frustration, and some level of emotional distress. And I would venture the same would hold true for girls who liked to play with trucks, wear boys clothing, and play boy games. So, what do these labels, based on biological gender, have to do with sex? Well, if you color within the lines, they don’t. Meaning, you don’t even think about these labels if you consistently identify with your biological gender, you just follow the directions on the labels of what you want and life goes on without incident.

    But things change when you think back to adolescence and puberty. Suddenly, the penis provides pleasure, not just a release of urine. This new function is explained by peers, teachers, and the discovery of porn. All of these explanations are tainted by being tied to biological labels (except where porn deliberately offers experiences outside the lines). I remember being a teenager and wondering as I masturbated what it would feel like to be fucked by a man? Would it feel like I was weaker then the man? Would I feel dominated by being fucked by a man? What if he wanted me to suck his cock? Would I feel ashamed? Would I feel emasculated? Would I want to experience those feelings if everybody knew about it or only if it were a secret? If I felt this way did it mean I also had to feel like I was in love with the man? I never felt like I was falling in love with any man. I did however, want to experience what it felt like to be dominated by a man. I wanted to be overtaken against my will to submit totally to the sexual pleasure that could be derived from submitting to someone who wanted to use me for their pleasure. So, what’s the label for that? Are you a homosexual if you don’t fall in love with a man, but just want to be dominated by him sexually? Are you heterosexual if you fall in love with women but want them to be a man when you have sex? Is that what a bisexual label means?

    And like you, Thumper, I find myself wondering how to wrap this up….So, I say, when it comes to sex don’t bother to read the labels, they aren’t going to make the pleasure any better….and if the colors run…don’t sweat it! Enjoy your sex life without the labels, you don’t need them to have pleasure. Labels just get in the way of playing the way you want…

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