Saturday, November 15, 2008
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)?
Friday, November 14, 2008
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!
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!
Monday, October 27, 2008
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.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
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!
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!
Monday, October 13, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Bisexual Questionnaire 3
1. Have you ever been in a threeway with a man and a woman at the same time?
A: I have never been in any threeway. That’s not something that generally appeals to me. I prefer a strong, one-on-one bond with a single partner. That’s just me.
2. Have you ever cheated on a partner?
A: Other than my first times, when I was dating a man and a woman at the same time, no. I have kissed someone, but that’s all.
3. Has a partner ever cheated on you?
A: That may be fodder for future entries, but yes.
4. Have you ever wanted to “get married” or whatever with a partner?
A: Yes. Very much so, a couple of times.
5. Are you dating anyone now?
A: *cough* Why? Are you asking me out?
6. Umm…I’ll go to the next question…
A: Suit yourself.
6a. Hey! That wasn’t a question! & I’m trying to keep tabs this time!
A: Okay. You’re right; it wasn’t a question.
6b. What has been the most difficult part of being bi?
A: That is a difficult question to answer, because there are several answers. Continued prejudice or stereotypes about bisexuality is one thing. Not feeling like I can come out to the family I cherish is another.
7. October 11 is National Coming Out Day. Will you come out then? Do bisexuals even celebrate National Coming Out Day?
A: First, National Coming Out Day is for everyone of all sexualities to express themselves freely and not be ashamed of their sexual identity. It’s part of the Human Rights Campaign. Although I am not ashamed, I probably will not come out (again) to my family for a few reasons.
8. Such as?
A: As I have said before, I am selfish enough that I don’t want to miss out on their company, which could be strained, or even ended, if I were to come out at this point. Also, I won’t be near any of them. When I do tell them, wouldn’t it be better face to face than through some phone call or email or something detached and impersonal?
8a. I guess so…
A: Still, I plan on being active in NCOD celebrations in my community. I plan to speak at an event about coming out. I am not going to hide because I am afraid they’ll see, either.
9. What has been the worst part of not coming out to your family?
A: Not being able to share my absolute joy when I have been utterly in love or my utter sadness when that relationship ended.
10. Would you recommend coming out or staying in the closet?
A: Every situation and every individual is different, but I think hiding and being (somewhat) dishonest has sometimes colored my relations with my family. Thus, I would definitely advocate coming out if you felt the least bit comfortable and had a support system. What I have done is neither good nor bad nor worthy of emulation; it’s simply what I have done.
11. What do you mean “(somewhat) dishonest”?
A: Well, I have used the old trick of the generic “they” instead of “he” or “she” when I discussed relationships, when anyone ever wanted to hear about them at all, that is! Since I have never married, I bet there are some in my family that believe that I am still a virgin! Even when I have dated a woman, the discussion never was pursued when I brought it up. When I was living very happily with a man about whom I spoke at length, the idea that he was anything more than “my best bud” never seemed to register either. Don’t know whether that was because it was I was having “relations” out of wedlock or whether they never had any interest in me beyond superficialities anyway.
12. That sounds a little harsh. Do you resent your family?
A: Maybe I do a little, but I love them so very much too. It’s a catch-22 for me. I tend to be a person of great humor, but I admit that this does yet get to me, even after all these years.
13. How else has your family been weird about this?
A: Ooh! Some sort of analyst, eh? Hoping for transference, maybe? Well, there are a couple of key things that always have gotten to me in retrospect. For one thing, when I had my first orgasm, I was awake. I had no idea what was going on. I had been feeling pleasure, then I felt something coming out of my penis that was milky white. I panicked and screamed. My mother, a registered nurse, ran to see what was wrong and I explained the situation *cringes now*
“Did you have a wet dream?” She asked bluntly.
“No, mama. I wasn’t asleep. I wasn’t dreaming at all!”
She gave me a very brief rundown of what was going on. I asked her, “Why didn’t you or Dad tell me this before?”
“I expected you’d learn it from your friends or off the street.” Yes, she actually said that! She assured me that Dad would talk to me about it. I’ve still never had that convo with him, even almost 30 years later.
Another thing that always struck me as odd was this. When I was in 7th grade, I thought I would change my image. I wanted a new haircut. Better clothes (not even flamboyant ones—just newer, “cooler” ones). The sort of things teens start to think about. When I was thinking about the new hairstyle (I’d had the pageboy/bowl cut for my whole life), I looked at pictures in magazines and the like. I would even cut the pictures out of magazines, etc., of possible styles to try. I kept them in a box & wondered what I would look like with my hair like the person in the picture. Honest. I never thought anything more carnal than that at that time. One day, the box vanished from my room. I asked my Mom what happened to the box. She “didn’t know.” She never addressed the box again, although I asked at least twice more because I was sure that she would have seen it (& that she would have known its purpose). Thus began the culture of silence and of ignoring my possible desires, even if, truly, at that moment my desire was merely to have a different look and not a snog.
14. You use that word “snog” a lot. Aren’t you from Northeast Tennessee originally?
A: Yes. My neighbors were from Britain, and some of their slang stuck with me through the years. Plus, there was PBS in my hometown, with Masterpiece Theatre and Monty Python. *sigh* I saw my first ladies’ breasts on Monty Python! I also saw my first same-sex kiss there, although that may have been in the movie The Sergeant, which my father was watching when I was a small boy, although that kiss seemed like an assault instead of a true kiss. My father changed the channel nonetheless. NEWAZ, some of my slang got co-opted by British neighbours and by telly, so sue me. I still say “y’all” though.
15. You’ve also traveled. Have you been bi abroad?
A: I’m bi wherever I am. That’s a most puzzling question.
16. I meant, have you…uh…done it in foreign countries?
A: Oh. Yes. Maybe it’s the Coriolis effect, but some things do go down the other way in the Southern hemisphere.
17. What do you mean by that?
A: I don’t think Kevin would want me to tell.
18. Um…okay…Does size matter? I mean, does a guy have to be well hung or a girl have to have large breasts?
A: Yeesh! What a question!
18a. Sorry…
A: I’ll answer, though. Not really, no. As I have said, I am a romantic at heart, so it is my emotional desire for a partner that is most fulfilling sexually. Besides, there are toys, tongues, and other things that can give you pleasures that a partner may not bring to the table physically on their own, but can cause your flesh to shudder with a little outside help and love. In fact, my longest relationship was with a man with a smallish penis who maybe hit my p-spot twice in 5 years, but could send me shuddering with love goosebumps everytime. He was also a bit tongue-tied, but I loved kissing him. I enjoyed sex with him because I loved him. Plus, he had magic hands.
19. Wow! If I weren’t asking, I would totally say TMI!
A: Can one truly have too much information?
19a. I don’t know, Ha! You asked me a question! Does that mean I get another one?
A: No, still twenty…and asking me if you win an extra just used up number 19 for you.
20. Oh, shit! Can I ask more questions in the future?
A: I suppose.
A: I have never been in any threeway. That’s not something that generally appeals to me. I prefer a strong, one-on-one bond with a single partner. That’s just me.
2. Have you ever cheated on a partner?
A: Other than my first times, when I was dating a man and a woman at the same time, no. I have kissed someone, but that’s all.
3. Has a partner ever cheated on you?
A: That may be fodder for future entries, but yes.
4. Have you ever wanted to “get married” or whatever with a partner?
A: Yes. Very much so, a couple of times.
5. Are you dating anyone now?
A: *cough* Why? Are you asking me out?
6. Umm…I’ll go to the next question…
A: Suit yourself.
6a. Hey! That wasn’t a question! & I’m trying to keep tabs this time!
A: Okay. You’re right; it wasn’t a question.
6b. What has been the most difficult part of being bi?
A: That is a difficult question to answer, because there are several answers. Continued prejudice or stereotypes about bisexuality is one thing. Not feeling like I can come out to the family I cherish is another.
7. October 11 is National Coming Out Day. Will you come out then? Do bisexuals even celebrate National Coming Out Day?
A: First, National Coming Out Day is for everyone of all sexualities to express themselves freely and not be ashamed of their sexual identity. It’s part of the Human Rights Campaign. Although I am not ashamed, I probably will not come out (again) to my family for a few reasons.
8. Such as?
A: As I have said before, I am selfish enough that I don’t want to miss out on their company, which could be strained, or even ended, if I were to come out at this point. Also, I won’t be near any of them. When I do tell them, wouldn’t it be better face to face than through some phone call or email or something detached and impersonal?
8a. I guess so…
A: Still, I plan on being active in NCOD celebrations in my community. I plan to speak at an event about coming out. I am not going to hide because I am afraid they’ll see, either.
9. What has been the worst part of not coming out to your family?
A: Not being able to share my absolute joy when I have been utterly in love or my utter sadness when that relationship ended.
10. Would you recommend coming out or staying in the closet?
A: Every situation and every individual is different, but I think hiding and being (somewhat) dishonest has sometimes colored my relations with my family. Thus, I would definitely advocate coming out if you felt the least bit comfortable and had a support system. What I have done is neither good nor bad nor worthy of emulation; it’s simply what I have done.
11. What do you mean “(somewhat) dishonest”?
A: Well, I have used the old trick of the generic “they” instead of “he” or “she” when I discussed relationships, when anyone ever wanted to hear about them at all, that is! Since I have never married, I bet there are some in my family that believe that I am still a virgin! Even when I have dated a woman, the discussion never was pursued when I brought it up. When I was living very happily with a man about whom I spoke at length, the idea that he was anything more than “my best bud” never seemed to register either. Don’t know whether that was because it was I was having “relations” out of wedlock or whether they never had any interest in me beyond superficialities anyway.
12. That sounds a little harsh. Do you resent your family?
A: Maybe I do a little, but I love them so very much too. It’s a catch-22 for me. I tend to be a person of great humor, but I admit that this does yet get to me, even after all these years.
