Darkside Rainbow

It is so time to lighten the mood around here a little bit. Let’s see who needs a little sarcasm advice today:

Adrien,

I’ve comfortably identified as a lesbian for years now, but now I have a crush on a man and it is FREAKING ME OUT and completely screwing with my sense of self-identity. It wouldn’t be a big deal if I was just attracted to his personality as we get along really well and I like everything about him, but I’m also attracted to him physically when normally I have to be really REALLY drunk to even think about doing the kind of stuff with a man that I want to do with him.

Does this mean I’m not a lesbian anymore?

Yes. Fork over your flannel, cut up your membership card in the Dyke Club of America, and turn in your Diva Cup.

…actually, keep the latter. Um.

Seriously, though? No. You’re fine. Calm down, have a Valium, and sit down; Papa Adri’s gonna have a little talk with you about human sexuality.

…that sounds so, so wrong.

Anyway. Despite what our more hardcore, intolerant brothers and sisters might tell you, labels like “gay” and “lesbian” are just that: labels, things that we choose to adopt in order to identify ourselves but that don’t dictate our modus operandum any more than we allow them to, and certainly don’t guarantee 100% attraction to the same sex. Now, you shouldn’t be running around boinking everything male and female and still calling yourself a homosexual; you’re either bisexual or a nymphomaniac in need of a little counseling. But attraction to one member of the opposite sex should not be enough to destroy the sense of identity you’ve built over the years, because you know as well as I do that there’s a lot more to that identity, and who you are, than the label of “lesbian” you’ve applied atop it to make it neatly comprehensible.

Human sexuality really isn’t a hard and fast thing. You’ll rarely find anyone who’s 100% hetero or homo, hence all the jokes straight people make about the person they’d go gay for - and sometimes, they’re even serious under that. (Why do straight men pick some of the scariest-looking blokes I’ve ever seen, though?) Sometimes attraction simply happens, regardless of gender; the way our bodies respond to people isn’t something wholly within our control, and despite studies we still don’t fully understand the chemical processes involved. For the most part your body may respond to the presence of a woman: the sight of her, her scent, that intangible whiff of pheromones that says female and just gets your blood hot and sets a few other things tingling. Every once in a while you may stumble across a man who hits that same chemical trigger-point, but it’s simply much more rare for that right combination to be there.

You’ve probably heard of the Kinsey Scale, and probably thought you were firmly ensconced in the deep end of the pool. If you’re easing a tiny bit towards the shallows, don’t worry about it. It’s normal, even if I may face a lesbian lynch mob for saying so. Your identity as a lesbian isn’t threatened because the only one who can really define that identity is you, and it’s going to take more than attraction to one man to shake that. (When you’re getting more towards four or five, then you can have an identity crisis.) Once every few thousand years or so, I run across a woman that I’m attracted to (mmm, Milla Jovovich…) but that doesn’t stop me from identifying myself as gay. I’m just not 100% gay. 99.99999% works for me.

The truth is that recognizing this attraction has not changed who you are at all; it just changes what you know about yourself, and what you know about yourself is that your sexuality is just as fluid as any other human being’s. The potential for that attraction has been there all through the years of your comfortable self-identity, and the only difference is that now you’re aware that it exists. So really, if nothing’s changed at all, why worry about changing your identity?

There could be other factors involved, anyway. It’s no secret that women form attachments, including sexual attraction, differently from men. For some men all it takes is the right endowments on either sex for us to decide we’re in love, and the scary thing is that sometimes we actually mean it. Women can be a bit more complex, and while they may not feel sexual attraction towards someone at first, that attraction can develop as a result of an emotional attachment. You’ve said that you like everything about this guy, right? It’s quite possible that you developed an emotional attraction to his personality without consideration of gender and then, as a result of natural female pair-bonding tendencies, progressed to a physical attraction. This isn’t a 100% hard-and-fast rule on how women work (do you really want to trust a fag to know how women work?), but it may help to ease your mind as to how this happened if you’ve been quite secure in your “no men, no way” status for so long.

The bottom line is this: stop worrying. If you like the guy, enjoy it. Attraction and flirtation feel good no matter the gender or we wouldn’t do it so much. And if it turns out you’re not fully a lesbian? That’s perfectly all right. In the GBLTQ community we tend to be a little (hypocritically) intolerant, as if the labels we wear are more exclusive than the bastard lovechild of Gucci and Versace and that to revoke those labels is to be rejected and cast into a pit of worthless heterosexuality or even the dreaded bisexuality (we’re so mean to the bi folks. Poor kiddies). Nuh-uh. Screw that. You have worth far beyond the label of your sexuality, and what matters most is that you are happy and comfortable with yourself and your chosen mate, male or female or…well, let’s just not go there.

I’m sure you’re a wonderful woman, with many things to offer anyone lucky enough to know you, and far more to tell the world about yourself than “I’m a lesbian”. I know you’re a bit shaken up right now, but just take a breath and relax, let yourself get used to the idea. Whether your attraction to this guy fades or deepens, you’re still yourself, and that’s the only label that really matters.

Your chatty No. 5,
~Adri

Have a question you’d like to see answered on Ask Adri? E-mail your question to adrien-luc.sanders@451press.net with the subject “Ask Adri Question” or use the Contact Form to send your question in.

kinsey scale, defining sexuality, sex and sexuality, gay sexuality, lesbian sexuality, heterosexuality, homosexuality, attraction

It’s amazing how bittersweet talk of romance and relationships can be, isn’t it? Thank you, everyone, for your responses to yesterday’s article – though I don’t know if I can write another one like that for a while, not when Sihaya wasn’t the only one crying by the time it was finished. I wasn’t expecting to evoke such replies; they made me smile. They even made Steve smile, when he called me to tell me that he’d read the article…and to say that my ex is a lucky guy.

My ex seems to think so, too. Knowing what a pain I can be, I’m not so sure.

Thinking of how I walked away from Steve, though, thinking about the sting of rejection, made me think of the times I’ve been rejected. It doesn’t happen often - not because I think I’m such hot stuff, but because under my cocksure sarcasm I am terminally shy and rarely make the first move. The times I have have been a 50/50 split of success and disaster, and the failures still bring a flush of humiliation to my face and an ache to my chest, every time I remember the names. David – and Louis, oh, Louis, that one still hurts deep down in a place that isn’t going away any time soon. I’m a proud creature and can’t stand embarrassing myself. I hate even more when I embarrass myself over another person, especially when I should have known better.

Stacy was one of those times when I should have known better.

It’s raining right now, slapping hard and silver whiplashes against my window. The glass is cold against my shoulder, coffee cup warm in my hand. I haven’t talked to Stacy in a few months but rain always makes me think of him, even if only for a few seconds, with a smile for the thought of a friend that I really need to keep in touch with more often. It was raining the last time that I saw him, too, years ago, a quiet night in my dorm room just like many others. We’d been watching a film with our friend Shawnessy – Brotherhood of the Wolf - but she’d left. The three of us were known as the PowerPuff Trio, even if Shawnessy was the only girl among us. She was the authoritative one – Blossom. He was the blonde, sweet-faced, making him Bubbles. I, being the dark-haired sourpuss with the acid tongue, was the most natural choice for Buttercup.

I still haven’t shaken that nickname.

I still call him Bubbles, too, or when he’s in one of his moods where he’s successfully channeling Hannibal Lector, Hardcore Bubbles. You wouldn’t think such a demented personality could lie inside someone who looks like the adorable halfbreed offspring of Matt Damon and Alvin the Chipmunk. I used to think it was cute, when he’d get all twitchy. Then again, I was in love with the guy for a while during university.

Too bad that he was straight.

Sometimes I wonder if it’s a rite of passage that we have to go through: The Straight Crush. Just like the hetero version of The Gay Crush, we know better. We always know better; he or she just isn’t buying what we’re selling. It should be easier to take than other types of rejection; we can say “It’s not me, it’s just that he/she isn’t attracted to my gender. It’s not personal.” Only it is personal – too personal. The human mind is addicted to hope, even false hope, and false hope’s favorite phrase is “what if”.

