Tag: bisexuality

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Penisthinking

As discussed previously, Belle’s given me permission to go find a boy willing to fuck me. Because I so, so badly, wish to be fucked and she doesn’t want to be the one to do it. On the one hand, this is very exciting and when I think about it and the fact that she’s willing to let me have this I only feel more affection towards her than usual (yes, it’s true, going outside your marriage for sex can make your marriage stronger). On the other hand, I’ve done nothing about it. Well, not nothing.

I reached out to an old boyfriend who doesn’t live near us. In fact, he’s way over on a coast, so not even close. In chatting with him about this new opportunity I have, I mentioned how, if it were possible, I’d be more than happy to have him do me (I have mentioned him in the past here — he has a wonderfully beautiful cock). In retrospect, this was a really stupid and thoughtless thing to do.

He was the guy I was with when I figured out that I wasn’t gay. It wasn’t that clean of a realization and it took several starts and stops to figure it out. He ended up getting by far the worst end of everything. I hold him in very high regard and feel genuine affection for him — he’s still a close friend. But he loved me. In a way I couldn’t return. Now he’s gone and had a life and married a guy (who’s OK with him getting some on the side) and has kids and the whole thing and all of a sudden I pop up out of the blue saying, “Hey! I can get fucked! Wanna fuck me!?”

I would have never done this with an ex-girlfriend. I realized that after the fact. Because with them, there would be problematic feelings, etc., due to the fact that I expressed love for them at one time and they for me and how that’s a whole minefield of emotional bombs. I feel love for this guy, too, but not, apparently, in the way that would make me aware of his potential feelings or that my proposal could be more hurtful than happy. In fact, I let the fucking penis do my thinking. A trait I share with many men, but for a guy who takes such pains to explain how he isn’t controlled by penis meat, it’s a surprising lapse. In any event, I’ve apologized for being such a total fucking cad. He didn’t take it personally.

Still, there are issues. For one, he’s a long ways away, like I said. Two, he’s gay and I would be a guy without, essentially, one of things gay guys really like — a penis. Also, and most problematically, he’s a bottom. When we were together, he got off on me being bigger (except in one department) and stronger and altogether more toppy than him. Definitely not who I am today and not something I could provide if I wanted. Add those things up and you have a formula that doesn’t easily resolve. Finally, in our text conversation about this, he called the device I wear a “contraption” and said he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. That’s fair, of course, but I admit it left me feeling highly self-conscious about myself. It’s like saying, “You’re awesome, but that third nipple kind of gives me the creeps.” So I don’t know about him.

Thing is, I was never really very good at finding dates. Back when most people do that I was all worked up about whether I wanted boys or girls and didn’t spend any time learning how to get either. Now I’m kind of this third thing. Also, I know for a fact I don’t want any kind of simple hook-ups. I’m not sure I can separate my submissive nature from sex. I don’t just want a live dick inside me, I want one belonging to someone I feel comfortable with. Someone I can sort of co-opt my submission to. That’s a bigger deal than just getting laid. Whoever this mystery man is, he has to be worthy.

And, of course, unattached or in a flexible situation and OK with no emotional prospects beyond whatever Belle lets me have and OK with a guy that doesn’t have an accessible penis. Also, in my total fantasy situation, this guy is actually a couple of committed guys. I don’t know why, but that’s appealing. Not a requirement, though. I assume this guy’s going to have to be either a dom or switch looking for a little piece on the side to top. They’re going to have to get off on my denial because I will always be that way with them. Starting to seem like a hard bill to fit, indeed. But what do I know?

So anyway, here I am. Permission to engage has been received but action beyond annoying an old friend has not been taken. I’m not even sure where to start.

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My invisible closet

Yesterday, I posted about the issues I had with assuming men who say they’re interested in women looking at “gay porn” are closeted gays. There’s just not a straight (ahem) line from one to the other. But that’s yesterday’s topic.

In the post, I said…

If I’m closeted, it’s as…whatever it is I am. I don’t tell people about my sexual stimulants. It’s just not something that comes up and I’m not the kind of guy to wear such a thing on my sleeve (multi-year explicit sex blog to the contrary). Plus, as I’ve said before, I hate the term “bisexual” and abhor using it as a descriptor for who I am.

Then I said…

Some of us don’t want anything more than the same basic rights and privileges enjoyed by everyone else. Some of us think there is no better way to advocate for that than to show through the living of our lives that we’re no different.