13. How else has your family been weird about this?
A: Ooh! Some sort of analyst, eh? Hoping for transference, maybe? Well, there are a couple of key things that always have gotten to me in retrospect. For one thing, when I had my first orgasm, I was awake. I had no idea what was going on. I had been feeling pleasure, then I felt something coming out of my penis that was milky white. I panicked and screamed. My mother, a registered nurse, ran to see what was wrong and I explained the situation *cringes now*
“Did you have a wet dream?” She asked bluntly.
“No, mama. I wasn’t asleep. I wasn’t dreaming at all!”
She gave me a very brief rundown of what was going on. I asked her, “Why didn’t you or Dad tell me this before?”
“I expected you’d learn it from your friends or off the street.” Yes, she actually said that! She assured me that Dad would talk to me about it. I’ve still never had that convo with him, even almost 30 years later.
Another thing that always struck me as odd was this. When I was in 7th grade, I thought I would change my image. I wanted a new haircut. Better clothes (not even flamboyant ones—just newer, “cooler” ones). The sort of things teens start to think about. When I was thinking about the new hairstyle (I’d had the pageboy/bowl cut for my whole life), I looked at pictures in magazines and the like. I would even cut the pictures out of magazines, etc., of possible styles to try. I kept them in a box & wondered what I would look like with my hair like the person in the picture. Honest. I never thought anything more carnal than that at that time. One day, the box vanished from my room. I asked my Mom what happened to the box. She “didn’t know.” She never addressed the box again, although I asked at least twice more because I was sure that she would have seen it (& that she would have known its purpose). Thus began the culture of silence and of ignoring my possible desires, even if, truly, at that moment my desire was merely to have a different look and not a snog.
14. You use that word “snog” a lot. Aren’t you from Northeast Tennessee originally?
A: Yes. My neighbors were from Britain, and some of their slang stuck with me through the years. Plus, there was PBS in my hometown, with Masterpiece Theatre and Monty Python. *sigh* I saw my first ladies’ breasts on Monty Python! I also saw my first same-sex kiss there, although that may have been in the movie The Sergeant, which my father was watching when I was a small boy, although that kiss seemed like an assault instead of a true kiss. My father changed the channel nonetheless. NEWAZ, some of my slang got co-opted by British neighbours and by telly, so sue me. I still say “y’all” though.
15. You’ve also traveled. Have you been bi abroad?
A: I’m bi wherever I am. That’s a most puzzling question.
16. I meant, have you…uh…done it in foreign countries?
A: Oh. Yes. Maybe it’s the Coriolis effect, but some things do go down the other way in the Southern hemisphere.
17. What do you mean by that?
A: I don’t think Kevin would want me to tell.
18. Um…okay…Does size matter? I mean, does a guy have to be well hung or a girl have to have large breasts?
A: Yeesh! What a question!
18a. Sorry…
A: I’ll answer, though. Not really, no. As I have said, I am a romantic at heart, so it is my emotional desire for a partner that is most fulfilling sexually. Besides, there are toys, tongues, and other things that can give you pleasures that a partner may not bring to the table physically on their own, but can cause your flesh to shudder with a little outside help and love. In fact, my longest relationship was with a man with a smallish penis who maybe hit my p-spot twice in 5 years, but could send me shuddering with love goosebumps everytime. He was also a bit tongue-tied, but I loved kissing him. I enjoyed sex with him because I loved him. Plus, he had magic hands.
19. Wow! If I weren’t asking, I would totally say TMI!
A: Can one truly have too much information?
19a. I don’t know, Ha! You asked me a question! Does that mean I get another one?
A: No, still twenty…and asking me if you win an extra just used up number 19 for you.
20. Oh, shit! Can I ask more questions in the future?
A: I suppose.
Monday, September 29, 2008
The Tale of Ivan I : Realization
I was a new graduate student at the University of S____ C_______. I know what you’re thinking: “That must be a great, friendly LGBTQI place!” Yes, I’m being ironic there. Maybe moronic, too. Whatever. NEWAZ, I was taking a variety of classes. One was a survey/history of literary criticism. I know you’re just shivering at the thought. So was I (there’s the irony again: sue me, I’m a huge fan of Machado de Assis). The course was actually engaging, although it was taught in almost reverse chronological order, so that we could be familiar with the “latest trends” and then work our way back to foundations. For many of us, in several different departments, this was our first serious, tough graduate class. There were other students from comp. Lit. There were students from Philosophy, English, Film Studies, and even Religious Studies in the class. A few of us would get together after the seminar and get dinner and talk about the class or about anything but the class. I reveled in the camaraderie and forged friendships with people in my department who had very different interests than mine and with people in other departments.
Part of our class requirements was that each student was to give a report on certain topics covered in the survey. I chose “écriture féminine” because I had read enough of the writings of one of its proponents Hélène Cixous due to my adoration of Clarice Lispector, the Brazilian author whose work Cixous often holds as an exemplar of her theories. (Some of these theories I find quite reductive, but that’s not for this blog. & yes, I am showing the ingrainment of academia into my normal mode of discourse. Sorry if this gets too stultifying.)
NEWAZ, since we were going in reverse chronological order, I had to present early on in the fall semester. I was the only one in the class who could read Portuguese. I was probably one of the few who even knew it was a separate language! So, I presented on Cixous and discussed her theory of écriture féminine and how it is not necessarily bound to be by a female writer. I also talked about Cixous’s idea of ”bisexuality” as evading the notion of privilege accorded to writing or speech that presupposed male domination/patriarchy and heterosexism. It was not a riveting presentation, but I think I articulated what Cixous was arguing. After other presentations and lectures by our professor, we went off to dinner. Melanie, a non-traditional student in Comp Lit who specialized in French literature and theory complemented me on my presentation at the Greek restaurant we had invaded that night. I was beaming, because I was unsure of how I had done, especially since I also called a famous thinker out on some issues in her reading, although I was some lowly, first-year grad student. Talk moved from the class to the latest news to the dumbest things we had seen on TV lately.
Our group that night was pretty large. I was sharing a table with Melanie, Kelly (also from Comp. Lit.), Genara (from Italian and Classics), Ali and Christian from Comp. Lit, and Ivan from the Philosophy Dept. We talked seriously about topics. We bullshitted about nothing. We laughed. Some of us would get up and dance when a good song came on. At one point, Ivan and I were alone at the table. He was also teaching a class for the first time this semester and he was always dressed in a nice shirt and tie when he came to our seminar class. He never even loosened his tie at these dinners, and he had been to a few. While the music played, Ivan looked down and then brought my attention from watching the others on the dance floor to him. “You know, something about this tie always makes me hungry.”
I looked at the tie. It was multicolored in small splashes of various bright shades. It contrasted nicely with his blue shirt that was slightly darker than old denim. I looked at his eyes. I’d never noticed them before. They were beautiful. Hazel but with more green qualities. He was smiling. (Why am I such a sucker for beautiful eyes and a cute smile?). “I see what you mean. All of a sudden I’m starving!” I don’t recall saying that in any sort of lascivious way, but the gleam in his eyes as he continued to smile shook me. Did they turn the heat on in there?
“I liked your presentation tonight.”
”Oh?”
“Yeah. I’m impressed by someone who can manipulate more than one foreign language.”
“I guess God blessed me with an agile tongue.’ (Again, I was not consciously, purposely trying to be Mr. Double Entendre.)
Ivan seemed to sense my guilelessness in that utterance, but still shot back, “Oh, really?” in a way so that I would recognize what I had just said.
“Oh, God! I didn’t mean for it to sound like that!”
Ivan continued smiling and eye-glinting. He looked down at his plate of Greek pizza. “So, that talk about bisexuality was just theory, huh?”
Despite not feeling able to come out at home and being afraid people would mistake the way I viewed myself with how I viewed Sapphira, I had decided that here in grad school in a new place I would not misrepresent myself. “No...it’s not just theoretical, I guess.”
Ivan looked up, with a piqued interest. “Do you practice what you preach?”
This time I did say something provocative on purpose, even if I didn’t then think it applied to me in any way. “Practice makes perfect…”
“Would you like to, I don’t know, go out & do something sometime, just us?”
“I think I would like that.”
He finally loosened that tie a little.
Part of our class requirements was that each student was to give a report on certain topics covered in the survey. I chose “écriture féminine” because I had read enough of the writings of one of its proponents Hélène Cixous due to my adoration of Clarice Lispector, the Brazilian author whose work Cixous often holds as an exemplar of her theories. (Some of these theories I find quite reductive, but that’s not for this blog. & yes, I am showing the ingrainment of academia into my normal mode of discourse. Sorry if this gets too stultifying.)
NEWAZ, since we were going in reverse chronological order, I had to present early on in the fall semester. I was the only one in the class who could read Portuguese. I was probably one of the few who even knew it was a separate language! So, I presented on Cixous and discussed her theory of écriture féminine and how it is not necessarily bound to be by a female writer. I also talked about Cixous’s idea of ”bisexuality” as evading the notion of privilege accorded to writing or speech that presupposed male domination/patriarchy and heterosexism. It was not a riveting presentation, but I think I articulated what Cixous was arguing. After other presentations and lectures by our professor, we went off to dinner. Melanie, a non-traditional student in Comp Lit who specialized in French literature and theory complemented me on my presentation at the Greek restaurant we had invaded that night. I was beaming, because I was unsure of how I had done, especially since I also called a famous thinker out on some issues in her reading, although I was some lowly, first-year grad student. Talk moved from the class to the latest news to the dumbest things we had seen on TV lately.
Our group that night was pretty large. I was sharing a table with Melanie, Kelly (also from Comp. Lit.), Genara (from Italian and Classics), Ali and Christian from Comp. Lit, and Ivan from the Philosophy Dept. We talked seriously about topics. We bullshitted about nothing. We laughed. Some of us would get up and dance when a good song came on. At one point, Ivan and I were alone at the table. He was also teaching a class for the first time this semester and he was always dressed in a nice shirt and tie when he came to our seminar class. He never even loosened his tie at these dinners, and he had been to a few. While the music played, Ivan looked down and then brought my attention from watching the others on the dance floor to him. “You know, something about this tie always makes me hungry.”