“What if he’s just in the closet? What if he’d think differently after just one kiss…what if…” When the rejection is more because of your bits and bobs and less because of who you are, you want to find a way to make it work. Want to find a way to get past that, especially if you’re a young and naïve university student who still, under his defensive cynicism, believes that love conquers all.

I still remember spending aching hours on those “what ifs” – aching hours in the student lounge of the engineering building where we all had our advanced computer science classes, where Stacy could often be found dozing on the couch between classes. The room could be full of the boisterous noise of freshman CS students getting their geek on, and still we would be two islands of silence: him asleep, me watching him sleep and clenching my fingers into fists to hold back the urge to brush his hair from his eyes, wishing like hell that we were alone so I could work up the nerve to kiss him awake, knowing in the most bitter part of me that no matter how many “what ifs” I dwelled on, I’d never do it because he’d never want it.

Stacy knew. He always knew, but he never brought it up, and neither did I. I think, now, on those days when I’d watch him sleep…sometimes he’d pretend to be asleep longer than he was just so he wouldn’t embarrass me by catching me in the act. I’d look away for a moment, look back, and freeze to find those dark eyes watching me, as if he’d just been waiting for his moment. Two people alone in a crowded room. I always had to look away first, always…and then he would smile, say “Hey there, Buttercup”, and the moment would be over. I’d smile as if my heart wasn’t clenching like a fist inside my chest, and tell him he was drooling again. Just two college guys screwing around. That’s all we ever were.

I don’t know how long I held on to that crush. It was fading by that raining evening that we spent squinting at subtitles and joking that the only role that Mark Dacascos could fill was one where he didn’t have to speak often. Maybe I was getting over it, or maybe over passing semesters I’d simply grown resigned to it, learned to ignore it so that I could enjoy time with my friend without feeling like a lost puppy every time I looked at him. I’m gay. He’s straight. That wasn’t going to change, and I considered myself lucky that I had a friend who could quietly accept my unspoken feelings towards him without thrusting me away in a fit of homophobic disgust.

Knowing that, I should have kept quiet. Knowing that…I should have enjoyed that last evening, the last time I’d see him in gods only know how long, considering that I left after that and came to Houston to find my career. I should have held my silence, and let the “what ifs” die a lonely death.

Getting hurt, that time, was my own damned fault.

“I’m going to miss you,” I told him, and he laughed and ruffled my hair, then yanked back before I could bite him.

“Me too, Buttercup. You’re gonna IM, right?”

“Yeah. Call you when I can.” Comfortable silence, or it should have been. He was sitting on the couch, I while I sat on the floor near his feet, leaning against the couch, so close that I could have pillowed my head in his lap had I wanted to. I wanted to. Badly. “Stacy, I…”

“Yeah, Buttercup?” Fingers in my hair. I hated when he did that, played with my hair. It gave me false hope, made my heart do mad voodoo dances against my rib cage.

“Nothing.”

When I say nothing, it’s never nothing. Anyone who knows me knows that. Nothing, betsuni, mou yeh ah, no matter what language I say it in it means it’s something, but I don’t want to say. I didn’t have to, this time.

“I know, Adrien,” and his fingers stilled in my hair.

“Ah.”

And that was it, just like that. Awkward, tense silence, and that pain reaching cold and wet down my throat and into my stomach. I shouldn’t have said anything. I wished I hadn’t, even if I didn’t really say anything at all. It could have been worse. He could have said cruel things, he could have fleshed out in detail just why, and why not. He could have left, and never spoken to me again. I could have lost my friend.

Instead what I lost was a little of my innocence, and a little of my naivete. I lost a little of my faith in what if, and quite a bit of my youth. Stacy had been my first straight crush, and thankfully I haven’t had one since. Instead I’ve had the growing maturity and discretion to keep my heart in check, and carefully guarded. It hasn’t saved me wholly from heartbreak, but it has avoided creating more than need be.

I think we all have to go through that, at some point. Perhaps it’s part of the unique experience of being gay, or perhaps it’s not so unique at all. Perhaps instead it’s a unifying factor, a human experience that we all know regardless of sexual orientation: longing, and heartbreak, and that desire for companionship. A reminder that no matter how we divide ourselves by labeled partitions, in the end we all feel the same things, crave the same things. I even remember the nights I spent with Stacy, listening to him talk about girls, about how his love life never seemed to work, about how the ones that he wanted never seemed to want him.

No, it’s really not so different after all.

Perhaps it’s just part of growing up.

This is posting a bit late, because the storm that made me think of Stacy also killed my lights and I’d have lost this article if not for the laptop battery. It’s very quiet in here now, very dark, the only light the grey mist coming through the curtains and the low-power glow of the laptop screen. I’m surrounded by a hundred other people in close proximity, little ant-boxes of human life stacked close and separated by thin walls, and yet without the constant electric hum of life to remind me I feel isolated, alone. Just me and my thoughts, me and the rain.

I should really go call him.

love, romance, relationships, growing up, life lessons, gay relationships, gay romance, lesbian relationships, lesbian romance, homosexual, heterosexual, straight crushes, rejection

His name is Steve. It’s what my father would call a good, strong name and he’s got a good strong, handshake to go with it.

We meet in a Starbuck’s a few blocks from my place; just a five-minute walk across cracked sidewalk and descending dusk and I’m ducking through the Barnes & Noble, barely resisting the lure of the books to find that he’s already there in the cafe, seated and waiting and looking better than the photograph on his profile. He’s not handsome or even pretty, but there’s a certain sharp precision to his features that says he doesn’t need to be, and charisma enough to compensate even without.

First impressions take in neat black hair, blue eyes, swarthily tanned skin and strong, firm shoulders. Large hands. Rough. He’s got a smile that could knock me over from across the room, boyish but sincere. I’m wondering what the hell this guy is doing hunting down dates on an online dating site, and thinking that I might be in over my head and very close to forgetting that I only went along to blog about this. He’s looking me over and blushing, then standing and pulling out a chair for me. It’s hard not to smile. I’m not used to gentlemen anymore. I’m not used to dates anymore, either. Two years in a committed dead-end relationship and you get out of practice.

He’s wearing a crisp, clean white blouse and artfully faded, deliberately-tattered jeans that fit just right in all the right places - clothes that tell me he knows how to look nice for a date without going overboard. Me? I’m wearing slacks, a tight black tank, and Dragon’s Hide, a Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab scent that makes me smell like leather, musk, and dark, smoky sex. A come-and-get-me scent if ever I smelled one. I’m feeling catty tonight, and wearing it more to spite my possessive-but-dense ex than because I really want the new guy breathing me in and getting all those hot little urges. If the ex-who’s-still-in-love-with-me won’t respond to the “sniff me, I smell like sex” hint, someone will, whether he’s actually getting any or not.

Probably not the best thoughts to be having at the start of a first date.

They say you can tell a lot about a person by how they order their coffee. I wish someone had given me the decoder ring on that, because all I can tell about a double-shot espresso is that Steve likes espressos. Maybe he’s figuring out that I’m a cat person from some secret message in my mocha latte. Or maybe he’s chuckling and indulging my insistence on paying, all the while completely oblivious to the fact that he’s rousing butterflies in my stomach every time that he smiles.

Chemical reaction? I’d say so. There’s something exothermic going on in my adrenals, and even I can smell the BPAL on me intensifying as it reacts to rising pheromones. My stomach’s so twisted that I couldn’t eat even if I wanted to, although that’s not why I decline when he asks. I ate before the date; it’s a habit of mine that I jokingly call a Southern thing learned from Miss Scarlett O’Hara herself.

It’s not hard to start a conversation. He kicks it off by telling me that he’s never gotten far enough to meet a guy from online before, but my article prompted him to contact me. My response is cynical, amused that my jaded take on online dating actually fired any optimism in him. He says he didn’t think I’d accept. I say I didn’t think I would, either. He laughs, and the butterflies ramp it up a notch. This guy is devastating.

