Yeah, after all this time, I think I’m gonna hafta go with…

Bisexual.  Or at least “sexually fluid straight male” as sex therapist Joe Kort coined it.

The doubt, the questioning–the dilemma–has always been Why is it that I’m not nearly as visually attracted to men as I am to women, and yet I still want to have sex with them?

The possibility of “just a kink”, “just a fetish” never felt adequate.  It felt dirty.  Disrespectful, both to me and to my (imagined) male partner(s).

Then I finally realized:  Simple biSEXuality is a legitimate form of bisexuality.  That is to say, although there are indeed differences between sexual orientation, sexual behavior, and sexual identity, feeling that one has an inclination towards both genders in any one of these areas is well and truly grounds for the bisexual label, if one chooses it for himself.

And I need a label, despite people constantly saying that labels are limiting, counterproductive, unhelpful, problematic, etc.  Labels help us understand ourselves.  They help us juxtapose ourselves in a space and time and in social and biological constructs.  There are those of course who are content to happily embrace the wonderful ambiguity and complexity of the human being, but I’m not one of them.  I need to feel grounded.  Situated.

I’ll probably never really “come out of the closet” with this.  There’s no need to, and it could prove counterproductive.  I think my wife already kinda suspects I’m somewhat bi to some degree, but if I were to boldly just assert it, I’m not sure how she would react.  And since I have no intention of ever seeking male-male sex or romance, there’s no point in telling her anyway.  I guess this just has to be private.  Between me and my blog.  (Oh, and reddit.  I put stuff anonymously on reddit, LOL.)

Bi-flag_new

A lot can change quickly. Plus, more “straight-gay” stuff.

I realized recently that it’s been a while since I’ve posted anything here.  That’s good, I guess.  It means that not much is troubling me to any great degree.  So I’ll take this quiet opportunity afforded by the blowings-over of Tropical Storm Harvey to catch up.

It’s funny:  The things I struggle with the most (eg, gender identity) ebb and flow like the tide.  Right now, for example, I feel about 98.5% happily masculine, and have for weeks.  Summer seems to bring out the male in me, and when I feel the vaguely “autogynephilic” idealization the strongest, it’s always in fall and winter.  I have no idea why.  But I’m not questioning it.  Just enjoying the lack of inner turmoil over it at the moment.

I still have a lot of inner questioning and confusion, however, over my homosexual desires.  What confuses me is that they shouldn’t be there: I’m honestly, legitimately STRAIGHT.  So why is it that women turn me on so much and fulfill me emotionally, but I also want to have sex with men??

(In a recent post I “came out” as bisexual, but that still feels wrong for some reason.)

Answers to this question run a predictable (and unsatisfying) gamut:

“You’re gay and in denial.”  Um, no…if you could feel my raging boner hormones for Mila Kunis or Melissa Fumero, you’d know that’s just not true. (I’ve also been happily married for 17 years.)  Plus, it’s unwarranted and unfair to just dismiss someone’s claims of subjective sexual identity experience merely because they don’t conform to your own worldview.  A lot of gays, for example, will use the “you’re gay and in denial” approach with someone like me.  I’m pretty sure that they would be highly insulted, however, if someone were to tell them, “You’re really straight and just in denial.  This is just a phase.  A kink.  You’re just confused.”  No, they KNOW they’re gay, skin to bone, especially if they’ve already started sleeping with other men.  Likewise, I KNOW I’m straight.  My anxiety and confusion does not arise from such a question as “Am I gay?” but rather from “How does it work that I’m straight AND I want gay sex?”

“You’re bisexual.”  Eh…that label doesn’t fit. Not interested in men romantically. Just want them to fuck me silly.  And I don’t generally get skip-a-beat turned on by goodlooking guys in public, like I do with women.

“It’s just a kink.”  No, that descriptor feels wrong, too.  The idea of gay sex is still appealing even after I orgasm from the fantasy.  It resides.  It’s like a permanent and natural and respectable part of my “sex brain”.  And it’s not just a cheap, nasty, porno thrill: when I fantasize, I care for the man’s enjoyment in the sex, view him as a full person, and not just any man would do: he’s gotta be hot.  (And I definitely have a type.)

