Interesting Article

http://ipowerproject.com/forum/topics/the-social-invisibility-of

Just for the record, I believe the author is Brazilian, which would explain the spellign "bissexual," for example. Still, it another case of how the binaries blind us all and, even worse, makes some of us nigh invisible.

My Transgender Crush

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bC_40paWoUk&feature=player_embedded#!

More, More, More

Hello again! Time waits for no one, and it sure has run by me or over me lately. I have a few updates and info that I thought I would share.

Robyn Ochs came to visit the university I attend. I got to talk to her sort-of one-on-one, and I am even more invigorated to be a bisexual activist in my own way. The fact that my bi friend was there only increased my sense of feeling blessed and honored to know such people and to start to work for social justice for all—including bisexual folks.

That sister I had mentioned? Well…she outed me to my 80-year old mother. I was going to tell Mom the next time I saw her IRL, but my sister took my voice from me. I won’t go into details because it is long and involved, but I believe that she told Mom for selfish reasons—not to aid me in any way. She was trying to play the martyr card as a “supportive sibling” for the downtrodden bisexual brother. Oh, brother, is about all I can say, although my thoughts are more full of swearing...

My friend TransMac has been living as a total dude. His strength, despite his young age (just like my bi friend), awes me, inspires me and honors me. He is an amazing guy, and I am so privileged to have his trust. He and my other LGBTQI friends-family make me so proud!

I worked at my local Pride festival. What is Pride to me? That such an amazing assortment of people—gay, lesbian, bisexual, queer, transgender, questioning, ally, etc.—would look at me and call me “friend” and “support” really makes me feel like I have done something good in this world. Just to know such people at all is a blessing and inspiring wonderment. That they call me friend is an honor that fills my heart and soul.

Troubled?

I recently had a dream that bothered me in some ways. I dreamed that I saw this beautiful woman. She was blond and well-proportioned and really lovely. In this dream, we danced. We got closer, and I got hard. In the dreamdance, she nestled her butt into my crotch area and began to grind. Her hair brushed my face, my cheeks, the sensitive parts of my neck. Her breath synced itself with the rhythm of my breathing. I clutched her more tightly. Then next thing I remember is that I was making love with. Okay, maybe making love is the idealist’s vision; I was fucking her. Doggy style. We never kissed, but the erotic sensations that overwhelmed me even in the dream remained with me even when I awoke.

Why is this problematic? First of all, I cannot conceive of having any kind of genital sexual contact with someone whom I did not kiss. I love making out, so having sex with someone that I didn’t make out with seems weird, if not outright anathema. Secondly, as I have recounted in an earlier post, I prefer face-t-face intimacy, regardless of partner, regardless of their sex or gender identity. This is because I love kissing and because I long for an emotional intimacy which for me comes with kissing and seeing the impassioned eyes of the desired one.

Thus, this dream was more carnal, more about sex for its own right and pleasure than for the myriad extra pleasures and connotations with which I have personally inscribed my sexuality into my own code of self, ethics and desire. I am challenged. I am confused. I do not believe myself to be “above” mere carnality in my reptile brain, but my heart and soul (if you believe in such concepts or at least accept that I do) longs for something more cogent, more palpable, more inspiring than the mere satisfaction of a physical desire/need. Thus I am troubled a little bit. I am at a loss as to what this may signify…

Monoliths

Obviously, I write this blog about my experiences as a bisexual man. Obviously, my personal experiences are not everyone’s. Then, again, neither is the way I experience sexuality. I write about my bisexuality, and, of course, other people may experience different feelings. That dear friend who came out to me recently does not currently identify with a sexual attraction to MOTSS, but ze does embrace the emotional, intellectual, and spiritual attractions ze feels. I think that it’s truly rare that any 2 people completely match in their sexuality, regardless of their orientations. I am bisexual, and I express it and feel it in a certain way. If you feel something similar, great! If not, that’s fine. I respect your feeling and expression of your sexuality.

