“Hey! Boys Can Wear Dresses Too”
So, if you thought my last essay about my Dad was ‘bad’, read this, And go in with an open mind…or butthole.
As a preface, to any ‘friends’ or ‘family members’ who disagree with what I’m about to say because it’s about me sucking dick and eating pussy, sincerely go FUCK yourself and unfriend. I don’t need you. And if you get offended by me or this article, I don’t need your close minded bullshit in my life. You may say I am generalizing or am a smite against your ‘God’, but to that I say, STOP knowing me. I’m bored with your one lane mindset. For all the male “BRUH” bullshit comics, if you don’t find this truthful or interesting or you’re afraid of my truth, let me suck your dick and show you what’s what (not really you guys are disgusting puds). I’m done caring about you. I need to move forward and you’re only dragging me backwards. Also, if anyone knows a good Catholic confession booth I can wheel myself into that won’t suck my dick, please steer them my way. Not for being who I am but for writing an essay on a mix of hookah, alcohol, cocaine, comedic confidence and love.
Therefore, let’s go.
The first time I sucked a dick the only thing I could think about was how it didn’t really taste like anything.
I had gone down on many girls before. My ratio at that point had probably been somewhere between 20 girls to that one singular guy. And my findings were that vaginas could significantly taste different varying from girl to girl. With a sexual organ like that there were so many different things to take into account; was the PH balance fucked up? Did she shower or go running that day? How wet was she from making out first? Had she previously had a yeast infection? It could go a number of ways.
But when I put that extra three dollars into the bill acceptor in the jerk off booth at the back of the porno shop, and my friends dick came through that slot in the sliding glass door and into my mouth, the only thing I could think was-
“Hmmm. It doesn’t really taste THAT bad.”
I don’t know, maybe he was really into his grooming and the pampering of his member but to me it kinda didn’t taste like anything. Something like a fleshy pulsing warm meat popsicle. But not necessarily bad. Then again, it was the first dick I sucked (they can taste bad like anything else). And to go further, it’s not the actual sucking part that tastes bad, it’s what comes at the end. When he comes. Which to be honest, ladies, you’re over exaggerating.
I mean to be honest I’m not opposed to tasting cum. Being on a long distance relationship with a long term girlfriend (an exoctic Puerto Rican goddess, you know who you are), I once ate my salty baby batter on a dare on Skype. And to be honest, I’ve tasted many off putting vinegar-y vaginas, so how is that any different? I ate pineapple juice so it tasted sweet!
If any of you know me, you’d know that I am pretty openly bisexual (and if you don’t we need to be better friends, or I don’t care to know about you or me). Not that I identify myself as bisexual per se but when it comes to brass tax and defining things in terms of black and white instead of abstract and grey, I have to sometimes assume a label. (Because you assholes make me, Auntie I’m looking at you).
I tend to define my sexuality in terms of the Kinsey scale, which states that no one is sexually fully straight or homosexual. Homosexuality in my mind is in terms of gray and deviations. Do I typically seek out long term relationships with women? Yes. Do I want to have sex with women? Oh my god yes. Almost to a fault. Do I want to have sex with men? Yes, almost to a fault. I am addicted to sexual attention and even more to attention in general. It’s a fault in me that I want to be wanted. I want people, not just women, but everyone, to want to have sex with me. Is it wrong of me to purposely be sexually obtainable? In a basic sense no, but in an overall sense, yes it is. It’s an addiction.
If somebody doesn’t fuck me in a week, I get antsy. I get the shakes,
I want people to fuck me because in the end not only do I want to be desired but I am also helplessly addicted to sex. The euphoric rush of getting my rocks off no matter the sex is a fault, a treasure and an addiction of mine.
I hope in writing this small confession that I secretly with a small spitefulness hope that my extended family is disgusted. I know in the end some of the more open minded ones will understand but that the majority will just assume I AM GAY. Which isn’t true. Not in the least. Just ask all the women I’ve fucked senseless (or for the women who don’t think so, I fucked half hearted on a drunk or coke addled dick). Looking back I wish I had more viagra.
If they (my old punk bandmates Shaughn or Jack, my cousin who I hold so dear and love) ever reads this, I hope they fully understand although I hope they do. And to that point I hope my so called “gay” friends, who are so eagerly judgmental (and the whole community) of my sexuality come to appreciate and understand a truly bixexual person. It’s not an identity.
And please to all my biphobic friends (gay and straight) please understand that I don’t want to fuck all of you. Gross! I mean, in all reality, I’m sure you’ve met a woman or man, you’ve never wanted to fuck. Just because you’re a man(sexuality excluded) doesn’t mean I want to throw myself down and suck your dicks and just because you’re a woman doesn’t mean I am in capable or don’t want to give you my mouth.
