Tag: bisexuality

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Subsidence

My entire life, I can remember nothing but being attracted to all genders. Never, ever can I recall not finding just about anyone attractive. Even before I knew what sex was, I knew that sometimes there was another kid that made me feel funny inside. And they were always, always, always both boys and girls.

That said, it’s also always been the case that my relative attraction to one pole of the gender spectrum or the other ebbs and flows. If you imagine the Kinsey Scale and its zero to ten range where five is equally attracted to both ends, then I vacillate between three and seven. Thus has it always been. Which is to say, I’m never not attracted to either end of the gender spectrum (or, really, anything in between), but sometimes I lean more heavily one way or the other.

This was especially problematic when I was a teenager and I barely knew that “bisexual” was an option for me. All I saw around me was straight people and gay people and David Bowie. And whenever I thought, “Well, what am I going to be for the rest of my life?” (because that was the frame through which I understood sexuality), the fact that the foundation of my sexual preferences kept slipping and sliding around like Bambi on a frozen pond made me constantly struggle to know “what I was.”

You could say that that aspect of my sexuality is defined by constant, permanent flux. The variability of it is the only thing I have come to count on my entire life. So it’s really interesting to me how little variation there is in the other axis of my sexuality. I have no interest in being a sexual dominant. Zero. I am so close to being 100% submissive that if there was a Dom/sub version of the Kinsey Scale I’d identify as a zero (where, of course, the subs are the little numbers and the Doms are the bigger ones).

But, that sub energy is latent absent denial and chastity. That’s not to say I’m not a sub when I’m not denied. I have always had sex like a sub. I tend to want to bottom and I have always been focused on getting my partner off before me. I have always tended to serve, if not explicitly. But being denied the ability to have regular orgasms is like spraying lighter fluid into a campfire (not that I have ever done that nor would I encourage you to, either, if you like having things like eyebrows). If I’m not denied, I don’t become less submissive, I become more selfish. My D/s Kinsey number doesn’t go up, but my interest in expressing it wanes.

And it’s kinda weird to me how that works. My bisexuality doesn’t really change at all due to being denied. I’m way more horny all the time and find some things to be more of a turn-on when I’m denied, but my baseline preference for either end of the gender spectrum doesn’t really get impacted. My needle still bounces around on the gender gauge while it only pegs harder and harder to the left of the D/s gauge.

Heh. Pegs.

I recall when I first found chastity and the online community of people who practiced it that “you shouldn’t have to be locked up to be a good sub” was a thing that was often said. Hearing that made me feel like not a good sub since I knew I was way more into being that way the longer it had been since I last came. But, just like my variable kind of bisexuality, that’s just how I am. Since it was a topic of conversation then, in the mediaeval period of enforced male chastity, I can’t be that unusual.

This is something I’m thinking about because Belle let me fuck her for real about a week ago. And I “suffered” a massive sub drop because it’s pretty much impossible for me to put it in her anymore without blowing a load. And…I don’t know how to describe it. The pressure of denial inflates my sub persona and when one is gone the other goes and then I’m left feeling…different. It’s as if losing my sub energy is like losing access to a latent cone in my eye and suddenly a certain wavelength of color goes away for me. Until I build back a level of horniness that resurfaces my submission. It’s a part of me that’s become so familiar and dependable that its absence is keenly felt.

Luckily, all it takes to get it back is time. And a lock.

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Freedom to feel

It occurred to me very shortly after I hit the publish button on that last post that I was going to have to think out the significance of this:

“I feel that this past weekend I allowed myself to really feel for Frodo how I have felt for him for years and express that to him as honestly as I ever have. And it’s exactly because we are both married to who we’re married to that that love can exist as it does. And it’s no less intense and no less valid than any other love I feel.”

Especially when compared to everything I’ve said here before about my bisexuality and my Twitter profile where I say I’m a “bisexual heteromantic submissive masochistic underwear enthusiast baseball fan. Usually locked in chastity.”