And then I said in a comment…

[T]he way to get full acceptance isn’t through names and labels and words that divide us. It’s through living a free and open life and demonstrating through actions that all people are fundamentally the same.

Which is kinda the same thing I said before, but whatever.

In thinking on this, it occurs to me that there’s a fairly gaping and obvious flaw in my approach. I’m not “out” as someone with non-straight proclivities. Therefore, how can I show anything at all about other people similar to me through the living of my life? It’s kind of a Catch-22. I won’t accept the label “bisexual” (though I have used it about myself here in the past as it is convenient shorthand) and I’m already married so how, exactly, can I “come out?” Out as what? Which, of course, is why people invent labels. Yeah, I know.

I don’t care if people know I’m flexible but I’m also not going to drop it on them without context because that’s just weird. I guess the same goes for the kink and submission attributes. I’m not ashamed, but I’m also not interested in being flamboyant about it. If you think about, there are remarkably few opportunities to tell someone about the guy-on-guy action you’ve indulged in where that information would be relevant to the conversation.

I don’t really have an answer for this. I’m just identifying the issue.

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Words aren’t helping

The New York Times this weekend ran a story about an interesting way to divine, as the article’s headline puts it, “How many American men are gay?” The state-by-state social acceptance of homosexuals was cross-referenced against the number of men on Facebook who say they’re interested in men and that was compared to the percentage of Google searches for male gay porn.

First of all, this is fascinating stuff. And it probably does demonstrate the very sad issue of those living in areas where they’re unwelcome due to shallow and outdated ideas of what’s right and wrong. But I do have a fundamental issue with how author of this work perpetuated the myth that human sexuality is a choice between zero and six on the Kinsey scale.

Checking, I see that I haven’t told Facebook what gender I’m interested in. Of course, I’m married and was before Facebook came along and have never had to use it as a facet of my dating life, so why would I? But, were I not married, I wonder what I’d say to it. I’m an ostensibly straight-identified person who has found long-term contentment in a relationship with a woman but am very much interested in men from a sexual perspective. That means my Google history contains some evidence of searches for “gay” porn which would classify me, in the terms of this article, as a closeted gay man. But I’m not. Not even close.

If I’m closeted, it’s as…whatever it is I am. I don’t tell people about my sexual stimulants. It’s just not something that comes up and I’m not the kind of guy to wear such a thing on my sleeve (multi-year explicit sex blog to the contrary). Plus, as I’ve said before, I hate the term “bisexual” and abhor using it as a descriptor for who I am. I am totally open to both genders from a sexual perspective but could never really see myself being able to “settle down” with a man. It always had to be a woman for me. Is that what bisexual means? I don’t think so (and even if I did, I bet I could find a hundred people who disagreed with me). There are a lot of other words out there that try to capture the flexibility of what I am (what I strongly believe all people are to some extent), but I don’t care for any of them. Human sexuality just doesn’t lend itself to tidy classification. The best thing I can think of is still the Kinsey scale. I’m a three with vacillations towards two and four. But even that is only a piece of my sexuality.

As annoying as the Times article is, one from Slate makes me optimistic for the future. In “Does Coming Out Count If You Reject Labels” (yes), we learn that ridiculously scrumptious British Olympic diver Tom Daley recently said he had a boyfriend. Lived with the guy. Felt “so safe” with him but also still found women attractive. Not that he was gay or bi or anything. Just fucking yummy little Tom. Likewise, actress Maria Bello told the world she was in a relationship with a woman after having previously only been with men. Bello dared to say she “would like to consider [herself] a ‘whatever,'” rather than a lesbian or bisexual.

And I’m like…YES. Of course. I totally get that. Before I found Belle, I had been serious with guys from time to time (mostly with one) and that didn’t change who I really was. The biggest issue with me then (and, by extension, my boyfriend) was I had bought into the bullshit paradigm regarding Kinsey zeros and sixes. And it tore me up. It’s remarkably refreshing to see us moving in this post-label direction. When people fuck who they want and reject the adjectives invented by others to categorize and reduce. But, the author in Slate says:

[D]espite the rapid progress on limited issues like marriage, it bears asking whether we are at a point in history where we are advanced enough to dispense with gay solidarity entirely. For better or for worse, the very much unfinished LGBTQ civil rights project involves a certain amount of PR, and every PR campaign needs some buzzwords. Naively imagining that you can remove yourself from that paradigm because gay or bi doesn’t quite fit is a highly privileged act—especially when, as far as I can tell, the only worthwhile thing that can come from a celebrity’s coming out is some small contribution to queer visibility in communities where queer people may not be easily seen beyond the page or screen.