I looked at the tie. It was multicolored in small splashes of various bright shades. It contrasted nicely with his blue shirt that was slightly darker than old denim. I looked at his eyes. I’d never noticed them before. They were beautiful. Hazel but with more green qualities. He was smiling. (Why am I such a sucker for beautiful eyes and a cute smile?). “I see what you mean. All of a sudden I’m starving!” I don’t recall saying that in any sort of lascivious way, but the gleam in his eyes as he continued to smile shook me. Did they turn the heat on in there?
“I liked your presentation tonight.”
”Oh?”
“Yeah. I’m impressed by someone who can manipulate more than one foreign language.”
“I guess God blessed me with an agile tongue.’ (Again, I was not consciously, purposely trying to be Mr. Double Entendre.)
Ivan seemed to sense my guilelessness in that utterance, but still shot back, “Oh, really?” in a way so that I would recognize what I had just said.
“Oh, God! I didn’t mean for it to sound like that!”
Ivan continued smiling and eye-glinting. He looked down at his plate of Greek pizza. “So, that talk about bisexuality was just theory, huh?”
Despite not feeling able to come out at home and being afraid people would mistake the way I viewed myself with how I viewed Sapphira, I had decided that here in grad school in a new place I would not misrepresent myself. “No...it’s not just theoretical, I guess.”
Ivan looked up, with a piqued interest. “Do you practice what you preach?”
This time I did say something provocative on purpose, even if I didn’t then think it applied to me in any way. “Practice makes perfect…”
“Would you like to, I don’t know, go out & do something sometime, just us?”
“I think I would like that.”
He finally loosened that tie a little.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Bisexual Questionnaire 2
1. Why do you need to identify as bisexual? Why don’t you “pass” as straight or gay, depending on your situation?
A: It would be dishonest, & I shouldn’t have to cave in to someone else’s inability to see beyond the binary.
2. Do you have specific sexual positions when you’re with a woman as opposed to with a man?
A: Why do you keep asking about the sexual aspects? For me personally, the emotional bond is much sexier. (I prefer face-to-face intimacy, though, regardless)
3. Okay, fine. Have you ever been in love with someone to whom you had no sexual attraction?
A: Yes. (Not that these people were repulsive; sexual desire just wasn’t there)
4. Have you ever had sex with someone you weren’t in love with?
A: Yes, but sex is much more satisfying to me (even just in the physical sense) when I feel some emotional bond to my partner.
5. Are the names in your stories real? Is that what really happened?
A: I have related what happened as well as I can. I may have edited a few things. Some conversations may have been a bit longer with more digressions than I have written here. Generally, I have changed names, although one story does have the main people’s real names. I usually write the tale with real names, then find-replace. I forgot in one of the tales.
6. Have you had more male partners or female partners?
A: *sigh* Back harping on just the sex aspect, huh? Fine. Male.
7. Have you ever picked someone up at a bar?
A: I am generally not a fan of the bar scene—whether it be straight or gay.
8. Was your best orgasm with a man or a woman?
A: What is your obsession with only the sex part? Jeez! It was a woman, she made me arch my back and shudder for over half an hour even after the moment of climax. Happy now?
9. Very. Why does it bother you for me to ask about the sex part?
A: Because actual sex is only one part of sexual identity.
10. Are people surprised when you come out to them?
A: Sometimes. It’s usually only for one of those binaries, though.
“I thought you only slept with guys!” or “I thought you were straight!”
11. What about “bisexual chic”?
A: That’s not easy to answer. It sucks to have had some people think I was trying to be trendy when I have identified and been bi for a long time now, even when it’s not “fashionable.” Also, the “chic” and “experimental” aspect seems to privilege heterosexist norms.
12. What do you mean?
A: Well, although there are indeed many questioning people and “experimenting” can resolve any questions those individuals might have, the “fashionable” side seems to be provocative for the sake of being provocative. It also seems to imply that while one might “fool around” with a same-sex partner, the main attraction and social identification will be with the opposite-sex partner. “I kissed a girl just to try it. I hope my boyfriend don’t mind it” ? I’m being a bit reductive, but it is a way I feel at times.
13. “Heterosexist norms”? “Reductive”? You’re in academia, aren’t you?
A: Yes. Sorry for the jargon.
14. Do you act more straight or gay?
A: I act like me. There are aspects that could be stereotyped as typically straight-male behavior, some as women’s behavior, some as queeny behavior. I can camp it up very well. Gen-X’ers of all sexualities can Baby Jane you when inspired.
15. Have you experienced more prejudice coming from straights or from gays?
A: I’ve had some from both, and homophobia is much more rampant. It needs to be eradicated first & foremost. The worst reaction I have ever had was from a woman friend (just a friend for whom I held no sexual desire) who liked me as her “gay friend,” like on Sex & the City, but when she found out I was bisexual, she seemed to think I was making a play for her and became very uncomfortable around me.
16. What do you do when someone believes something like that about you or your sexuality that isn’t true?
A: You can try to reassure them, educate them, convince them, but many people, when they have an idea firmly in their head, will stick with that belief, regardless of any evidence to contradict it. Tragic, but true.
17. Why did you close off comments on the posts?
A: I had a few germane comments, but most were from gay-bashers or people dedicated to bisexual erasure in the upholding of the sexuality binary. I also had one person who kept writing, “I know you! You’re _____, aren’t you!” That person was wrong, but kept posting in the comments section. I got tired of posting responses that I was not in fact who they thought I was (see reply to previous question).
18. Do you think most people are bisexual and just slip into one of the binaries of being totally gay or totally straight?
A: I make no assertions or assumptions about anything or anyone.
19. Women can fake an orgasm. Can a guy?
A: I don’t know. I have had orgasms that did not produce ejaculate, though. Perhaps it’s so-called polymorphous perversity, perhaps it was a prostate orgasm, perhaps a “braingasm,” but I have definitely had endorphins flood every fiber of my being and give me ecstatic pleasure throughout my body even without traditional male “coming.”
20. Must be nice. Is that twenty questions yet?
A: It is now.
21. Aw, crap!
A: It would be dishonest, & I shouldn’t have to cave in to someone else’s inability to see beyond the binary.
2. Do you have specific sexual positions when you’re with a woman as opposed to with a man?
A: Why do you keep asking about the sexual aspects? For me personally, the emotional bond is much sexier. (I prefer face-to-face intimacy, though, regardless)
3. Okay, fine. Have you ever been in love with someone to whom you had no sexual attraction?
A: Yes. (Not that these people were repulsive; sexual desire just wasn’t there)
4. Have you ever had sex with someone you weren’t in love with?
A: Yes, but sex is much more satisfying to me (even just in the physical sense) when I feel some emotional bond to my partner.
5. Are the names in your stories real? Is that what really happened?
A: I have related what happened as well as I can. I may have edited a few things. Some conversations may have been a bit longer with more digressions than I have written here. Generally, I have changed names, although one story does have the main people’s real names. I usually write the tale with real names, then find-replace. I forgot in one of the tales.
6. Have you had more male partners or female partners?
A: *sigh* Back harping on just the sex aspect, huh? Fine. Male.
7. Have you ever picked someone up at a bar?
A: I am generally not a fan of the bar scene—whether it be straight or gay.
8. Was your best orgasm with a man or a woman?
A: What is your obsession with only the sex part? Jeez! It was a woman, she made me arch my back and shudder for over half an hour even after the moment of climax. Happy now?
9. Very. Why does it bother you for me to ask about the sex part?
A: Because actual sex is only one part of sexual identity.
10. Are people surprised when you come out to them?
A: Sometimes. It’s usually only for one of those binaries, though.
“I thought you only slept with guys!” or “I thought you were straight!”
11. What about “bisexual chic”?
A: That’s not easy to answer. It sucks to have had some people think I was trying to be trendy when I have identified and been bi for a long time now, even when it’s not “fashionable.” Also, the “chic” and “experimental” aspect seems to privilege heterosexist norms.
12. What do you mean?
A: Well, although there are indeed many questioning people and “experimenting” can resolve any questions those individuals might have, the “fashionable” side seems to be provocative for the sake of being provocative. It also seems to imply that while one might “fool around” with a same-sex partner, the main attraction and social identification will be with the opposite-sex partner. “I kissed a girl just to try it. I hope my boyfriend don’t mind it” ? I’m being a bit reductive, but it is a way I feel at times.
13. “Heterosexist norms”? “Reductive”? You’re in academia, aren’t you?
A: Yes. Sorry for the jargon.
14. Do you act more straight or gay?
A: I act like me. There are aspects that could be stereotyped as typically straight-male behavior, some as women’s behavior, some as queeny behavior. I can camp it up very well. Gen-X’ers of all sexualities can Baby Jane you when inspired.
15. Have you experienced more prejudice coming from straights or from gays?
A: I’ve had some from both, and homophobia is much more rampant. It needs to be eradicated first & foremost. The worst reaction I have ever had was from a woman friend (just a friend for whom I held no sexual desire) who liked me as her “gay friend,” like on Sex & the City, but when she found out I was bisexual, she seemed to think I was making a play for her and became very uncomfortable around me.
16. What do you do when someone believes something like that about you or your sexuality that isn’t true?
A: You can try to reassure them, educate them, convince them, but many people, when they have an idea firmly in their head, will stick with that belief, regardless of any evidence to contradict it. Tragic, but true.
17. Why did you close off comments on the posts?
A: I had a few germane comments, but most were from gay-bashers or people dedicated to bisexual erasure in the upholding of the sexuality binary. I also had one person who kept writing, “I know you! You’re _____, aren’t you!” That person was wrong, but kept posting in the comments section. I got tired of posting responses that I was not in fact who they thought I was (see reply to previous question).
18. Do you think most people are bisexual and just slip into one of the binaries of being totally gay or totally straight?
A: I make no assertions or assumptions about anything or anyone.