I’ll lick that pussy up. (I sincerely hope my gay friends gagged at this).
How short sighted and shallow. Please, get over yourselves. You may be fuckable to some but just like everybody else you’re not fuckable to me. And to my gays, for a community, who knows the sting of close minded conservative communities, a large portion of you (more of my friends than I’d like to admit) have been hurtful and close minded yourself. I understand being “bisexual” to many of you was a transitory phase, but not to me. I live in this beautiful greedy reality.
It’s wonderful! Amazing even.
So, if you feel this way, please stay away (homo or hetero), I don’t want you to change or “turn” me to what you feel is the appropriate “side”. I am happy with myself, my sexual orientation and my identity. So please accept, or sign off and kindly leave me alone. I’ve gotten enough ‘testimonials’ from both sexes telling me I changed their ‘mind’ or made them ‘believe’. And to the last few ‘girls’ who told me they couldn’t believe I was a ‘real man’. Fuck you. Weren’t your legs shaking I do recall? (Not that I am a sexual pariah, which I am not, but who made you cum?) Answer is..ME.
That aside, I will disclose to you which is a very personal experience to me and many others, the experiences in which I identified my love for others and the experience in which I embraced it.
So I’ve always acknowledged my bisexuality on a numerical sense. Being a young awkward overweight kid obsessed with science and statistics, bisexuality on paper doesn’t seem too outlandish. With nearly seven billion people on the Earth it seems somewhat crazy to assume that not one handsome man might be your soul mate. The odds are theoretically against you. To assume out of that many people that a man might sweep you off your feet is scientifically irresponsible. Just accept it homophobes there is a guy out there who can make your knees weak.
That being said, the first real time I came to this realization was ironically tripping (on 6 hits) of LSD with my girlfriend at the time in her parents’ house (where we lived). It was an incredible and sublime experience (and my intense love affair with hallucinogenics will have to be for another post). It was the season of fall (my absolute favorite) and amongst watching the leaves change color and die, we were riddled with drugs.
We stocked up on pumpkin flavored beer and fresh sashimi from the local Japanese joint. We bunkered down and watched Finding Nemo (which was wondrous) and The Nightmare Before Christmas and Willy Wonka And The Chocolate Factory (which were less than ideal suggestions; seriously that sequence in the boat with the Grim Reaper Mowing were made for us!). We had a wonderful time until my girlfriend at the time spewed her guts upon the bathroom mat. Being somewhat cognoscente I made the choice to rush downstairs and throw it into the washer while speaking falsities to her mother whose head would not stop swelling and moving.
“Yeah! You’re right. It must have been the sushi that made us sick.” Heh. Lies.
Regardless, following this sobering incident, we resorted to hanging out in her room while she was absorbed in being a ‘psychedelic kitty”. She zoned out while I ranted about quantum mechanics and blackholes. With nothing to sound of from as she was in a state, I reached a startling and daring realization.
I came to this strange idea that perhaps in an alternate dimension that we were the same sexual being but split in this reality. Her being the female portion and me being the male form. We were the same perfect person but split in unfair gender definitions. I gripped my penis (rather harshly) and wondered why I couldn’t wear a pretty dress if I wanted to.
Why was this lump of flesh dictating my behavior and everyone’s interpretation of me? It all seemed so incredibly unfair. I REFUSED to allow my physical body to ever decide my feelings or intuition again. If you wondering you savages, we fucked. And she came. It was great. Not that I condone drug use (But I do, but I’ll get to that another time).
Why couldn’t I do what I wanted to? Not that I wanted to wear a dress or lipstick and fuck men, but more importantly why couldn’t I if I choose to? Being a libertarian, why wasn’t I free to do as I please? Especially to my own body? I have the right to do and act as I please. As long as it doesn’t involve animals or children. Which my mother always said. But that’s a whole different essay.
This sudden thought process shattered my idea of gender roles in our society from which it never recovered. I may try to glue the pieces back together but the cracks never evaporated.
It never made sense again.
This same girl years later (as much as I love her as a person and fellow druggie) when confronted about my sexuality despite being an adventurous psyhconaut seemed mystified.
“Why would you want that? When you can have this?”
She asked in my mind seemingly groping her body for clarification. As if her intense womanly form would every dissuade me from my conclusions. Her interpretation seemed childish and small minded when my own mindset would never remain the same. Perhaps she was struggling with the idea that the man that once fucked and ate her out to orgasm could ever even accept the otherworldly ‘unnatural’ alternative. My father when my brother confessed the details came to him came to me surprised, disgusted and appalled. As we folded clothing, he asked –
“But you sleep with girls right?”