And I say, fuck “gay solidarity.” Why should anyone feel compelled to force themselves into ill-fitting stereotypes? If you’re not fucking gay, don’t call yourself that. If you don’t feel like a bisexual, don’t tell them you are. If that’s not good enough for those at the forefront of the “LGBTQ civil rights project” (holy shit, the “LGBTQ” nonsense shows how stupid all these words are), then screw ’em. Some of us don’t see our sexualities as political statements. Some of us don’t want anything more than the same basic rights and privileges enjoyed by everyone else. Some of us think there is no better way to advocate for that than to show through the living of our lives that we’re no different. And maybe if we’d stop trying to put the multiverse of the human sexual continuum into five or six buckets, we’d be able to see that better.

I’m not a word. I’m a person. Just like Bello and Daley. And just like you.

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There’s a day for everything

From LBGTQNation:

Bisexual members of the LGBT community on Monday are celebrating the 15th Annual International Celebrate Bisexuality Day — also referred to as “Bi Pride Day” or “Bi Visibility Day” — to encourage bisexuals and their allies to be visible and proud of their bi identity.

Two things:

One, I didn’t know we omnisexually voracious people had a whole day to call our own. And Belle didn’t even get me a card.

Two, I didn’t know bisexuals had their own damned flag. But, oh yes…

Bisexual-pride-flag

Totally getting that as a sticker for my pick-up truck. Or tattooed on my ass. One or the other.

 

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No go

Justplaying said…

I think I mentioned this before, but I think the real difference in truly being gay has more to do with how you feel about loving a man, not having sex with one. I get turned on by submission. I get turned on by thinking about a hard muscled guy pushing me to my knees and having me suck him off or bending me over and taking me hard in the ass. But I’m happily married to a woman and unlike Thumper have never had the experiences that he has (just the fantasy). But I have never felt like I desperately needed or wanted the love of another man.

Recently, as an alternative to finding my fantasy guy, my wife bought a strap-on to train me to suck cock (since I seem to crave it). AND here’s something I never knew…When I gag on that thick dildo, the gag reflex makes my nipples really sensitive and causes a spasm in my ass! Who knew? I don’t know if that’s what everyone experiences or not, but I find it really hot. Thoughts?

WRT “being truly gay,” yes, that’s true. If you can’t love a man and find emotional satisfaction in a relationship with one or even want that, you’re clearly not gay. I can’t/don’t and that’s the metric I ultimately used to decide for myself who I was. However, how many men who also really get off on pussy identify as gay? Not many, I think. Human sexuality is like a Rubic’s Cube that way, I suppose. Anyone can identify any way they like and the sexualistas out there are free say what they want about the whateverthefuck-ist perspective they want to pin on me, but I think they’re both tests of different things.

And yeah, I totally get that being dominated by a guy thing. Totally. Used. Abused. Being his object. Works for me (and while I have had sex with guys in the past, none of it was D/s, so we’re even on that score). Since I’ve been letting myself think about it, I see that it’s the only kind of submission I’d be able to do that wouldn’t cause damaging feedback on the relationship Belle and I have. She would always be primary (and hold the keys to the kingdom, literally) and he’d always be secondary to her, and I’d always be as low as low can be. In my fantasy world, it would be one guy (or maybe an established couple) and not a cavalcade of faces and dicks. I think I’d need that to establish trust and a true connection to the person(s). Also, in a perfect world, everyone would know each other and get along. He wouldn’t be over some black wall in another room in my head where I retreated from Belle. Everything would need to be out in the open so everyone would know the rules and feel comfortable with the arrangement. Yeah, call me an idealist, but that was the fantasy.

However, Belle flat out told me last night she wasn’t going to share me with anyone. Even someone who, by their very being, would occupy places in my body and spirit she cannot. I’m told I’ll have to live with my fantasies only. She admits this is entirely selfish on her part. That she wants even those parts of me she cannot access. I am hers. I admit that, while I never really thought she’d let me, I am a little let down. As a person with sexual desires for both genders, I knew going into my straight, vanilla marriage I was attempting to wall-off a part of me forever, but we’re not that same couple anymore and I though maybe there was a tiny bit of a crack there now, but there isn’t. I don’t begrudge Belle her POV on this and while it leaves me a little wistful for what might have been, it is no different than where I was before this whole thing came up.