Sexuality is so often treated as some monolithic thing. This seems to be especially true of male sexuality. Male sexuality is so often treated as something fixed, immutable and consistent. Female sexuality is often treated as somehow inherently fluid and playful: it is almost treated as something non-serious. These reifications of sexuality anger me. Not only do they distort whole groups, they disallow for individual variance. I say that we must resist being interpellated into a system that tries to make us fit into a box. Each of us has our own way of being, feeling, and expressing our attractions—however simple or complicated those attractions may be. We should celebrate diversity in the truest sense of the word, by not limiting ourselves or others by narrowing, totalizing expectations, despite the labels we might choose for ourselves.

LOL!

Today, I thanked that friend who came out to me as bi not long ago. Hir reaction was "I would hug you if I were a hugger." Ze gave me a high five instead, and that may still be the finest compliment that I have ever received. Ze got some other good news today about hir job status. I know ze will be great at hir new job, and I celebrate hir for a million reasons, and hir sexual identity is only a small part of it.

Having Someone Come Out to You

Today, one of my good friends and an all-around awesome person came out to me as bi. Ze had always identified as straight before. I was very honored that ze would come out to me. I hope I conveyed my humbled feeling but still communicated that I was thrilled with hir self-examination and embracing of this aspect of hirself.

I’m not really sure why, but I am STOKED! I am literally almost giddy about this. It’s not like I think ze is any more or less awesome than I already thought. In fact, I’m not even sure that I know why I feel so invigorated. I mean, I guess a small part is that I recognize this kind of journey of self-discovery and self-awareness, which occupied a large portion of my life until Matt and Michelle helped me figure things out, shall we say. I guess that I am also thankful that ze can feel like expressing this aspect of hirself at such a relatively young age.

It also reinforces the notion that coming out to someone is quite an honor for the one to whom someone comes out, assuming that it’s not done to castigate some ‘phobe. To come out is brave. To come out implies that the person telling you respects you enough to be allowed to have a fuller picture of hirself. That person cares for you enough to let you glimpse this aspect of their identity that could otherwise be elided. Someone coming out to you means that they are comfortable with themselves and with you. As such, it is a demonstration of respect, regard, and responsibility. It is honoring: it is humbling. Perhaps this is another reason why I am so energized: my friend invited me to know this part of hirself. That means ze cares, that I care, and that our friendship and fellowship will only be strengthened.

Should that friend ever read this message, I thank you, humbly. And, yes, you are all kinds of awesome.

TransMac

Not long ago, I met a young woman that I will call Michelle. She is funny, acerbic, sure of herself. She identified as a lesbian and has a girlfriend.

Recently, Michelle decided to go by “Mac.” Mac is questioning hir gender identity. I have known transgender people before, but none of them have been as close to me as Mac. Mac is my friend, and I adore hir. (Yes, I am going to be using gender-neutral pronouns in this blog. Mac still uses female pronouns, but I am doing this to practice.) Ze is one of the most amazing people I have ever met. A gifted musician. A brilliant conversationalist. A really funny guy.

I am glad and proud that ze chose to tell me that ze is questioning hir gender identity. Still, sometimes I fear that I am overwatchful of my language and behavior. I do not want to offend hir: I do not want to seemingly force hir into the gender dichotomy that language ensnares us with. Mac is very understanding and is still finding hir way in all this. I am just privileged to be invited along on the journey.

Reversal

I mentioned that my eldest sister had made inquiries into how to make me comfortable enough to come out to the family. I told you that I did indeed come out to her recently. She had said that I could call her any time about anything. I have called her a few times since then; my sexuality only came up once. And that was because she apparently tried to? outed me? to the “crazy Baptist sister.” Apparently, the crazy Baptist sister said that she knew but that she never wanted to hear about it. Completely as I had suspected… Now, however, the eldest sister confided to my younger sister and staunch ally that she just “can’t handle” talking to me much. Apparently, she feels that every conversation will inevitably turn to my sexuality. Wow. Thanks, Sis.

Thanksgiving

Hiya folks! Been a while, eh? I have to admit that I have been…distracted…of late. Sometimes, the passing of my father last December has crept into my mind in ways that I even now find astonishing. I have also been stressed by the thesis and by just the everyday struggles of making ends meet.

NEWAZ, it is the weekend of Thanksgiving, 2009. What am I thankful for? I am thankful for the wonderful friends and allies who support me. I am thankful for a family who loves me—even the ones who do not know me fully. I am thankful for the man on whom I currently have a crush—a decent, Christian, gay man, whose sagacity and good heart in a time of contumacious vacuity, if not downright malevolence, inspire me. I am thankful for my baby sister, who has been a staunch ally since I came out to her last year.

