[dropcap]I[/dropcap]s that in?” he asks, sounding hopeful, as I turn my head abruptly. Silence briefly follows, as though we’re listening out for the arrival of some sort of celestial, affirmative signal. “I think it is,” I reply. A crack in my voice signals excitement and apprehension. As is typical, nerves immediately ensue and fucking doesn’t go much further that night, despite being quite pleased with this inch by inch progress.
I’ve (somewhat reluctantly) had a dick in my ass a grand total of two times. If you’re one to qualify gay sex strictly in penetrative terms that’s practically virginal for a gay man in his mid 20s. But luckily, I don’t. As a contributor to this column once wrote, to blanket define gay sex within these narrow, heteronormative parameters, thereby excluding so many other experiences, is to undermine their value.
It sounds so basic, but because gay sex doesn’t necessarily mean penetration, there’s an opportunity for gay men to imagine sex as they wish. I’ve come with so much more intensity after some hand jobs and blow jobs than I have in most encounters with penetrative sex. If it’s the right person, I can derive just as much meaning and feel just as strong a bond out of what might commonly just be considered “foreplay” in a heterosexual context. When sex only centres around either or both of these, it’s a chance to get really into them and figure out new ways of making them more interesting, seeing them as more than just stops on the road to fucking which might in itself be a complete let down.
If it’s the right person, I can derive just as much meaning and feel just as strong a bond out of what might commonly just be considered “foreplay” in a heterosexual context.
In spite of all of this, I can’t help but feel that I’m missing out — not that I’ve ever felt particularly pressured by partners or peers or felt an obligation by virtue of my homosexuality. Dick in ass is not as big a deal as your favourite porn site might have you believe, regardless of how they dress it up or down. It’s tough to deny that a misguided inference of inferiority exists if you’re the the guy who gets fucked. This idea that the man forfeits his masculinity on account of being the bottom is hardly a new phenomenon. Bottom shaming like this has been around since the Greeks and the sentiment persists. Casual joking around about gay penetrative sex is, more often than not, at the expense of the bottom. How often has that explicitly masc-verbal-dom-no-femmes type seen on Grindr taken it? In porn, a “weak” bottom to be pushed around and teased often forms a predictable part of the trite narrative, whilst the “power bottom” comes with his own set of “sluttier” connotations as if to suggest — wrongly — that being the top is somehow “cleaner” and more excusable.
Based on my own relationships, both casual and more committed, I’ve been with guys who have been miffed by my lack of enthusiasm in getting fucked, or returning the favour. Reactions have ranged from indifference and bafflement to a visibly annoyed insistence on just “finishing up” by whatever means — a difficult task when someone is irritated to the point of flaccidity at you and your completely reasonable unconsenting ways. If it turns out that penetrative sex is the be-all and end-all of a relationship for one guy more than the other — which, after asking around, doesn’t seem to be the case — then frank conversation about boundaries and comfort is vital. Just because you’re a bottom shouldn’t mean you should be made an ass of.