I mean, the submissive masochist underwear baseball stuff is totally true. As is the chastity. And I’m absolutely, 100% bisexual. But heteromantic? I am very definitely feeling something that would seem to exceed the bounds of heteromancy (full disclosure, I have no idea if this is a word). So what’s up, rabbit?

The time in my life when I was struggling the most with feelings of sexual attraction towards men combined with a deep desire to be with a woman and create a family was more or less the same time Frodo became so important in my life. When we were transitioning from childhood to adulthood. One of the main reasons I never pursed a romance with him at that time (and we’re talking like 30 or more years ago at this point) is that I already had in my head what I wanted in life. I had known it for as long I could remember. A wife. Children. I remember pretending I had kids from a very young age and by the time it was getting close to when I could make some it was the late 80s and early 90s and all the options available to same sex couples today (marriage, adoption, surrogacy) were pipe dreams or non-existent. And I think every time I started to get emotionally closer to Frodo around this time I would freak out and hit the eject button (which, in turn, hurt Frodo and was totally unfair). Because Frodo lacked a uterus.

So, to me, heteromancy was my destiny and I would not let anything get in the way of that. And since that was the case and Frodo was the only male I ever felt anything close to romantic love for and I never bothered to pursue any other men for that kind of connection, I could easily say (once I found the word) that I was heteromantic. Sex with men was great and totally something I was up for, but beyond that? Nope. They couldn’t give me what I wanted from life.

But the is future now. I’m not 20 anymore (sigh). I have a kid who’s that age and another right behind him. I got what I wanted from life. A woman who I love and two amazing children who have turned out better than I had any right to expect. So the imperative to reproduce has been satisfied (and is now all about patiently waiting for the grandkids).

So not only has that factor been lifted, I am also not single. I have that relationship with a woman I craved. And it’s healthy and happening right alongside whatever else might be happening in my life. So that need for female companionship and my urges to feel her body and get her off in the specific and delightful ways women get off is still available to me.

What I’m saying and where I’m netting out on this is that we are never complete beings. Things are always happening and time grinds forward and as such what was once thought to be immutable aspects of ourselves have to evolve, too. I feel that I am now more free to feel how I have felt for Frodo for decades. I can be more honest to him and myself. And the reason it’s possible is a combination of things the 20-year-old version of me never could have comprehended, let alone predicted.

So I’ve changed my Twitter profile.

I suspect it will change again. Because that’s what life is. And it’s only really over when the change ends.

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Active bisexual

I was jonesing to write a post and luckily enough a reader going by the handle 60and40boyfiend commented on a recent post…

Thumper, this may be in the wrong place but I am curious if you still consider yourself an active bisexual since you ended your relationship with Drew? You don’t talk about him or men in general much now, so did that get it out of your system so to speak? I am in a similar situation and have had my fun but now think it’s time to get rid of the guy so not sure what to do. Did you have regrets? Have you found other men?

Btw, how are Drew and Fro-to? I miss hearing about them.

I used to think like you do. That my urges regarding men were transitory and once they were “out of my system” I’d go back to whatever passes for normal. But that’s just wrong. A bisexual in a monogamous opposite-sex relationship is still bisexual. A bisexual in a monogamous same-sex relationship is still bisexual. We are not defined by who we’re fucking or being fucked by. Being bisexual isn’t about the physical arrangement of one’s life. It’s about how one’s brain is wired to their junk.