…and now, my eldest sister, to whom I came out just yesterday.

She knew. She’d known for some time, and she had wondered how I might be made “comfortable” enough to come out to the family. I think she thinks that I may be “just gay,” but she knew, nonetheless. She also figured that my friend Trey was more than just my friend. My sister volunteered to be my advocate should I decide to come out to the “crazy Baptist sister” or to my mother. Now, the “crazy Baptist” sister has brought my mother almost to tears due to my involvement with HRC. Social justice is apparently not a Christian value in her vapid estimation, whether I be only an ally or a “queer.”

Now, I am taking a liking to the term “queer,” partially because “crazy Baptist sister” uses it like some holy sword in her everyday speech. I, like others, reclaim the term. I rob it of the power that gits like the sister I yet love accord it. I revel in the fluidity that it encompasses and enumerates (Did I mention that I also have a celebrity crush on Ian Harvie? Meow!). I am bi. I am queer. Got a problem with it? I don’t care, because, yes, in the long run in that case, you are value-less.

I recently met Mel White, the founder of SoulForce, in part because of the man whom my heart and soul fancy even more so than the flesh ever could. You should read his stuff; it’s very good and shows that the so-called “Christian” arguments against gayness are blarney.

Blessed be us all! :D

Polymorphous Perverse and Proud!

Frued used the term “polymorphous perversity” to describe an infantile ability to derive pleasure from non-normative (i.e., non-genital) sexual practices or behaviors. A child is supposed to “learn,” I guess(?), that sexual pleasure is supposed to come only from the genitals.

This stance has been challenged by Deleuze and Guatarri in The Anti-Oedipus, arguing that what Freud termed polymorphous perversity (and therefore incomplete or deviant) is in actuality a completely free slate, a free area of play of signifiers. It transcends distinction and difference, which would eventually compartmentalize sensation—self, object/fetish, genitals, other body parts.

Judith Butler has also criticized the socialization of the individual subject to in effect this free sense of their body as a whole, assigning specific roles to certain parts or areas. For example, if some said, “Feel this!,” you would most likely stick out your hand to touch, no? Yes, the hands and fingertips have more receptors, but most of your skin all over your body would feel the general sensation. Granted, even I don’t test the roughness of sandpaper or the smoothness of silk with my elbow or anything, but I would still feel it.

At any rate, I am writing this not as an analytical piece about past conceptions of polymorphous perversity. I am writing this because I fit the definition. Oh, don’t think that I have not experienced erotic pleasure from the more traditional body parts that one would think to be the origins of a man’s sexual pleasure. It also doesn’t mean that a touch will automatically make me horny. However, a simple touch in the right place in the right way can give me personally some sensation that is akin to erotic pleasure.

The first time I had sex with Trey, I did not come, at least not in the obvious sense. However, he caressed my body all over in a way that I orgasmed with my whole body. And after that intense rush of endorphins, I felt tired. Yep! I came & then felt sleepy! And all without any penetration and with my bodily fluids intact.

I guess I am writing this because I think that it is a gift, not a perversion, that I have sensitive nipples, that a gentle caress of my back can make me swoon, or that butterfly kisses along my jawline below my ears could make my eyes roll back into my head. These are just a few examples. I firmly believe that the fact that I am comfortable with my entire body and its possibilities for pleasure are one of the reasons that I identify as bisexual. The tender hand or gentle lips that give that touch have no gender. However, I must also admit that, for me, the touch of someone to whom I am emotionally attracted increases the physical reaction I have.

I guess the issue for me is that, as in being bisexual, being able to feel pleasure at the touch of someone you care about, and not just a nice kiss or a stroke on the genitals (not that those are bad, mind you!), is something that I cherish and something that is often misunderstood by people who want clear boundaries. I deny and defy those boundaries. Of this, I am proud!

