This is our truth, tell us yours
I am, according to many of my friends, as straight as a die.
I am actually queer as fuck. Bisexual is a description that suits some people, but just as bipolar is an an unemotional label for an experience that can be euphoric or incredibly painful, and just about anything in between, so bisexual doesn’t cover the full range of emotions and attitudes that queer sex as I experience it might cover.
I don’t have any special expertise in sex. I know what I’ve seen and done, but I don’t know if what I do, and have done, is the same or different to what other people do. I’ve known for a long time now though that sex is more fun for me, more enjoyable and more fulfilling if it challenges any norms it encounters along the way.
For Jem and myself, our sex life is multi-dimensional. We weave elements of BDSM and our personalities into sex, but the neediness in me, the need to challenge norms and to be queer, is always there, always lurking under the surface. To Jem, I think it presents as a calculated intention to keep her off balance, but it’s less about her than about keeping me out of the ruts.
One of the ruts is being predictably dominant, the one way track that starts out with good intentions and ends up with not listening, with performing not participating. I like not to be that person. However, I also like to be queer, and I like to surface the things I hear at the edges of speech and conversation. That means if I hear tones or signals from Jem that tell me she needs or desires our sex to be other than what it is, that’s where I want to go.
That’s one of our ways of queering our sex; Jem is submissive and I am dominant, but sometimes my dominance is about leading and manouvering Jem to places she would happily go to if ordered, but which are a huge challenge if she has to talk about them, or countenance taking the lead towards them.
Another way is about me; simply, it’s about de-throning my cock. I’m a man, I have a cock, and it works. It isn’t the centre of sex for me; how can it be when so much of the sex I have experienced, and enjoyed, has been about other men’s cocks in me? I can make Jem come with my cock, my tongue, my hands, my feet, my thighs, my voice and even my silence. Today we scissored, and she came, beautifully, but she never stopped being herself, Jem, the woman who submits so thoughtfully.
I can’t describe this other than in Jem’s words, that we queer sex. It’s not a performance; it’s a function of my being queer, and of her being the complex, self-aware, thoughtful woman she is. It’s a collaboration, and it’s about each of us recognizing the other in the absence of stereotypes. In fact that’s how I’d define queer sex; the refusal of stereotypes in pursuit of sexual pleasure.