Micro-Identities: More than Just LGBTQAAII

So, are you bringing anybody to the party?

"Actually, I'm asexual.  An estimated 2% of the population is asexual.  They aren't interested in sex, although they may agree to sex to please a partner.   Another 2-3% is aromantic, not interested in romantic partnerships.  They may be interested in sexual activity, or not.

I didn't ask if you wanted to have sex with them.  I just asked if....

In fact, there is a whole spectrum of desire, behavior, and identity where you can place yourself.

Desire (for sexual activity):

Asexual: No sexual attraction to another person, although they have a libido (sexual interest) and enjoy sex with other people.  Or not, but willing to do it as a favor for a friend or partner.    Or they may be actiely repulsed by the idea of sex.

Wait -- you can have sexual interest, but not be attracted to someone.  Why do you want to have sex with someone you aren't attracted to?

For the release, for stimulation, for recreation.  Anyway, demisexual: No sexual attraction to another person until they develop a close emotional bond (i.e., never on the first date).  Or no libido unless they are with someone with a close emotional bond.

Gray-asexual: Occasional sexual attraction or desire for sexual activity with another person.

Allosexual: Regular sexual attraction and/or desire for sexual activity with another person.

So you can be allosexual for sexual attraction but demi-ace for sexual activity...


We make the same spectrum with romance(the desire for a strong emotional bond with someone).

Aromantic:  No romantic interest, regardless of the desire for sex or sexual attraction with anothe person.

I know lots of guys like that....

Demiromantic:  No romantic interest until you've had sex.

Gray-aromantic: Only occasional romantic interest.

Romantic: Romantic interest.

Can you have a romantic partner if you're aromantic?

Sure, but they would be more like a sex partner who you happen to live with.  For both sexual and romantic interest, you can be:

Gay/lesbian:  Same sex only

Heterosexual: Opposite sex only

Bisexual: Both sexes.

Pansexual: Open to both sexes as well as non-binary persons.

What if you want sex with men but romance with women, or romance with men but sex with women?  Are you bisexual?

Probably you're gay allosexual aromantic and heterosexual asexual romantic.

So you can bring an aromantic allosexual partner, or a romantic asexual buddy, or your brother, or your nonbinary sibling. I don't care.

Now let's discuss your gender identity.

Cisgender male/female:Gender identity matches the male/female binary.

Transgender: Gender identity matches the male/female binary, but is different from birth sex.

Nonbinary: Gender identity does not match the male/female binary, or changes from day to day.

Whatever.  Nobody is taking their clothes off, so nobody will care what you have down there.

That's another identity altogether, your sex.  You can be male, female, or intersexed.

I'll bet even you can't keep all of these identities straight, so to speak.  Check this out: Rodney is a gay gray-asexual romantic pansexual.  Who is he dating and having sex with?

He is into romantic relationships with anyone,but is only interested in sex occasionally,and always with men.

Ok. Boris is a gay romantic asexual.  Can he be transgender too?

Sure, a gay romantic asexual transman.  

Dude, I just want to know if you're bringing a guest to the party.

My Romance with Wade the Beach Boy

Wilton Manors, June 2002

You're probably thinking that life in Florida was like Seinfeld, where Jerry, George, and Elaine have a constant parade of boyfriends and girlfriends with annoying quirks that prompt a quick breakup: talks too low; laughs too loud; won't taste your dessert; wears the same outfit every day.

Late in the series, they didn't even bother with introductions, knowing that there would be a new one next week.

In Florida, we typically dated guys for a month or less, too, but the relationships rarely ended due to annoying quirks.  Nor were there many heart-to-heart discussions of "are we right for each other?" or "where is this relationship going?"

It was just that, after three dates, or five, or ten, things just kind of fizzled out.

1. You were putting more into the relationship than you were getting.

2. The logistics of time and travel were impossible to maintain.

3. You didn't fit in with each other's friends.

4. He didn't share enough of your interests, and you didn't want to pursue his.

Like the beach.

Granted, I went to the beach more in Florida than I had in West Hollywood.  We lived only about 10 blocks away.

Dates often ended with a walk on the beach.

We held picnics and parties there.

But I have very fair skin, so I rarely took my shirt off, and even more rarely went into the water.

When I did, it was just to splash around.

Then Wade appeared at the Filling Station: tall, curly haired, solid physique, smooth chest, very pale skin, a recent graduate of McGill University in Montreal, who was now working the front desk at a resort.

Our first date was the standard dinner-and-a-movie, with conversation involving our coming out stories, fundamentalist Christians, bodybuilding, my date with Richard Dreyfuss, and the gay-subtext romance between Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.  We spent the night at my house, where he proved to be a little small beneath the belt, but very energetic.

I was swooning with infatuation.

Until I discovered why a business major from Montreal would take a job as a front desk clerk at a resort in Florida.

The beach. Every day before and after work.

On our second date, Wade talked me into going swimming -- not just splashing around, but actual breast strokes, out into the deep water of the Atlantic Ocean, halfway to the Bahamas.

