After I finally came to terms with being gay it was smooth sailing for a while. I didn’t really feel the need to share the information upfront with everyone, because unless I was having sex with someone it really wasn’t any of their business. But when asked I would answer honestly, and I was comfortable with who I was.
But then I started noticing myself checking out girls. I also found myself enjoying the role of the “gay friend” a little too much.
As a gay guy, getting to kiss girls isn’t really out of the ordinary. I remember one time being at a party where we broke out into an impromptu kissing contest. My partner in the contest was Liz, who thought nothing of making out with me because hey, I was gay. Except I really liked it. I even had to make sure my hard on wasn’t showing because I was gay and wasn’t supposed to have one.
When I was still going to gay clubs I danced with a lot of girls and got up close and personal as we bumped and ground to scandalous beats. I mean, as dirty as we got I sometimes might as well have been finger fucking them on the dance floor. And many times these were girls I had just met that night, who never slapped me like they would have slapped a straight guy who tried to get away with sliding his hand up her inner thigh.
And I was fucking reveling in it. On some nights I looked forward more to the dancing with the girls than I did to the guy I would pull at the end of the night. Of course, I didn’t really think much of it. Boners aside, I just chalked it up to…
Well, nothing. In my mind, I had already dealt with the question of my sexuality, and the dancing, the making out, the cuddling in bed were nothing more than trivialities that were not indicative of my sexuality in any way because bisexuality wasn’t real. That worked for a while, but as is usually the case, the walls around the fortress I had built to protect my sexuality began to come tumbling down.
It all started one night as I lay in bed recovering after a long romp with a married man. We’d been fucking on a semi-regular basis for a few months, and were slowly starting to open up to each other a little bit more each time we met. I was curious and asked him about his relationship with his wife; I wanted to know what it was like for a gay guy to have to live with a wife in order to keep people in his life from finding out he was gay. His answer flabbergasted me.
He told me that he loved his wife, loved having sex with his wife, but that he also enjoyed sex with dudes. It wasn’t a question of one or the other; it was a question of finagling it so that both could fit into his life. I say finagling because ideally he would have been able to be honest with his wife about his needs rather than sneaking behind her back, but for now let’s not get into that. For now the issue is how amazing the words coming out of this guy’s mouth were.
I’d had sex with other men who had been or were married, but prior to this guy they all had told me that the sex with their wives wasn’t very enjoyable, that they couldn’t really be themselves unless they were having sex with men. They were the typical explanations you would expect to hear from a gay guy who for whatever reason didn’t have the balls to come out and tell his wife that he liked cock. But here this guy was contradicting everything I had come to believe about bisexuality: that bisexuals were people who were too afraid to admit which sex they really liked.
I started thinking about all my experiences with girls. Pining after Stacey and Christina or letting Nancy jerk me off while she made out with her boyfriend, making out with Liz, dry humping with Sarah, making out on the beach in Barcelona with some girl who had come out with us that night, the time I’d spent checking out chicks with my guy friends… when I stopped to think about it, I really had grounds to believe that I was attracted to women as well.
All of a sudden I was confused again. And I felt like I was in the closet again, only this time in reverse. I began to feel uncomfortable dancing with the same girls I’d danced with before because I didn’t want them to know what was running through my head (and my pants). It was mindboggling to be going against something I had learned years before in high school, something around which my entire view of sexuality was based, but I slowly realized that if I hadn’t been interested, there would have been no need to build a wall around my sexuality. Since there was obviously something I had been trying to keep out, I might as well run with it. Tear down this wall, Mr. Gorbachev!
Ironically, despite all the girls around me who always told me how they would fuck my brains out if I weren’t gay, I didn’t know how to go about exploring the opposite sex. The answer actually came when I moved back to Barcelona from someone I had already come into contact with.
Once I got back into town I was quick to get in touch with some old friends. I made plans to meet up with a group of friends on the beach, and lo and behold, the girl I’d made out with the last time I had lived in Barcelona was also there.