19. Women can fake an orgasm. Can a guy?
A: I don’t know. I have had orgasms that did not produce ejaculate, though. Perhaps it’s so-called polymorphous perversity, perhaps it was a prostate orgasm, perhaps a “braingasm,” but I have definitely had endorphins flood every fiber of my being and give me ecstatic pleasure throughout my body even without traditional male “coming.”
20. Must be nice. Is that twenty questions yet?
A: It is now.
21. Aw, crap!
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Sapphira
I mentioned in an earlier post that I lived in a very diverse dormitory when I was an undergrad. Yes, Matt lived above me, so that made things a lot more interesting for me, but today I am going to tell a tale about Sapphira. Sapphira is another reason why I didn’t come out as bi until much later, even to my friends.
Not only did Sapphira live in the women’s wing across from me, she was in a student group of which I was a member. Willie, who also lived in the women’s wing, was also a member. So, we all saw each other in 2 different social circles. I always thought Sapphira gave off weird pheromones. She didn’t smell bad or strongly, but there was a slight odor I detected whenever she was around. The aroma was a bit “off;” something didn’t smell right. Once, when Willie’s mother was visiting, she said, “Willie, what is that smell?”
“Oh, that’s just Sapphira, mom,” Willie said ingenuously.
I started dating Michelle and Matt in September. I was still trying to decide what to do when October 11th came around. That’s National Coming Out Day, if you didn’t know. Well, Sapphira came out as bi to the student group and to our dorm. She had been dating Luke, who was also in the student group but lived elsewhere. I was surprised and thought about saying, “Me, too!” But I didn’t.
As time wore on, Sapphira began showing up with Luke and now Tina in tow. Sometimes, she would make one of them sit in the hall while she was in her room with the other. Sometimes, Luke or Tina would wander around and chat with the rest of us. Once, Tina was talking to me when Sapphira screamed, “Tina! Here! NOW!” Luke was leaving the women’s wing, struggling to put his clothes back on.
As time wore on, not only was I feeling more conflicted about balancing dating Michelle and Matt at the same time, I was observing Sapphira. She would flirt and grope with anyone she came in contact with. She gave unsolicited and unwelcome touches and gropes. (She did that to me once: trust me, that’s not how to grab a penis). People in the group and in the dorm all commented on how she seemed constantly horny. She also seemed to have no regard or respect with her partners, which grew to include more than just Tina and Luke. In retrospect, I hate being judgmental, since everyone is different and sexual expression should be nobody’s business but the consenting (and knowing) adults who participate. Still, I loved my partners, but Sapphira seemed only interested in her own desires and pleasures. That to me was appalling. It still is. She also smugly boasted about the numbers of people she had “had.” She gave names, dates, positions. She would engage in very public displays of affection (usually snogging) while never showing any tenderness either in public or in smaller groups. She reveled in the notoriety of being bi, while I thought she was just trying to shock and didn’t care how she got pleasure, even if she didn’t care about her partners’ experiences: “I didn’t know there was such a thing as bad head…” said Benly once, after she had “outed” her relationship with him.
That was how Sapphira was. She still is in a lot of ways. So, it took me a long time to come out. I could see myself telling Willie, for example, who also saw such a wide array of Sapphira’s behaviors. “Willie, I’m bisexual.”
“You mean like Sapphira?”
“NO! NOT like Sapphira.”
Again, I say I hate to sound judgmental today, but I am still emotionally attracted to a partner, so to treat one, regardless of their gender, with such little regard is not how I was then and not how I am now. I love tenderness, sweetness, compassion, sharing, playfulness. I much prefer to make love with someone than to just fuck. I’ve done both, with men and women, & that is what I prefer. I can only speak for myself. Consenting adults who know what they’re doing should be able to express their sexuality with no fear.
Not only did Sapphira live in the women’s wing across from me, she was in a student group of which I was a member. Willie, who also lived in the women’s wing, was also a member. So, we all saw each other in 2 different social circles. I always thought Sapphira gave off weird pheromones. She didn’t smell bad or strongly, but there was a slight odor I detected whenever she was around. The aroma was a bit “off;” something didn’t smell right. Once, when Willie’s mother was visiting, she said, “Willie, what is that smell?”
“Oh, that’s just Sapphira, mom,” Willie said ingenuously.
I started dating Michelle and Matt in September. I was still trying to decide what to do when October 11th came around. That’s National Coming Out Day, if you didn’t know. Well, Sapphira came out as bi to the student group and to our dorm. She had been dating Luke, who was also in the student group but lived elsewhere. I was surprised and thought about saying, “Me, too!” But I didn’t.
As time wore on, Sapphira began showing up with Luke and now Tina in tow. Sometimes, she would make one of them sit in the hall while she was in her room with the other. Sometimes, Luke or Tina would wander around and chat with the rest of us. Once, Tina was talking to me when Sapphira screamed, “Tina! Here! NOW!” Luke was leaving the women’s wing, struggling to put his clothes back on.
As time wore on, not only was I feeling more conflicted about balancing dating Michelle and Matt at the same time, I was observing Sapphira. She would flirt and grope with anyone she came in contact with. She gave unsolicited and unwelcome touches and gropes. (She did that to me once: trust me, that’s not how to grab a penis). People in the group and in the dorm all commented on how she seemed constantly horny. She also seemed to have no regard or respect with her partners, which grew to include more than just Tina and Luke. In retrospect, I hate being judgmental, since everyone is different and sexual expression should be nobody’s business but the consenting (and knowing) adults who participate. Still, I loved my partners, but Sapphira seemed only interested in her own desires and pleasures. That to me was appalling. It still is. She also smugly boasted about the numbers of people she had “had.” She gave names, dates, positions. She would engage in very public displays of affection (usually snogging) while never showing any tenderness either in public or in smaller groups. She reveled in the notoriety of being bi, while I thought she was just trying to shock and didn’t care how she got pleasure, even if she didn’t care about her partners’ experiences: “I didn’t know there was such a thing as bad head…” said Benly once, after she had “outed” her relationship with him.
That was how Sapphira was. She still is in a lot of ways. So, it took me a long time to come out. I could see myself telling Willie, for example, who also saw such a wide array of Sapphira’s behaviors. “Willie, I’m bisexual.”
“You mean like Sapphira?”
“NO! NOT like Sapphira.”
Again, I say I hate to sound judgmental today, but I am still emotionally attracted to a partner, so to treat one, regardless of their gender, with such little regard is not how I was then and not how I am now. I love tenderness, sweetness, compassion, sharing, playfulness. I much prefer to make love with someone than to just fuck. I’ve done both, with men and women, & that is what I prefer. I can only speak for myself. Consenting adults who know what they’re doing should be able to express their sexuality with no fear.
Bisexual Questionnaire 1
1. How do you know you are not just gay/straight with some confusion about the other attraction?
A: It’s like in the military: you don’t think about or choose whom you “salute.” (I’m a man, so let that turn of phrase seep in & make sense)
2. Why don’t you just go with a woman, since it’d be so much easier?
A: Love is never easy. & I shouldn’t have to choose the “easier” path for love.
3. What is the sluttiest thing you’ve done in a bisexual way?
A: I was so aroused by an actress I had seen on television that I seduced my then-boyfriend to release the pent-up desire. (Dating two people at once may come close, but those were my first times. I was young.)
4. Are you completely bi? I mean, do you not prefer one sex over another?
A: I have tended to be more attracted (physically and emotionally at the same time) to men, but it’s all dependent on the person. My longest relationships have been with men, though.
5. Do all of your partners know that you are bi, not straight/gay?
A: Now, yes. Initially, no.
6. Since you’ve been with women…, are you a bottom when you’re with guys?
A: I’m versatile. Depends on our mood(s).
7. You said something about losing your virginity 5 times…?
A: Think about it. 3 holes. Two genders (nominally). I’ll let you figure it out to your liking.
8. Are you out to your friends?
A: To most of them, now. I don’t hide around them, but I don’t bother making a big announcement either. That’s just me. I’ll discuss why it took me a while to identify as bi in a later post.
9. What about to your family?
A: I was raised Southern Baptist, so no. They never wanted to hear when I was dating a woman, much less a man! I’ve dropped hints and hairpins, but nobody wants to pick them up. Some in my family are the kind who believe that if you ignore something long enough, it will go away. One sister who lives in southern Alabama is a very strict Baptist who uses the word “queer” like a sword from God. Nevertheless, I love her & her children, so I have feared breaking those ties. I’m selfish, because I love my nieces, nephew, etc., more than anything. I’d like to be out to them, but currently I’m not.
10. How long was your longest relationship?
A: Almost 5 years.
11. Could you be happy with just one person for the rest of your life? You know, not dally with someone of the other gender?
A: Yes, I do. I’m rather a romantic at heart, you see.
12. Have you ever dated someone else who was bi?
A: Yes.
13. Do you believe in God? Isn’t being bi a sin?
A: Yes, I do believe in God. I believe God made me how I am, & I do not believe that God is a cruel being who would make me this way and then say it was a sin.
14. Have you tried to not be bi?
A: Yes, I suppose I have. I bought into biphobia in both its facets. I tried to be just straight; I tried to be just gay. But the heart, mind, & loins want what they want. I have grown to accept and embrace that.
15. Are there any physical qualities that turn you off?
A: I generally don’t like men with long hair, women with fake breasts, people with mean streaks, ostentatious tattoos. I must admit people in good drag and genderfuck people mess with me just enough to limit my sexual chemistry. That’s a mess in my head that ought to be remedied.
16. Why are you doing this blog?
A: Therapeutic value for me. If it help someone else, that’s great. If not, bollocks.
17. Are you happy being bi?
A: Ecstatic. My happiness or unhappiness rarely springs solely from my sexual identity.
18. Who gives better head? Men or women?
A: Next question, please.
19. Aw, come on. How many questions do I get this time?
A: Twenty.
20. Twenty? Is that all?
A: Yes. We’ll have to do another set another time.
21. Can’t I ask a few more?
A: Thank you! Come again!