The strap-on thing is interesting. Belle said way back at the beginning of our relationship that she’d never do the whole “bend over boyfriend” thing either, but I can see the appeal of being roughly used like that. I don’t recall anything special happening in my nipples or nether regions when gagging on cock, but it’s been a long time. So, have you gone the full Monty yet?

I could have said most of this as a simple reply to justplaying’s comment, but I thought it would be more useful to use it as a way to close the loop on the whole “sharing” thing.

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Sorry for the confusion

My recent missive “How I know I’m not gay” seems to have caused some head scratching. Reader Ms Mahler said…

Hm…not to send you back to your 20s angst, but you do realize liking pussy doesn’t stop you from being bi? And there is nothing wrong with being into pussy AND curious about what it would be like to be dominated by a man?

And EsotericNonesense replied…

I’m a bit confused. I didn’t know there was ever any question as to whether or not Thumper was gay. You would think all the pussy licking and fucking (when Bella allows it) would be evidence to the contrary.

And patrick opined…

when to know if you are 100% gay, I’m sure absolutement not; but 100% straight, I doubt it. Just look at your porfolio. But is it really a problem?

I guess I have this idea that everyone who reads me has either always read me or has gone back to read me from the start or can somehow just absorb this whole blog via some kind of alien tentacle osmosis process or something. No, I am not gay, but I’m hardly straight, either. I’ve gone on about it here, here, over here, and most recently there (among other places). I like to think of myself as queer (as in, not amongst how the masses identify). Not gay. Not straight. Just me. Willing to fuck (or, more likely nowadays, be fucked) by anyone of any gender.

I came up with the title and concept for the post “How I know I’m not gay” while listening to Dan Savage during recent long hours driving. He’s said several times that gay guys don’t like pussy. It’s kinda what makes them gay. And I thought, huh, if only someone had spelled it out so plainly for me back in my “o god, what the hell am I?!” phase. I do love the cock. Truly. But I also love pussy. As I said. So, ipso facto, not gay. But also not straight. Commonly referred to as bi (though I hate that term).

I like how Harry said it…

The very best thing about [pussy]… It’s an integral part of this woman, this very loving woman, who shares your/my life…

At first I was like, whoa! We share the same woman!? Then I got it. And I think he’s right.

Patrick went on to say in response to my suggestion Belle may not have been serious about the pro domme thing…

when the sugestion your “Belle”, I do not think it was just a joke. the image that I made about ​​your “Belle” through your blog is that she is a very sensitive, intelligent woman, open-minded and listen to your needs. I think she read you from the beginning of your meeting, and it is you she has chosed. I think she planted a seed in you to enable you to flourish…

That’s possible. She hasn’t brought it up again. Maybe it was serious, maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was one of those not serious serious things. I dunno because I haven’t mentioned it to her because I still don’t even know what to make of it. She will be reading this, though…

I told Belle a while back that one of my best friends from childhood (and the best man at our wedding) had opened up his relationship with his husband. Their sex life had petered out (pardon the pun) so they did what a lot of gay couples end up doing (probably more than straight couples do in general, though that might be changing). She didn’t react well to that idea as a concept and thought it was more a symptom of their problems than a possible solution to them as I did. In any event, I don’t know if the whole “sharing” thing is something my Belle could ever wrap her head around completely. I know from experience that my love for her and sex outside our relationship don’t cancel each other out. That is, when I cheated on her (yes, I did that, too, newbies) I ended up feeling more passionate about my relationship with her than before. What I did and how I went about it was all wrong, but that experience and what I’ve learned about relationships and sexuality since both inform how I feel about it today.

In any event, to those who were confused by my odd admission of non-gayness, I apologize.

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Bifurcated

So I had this dream. Vivid. In it, I was being fucked by a man. In fact, a man I’ve been fucked by before. There was no actual plot to the dream that I can recall. Just him fucking me. Oh, and the device. I was locked up, of course.

It’s been coming back to me lately. Usually when I’m partially asleep or just waking up. Not that I have had the dream again (as far as I can tell) but the memory of it is there. Lingering. Of just being fucked. Being a hole for some big dick to use. Not romantic. Just fucking.

The funny thing is, I still have contact with this guy. Not in person. We play iPhone word games against each other. He was not only my on-again, off-again high school kinda-boyfriend, he was the best man in my wedding to Belle. He’s one of my oldest and dearest friends and has what is in my opinion one of the world’s perfect cocks. Not super long (above average), but thick. Nice and fat.

Anyway, yeah, it’s been in my mind. I can’t get it out. He’s a long ways away so I don’t have the risk of bumping into him. That would be oddly embarrassing. I remember one time, a long time ago, I had a dream where I had sex with a woman I work with and the next day I could barely look at her. It took me a week before I could talk to her normally.

I haven’t told anyone about the being fucked dream. Well, not until now. Certainly not that I can’t let go of it (or that it won’t let go of me). I don’t know how it is for other bisexuals in monogamous hetero relationships, but my desire for being fucked waxes and wanes. I’m waxing gibbous at the moment, if I had to guess. It’s not directly related to being horny since I’m almost always horny and I am not always thinking about the buttsex.

The obsession has led me to realize I’m almost exclusively a bottom (not just in the BDSM context). When looking at images of men having sex, I’m drawn to the receiving guy. When fantasizing about sex with a man, I’m always receiving. I never fantasize about fucking a man. Back when I had actual sex with men, I didn’t really enjoy fucking them. If I’m going to be inside someone, I much prefer women (and one in particular). I don’t know why I never really thought about it before, but I’m a total bottom in every sense of the word.

Why does any of this matter? I dunno. Just that it and this NYTimes essay on bisexuality have been bouncing around in my head. When you’re bi and in a monogamous relationship, I suppose there’s always a bit of you that’s going to be frustrated. Maybe my frustrated halves are merging. Before one of you says it, yeah, I know there are lots of ways to receive the kind of fucking I’m craving from Belle, but she’s never expressed any interest in that whatsoever. So I guess it stays where it is. Bunking with the other frustrations.

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Popular culture

Three things before I depart for the Great Western Mountains.

The Advocate has an article on a new book detailing Mick Jagger’s sexcapades:

Legendary Rolling Stones frontman Mick Jagger has long been regarded as a notorious ladies man, but a new biography claims he’s also been intimate with late bandmate Brian Jones, David Bowie, Rudolf Nureyev, and, excuse us, Eric Clapton, as well as an attempted tryst with Geraldo Rivera.

First off, this is a surprise to who, exactly? Mick is the consummate bisexual and I thought everyone in the world knew it. I admit, though, that the Geraldo thing totally squicked me out.

Jagger and late legendary ballet dancer Nureyev  “playfully trapping journalist Geraldo Rivera in the middle of a sexual sandwich at a party;” Rivera claims that this was Mick’s serious attempt to seduce him.

Oh, I see. Mick and stone cold fox Nureyev decide to have a little fun pulling the pompous straight dude’s chain and suddenly he thinks he’s a genuine target of their affection. Don’t get me wrong, Gerlado was a good looking dude in his youth, but I suspect he was always a bit of a prick.

Then, on the Facebook, Start Trek: The Next Generation (who I follow because I’m a nerd) asked, “Which Star Trek: The Next Generation character did you have a crush on?” And I thought about it. For a second I almost said Picard what with his calm commanding demeanor and fantastic flute talents. Make it so, indeed. But then I decided it was, of course, Worf.

Klingons, it turns out, like it rough. Biting is a prominent feature of their mating rituals and that weird chair thing in his quarters was an obvious BDSM prop. Of course, I’m talking about Worf from later seasons when he let his hair grow out and had that Samuari thing going on. Not first season Worf. Too skinny. Too “dead crab on the forehead” for me.

Thinking about it, ST:TNG didn’t have many really sexual female characters. Not like the original series, anyway. Uhura? Oh hell yes. Hail me, baby. Dr. Crusher? No thank you. Actually, I just remembered that episode when Beverly goes back for her grandmother’s funeral and lays on the whole Scottish lass thing and gets telepathic orgasms from a sexy entity who lives in a candle. So OK, maybe Crusher, though her whole “mom vibe” is still pretty strong. Diana? Please. Too touchy-feely. And those creepy black eyes. Shudder. Also, her and Worf. I’m jealous.

Thinking about it even more, am I the only guy who wondered if the holodeck had a lock on the door? Because I’d be running all kinds of personal programs in there in my off-dudy hours. I’d be staggering out all bruised and sweaty. Honestly, I’m surprised they ever got anything else done. Like all other cool technology, I assume the holodeck was invented by the porn industry.