He’s also painfully shy, and even if I can’t for the life of me figure out why, it explains why he’s still single. No, Steve isn’t the guy I met online. He’s better. That guy online was confident, cocky, swaggering, a little arrogant. I can’t stand that type, honestly. I like this Steve, though. Face-to-face this Steve is shy, completely unaware of his own charisma and what that smile can do to a boy, and thus trotting it out every time I make him blush with a playful comment - and tonight, I’m full of ‘em. I can’t help it. Someone like that needs to be teased, and I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t rise to the occasion. He gives me plenty of chances.

It isn’t hard to find things to talk about, from literature to music to really bad comedy sketches. We have completely opposing viewpoints on almost everything, and yet somehow manage to counter each other without really arguing or disagreeing even when he tells me that he has two pet birds and I remind him that to a cat person, “bird” is just another way of saying “dinner via airmail”. We can’t even come close to agreeing about the war in Iraq, and yet there’s no tension, no ill-feeling at all. Whomever said politics was a bad subject for a first date never had the chance to twist the word “pundit” into an inadvertent innuendo.

I’m having a great time, and if his laughter and those bashful glances are any indication, so is he. Sometimes he stammers trying to find a response, then flushes and covers his face in embarrassment. I think it’s cute, and I can’t believe he’s older than I am, a successful contractor who conducts business transactions with absolute confidence every day while I’m just a scruffy, antisocial writer with quite a few years’ less experience under my belt. Apparently the boardroom is his place to shine; it’s just his love life that turns him into a shrinking violet. Frankly, I’m in awe that a man could remain this way well into his thirties.

I’m also in awe and disgust that even though my stomach is doing capricious somersaults, my intellect is feeling distinctly stimulated, and my body’s calling out for a little stimulation of its own…I’m completely disinterested in ever going out with him again. While the rest of me may be completely enamored of Steve, my heart is straining several blocks back, tugging me towards home and, even when Steve’s pretty blue eyes are lingering quite curiously on my pretty pink lips, thrusting in painful, longing thoughts of my ex. My ex, whom I’ve had two years and another relationship to get over, and yet who can still pull my heartstrings with just a look.

My ex, whom I’m wishing like hell was sitting across from me right now, even as I laugh at another witty rejoinder from Steve.

No, these aren’t good thoughts to be having on what should be an otherwise successful first date with a guy who’s attractive, fun, intelligent, and stable. I shouldn’t be distracted underneath my laughter; I should be falling head over heels into that giddy feeling that you get when you meet a guy who can make your toes tingle and your breath come short with just a single look. I can’t help but wonder how I look, to him, especially since he hardly looks away from me the entire time that we chat. Do I look engaged, amused, inviting? Or can he see that slight distance, that little bit that I’m holding back, that refuses to give in and say Hey, I could really like this guy?

Yeah, I could really like this guy. I could really like him…but I can’t get over the fact that he’s not him.

The time flies by more quickly than expected before he’s checking his watch and I’m checking my cell phone for the time, as we both have working evening plans and agreed beforehand that we’d only be able to meet for a set amount of time. I’m honestly reluctant to part, as even if my heart wasn’t in it I really did have a good time. But it’s time to get moving, time for awkward farewells, and time for that moment of truth.

He gets up to pull my chair out for me before I can rise, then catches my fingers in his as I stand. I’m not startled when he kisses my hand. I am startled when he presses his cheek to my wrist, and I feel warm breath and rough stubble. His lips are close to my skin, parted, just a little damp. My pulse is pounding; it’s hard to breathe. What happened to being shy?

“You smell nice,” he says, and the bitch in me feels both vindicated and tempted even if I know I’m being unfair, and snotty to boot. It’s silly things like that that make me so mean, sometimes. So difficult to be with. I could argue that I’m only human, and I’m lonely and responding to some much-needed attention, and well aware that I’m not really mad at the ex for not noticing, but upset over a much bigger issue between us. But I know the truth: I’m a brat. I’m a brat and the brat in me is smug that Steve noticed something so simple without prompting while the ex ignored it even after multiple hints: I went out of my way to smell sexy, I feel sexy, and I want a little male attention instead of derisive comments. The brat in me is spiteful and hurting and wants to invite Steve closer to catch the slight whiff coming from the daubs of musk on my throat and wafting from the hair laying against my shoulders…even if the brat in me knows that it’s not Steve that I want to be inviting at all.

Thankfully there’s a little adult left in me, enough that I can thank him with a quiet laugh and gently tug away from his grip with a glance that I already know from experience says come hither to anything with a pulse. And hither he comes, holding the door for me before trailing me out into the parking lot. Even if he’s shy and flustered while I’m the confident alpha male here, I’ve been placed in the role of the femme fatale. He’s too much of a gentleman for it to be otherwise, and I don’t mind. It’s nice to be treated like the soft one, for once. It’s nice to be courted as an object of desire.

We linger, taking our time in the parting, waiting for one or the other to say the words or ask the question that will end this. Instead “You’re going to write about this, aren’t you?” he asks. I agree, and ask if he minds. He says no, then laughs and asks me not to embarrass him too much.

I promise that I won’t.

It’s when he asks if there’s going to be a second date that the laughter fades, and I look away. He already knows the answer’s no, and he won’t say that he’s hurt and disappointed - but I can tell, and it wrenches me a little inside and makes me feel like the biggest bastard on the face of the earth. As shy as he is it probably took hell for him to ask me out in the first place, and I doubt he could have done it without the easy anonymity of a screen name to cushion a possible rejection. And as much as I enjoyed his company, I can’t lead him on by saying yes. That goes beyond bastardry and into downright cruelty.

So I tell him that I’m not looking to date seriously right now, but I’d love to be friends. I don’t tell him that there’s someone else, but I think he knows. With that line? They always know.

He hugs me before we part ways; he smells good, too, like aftershave and clean, rough-skinned male. I promise to call him, when I know I won’t. So does he. He’ll call me, I can already tell. He’ll read this, too, and chalk it up to another loss, and hope the next guy works out better. I hope the next guy works out better, too; he deserves it. Hell, I could even say he deserves someone less difficult than I. Steve’s sweet, and charming. The kind of guy women groan over when they find out that he’s gay. The kind of guy men groan over should they find out he was taken.

He could have been. I could have said I’d see him again. Hell, I could have gone back to his place to ease a little itch that’s been building up in me for a while and craving satiation, and ended up going home smelling like sex for better reasons than a little fragrance in a vial. I could have gone with chemistry, gone with instant attraction, and run with it.

Instead I’m walking back to my place. Alone, even though Steve offered to drive me home safely. I can still smell espresso and aftershave, even though I’m blocks from the coffee shop now and the din of traffic is loud in my ears, headlights and street lamps fighting each other to stain the night sky from purple to orange. I’m going home to a cat, an almost-finished novel, and an ex who’s probably pacing restlessly and waiting for me to tell him that nothing happened. I don’t yet know what I’m going to tell him. I may love him. He may love me. But we’re not together, so my dates aren’t his business.

But I’m going home to him anyway, still irrationally mad at him and thinking about spending the rest of the night with him anyway, even as I stand on the street corner and wait for the light to change so I can dodge right-turning traffic to take that last leg home to my apartment. I’m wondering what I’m going to write, how I’m going to describe this night that hurt more than I thought it would, more than I think it should…and how much of my thoughts I’m going to bare to an impersonal network of strangers whose only interest in this is out of a glazed, blank-eyed case of train-wreck syndrome.

I have answers to the points I brought up in that article, now. No, you often don’t meet the person that was profiled online, but that’s not always a bad thing; no, sometimes even when the base animal attraction is there, it still isn’t enough. Sometimes it just doesn’t compare to that intangible something that you don’t always miss when it isn’t there, but that you can’t fight when it’s already taken root in you and refuses to let go.

There’s more to it, now, something more complicated, more personal than just a cup of coffee and a blog in the making. I just left a great guy behind for one who drives me crazy; I just walked away from a new possibility to instead ride that same old dead horse: a nag too broken to run, let alone go anywhere. Damn. I haven’t had a cigarette in a long time, but right now? I could really use a damned Sampoerna. Djarum Black would be even better.