Anger Mode in Effect

It has been a trying couple of months. I have had a lot of work to do. Much is yet to be done. Still, I feel compelled to return to this blog. Recently, Michael Musto, in a seeming attempt to clutch furiously at his fourteenth minute, claimed that male bisexuals do not exist. A recent article on gay.com pondered the same possibility. Although many voices of all sexualities and gender identities called these writers on their bullshit, it continues to amaze me. Firstly, female sexuality is still treated as so enigmatic, or even "childish" as to be acknowledged and presupposed as fluid, allowing for female bisexuality as a manner of course. Secondly, male sexuality is treated as totalizing, fixed and immutable. Both of these views are not only unforgivably sexist but utterly dehumanizing to the core. I freely admit that my bisexuality is not "complete." That is to say that I do not have an equal attraction to both sexes/gender identities. This does not mean that I am not attracted to people of different genders. Recently a friend asked if it bothered me when he jokes about my bisexuality. Since I could only recall one instance of his joking, it made me wonder about the possible jokes he might have made behind my back... Still, he had indeed once fawned over some hot young guy on the college campus. I found the woman that this guy was with far more alluring, and made this desire known, since my friend had explained his libidinous urges. He retorted, "We get it! You're bi! Jeez!" I don't know what to make of this, since this is a friend, after all. This is a gay man who said this. What gives? Is there some extra requirement to get your queer card? Coming from someone I call friend and whom I do like a lot does actually make the joke I heard (& the ones I haven't) all the more surprising and hurtful. Why must I fight the gay community to be part of the communtiy--especially when the straights would often push me out as a matter of course? Marginalized by people I care about? Why don't they see that this is bullshit??

Dancing Days

I’ve said that I have been monogamous since dating Michelle and Matt. This is true. However, I have a bit of tale to tell. It’s part of my life; therefore, it reflects my identity as bisexual. Nonetheless, the principals (apart from me) were gay men, so it’s also a gay story.

I had been in a relationship with Trey for almost 2 years. I was completely in love with him. As I had felt with Ivan and with Corey, I felt complete. I was done; I was finished as far as relationships go. Trey & I went to a party hosted by some friends (granted, he knew them better than I did—they were in his department at the University of ____). NEWAZ, there were many people at this party. One of these fascinating people was someone else in Trey’s department—Joe. Joe was studying similar things that Trey was. He was from California like Trey was. The party was bustling, full of varied people talking of many things. I didn’t know many of these people, so I stuck pretty close to Trey & Ann & Peg (the hostesses). The ladies kept dragging Joe over to keep him talking to us all (he seemed a bit shy). The party lasted a while & eventually began to break up. At the end, it was only the 5 of us. Ann suggested that we all go clubbing. We went to a bar and talked, played pool, and drank—a lot. In the course of talking, it finally came out that Joe was gay. That was fine with me; my ‘dar had gone off earlier NEWAZ. I talked to him about coming out & the like. He talked with Trey about it too. Trey & Joe both chatted and joked with their department cohorts Ann & Peg. Joe kissed them—deeply. I thought that was rather funny. Even Trey kissed them! I must admit this bothered me a bit, even though I knew he had no interest in them. Peg thought this bar was dull & suggested we go to the gay club. We staggered that way, impelled by alcohol and a desire for a good time that didn't end.

We arrived at the gay bar. As is often the case, the place was dark and almost ominous. I don’t know why so many “gay bars” are lit like Purgatory or Dante’s Inferno, but they often seen to be some sort of descent… NEWAZ, we were there. We drank more, we talked, sort of, over the pumping, loud music. We danced. Trey & Joe again chatted up Ann & Peg & kissed them. I was a little miffed at this. We all danced—together and in pairs. At one point, Trey, Ann, & Peg went to get more drinks. Joe & I danced on the dancefloor. I saw Trey once again kiss Peg. I don't know if that “set me off” or what, but I did the “bar whisper”—yelling into Joe’s ear. “You guys kept kissing the girls in the straight club. Would you kiss a guy in the gay club?” I said this and realized that Trey had never kissed me in public. Despite that passing thought, Joe looked at me. His eyes may have been glazed, but there was no mistaking their message. We were still dancing, & he leaned in and kissed me. Now, I have been in complete love before. I have had some strictly carnal experiences before, but Joe’s kiss was the finest I have ever experienced—even to this day. He kissed me deeply. His tongue played with mine. My blood shot through my body quickly. Firmly. I cannot deny that his kiss made me hard almost instantly. I was so surprised that when our lips parted, I had to admit to him that that was the finest kiss I had ever experienced. Trey and Ann were now dancing near us & waving at us. Had Trey seen?? Joe looked at me, and his eyes looked downward. I guess my physical reaction was obvious. His hand patted my erection gently, with purpose. He leaned in & kissed me again. Again, the feeling of that kiss blew me away. After our lips parted again, he lowered his head & brushed his cheeks against the ever-growing bulge he had created. He turned around and began to grind is backside against my crotch. I couldn't then and cannot now deny the desire I had for him.