If you were in my imagination (or perhaps perused one of my Tumblrs), you’d see I’m still very much an “active” bisexual. That doesn’t mean I’m always and equally attracted to both genders (or, for that matter, that my taste in porn is an accurate reflection of my feelings — I’ve always been more drawn to gay porn than straight). My sexuality is a continuum that oscillates along the Kinsey scale from about a 2 to about a 4 with maybe some brief excursions into 1 and 5 from time to time. I can’t explain that. I don’t know why I feel like that. I’ve tried hard to identify the “triggers” that make me move in one direction or another (and started doing so back when what I wanted more than anything was to be a simple 0), but I’ve decided the factors are either random or so multilayered that I’m never going to figure them out. Also, that I don’t need to. I’m never going to stop oscillating and I’m never going to be gay or straight. Luckily, I’m in a long term committed relationship where that’s not a problem. Belle accepts me as I am and has allowed me the opportunity to express my desires (with some specific limitations).

Regarding not talking about men here, that’s more a function of what this blog is about (Belle and I) than what I’m thinking or doing. My adventures with Drew and Frodo were never supposed to star here in any great detail. They’re both hanging around and both remain tantalizing possibilities that, based on the previous paragraph, you’ll understand I’m more interested in some days than others. And they’re both doing well. With Drew, you don’t need to take my word for it.

The thing that keeps me from engaging with them more than I might like to has nothing to do with how bisexual I feel on any given day. My issue currently is that a chronic injury has led me to slack off dramatically from my exercise routine which has in turn left me feeling very dissatisfied with my body and decidedly unsexy. I’m trying to turn things around, but I can’t separate how I feel about myself from how I feel about being with anyone (even Belle, if I’m honest). So that’s a whole ‘nuther layer that really only I can do anything about.

On a related topic, I recently said this on Twitter…

I still haven’t quite wrapped my head around that, but it feels true. Perhaps because I’m bisexual and round off to a Kinsey 4 (dead center) it’s easier for me to say it. Also, if there was a Kinsey scale for Dom-sub, I’d be pegged at the sub end (haha, see what I did there?). In general, I’m a person who lives in gray spaces between the poles, except in this one way. I have essentially no dominant tendencies.

I wonder sometimes if my predilection towards being a bottom (in the male homosexual sense of the word, not the “synonymous with sub” sense) is partially due to the fact that I have no access to the penis. For me, the penis has transmuted into this (usually) steel numb thing between my legs that pressurizes when I’m horny and whose absence leaves me feeling off-center and weird. I don’t like seeing the penis. I don’t like being free. I don’t want to use it for anything other than what Belle tells me to (and even then I do it more because she likes and wants it). The Steelheart in particular is more me than the thing within it. In some ways, I feel like the epicenter of my sexual focus has migrated backward a few inches and inward. I’m not a person who fucks, I’m a person who gets fucked. I’m not a person who takes sexual pleasure from others directly, I’m a person who allows others to take their pleasure from me. Being used in whatever way someone needs to use me to achieve maximum sexual pleasure is, TBH, the hottest thing I can possibly imagine.

You might read that “get fucked, not fuck” thing and think, geeze, you sound gay to me. But I’m not. I still love Belle. I still love pussy and tits and hips and women. So it’s a conundrum. And I do what Belle wants me to do with the penis because, like I said, I’m a fucking sub. If what makes her happy is to have me feel or do a certain thing, then that’s what I’ll do, to the best of my ability.

Living with bisexuality for fifty years has taught me not to get too hung up in my own underwear. All I want is to know myself better than I have before. To understand my motivations and predilections. To explore how my sexuality has been changing as age and circumstance have changed around it. But I won’t worry about it. I won’t freak out as things evolve and as I realize and recognize that evolution. I am what I am and try to live without regret for that not being what I wish it could or should be.

So I wrote all that before rereading your comment while proofreading the post…

Last thing. You said, “I am in a similar situation and have had my fun but now think it’s time to get rid of the guy so not sure what to do.” Ask yourself if you’re just over this one guy or if you’re over guys. You might feel that men don’t hold much allure for you right now. I get that, totally. Or it might be you’re just kind of over this certain dude. But whatever you think, don’t imagine for a second that it’s “out of your system” because it ain’t and never will be.

