Mating Season

I’ve been neglecting the blog again, as I have a tendency to do when life gets busy and I spend considerably more time doing than thinking.  

Ah, summertime. The days are long, the weather is warm, the calendar is overflowing with more social engagements than my introverted little brain can handle. We’re going to parties and meeting new people, and inevitably, some of them are cute and charming enough that I want to rip their clothes of. Lovers from far-away lands come to stay and we go to visit. It’s mating season. 

Throughout all of it, I’m enjoying the flirting and dating, but I’m finding myself less and less interested in one-off hook ups, especially through connections made online. The apps and websites have their place, even more so in areas that are less gay than Boston, but they’re no longer for me. Quite simply, I’m sick of the behavior of within the apps, and even more sick of the way they’ve become a sort of barycenter for gay culture. 

I hear it all the time, in person and online: lamentations from men seeking boyfriends and complaining that every Grindr hookup has been a disappointment, and has never led to anything more. I sympathize. I really do. Gay dating can be intimidating in a heterosexist society, and hookup apps can seem like the easy way to go. You know everyone you chat with is gay and available, and rejecting someone is as simple as ignoring his message.  

But it’s a meat market, or like puppies in a pet store. You pick the cute one, or the body that looks like the ones you jerk off to. Maybe, if you’re looking for a real connection, you’ll write to the guy who’s wearing a Batman T-shirt because hey, you’re a “geek” too. You filter them by arbitrary and ill-defined types.  

You message him and chat just long enough to decide that he’s not a serial killer and meet up for a fuck.  

True love? 

Not impossible, but unlikely. You know nothing about these guys, and your initial attraction will be based off the physical and sexual compatibility you share, bolstered by a post-orgasmic endorphin rush. When that burns off and you start to really get to know one another, often the relationship fizzles. 

Instead, do what you love. Sometimes gay clubs and sports leagues get a bad rap, especially in more gay-friendly areas, because it feels self-segregating and like fulfilling a stereotype. But having a gay social network is healthy regardless of where you live and how supportive your straight friends are. You get to do things you love and meet people who share your interests who are also potential partners.  

You get to know them first, and then attraction might develop. Or maybe they introduce you to their friends, and one of them catches your eye. You get the opportunity to have a crush on a person rather than lust after a photo.  

So put your damn phone down and stop making faces into the front-facing camera.  

Go outside. 

Make new friends.  

Fall in love. 

After all, it’s mating season. 


Walking the Line

Double standards.As I’ve mentioned before, bisexual erasure is a thing I feel pretty strongly about. It sucks– bisexuals have been around forever, and yet we’re still subjected to eyerolls and disbelief when we come out. Because of this, I think visibility is important and the more bisexuals who stand up to be counted, the better.

Yet I refer to myself as “gay” half the time. Where’s the logic in that?

I’m not one to dwell too much on labels, but after many years of alternating between the two in conversation, I stopped to think about why. The answer is almost unsatisfyingly simple: I identify with both.

I am bisexual in that I am attracted to all sorts of folks, among whom are men, women, and non-binary individuals. My sexual history reflects that diversity, and though I can’t predict the future, I expect the next five years won’t look two different from the past.

Despite that, I am also gay. All but one of my serious relationships have been with men. I’m open to another relationship with a woman or non-binary person, but all the partners I’ve introduced to my family and colleagues have been men. In other words, I navigate the world as a gay man and my romantic experience largely reflects that identity.

Is it disingenuous for me to straddle that line and claim both identities? I don’t really know. I do think my sexuality is more complicated than a single word (something which I think is true for most people) but I’m going to choose the most appropriate word to convey the point I’m trying to make.

These distinctions are all arbitrary anyway.


A Statement on Separatist Faggot Acceptance -- Zac Slams

Credit: Zac Slams

Disclaimer: This post may piss you off. I know you probably hate that word. Hear me out, though.

The word stings like a slap to the face, with a hard “g” and a Sid Vicious snarl. 


Brutal. Antagonistic. Caustic. It’s been slung at me by classmates and strangers on the street.

I like the bitter taste it leaves on my tongue. Not when they say it, but when I do.

They say it as an expression of hatred, to degrade us for our sexuality our femininity. But I don’t find either of those degrading. I am not “straight acting” or “masc.” To embrace faggotry is to throw  up middle fingers at homophobia and the misogyny it stems from.

Let’s turn the brutality of the word back on itself. The faggot is aggressively, unabashedly queer, anti-assimilationist, and dismissive of the idea that we are just like them. I want the word to strike fear not in our hearts, but in theirs, and to remind them that when we call them out on homophobia we pull back the curtain on their fears: the fear that our faggotry will disrupt their system, corrupt their binaries and crush the boxes they’ve constructed.

I wouldn’t expect anyone else to embrace it and I wouldn’t apply the label to anyone who doesn’t identify with it. I respect the guys who fit into the traditional, hetero narrative of married life and white picket fences, but I expect the same respect in return. I’m not an angry person, but as a queer, trans, non-monogamous pervert, some view my mere existence as an act of aggression.

Faggotry is punk as fuck.

I’m a cocksucking faggot, a flaming faggot
A fuck bunny, fruitcake, cum superdeli, homo
Uncle Walt, Auntie Mame, little sissy pansy
Fudge-packing butt pirate, drag queen, hairdresser
Interior decorator, pervert, pornographer
Sodomite, sex fiend, mincing, limpy-wrist
Scat-nosed poof prince, a resident of Castro
And president of the united states of love

Pansy Division – Cocksucking Faggot