Still, something happened. He kissed my neck, although that, too, made me desire him even more. I told him, “You know, I want you so bad, but my heart is promised to another.” My nod indicated Trey. Joe looked at Trey and then he looked back at me. He didn't say much, but he did imply that Trey need never know, that maybe Joe were the right one for me not Trey. Still, my love for Trey was paramount. Ann & Trey danced over and we switched partners. I was dancing with my beloved. Trey for the first time kissed me in public. I was lost for however many minutes that lasted. All I wanted at that moment was to make love with Trey. To be with him forever. I told him that Joe & I had kissed. Trey said, “Really? That’s hot!” That was all he ever said about it. After the night broke up, Joe would barely look at me or Trey. We all went home, and Trey & I made love. I woke up in his arms and shuddered with a wondrous delight when I awoke in those same arms.

Later (much later), I found out a few things. Although Trey was out to Ann & Peg, he had never said that he was in a relationship. Ann & Peg had been trying to set Trey and Joe up at that party! I also found out that, not long after that party, Joe pursued Trey secretly. Trey apparently did not cheat on me then (that came later!), but he also apparently did not deny the possibility as quickly as I had, although their communications were through the then-still-new medium of e-mail. Trey confessed part to me, and Joe told me more later. I forgave them both, but, given other things that I eventually learned, I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I had followed my hormones/desire that night instead of my heart. I realize that my heart would always have won out, but it paid its own price for loving Trey. I have not been in a true relationship since we broke up. I miss being in a relationship, but sometimes I think I am too frightened of the devastating hurt caused by betrayal and relationship’s end. Loneliness, however, has its own kinds of hurt. I guess I’m still working on a lot of those issues…

Sexual Identity & Orientation

The other day, some friends of mine were discussing the various terms and slang words used by and sometimes against the LGBTQI community. Some of these terms were new to each of us. Some terms that we used with abandon were not in the list we were looking at. What really made the discussion memorable was when a friend noticed that, although they had several similar terms, the term “versatile” was absent. Since both he and I are what would be termed versatile, we found that a bit interesting. Another friend posited that perhaps that such a thing as that should be listed as part of one’s sexual identity/orientation because it is perhaps even a better definition of who one is sexually than just the gender of the one(s) to whom you are attracted. She was wanting to stimulate debate, but the other guy abruptly went on with reading the list. She brought it up again, noting how funny it was that he not only let that thought die, but that he had kind of killed it. He went straight to reading more terms. Although that provoked laughter, I think her remark was very interesting—even sagacious, because it shows just how irrelevant someone’s private sexuality between consenting adults should be to anyone else. It should not be a piqued subject of inquiry about another person. “Is she straight? Is he gay? Is s/he the dominant one in a relationship?” What one does in bed may partially define you, but it does not solely define you. Why should that matter to anyone else but you and your partner (or partners)?

The Story of Corey

Sometime after my relationship with Matt ended (I admit that it did not really end at the Christmas break that I alluded to earlier), I met Corey. Corey was a friend of a very devout Christian friend of mine. She had a weird sense of humor, much like mine, but different enough to come up with even more bizarre angles while looking askance at the world. I also thought she was beautiful in body as well. She had dark blonde hair that was shoulder-length. Her green eyes lit up a room. As did her smile, and her laugh was strong (not loud) and flowed like honey. We hung out together a few times and then we decided to go out. I told her about my past with Michelle…and with Matt. She didn’t care! We grew closer. We did not go all the way for some time into dating, but when we did, it was amazing. Corey’s clitoral hood would swell when she was getting aroused. Her clitoris was a bit bigger—a bit phallic. She had been worried that a man would find that…problematic. Not so much of a problem for me. I don’t know if straight guys have issues or what, but it was nice to have a visible cue to what might be working to stimulate her that had not happened with Michelle. I loved Corey, & I enjoyed making love with her. I even thought about proposing.

