Thinking “I’m not queer enough” is apparently a problem for many in the queer community of which I’m now a part of which still feels very strange to say. This got me thinking. Part of accepting my bisexuality was separating bisexuality from having sex. I can like men and never have sex with them. Just like I can never have sex with women. (I’m not having sex with anyone currently, nor have I for two years! The line starts over there. All are welcome!)
Let’s turn it on its head. How, exactly, can someone be MORE queer? Wearing rainbow overalls while dancing to Jimmy Somerville and Marc Almond’s cover of “I Feel Love”? It’s unquantifiable. You can’t be any more queer than you can be any more heterosexual. It’s a binary toggle. It’s either a zero or a one. Yet there’s still that feeling that you’re not enough. Maybe it’s a societal thing. Queerness is opressed so much that it’s hard to struggle out from under that hand pushing you down, and you feel you’re not doing enough to struggle against it. I’ve been queer less than two months so I’m in no position to definitively say anything, but these are my thoughts.
Coming to it later in life is strange. I spent 49 years believing I was straight. Sure I was an ally to the LGBT+ community but they were just something I wasn’t a part of. I was just trying to be a decent human to my fellow humans. Now here I am suddenly thrust (phrasing!) into this community I’ve always supported but knew very little about. I don’t know if anyone has ever coined this term, they probably have, but I’m calling myself an LDQ. A Late Discovery Queer. It’s a whole new world and I’m very excited to be part of it, but it’s like I’m taking my first steps and learning to walk. Persephone warned me of some of the pitfalls I’d likely encounter telling people I’m bisexual, and was absolutely right. She has made this a lot easier for me.
Despite the progress I’ve made since accepting, the doubt it still there. Every now and then, a little voice appears saying “Just because you’re into cocks now too doesn’t mean you’re bi… You’re faking.” For a second I always believe it, then the realization hits that yes, it very much DOES mean I’m bisexual! Getting turned on looking at penises is sort of the very definition of it for someone like me.
Then last night, something funny happened. On my Twitter someone posted this tweet.
What is it about cocks? They always look like they’re begging to be touched. Begging to be inserted, held fast.
Living alone and going through this lockdown, I miss many things about them.
I miss how WARM they are. I miss how they smell. pic.twitter.com/5WYjWezfEk
— Sabine’s Daybook (@sabinesdaybook) July 15, 2020
I admired the cock. The way it’s laying on his lower belly. Just begging to be caressed. That very sexy belly. That… Hang on, back up… That’s the first time I’ve ever thought that about a mans body. I stared as his body. His sexy, lean body. That beautiful penis. I wanted to touch that body. Kiss it. I imagined caressing his ass. I was breathing heavy. I put my phone down, my erection growing. A voice in my head as I lay there trying to settle and think about what just happened. “So, still doubting you’re queer?”
It’s all that anonymous man’s fault… That sexy man, and his beautiful cock and that tight belly I dearly want to make him cum over…
Oh yeah, I’m queer enough…