We fought the night before, the ex and I. He still doesn’t know why I’m sulking and depressed. I still don’t know why I let myself care that it’s driving him nuts that I went out with another guy. We’ll talk it out anyway, and then go back to being “friends”. Friends who kiss like the world is ending tomorrow, who hurt each other just from wanting, who keep fencing around each other and yet flinching back every time we start to get close - coming up with a million reasons why we shouldn’t and ignoring the most blatantly, painfully obvious reason why we should.

It’s stupid. It’s impractical. It’s illogical. It’s nothing to do with chemistry; if it was just chemistry, I’d probably be with Steve right now instead of wondering bitterly, eyes stinging and throat tight, why I brushed him off because I couldn’t stop thinking about a guy who can piss me off without even being in my general vicinity. It’s the dumbest thing I’ve done in a long time.

And it hurts like hell, but it’s what feels right.

Yet even as that light changes and the crosswalk signal gives me the go-ahead, telling me that I’m that much closer to home and that much closer to him, I wonder:

How stupid can I possibly be?

love, romance, relationships, dating, gay dating, gay personals, gay websites, lesbian dating, lesbian personals, lesbian websites, hookups, outinamerica, gay.com, gayfriendfinder.com, glee.com, myspace, online dating, online hookups, online gay networks, gay social sites, coffee dates

On a rather amusing personal front, you’d be amazed at what can happen from a simple blog entry. After yesterday’s article on gay online dating, Digital Dating in the Pink Triangle, I was contacted by one of the fellows whose profiles I’d skimmed before writing the post.

Apparently he’d noticed I’d looked at him, looked over my profile, followed the profile’s personal website link here, read the article, liked it…and then clicked back and decided to contact me.

A few e-mails and some amicable chatter later, and we have a friendly coffee date set for tomorrow night.

Am I the only one distinctly amused by this?

I suppose by tomorrow I’ll be able to answer my own question: how often do we meet the person that the profile portrays?

I’ll let you know how it goes on Monday. Wish me luck.

~Adri

dating, romance, gay dating

“Sensitive TX man seeks like minds for friendship, more” the tagline reads. His profile says he’s 32 years old, 5′10″, brown hair and blue eyes, average build; his favorite movie is Alexander, his favorite book is blank, he has one or more dogs, no kids but wouldn’t mind them, he’s a versatile top, and to him sex is equally as important as romance. My gut instinct says tired pencil pusher, doormat, few hobbies, starting to sag, probably shorter than he says, wants more than I’m willing to put out on a first date, and has about as much in common with me as an orangutan has with a feather boa - and I click and move on. I hate dogs anyway. Not too fond of children, either. And Alexander was a crappy film.

I’ve never even met the guy and I’ve already rejected him, just as I rejected the half-dozen other profiles paraded past me in the past ten minutes. I’m browsing OutinHouston.com, my local installation of OutinAmerica.com, and the profile belongs to a man who’s just e-mailed me his general neighborhood and his phone number and told me to call him if I want to hook up tonight. That’s real internet safety for you, right there. Good thing I’ve got too much style to play the villain in a real-life slasher flick.

In recent years the internet has become more than a safe place to anonymously find the night’s latest stroke material; go to the right websites and you may end up bringing home the real thing in Mr. Right, Mr. Right Now, or Mr. You’ll Do Until I Can Find Something Better. The Hanky Code has been replaced by the Dot.com code, and sites like Gay.com, OutinAmerica.com, GLEE.com, and GayFriendFinder.com have created an online safe haven for members of the GBLTQ community to find friends, partners, or one-night stands behind the safety and anonymity of a screen name.

Whether you’re logging on for love or logging on for lust, within ten minutes you can create a profile that’s as much you as you want it to be, or as fictional as Britney’s sense of self-control. Browse, chat, click, contact - you’ll be viewed, reviewed, propositioned and rejected anywhere from one to one hundred times per night without ever hearing a single voice or seeing a single face beyond a photograph that looks like it was either culled from a high school yearbook or from the cast of beach-bum extras on Baywatch. You’ll know his endowment and his kinks before you even know his name; you’ll decide if you’re interested or not without ever feeling that first chemical spark of attraction. Within twenty minutes you could be chatting over coffee, asking who brought the condoms, or just staring at your screen wondering nervously how he’ll respond to your first inquisitive e-mail.

Digital dating has changed the way that we review potential mates; rather than responding to a glance, a smile, a whiff of pheromones, body language…instead we respond to a list of traits, often-misspelled words, answers chosen in a multiple-choice questionnaire, and a single photograph without life or personality. The fire of attraction has been reduced to an electrical spark transferring bytes across the distance, and beyond a gut reaction to an image, depends wholly on an intellectual response to what’s written.

This can be both a positive and a negative. Too many relationships crash and burn because they were based on the size of his assets or the cut of her figure, and by viewing profiles we’re forced to think of more than our libido’s instant reaction even if all we’re looking for is a quick hookup. The list of interest and favorites lets us know if we have anything in common; within five minutes we can know someone’s relationship goals rather than guessing, whether we’d be theoretically sexual compatible, and if they know how to use QWERTY with any degree of accuracy. If someone doesn’t meet our set criteria, we can cruise on by without the awkwardness of rejecting them face-to-face - often, they don’t even know we’ve looked.

But does this blithe and casual anonymity make it hard to make a real human connection? The digital dating pool in the pink triangle often feels more like the Bermuda Triangle, and it’s too easy to flounder and become lost without ever really finding your way. While it’s safer to browse for a potential mate online - no outing yourself if you’re closeted, no embarrassment of hitting on a hetero, no fear of homophobic reactions - that convenience may come at a price. A thousand profiles, a hundred e-mails, and yet how often do you feel that real sense of attraction - and when you do, how often does it translate to reality upon meeting? The guy who sent you steamy e-mails that left you panting turns out to be a nervous and fumbling thing who can barely articulate a single word, lives in his mother’s basement, and can’t even meet your eyes. The girl who spent long nights sharing intimate secrets with you over IM wants a long-term commitment on the first date, screams at the waiter in the restaurant for glancing at her for two seconds too long, and twitches with a nervous tic any time that you mention that you might need to…uh…go.

Do internet hook-ups really work out? I admit, I haven’t really delved into the idea much. I’ve met a few guys online, people with like interests who share my hesitations and would rather ask me out for coffee than ask me in for a one-night romp in the sheets. No matter how much I might have enjoyed e-mail communiques I find, on meeting them, that I feel absolutely nothing other than a rueful appreciation that I have, at least, made a new friend with whom I have something in common. Even if my mind said a dubious “yes”, my pheromones cry an emphatic “no!“, no matter how attractive he is. The spark just isn’t there; the body language doesn’t match the written word. Maybe I built him up too much in my mind, and the reality was a letdown. Maybe love really is just chemicals. Either way, we tend to part with a mutual agreement that we’d be great as friends, but nothing else. Sometimes I never hear from him again. Sometimes he’s right there with the rest of my friends when it’s Friday night and we’re out cruising for something to do. But he isn’t Mr. Right, even if I wouldn’t mind having a quick go at him just for right now.

I suppose I should consider my apathetic experiences to be rather fortunate when compared to the nightmare tales of others. One of my lesbian friends has a talent for finding calamity online - calamity, and pure insanity. She’s often met girls on MySpace who seemed sweet, funny, and everything that she’d love to date. When she meets them in reality, they turn out to be spastic psychos with serious mental problems, whose tamest “quirks” range from stabbing themselves with forks at the dinner table to breaking into tears at the sound of a car horn.

While I tease her and ask her what else she expects from MySpace, the sad reality is this: most people are nothing like the person that their profiles portray. In that five-minute summary you’re seeing not the person, but your subjective interpretation of them from a list of traits; you may end up ditching someone who could have been your potential lifemate without even knowing it, and instead choosing someone who turns out to be the next Norman Bates. Granted, that happens with real-life dating as well; until you really get to know someone, you can never be sure if they’re right for you or right for the curb. While it may seem easier to get to know someone online, where you can spill a dozen truths about yourself without ever revealing your real name, without having to duck your head and blush in embarrassment or worry about how they’re looking at you…

How often do you really meet the person that you thought you’d come to know?

love, romance, relationships, dating, gay dating, gay personals, gay websites, lesbian dating, lesbian personals, lesbian websites, hookups, outinamerica, gay.com, gayfriendfinder.com, glee.com, myspace, online dating, online hookups, online gay networks, gay social sites

Today’s Transgender Tale was submitted by Jill, and was originally published in Transgender Tapestry #206 in Winter of 2004.