I dated Corey for around 2 years. Some people say that sex is not that big of a deal for a woman. Corey could exhaust you! She once had us both going—carefully but passionately—for around 5 hours. At the end of those 5 hours, she was able to do some things with her internal muscles that made me shudder and orgasm for almost 30 minutes, even though the act of ejaculation did not take that long. She could find and caress the most erogenous zones of my body. Thanks to her, I learned that the insides of my knees and elbows can turn me to jelly when stimulated just right. She was always kind about my performance, but she always blew me away. She was also the first person who would kiss me in various and exciting ways. Michelle and I would kiss in the same way almost every time; it was very nice but not so varied. Matt was sloppy and exciting, but Corey could balance the sloppy passion with the romantic sweetness that I grew to cherish more than any other type of kiss.

Corey & I didn’t really have a lot in common apart from our skewed humor and sex. When it grew closer to her graduation date (she was a year older than me), we began to recognize that we loved each other but that didn’t really know why. I had always felt like I had met the one I was destined to spend the rest of my life with, but somehow things also seemed…off…at the end. We also realized that she would be moving on soon to grad school far from ____________. Although we remained close and continued to explore our sexuality, we also began to drift apart as her senior year progressed. In May, we both knew that we couldn’t really continue like this. We had what amounted to breakup sex on her graduation day, and it was amazing. Nevertheless, my relationship with Corey waned and came to an end. She was the last woman I loved utterly both body and soul. That was some time ago, even if she wasn’t my last love or the last woman I was intimate with. I sometimes ponder what could have been, but I loved what we had. You will always have part of my heart, Corey!

OMG I Told Her

My baby sister called me today. I was doing some work on campus—at the LGBTQI Center. She knew that I had had a date the previous Sunday. I had told her that the name of the person I went out with was in the New Testament. She seemed like she might be thinking that I may not be completely “straight and narrow,” but she proffered “Mary.” I thought that if she guessed only Mary that I was reading her dead wrong. Then she guessed again and said “Joseph.” I asked her if she were kidding or whether it was a real guess. She said that it was a real guess. I felt emboldened and somewhat hopeful. So, I asked her, “Do you want me to tell you the name?” She said, adamantly, “Yes!” So, I just blurted out “Paul.” (I may tell about going out with Paul sometime, but it wasn’t anything too good.) My sister was not really surprised and was very supportive and nice. She even lamented that I had had this on me all these years & didn’t feel like I could tell anyone in the family. She agreed that most of the rest of the family would freak out and/or would blab about it. Nonetheless, I blabbed for over an hour about all sorts of things. She asked a few questions that my interlocutor has asked in the questionnaires. So, I don’t have to hide from one person in my family any more. I love my baby sister even more now. I wept today and am crying again anew, but they are good tears of relief—of a great burden being lifted, even if I still shall bear that burden at other times.

Ivan the Great

Earlier, I described how I met Ivan in S____ C______. My relationship with Ivan didn’t last quite as long as some other relationships I have had, but it was filled with some of the most wonderful moments I have ever experienced. I have said several times that I am a romantic at heart, and Ivan was able to exploit that as well as anyone. I may have been the one studying languages, but he sure had a way with words…and more. He told me how erotic he found the noise made by a belt being undone and pulled off. I must admit that I now find that sound erotic too.

Although I had lost my MOTSS virginity with Matt, Ivan was able to “make loving fun” in ways that I had never thought of and in some ways I had indeed only dreamed of previously. He was romantic and sweet and passionate. I do miss having someone like that. We were both busy with our academic careers, but we always seemed to find quality time for just us. We also were good to compromise and accommodate each other. He bought me tickets for a Parliament-Funkadelic concert, although they’re not his favorite, and he went with me. I asked him why he did that, and he said that it was to be with me and to see me enjoy myself. Although he may not have loved the show quite like I did, I certainly enjoyed it even more having him there.