“You’re heteroflexible/heteroromantic-homosexual.”  Um…what the fuck is THAT? I mean, I get the idea, but I can find no evidence that such a thing even exists.  Thinking about it, though, I have to be honest:  There are elements of being attracted to women romantically that I hear other people describe that are just kinda…weird to me.  Some guys talk about having a crush on a girl and really wanting to sleep with her.  It’s strange…It’s not that I don’t enjoy sex, but wanting to fuck your love interest has always been a little alien to me.  It’s like…love and sex are different, and even though I would love to be able to have both at the same time, I find myself incapable of truly expressing myself sexually with a woman.  Fuck’s sake, now I don’t even know what I’m saying.  I’m going too deep, maybe overstating things.  Better end this now.

 

 

how?

How do I deal with the psychological disintegration of living a fractured, compartmentalized life?

How do I go on forever–for the absolute rest of my life–living without the physical fulfillment of part of my sexual identity?

I can never, ever, EVER meet this need.  EVER.  It’s been there since my teen years, but I didn’t even know what to call it back then.  But I know who I am now, and society has more openly identified and accepted people like me.  But it’s utterly pointless and harmful for me to come out, and even if I did, I still wouldn’t be able to self-actualize.

I love my wife so deeply.  She really is, when it comes down to it, all I will ever need.  But I ache.

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I. am. bisexual.  It’s not a “fad” or “cool” for me because it seems to be in vogue right now.  I carry this burden–and it is a BURDEN–alone.

I cannot count the fantasies, the desperate masturbations and ejaculations, brought about because I have a specific sexual sub-identity and specific needs that my overt, dominant, straight, public, heteronormative and heteroromantic self cannot rationalize exposing.  But more importantly, I cannot EVER break my marriage vows.

I ache.  And I just wonder, how?

 

I am DONE with porn.

And I mean, DONE.  39 days ago was the last time.  I had carried this secret addiction for a decade.  A fucking decade.  My porn compulsion was never super-intense, never all-consuming, never something that I viewed more than 2 or 3 times a week, at my worst.  But that’s not the point.  The point is, I couldn’t stop.  I knew it, and it was slowly destroying my heart.  Worst of all, it was driving a wedge between me and my wife.  I came clean to her 39 days ago, and characteristically, she graciously forgave me and offered her support in whatever way I needed it to heal from this.  More on that in a moment.*
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First, my thoughts on pornography itself.  Besides how simply undeniably ashamed I felt after viewing it, I have real ethical objections to porn.  And they’re not religious in nature, obviously (me being an atheist, and all).  The adult industry, despite what any insider is going to say, is rife with drug use and disease.  And ultimately deception, heartache, and regret.  Young women perform acts that they’re paid well for (who’s to say how willingly), but on the average their careers are short, and those films will remain in the public’s hands forever.  I cannot help but see that as exploitation.  Some consumers have countered that amateur pornography is not exploitative in that it is strictly voluntary and “home grown”, but there are even bigger problems with viewing amateur porn, in my opinion:

1.  You can’t be sure that what you’re watching is even legal (ie, age of the performers);
2.  You can’t be sure that what you’re watching wasn’t uploaded as “revenge porn”;
3.  You can’t be sure that what you’re watching doesn’t involve human trafficking.

Further: Porn keeps pushing you further, deeper, darker.  It takes more and more extreme imagery to titillate you, and the dopamine rush and orgasms those images provide are more intense than natural sex.  You want more and more.  It literally functions in the brain like a drug.  Actual brain research studies have shown this.

And porn is lazy.  It’s selfish.  It’s a form of satisfaction that says, “I don’t care about pleasing another partner; this is ALL about me.”  It’s no wonder it’s easy to get hooked.  Laziness is…well, easy.

Bottom line: I love porn.  And I hate it.  And I hate that I love it.  But I’ll never see it again.

Now, I know that there are always sexual-political shitstorms raging about feminist issues surrounding pornography (is it empowering? is it degrading? does it liberate women into new self-driven industries? does it perpetuate the patriarchy?).

