Something Achingly Personal And Sexual In Nature

Personal Bits, Queer stuff

I tend not to deliver in bed.

I can hear SharkBoy’s spine compress and extend simultaneously as he reads that so I better explain myself.

On many occasion during my formative youth I had a tendency to attract guys who thought I would be something I completely wasn’t. I would often find myself stupefied at suggestion that would fall from my various date’s lips as the night progressed into the boozy, flirty time. Suggestions of violence or odd behaviour that would kill my desire just to cuddle or have plain, vanilla sex, of which, I’m utterly satisfied to have 90% of the time.

I’ve always dressed a bit rough. I’ve been told I have expressive eyes and combined with a shaved head and goatee since I was 21, I would often have to suggest to my date that discussing my next attack on their genitals while actually clothespinning various flaps of skin, probably wasn’t going to be as much fun for me as it would be for them.

While living in Ottawa, I purchased a motorcycle jacket at Costco. Yes. A full on, Marlon Brando bad ass motorcycle jacket that despite it’s purchasing origins, suggested that I rode a steel horse around town. I didn’t – In fact I was driving a 3 year old rusted out K car for the company I worked for. To add to this image of manlyman testosterone, I purchased a pair of engineer boots on sale at Filene’s Basement in Boston ($60!). Coupled with a tight tee and jeans, I looked pretty bad ass. One night I met a guy dressed similarly, but he was 6 foot, 2 inches, Germanic handsome, blond shock hair and muscular. When we got back to my place (I guess I looked good because he was blinded to the fact that we drove home in a K car) we discovered that we were essentially both wanting each other to do stuff to each other that we wanted each other to do to us each.

In short: we were both bottoms.

Discovering that you’re something you’re not while a god of a man stands before you is pretty tough on the self esteem. I did try, but I couldn’t be the guy he wanted me to be. We had a great friendship after that but I was still very attracted to him, which killed the whole friend thing eventually. I did learn about Bette Davis and Joan Crawford from him, for which I will be eternally thankful.

While working at a leather bar during Media School, these kinds of encounters were commonplace – I recall taking home one guy I thought was tall and handsome and clever but after we messed around a bit he stopped what we were doing (I thought it was going fine…) and said that we weren’t going to be compatible in bed and that the reason why was over in the corner of the room, in an old steamer trunk. I left shortly after that not knowing what was in that trunk. It haunts me to this day. Was I suppose to go open it? Was it full of dresses? Of knives? Weasels?

The weirdest was meeting someone who wanted me to physically abuse him (no surprise there, considering where we met. I was pretty open minded at that time and thought it wasn’t outside my realm of comfort) while talking about the sexiness of another bartender that I worked with (okay, first warning sign) and then crossing the conversation over to a fantasy where he is introduced to my actor brother in a professional, career building manner.

Seriously. He wanted me to twist his nipples off while fantasizing about my brother advancing his acting career.

After this incident I’ve come to believe that S&M and all that sub-culture paradigm was extremely reliant on damaging egos and breaking down self esteem. This was just weird. So as I lay there considering what he just told me I decided that one kidney punch wouldn’t hurt (me) and we were done.

Thing is, in this experience (and others) I’ve drawn from the experiences and molded myself. No, I’m not a bottom exclusively. No I can’t imagine inflicting extended amounts of pain on someone during sex. No I’m not going to introduce you to my brother. Or his agent.

8 thoughts on “Something Achingly Personal And Sexual In Nature

  1. david

    great post. I can so relate! I am actually a “top” by default because I don’t like to be a “bottom” but my look and size has been misconstrued as dungeon master since I was 20 (I’m in my 50s now). The disappointment on many men when I simply was not interesting in their 500 scrotal piercings and stomping on them in big boots until the metal nuts guy was screaming. Or blood, whips, odd outfits, leather bar mandatory uniforms (those infernal Anne Baxter arm bands!), blah blah. Him: “Fist my ass till it rips, Daddy.” Me: “Oh do we have to — can’t we just jerk off then watch Seinfeld.” Never judge books by covers!

  2. postbear

    you should get your playwright brother to dramatise the thing in the trunk. and, even though i hate musicals, this would probably work as one.

  3. Evil Panda

    Feh, why limit yourself to Top or Bottom? Just go where the moment and chemistry takes you.

  4. Dyl

    Love this post. Many thoughts spring to mind. I’ve experienced similar things but I guess most of us have.

    Not sure I agree about the top/bottom thing at every encounter – there’s so much more you can do that doesn’t involve that… though I agree it needs to be ironed out at some point.

  5. Dead Robot

    Cb & Dan, Yes I get all that out of the way now. But I’m still surprised when I meet exclusive tops or bottoms.

    And cheers, Dan. I was Andrew’s apprentice, fashion-wise. Certainly not beard-wise.

  6. Dan

    It is important to sort out top or bottom -ness early on.. and whether you can “overcome” your role if the need arises. Turns out to be a very handy skill. It beats knocking skulls together when you both dive for the pillow.

  7. Cb

    Dude. That’s why when I see a cute guy, my opening line is always “Are you a top?”

    saves a ton of time and wasted effort.

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