…learn from it, but don’t live there. I know quite a few bisexuals who got put on the path by, ah, less than honorable means and it fucks with a lot of them; they can’t get past any of the negative feelings that got laid on them at that moment and they always carry it with them and, yep, sometimes, will point back to that event and affix blame for it being the way they are today. It’s understandable and probably why a lot of people insist that the past is the past and should be forgotten as if the past is irrelevant – and it is relevant, by the way. I don’t necessarily agree with that because I found that when I remember the past, I know how I got to where I am now, so I can have an idea of where I’m going in the future.
It reminds me of the premier episode of “Star Trek: Deep Space Nine” when the “Prophets” asked Commander Sisko why he lived where he did – during that mind-boggling discussion about linear time; they kept taking him back to the moment when his wife, Jennifer, got killed on board the USS Saratoga during the battle with the Borg at Wolf 359, kept asking him why he lived there until he finally realized that because he couldn’t let go of that very traumatic experience in his life, living with that moment was holding him back.
It’s not quite, “It happened so get over it” but it is more like, “It happened, you can’t change what happened, and is there really a reason why you keep letting it bother you (and in whatever way it might do that)?” Like a lot of bi guys, yeah, my first steps on this path were less than stellar and it’s something that I will never forget… but I found that if I were to allow myself to look at that moment, feel all violated and all that, all I was really doing by continuing to be bothered by it was making things worse for myself. I really did ask myself if there was a point in looking back at that moment and blaming it for the way I was. I could have – one can almost reasonably assume that had I not been introduced to dick when I was, I could have had a 50/50 chance of discovering that particular sexual joy somewhere down the road… but it happened when it did.
In fact, I did hate that moment and a lot of self-examination and near-insatiable curiosity had me wondering exactly why I felt the way I did and I did find out that I hated what happened… because I liked what happened and I was really mad with myself because I liked something I knew I wasn’t supposed to like. Oops. The next question was, “So why are you acting the way you’re acting about it?” I didn’t have an answer for that question – it didn’t make sense to be bent out of shape about it and I learned very early on that if I held onto those negative feelings, it was gonna be bad so I had a choice: Assign blame and feel a lot of bad things about it or continue to learn from it. Much later – and during one of those examination periods – I realized that if I had to blame someone for my early entrance to the world of sex, it wasn’t the man who did me – it was the girl who gave me some pussy for my birthday a year earlier; if she hadn’t showed me how to stick it in her and move all around, I might not have had sex until I was much, much older. So I saw that I couldn’t blame him; I saw that while I could have legitimately been totally bummed out because that girl stole my innocence, eh, what would be the point in it?
It happened… but now I had to deal with all of it. For those who like to say that bisexuality isn’t a choice, let me tell you something: It is a choice because you do have to decide – you have to choose – what, if anything, you’re gonna do going forward. Me? I chose to dive in up to my pretty brown eyes and just revel in it; then I learned to accept my sexuality (once I knew what it was) and then I learned to own it… and then not feel much in the way of shame over how I got started. Okay, it wasn’t exactly what anyone would call moral – I got that and in that “you know you shouldn’t be doing this and liking it” frame of mind; I knew all of the warnings about not having sex of any kind (including masturbation) and, yep, damned right, I chose to ignore all of them so, really, if there was someone who needed to be blamed, it was me.
Doesn’t make a lot of sense to blame myself, does it? I could have retrospectively… but that’s easy to do and it doesn’t change one damned thing so, nope, wasn’t going to live in that moment of shame or let it fuck with me, not like it did with some of my peers and not like I eventually learned about others who were like me. If nothing else, you get a lesson on the true nature of the beast and, yep, it’s a morally ugly lesson and one that really does explain why morality exists in the first place. Again, I could have felt sorry for myself, felt violated, betrayed, all that stuff but whenever I thought I should feel these things, a question kept popping up that I just couldn’t answer: What would be the point? Wouldn’t you be closing the barn door way after the cows have already hauled ass?
So… was that man doing me when he did responsible for my being bisexual? Yep, he was. Was he wrong for doing it? Yep, he was. Was I wrong for (a) letting him do it and (b) not ratting him out at the first chance to do so? Yep, I was. Should I have liked any of it? Nope, not according to what I’d been told. Did I like it and want to keep doing it? Oh, hell, yeah, did I ever… and I still do. When I’ve been asked why I didn’t feel badly about my beginnings, I’d always answer with a question – and the one I had no answer to: What’s the point in doing that? The person asking the question, usually, felt that I should be outraged, that I should be permanently traumatized, that I should feel shamefully violated and, yes, that I should wear that shame and never let go of it.
Really? What’s the point in doing that? To others I’ve talked to with, um, questionable beginnings, I’ve asked them this same question when they’ve told me how they felt about their initiation and – get this – a lot of them told me that they feel – and live – with the shame because they’re supposed to… and if y’all don’t think that is crazy, I don’t know what to tell you. I’ve had “haters” tell me that because I feel no shame about the way I became bisexual, I have no moral values or my moral compass is pointing in the wrong direction because I like pussy and dick. I’ve told them that I do have morals – I just choose to not pay much attention to the directive to not like dick. Does that make me morally bankrupt? Should I wallow in some kind of self-pity? I could… I just don’t see the point in living there and I do suggest to any bisexual who had a “bad” beginning to not live there either. Ya might not have “known better” at the time but you do know better now so you have a choice; you can keep letting it fuck with you and keep living in the shame and/or confusion of it or you can choose to not live there at all – which is preferable?
Yes, morality says that it’s just wrong to get introduced to sex at an early age and it’s doubly wrong to engage in any sex with another male… none of which will ever change the fact that it has always happened, it’s happening right now, and it will continue to happen – and now it’s all about how you’re gonna deal with it after the fact… and even way after the fact if that’s applicable. Are you, as it is suggested, gonna burn in hell for it? That’s questionable depending on what you believe in. Do you think you’re a bad person because of it? Well, if you do, ask yourself why you choose to keep being a “victim” in your own mind and then ask yourself if it makes any sense to keep living as a victim. Yeah, bluntly, I can tell myself, “It happened…so deal with it already…” and I am dealing with it by not living with any shame or guilt and, honestly, more so since I was very eager to let it happen – what can I say? That sex shit felt pretty damned good!
And just because someone else might feel that I should be all fucked up about it and keep living there doesn’t mean I have to – because I don’t have to, I don’t want to (I hate antidepressants), I choose not to and, no, I’m not gonna ever let that stop me from liking pussy and dick because, um, I like pussy and dick. I remember the past and I’ve learned much from it… but I’m not gonna live in a negative mindset about it. I asked myself the questions I needed to ask and answered all of them except, of course, what purpose does it serve for me to live with shame about it or otherwise let it affect my life in any negative way?
And even if it happened to “you” and it fucked you up, um, why is it still fucking with you? Why are you continuing to live there? Because you’re “supposed” to? Feeling like you have no choice but to keep living there and continue to be haunted by it? Keep playing “shoulda, woulda, coulda” with yourself about how you could have stopped something that, in fact, didn’t get stopped? Ask yourself if it makes sense to do this – then figure out how to move out of that place and, yeah, see the necessity of evicting yourself from that place. Yeah, I know – easier said than done… but it can be done… if you want to.
Putting away the soapbox… for now.