Tuesday, April 17, 2007

Some Were Out Where?

Accurate computation is immaterial to the argument but I can fairly say with the confidence of a sedated iguana that of the many people close to me only about two unfortunate friends are possessed of the knowledge that I swing both ways. I didn’t actually come out, a concept that’s totally mystifying for me, but these are keen folks, my friends, who can predict the actual astrophysics of the impending apocalypse with extreme accuracy given only the right circular alignment of strawberry foam on their frappuccinos.

I’m on hyperbole overload but humor me.

It cannot be denied that there are folks out there who may appear to be conflicted poseurs, claiming to be bisexual but silently wish to have their chutes exclusively plowed into mulch. I'd like to have it on record that unlike a few of these charming individuals, I actually have sex with women, in the past, in the present, and if the opportunity is conducive, in the immediate future.

Now I am aware that by saying so I am starting to sound like a conflicted poseur who silently wishes his chute is exclusively plowed into mulch.

The thing is I equally fancy the variance of both female and male sex, prompting my friend to roll his eyeballs and snort in a very ironic monotone, “You are soooo adventurous.”

Ooops, digression. Again.

Let’s switch back to the main meat of this entry: my so-called pretentious puzzlement about the issue of ‘coming out.’ Is it necessary? Am I obligated? For whose relief? If I fuck a dude do I owe it to the whole world to broadcast the most sordid details of my sex life?

I’d like to flatter myself I am open-minded and I expect it from other people too. I do not deny nor confirm questions about sexuality on the premise that sex, regardless of whom you do it with, is a private matter between two consenting adults. Why should I feel duty-bound to tell everyone that I fuck the cute male clerk from the Laundromat, in the same way straight folks have every right to keep their lips zipped as to who they forked in a crowded bar?

I know this is a very touchy issue for some, and I am not denying people’s decision to broadcast to everyone down the street that they prefer sucking dick than muffing clit. My issue is that you are considered a conceited prick in deep denial if you don’t admit your sexual preference.

What for, so people can judge you? Shouldn’t you just keep them guessing and amuse yourself in the process? And what’s with the hunger for knowledge regarding someone’s position in bed? Is he top? Bottom? Versatile? Will someone’s admittance really add up to the great repository of human knowledge barring Kinsey’s revelatory survey? I’d respond to Kinsey, to some random shmuck waiting for an opportunity to label me, no.

A lot of gay people make so much ruckus about being proud of being gay. It’s not necessarily a fault, in fact, it’d admirable the way courage is summoned to punctuate the debate. But has anyone ever considered that by actually acknowledging the label society slap on our foreheads we are not earning any elevated respect at all but a polite pigeonholing and the condescending I told you so shrugs from people who still think cocksuckers are lesser human beings than straight ones?

Is the need to publicize posing more setbacks than benefits for our kind? I can’t help but think about it. I fuck men. I fuck women. But that doesn't necessarily mean I would think less of people who go exclusively man to man or woman to woman. I just don’t feel the need to know. It’s a democracy. I have every right to fuck whom I want as every Tom, dick and Harry in this goshdarn planet.

This breed of personal reasoning maybe perverse but I am not giving in to the petty curiosities of judgmental folks waiting for a chance to inflict their narrow beliefs on me.

It’s not about being closeted; I shall not deny or confirm. It is not cowardice. It is a choice. My choice is as valid anyone’s.

Milking a confession--voluntary or otherwise--out of me to purchase for some respect is nothing but disparaging irony.

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