“You fuck beautiful girls. I’ve met them.” Weird thing to say. Thank you, Pops for saying you want my girlfriends,
“Yes, and?” I replied.
“I just don’t get it. Why would you want to fuck a man?” He asked relenting.
And so to my dear drunken Papa, you don’t have to. I don’t expect you or anyone else to understand. I’m just asking for you to accept it. I am attracted to and fall in love with amazing beautiful people.
The COCK is a sleek and sturdy amazing piece of work. The VAGINA both comforting and outwardly floral. Both are beautiful. If you believe in a ‘God’ (which I don’t), they made them both this perfect fleshy form of fucking. Therefore why cannot I appreciate the craftsmenship in either? Although they both tend to leak in anticip-
Pation! Even though one bleeds. Which I don’t really mind. Seriously, just put a towel down. Stop being a pussy. I still like you regardless.
People still aren’t able to understand. And so to explain things I resort to pandering and give this explanation.
I’ll leave you with the experience in which as a bisexual, I truly felt beautiful and free.
I was at a pretty popular bar and club. Fuck disclosure, it’s the uptown Dream Hotel in NYC. Unfortunately it’s the one that houses jock stereotypes and cheap beer. I was with a hetero friend named Eric (I’m sure he wouldn’t be upset being outted) and we regaled in guessing the relationships of partners, being analytical as we do. A gorgeous muscular man named Greg (which I came to find later) was dancing with an insatiable sleek red head woman (whose name I don’t remember). They danced to and fro so seductively and precise.
Eric was convinced they were a couple but I disagreed and I was sure by Greg’s movements (I could just tell). And so I made a bet with Eric that they were plutonic. I bet That Greg was just a friend and that his illustrious freckled companion was a trained dancer (she was really good and graceful). To prove my point, once they stopped dancing, I made a point to pony up next to Greg and gather information. Lo and behold judging by his demeanor and voice I could tell he was part of the ‘family’ (which in hindsight isn’t fair and prejudiced in itself, but I just knew). Greg and I hit it off and I gave him my number to meet up later.
A fellow comedian friend of ours with a slew of gorgeous Korean girls and a filmmaker decided it was best for us to head to a very popular hotel to an expensive rooftop for drinks. Being broke as shit, I obliged. Wearing a punk rock t- shirt and cut off jean shorts (which were against dress code) I got us into the expensive club where a bottle of vodka was at minimum four hundred dollars (I wasn’t paying). I smooched my way into the club with my dare I say boyish charm past the beautiful dark skinned Maitre’d. To impress my new friends, I invited Greg and his gorgeous fire headed friend with hopes of sleeping with either of them.
The excitement proved too much and the striking view of midtown Manhattan somewhat startled them. I really wanted either of their immaculate bodies but alas the dancer had a boyfriend and seemed disingenuous. But I didn’t care.
Because I was caught in a liberating win-win situation. I would get in with her gorgeous gay friend and fuck her, and if it didn’t wouldn’t work out, I would just fuck him. Not that he was a second choice as he was an Adonis.
In the end, she wasn’t interested and he was. In the dreary rooftops of an expensive hotel dimly lit by paper lanterns, I asked if he wanted to go home with me. Thus initiating my first real gay experience with a nine inch cock.
We drunkenly went back to my house where I recited some half ass terrible poetry and he fawned over me. And after a long discussion over who would fuck who (which I came to learn is a common disagreement in that community), I fucked him sore with my ass.
He came quickly telling me my ass was tight (I hope my father faints at this), and after we both went to sleep. He left that morning abruptly, and I resorted to a slippery asshole (from the lubed condom) and a very gratifying shit in which I voided my bowels with ecstasy.
That being said, I have slept with many desirable women (most than more you douchehating fucktards can attests to) and men (beautiful studs) that both have left my legs quivering.
I have never felt so desirable and fuckable in my life, and I’ve never felt so free in my life. In a weird twist I pity you ( both gay and straight) because I can do whatever I please liberated from social norms and the homophobic gay/comic community. For the gay men who say I should just convert (try me) and for the women who feel I am in incapable of screwing you into a coma (try me) or meeting their needs ( I will eat you out until the sun comes up), please call me. I am not a faggot, or a fancy. I am a MAN (first), who regardless of your gender or sexual orientation finds you beautiful. Also I may be a sex addict. Seriously, call me at 267-694—
(My editor asks that I refrain from using my real number because he gets jealous).