Dude magazine. Issue 3.
because I frequently present ‘femme’ to people, and my sexuality includes desire for male and female bodies among others, I often have the weird experience that is other people handing my bodily and desiring identities to me. —“I don’t date fucking bisexuals” hmm… contentious, sure. but what’s that to do with me? does this statement thrown at me mean my desires should suddenly commit to a binary gender norm? does this mean my cis-bodied performance of a camp femininity in which all clothing feels like ‘dress-ups’ is no longer queer? oh, and it’s got to mean that I don’t daydream of fucking with my cock throbbing between my thighs?
once I had a lover, a lover who was toying with their pronouns. sometimes boi, sometimes grrrl. and smaller than me. and vivid. we met and fucked and talked and talked and talked. we discussed bodies. and pronouns. and delicious embodied theory.
another lover. new to male pronouns. shy. bold. sweet. spiny. he fucked with his binder on. and I wondered out loud as the room heated up and sweat dripped everywhere if it ever came off, if there was a kind of heat or intimacy that made that feel okay. but I never needed a reply. and I wasn’t sure it had even been said.
slowly I came to realise that these two needed to meet. and meet they did. and it exploded into meanings between them, and I was elsewhere – pre-occupied, and pleased. but somehow the thing that made they-two made me the friction that caused the pearl of them. and now we don’t really speak, we three. and I feel the space in the silence. but have no words to make it otherwise.
but when I catch glimpses of those two, I am pleased to have been a beginning.