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Further and deeper

The way things were around here for a while was Belle would let me out on Saturday morning (or sometimes Friday night) for sex and I’d stay out until Sunday night (or sometimes Monday morning or even later if she never told me to go back in). I could count on it like clockwork. Sure, Belle wanted the fuck, but she also maybe felt a little sorry for me or something. Indulging.

But it’s a new regime now. I did get out yesterday, but right after I was getting a little too excited about it which led to this exchange…

It was the first time I was out for sex in weeks and the prospect of getting the penis wet went from fuzzy abstract to potent reality with the turn of its key. Belle needed me to remember why it was being let out. Namely, because she wanted to feel it inside her. Not because of what it or I wanted. I got her off in the usual way, then she let me inside her but I didn’t last long before I had to stop. I squirted, but did not come, then it was over. And then I was locked back up.

You might read that and think that it’s mean. Not a nice way for a wife to treat her husband. Because of how we’re all socialized, love and sex are supposed to be this reciprocal exchange of pleasure and pleasure is defined a specific way and looks more or less the same for everyone. That’s because people like me don’t exist in the popular narrative.

In another nature vs. nurture kind of puzzle I’ve been working over lately, I feel more and more like my role as a sexual being is to bring pleasure to my partner in whatever form that means (within some reason, of course). As much as the penis might strain for release, she’ll never make me happier than when she thinks only of herself when we’re having sex. It’s taken a long time for her to get past the socialization of reciprocity (or outright deference) and be sexually selfish. But when she does, I feel closer to my natural state.

Same kind of thing happened with Frodo last weekend in New York. Aside from a quick rolling around last year in which my pants never came off (since I wasn’t locked up), we haven’t had sex since we were in our early twenties. And when the idea of having sex with me first became a possibility, his reaction was not positive. I come with baggage, after all, including a steel thing locked to the part of me a gay man would normally be very interested in. And his experience with kink at the level of male chastity was zero. The prospect of being with me was offputing to him then.

Compounding that was his tendency towards being a bottom rather than a top (a real shame in my book since, as I’ve said, he has a glorious cock). But even with Frodo, who I’ve known forever and Belle has known for half that time, I wasn’t going to be a whole man. Not even for a second. Belle’s rule is absolute.

However, time marches on and Frodo has been feeling more toppy lately. That, combined with some time to get used to the idea of being with a penisless man, made our weekend trip possible. Even though, he carried the same notions of reciprocity everyone else seems to have. It was hard for him, at first, to know how to deal with that. To be as selfish as I needed him to be with me. By that last morning, though, I think he was getting the hang of it. Of seeing me as means to his ends. Without getting too explicit (sorry), I could sense that he let himself focus less and less on me as his friend and more and more on me as his to use. Not unlike how it happened with Belle, that the benefits of having a partner like me were becoming more apparent.

There’s an aspect of all this that’s been quite difficult for me to wrap my head around. Not difficult to do. I revel in my role. But it’s a thing that’s been bubbling around inside me and that was accentuated when I was with Frodo. It’s something to do with gender. I don’t really feel like a man anymore. That’s an odd thing to see myself writing and I don’t mean it be read as if I think of myself as a female. That’s the problem, really. I don’t have the words to describe it. Less of a man and more of something else. A man-shaped person who doesn’t feel or act or do typical man things. Frodo showed zero interest in the penis. Made only incidental contact with any part of it or my balls. I was a mouth and a hole for him with a hairy chest, strong legs, and nice broad shoulders.

And except those times when Belle wants the penis in order to feel it inside her, she doesn’t give it a lot of attention. More than zero, to be sure, but sometimes we have sex and she doesn’t touch it at all. Other times, more. But even so, if it’s locked up, I can’t feel anything where the metal is. For more than three months now, I’ve been locked up essentially all of the time. I can’t stroke or squeeze or even have an erection. Since the Halfshell came along, I can’t even stand to pee.