Rite of Passage

I have a very good friend named Jan, a married woman. We met on line eight or nine years ago. We struck up a conversation in an AOL chat room and were soon writing each other short notes almost every day. At the time I was married to a woman and presenting as male. I was still in deep denial, refusing to confront and come to terms with the gender issues which had relentlessly dogged me since childhood.

Jan and I lived three states away from each other. We corresponded for several months before her family, on vacation, passed through the area where I lived. Jan and I met for coffee. We had planned on talking for half an hour or so. Instead, we spent more that two hours together.

Over time, Jan and I found common interests and shared points of view on many issues. We would discuss religion, politics, her husband, my wife, children, careers, every topic under the sun but one; sex. Neither of us were looking for anything beyond our marriages. It was just not “there” sexually for either of us. We agreed that if there were a sexual overtone to our friendship, it would most likely get in the way. Neither of us wanted to jeopardize the specialness of the friendship. Besides, she could not quite put her finger on it, but she said I was just “different” from any other male she had ever known.

When I finally came out, I was scared to death to tell Jan. We had shared so many things, so many intimacies - but as with my family and other friends, I knew I had to take the risk of losing a relationship with someone for whom I cared for rather than pretending to live differently than who I am. So, over a very long telephone conversation one evening, I told her. She was very surprised but not shocked. After reflecting on the issue for a week or so, she finally said “THAT’S what it is, I KNEW you were different somehow.” Jan has been supportive of my transition ever since.

Prior to my coming out, Jan and I had not disclosed the existence of our friendship to our respective spouses; this was to keep them from thinking there was anything sexual between us. I don’t know where you come from, or how you grew up, but where I come from, a married male just doesn’t make close friends with a married woman unless something is going on on the sly. Now that he knows, her husband thinks I’m totally strange for doing what I am doing. In a way, maybe he’s right.

A year after I came out, my marriage fell apart, and I moved to Phoenix, Jan lives in another community in this same state, but that’s not why I chose to move to Arizona. It’s just a happy coincidence. We see each other every few months when she is in town on business, or when I have gone to visit her. The rest of the time we e-mail, and occasionally call.

Jan has witnessed the various stages of my transition literally from day one. She has seen me as a male; as an “out TS” but still presenting as male; as a newbie starting hormones; as a very rough presentation to the point I was read by the waitress one day when we were at lunch; as a budding woman with a softening of my facial features and small pubescent breasts; and finally as I am now; a confident, post-transitional feminine woman, who lives as such 24/7, and who is fearless about going anywhere in public any other woman would go.

This includes of course any woman’s public restroom - and therein lies the story.

Consciously or not, we interact with others in a way that reflects their perceived gender. Two colleagues go for lunch. It’s strictly professional, but he will still open the door for her. He does not, however, accompany her to the restroom. My relationship with Jan had, until that day, been similar, with the typical male/female dynamics.

On the day in question, Jan was in town to run some errands. We went out to lunch and caught each other up on all the latest gossip and news. After the meal we continued our discussion over coffee. We all know what coffee does. I excused myself to go to the ladies’ room. Jan said, “Wait, I’ll go with you.” So, we, two women, trotted off to the ladies’ restroom, continuing our conversation on the way. We did what we came there to do, each fully aware of what the other was doing in the next stall, yet all the while talking over the partitions. We both then washed our hands, checked our hair and makeup, and returned to the table together.

Neither of us commented on the event, either during or after. The act of doing what she did was very simple; all she did was allow us to pee in each others’ relative presence. Yet by doing so, she forever altered what was left of any male/female dynamics of the relationship.

The act was a subtle, yet distinct acceptance and inclusion of me into womanhood, and into her space as a woman. And for that, I shall forever be grateful more than she will ever realize.

I’m sure many others are grateful to you for sharing this story, and on their behalf I thank you.

~Adri

Are you a MtF or FtM transgender/transsexual/transvestite/crossdresser, or considering/questioning? Want to share your story or motivational anecdote? E-mail your story to adrien-luc.sanders@451press.net with the subject “Transgender Tales” or use the Contact Form to send your story in.

transgender tales, thursday transgender tales, transgender, transvestite, transsexual, crossdresser, crossdressing, mtf, ftm, m2f, f2m, male-to-female, female-to-male, gender identity, gender dysphoria, transition, transitioning, sex change

Yesterday I received an e-mail follow-up to the question of talking to your children about their sexuality, and thought it would make a perfect question for the Wednesday Ask Adri column.

Adri,

I really enjoyed your article, ‘Talking to your kids about their sexuality.’ I have a question tho - what if I want to talk to my kids about MY sexuality? I am married with a son (12) and a daughter (15). I love my husband very much but have always had strong feelings towards women.

About a year ago I realized that I could not be happy without exploring my feelings. I may be bisexual but I really have no interest in men and only married my husband because of family pressure and because I couldn’t help but love him. I love him even more because he loves me enough to understand that I need to explore and has let our relationship be open enough that I now have a girlfriend.

I care about my girlfriend very much but do not want to leave my husband. That is not the problem. We are going to stay together always. The problem is that my girlfriend is around the house a lot just as my friend and I do not want to have to hide her from my kids if shes going to be in my life. They really like her. I want to tell them that I am a lesbian but I love their father. How do I do this?

Thanks,
Jane in Austin

Well, Miss Jane, first I have to say: your husband amazes me and is far more understanding in this situation than most would be, since from the sounds of it this isn’t your standard polyamorous relationship and he’s not even getting to have any of the extra fun. If he’s got a gay brother or something somewhere, send him my way. I don’t necessarily need him to be cool with me exploring with other people - I’m very strictly monogamous - but that kind of patience in a man? You don’t pass that up if you know what’s good for you.

I’m very glad, for the sake of both you and your children, that he’s so supportive - because you’re going to need him there when you sit your kids down to have a talk about this. With children that age, the first thing they want to know about any new information from their parents is how it’s going to affect them and change their lives; with your husband there making it obvious that he’s a willing participant in this and that he isn’t going anywhere, you can quickly dispel any arising fears that Mommy’s going to leave Daddy for the Nice Lady and suddenly there’ll be planned weekend visitations.

As I said in regards to talking to them about their sexuality, you should also be frank and honest when talking to them about your sexuality - but try to do it in private rather than in a public place, as in this case I don’t think that hearing the news in the middle of the local Baskin Robbins is going to make them that much more comfortable with the topic. Before you speak to your children, make sure that you are confident enough in yourself and your choices that you don’t give the idea that you waited so long to tell them because you’re somehow ashamed or what you’re doing is wrong. Your children will follow your lead and if you don’t feel ashamed, they won’t either. If you don’t feel as if what you’re doing is wrong - and it really isn’t, as long as it’s between three mature, consenting adults and all are content with the arrangement - then they won’t.

However, if you try to cover things up or hedge around the details (non-sexual details, thank you), they’re going to pick up that you’re embarrassed and could quite easily become embarrassed by you if they think there’s a reason to be, without even fully understanding what that reason might be. Around that age the only thing that comes ahead of budding interest in the opposite (or same) sex in a teenager’s life is their social status, and if you act as if your arrangement is something to be ashamed of, they’ll immediately think that it’s something that could affect their social status and drop them right into the outcast pile the moment that it got out.

Make sure that they understand that this doesn’t change who you are, or how you love and care for them in any way. Point out that nothing has altered in their lives; only their knowledge of the situation has changed, and so this isn’t going to affect their day-to-day lives at all.