After God knows how many cold beers and hot spliffs, Nuria and I struck up a conversation. Eventually we hit on our previous encounter, and then I just started telling her all the thoughts that had been going through my head – it’s funny how much easier it sometimes is to talk to someone you don’t really know about this sort of thing. And it was a nice feeling, letting it all go, saying it all out loud. In much the same way confessing to a friend for the first time that I liked guys had been a liberating experience.
Slowly everyone else packed up their things and went home as the sun came up over the Mediterranean, but Nuria and I stayed. With fewer people around, our conversation segued into our hands caressing each other’s half naked bodies, our lips pressing together and our tongues getting reacquainted. Once we’d had enough, we exchanged numbers, and I went home and jacked off repeatedly the rest of the morning like it was going out of style.
Over the next few months Nuria and I saw each other frequently, but always in secret. I mean for the love of God, I was gay; I couldn’t have people knowing I was getting involved with a woman.
However, in all that time, we only once almost had sex. We constantly made out, there was always heavy petting and cuddling, but we never went down on each other, and only on one occasion did we come close to having sex. Nuria had had some problems with her previous boyfriend years before, and though she never really got into the details with me, I know that there was some sexual abuse, which is why I think she felt comfortable with the extent of our relationship. I was so inexperienced as to be completely nonthreatening.
The time that we did almost have sex, we were both really drunk, and it was just a few days before I moved to Austria. We had been rolling around on the bed for a while, and suddenly she pushed me down and straddled me. She grinned at me coyly as she rolled the condom onto my dick, and then without a word she slid my waiting cock inside of her.
It felt fucking fantastic.
But after she gyrated her hips a couple times, she quickly sprang off my cock and said she couldn’t keep going. Obviously I knew this had something to do with the ex and I didn’t try to force the issue, but the cat was out of the bag: I definitely wanted – nay, needed – to explore the exhilarating warmth of pussy again.
But things progressed slowly from there, as I was just starting uni in Vienna and getting to know a whole new group of people – to whom I presented myself as gay. I just wasn’t ready to come out of the closet as bi, and to tell you the truth, I was still sorting things out for myself in my head.
A few months into the first semester I had a crazy night of drunken debauchery with some friends. At some point I drunkenly made my way to the toilets, and was quickly followed by Dominic, the Australian who was studying at the same institute. He told me, or rather he slobbered at me, that he had never done anything with a guy and wanted to kiss me. Right after that I had him pressed against the bathroom door.
As hammered as I was, I still had somewhat of a sense of decency and remembered where I was. We cut things short, headed back upstairs to pick up Mary – one of my flatmates – and the three of us headed off from one grungy bar to another one down the street.
Because what we really needed at that point was more alcohol.
Fast forward an hour or so when we are fucking shitfaced. Dominic didn’t live too far away, so he, Mary and I made our way over. In the entrance way of his flat was a large futon, and since we didn’t want to go into his room and disturb his slumbering flatmates, the three of us landed on the futon.
And then I had my first experience making out with a guy and a girl at the same time. Too bad I was too drunk to remember all the details, but the few fleeting images I managed to retain are enough to assure me that it was damn hot. I think I remember later swearing that would be the last time I drank ever ever ever so I wouldn’t black out, but we all know how that promise goes…
The next morning, which was like two hours later, Dominic got up and headed for the shower. I followed, and half expected Mary to do the same, but alas, she was still blissfully passed out, so he and I went down on each other in the shower without her.
After that there was a dry spell. I still couldn’t bring myself to tell my friends that I was interested in girls, so whenever we were out and a girl hit on me I would play the gay card and brush her off. It’s absurd, really: most people shit their pants when they have to tell their friends that they’re gay, and here I was banging my head against the wall because I couldn’t admit to them that I wanted to sleep with women.
For over a year I sexually kept my distance from girls. I never went out unless I was with friends who couldn’t know, and I couldn’t bring myself to venture into the world of heterosexual online dating because all my straight friends bitched about how pointless the sites were if you just wanted to get laid, and I was definitely not looking for a relationship, with a man or a woman. So I just bided my time and thought about how retarded I was for not just speaking up. I just couldn’t handle coming out of the closet again. I didn’t know how people would react, and after such a turbulent experience of coming out of the closet the first time, I wasn’t anxious to repeat the experience.