2006-10-14 - United Kingdom - England - London - Trafalgar Square - Pornography
CC BY-SA 2.0, CGPGrey.com

Frankly I don’t give much of a shit about any of that.  If a woman wants to be a porn actor, fine.  But for ME, consuming porn in any way is just wrong.

* My wife didn’t catch me to instantiate this turning over of a new leaf.  I just found myself getting pushed further and further towards lines I didn’t want to cross.  On my own–without ever being caught and without prompting from anyone–I looked up help resources online and contacted a Sexaholics Anonymous group in my city.  I chatted on the phone with a nice guy about my problems, and even went to a meeting.  That recovery method turned out not to be my thing, really, but I have several support resources in place that are working well for me, and I’m very optimistic.  (My wife, incidentally, did catch me about a week later, but by then I was SO happy to be able to tell her and SHOW her that I had already taken steps towards recovery.)

what will my wife think…

…when she finally finds and reads this blog?  (Or when I show it to her?)

Suicide, gay fantasies, gender identity issues…it’s all going to be a lot to process.  Some of it will no doubt hurtful.  Confusing.  Maybe devastating.  (Although in practical terms it shouldn’t be; nothing will ever change between me and her.)

But at some point–next month, next year, 10 years from now, maybe when I die–she’ll read all this.  I mean, there are those for whom writing is probably just a personal, therapeutic, or academic exercise, and this blog does serve those purposes for me.  But it’s also a record of who I am.  A crying out to the world of all the things that I dare not say, but which are also the things that I desperately MUST say, to someone, somewhere, at some point.  The things that I am embarrassed of, terrified of, and afraid would destroy me and my loved ones.

The thing is, in a lot of respects, I am alone in the world.  I’ve shared a LOT with my wife–burdens so deep and so heavy that others would never believe–and I’m sure she would weep to think that I’m keeping things from her out of fear, and she would implore me, “Baby!  You can tell me anything!”  But put yourself in my shoes.  How do you explain to your WIFE of 17 years and the mother of your daughter, for example, that there is such a thing as being a straight man who also wants to suck and fuck other men?  And how do you make her believe that you WON’T do it?  That you honestly HAVEN’T already done it?  Best to let that sleeping dog lie.  How do you even BEGIN a conversation about autogynephilia??

I have a shrink, but I can only afford to see her a half-hour per month.  No time to get into all this with her.

In a lot of important areas in my heart, I’m alone.  Hence this blog.

If and when the time ever comes for suicide, the URL here is going to be in the note.

Icarus had a sister

These works are just beautiful. Delicate, colorful, tender, strong.

Dioniso Punk

What you see here is the tip of the iceberg of what Andre Masters and CJ Munn are capable of making, and right now they are like two genies trapped in a very small bottle, just waiting for the right person to come along, see them and pull the cork out so all this magic they have inside can be expressed and made into more work. So they keep asking to share their art with friends and encourage them to spread the word about their work.

Award winning artists specialising in sculpture, lifecasting and now 3d printed art, André and CJ create their beautiful bespoke artworks from their studio Masters & Munn, in Kent, England. Working in copper, bronze, stainless steel, leather, gypsum and more, they can make literally anything to any scale. With one of their sculpture, they made up an interesting mythological news: Icarus had a sister.

www.mastersandmunn.co.uk

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What this is all for

Well, lessee…

So far on this blog I have relived the nightmares of addiction and withdrawal, recounted the tale of how I brought eternal shame upon myself by quitting the Army, expressed my occasional suicidal tendencies, fantasized in lavish and panting detail about how much I love men’s cocks, and finally confessed that I am vaguely emotionally autogynephilic (inasmuch as that’s a thing).  Am I missing anything?

I suppose the reason that any writer ever writes is ultimately to be heard.  I’m no exception.  No one in my life knows about this blog–NO ONE–but one day I want them to.  One day I want them to have a complete, raw, uncensored portrait of who I am.  Because they most certainly don’t have it now, and that makes me feel terribly alone.

One day–maybe next year, maybe in 30 years–my loved ones will have hundreds and hundreds of posts to read through.

And that’s what this is all for.

Which sing the open truth of my heart