Be prepared for them to be angry; they have a right to be. Again, it’s not that you did anything wrong; anger is simply a common reaction, especially in children that age, to things that are startling and confusing. You may have to step back, give them their time to be angry, and give them time to settle down and realize that you’re still Mom and that’s never going to go away. There may be some backlash; it’s okay to accept it within reasonable levels, but of course if it gets out of hand, remind your children that you understand their confusion and frustration, but you are their parental authority figure and they’re crossing the lines of behavior that you accept out of them for any reason.

Don’t forget to talk to them about sexuality in general, if you haven’t already. Explain to them that being a lesbian, being gay, being bisexual, being transgendered…all aspects of sexuality are just as normal as heterosexuality, and people of all sexual orientation conceive or adopt every day and are happy, well-adjusted parents who care deeply for their children.

Most importantly, try to talk to them about this issue as equals. Let them see that you’re telling them this not because you’re forcing something new into their lives and they have to accept it because you keep a roof over their heads…but because you love them and respect them enough that you want to be honest with them and keep them informed. Try not to take the usual parental tone of “this is what I say and my word is law”; instead discuss things with them, and make sure they know that you’re open to any questions they might ask. (Though you may want to smooth over some things on the topic of your sex life. There are some things kids just don’t need to know about what their parents do in the bedroom.) You have to keep avenues of communication open between you even if they storm off in an angry huff (and one, if not both of them, probably will). It’s going to hurt to have your children looking at you as if you’re a strange new creature for a while, and one they’re not wholly sure they like. Just make sure they know that you’re still there, you’re still Mom…and after they’ve had a little time to settle down and accept, they’ll come drifting back.

During that adjustment period you may want to ask your girlfriend to not be around the house as often, because they may view her oddly or lash out at her. It’s both for her own sake and theirs, as before they can adjust to her new role they need time to adjust to yours. Once they’re comfortable with you, then they can more easily accept her as “Mom’s girlfriend”.

This is not going to be an easy talk to have, and you’re going to need to brace yourself and brace your husband. Good luck to the both of you. Do your best to support each other, and support your children. I hope you come out on the other side of this rather rocky issue smiling and with clear skies ahead of you.

Optimistically (creepily so) yours,
~Adri

Have a question you’d like to see answered on Ask Adri? E-mail your question to adrien-luc.sanders@451press.net with the subject “Ask Adri Question” or use the Contact Form to send your question in.

coming out, parenting, gay parents, lesbian parents, polyamory, polyamorous relationships, gay and lesbian, parenting teenagers, talking to your kids, tolerance, sex and sexuality, homosexuality

It’s no secret that gay men know drama better than HBO, Cinemax, and Showtime combined into one sleazy, sordid 24/7 drama fest. Thankfully not all of us fit that stereotype, or we’d probably have exterminated ourselves in the catfight of the century. But we’ve all known that guy: the drama queen. The unrepentant diva. The two-snaps-up sistah with an attitude for whom it’s his way or no way at all, and woe to any who may cross his divinely fabulous will.

Oh, yes - we all know him. (His name is Elton John - just kidding.) Even worse, we’ve all probably dated him.

…or been him. [insert guilty cough here]

Drama can’t always be avoided, no matter how laid-back you are; sometimes it just comes knocking, and you can’t hide. And sometimes anyone’s boyfriend can be a bit of a lovable diva; everyone’s got their quirks, and you just learn to live with them. (Me? I’m a total brat. Ask any man I’ve dated. Don’t ask me why they put up with it anyway.) But if your boy toy’s milkshake is bringing more than the boys to the yard, you may want to step back, take an objective look, and ask yourself if you’re dating an incurable drama queen…and if he’s worth that permanently throbbing vein in your temple.

Signs That You’re Dating a Drama Queen:

 
Sound familiar? That’s not necessarily a bad thing. Let’s face it, no one’s perfect. You may be dating an incurable drama queen, but if you don’t mind it, more power to you. Were you wincing at the familiarity while reading this, or smiling and shaking your head fondly? If the latter, you’re lucky. You’re a more patient man than I.

If the former…you may want to invest in a little blood pressure medication. Or a passport to a foreign country.

Are you dating or have you dated a drama queen? Have a few stories to tell or a few more signs to watch for? Pull up a chair and dish out the dirt, baby. You know we’re all just aching to hear.

drama queen, diva, gay relationships, boyfriends, catty men

[yawns, stretches] All right, so I skipped the DR Weekend Edition this past weekend, and you got stuck with that lovely article on sexual hygiene for a few extra days. My apologies, but when you work three jobs plus editing a novel on the side and spend most of your time high on caffeine while somehow managing a lovely combination of “deadpan” and “perpetually pissed off” (it’s all the rage this season, what all the boys are wearing), sometimes you’ve got to take a weekend for a little downtime.

So pass the coffee, happy Monday, and if you can trust me to give advice before the French roast kicks in, let’s do this sh…stuff.

Dear Adri,

I have loads of photos of women on my computer and sometimes fantasise about being with one but I don’t like any in real life. Do you think I might be lesbian or maybe bi?

Signed,
Questioning teenager

Um.

…….

Okay then.

My first thought when I read this was, “this is someone’s kid, they’re underaged - I can’t give them advice about their sexual fantasies!” I’ve had a few more bracing gulps of the triple-black Doom Coffee now, though, and I think I can handle this.

The answer is no, those things don’t automatically mean that you’re a lesbian, or bisexual. They don’t mean that you aren’t, either.

Right now you’re a walking pile of seething, awakening hormones and anything involving sex with a male, a female, or possibly even an inanimate object is going to turn you on. The teenage years are a confusing time to try to define your sexuality, and while some can say “Yes, I know I’m gay/lesbian/born in the wrong gender’s body” in high school or earlier, for the most part it’s quite difficult to make that determination when your hormones are scrambling your brain to hell and back.

Plenty of people who later in life grow quite certain of their heterosexuality still experiment in their teenage years, even as far into college. Women are statistically known to be more prone to same-sex experimentation than men, and yet despite kissing a few dozen girls, will often decide “Nah, I’m straight” and settle into heterosexual life without feeling a single spark of interest towards another woman for the rest of their lives.

For many others, though, those moments of experimentation are the defining points of their lives: the moment when they realize that they’re happy with women alone, or equally content with both women and men. I don’t advise that you run about shagging a small test population of both genders to find out; if there aren’t any girls that you’re interested in, odds are that your fantasies are just that: fantasies that wouldn’t reflect well in reality.

Then again, it could be that there’s no one around you on a regular basis who happens to be your type - and if you do meet a girl that you’re into, and she returns your interest and and consents: don’t be afraid, or ashamed, to try things out. You’re confused now, and you’ll never know until you try. Don’t force anything; you’ll just make yourself and her miserable. But if you’re given the chance, and you really want to…don’t hold back. It’s all right to do a little experimentation while you get yourself sorted out, as long as you aren’t sleeping around indiscriminately and having unsafe sex. Kiss a girl or two. Try to avoid anything that qualifies as foreplay or beyond until you’re older.

Remember, though, that even if you never do anything…thoughts like yours are perfectly normal, and nothing to be worried about. They’re a natural part of adolescent development, and whichever way you end up leaning, it’s perfectly fine to just wonder sometimes. You don’t even have to call yourself straight, lesbian, or bisexual. You’re attracted to whomever you’re attracted to, regardless of their gender or yours.

That should be enough for anyone, and labels be damned.

Ambiguously yours,
~Adri

Have a question you’d like to see answered on Ask Adri? E-mail your question to adrien-luc.sanders@451press.net with the subject “Ask Adri Question” or use the Contact Form to send your question in.

And for today’s P.S.: I don’t like Archbishop Bagnasco, obviously. I’d love to give him a good tongue-lashing simply because he’s got so much to say about just who I enjoy…er…lashing with my tongue. It’s not his business what I do in my bedroom, other than to grant me the same rights with a husband that I might have with a wife…but come on, people, this is going too far. A bullet in an envelope? Now you know one of us had something to do with that, because it’s got “drama queen” written all over it. Come on. You really think a bullet in an envelope is going to make him stop and think, “Now hey, those gays are some nice, upstanding people just like everyone else! I really should stop shooting off that sewer hose I call my mouth about them!”

Pfft.