All this has led to a profound change in how I feel about my manhood. Not in a bad way, mind you. Not at all. Like everything else that’s been happening with me lately, it feels perfectly natural. As if I’m only becoming more of who I really am. It’s very comforting. And in those moments when I’m naked and having sex (with Belle or whoever), I feel only a profound gratitude. A emotional satisfaction at least as potent as the physical satisfaction that comes with orgasm.

It feels wrong now for me to fuck for my own pleasure alone. To think of taking over a sexual encounter to satisfy myself physically. To crave my own orgasm more than I crave theirs. I never fantasize about fucking anyone other than Belle and even then only when I can feel or taste or smell her pussy. I never think of using the penis for anything anymore. I rarely think about jacking off lately.

I guess that’s part of what being submissive is. I don’t really know. It seems like more than that to me. Like the extreme edge of submissiveness. Belle could tell me tomorrow that she didn’t need me to fuck her anymore. That she had found something or someone else she preferred to the penis and that I’d never get out except to clean the device. As long as I still participated in some way with her pleasure, I’d be more than OK with that. That’s what I need more than my own release. To feel her pleasure. Or Frodo’s or Drew’s or whoever’s.

By itself, this doesn’t scare me. I do worry how Belle will read all this and what she’ll think of me, but in practice nothing has to change between us. As long as she’s doing what she wants and is getting satisfaction from it, I’m happy. I also admit that I’m somewhat concerned about what happens next time she has me come. I don’t know what the sudden change in brain chemistry will do to me. To my current perception of me. Belle mentioned today after hearing it had been more than three months since I last came (she thought it had been more recent) that she used to think I needed to come for health reasons, but decided my orgamsless ejacualition and the other ways I express seminal fluid was probably good enough for that. She knows I don’t need orgasm. That not having them is good for me.

I’ve never felt more connected to her than now. More cared for by her. More connected to myself. I’d like very much for how I feel right now to not go away. I know I’m not a static thing. That I won’t feel this way forever no matter what happens. But right here, right now is really good.

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The cute check-out

I visited the grocery store over lunch today to pick up some things to keep at the office for when I can’t go out and eat. I was checked out, both literally and figuratively, by a cute boy checker. Seemed gay to me, but not ridiculously so. Tried to make small talk about my hat and kept it going when it should have died out. Smiled. Twinkled. Called out something as I walked away. Either he was flirting or has a personality disorder. We’ll go with flirting.

When I see or meet people who are sexually interesting to me (and this guy could be, I suppose), I often wonder what they would make of me if they had the chance. I don’t really think of myself as a normal man. Not the kind you just pick up for a fuck. Besides being functionally penisless, I mean. What would it be like for me knowing what I know about myself now if I was still trying to date people?

Sure, I’m totally bi and could conceivably have sex with anyone. I know I’m heteromantic so the dudes would just be a good time. I’d probably have to tell them that if they tried to linger. Alternatively, I’d need to tell the women about the bi thing. Honestly, the best thing I did with Belle was put it out there very early on. Even before we were dating. It was never hidden between us, though had we gone right into a romantic thing, I don’t know that it would have happened the same way. It probably would have. As I recall, most of the women I’ve been with were hip to the bi.

Besides being bi, I’m a complete bottom. Not just a sub (I’ll get there), but a bottom. Not really into fucking guys. Have never been into it, to be honest, though I’ve always been into letting them do me. I recall always being somewhat impatient when I was with guys if they were going down on me or I was supposed to screw them. Sure, I like getting sucked off as much as the next guy, but I don’t think I’ve ever come from that. And now, of course, if I do end up with a guy for a good time, I’m an enforced bottom. Can’t really not tell the poor dude about that until the pants are coming off.

And yes, of course, I’m a sub. All the way down. How would I get into a relationship with a random person without knowing if they were minimally a switch? I mean, I guess I did when I married Belle, but we’re talking about me knowing everything I know about myself now. Of course, maybe it would just be a fling. Like the cute boy picking me up at the grocery store. But would I be able to enter into flings knowing all these things about me and how complicated I am and how sometimes flings become more than that?

