A bunch of twitter people I follow and like a lot were discussing the fact that they don’t like sex with men who
a) don’t like anal penetration of themselves
b) don’t suck cocks, and
c) don’t like being orally penetrated with dildos.
So easy for me to be a blokey, been there, done that got the spunk stains on my teeshirt kind of guy.
Except, when I started having sex with men by choice, rather than as a victim, I remember the acute anguish, the fear of being outed, of being bullied, and the panic that would set in. Walking this morning I realised that that fear wasn’t just about the risks, it was an internalized fear that I was making an irrevocable choice.
It’s summed up by the joke about the man on a remote Scottish island. He rescued people from a sinking boat. No-one called him Hamish the rescuer. He made exquisite, carved cradles for every new-born child, but no-one called him Hamish the carpenter. But he shagged one sheep…..
That fear of the irrevocable choice is the fear of losing everything you are nad becoming the poof. Not the musician, or the rugby player, or the son, or the friend,but the poof.
The other insight this morning was that that fear is no different to my female friends who fear that one indiscretion will make them the slut.