I hate dressing up, but I got done up in what for me passed for finery when he wanted to go to a fancy dinner and then to the symphony. When I got ready, he said, “That’s great! You look hot, but there’s one thing I’d like to change IF it’s all right with you.” I wasn’t sure, but I saw him grin, so I said, “OK.” He told me to close my eyes, and he took off the old tie I had on, and he fixed me up in a new one—that tie of his that had stimulated our first discussion of dating. After I saw what he had done, I laughed, and he pulled on that tie to bring me into an embrace and kiss that were so deep, soft, and passionate that I still feel a little weak in the knees remembering it. It was the kind of kiss that epic poems spring from. It was the kind of kiss that not only stirred the body but breathed new vitality into the heart and soul. Although I did not initiate it, participating in that kiss and embrace is still one of my proudest and happiest moments.

Ivan & I each found spots on the other’s body that we hadn’t known were erogenous zones previously (not at that precise moment, mind you!, but at other times: I got caught up in reverie and in my sense memories there). No one has ever kissed my neck since Ivan in a way that…well, in that way. We connected so powerfully in a sexual way that in retrospect I find it uncanny. We always seemed to share the same mood—romantically playful, hornily furious, hours spent cuddling and caressing without penetration, just sitting in each other’s presence with an occasional touch. The curve from his perfectly-shaped ass to the small of his back was a natural beauty unmatched in this hemisphere. I would’ve designated it a natural wonder of the world for the feeling it inspired in me. I often kissed that small of his back just to hear the pleasured groan he would give every time I did so. The tenderness of his caresses was indescribably, transcendently breathtaking, regardless of whether he used his tender hands, his nimble tongue, or any other part of his most sturdy but gentle flesh. His eyes were almost always fully open and maintaining contact with my eyes in the act of lovemaking. It didn’t matter who was top or bottom. Those eyes displayed such caring, such desire, such humor, such passion, such warmth, such joy. Hey, I told you I was a romantic; I am also a complete sucker. ;) I felt so comfortable being desired and desiring him. That was new to me: no doubts, no thoughts of guilt, no wondering what my folks might say. I was always in the moment with Ivan, & I loved those moments!

National Coming Out Day

Here is what I read in public for National Coming Out Day. Some of it may seem familiar if you've read any of these entries before. ;)

People are here today sharing their coming out stories, which is a wonderful, commendable thing, and I am proud to be in their valiant company today. There is one caveat, however: we may all have a really good story or one “first coming out story,” but we each have many stories. Coming out is a continuing process, renewed (or not) in new places, among new people. Of course for some people *coughs* *my family* it never ends or never even really begins since the thing they ignore long enough goes away until you cast light back onto that area that they chose to let get overgrown by brambles and shadows, then the pattern starts anew. You can get any number of responses when you come out:
“Really?!?”
“Ewww!”
“Well, DUH!!!”
“I’ll pray for you!”
“Get away from me!”
“I respect your choice.”
Choice. That’s the one that still always gets to me a little bit. My father was a career military man. You don’t ponder, think about, consider whether it’s a good idea, choose whom you salute. (I’m a guy, remember, so I’ll let that image process properly a sec.)

NEWAZ, the other question in discussing your own personal tale of coming out is do you relate a story about coming out to someone else or to yourself? Which of all the possible tales is the most touching story, the most important to the teller? Is it the drive to claim power over your self-expression to share with those you care about or even to tick off those that need to be taken down a peg or 72? Is it the emotional account of revealing an integral and important part of your life to your family or best friend? Is it that time you tried to be subtle, but you were apparently too subtle because no one picked up that hairpin your dropped? Is it some hilarious anecdote involving those you work with when the office goes out for an after-hours drink and you end up singing ABBA or quoting Margaret Cho endlessly? Is it that moment within yourself when you stand in front of a special someone first stammering then pursing your lips afraid of saying the incredibly stupid thing that you know you’re inevitably going to say only to have those lips open in acceptance of that first kiss while those worries and the very world around you melt away in a flash of warmth? It all depends on the teller choosing among the myriad possible narratives to share.

I suppose that one of my personal favorite coming out stories involves telling my friend Charlie. Charlie is a registered Democrat and Mormon from East Tennessee. If anyone could understand feeling different, I suppose he could. The day I came out to Charlie was a very strange day. I was at my parents’ house in northeast Tennessee during summer vacation when I was an undergrad. Charlie was coming through town on his way to Washington, DC. He was going to stop by to break up the trip and “sit a spell.” While I was waiting for him to arrive, I received a phone call from Matt, my first serious boyfriend. I had never told anyone about it even though it was a crucial part of my life because I had been raised in a very strict Southern Baptist family. They say my grandfather was a snake-handlin’ preacher. I wasn’t then prepared yet to say that I might be called to a different kind of snake handling.