On our third date, I talked him into an afternoon at the museum, followed by a walk on the beach and dinner at the house.

It went on like that.

Theater?
Scuba diving.
Ballet?
Wind-surfing.
Stay in and watch a DVD?
Midnight swim.

Wade started browning, with definite tan lines.

I started burning.

Ok, Wade was attractive, intelligent, interesting to talk to, and memorable in the bedroom, but the sun and sand routine was a bit much.

But by this point, he and Yuri had bonded, and were hanging out nearly every day, making a breakup awkward.

Cruising at the bars?
Sailing.
A movie?
Swimming.
Shopping?
Swimming.

How about a reverse roommate switch, pawning Wade off onto Yuri?

Nope, they weren't attracted to each other.  Yuri liked guys who were more muscular, and bigger beneath the belt, and Wade was into older guys.

Barney?

Nope, nothing in common.  Barney never dipped a toe in the water, and Wade wasn't much of a gym rat.

Concert?
Sailing.
Bear party?
Swimming.
Cruising at the bars?
Swimming.

Finally I tried the only thing I could think of: just say no.  

"Sorry, I'm a little tired, not up for the beach today.  But we can go out to dinner."

"I have a little headache, I shouldn't go into the water.  But how about a movie?"

"It's too cold outside today.  But we can go to a nice heated shopping mall."

Until eventually Wade faded away.  Neither of us had done anything wrong, really.  We just came from different sides of the beach.

See also: The Shy Boy in the Third Row; Wade and the Giant.

Six Hours at a Sex Club

When I lived in Florida, there was a sex club, called just The Club II, a few blocks away, so I went regularly, at least once a week.  I exercised, hung out in the sauna, and wandered around until I had sex with at least five guys.  It typically took about two hours, maybe three if the place wasn't crowded.

I always choose vacation spots based on museums and penises, so I've been to saunas or sex clubs across Europe, plus in Chicago, Cleveland, Philadelphia, and New York, and I never spend more than two hours, three at the most.  You can spend only so much time walking down narrow hallways in a towel while loud disco movies throbs in your ear.

But last weekend, I spent six hours at the Works, a sex club in Indianapolis, and had sex with so many guys that I lost track after the first ten minutes.

It was a Monday, and all of the museums were closed, so there was nothing else to do, so we drove out after lunch, and stayed until rush hour traffic was over, 1:00 pm to 7:00 pm.

The Works has four floors.
1. Basement.  
Lockers
Dry sauna: two guys at once, both older. I asked if they were partners, and they said "We are now."

Steam room: two guys at different times, one older and not very hung, one younger and hung.

Gym equipment squished together so it's impossible to actually use

Glory hole booth: very hard, very large cock, could never figure out who it belonged to.

Leather chairs facing tvs with both gay and straight porn: muscular Asian guy who wanted to kiss.  There was a muscular Hispanic guy beating off furiously to straight porn, but I was afraid to approach him, since he looked like he was ready to finish.










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2. Ground floor
Lounge with soda machines, one of which stole my dollar.

Video room playing regular tv.

3. Second floor
TV lounge playing 13 channels of porn  Here's where I lost track: I started with a guy lying there who called me "honey," then went out and came back, went down on a bear with big balls but a small penis, then a weird guy who looked like Tom Selleck, then the Hispanic guy who had been beating off downstairs.

I returned again and again, and there were always new guys, maybe five in all.  The only one who rejected me was a younger black guy who just wanted to talk about mass shootings.

Room with leather floors and porn playing.  Two guys at different times.

Sling room.  I went down on an older guy.

Private rooms.  I got one to retreat for rest: a gigantic bed shoved against both walls.  Only one guy, the Tom Selleck before, came in and mounted me from above.

I also had a conversation with the second guy who rejected me:
"Hi, Darlin', let me see that big cock of yours."
"I'm into giving, not getting."
"Me, too, darlin.  That makes us sisters."

Then back to the tv room, or down to the lockers.  In West Hollywood, parties sometimes featured "entertainment," guys who would strip , masturbate, or go down on the guests.   It was not especially honored, but it wasn't deviant, either.

I think I was the "entertainment," going down on anyone I wanted (with those two exceptions).  In the end I didn't even wait for a signal, I just knelt in front of the guy, or reached over and fondled.  No one ever brushed me away, except for the two or three black guys at the club, who never did anything with anybody.

Finally at 7:00 pm, we figured that the rush hour traffic was over, and went to get dinner.

"How did you do?" I asked Bob.

"Six guys, four oral, two anal," he said.  "What about you."

"I lost track a long time ago.  But, you know what -- I'm still not happy."

He blinked.  "But...your goal is five.  You must have been with more than that."

"A lot more.  But only one wanted to kiss, only one actually finished, and the others -- one Asian, one Hispanic, one twink.  The others were all over 50, white, hairy chested.  It was like going down on the same guy over and over."

I have a new rule -- five guys, and they have to differ in age, race, body build, or some other factor, and they have to kiss.