Finally, of course, there’s Anderson Cooper. Turns out he’s gay. Shocking, I know, but I have a long standing and well known thing for the steely eyed elfin newsman. It’s nice to see I can put him on my celebrity fantasy list along with Zachary Quinto and Doogie Howser. And Mick Jagger, I guess. 1968 Mick, that is. I know it’s a fantasy list so I should be able to put anybody I want on it, but I like to keep it minimally plausible. So yeah, 1968 Mick.

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The choice

RougueBambi said, regarding comments left by other readers of my previous post:

I really don’t understand, how someone can “not understand the bisexual thing” after what Thumper just wrote. It’s not a thing you choose. It’s a fucking sexuality.

I think what they were saying when they wrote they couldn’t understand bisexuality was the same thing I said in my post, “It’s hard for me to relate today to someone who doesn’t find something appealing about both male and female forms.” The word “relate” is probably better than “understand” because I can understand how someone would not find those of their gender sexually attractive the same way I can understand how people find all kinds of bodies and acts attractive I don’t. We all have our types. We all have our kinks. But, as someone who is firmly attracted to both genders, it is difficult for me to relate to those who aren’t (especially those with an equal yet opposite determination).

I don’t want to dwell on that so much as I want to talk about her other point. “It’s not a thing you choose. It’s a fucking sexuality.” I agree entirely that I did not choose to be attracted to both genders. I’m not sure, all things being equal, I would have chosen it and that is, ironically, the giant hole in the argument for all those who claim homosexuality is a choice. Like anyone would choose to be ostracized by their friends and family, discriminated against by their employer and the government, and basically treated like a social waste product for fucking centuries upon centuries of Western culture. Or, more personally, that I would choose to lose some of the most productive sexual years of my life because I couldn’t find a way out of my own crossed signals to a place where I could enjoy myself with willing partners of either gender. No, what you want to fuck is not a damned choice. It’s hard-wired. Like handedness and Tea Party psychosis.

But.

I did make a choice. I chose the heterosexual path. I chose it because I felt more emotional satisfaction with women but also because it was, of course, the far easier choice to make. I chose it over having to come out to my family and friends and over uncertainly in how I’d live and what I knew was a very real prospect of never being able to form a lasting relationship with a man. I chose having my own kids with my own partner and I chose not to be treated like a moral deviant. I made this choice fifteen years ago and times have certainly changed, but I’m sure the core of the choice would remain the same if I had it to do all over again. One could argue that my inclination was already towards heterosexuality, but I am far more than just a little homosexual. I am very definitely a “rounded up” heterosexual. I eventually rounded myself up and essentially locked 45% of my sexuality in a box for the rest of my life in order to have a “normal” relationship with a woman.

I cannot be alone. I know I’m not. I remember all those guys I sucked off who are now in the same place I am with a wife and kids and everything. I don’t think many of them were as close to the middle of the Kinsey scale as I am and most were experiencing “situational” homosexuality driven by their teenage hormones, an inability to score with the chicks, and a more than willing slut of a boy readily at hand. I’m sure that many of them, when pondering the whole “is homosexuality a choice” thing, think it may be based on their life experience. They experimented with the gay thing and decided not to explore it further. Therefore, it’s a choice. They might even look at me, the willing and eager participant in their experimentation, and see someone else who made their “choice”.

So no, you can’t choose what turns you on. But you can choose how to live your life. If that choice goes against your nature, you will be miserable and probably pretty unsuccessful at it. I made my choice and that choice allowed me to get on with my life. Because of it, there are things I want and will never get that sometimes eat at me from the inside out. Simultaneously, there are other things that fill my life with joy and contentment and a sense of purpose. In the end, I made the only choice that made sense for me.

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Sweet transvestite

I was having an email exchange the other day with a reader who identifies as bisexual about what it was like to be sexually attracted by both genders myself, specifically as a young person. It’s hard for me to relate today to someone who doesn’t find something appealing about both male and female forms. Not just the shape of their bodies and format of their genitals, but the very different emotional and psychological attributes of each bring to an encounter.

