My return to Medium has everything to do with National Coming Out Day.
It’s been a while, friends. Since last I posted on Medium, I have gone through a whole lot of major life change. The last two years have been extremely chaotic for me, but I have landed at a place where I am happy and healthy. I did a lot of writing during that time, and some of it will be published in a book some time soon. But that is not for today.
Today is for the story of the closets — the ones so many of us are forced to live with. But specifically, it’s about my closets. And about coming out of all of them. I apologize for the wordy nature of my stream of consciousness, but there is so much in this post that I need to say today that I dare not take my red pen to it any more than I already have.
Today is National Coming Out Day…and, to be honest, I’m just a little scared …
I’m scared about posting what I’m about to write on as public a forum as Medium. Normally, I wouldn’t share that trepidation, but it is important to this narrative. Because I am a little angry at some of those in my community, and they need to hear it.
But I am scared. I have been out about the topics that I am about to discuss, but only to friends and family. While that has been difficult, I also know that being out to the larger community is so much harder. I have been out as a gay man for most of my adult life — since I was 25 (I am now 41). But I accepted a narrative that “mainstream” gay culture (to the extent that is a thing) pushed as appropriate. As the right to marry became the primary goal of many gay rights groups, there was one overwhelming tactic that got shoved down the gay community’s throats. It was presented as a law: the “one twue way.” Consent wasn’t asked, it was just assumed, and if you did not live your life in conformity to this one rule, you were shunned. Your groups lost meeting space in community centers, your bars were boycotted or gay-gentrified, and your voice in the general community was silenced.
I tried living in the “good gay” closet.
During the 2000’s and early 2010’s, I tried living my life as the “good gay”. I tried my best to prove to those around me, and indeed to myself, that I was Just Like Them™. I suppressed most of my sexual and romantic urges to a point that it contributed to mental illness. And I ended up with an abusive “partner” who lived in the suburbs, in a Russian Doll of Closets of his own. (For more, see my upcoming book.)
I bought the “party line” at the time. I believed that the best way to further gay rights was to prove that we were Just Like Them™. And all the time, I felt like I had been shoved back in the closet.
I ended up living with the man who I would come in time to call my “unhusband”. He was initially a roommate, but I always saw him as a friend (until the end), but I also always thought he was a little creepy. He didn’t have a good understanding of or respect for consent, and no matter what I did, I felt like I was an accessory to his life. Almost like a piece of property (or a wife from the early part of the last century).
And I accepted that role because of many reasons that will literally take a book to explain (I really wish I could add a link here! Soon!) But there was one reason that is a core part of my identity that I have been urged by “polite society” to hide: I am, and always have been, very kinky. Part of this includes finding value in Dominance/submission play that goes outside the bedroom. I have found in recent years that I’m actually much more of a “switch” (I can take both roles in a D/s relationship depending on many factors that don’t matter to those I’m not in a relationship with). But my early exposure to BDSM culture was as a submissive. In my mind, I was able to accept our paradigm because I was submissive — and unfortunately I allowed abusive behavior for much longer than I should have.
But I was closeted as a kinkster (a common term for those who identify as kinky, usually as a part of their identity.) I didn’t tell my husband (we did eventually marry) that I was kinky because I really didn’t think that I could trust him to play safely. (This should have been a big red flag.) I tried, however, to be a good housewife for him. And I tried my best to prove to everyone around me that we were Just Like Them™.
That law? We must show straight society that we’re Just Like Them™ so, you know, don’t be too queer. Oh, and don’t use the word “queer”.
The basic tenants:
• Live in family-friendly areas.
• You must not appear to be “too gay.” Going to a drag show is okay. Being a drag queen is not.
• Being “sex positive” means lecturing about safer sex practices constantly, but nothing else.
• You must give the public perception of monogamy no matter your actual behavior.
• Kink is for the bedroom. We don’t need to see you in “assless chaps” at Pride. Pride is for families, after all! And we don’t want to alienate our corporate sponsors, either.
(Oh, and don’t say you’re “queer” in straight society. It reminds them that they used to bully us with that word. And we’re trying to gain “allies”. We don’t want to remind them of their inhumane treatment over the centuries.)
But I am not Just Like Them™
There is much more to this story (see my yet-to-be-published book). But suffice it to say, I am not a gay version of Ward Cleaver, nor is my husband. I spent many years toeing the party line, trying to prove to the rest of society that I was Just Like Them™, only to find that living that lie was extremely harmful to my mental health and wellbeing. It lead me to accept an abusive relationship because it fit the narrative, and to repress everything within me that didn’t fit the narrative.
In short, I was in another closet.
