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How do you like it? How do you like it? Ryan8-5cut is keeping his diary locked, but thankfully, I have the password, which is very nice, 'cause he often makes me think seriously about some things I might not otherwise really consider. I wonder if he knows how much I enjoy his perspective, and not 'cause I'd shag him, either, though I probably would. Anyway, I don't know if he reads me (I think probably not), but he recently raised some issues that I thought deserved some attention. Issue No. 1: Penis size and heredity. Now, I don't really think of my dick as being all that big, mostly 'cause it's not beer-bottle thick or anything, just average in that regard, but I guess it is pretty long, and obviously, I know how to use it. I like it. I enjoy looking at it. I enjoy playing with it. I enjoy putting it inside other people. (I swear it's like a fucking parade with everyone walking past my desk today; I guess it's 'cause I'm busy writing things which some might find objectionable in the midst of doing my "work". Don't get me wrong; it's not that I never do any work, but I don't find that it's usually super-challenging or requires 100% of my attention. Once I get comfortable in a job, I usually find that I could nearly do it in my sleep with one hand tied behind my back; it's just how I am.) I'm not sure the heredity of my endowment works, though, and I'm certainly curious. I know that my father is not particularly well-endowed, because I had the misfortune, when I was about 14 and rifling through his porn collection, of running across pictures he and my mother had taken of each other, albeit when they were quite a bit younger. Yes, for the record, I was horrified, and I put everything back where I'd found it immediately and fled. While I've stated that I think my mother was very beautiful when she was younger, I certainly did not mean it that way, and as we know, my dad has never been someone I found remotely attractive or aspired to resemble physically. I wonder, though, about the men on my mother's side of the family. Unless I'm some sort of anomaly, I must get both my strong sense of sexuality and my cock from that side, unless my father was just a bit unfortunate, though I do have to say that his side of the family seems much more repressed than my mother's, sexually. On the other hand, I'm not at all sure where the whole bisexual thing originated; my father has a cousin who's a lesbian, but apart from her, I'm unaware of any other "deviants", but then, being an Old Southern family, no one would acknowledge something like that anyway, so perhaps I'll never know. These are not topics I'd feel particularly comfortable bluntly raising in conversation with my relatives, though I can't say I think anyone would be surprised if I did. Issue No. 2: Homosexual sibling incest. I always wished, growing up, that I'd had an older brother, mostly in the hope that I'd have had a male role model closer in age than my father, with whom my relationship was always a bit strained during my formative years anyway. Admittedly, a fraternal relationship probably would have been strained, too, but I always wished I had someone around to teach me how to be "cool". (Little did I realise that in the wide world that exists outside private prep schools with fewer than 1,000 students between Kindergarten and 12th grade where football reigns king, one has the privilege and responsibility to design one's own cool if one is inclined to do so, and eventually, one is sure to find kindred spirits.) I wonder, though, if I'd have wanted my older brother to "show me the ropes" sexually. If he looked like me or better, I'd almost certainly say so. And I'm not sure how I feel about that. Issue No. 3: Rules of Engagement among Bisexuals. I am a bisexual man. I have had the pleasure of dating bisexual women. In one relationship, the rule was that it was alright if I had liaisons with other men, and it was perfectly permissible for her to hook up with other women, but that we were to be completely heterosexually monogamous. It was nice in theory, but it didn't work so well in practice, for a number of reasons, the greatest of which was jealousy. We were both quite young at the time, so I have to wonder if some years later and with a bit more maturity, we might have managed it better or if we would have had a completely different perspective and insisted on complete fidelity. I dare not say that such an open relationship is impossible or unmanageable or, heaven forbid, wrong, because I know people who manage to make it work, just as I know people in all sorts of permutations of relationships (mostly non-heterosexual) who are not completely monogamous and who are quite happy that way. It doesn't mean that they love each other any less, just that they're able to separate sex and love in ways that many people may not be able to do. I think the individuals involved in the relationship have to decide what's right for them and maintain constant open communication about their feelings. I used to always think my ideal situation would be marriage to a woman who understood that I had a male lover who understood that I was married, but now, I'm not so sure. F got married over the summer, and it's probably just as well, considering our relationship was never the healthiest, and I've said that if we were still together, we'd probably go out on Friday nights and get drunk, and each of us would bring home someone else whom we'd have sex with in some weird 4-way on the living room floor, and then, in the morning, we'd send them away and hung-over as hell, we'd end up sitting on the bathroom floor eating cold pizza. I can't think that sort of situation would have survived for long. Issue No. 4: The Nature of Sexuality. This is a biggie. I always used to think I was only physically and sexually attracted to men, with no seriously deep connection, and that my relationships with women were much more profound before being sexual, and that consequently, the sexual vibe was very different between the two. As I get older, I realise that I am capable of growing very emotionally attached to men, as well as of thinking of women as sexual flings, so I guess I'd say it's a fluid process, without any necessarily concrete parameters. And as disconcerting as it might sometimes prove to be, I think I like it best that way. In other news, I've re-established contact with my friend Brandon from college, which makes me very happy indeed. He sent a one-sentence reply to my mass e-mail of yesterday, and I replied to his reply, unsure of whether it was really even he on the other end, and today, he's sent me a more significant update on his life, which is really pretty wonderful, and I do hope we'll get together for dinner when he's in town next week. I'll go re-read his e-mailed wonderfulness later, and perhaps I'll do an entry talking about how and why he's great. It makes me almost do the happy crying thing. Speaking of crying, earlier today, when I was listening to Tina Turner (Now, it's XTC), I found myself verging on tears while listening to "I Can't Stand the Rain". What the fuck is up with that? I've always thought it was a great song, but maybe today the raw soulfulness of it hit me in a way it never had before; it's not as though I'm in a particularly fragile or damaged state from a romantic perspective, so I don't know what would have precipitated this, except perhaps if I was listening more actively than I usually do. More on the topic of listening: I watched American Idol last night from start to finish for the first time ever. I wasn't quite as horrified as I thought I'd be. For the most part, the talent on display there is mediocre, at best, so I don't understand all the furor, and I certainly don't understand why everyone is so bitter about Simon Cowell. I've sat through hundreds upon hundreds of auditions and worked with quite a number of performers, and nothing Simon said struck me as particularly harsh, or for that matter, off-the-mark. Hey, you kids on the show and your friends and families, quit whining! The man actually DOES know what he�s talking about, for the most part, and you, from Assfuck-Podunkville, [Insert State Here], are no longer singing in your high-school talent show. If you can't take his critiques, you'd better pray to whatever god you believe in that you never find yourself in front of me. Admittedly, I try to be constructive in my criticisms, where Simon isn't working as a coach and doesn't have the forum to get really specific and tell these people how to fix their problems, but the Devil (or God, if you prefer) is in the details, and I go over them with a fine-toothed comb to find all traces. I'm actually quite looking forward to the days in March when I'll be in New York playing for auditions and helping with casting decisions for my friend who runs a summer theatre in southern Maine; I should take more of the opportunities to do things like that which present themselves. I'm always reminded of the performers and directors I've worked with who were quite emphatic in telling me that if I moved to The City, I'd never have to set foot in an office as an employee again. Sometimes, it's tempting... r
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