Bottom line, dating for a submissive bisexual heteromantic bottom would be fucking complicated as hell. I mean, seriously, that’s got to be one of the primary ways the internet has improved our lives in the past few decades. When I really was single and dating, all we had were bars, friends, work, and the personals. And the personals were pretty tame.

The converse of all this, of course, is I didn’t know a lot of these things and married a wonderful girl anyway and it all turned out fine. So maybe I’m just blowing this out of proportion. Maybe shit just works out sometimes.

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Planet Earth is blue and there’s nothing I can do

Most every morning, the first thing I do when I wake up that time – the time I know I’m going to get up and not just roll over again – is grab my phone. On it, there’s usually a dozen or so notifications of things that happened when I was asleep, 97% of which are nothing of consequence. This morning, there was only one.

4:27 AM CNN Breaking News: David Bowie has died at age 69.

FUCK.

There are different levels of emotion one feels when a famous person dies starting with indifference. Like, oh that person is dead. Next thought. Then you get to the, Oh, that’s sad. Next thought. Skip a few levels and you end up with the ones you cry over.

The last famous dead person I cried over was Steve Jobs. Just a bit because it had been coming and we all knew. Those are the situations where you get to mourn in slow motion for a long time. Steel yourself. In the case of Steve, that was months if not years. But Bowie just happened. Like that bolt painted on his face on the cover of Aladdin Sane.

So I said to myself, FUCK, and opened the apps and read the news. I wasn’t ready for it to hit me like it did. In fact, it wasn’t until I got into the bathroom to get ready for work an hour or so later and started playing my Bowie playlist that it became real and I felt the emotion and that made me cry. Honestly, I think of people who cry when famous people die as marginally unstable. They don’t know them. Sure, it’s fine to feel a sad, but to cry. That’s for people you really know. But that’s not what happened this morning. I was crying for Bowie. Then I’d stop and the song would change I’d do it all over again. Streaming tears. What the fuck?

David Bowie was the featured artist on the soundtrack that was the John Hughes movie of my young adult life. The first time I have any memory of hearing one of his songs was relatively late considering he started releasing albums in the 60’s. I was at a friend’s house who was one of the first I knew who had cable and MTV and it was just on and playing in the corner as a bunch of us hung out. This was also the first time I ever saw MTV and the video playing was “China Girl.” And man, that voice. I recall just staring transfixed. Then I bought Let’s Dance then I ended up hanging out with people who had the whole back-catalog and then he was always just  there.

David Bowie was the first person upon whom I ever heard the label “bisexual” applied. I knew he was it before I knew I was. Even today, if you told me to say the first thing that came into my head upon hearing “bisexual” I’d probably say Bowie. Then “Dancing in the Streets” came out and there was the guy he was supposedly bisexual with (among others). For a really, really long time the entire universe of out bisexual people I could point to was David Bowie. And in a way, the fact that he just was bisexual without any politics or flag waving or carrying on was quietly and powerfully influential on me. I never realized how much that meant to me until I was standing in the bathroom this morning feeling stupid about the tears running down my face.

Funny thing is, I kinda stopped following Bowie after “Blue Jean” was released. We do that sometimes, I guess. The best music is the music that was made when we were 17. I’ve lost time for music now. All I do now is consume information. I listen to the news and podcasts and hoover up as much info as possible. Who has time to listen to new music when the world is still full of so many interesting things I haven’t learned about yet? But every time I heard he released a new album, including his last just a few days ago, I’d think a happy thought. He was still out there. Still doing his thing. Still reinventing himself.

I’m forty-eight. Not old but not young. Old enough to know better than ever that I’m not going to be around forever. That more of me is in the past than in the future. The death of David Bowie is also the death of a chunk of my youth. This is what getting old is, I think, more than the ache and the lines on your face. When you become aware that the things that mattered to you before you developed a sense of your own mortality are literally dying around you.