For as long as I can remember, there were things that appealed to me about both boys and girls. Things that eventually started to play out as sexual games (or as close as you can get when you’re very young). I knew that I shouldn’t tell my parents about these things and I also knew that obviously the boys ended up with the girls eventually, but it all seemed so perfectly natural to me. And until I was in junior high, I never had any kind of fun with another boy who seemed weirded out by it. There was this one guy who lived nearby who always seemed more than happy for me to go down on him but was never all that enthusiastic with the concept of reciprocity.

For a long while, after I figured out how not normal it was to play around with boys, I used to think there was something about me, specifically, that made them think I would be up for stuff the other boys wouldn’t. Perhaps that’s true, I don’t know. Maybe there are signals we project unknowingly or I exhibited certain mannerisms or had the right kind of pheromones or some shit like that, but by the time I entered high school, I figured out that I had had way more same-sex fun than any other of my friends. Even the ones that were starting to show signs of being gay. Interestingly, it seemed like the gay boys had had less experience with other boys, perhaps because they were overly self-conscious about their feelings. Who knows. Anyway, for a long time, I thought it was me, not them. That I had somehow invited this attention and that they felt I was a safe source of something they would never tell their other friends about.

At some point, I started attracting a few girls, too. Turns out I liked them just as well as the boys, but for different reasons. I think they liked me because I was “sensitive”, but no matter, I just cruised though my middle teenage years kind of bouncing back and forth (even on the same day, but only once at the same time). I am the kind of person who needs to identify and categorize things, myseld included. I spent a lot of time trying to figure out what I was. I was certainly not straight, though my heart and soul yearned for the company of a woman. Then again, how could someone who only looks at other men as sex objects be gay? That sounds like a horrible life. It seemed like everyone was trying to “round me up” to gay. My gay friends said bi was a stage and my straight friends all thought the same thing.

There was one boy in particular, who I’m fortunate enough to still call a good friend, that I was especially unkind to for a while. He was very much enamored of me and I liked him a lot (and his outstanding cock), but I could never connect with him beyond really liking him and his cock. On those occasions in which I felt like I should probably be gay, I’d go to him and make him feel like I was more invested  in him that I could be. Ultimately, that left him feeling hurt and disappointed. That cycle happened several times. At least six over the course of many years.

That I never did that to any girl has not only to do with my innate feeling that they were “different” and not deserving of such treatment, but also because by the time I got into my twenties I had pretty much stopped seeing them entirely. Maybe it was fear of my own uncertain sexuality that kept me from pursuing them (or, really, letting any of them pursue me), but there were years in between my last serious girlfriend and Belle. By the time we were having sex, we had already been friends for a while. She knew about my history with boys, had watched gay porn with me, and seen some of the toys I used to pleasure myself. For the first time really, I had a girlfriend who knew what I was.

At some point, maybe 15 years ago or so, I realized I was just what I was. That I wasn’t entirely normal, but that I wasn’t and didn’t need to fit into any commonly recognized buckets. That’s not to say I embraced this realization with heroic fervor. I spent a lot of time hiding myself from Belle out of a misplaced sense of shame and embarrassment. That was a mistake.

So why Frank N. Furter? Well, there was a time in high school when my friends and I (including that boy from above with the really nice cock) would go and see The Rocky Horror Picture Show every week at the local dive theater. Week after week until I knew the words to the movie by heart. I love that fucking movie. Not only because of the special time that was in my life and how grown-up it felt to be out late seeing a movie that was essentially about a guy that builds his own living sex doll, but because there was this big, beautiful omnisexual being on the screen for me to identify with. Frank wasn’t gay or straight and nobody seemed to really give a shit. Not only that, but on my side of the screen were hundreds of kids like me cheering him on (some even dressing up like him – mostly straight boys, but don’t get me started). He was a real, almost positive roll model for me. Yes, he does end up killing a guy with an ax and is killed himself at the end of the movie, but along the way he looks fabulous and fucks Brad and Janet and Rocky, plus a midget or two. I liked Frank because in a weird, fucked up kind of way, I saw myself in him. And he was in charge and having fun (except for at the end) and didn’t bother apologizing to anyone along the way (OK, except for Riff, again at the end, but that’s only because Riff was pointing a gun at him…and just when it seemed like he was getting his life together).

There’s really no reason for me to tell you all this right now except that I was feeling a little writer-blocky and knew, once I saw this picture of Frank fly by in my Tumblr stream, that I could riff for a thousand words or so on the subject of being a sexually mixed up kid living in the time of late-night movie transvestites from another planet.