Rating: NNNNN
Not long ago, a straight guy told NOW he felt underrepresented because Naked City was often written by lesbians. To cheer him up, this piece is about being a heterosexual male. It’s one of my favourite pastimes. I’ve never been 100 percent lesbian. I’ve slept with and loved biological men, but worse, I’ve been a closet drag king since I was eight.
The first time I realized I was different was at my friend Lisa’s sleepover party. I put on Michael Jackson’s Billie Jean and my dad’s leather jacket, then wooed the girls, going so far as to climb smoothly into their sleeping bags and gyrate.
Though some may not consider Jackson the best role model, something about his (and later Prince’s and Kurt Cobain’s) feminine manliness appealed to me, both to sleep with and to become. I wore my father’s clothes throughout high school, but with lipstick and long hair. I dressed my boyfriends in lingerie and shaved their legs.
A strange thing happened when I had my first long-term relationship with a biological woman. People stopped calling me bisexual and started calling me a lesbian. I sometimes call myself lesbian, too, admittedly out of a wary laziness. But I mostly choose the L-word when it’s likely to smoke out the neo-liberals.
For example, an editor once told me two articles that mentioned lesbians were too many for one publication. When I objected, I was lectured on the difference between being a queer writer and a writer who’s queer. After that, I almost tattooed a lesbian symbol on my forehead.
But that would be unfair to my boy side.
Here’s the part you can relate to, straight guy. I have a cock. I get hard when a gorgeous woman looks at me twice. If I’m lucky enough to take her home, I adore being ridden as she looks fearlessly into my eyes. It’s stunning to feel myself inside her. And what a view.
My cock loves blow jobs from both female and male mouths. (They don’t actually feel that different, so stay with me here.) I’ve also had fantastic times with my own two hands, some lube and porn, and a box of tissue.
I’m not a lesbian with an occasional strap-on fetish. I’m an occasional guy. I come when I fuck, and I feel it when my lovers come. Sometimes it takes everything I have not to spill my load after three minutes of doggie-style.
My experience of having a cock is so vivid, I only have to think about it to use it. There doesn’t have to be a dildo involved like you, I simply am.
I assume most straight guys also dig reading articles by straight women. So don’t turn the page – I’m one of those, too, and I have some tips on how to please the gals. To my recent surprise, the much-maligned missionary position can hit my spot every time with the right kind of guy. Leverage is the key, my friend, so get yourself a good footboard.
Also, never scrimp on the cunnilingus. If you’re having one of those days where both of you want immediate satisfaction, go for it. Stick it in. But try taking a break once you’ve gotten over that initial urge to be joined at the genitals. Go south for a while, lick her until she begs you to come back inside. Teasing is so under-rated these days.
My cock can do everything but go limp, give me diseases or get someone pregnant. But even if you’re not working with such advantages, there are many ways you can get women off, and I doubt you’ve thought of them all.
Actually, there aren’t many areas where we can’t support each other. No matter the configuration of gender and anatomy, you and I are both still getting it on. And we have the same goal: pleasure for vaginas and penises.
When I have sex (or breakfast) with my lover, I’m sometimes a straight guy or gal, often a dyke, occasionally a fag and mostly something in between these limited definitions. But when I write about fucking a woman, you dismiss me as one of too many lesbians, highlighting our differences instead of our similarities.
Get your head out of your ass, straight guy, so better things can fit in there. Nothing’s that simple.
