sex, love and rock and roll
"How does it feel that you turned her gay?" a friend asked an ex of mine with a smirk the other night. I saw red. Briefly, before smirking back and going to get another beer.
Now, the reason this whole conversation even happened was that there's a rumor going around that I'm "in a relationship" with a female friend of mine. Untrue. Yes, she's hot. Yes, we hang out occasionally. But we are not, I repeat, not dating. I don't know who started it and I don't particularly care, but I would like to know their reasons. Because I don't appreciate rumors flying around behind my back, regardless of their source or content. Or voracity, for that matter.
Let's get one thing straight. (pun not intended, but conceded). Don't flatter yourself that you have had any effect whatsoever on my sexual preferences. Not then. Not now. Not ever.
I've said it before, and I'll say it again. I don't discriminate based on what's beneath your fly. Call it what you want. Hell, call me what you want. But don't ever have the audacity to assume my preferences are anything but a variance on yours, or anyone else's. There's no turning. There just is and is not. What really gets me is that men assume girls "go lesbo" (and yes, I've heard that phrase thrown around, often in the same company) to impress guys or because they're "bored." Gentlemen, I'm just as likely to entertain myself with your sexual organs as my female friends'. Does the presence of these sacks of baby-feeding fat glands make me more changeable, less sexually decisive than you? No, no more than the shriveled turkey neck beneath your boxers makes you emotionally stronger, more constant, or more restricted.
"Think I am no stronger than my sex?"
I assure you, I am just as strong, and no stronger. And you have no more say in my sexuality than I do in yours, or any human being has on anyone else's. And the next time I hear a comment to that effect, I'll be having quite a strong one on your organs of sexuality. Clear?
I hope so.
Now, the reason this whole conversation even happened was that there's a rumor going around that I'm "in a relationship" with a female friend of mine. Untrue. Yes, she's hot. Yes, we hang out occasionally. But we are not, I repeat, not dating. I don't know who started it and I don't particularly care, but I would like to know their reasons. Because I don't appreciate rumors flying around behind my back, regardless of their source or content. Or voracity, for that matter.
Let's get one thing straight. (pun not intended, but conceded). Don't flatter yourself that you have had any effect whatsoever on my sexual preferences. Not then. Not now. Not ever.
I've said it before, and I'll say it again. I don't discriminate based on what's beneath your fly. Call it what you want. Hell, call me what you want. But don't ever have the audacity to assume my preferences are anything but a variance on yours, or anyone else's. There's no turning. There just is and is not. What really gets me is that men assume girls "go lesbo" (and yes, I've heard that phrase thrown around, often in the same company) to impress guys or because they're "bored." Gentlemen, I'm just as likely to entertain myself with your sexual organs as my female friends'. Does the presence of these sacks of baby-feeding fat glands make me more changeable, less sexually decisive than you? No, no more than the shriveled turkey neck beneath your boxers makes you emotionally stronger, more constant, or more restricted.
"Think I am no stronger than my sex?"
I assure you, I am just as strong, and no stronger. And you have no more say in my sexuality than I do in yours, or any human being has on anyone else's. And the next time I hear a comment to that effect, I'll be having quite a strong one on your organs of sexuality. Clear?
I hope so.