About 7 years ago I nearly date raped a girl. I remember crying on the phone trying to apologize. At the time I had a kinda uppity attitude about the thing, I thought well I’m not like other guys, I’m sensitive, I’m in touch with women. I understand them. I must be ya know like close to the perfect guy. Except of course very few of them wanted me.
When I first began sleeping with guys about a year ago I was amazed. I completely couldn’t understand their desire, it was alien remote from another world. Like their pyschologies, I couldn’t quite get them, they didn’t get me I didn’t get them. I was stranded between the genders, remote from women by experience, alienated from men by socializing. I was locked in myself, there was no external person only closed in interests and relations via the material world (i.e. intellectual pursuits, video games, magic the gathering etc). The former still being my main way of relating to people. But what struck me was the respect, the way they didn’t seem to be looking down on me, the sex wasn’t sleazy, I wasn’t dominated, I was a queen with her subjects, in control of the situation, my suitors trying to please me.
What occurs to me now is that ironically because my heterosexuality isn’t formed around giving pleasure, but rather on identification, it actually somehow is worse than the typical heterosexuality, it drives me to desperation, to push the boundaries of what to others would be friends. It was my own assurded belief that I was the better suitor that made the worse.