A: It’s like in the military: you don’t think about or choose whom you “salute.” (I’m a man, so let that turn of phrase seep in & make sense)
2. Why don’t you just go with a woman, since it’d be so much easier?
A: Love is never easy. & I shouldn’t have to choose the “easier” path for love.
3. What is the sluttiest thing you’ve done in a bisexual way?
A: I was so aroused by an actress I had seen on television that I seduced my then-boyfriend to release the pent-up desire. (Dating two people at once may come close, but those were my first times. I was young.)
4. Are you completely bi? I mean, do you not prefer one sex over another?
A: I have tended to be more attracted (physically and emotionally at the same time) to men, but it’s all dependent on the person. My longest relationships have been with men, though.
5. Do all of your partners know that you are bi, not straight/gay?
A: Now, yes. Initially, no.
6. Since you’ve been with women…, are you a bottom when you’re with guys?
A: I’m versatile. Depends on our mood(s).
7. You said something about losing your virginity 5 times…?
A: Think about it. 3 holes. Two genders (nominally). I’ll let you figure it out to your liking.
8. Are you out to your friends?
A: To most of them, now. I don’t hide around them, but I don’t bother making a big announcement either. That’s just me. I’ll discuss why it took me a while to identify as bi in a later post.
9. What about to your family?
A: I was raised Southern Baptist, so no. They never wanted to hear when I was dating a woman, much less a man! I’ve dropped hints and hairpins, but nobody wants to pick them up. Some in my family are the kind who believe that if you ignore something long enough, it will go away. One sister who lives in southern Alabama is a very strict Baptist who uses the word “queer” like a sword from God. Nevertheless, I love her & her children, so I have feared breaking those ties. I’m selfish, because I love my nieces, nephew, etc., more than anything. I’d like to be out to them, but currently I’m not.
10. How long was your longest relationship?
A: Almost 5 years.
11. Could you be happy with just one person for the rest of your life? You know, not dally with someone of the other gender?
A: Yes, I do. I’m rather a romantic at heart, you see.
12. Have you ever dated someone else who was bi?
A: Yes.
13. Do you believe in God? Isn’t being bi a sin?
A: Yes, I do believe in God. I believe God made me how I am, & I do not believe that God is a cruel being who would make me this way and then say it was a sin.
14. Have you tried to not be bi?
A: Yes, I suppose I have. I bought into biphobia in both its facets. I tried to be just straight; I tried to be just gay. But the heart, mind, & loins want what they want. I have grown to accept and embrace that.
15. Are there any physical qualities that turn you off?
A: I generally don’t like men with long hair, women with fake breasts, people with mean streaks, ostentatious tattoos. I must admit people in good drag and genderfuck people mess with me just enough to limit my sexual chemistry. That’s a mess in my head that ought to be remedied.
16. Why are you doing this blog?
A: Therapeutic value for me. If it help someone else, that’s great. If not, bollocks.
17. Are you happy being bi?
A: Ecstatic. My happiness or unhappiness rarely springs solely from my sexual identity.
18. Who gives better head? Men or women?
A: Next question, please.
19. Aw, come on. How many questions do I get this time?
A: Twenty.
20. Twenty? Is that all?
A: Yes. We’ll have to do another set another time.
21. Can’t I ask a few more?
A: Thank you! Come again!
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Celebrate Bisexuality Day!!
"[Being bisexual is] the worst of any world because you don't really belong anywhere, because you are never sure of yourself or those around you. You can't trust in anyone, their motives or their intentions. And because of that, you have, in a world that likes its nice shiny labels, no true identity."
—Ianto Jones in The Twilight Streets by Gary Russell
Today is September 23. Today is Celebrate Bisexuality Day. Bet you didn’t know we had a day, did you? It’s not meant to be divisive. It was only founded to remind people of one of those bands in that great rainbow flag of the LGBTQI community.
Being bisexual comes with a multitude of problems. You might be “too straight” for the gay community. You’re definitely too gay for the straight community. People might think you’re easy, slutty, or totally not picky. Some may even think you’re so desperate that you’d take any sexual contact regardless. Some blame you for spreading diseases. Some say you are just too scared to come “completely” out of the closet and are trying to maintain some of the privileges associated with heterosexuality. Some still see only binaries: you must be either straight or gay and are just in some “phase.” Yeah, it’s a phase called my whole life.
Bisexuals can be marginalized. In a heterosexist, patriarchal culture, that might seem obvious. But when gay & lesbian allies and friends also marginalize you for expressing your sexual identity while they embrace theirs, it is kind of unsettling and disappointing.
I am just me. I’m a kitchen door. I’m Gillette, because I cut both ways. AC/DC. I’m not usually slutty. I can be Jif, because I’m a choosy muther. Here I am; I can do no other. Amen.
Here are a few links if you are interested:
Biphobia
Bisexual Erasure
Celebrate Bisexuality Day
—Ianto Jones in The Twilight Streets by Gary Russell
Today is September 23. Today is Celebrate Bisexuality Day. Bet you didn’t know we had a day, did you? It’s not meant to be divisive. It was only founded to remind people of one of those bands in that great rainbow flag of the LGBTQI community.
Being bisexual comes with a multitude of problems. You might be “too straight” for the gay community. You’re definitely too gay for the straight community. People might think you’re easy, slutty, or totally not picky. Some may even think you’re so desperate that you’d take any sexual contact regardless. Some blame you for spreading diseases. Some say you are just too scared to come “completely” out of the closet and are trying to maintain some of the privileges associated with heterosexuality. Some still see only binaries: you must be either straight or gay and are just in some “phase.” Yeah, it’s a phase called my whole life.
Bisexuals can be marginalized. In a heterosexist, patriarchal culture, that might seem obvious. But when gay & lesbian allies and friends also marginalize you for expressing your sexual identity while they embrace theirs, it is kind of unsettling and disappointing.
I am just me. I’m a kitchen door. I’m Gillette, because I cut both ways. AC/DC. I’m not usually slutty. I can be Jif, because I’m a choosy muther. Here I am; I can do no other. Amen.
Here are a few links if you are interested:
Biphobia
Bisexual Erasure
Celebrate Bisexuality Day
Thursday, May 22, 2008
First Cuts Are the Deepest!
Maybe it’s watching episodes of Torchwood that have inspired my verbose diarrhea today. I have to admit that I’m a sucker for that show, although I tend to desire only one person at a time. Well, you know, the odd lustful look at someone else now & then, but when I am in a relationship, I am committed.
Unfortunately, that is not how it happened when I lost my virginity. I lost my virginity to a man and a woman in the span of about a month. I was in college. I had been living in a wonderfully old dorm at the University of __________. One side of this dorm had men’s rooms. The other side was women’s. Will and Matt lived on either side of me. Another Matt & Joe lived upstairs. A third Matt lived on the floor below, as did the usually sullen Tom. The “girls” included Sapphira, Karen, Gabriela, and Willie. I had many friends. I was still relatively social—not as withdrawn as I had been in my high school days. I had friends of all types. Older people (non-traditional students, as they call them). Men. Women. All shapes & sizes. Different sexual identities. People I thought were hot. People I didn’t think were as physically alluring, but whom I loved anyway. I was beginning to finally be comfortable with myself and with my possible attraction to either gender (yes, I am still basing this on that annoying dyad. Binaries are overly simplistic in most things, but that was how I was back then). I was happy just living my life, studying, hanging out with my multifaceted friends. I was never looking for a relationship. Funny how they found me.
I was eating dinner at one of the U cafeteria’s called Smokey’s with 2 friends of mine. We were talking away, & I was trying very hard to make Leo laugh. He was gay & had just been through a bad break-up. Our mutual friend Callie was there as well. We were trying to show him some goofiness in life. We each had plenty to spare! I was trying to be both witty and supremely, pratfally silly. I threw a piece of pie in the air to catch it. Leo laughed, but then the pie flew over my head and landed on an adjacent table where a woman was eating with a female friend of hers. I gasped! Fortunately, the pie missed, & it landed perfectly on her tray as if she herself had placed it there while in line. She turned to her friend and said, “Hey! Pie in the sky! And it’s FREE!” I couldn’t imagine someone being so unperturbed by something, but I apologized profusely for behaving like a fool. She turned around, and a pair of beautiful hazel eyes looked at me. She smiled, and it was like a toothpaste commercial with its blindingness. “It’s okay, but I get to keep the pie”. Her friend seemed mad at me, & I made apologies to her as well. “It’s no big deal,” the beautiful brunette said to me. I stammered something, & she laughed gently and comfortingly. I was relieved when I heard her laugh. Leo and Callie were stifling their laughter as hard as they could. When we all left later, they burst. I still felt weird, but at least Leo was laughing.
A couple days later, I saw her again in the Humanities & Social Sciences building. I must have had that same mortified look on my face, because she smiled again, & I immediately felt better (and warmer) all over. She approached me. I stood stupefied. “Hey, you, I’m Michelle. That was some act you put on the other night!”
“Well, I was just trying to make my friend feel…”
”I know. I wasn’t eavesdropping, but you all were talking so loudly. I was only a few feet away, you know. I couldn’t help hearing. I think it’s totally sweet what you were trying to do.”
“I didn’t mean to throw pie at you, I swear!”
“I know…perhaps you should buy me a piece sometime, hmmm?”
“….I…uh…I’d like that….As long as you don’t want me to throw it in the air & land that perfectly on a table again!”
She changed her smile to a faux pout, “Aww…that’s just what I was wanting!” She then laughed again. I felt my cheeks redden. “Oh, that’s so cute you’re blushing!” A joking retort failed me at that moment. We made plans to meet that evening for dinner.
Well, a wonderful time was had by us both. We talked for hours. She touched my hand at the table. I almost pulled it back like I was being shocked, because I was still afraid to let any kind of desire beyond friendship seep into me. I may have flinched, but I did not withdraw my hand. As the evening drew on & we walked back to her dorm, our hands clasped more tightly. But it didn’t seem tight. It just seemed comfortable. We walked closer together. When we got to her room, she said, “That was a lot of fun, but that’s as far as we go tonight.”