Oh well. At least it’s nice to see one religious leader who’s managed to avoid coming down with rectal-cranial inversion.

ask adri, teenage sexuality, gay and questioning, lesbian fantasies, coming out, archbishop bagnasco, angelo bagnasco, gay marriage, gay rights, gay civil unions, reverend gene robinson, new hampshire

We’re skipping the Friday Ask Adri column today, because I’d like to discuss something else. It’s something a little twitchy, something best left unspoken in polite company, and something that I’m going to address anyway, thank you very much:

Rimming, also known as anilingus.

If you stop reading now, I won’t blame you. This is a sensitive topic for various reasons and you know, some people just don’t want to see certain aspects of sex discussed openly, gay or otherwise. Walk on, kiddos, and check back later when the DR Weekend Edition has pushed this post a little further down the page.

For those of you still around, whether out of interest or a bad case of train-wreck syndrome: this actually came up in conversation at about two o’clock this morning, talking about sex and relationships with a friend over some nasty but bracing coffee at the House of Pies down the street from my place. We were talking about exes, a topic that we’ve both had plenty of fodder for since we both recently broke up with our long-term boyfriends and I’ve had an older ex-boyfriend reappear out of the blue to send my emotional radar spiraling wildly out of control.

Naturally, when comparing exes, we’re going to talk about what he was like in bed. You know you do it, too; don’t look at me that way. I’m serious. I can purse up my lips and give you disapproving looks right back, and probably do it better than you can. Don’t mess with a boy when he’s feeling catty.

Aaaaanyway. As my friend was detailing his sexual exploits, he ended a particularly sordid tale with, “…and he always wanted me to - you know!”

“I know? I’m sorry, did this craptacular coffee make me clairvoyant and I missed the memo?”

“…you know. With my tongue. There.”

“Oh? OH. …………ewwwwwww.”

Despite what you may have come to believe about gay sex from watching porn (and then swearing you got it for “a friend”), rimming does not take place every time two men engage in intercourse with one another. Let’s face it, sex for any gender and any sexuality is a tricky thing when nature designed us with the playground and the sewers so firmly entrenched next to one another. Sanitation is always an issue, but it’s an especially sensitive one for gay men.

We might as well be blunt: we like to put things into a place that things normally come out of. In particular, things that the majority of us don’t particularly want to come in contact with. No matter how clean your partner keeps his nether regions, the anus is still a scary place…and honestly, it frightens me just how many of my past sexual partners have been willing to slide their tongues around there without even insisting on a good cleaning first.

Am I the only gay man grossed out by this? (All right, I know I’m not, my friend is as well…but we seem to be a small minority.) A penis can be protected by a condom, a finger by a latex glove, but I can’t exactly see someone sticking their tongue into a ziplock bag before they go diving in for a little lick. Frankly, I don’t want that in my mouth, and I don’t want it done to me; whatever pleasure might be derived from it is wholly overridden by the fact that I’m completely disgusted by the idea.

And yet past partners have actually been both surprised and insulted that not only did I not want it done to me, but I wasn’t willing to do it to them, either. I am by no means a prude; if you want to be adventurous in bed I’m your man, but asking me to have a nibble at the backdoor is where I draw the line. This doesn’t just involve the personal squick-factor. This is a matter of personal health and safety. Any number of bacteria and other offensive particles can be found in the anus, and I find it hard to think sexy when I think of licking a big steaming plate of e. coli. It’s bad enough that syphilis rates among gay and bisexual men are on the rise; do we really want to voluntarily risk our health any more?

There’s sexy and then there’s unsanitary, and I refuse to cross the line no matter how many times I’ve been pressured on it. What I wonder is how many men rim even when they’re bothered by the sanitation factor, for whatever reason - because they feel they have to to please a partner, because they think they might lose someone if they don’t, or because it’s considered common and therefore they think they shouldn’t have a problem with it. Hell, I even wonder if I’m making a big deal out of nothing. Maybe it’s not so bad and I’m just being fussy and frigid.

Or maybe not.

So I’m asking you to weigh in - and not just the boys, either. Everyone. What do you think? Will you, or won’t you? Would you do it because you wanted to, or because you felt obligated? Have you felt pressure to do it in the past, or feel pressure to do it now?

Where do you stand on the matter of sexy vs. unsanitary?

Hygienically yours,
~Adri

P.S. In case you weren’t paying attention to the news yesterday, by the way: way to go, New Hampshire, and shame on you, Indianapolis.

rimming, anilingus, oral sex, anal sex, oral-to-anal, gay sex, gay sex and sexuality, e. coli, safe sex, unsafe sex, unsanitary sex, sexual boundaries, sexual limits, sexual practices, homosexuality, new hampshire, gay unions, gay civil unions, indiana, indianapolis, vandalism, billboard vandalism, homophobic vandalism

Dear Adri..

I’ve been having this recurring dream where I’m running naked through the forest and I’m attacked by a bear. Only I’m not attacked; the bear actually seduces me and then the bear and I get intimate.

My question is this: the bear is a woman. Does this make me a lesbian?

No, it makes you someone in need of heavy medication. See a doctor, and don’t ever write to me again.

I kid, really. That one was submitted by another 451 blogger as a joke, and I thought you guys might get a little giggle out of it. Now on to the real one:

Dear Adri,

My best friend is a gay male and we have a long history together. Now my new husband is jealous of our relationship. How do I handle this?

Well, you could always drag him to a few Scissor Sisters concerts - apparently that’s all it took for this guy to happily try to foist his wife-to-be off on any queer who’d take her, so after that he’d be quite content for your friend to monopolize your time.

Your husband is probably jealous because he feels that your friend is giving you something that he can’t. Even though you aren’t in a romantic relationship with your friend and the likelihood of one happening is practically nil, there’s still that sense of competition from another man that just drives the alpha male in 99% of men insane - especially when the alpha male is new to the pack and not yet sure of his footing. You and your friend probably have a dozen inside jokes that your husband doesn’t get, or fond memories to reminisce over, stories to tell that he wasn’t involved in. He probably feels like the new kid at school, trying to find somewhere to fit in at lunch where all the tables are packed with cliques…with no room for him.

The good news is that it’s likely a phase that won’t last. He just needs a bit of time to get settled into things, and a little reassurance from you will go a long way. Just remind him that he is your husband and your friend is…well…your friend, and the two roles aren’t really comparable. It’s apples and oranges, to use the old adage. Yes, your friend is going to be able to give you things your husband can’t - things like platonic male companionship, or a man who shares interests with you that your husband doesn’t, whether it’s Broadway musicals or just the same tastes in hot actors. But remind your husband that he also gives you things that your friend can’t or doesn’t - and no, I don’t just mean your hot stanky hetero lovin’….er, I mean your no doubt passionate sex life. Just as your friend understands you in ways your husband can’t, no doubt your husband understands you in ways that your friend can’t. Remind him of those ways; remind him of the role that he fills in your life, and how important he is to you. Remind him that he has worth, and that he can’t be replaced by a best-friend-turned-platonic-lifemate.

Also remind him that if his jealousy gets out of control, he’ll be sleeping on the couch for a month and you may end up snatching a knot in his skull, or somewhere more uncomfortable.

Hopefully it won’t get to that point. Male jealousy can be an ugly thing; we’re competitive creatures who often have to be first in everything, including in the lives of our mates. As much as I hate to admit it, we sometimes need our egos stroked and soothed, kind of like how sometimes a woman needs to be reminded that she’s pretty even when she knows she’s drop-dead gorgeous. Don’t butter him up so much that he could skid down a sidewalk like a Slip-n-Slide, but find subtle ways to remind him that he matters to you. If he’s jealous of your inside jokes with your friend, tease him at some point about your own inside jokes with him. If he gets sulky over some fond memory shared with your friend, do something sweet to remind him of some special moment that the two of you shared. I know it seems like a bit of sop and the kind of thing that most men wouldn’t like with our aggressively anti-sop assertions, but if he’s showing jealousy, then trust me…he needs that sop, even if he’d never admit it. Give him what he needs, but don’t rub his nose in it; it’ll just reverse the positive effects of your attention.

