There is something to be said for the easy and readily available sex that one finds on the Internet. Sites like www.manhunt.net and www.men4sexnow.com have taken the place of the kind of tricking one used to do on Polk street or Crissy Field. Still there is another kind of homosexual sex that takes place under the radar away from the Kinsey 6 queens.
Federal public health uses an all encompassing term to describe men who have sex with men. "MSM" includes gay, bisexual and those men who engage in homosexual sex who do not identify as such.
Looking back on the pattern of my personal sex life, it would seem that I have a tendency to sleep with men in the latter category. Attracting a man is relatively easy but a special kind of challenge occurs when the man is "on the downlow" or a "fence-sitter" i.e. unsure of his sexuality. I had a unique opportunity to attract such men for most of my 20s when my gender presentation remained ambiguous. Because of my facial features and anorexic frame, I was often mistaken for a girl. In college, I honed the art of illusion by dressing up as a girl and attending then-popular hetero night clubs like the Roxie. My conscience objected to the blatant misrepresentation that my gender-variance allowed. I did not feel comfortable being pursued for sex when dressed as a woman. Because I did not feel like a woman inside, the fact that I was mistaken for one was often lost on me. As far as I was concerned, the image I projected was by chance and I did nothing to perpetuate it. Of course, I didn't consider that the sparkly blue eye-shadow and glamazon hair extensions may have contributed to the attention. The trickle-down effect of my early drag identity morphed into androgyny.
As a result, the strict boundaries of sexual identity were severely blurred and cast aside. I soon realized that looking like a girl or appearing feminine could be used to an advantage that made the pursuit of sex ever so much more interesting. Although I seldom knowingly misrepresented myself as female, I seemed nonthreatening and non-male enough to make it easier for men who were on the fence about their sexuality to engage sexually with a man. It soon became a challenge and then a game to see how many of these borderline men I could lure to "the other side". I developed a set of do's and don'ts based on the trends I saw repeated in their behavior. For example, I took it as a given that no kissing would be appreciated. Straight men do not pursue cuddly affection with other men. Do, however focus on the cock. Don't expect to receive mutual gratification. Don't be too queeny. Don't touch them after they cum. Don't breathe a word of it and certainly don't expect a phone call or even an exchange of names afterward.
While working as a receptionist at a large consulting firm in Dallas, I landed the stud prize that could rival Paul Bunyan. "Darrel" was 6'5 and beefy. He confirmed the adage that everything is bigger in Texas and fit the bill entirely. I knew he had a girlfriend based on meeting the dippy blond who dropped off a big bouquet at my desk the previous Valentine's Day. "This is for Darrel," she cooed.
That's why it surprised me when Darrel invited me out for a "drink with the guys" one evening. I met him at a local watering hole and watched him down over a 6 pack of draft beers in less than a happy hour. No other guys showed up and I soon realized that he had orchestrated this setup to make it feasible for him to follow me home. One thing led to another and soon, he had joined the ranks of MSM, men who have sex with men (who don't identify as gay). In an eerily lucid moment, right before I hit the lights and sealed his fate, he said "remember, discretion is imperative...".
"Sure, of course, whatever," I agreed. Little did I know just how accurate this was to be when Darrel refused to acknowledge me the next day. He didn't so much as manage a nod in my direction while breezing through the lobby. He behaved as if our interlude had never happened. I soon learned that this was par for the course. Humoring the closet case along was a necessary part of the process when playing with this type of fire. In all cases when the trick grappled with his sexuality and questioned his desires, I banged the drum at an unassuming beat.
Assuring them that I was flattered and aware of the immense gravity of the step they had just taken was preceded by a promise to respect their boundaries. You wouldn't want them to think they just gave up the booty to a fag who was going to gossip about the event over the fence post they sat on. "Fence-sitter" is slang for "undecided" or "queerly questioning" or "bisexual". Frequent references to the guy's girlfriend was also essential. "I know you're not gay, dude", I implored. "That blowjob meant absolutely nothing. I was just testing the theory that gay guys can give better head than girls,".
The goal was to appear as non-threatening to the affected suitor as possible.
As I matured, the alternative gender I outwardly fostered gave way to facial hair, extra poundage and a celebration of homosexual sex that was also homo social. I am referring to the social aspects that take place in the dynamic of a shared sexuality. The locker-room scoreboard scale used to size up the chemistry afforded me a competitive edge in the marketplace. The penis pride realized in my sexual encounters reached out to favor the decidedly queer and less of the ones achieved with MSM on the DL. Now, when I come across a "not really gay" guy, I appeal to the fraternal sense of brotherhood.
By acknowledging that you are thankful for the time they are devoting to you, reiterate the need for discretion and assure that no strings are attached. "It's just a couple of guys hanging out," or something like that.
Sometimes, this "not really gay" guy will admit to being "gay for pay". On more than one occasion I have had to unduly encounter the panicked regrets of a deflowered MSM when he thought his sacred masculinity had been compromised. For free. I don't pay for sex as there is no need, a detail I have had to point out when the MSM treats me as purloin er.
I maintain it is essential to establish that fact from the beginning when one's pride and fiscal market value is taken into question. Is he being coy or is he working? Nothing is more of a buzz kill than the post-coital shock that a slug in the mug will bring you.
Each of the varied encounters has an underlying commonality in their singled-out occurrences as one-time-only. I can count on one hand the number of times I have laid a second visit with a partner.
I don't know if this tale will make sense or ring familiar to anyone gay who happens to read it. It is merely a look-back and Pondering of the sex that describes my identification as homosexual.
When asked to check a box on sexual orientation, I instinctively blurt, "male" before realizing my mistake. I have colored outside of the box for years in relation to my gender presentation. While challenging the parameters of gender by virtue of my crying game, I shied away from the constrictions brought on by the need to check a box. Reading down the list of pansexual possibilities, I am grateful to be innately Gay and check appropriately. But then I question and think again. I know "MSM" exists to take into account the gay sex that men who aren't gay have. As I have gained some kind of expertise by engaging in said behavior I wonder if the sex I had from my gay perspective is different from the type I engaged with men of the latter. For that matter, why am I forced to tie all of my gayness into a neat box fit for profiling? Top or bottom? Nelly or butch? Trannie or just look like one? While these either/or choices connote hetero sexist stereotypes, the definitive "gay" and all it's come to imply is dangerously mediocre. If I check the box as gay, am I relegated to vanilla boy-on-boy sex with pink collared clones? What about the crying game I play with the fence sitters? Does this count as gay sex? What if I wear mascara and act as the gateway gay?
While technological advances and online identities have broadened the sexual marketplace, html has replaced pheromones. A major part of me stems from the experience I gained as a result of other's perception being different from my reality. I came to touch and was then empowered by the fact that perceptions were not always what they seemed. If my tender years had been spent checking boxes in masturbatory isolation, would I be as gaily evolved as the MSM or less so? Living as a man who looked like a woman who had sex as a man with men who loved women and then as a man as only a man can....I say "try and put that in a box". Which reminds me of a time I waited on Chi Chi Larue and her latest cast of porn-gods while working at a local restaurant. When asked if she would like a to go box for her leftovers, she quipped, "A Box!!" and giggled with knowing glee.
How gay.