Since I was new to this and was raised never to think of anything beyond a peck on the cheek on a first date, I looked confused. “What kind of girl do you think I am?” She said in mock protest.
“What kind of girl do you think I am?!” I retorted, without even realizing the possible Freudian slip. She looked a bit befuddled and then laughed heartily, the way someone does who has not just experienced humor but joy. That laugh filled my heart and body with such warmth. She pulled me closer. I felt high. Her lips pressed themselves onto mine, then my lips, which had been pursed together to keep from stammering, opened, and warmth again enveloped me, while the rest of the world seemed to dissolve around me. The night did not end with a mere peck on the cheek.
Meanwhile, back at the Batcave, I mean, my dorm, I often hung out with the guys & girls there. With so many Matts around, it was always easy to find one to goof off with. Matt from upstairs was always hilarious. He loved Madonna, was all about Madonna, but he was straight, or so I thought. He was a rough-&-tumble, beer-guzzling, frat-boy type, but he just had this penchant for Madonna. I liked her music, too. Then as now, I collected and listened to a wide variety of music. I would fall asleep listening to nine inch nails, N.W.A., or Edvard Grieg. I borrowed some of Matt’s Madonna stuff to make copies for myself. One night, I was listening to some Ralph Vaughn Williams on my cassette player. I was so sleepy. It had been a long day with a bunch of tests. I had been up late the night before studying. I was so sleepy that I must’ve seemed stoned. There was a knock on the door. I struggled out of bed, & answered it (we had no peepholes in these archaic dorm doors). It was Matt. He didn’t just seem dazed & confused. He’d been out at one of the local bars that didn’t card. He was sloshed. “I was going to go to bed, but I wanted my Madonna CD to listen to…” he slurred.
“Okay, man. Gimme a sec, because I am so totally sleepy.” I blinked hard and tried to find a small light so that neither of us felt the burn on our retinas. I clicked the desk lamp, and we both still blinked like babes being born.
Matt slumped onto my bed since I was near the only chair in my small room. “Dude, I am so wasted!” he chuckled. I’d not noticed how warm his grin was before.
“I might as well be. I’m so fucking sleepy!” I said, trying to find his CD while not passing into a coma. Found it! I turned, & I noticed that he had gotten a haircut. He’d had a normal-ish haircut for the epoch, but he had gotten his hair cut short, like a high-and-tight that some military man might have. “You got your hair cut!”
“What? Oh, yeah. It’s been so hot lately & I wanted to try something different. Does it look all right?”
I thought it looked quite fine on him; I was starting to feel less sleepy and more alert. At least certain parts of me were. “Y-yes. I think it looks very good on you.”
He smiled and pretended to fix some coif. “Thanks!” He then laughed, & that smile returned. I could feel myself returning that grin. The Vaughn Williams was ending. He sighed a little. “Turn the tape over.”
“It’s not the same,” I protested.
“No, I don’t care. That was cool. Turn it over…if that’s okay with you.”
I smiled wryly and turned it over. Bananarama came out of the speakers. Matt bolted upright. “I said turn it over…”
“I did, that is truly what’s on the other side of that tape!” I giggled. Matt laughed and slowly got to his feet. He was so wobbly, he lost his balance. I caught him. His face was inches from mine. I could smell the odor of beer and God-knows-what-else on his breath. “I thought you’d have classical music on the other side.”
“I did. It’s classic pop from Bananarama!” I smiled.
He laughed, and his mouth opened wide. I was so tempted to kiss him, but he pushed me onto the bed. He immediately jumped onto that small dorm bed next to me and began to tickle me. I couldn’t help laughing and tickled him back. He knocked some books off my bedside table off. I could hear stirring from the rooms around us. He looked very contrite. “I am so sorry, “ he pleaded.
“It’s okay,” I reassured him.
“I am so wasted. Can I stay here tonight?” He looked into my eyes, and again our faces were inches apart.
“…Sure, whatever you want,” I said. He looked at me again with puppydog eyes. He then laid his head on my chest next to my shoulder, and promptly fell asleep. When he was asleep, I gently kissed his forehead, and had pleasant dreams through the night.
I awoke in the morning when Matt stirred. That short haircut of his tickled my neck, right between my earlobe and jaw. This tickling sensation traveled through my body, including giving me the clichéd “shivers down my spine.” I chuckled a little, and Matt’s eyes opened. He looked at me and smiled softly. “Are you all right this morning?” I asked.
He rubbed his eyes, “Yeah, I think so.”
“You were pretty smashed last night. Do you have a hangover?”
He stretched and yawned, “No, I don’t think I do.” While stretching, he hit my chest with one of those extending arms. “Oh, gosh, I’m sorry!”
“It’s okay. It’s not like you hit me hard, or on purpose.”
He looked at me with a serious look on his face. “Did I do or say anything last night that was…embarrassing?”
“Nothing totally embarrassing, except laugh at my Bananarama tape.”
He put his hands on his head, “Oh, I think I remember that.”
“Yeah, & then you tickled me until I thought I would puke.”
“I did?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Did I…do anything else stupid like that?” He started to look embarrassed again.
“I didn’t think it was stupid.” I then goosed him in the side.
“Stop it!” he laughed, and then he goosed me back. We tickled each other again, but this time we were both fully conscious. We were laughing more than actually tickling until we were both out of breath. Our faces lay inches apart again. “So, I didn’t try anything last night?”
”Like what?” I was only half-jokingly purring when I said that.
Whether he got the joke or not, he looked at me and said, “Like this…” He leaned his head in and kissed me. I had never kissed a man before. I had thought Matt was totally straight despite his Madonna fetish. I was surprised, even if it was what I kind of wanted, and didn’t immediately kiss him back, which he must have noticed. He pulled back. “Oh, my God! I am so sorry!” He sat up and was getting ready to bolt.
“Wait!” I grabbed his arm, more roughly than I meant to. He looked down at my hand grasping his arm. I released him and caressed the area as gently as I could. He looked at me again, & I smiled and put my other hand on his neck below his ear. I stroked him there and pulled him down. Just like with Michelle, my lips parted in acceptance, and again the world apart from our two bodies vanished.
I guess you could say I dated both Michelle and Matt for almost three months, when our schedules permitted. We all practiced safe sex (this was the late 80s). I felt conflicted about dating them both at the same time. I had to turn down date opportunities with Matt because I had made plans with Michelle, and vice-versa. My birthday was also coming up. It was perilously close to the Christmas break. Things at home were not going well. My folks were fighting, mostly about my younger sister, who was in very full-fledged adolescent rebellion. That stress and my inability to do anything about it added to a nagging guilt. I decided that I would make a commitment to either Michelle or Matt, although my feelings for each of them were deep. I again loved 2 people at once. My birthday passed, and I was somehow able to juggle 2 dates at 2 different times. Both Michelle and Matt gave me very special gifts. I felt exhilarated and guilty. Then, my Mom called for my birthday. She was home alone, because my Dad was out looking for my sister. Well, happy birthday to me! I resolved to make a decision.
It was almost Christmas break. My sister hadn’t run away, but she been mostly gone for a week. Finals were looming. Michelle was busy a lot; her architecture classes were stressing her. Matt was drunk a lot; he had to get the partying in. I had to cram for a Japanese final & a Spanish final which were 15 minutes apart. Mixing those two languages up wouldn’t do! Dates were few and brief. Michelle had a killer schedule for the upcoming semester. Mine was going to be less hectic. Matt never let studies get in the way of his fun. I wanted some fun, too, didn't I?, so I made my decision.
I told Michelle that I cared for her very deeply, but that I wasn’t sure if we should continue as a couple. She was very upset, but she never seemed crushed. I never knew what to think of that. She said that her upcoming year would be so busy that it would indeed be practical at the very least. She hugged me, and kissed me. Then, she pulled back and looked at me. She had a quizzical look on her face, “Is there someone else, too?” I was stunned.
“Why would you ask that?”
“Because I can feel it.”
“What? …how?”
“Maybe it’s just something a woman can feel…”
“I…I don’t know what to say.”
“I think I know the answer to my question. I’m sorry I couldn’t be all you needed.” She turned. I tried to hold her, but she shrugged me off. “Go on. Go. I’ll be okay.”
“You’re better than okay. It’s not you; it’s me.” I could hear my own heart and brain saying to me, “I can’t believe you said that!” Michelle looked at me as if she would say the same thing. “I wish you a good life, __________. I know I’ll have a good one!” She strode away sure-footedly. I was left standing and feeling a little stupid and cruel.
Still torn by that, I went to talk to Matt. I got back to my dorm room. My mom called. She & my father were coming now (2 days ahead of schedule) to pick me up so that I could come help them look for my sister. Why couldn’t I have had a car of my own instead of being subject to their schedules? I protested, but it did no good. I slammed down the phone and felt like crying. I lay down, hoping I could fall asleep and forget about all my stresses.
About a half hour later, there was a knock at the door. It was Matt. “Come on in,” I offered.
“What’s wrong, man? You look like hell!”
“Just stressed.”
“That shit at home?”
“That’s part of it. My folks are coming in the next hour or so to come get me.”
“God, I don’t have much time to say goodbye, then, do I?” He tousled my hair & grinned.
“Matt. What do you want to do next year?”
“Whaddya mean?”
“About us?”
“Us?”
“Do want to just keep dating or—“
“Whoa! We’re not dating.”
“…What? What would you call it then?”
“We…you know...hang out.”
“I hang out with lots of people. I don’t kiss them in the ways I kiss you.”
“Well, we’re just having fun. It’s nothing serious. Did you think this was serious? Oh, God! I’m sorry!” He held me close. I felt a least one good-sized tear run down my face and onto his neck.
“I just want to know, Matt, why you would think that going to dinner, watching a movie, coming back to your place or my place & spending the night doesn’t count as dating.”
“That’s what boys & girls do. We’re both dudes.” He chuckled, trying to lighten my mood, but it failed.