NEWAZ, Matt was calling me from his folks’ house in Florida. It was the usual “hey-how-are-you-I-miss-you-I-am-so-alone-without-you-we-had-so-much-fun-all-during-the-school-year-and-I-really-love-you-but-now-it’s-summer-and we’re-apart-and-I-wanna-get-my-freak-on-while-I’m-in-Florida-so-let’s-see-other-people-in-fact-why-don’t-we-just-end-it-but-could-you-teach-me-some-cool-things-to-say-to-those-hot-Cuban-boys-I-see-at-the-beach” call. You know that call; we’ve all had them. I wish I could tell you the witty ways in which I let his casual call not faze me, but I can’t remember them, (except for the part about telling him to tell the Cuban hotties that their sisters were old pork by-products). Not long after I hung up from that thrilling call, Charlie arrived. I greeted my friend, but I was a bit dazed. Charlie was starving; he had not had breakfast and it was time for lunch. We decided to go somewhere to get something to eat. At the restaurant, we talked about his trip, what we had both been doing since school got out for the summer, and all manner of trivialities. Charlie is a jokester by nature and was in rare form, but I just wasn’t laughing as much as usual. Charlie noticed that his captive audience wasn’t as chucklebound as usual, so he asked me, “What’s wrong, man? You usually at least laugh politely when I’m tossing the jokes around.”
“I’m sorry. Just a bit distracted, I guess.” I said glumly
“What’s going on?” he asked
“I really doubt you want to hear about it.” I scoffed
“Man, you can tell me anything. Anything but a joke funnier than one of mine!” He laughed.
I felt tired of carrying weight around someone with such levity. “Truthfully? I’m just bummed about a failed romance, I guess.”
“Anyone I know?” he asked
“Not really. Someone I met at school.” I replied
“You know people other than me? What the hell? What’s her name?”
I don’t exactly know why I decided that I would tell him at that point, but I looked at him, took a deep breath, and said, “Matt.”
“HA! That’s a guy’s name! That’s really funny!” He stopped laughing as he realized that this was not some joke. “Oh!...OH! You mean you like guys?”
“That’s half of it, but…Yeah, I mean.” I think I just rolled my eyes when I said it; at least I didn’t cry, or not so much that I’d bother telling y’all…
You could see on his face the way the news processed in his head. “Okay. Well, that’s not what I would’ve thought.”
Like Bette Davis on that ocean cruise in Now,Voyager, I decided to open up: “Honestly Charlie. You’ve seen me snap, and I don’t mean lose control like some postal worker, I mean *snap*. And recall how I sang those Eartha Kitt songs without a trace of irony?”
“Hmmm…I guess you’ve got a point there.” Charlie grinned and looked me right in the eyes. “Look, I don’t care, okay. That doesn’t bother me.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. I’m a good joketeller, but a lousy liar. You can talk to me about anything, although I may not want too many details, fair enough?”
“So, no blow-by-blow accounts, huh?” The fact that it was pennes that he proceeded to choke on was something I found just a little appropriate.
“Robert, I would smack you if I didn’t think that was so damn funny!” He laughed heartily, genuinely. I felt a lot better. I showed him a couple of wicked snaps from the heyday of In Living Color. We talked at ease about all manner of things again until it was time for Charlie to get back on the road. He said to me, “I am glad you told me. I am very glad that you felt that you could tell me. Makes me have liberal pride, it does, although I don’t get a parade.”
“Is there such a thing as a parade that’s not somehow gay anyway?” I snapped.
“Again, you’ve got a point.” Charlie gave me a big hug before he got in his car. As he was driving away, he rolled down the window and waved. I waved back. Then, he put his hand out the window again, and snapped. So, if you meet a straight Democrat Mormon with a wicked ability to snap, you’ll know who taught him. His comfort with me being myself gave me the courage to tell other people when I returned to school, & Charlie and many of those to whom I came out those many years ago (you damned whippersnappers!) are still some of my greatest friends and allies.