Eventually I worked it all out in my head, overcame the bullshit I had taught myself in high school about bisexuality, and took the first step: I started having theoretical conversations with friends about the possibility of me sleeping with women.
The heterosexual friends didn’t understand what the big deal was. Why the fuck I didn’t see that one coming much earlier is still a mystery to me. And for the most part, the gay friends didn’t really think much of it, either. But several gay friends were aghast at the idea. Two forbade me from talking about it with them, and in the end our friendships suffered as they pulled away. Exactly the same response I got from a couple friends when I came out as gay, and it amused me to no end that both ends of the spectrum had the same reaction.
In the meantime I’d moved around a lot but had ended back in Vienna, where Mary was still living with her future husband Samuel. One Christmas one of her girl friends from the States was visiting, and we all went out for a fun night of getting drunk and dancing. I thought Jenna was damn sexy, and had a great time flirting with her all night. When we finally headed for Mary and Samuel’s flat, Jenna and I walked side by side, and without warning I suddenly found myself pressed against the wall, Jenna pouncing on me the same way I had pounced on Dominic in the bathroom. I could have fucked her right there on the street.
But I didn’t. We finally stopped snogging, I adjusted my shorts so my cock was strapped down by my belt, and we caught up with Mary and Samuel at their place. Lucky for us Jenna was staying in their spare room, so we slipped in there and hit the couch hard. Before too long Mary poked her head in and thoughtfully slid condoms across the floor.
This time, the action didn’t stop short. We started slow, our breath quickening as we gasped for air while we sucked face, my hands danced around her body, taking extra time to get to know her breasts. The sweat poured as our petting intensified, and I could feel her getting wet as my fingers prepared the way for my cock.
Before my cock got his turn I went down on her and loved it, but I admit I didn’t do a very good job. I was, after all, a novice, but I still thoroughly enjoyed the practice.
And then I was inside her, and pounced like a sixteen-year-old who wanted to try every position possible and fuck like a rabbit. At some point I worried that Mary and Samuel might hear us, but then I figured they were probably doing the same thing we were, plus even if they weren’t, they wouldn’t care if they heard us. Where the hell did the condoms come from, after all.
And so we fucked hard and deep until we just couldn’t anymore, and then we rolled over and kept going, my cock hungry to please her from a different angle. Eventually we were worn out and laid in bed, our sweaty bodies pressed together as we dozed off.
Jenna and I hooked up a few more times while she was in town, and from then on I had no qualms about telling my friends I was bi. I mean let’s be honest, it would have been hard to hide after having just fucked one of my best friend’s best friends. And what a relief it was.
Well, the next logical step was to make up for lost time, and believe you me, I did just that. I also started exploring threesomes with a guy and a girl, and have to say that it’s also a very hot experience. An experience I would have never had if I hadn’t admitted to myself that I was bisexual.
Having gone through the process, it amazes me how prevalent the concept is that bisexuality is just a transition period before becoming either fully heterosexual or fully homosexual (at least in terms of guys; with girls it doesn’t seem to be such a big deal because guys get off on the idea of two girls getting it on). Hell, even I succumbed to the idea for quite some time, even after I knew I was interested in both sexes.
But, at the end of the day, the process led to my discovery of a deeper part of myself, the ability to connect with males and females. It doesn’t really matter whether or not that transition period theory holds true for other people; to me, the important thing is that I’m comfortable admitting to both sexes that I sleep with both sexes, and can get emotionally attached to both of them as well. As long as you can be comfortable in your own skin, then nothing else can really bother you.
And so it came to pass that I accepted my inner desires and came to terms with being bisexual. The process has resulted in many great adventures, and I’m sure there are more to come.
In the meantime though I’d be interested in hearing other people’s stories about their experiences. If you feel like sharing, have at it!