Anything That Moves

An as yet (and in all likelihood eternally) unread article (unread by me, anyway) that you may be familiar with by subject, regarding the social and scientific reality of the bisexual male, has re-aroused interest in this somewhat enfeebled subject. As one of this elusive breed, I have been asked to write from this point of view on occasion. Ahoy! It is nice to meet you.

The title of this series will be "Anything That Moves." It is ripped off a print magazine from the '90s under the same title. It was, as you would expect, about being bi. It was published at a time when being bi was particularly maligned in both the queer community and the straight community. I don't have any old copies and only used to have years-out-of-date back copies, but frankly, I remember the writing in it being a little codfish-like. However, the title is brilliant, and it was nice to be able to turn to something like it when otherwise I was getting a lot of shit from people. So Anything That Moves, I am borrowing your wit and accuracy out of true appreciation and a somewhat critical reverence.

I had one professor of sexual anthropology, a smoldering queen, who used to literally scream in a huge auditorium class that bisexuals were singlehandedly responsible for causing AIDS. I tried to talk to him about it, and he, in a bizarre, feline voice, whispered in my ear that "indecision always causes rot!"

This is, in and of itself, an incredibly funny and remarkable thing to say. I wish that I could remember to say it whenever anyone makes me wait.

Once, my hetero mother, out of nowhere, with no context whatsoever, threw a set of car keys at my face and shrieked, "I hate that you are bi!"

At a gay and lesbian S&M party, everyone was asked at the door what their orientation was, I suppose to prevent hetero people from slipping in. Upon answering that I was bi, I was snickeringly told that I was not allowed to come in. Blah, blah, blah!

This was the climate through which I was figuring out my sexuality. When bi people talk about bisexuality, it is mostly about this dichotomy, that there is no love from either side. I am totally sure that I really do not care about this anymore. Some people suck, and some people are wonderful, and that obviously applies essentially to everyone in every situation.

I would, however, like to talk about how fucking rad it is to be a bi male. No one talks about this. I have no idea why. It is so fucking rad because you can do it with more people than anyone else in the entire world.

Straight women who want to do men will have you, and there are more straight women in the world than anyone else. Queer men will have you, and queer men fuck more than anyone in the entire world. If one is not disgusting and has even the most fumbling of moves, then it is possible to never be hurting for it and to be getting it in great and marvelous variety.

This is one of the few fundamental physiological and psychological aspects of myself in which I feel I was dealt a winning hand. Otherwise, I have all kinds of astoundingly unromantic and embarrassing health problems and super-annoying obsessive compulsions, I get depressed, my skin is all weird, my hair is stupid, my cock is nothing to write home about (although it has been called "pretty") and I am extremely shy.

But! When I am in the mood and looking around a room for someone to be bad with, the odds of me, on a purely sociological basis, being able to get some are the highest in the human realm of the animal kingdom. Also, almost to the letter, people who are pointedly attracted to bi men are generally kinkier and more comfortable with themselves sexually. So the sex that one has with people who are fans of the genre is usually amazing. I love it! I love it! I love it! I love it!

It is so fun to brush against almost everyone and not only be able to have a fantasy but to have the likelihood of fulfilling it be more probable that anyone else's. It does not make one feel that one is better than everyone else, but it does make one feel better than everyone else. (This is such an astoundingly lame platitude! Sorry!)

One's sexual orientation is, in large part, about actually having sex, and I can only say, "Thank you, God, for making me this way and giving this break." With much of the rest of myself and my life being such an aggravating toil and disgrace, it sets me free to be able to bury myself between the meaty thighs of a hot, 26-year-old miss and have the back of my neck held down on the pillow by the calloused and vice-like grip of a hot, 45-year-old mister.

Boys, if you have ever thought that this path might be for you, well... it is.