Over on Fetlife, a guy started a thread called “Effects of Chastity on young males” in which he expresses his concern that being in chastity was turning him gay. Apparently, after being locked up for six weeks he had found himself craving assplay and was becoming aroused by the idea of “servicing” another man (or rather, being “forced” to do so by his domme). This guy was really worried that chastity was causing him to become something he felt was morally wrong. I don’t bring this up in order to make fun of him (though, based on some of his comments, I think he should be made fun of). Instead, his post has made me, a guy who’s enjoyed his fair share of assplay and “servicing”, ponder what it means to be “gay”.
For most of my living memory, I’ve been attracted to both genders. Many of my most vivid memories of childhood are those in which I engaged in sex play with my friends (going back to seven or eight years old, even). Most of the time, those friends were boys, but not always. As I got older and my equipment started to develop into something I could actually do stuff with, it was still the boys I was fooling around with most of the time. I think this was primarily due to the fact that boys were around me in large numbers and, it turns out, were just as horny as I was. I had several “partners” in my formative years who today, no doubt, would identify as the straightest of straight men and would totally repudiate any claim that they could be otherwise. But that doesn’t change the fact that other guys were cheap and easy and, as an added bonus, I liked their cocks as much as I liked my own.
At some point, I realized this wasn’t “normal”. Not only was playing around with sex a bad thing (as defined by my parents and other adults), but doing so with other boys was a Bad Thing™. And, since I often was the one to instigate it, I was doubly bad. The idea that I might be gay bubbled up in my head. Gay, as in faggot. As in all the terrible things young men call each other. As in the type of person others in my family detested and derided. That did not make me happy.
Once I hit high school and discovered the wonders of personal hygiene, the opposite sex discovered me. And I discovered I liked them, too. In fact, I liked them just as much, though differently, as I did the boys. I found girls and boys to be different in all kinds of wonderful ways. Like, when I kissed a girl her spit was mild, fragrant, and not as thick as what I found in a boy’s hot, steamy mouth. Girls were all soft and curvy and had these neat extra parts while the boys were hard and pushy and more familiar. Girls were a mysterious game, where the rules were always shifting and winning was hard, while boys were direct and simple (even the straight boys were easy to beat). I was an equal opportunity player and game for just about anything. For a while there, my girlfriend was best friends with my best friend’s girlfriend. We’d hang out in his room after school making out with the girls and, when they left, we’d make out with each other (and much more). This did not seem weird to me at the time.
If I identified as anything then, it was bisexual. I really hate the term bisexual (then and now), but it was the best I had to work with. I knew I wasn’t straight since I liked cock, but I wasn’t gay since I liked nearly everything about girls. I bristled then (and still would today) at the suggestion some of my gay friends made that I was confused. I was not confused about what I liked. I was confused about what that made me and how I was supposed to fit into a world where people like me didn’t seem to exist.
Eventually, I realized that while I could be sexually satisfied by both genders, there was a hole in my soul only a woman could fill. True, with a woman there were cravings for certain sex acts and body parts that would go unfulfilled. I decided, though, that I would never be emotionally satisfied with a man (though not before treating like shit the only one I ever loved). In fact, I was not gay. After a while, I got married, we had kids, bought a house and dog. But I still resist calling myself straight or bisexual. I am just me, the guy who’ll fuck anyone.
While I don’t consider the gender we crave for emotional satisfaction a choice (and, therefore, homosexuality isn’t a choice), I do consider the acts in which we engage to be a choice. I chose to have sex with men. I do not choose to find them attractive, they just are. I don’t choose to like taking up the ass, I just do. However, engaging in homosexual activities does not make me a homosexual (any more than my voting for Ronald Reagan makes me a Republican – but that’s another story). I think this is where a lot of “choice” arguments come from. Religious/conservative types who, in their youth, played around with guys like me and then, when they got older, assumed anyone who engaged in hot guy on guy action was choosing to do so, rather than doing what they felt most comfortable and natural doing.
So, long way around, the dude on Fetlife who was having urges to suck guys off and let them fuck him wasn’t going to end up any gayer than me, Rick Warren, or the man on the moon. You can only be gay when you’re gay. Straight boys who like cock are nothing more than that.