“It’s what I do, regardless…”
“Look, __________, I like you. I really like you, & I don’t mean to hurt you. I really enjoy hanging out with you, & I do have to admit I really enjoy the sex.”
“I like all that as well. I like you too, Matt. I could even love you. Could you love me?”
Matt looked at me and sighed. “I…don’t know. At this point in my life, I kind of doubt it.”
“Then, maybe this isn’t going to work out…”
“But, we have such great times together. Maybe things’ll change. Maybe I’ll feel the same way for you as you feel for me.” His hand started to move down my body toward my navel. When it went below there, I grabbed it to stop it.
“No. My parents will be here soon.”
“…okay, but let me give you a Christmas present, please!” He kissed me. Although I kissed back, I could tell that he was trying to impress me, to make me want him right now. I felt I could taste beer already despite the early afternoon hour. He released me, and hugged me again, but it was much more awkward this time. “Have a great break. I’ll see you in January.”
“Bye, Matt.”
Matt turned and headed for the stairwell. He turned back & blew me a kiss. I stood there and smiled. He smiled back, thinking that I had been open to that display, but I smiled because I was thinking, “Why is he doing that now, after all this time? What does he hope to get out of it?”
My parents arrived about a half hour later. We searched for days for my sister. She missed Christmas without a word, a call, nothing. Finally, the phone rang. It was Matt. He was drunk. He was wanting to wish me happy holidays and begged me to come to see him, although he lived 5 hours away. I told him that I had to go because my sister just pulled up in some nasty-looking car. She showed up with some smokey, cokey, skanky guy. She was rude and mean. We were all yelling, which I know is counter-communicative, but we were all riled. My sister flailed her arms to make a “point.” I thought she had hit our mother. I assaulted her. A huge fight erupted. Police were called, but she ran off again. We found her again later. My father refused family counseling because only “she” had a problem. No one brought up the fact that the shy, introverted guy had struck his little sister. I think back know and am mortified, especially because I know that there is no way in Heaven or Hell that she would have hit Mom. If anything, she would’ve hit our asshole father. I can never erase the guilt of that night. I have apologized to her since then, but I still don’t know how much was me wanting to smack Matt or even cosh myself for screwing myself up so completely in one semester’s time. My sister is now well-adjusted (probably better than anyone else in our family). She has forgiven me, because I begged her for forgiveness. I said I was stressed and thought that she had hit Mom in that time of stress. She said, “Even then, if I thought you had hit Mama, I would have kicked your ass first & asked questions later.”
I have since told her a little about the additional stresses that helped lead me to such a dark place that I pray never to see in myself again. Not the whole story. She knows I was seriously dating for the first time, that it was two people at the same time, and that they both ended right before all hell broke loose at home. I just never quite got the nerve to tell her the chromosomal make-up of both involved, but sometimes, I think she knows.
So, I lost my virginity, in 5 ways, to 2 different people in the span of a month. Then, I nearly lost my mind. That was due to Hamleting by not making up my mind and by having too many stresses at once at such a young age. Ah, na laetha gael m’óige! I have always been completely monogamous since then, regardless of the gender of my partner. That’s my story. Might not resonate with you, but each person is so intimately different from everyone else that who knows what we may find in each other, with each other?
Unfortunately, that is not how it happened when I lost my virginity. I lost my virginity to a man and a woman in the span of about a month. I was in college. I had been living in a wonderfully old dorm at the University of __________. One side of this dorm had men’s rooms. The other side was women’s. Will and Matt lived on either side of me. Another Matt & Joe lived upstairs. A third Matt lived on the floor below, as did the usually sullen Tom. The “girls” included Sapphira, Karen, Gabriela, and Willie. I had many friends. I was still relatively social—not as withdrawn as I had been in my high school days. I had friends of all types. Older people (non-traditional students, as they call them). Men. Women. All shapes & sizes. Different sexual identities. People I thought were hot. People I didn’t think were as physically alluring, but whom I loved anyway. I was beginning to finally be comfortable with myself and with my possible attraction to either gender (yes, I am still basing this on that annoying dyad. Binaries are overly simplistic in most things, but that was how I was back then). I was happy just living my life, studying, hanging out with my multifaceted friends. I was never looking for a relationship. Funny how they found me.
I was eating dinner at one of the U cafeteria’s called Smokey’s with 2 friends of mine. We were talking away, & I was trying very hard to make Leo laugh. He was gay & had just been through a bad break-up. Our mutual friend Callie was there as well. We were trying to show him some goofiness in life. We each had plenty to spare! I was trying to be both witty and supremely, pratfally silly. I threw a piece of pie in the air to catch it. Leo laughed, but then the pie flew over my head and landed on an adjacent table where a woman was eating with a female friend of hers. I gasped! Fortunately, the pie missed, & it landed perfectly on her tray as if she herself had placed it there while in line. She turned to her friend and said, “Hey! Pie in the sky! And it’s FREE!” I couldn’t imagine someone being so unperturbed by something, but I apologized profusely for behaving like a fool. She turned around, and a pair of beautiful hazel eyes looked at me. She smiled, and it was like a toothpaste commercial with its blindingness. “It’s okay, but I get to keep the pie”. Her friend seemed mad at me, & I made apologies to her as well. “It’s no big deal,” the beautiful brunette said to me. I stammered something, & she laughed gently and comfortingly. I was relieved when I heard her laugh. Leo and Callie were stifling their laughter as hard as they could. When we all left later, they burst. I still felt weird, but at least Leo was laughing.
A couple days later, I saw her again in the Humanities & Social Sciences building. I must have had that same mortified look on my face, because she smiled again, & I immediately felt better (and warmer) all over. She approached me. I stood stupefied. “Hey, you, I’m Michelle. That was some act you put on the other night!”
“Well, I was just trying to make my friend feel…”
”I know. I wasn’t eavesdropping, but you all were talking so loudly. I was only a few feet away, you know. I couldn’t help hearing. I think it’s totally sweet what you were trying to do.”
“I didn’t mean to throw pie at you, I swear!”
“I know…perhaps you should buy me a piece sometime, hmmm?”
“….I…uh…I’d like that….As long as you don’t want me to throw it in the air & land that perfectly on a table again!”
She changed her smile to a faux pout, “Aww…that’s just what I was wanting!” She then laughed again. I felt my cheeks redden. “Oh, that’s so cute you’re blushing!” A joking retort failed me at that moment. We made plans to meet that evening for dinner.
Well, a wonderful time was had by us both. We talked for hours. She touched my hand at the table. I almost pulled it back like I was being shocked, because I was still afraid to let any kind of desire beyond friendship seep into me. I may have flinched, but I did not withdraw my hand. As the evening drew on & we walked back to her dorm, our hands clasped more tightly. But it didn’t seem tight. It just seemed comfortable. We walked closer together. When we got to her room, she said, “That was a lot of fun, but that’s as far as we go tonight.”
Since I was new to this and was raised never to think of anything beyond a peck on the cheek on a first date, I looked confused. “What kind of girl do you think I am?” She said in mock protest.
“What kind of girl do you think I am?!” I retorted, without even realizing the possible Freudian slip. She looked a bit befuddled and then laughed heartily, the way someone does who has not just experienced humor but joy. That laugh filled my heart and body with such warmth. She pulled me closer. I felt high. Her lips pressed themselves onto mine, then my lips, which had been pursed together to keep from stammering, opened, and warmth again enveloped me, while the rest of the world seemed to dissolve around me. The night did not end with a mere peck on the cheek.
Meanwhile, back at the Batcave, I mean, my dorm, I often hung out with the guys & girls there. With so many Matts around, it was always easy to find one to goof off with. Matt from upstairs was always hilarious. He loved Madonna, was all about Madonna, but he was straight, or so I thought. He was a rough-&-tumble, beer-guzzling, frat-boy type, but he just had this penchant for Madonna. I liked her music, too. Then as now, I collected and listened to a wide variety of music. I would fall asleep listening to nine inch nails, N.W.A., or Edvard Grieg. I borrowed some of Matt’s Madonna stuff to make copies for myself. One night, I was listening to some Ralph Vaughn Williams on my cassette player. I was so sleepy. It had been a long day with a bunch of tests. I had been up late the night before studying. I was so sleepy that I must’ve seemed stoned. There was a knock on the door. I struggled out of bed, & answered it (we had no peepholes in these archaic dorm doors). It was Matt. He didn’t just seem dazed & confused. He’d been out at one of the local bars that didn’t card. He was sloshed. “I was going to go to bed, but I wanted my Madonna CD to listen to…” he slurred.
“Okay, man. Gimme a sec, because I am so totally sleepy.” I blinked hard and tried to find a small light so that neither of us felt the burn on our retinas. I clicked the desk lamp, and we both still blinked like babes being born.
Matt slumped onto my bed since I was near the only chair in my small room. “Dude, I am so wasted!” he chuckled. I’d not noticed how warm his grin was before.
“I might as well be. I’m so fucking sleepy!” I said, trying to find his CD while not passing into a coma. Found it! I turned, & I noticed that he had gotten a haircut. He’d had a normal-ish haircut for the epoch, but he had gotten his hair cut short, like a high-and-tight that some military man might have. “You got your hair cut!”
“What? Oh, yeah. It’s been so hot lately & I wanted to try something different. Does it look all right?”
I thought it looked quite fine on him; I was starting to feel less sleepy and more alert. At least certain parts of me were. “Y-yes. I think it looks very good on you.”
He smiled and pretended to fix some coif. “Thanks!” He then laughed, & that smile returned. I could feel myself returning that grin. The Vaughn Williams was ending. He sighed a little. “Turn the tape over.”
“It’s not the same,” I protested.
“No, I don’t care. That was cool. Turn it over…if that’s okay with you.”
I smiled wryly and turned it over. Bananarama came out of the speakers. Matt bolted upright. “I said turn it over…”
“I did, that is truly what’s on the other side of that tape!” I giggled. Matt laughed and slowly got to his feet. He was so wobbly, he lost his balance. I caught him. His face was inches from mine. I could smell the odor of beer and God-knows-what-else on his breath. “I thought you’d have classical music on the other side.”
