One Bastard’s Sexuality
A quick re-cap of some personal discoveries.
I’m a bastard.
Not just in the You suck! kind of way but in the literal sense of the word: Someone born out of wedlock.
Does this matter? It’s never been a significant issue from a social standpoint because, hey, I meet people in the same boat all the time. But from a personal standpoint, it’s a part of my identity I felt uncomfortable with for a long time.
Here’s the sitch: Mom and Dad worked together. Got together. Did the thing and — boom — I was born. Dad can’t cope with life or responsibility so he disappears. Reappears before I can get a full cognitive understanding of the situation (toddler years).
My father has played a part in my life for better or worse. But sometimes it feels real crumby knowing you have someone who claims to be there as much as possible disappear from the face of the Earth every so often.
Or strategically return your phone calls.
Or turn your graduation party into a pissing contest for his own ego.
Regardless, my relationship with my father has been friendly at best. He’s never the kind of person I’d model myself after nor is he anyone I can look up to. In fact, he’s been the antithesis to the kind of person I want to be.
But he buys my pizza and beer sometimes so that’s cool.
When he asked me at a young age, “Do you like men or women?” I had to think about it.
My father oozes masculinity. He was the star football player of his hometown, the ladies-man, the punk kid who never got in trouble. Which, in reality, translated as the typical teenage asshole who can hit parked cars or steal things and face no repercussions.
From a romance point of view, he loves seduction and passion and the kind of miracle work you see in 80’s romance flicks. This is coupled with his hyper-sexuality, though. I can tell you from personal experience how uncomfortable it is to get into a car with my father or to drive for more than ten minutes hearing phrases like “look at that ass” or “what I’d give to…”
You get the picture.
I had my first crush in third grade.
My mother and I were on our way home from my grandmother’s house when we stopped at a redlight. I told her I thought my classmate J was cool.
She instinctively asked, “Do you like her?” To which I agreed and then she asked, “What do you want to do about that? Why do you like her?”
I didn’t have a response.
The situation with J was interesting because it models the way my feelings work today. We were pretty good friends, talked regularly, and shared a lot of good times over times tables, reading assignments, and that other junk you do in third grade.
But it wasn’t like I wanted to be with them in any other way. I more wanted a way to express how much I appreciated their company. This felt less like something romantic than it did… different.
The situation was similar years later when I had feelings for my friend in 8th grade. Same set up: best friend, talked a lot, hung out a lot. I generally just enjoyed the time we spent together and had all these feelings I didn’t know what to do with. Movies and TV said you have to date and then kiss and then… other stuff. But the whole concept of that felt off.
Even when we kissed for the first time I remember thinking, Okay, that was alright. And slumping back into the couch without caring about much more in terms of intimacy.
Later in the relationship that came along — as it did with others — and, sure, I enjoyed what happened. Was it everything I cared about? Of course not.
But the bigger issue when compared to what other people were talking about was: Was it something I pursued?
I’ll save you some time.
Years down the road I still don’t feel like an innately sexual person. I have trouble developing feelings for people romantically and sometimes eating chips seems more appealing than going on a conventional date.
Socially I realize I should be seeing people, getting out there. Though I have the kind of friends who wouldn’t/don’t care! Which is heck yeah, sweet yeah.
Sometimes I run into people though who are astonished I don’t have a more active sex life than I do. They’re even more surprised when they ask when the last time for me was and my response is over 5 years ago.
Sex isn’t everything nor is it something I desire in relationships with people. I feel more attracted to their emotions, their sense of wonder and awe about the world. My own feelings come from hearing about someone’s perspective and vibing with their sense of humor more than anything else.
Maybe (and this is a big maybe) this is because I’m afraid of sex. Because I’m a bastard who knows what it’s like to live between people emotionally detached from one another. I understand what it’s like to think of someone so positively at one time if only to have that notion challenged by how shitty they become.
This realization is not something negative. In fact, I’m becoming more comfortable the longer I try to figure myself out and the clearer this picture of myself becomes. So it continues to sound like some psychoanalytical crap but in straightening these things out it reminds me how unlike my father — and really my parents in general — I really am.
In short…
I went a long time without knowing what to call myself, thinking, Am I asexual because of this? but then acknowledging that sometimes I do want intimacy. Sometimes making out, cuddling, etc. is a really great thing.
So after a while of not coming out with this and after deciding you probably won’t see this unless you read this article, I’m making it official:
