Tuesday, July 21, 2009

Gay Heathcliffs

What classification of sin is it to seduce a gay man? When you are not a gay man yourself, that is. What about several? I’ve always appreciated and sought out challenges in all aspects of my life, and in my roaring teenage years this was one game I madly enjoyed playing. I chose to seek out the ones on the fence, the undecideds, those who thought they could cure their homosexuality with one good lay. It never worked (of course) but I at least had a lot of fun during these psychological and physiological experiments; even if the guys remember otherwise. One particular beau on the fence was a six foot four pouty-lipped Eagle Scout.
The few female friends that I had (who needs girls when boys gay and straight sing your praises without double entendres?) swooned with eyes green on green: Where on earth had I found this beautiful creature straight from a Brontë sister-novel? This Heathcliff/Rochester with all the bone structure but none of the psychosis? From the theatre, naturally! Where else could those between child and adult find harmonious society in others who enjoy raucous (usually simulated) sex and uninhibited spectacle? Where else to find willing and able male specimens to do my own experiments on? For honestly as a young teenager there where times when I didn’t know what side of the fence my own preferences swung to. It was much less taboo to invite a boy or two for random flings of sort-of passion (however truly one-sided) than to ask the girl with the tiny waist and fully-developed chest from homeroom up to my room for absolutely nothing platonic. Same goes for my gay boyfriends. Their frustrations must be let out somehow, and they were too frightened to act upon their deepest desires with the objects of their true affections, why not test the waters with a girl? So what if the water is lukewarm?
One puzzling encounter involved a couple of these confused closeted lovelies in the woods behind a giant condo complex in my neighborhood. I had coerced the two to romp in the woods with me, knowing full well they’d rather romp with each other. I allowed a few random acts of coitus upon my person, feeling honestly like I had two unenthusiastic puppies barely pawing at me, and then quietly retreated to a hillside (still half-nude) to smoke a cigarette. The two were to my smug delight still at it with each other, and I allowed myself only a few moments of glum disappointment. They didn’t really want me at all, they wanted penis, and I had none. I wanted penis, and I had none. No, I didn’t want “A” penis. Just one to play with a bit, preferably attached to an attractive, straight male. Why I couldn’t achieve this primary goal in my almost sixteen - year old life was beyond me at the time (perhaps because I was too busy seducing the unattainable? Or the straight ones thought I was romantically attached to the closeted friends with kind-of benefits?).
The male on male action, while leaving me with semi-pleased matchmaker-like pride wasn’t exactly stirring my innermost desires. I started to put my clothes back on and walk home without the now-happy couple when an old man appeared in the tree line. “Hey! You kids get the hell out of here!” I stared slack-jawed at him, then yelled incoherent warnings to my friends, slightly covered by bushes and low willows. When I finally found my voice I was already in a run, my white Wonder Bra stuffed into my back jeans pocket, flapping in the breeze I created with my haul-ass run. My friends eventually met me at a clearing, and we had a raucous laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. I knew they were happy, their first official homosexual encounter finally out of the way, and they were grateful to me for making it happen. I tried to be happy for them, but felt a strange cocktail of envy, self-loathing, desire, and annoyance that I ended up medicating with a tall tumbler of pink boxed wine.
I’d like to say that this was the last time I used my twisted seduction methods, but it wasn’t. I continued because the boys knew how to drip butter all over my wounds by saying things like, “If you can’t make me straight then no woman can!” and frankly? The fellas of my choosing were pretty fucking dreamy. I didn’t want to pass up the notion of kissing an in the flesh Adonis for the mere technicality that they didn’t enjoy kissing me (and more). This went on sadly for a year or so more until I finally gained the confidence needed to seduce a man who would actually, intensely, passionately…kiss back.

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