“I did. It’s classic pop from Bananarama!” I smiled.
He laughed, and his mouth opened wide. I was so tempted to kiss him, but he pushed me onto the bed. He immediately jumped onto that small dorm bed next to me and began to tickle me. I couldn’t help laughing and tickled him back. He knocked some books off my bedside table off. I could hear stirring from the rooms around us. He looked very contrite. “I am so sorry, “ he pleaded.
“It’s okay,” I reassured him.
“I am so wasted. Can I stay here tonight?” He looked into my eyes, and again our faces were inches apart.
“…Sure, whatever you want,” I said. He looked at me again with puppydog eyes. He then laid his head on my chest next to my shoulder, and promptly fell asleep. When he was asleep, I gently kissed his forehead, and had pleasant dreams through the night.
I awoke in the morning when Matt stirred. That short haircut of his tickled my neck, right between my earlobe and jaw. This tickling sensation traveled through my body, including giving me the clichéd “shivers down my spine.” I chuckled a little, and Matt’s eyes opened. He looked at me and smiled softly. “Are you all right this morning?” I asked.
He rubbed his eyes, “Yeah, I think so.”
“You were pretty smashed last night. Do you have a hangover?”
He stretched and yawned, “No, I don’t think I do.” While stretching, he hit my chest with one of those extending arms. “Oh, gosh, I’m sorry!”
“It’s okay. It’s not like you hit me hard, or on purpose.”
He looked at me with a serious look on his face. “Did I do or say anything last night that was…embarrassing?”
“Nothing totally embarrassing, except laugh at my Bananarama tape.”
He put his hands on his head, “Oh, I think I remember that.”
“Yeah, & then you tickled me until I thought I would puke.”
“I did?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Did I…do anything else stupid like that?” He started to look embarrassed again.
“I didn’t think it was stupid.” I then goosed him in the side.
“Stop it!” he laughed, and then he goosed me back. We tickled each other again, but this time we were both fully conscious. We were laughing more than actually tickling until we were both out of breath. Our faces lay inches apart again. “So, I didn’t try anything last night?”
”Like what?” I was only half-jokingly purring when I said that.
Whether he got the joke or not, he looked at me and said, “Like this…” He leaned his head in and kissed me. I had never kissed a man before. I had thought Matt was totally straight despite his Madonna fetish. I was surprised, even if it was what I kind of wanted, and didn’t immediately kiss him back, which he must have noticed. He pulled back. “Oh, my God! I am so sorry!” He sat up and was getting ready to bolt.
“Wait!” I grabbed his arm, more roughly than I meant to. He looked down at my hand grasping his arm. I released him and caressed the area as gently as I could. He looked at me again, & I smiled and put my other hand on his neck below his ear. I stroked him there and pulled him down. Just like with Michelle, my lips parted in acceptance, and again the world apart from our two bodies vanished.
I guess you could say I dated both Michelle and Matt for almost three months, when our schedules permitted. We all practiced safe sex (this was the late 80s). I felt conflicted about dating them both at the same time. I had to turn down date opportunities with Matt because I had made plans with Michelle, and vice-versa. My birthday was also coming up. It was perilously close to the Christmas break. Things at home were not going well. My folks were fighting, mostly about my younger sister, who was in very full-fledged adolescent rebellion. That stress and my inability to do anything about it added to a nagging guilt. I decided that I would make a commitment to either Michelle or Matt, although my feelings for each of them were deep. I again loved 2 people at once. My birthday passed, and I was somehow able to juggle 2 dates at 2 different times. Both Michelle and Matt gave me very special gifts. I felt exhilarated and guilty. Then, my Mom called for my birthday. She was home alone, because my Dad was out looking for my sister. Well, happy birthday to me! I resolved to make a decision.
It was almost Christmas break. My sister hadn’t run away, but she been mostly gone for a week. Finals were looming. Michelle was busy a lot; her architecture classes were stressing her. Matt was drunk a lot; he had to get the partying in. I had to cram for a Japanese final & a Spanish final which were 15 minutes apart. Mixing those two languages up wouldn’t do! Dates were few and brief. Michelle had a killer schedule for the upcoming semester. Mine was going to be less hectic. Matt never let studies get in the way of his fun. I wanted some fun, too, didn't I?, so I made my decision.
I told Michelle that I cared for her very deeply, but that I wasn’t sure if we should continue as a couple. She was very upset, but she never seemed crushed. I never knew what to think of that. She said that her upcoming year would be so busy that it would indeed be practical at the very least. She hugged me, and kissed me. Then, she pulled back and looked at me. She had a quizzical look on her face, “Is there someone else, too?” I was stunned.
“Why would you ask that?”
“Because I can feel it.”
“What? …how?”
“Maybe it’s just something a woman can feel…”
“I…I don’t know what to say.”
“I think I know the answer to my question. I’m sorry I couldn’t be all you needed.” She turned. I tried to hold her, but she shrugged me off. “Go on. Go. I’ll be okay.”
“You’re better than okay. It’s not you; it’s me.” I could hear my own heart and brain saying to me, “I can’t believe you said that!” Michelle looked at me as if she would say the same thing. “I wish you a good life, __________. I know I’ll have a good one!” She strode away sure-footedly. I was left standing and feeling a little stupid and cruel.
Still torn by that, I went to talk to Matt. I got back to my dorm room. My mom called. She & my father were coming now (2 days ahead of schedule) to pick me up so that I could come help them look for my sister. Why couldn’t I have had a car of my own instead of being subject to their schedules? I protested, but it did no good. I slammed down the phone and felt like crying. I lay down, hoping I could fall asleep and forget about all my stresses.
About a half hour later, there was a knock at the door. It was Matt. “Come on in,” I offered.
“What’s wrong, man? You look like hell!”
“Just stressed.”
“That shit at home?”
“That’s part of it. My folks are coming in the next hour or so to come get me.”
“God, I don’t have much time to say goodbye, then, do I?” He tousled my hair & grinned.
“Matt. What do you want to do next year?”
“Whaddya mean?”
“About us?”
“Us?”
“Do want to just keep dating or—“
“Whoa! We’re not dating.”
“…What? What would you call it then?”
“We…you know...hang out.”
“I hang out with lots of people. I don’t kiss them in the ways I kiss you.”
“Well, we’re just having fun. It’s nothing serious. Did you think this was serious? Oh, God! I’m sorry!” He held me close. I felt a least one good-sized tear run down my face and onto his neck.
“I just want to know, Matt, why you would think that going to dinner, watching a movie, coming back to your place or my place & spending the night doesn’t count as dating.”
“That’s what boys & girls do. We’re both dudes.” He chuckled, trying to lighten my mood, but it failed.
“It’s what I do, regardless…”
“Look, __________, I like you. I really like you, & I don’t mean to hurt you. I really enjoy hanging out with you, & I do have to admit I really enjoy the sex.”
“I like all that as well. I like you too, Matt. I could even love you. Could you love me?”
Matt looked at me and sighed. “I…don’t know. At this point in my life, I kind of doubt it.”
“Then, maybe this isn’t going to work out…”
“But, we have such great times together. Maybe things’ll change. Maybe I’ll feel the same way for you as you feel for me.” His hand started to move down my body toward my navel. When it went below there, I grabbed it to stop it.
“No. My parents will be here soon.”
“…okay, but let me give you a Christmas present, please!” He kissed me. Although I kissed back, I could tell that he was trying to impress me, to make me want him right now. I felt I could taste beer already despite the early afternoon hour. He released me, and hugged me again, but it was much more awkward this time. “Have a great break. I’ll see you in January.”
“Bye, Matt.”
Matt turned and headed for the stairwell. He turned back & blew me a kiss. I stood there and smiled. He smiled back, thinking that I had been open to that display, but I smiled because I was thinking, “Why is he doing that now, after all this time? What does he hope to get out of it?”
My parents arrived about a half hour later. We searched for days for my sister. She missed Christmas without a word, a call, nothing. Finally, the phone rang. It was Matt. He was drunk. He was wanting to wish me happy holidays and begged me to come to see him, although he lived 5 hours away. I told him that I had to go because my sister just pulled up in some nasty-looking car. She showed up with some smokey, cokey, skanky guy. She was rude and mean. We were all yelling, which I know is counter-communicative, but we were all riled. My sister flailed her arms to make a “point.” I thought she had hit our mother. I assaulted her. A huge fight erupted. Police were called, but she ran off again. We found her again later. My father refused family counseling because only “she” had a problem. No one brought up the fact that the shy, introverted guy had struck his little sister. I think back know and am mortified, especially because I know that there is no way in Heaven or Hell that she would have hit Mom. If anything, she would’ve hit our asshole father. I can never erase the guilt of that night. I have apologized to her since then, but I still don’t know how much was me wanting to smack Matt or even cosh myself for screwing myself up so completely in one semester’s time. My sister is now well-adjusted (probably better than anyone else in our family). She has forgiven me, because I begged her for forgiveness. I said I was stressed and thought that she had hit Mom in that time of stress. She said, “Even then, if I thought you had hit Mama, I would have kicked your ass first & asked questions later.”
I have since told her a little about the additional stresses that helped lead me to such a dark place that I pray never to see in myself again. Not the whole story. She knows I was seriously dating for the first time, that it was two people at the same time, and that they both ended right before all hell broke loose at home. I just never quite got the nerve to tell her the chromosomal make-up of both involved, but sometimes, I think she knows.
So, I lost my virginity, in 5 ways, to 2 different people in the span of a month. Then, I nearly lost my mind. That was due to Hamleting by not making up my mind and by having too many stresses at once at such a young age. Ah, na laetha gael m’óige! I have always been completely monogamous since then, regardless of the gender of my partner. That’s my story. Might not resonate with you, but each person is so intimately different from everyone else that who knows what we may find in each other, with each other?
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