I was queer. I actually loved that word. I loved that it used to be hurled at me as an insult. I love that my community had rebranded it, and that a large segment of society saw it as something else. I loved that it was inclusive — of every letter in the alphabet soup as well as those yet to be added. If you were “different” in your sexual orientation, gender expression or sexual expression, you were queer.
More than anything, queer felt just a little radical. It meant that you were different, and that you were proud of it. While gay meant that you were Just Like Them™, queer meant that you weren’t, that you were okay with that, and that you expected to be able to live in a civil society without having to become Just Like Them™.
All the time that I tried to live in the Ward and Ward Cleaver mold, I respected those who didn’t. I celebrated their difference and saw them as heroes. It wasn’t until I met my now-husband, Sam, that I realized how much I truly had in common, and how much it hurt me to pretend to be Just Like Them™.
I am not monogamous
One of the things that my now-husband and I connected on instantly was polyamory. We were both in relationships at the time that we believed to be open to polyamorous connections, but we both quickly found out that was not the case. We connected with each other, though, and found great joy in that connection. And in the process, we validated to ourselves that polyamory is a primary part of each of our identities.
We both love each other in a way neither of us found possible in the past. But that love is enhanced by the fact that it is not exclusive. I am not going to pretend that there hasn’t been jealousy along the way, but we have both recognized it, processed it, and learned from it. Now, we actually thrive off of our polyamorous nature.
The nature of our relationship, the history of how we got here, and some of the complications along the way are for another day (or a book? Hint? Damn, I need to get that finished!) But on this National Coming Out day, I just have to say this: being polyamorous is as much a part of my core identity as being gay. I believe strongly in ethical non-monogomy, and truly believe that there is a way to live with integrity and yet not be “faithful” to one person. My husband feels the same, and we have found overwhelming joy in learning to share this with each other.
I am kinky.
One part of the Just Like Them™ philosophy that really gets on my nerves is the assertion that “kink is for the bedroom”. Many people in general society, as well as many kinky people I know (both queer and otherwise) believe that it is not only necessary but essential to keep any kink or fetish completely in the closet. It is seen as completely inapropriate to mention in general conversation, and relegated only to the context of dirty jokes.
But for some of us, being kinky is part of our core identity. In fact, it can be a fundamental part of our sexual / romantic orientation. I identity as queer and as gay. For the most part, I am only sexually attracted to male-presenting people. I am attracted to the male energy I find in people around me. Since coming out as gay at the age of 25 (actually long before that), I have not ever had a sexual attraction to someone who presents as female.
Except, that’s not entirely true. Because I am a kinky bastard. I am what is known in the community as a “switch”, meaning that (depending on many things that make up the context of the situation) I can enjoy being both dominant and submissive. I enjoy giving pain and receiving it. I enjoy tieing people up, and being tied up. The list goes on and on, but there are very few things that I don’t enjoy doing in both roles. I also enjoy these activities with the entire spectrum of gender identities, depending on the context. So I guess that’s me coming out as pan-playful. For me, enjoying kinky playtime is not necessarily sexual, but it feeds a similar primal desire in my being. But it is also not something that I believe is “only for the bedroom.” It is a core part of how I connect with people, it is a necessity for my mental health, and it is where I find community.
But it is definitely not Just Like Them™.
There is privilege in stepping through the closet door.
Writing this post is largely a selfish act. As much as I fear backlash from it, I also know that it has to be done. I hate hiding who I am in any form, and though I do not feel like I’ve truly been hiding parts of my identity, I also don’t feel like I’ve been forthcoming about those parts of me enough.
But at the same time, I recognize that I am extremely privileged to be able to come out, not only as gay, but also as polyamorous, kinky, and pan-playful. Our society doesn’t really “approve” of queers yet, but those queers who meet with the most approval are those who are Just Like Them™. Being openly polyamorous and kinky protects me from blackmail, but it also means that I cannot work for many companies and firms. I’m self-employed and happy with that decision, but I know that writing something like this post will make it even harder than it already is to work for “the man”. That’s fine — that would kill me in the long run. But I know that most people aren’t self-employed, and for many that isn’t an option, or it wouldn’t be a fit for their personalities.
And there is more at stake. People have lost jobs, kids, marriages, homes, and more because they were outed as kinky or non-monogamous. There are no protections for either of these groups, and it is unlikely that such protections will exist in the near future. So, for those who have to live in these closets: I do not ask you to come out unless you are certain that you want to and fully aware of the potential consequences. I see your struggle, and I respect that. And I will keep your secrets as long as you need me to.
But, if you want to open the closet door, know that you will not be alone.