God, it fucking sucks he’s dead.

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Be your damned self

Reader Andrew commented on my last post:

This may be a personal question, but during any of this have you wanted to hide your bisexuality or end the Drew relationship out of a way to feel “normal” before realizing that those are just part of the new normal? I ask, well, because I tend to shun my bi side and I am trying to stop that.

I’ll take those in reverse order.

You cannot “shun” your bisexuality. You shouldn’t even try. If you don’t want or can’t act out on your desires, at least accept them. Trying to shove them down deep and ignoring them is a recipe for disaster.

I’ve not wanted to do that myself at all, not for a long time and certainly not recently. My attraction to each end of the gender spectrum waxes and wanes over time and when I’m feeling especially anxious or depressed, I find I’m drawn even closer to Belle since she’s the stabilizing force in my life. Her and my family. That means I’m less attracted to men, but it doesn’t mean I’m not bisexual. I know how I work by now.

Regarding Drew, as I’ve said, he’s gotten the short end of the stick. I withdraw from those all around me and he’s in that group. My waning attraction to men also impacts my relationship with him. It can be a challenge to give him the attention he wants or perhaps should expect, but again, that’s my problem with everyone when I’m feeling bad.

I try not to focus on “normal” even though I ended my last post talking about it. I am who I am, physically and emotionally and mentally, and that’s all good. I actually like who I am with regard to my sexuality. I find my bisexuality to be a bit of a superpower. I’d never want to give it up or see it go away forever. I am grateful I have the opportunity from Belle to engage others outside my marriage. I feel that’s a benefit and in no way a bad thing. To be clear, my issues with anxiety and depression are not based on any angst or guilt regarding my love and sex life. Anxiety attaches to them, but that’s not where it’s coming from.

So anyway, be your damned self. I am and I like it.

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Touchy bunny

Reader Mike left this comment to my last post:

Do you ever think the day will come when you are simply not bisexual and the phase will be over? I’m sure that would be welcomed news to Belle and Drew’s husband, but I think it would make you unhappy and I’d hate that. So, best of luck with the kryptonite.

Drew read that as well-intentioned but misguided. I just read the misguided part and called him an idiot. Why to touchy?

I’ve been thinking on that because the comment today doesn’t seem as obnoxious as it did yesterday. I think there are a couple of things that set me off.

Do you ever think the day will come when you are simply not bisexual and the phase will be over?

Ugh. So, so close to calling my sexuality a “phase.” I literally cannot think of a more demeaning and insulting thing to say to a person who identifies as something outside the heteronormative hegemony. Also especially problematic for me since I totally bought off on that “phase” narrative for years and had no real emotional or sexual relationships as a result. I’ll grow out of it. I’ll “decide.” And I was wrong. There was nothing to grow out of. No decision to make. I am what I am.

And, in a theme that will be repeating, I’ve blogged about my sexuality many, many times. My assumption about anyone who reads me is that they’ve been reading me and know the whole backstory and that’s probably wrong. I don’t know anything about Mike or if that post was the first he ever read. Maybe. But it still set me off.

I’m sure that would be welcomed news to Belle and Drew’s husband…

How many times have I written that both our spouses are really, super OK with me and Drew’s relationship? I grow weary defending it and the implied damage our combined openness must be inflicting on them. I am tired of the assumption that what we’re doing is cheating. I’m so fucking tired of the judgement. Ugh!

…but I think it would make you unhappy and I’d hate that.

Which, OK, I totally skipped over the first time through. I was already seeing red and didn’t pick up the apparent concern/care. But even this suggests I’m perfectly happy to make Belle unhappy so I can have gay sex with Drew…?

So, best of luck with the kryptonite.

I read that as, “I hope you continue not being bisexual,” though I admit it could be interpreted otherwise. So many comments that are judgmental and homophobic and really awful that never get approved (here or over on Drew’s) carry a friendly, caring tone so that can almost set me off by itself.

He replied to me calling him an idiot with this:

Dude, im on your side here. I know you’ve always been a bi guy but since you are in a new stage of acting on it with your outside “relationship” I wondered if that’s maybe all you needed for your satisfaction. It’s only been a month or two, right? I don’t know what I meant about the spouses and I know they support you but it has to be tough at times dividing times and lives is all I meant but glad for you they do.

Again with the phase talk. As if all I need to scratch my bi itch is a cock in my mouth a few times. That’s not how sexuality works. Not from an orientation aspect, not from a kink aspect, not really in any aspect. Also, I’ve been with Drew a month or two? Nearly a year. Yeah, I know, maybe he’s new, but it doesn’t sound like it. More like there’s a reading comprehension issue.

Whatever. I overreacted. I shouldn’t have. I can be mean sometimes. Sorry.

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Underwood under my skin

Last week, some kind of flu-like thing knocked me out pretty good and left me laying in bed for a few days binge-watching TV shows. One of those was House of Cards. It’s a show I watch in fits and starts mostly because Belle doesn’t seem that into it and I like to watch things with her that we both enjoy. HoC gets whatever time is left whenever I think of it (often watched while on the treadmill).

So, fair warning, I’m going to spoil the hell of that show in this post. I’m about three episodes or so into the third (and current) season, so if you’re interested in it, you’re probably further along than I am, but this is the internet so warnings must be posted. Also, if you’re ahead of me, please don’t spoil anything that happens later on.

I remember really well the moment we realized as viewers that Frank wasn’t cheating on Claire with Zoe. That she not only was aware of his dalliances but had no issue with them. I loved that the show was featuring a complicated monogamish relationship, even if at least Frank’s side of it was creepily calculated and politically motivated (in many ways, I found Claire’s relationship with Adam to be far more interesting and layered). Then, when we learn of Frank’s relationship with another man in his academy days, I was even more invested. Frank Underwood was bisexual.

And I kind of left it there. I didn’t think much more about it. A popular show was featuring an open relationship and a strong masculine character who fucked other guys once in a while. Two rabbity thumbs up from me.

But hours and hours of soaking in HoC over the course of two days has totally changed my POV about it. And it started with the episode where Frank and Claire tag team their Secret Service guy. That shit was not OK on many levels. And it made me rethink the show’s depiction of both Frank’s sexuality and his marriage arrangement.

I remember back in the 70’s and 80’s and 90’s when I was growing up that more often than not, characters with non-standard sexualities or gender identities were depicted as pathological. You couldn’t just be gay (let alone bi or trans) and part of the story. The fact that you were gay (or bi or trans) was part of your larger freakishness. There are exceptions (The World According to Garp), but usually that’s how shit when down.

So here we are now in the progressive 21st Century and we’re still doing it. Claire and Frank can’t just be murdering, amoral, power-hungry, self-absorbed sociopaths. They need to feature an extra layer of otherness to show to the audience just how amoral they are. They will sleep with anyone. Together. Frank sucks cock and goes down on women. What a freak!

This was set into sharp relief for me when I was back at work on Friday and talking to a colleague about my HoC binge. He said after he realized that Claire knew about Zoe and that it didn’t bother her that he knew they were too weird for him. And I was thinking, that is what told you they were weird? I mean, eventually Frank starts killing people and they both lie like fucking rugs but their relationship openness is what did it?

Openness and ethical non-monogamy are very much in the cultural conversation at the moment, but it has yet to be portrayed in the popular culture as a normal and positive thing. Not on a show that has a lot of eyeballs, at least. And portrayals of female bisexuality have made some gains lately but masculine, non-confused, healthy bisexual males are still a thing we’re waiting to see.

So no, House of Cards is clearly not the monogamish bisexual’s Will and Grace. Not even. Probably the opposite. And that pisses me off.

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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.