Hell, let's take it a step further.Hell, let's take it a step further. When you touch something, you run your hand along it because it's the texture and the motion that tells you things about the object. Sometimes, many women, hell, most women, like intercourse; they like the sensation of something moving inside them, in their cunts. Being Bi-, I can almost claim to understand it; I like something moving inside of me. And because I understand that, I can also understand that sometimes, they, like me, like to lose control, to give in. "It's got nothing to do with the 'centuries of male dominance' that the wimmins-with-i's movement has claimed retribution for. It has to do with desired roles, in and out of the bedroom." "You think about stuff like that a lot." "I made the mistake one day, while I was riding a bus through downtown Seattle, of asking myself the fatal question." "And that was?" "'Why am I straight?'" She stopped, turned, and looked at me with a very strange expression. So I asked her, "Do you ever ask yourself, 'Why am I gay?'" "Every day." I motioned for her to walk on. We continued. "Straight people never do. And when they do, they don't think about it for long." "Except you." "Well, and some others. But I took a good, long, hard look at being straight. And it wasn't all it was cracked up to be. "Being Bi would more than double my chances of having a date on Saturday night. I know I'm reasonably good looking, and I've never had trouble maintaining my weight-" "Lucky you." I smiled. "So I know that, if I struck out with women, I could always walk into a gay bar at midnight and go home happy." "Did you?" "Nope." "Why not?" "Didn't want to. Rather quickly developed some rules for how I should go about my life. |