She doesn’t remember this pivotal moment in our relationship. We were sitting there, just after fucking. She turns to me and starts talking about what it’s like to gag on a cock. “You know, how it goes down your throat and you’re like mmmm. You know? You know what that’s like right?” I look at her really weird, and I feel that dread in my stomach. Damn, this girl too? I literally just got done fucking her brains out. Why does she think I’m gay?
Not only gay, but she thinks I regularly gag on dicks. I vividly remember her next to me, her smile, where she was in my bed, that the lights were on, everything. I know she asked me this, and I know how it made me feel. Every man who’s asked this is conflicted because he wants to appear cool. We all know that if we say, “Fuck no you fucking idiot,” that we’ll never be invited to all the cool parties with the bisexual guys and the sluts. But, if you’re straight, and you love a girl, then this question is devastating. It hits right at the heart of what makes you a straight man.
It’s the same as asking a woman if she’s trans. Imagine, if you’re a woman, that men on a dating site asked, “Are you trans?” Nearly every woman will pretend it doesn’t hurt, because they also want to seem cool and not offended by being considered trans. They play it off, then start asking the same kinds of questions I did: “Why do you think I look masculine?” “What makes you say that? Is it my writing?” “No, haha, <block>.”
Asking a woman if she’s trans is insulting because it’s making assumptions about who she is based on superficial bullshit like how she looks or talks. Asking a man if he’s gay by trying to bait him into admitting he gags on dicks on the regular is also offensive because, again, it’s based on nothing about him. If you actually see a man gagging on a dick, then alright he is probably gay. But until you see that, you can’t ask. He might just be a little effeminate or have a lisp he can’t control for an unrelated reason. You just don’t know, so don’t fucking ask.
What’s even more alarming though is how she didn’t remember it. She didn’t remember it as insinuating I was gay for no reason by trying to trick me into admitting I gag on cocks. She remembers it as asking me if I like MFM threesomes. She doesn’t remember how she did it, or why I got angry, and said I blew it way out of proportion. But when I bring this up, when I describe how it made me feel, exactly what happened, what she looked like, relaying this vivid memory that’s imprinted on my brain because it was painful, she tries to tell me I’m making it up.
In each case where she failed to remember what she did, there’s this immediate period where she tries to claim I’m crazy. That I’m fabricating this vivid clear memory. It takes a significant amount of arrogance and narcissism to tell someone with a clear and painful memory that their version is wrong. That the correct version is the one that makes the narcissist look good.
Curiously enough, she’s not the only one. I’ve asked one other womea why they thought I was gay, and she did the same thing. She claimed it never happened, even though I remember her sitting on my bed, freaked out that she thought I was gay. I remember the room, the lights, the brick wall, the bedding, her face, everything. She doesn’t remember it at all. She asked me because I had imitated a gay guy’s voice. That’s all. No real reason, just I’m a good actor?
Not only does she not remember it all, but rather than say she forgot, she went out of her way to try to convince me that I’m crazy and making it up. That this vivid painful memory of a woman I love making me feel small and insignificant for the dumbest of reasons is a complete fabrication. That I must be crazy, but this is a fairly serious accusation to say the least. That I am so fully insane that I am imagining a complete and vivid scene that then changed our relationship from then on. That I imagined a scene one day, and then for years later worried about why she thought that.
Nobody is that crazy, and I definitely am not.
Other women I dated asked me if I was gay for even dumber reasons. One girl asked me if I was trans because I knew a trans guy. Another girl asked me if I was gay because she found a 6 hour straight porn VHS tape called “six pack”. Another asked me if I was fucking my male friend because I hung out with him sometimes. I’m not making this up. Something about me, how I present myself, and about women’s skewed hypocritical views of masculinity, makes them perceive me as secretly gay (while I plow their vagina and only ever look at female porn).
It’s more than that though. When you love someone you want them to want you. To know you. You want them to crave you and if that person thinks you crave the opposite sex they can’t do that. In addition to that, it’s humiliating to have someone you love think that you can’t love them. These women also said that being gay was something people are born with and that they could never change. I agree, but then that means these women were saying that I could never love them because I would always love men. That I secretly loved men.
Part of me changing this blog around to be “artistically bi” is a joke about these women and how they just assumed I was gay for the dumbest reasons. These women were all feminists, and all gay friendly with numerous gay male friends, but had some of the worst stereotypes about masculinity. If great art comes from pain, then expressing my pain around women’s perception of my masculinity and their inability to admit their abuse is a good place to lay some paint on canvas.
I’m sure all kinds of people will see my paintings of my own dick and think, “Damn that dude’s a huge fag.” Artistically? Sure. Fuck it, let’s play with that. In the world of sexuality, people are allowed to be “romantically straight, but sexually bi”. That means you marry or date the opposite sex, but don’t mind fucking everyone. People say that gender is fluid and people can be one gender or another, and even some idiots think they’re truly dragons inside.
I figure, if someone can carve up their sexuality in such a way, then I can decide that I’m straight but artistically bisexual. All my favorite artists seem to be gay or bisexual anyway. Why not embrace this weird obsession that my girlfriends have about my sexuality and apply a little gender bending to make some art? Could be fun.
The image of a raw cock, painted, as art, the way women paint their vaginas, expresses how I feel about their perception of what makes me a man. When people see it, they’ll wonder about my sexuality, but ultimately it’s just a dick. They have no idea where it likes to go just from looking at it.