At the same time, only coddle him up to a certain point. In an ideal situation, after a short while and with a little extra attention he’ll settle down. If he starts being unnecessarily rude or aggressive to your friend, or confrontational with you, you’ll have to draw the line. There’s no point in coddling bad behavior, and you’d do well to cut it off early before it gets out of control and escalates into a fight that may take ages to recover from, and that will turn into an issue that will affect all three of you whenever you want to spend time with your friend. If this really does become a bone of serious contention, then try to talk to your husband; lay down the law, and make him understand that you have a right to spend time with your friend, and that doesn’t mean that you love him any less. He will have to adjust to that, one way or another. Explain to him that he can do it two ways: with your help and understanding, or without.

Hopefully he’ll make the right choice.

Platonically yours,
~Adri

Have a question you’d like to see answered on Ask Adri? E-mail your question to adrien-luc.sanders@451press.net with the subject “Ask Adri Question” or use the Contact Form to send your question in.

ask adri, gay best friend, straight marriage with gay friends, jealous husband

Dear Adri:

I’ve been friends with this girl for several years now. She’s on the verge of graduating high school, and since we met, I’ve watched her go from being a very shy and awkward little girl to being a self-confident, mostly outgoing young woman. She’s the sister I never had, in many ways, and I love her dearly.

The only problem? She’s been driving me frickin’ -insane- the past few months. She met a guy through a friend who graduated last year, and now all she can talk about is him. “J this” and “J that”. She’s been putting her grades at risk by staying up way too late every night to talk to J. She has freely admitted her infatuation with him, and how she’s jealous of his other relationships…with men. J is gay.

He’s also leading her on, big time. My friend is head-over-heels for J, and he knows it - which he used to get oral sex from her when she visited him and his friend at their uni last weekend. I guess he’s bisexual when it’s to his personal benefit, though all of his networking profiles have the word “gay” about every three sentences. Anyway, my point is, she’s driving me crazy with this shit. I know that infatuations can happen for no rhyme or reason…but she’s also being totally unrealistic. Her greatest wish is for J to suddenly turn straight.

Now, me, I’m fairly realistic, and I’ve told her in varying ways and with various degrees of tact that she doesn’t have a chance with him, and he’s not just going to start dating her just because she gave him [oral]. But apparently, that makes me “a mean [b****]“.

How can I handle this situation? I’d frankly like to keep doing what I’ve -been- doing and change the subject when J comes up, but she’s started floating away from reality and really needs to be brought back down to earth.

Well, thanks for reading it, at least.

Signed,
Whatever happened to just being a happy fag hag?

First: I didn’t know happy fag hags existed.

Second: Damn, girl. I didn’t need your life story. You talk more than I do, and that’s sayin’ a lot.

Third: Only answer I’ve got for you is to mind your own business. Seriously. J’s not gay, J’s a horny a**hole who’s only gay when it’s convenient to get away from girls like your friend, and bi when he wants them on their knees. The problem isn’t that he’s gay and she’s waiting unrealistically for him to turn straight. It has nothing to do with his sexuality at all; it has to do with the fact that he’s a self-serving jerk who leads people on. You’ll find ‘em everywhere - male, female, gay, straight, bi, etc. He could “turn straight” and he’d still be treating her the same way.

It’s not your problem. Your friend’s an idiot. You said your piece, and later when she gets burned and comes crying to you, you can say “I told you so” even while being a good friend and patting her on the back. You can’t force her to act sensibly, though. If talking to her doesn’t bring her back down to earth, then there’s nothing else that you can do and honestly? If you try to be proactive, in the end you’re going to get screwed over. I’ve seen it happen too many times; whatever efforts you take will, in the end, be blamed for the other person’s unhappiness…rather than their own idiotic decisions. Then she’ll stop being like the sister you never had and start being the person who hates you just for trying to help. Seriously. She’s already calling you a mean b**** for being blunt with her. What do you think is going to happen if you do anything more? Even if you “save her from herself”, as the saying goes…do you really think it’s going to turn out well when she turns on you? Do you think she’s going to appreciate it?

Step back. Mind your own business. Let them be responsible for their own crash and burn, but be there to help pick up the pieces when it’s over; sometimes people (especially teenagers, and man, why is she giving this guy oral when she’s not even out of high school yet?) only learn by experience, and it sounds as if she’s not going to figure out the problem with this situation until she’s already hurt herself and gotten over it. If you’re happy with changing the subject, why are you worrying about this? You did the right thing in advising against it, now stop trying to be Mother Theresa and fixing the world’s problems. You might want to focus on a few of your own first.

And J, if you’re out there? Stop being a dick.

Speaking as one with his own issues,
~Adri

Have a question you’d like to see answered on Ask Adri? E-mail your question to adrien-luc.sanders@451press.net with the subject “Ask Adri Question” or use the Contact Form to send your question in.

P.S. Completely off-topic from the original subject of the post, but….dear CNN: if “she” is FtM, then “she” would be “he”, thank you very much. Likewise “her” and “hers” would be “his”, and he would probably appreciate being referred to as Tony and not by anything else. It may be a novel concept to grasp, but I’d think showing that small bit of respect would be fairly easy for a CNN reporter. At the very least do a better job of explaining it and set a better example.

P.P.S. This definitely has nothing to do with the original topic of this post, but if I seem distracted this week, blame it on the PS2. Final Fantasy VII: Dirge of Cerberus and Vincent Valentine have claimed my soul for the next few days. Why yes, I am a game geek. Why does that surprise you?

Ask Adri, fag hag, advice, relationships, gay/straight relationships, Cinthia Covarrubias, Tony Covarrubias, FtM, transgender, prom king, Fresno, Fresno High School

Dear Adri:

I’m a happily married lesbian, and even though most of the older members of our families are accepting, they still ask “who’s the man”. How can I make them understand that there doesn’t have to be a “woman” and a “man” in a gay relationship?

Thanks,
Not a man

You could do what I did to my mother (who, I recently discovered, reads this regularly, which rather creeps me out): you could explain to them in explicit detail who’s on top in the bedroom, including the exact physical mechanics of it and any accessories required. I guarantee they’ll stop asking. They’ll stop even wanting to wonder, because they’ll realize they don’t want to know. Few want to picture their younger relatives caught in the middle of the dirty deed.

No? Doesn’t work for you? But the reaction’s really funny…

Okay, okay, we’ll try the diplomatic approach. This is a question I’ve dealt with from many quarters, from my parents right down to nosy coworkers, and it’s never an easy issue to address. The first thing that I always have to do is check my knee-jerk reaction of irritation and exasperation, settle my hackles, and remind myself that nine out of ten times, the person asking doesn’t mean to be nearly as insulting as they come across. They aren’t trying to be rude; they just don’t know any better.

With that in mind, it does fall on our shoulders to explain to them so that they do know better. I’ve found that the best tack to take is to calmly and patiently remind your family - or whoever’s asking - that you and your partner are the same gender, so there’s no separating you into the “man” and “woman” of a relationship based on behavioral roles, and that you have an entirely different dynamic. Explain that you’re equal partners and what matters to the two of you isn’t who gets to fulfill the male or female role in the relationship, but who your partner is as a person and how your individual dynamic works together.

In truth, that probably won’t sink in at first. It takes a lot of time and acclimation to break people of this idea that any balanced relationship must have a male/female element regardless of the genders of the people involved (and that includes relationships between two transgenders or relationships between a transgender and a non-transgendered person). One way I’ve found that works best is to point out extremely close same-sex friendships between heterosexuals; in many ways a relationship is (or should be) just like a close, trusting platonic friendship, and yet in friendships there is no requirement that one be the man and one be the woman.

Explain to your family that your relationship is just the same as a stable, balanced, loving friendship - down to the point where you love your friends even when you want to throttle them - but with intimacy and further commitment involved. It’s not going to make them understand immediately, but it will help them take baby steps across that gap once they can find a parallel that they understand in everyday life. Once they grasp that, try to remind them that you and your partner are people that they know as unique individuals, and that nothing about what they know about you has changed enough that they need to redefine you in either a male or female role as opposed to your partner.