A reader goes all TMI on us:
First, I was total chicken shit and cheated on my wife with a man. I met him through Craigslist, a visitor staying at a local hotel. Then I didn’t tell her about it for four months. In the meantime, I went through the whole emotional roller coaster, self-loathing, self-doubt and self-analysis, needing to get tested for everything, being a perfect husband from that point forward, etc. The experience itself was one thing. The after effects on myself and my best friend and partner were something I had never really considered. And for that I’m an idiot.
I have to say, whoa. The experience itself was hot, passionate, and masculine, something unlike I’ve felt before in my sex life.
But again, I wasn’t all that experienced when I met my wife at age 20. Kissing this man was more forceful, fucking him certainly was, and just grabbing and pulling at his body in a way that would have felt borderline too much to my petite wife. Heck, even showering with him was far more aggressive than any shower I’ve ever shared with my wife. I came away more than anything convinced of the spectrum of sexual needs and desires.
I realized I really enjoy forceful, borderline dominating sex, and yet for my petite wife it’s just too much for her. So for most of our relationship and sexual relations I’ve held back. I’ve easily hurt her in the past. With this man, sure the anonymity helped, but the underlying aggression and power and masculinity was itself a turn on.
And yet, I wasn’t all that aroused. The feelings felt more alluring than the actual actions. Rubbing, grabbing, stroking, sucking, kissing, fucking, pushing, pulling – it all felt very primal. That was hot! But my equipment was barely cooperative. I enjoyed the physicality but not so much the sex itself, if that makes any sense.
In the weeks that followed, the emotions were a torrent. I kept asking myself what it meant. I struggled to tell my wife of 16 years. I had to get tested fast and hold off on any sex with her. After four months, and one morning of her telling me what a great husband I am, I finally broke. I looked over in bed and said “I fucked a dude”. Her response? “That’s okay”. All my fears of having destroyed my marriage were met with a shrug and, moments later, her being almost proud.
Searching my feelings with her, I felt I understood my humanity better. Searching her own feelings, she soon found herself hurt and wounded. And so we talked and talked some more. I knew I was being very selfish. I needed to try this for myself, by myself. But leaving her out of the exploration was itself a wound that may never heal. That hurts me and of course I’m an idiot.
Now six months later, I haven’t repeated the experience but I want to. And she wants to join in. We’ve watched gay porn together and separately. She says she watches to better understand my experience. I watch because I still fantasize about it. And I’ve started to explore more kinks. Trannies seem hot and fun to play with. She wants a moresome and I want to see her with lots of cocks.
I come away convinced there’s no right or natural path. I totally understand your need for an identity but I think you’re making a big mistake in ascribing yours to any one else, regardless of the historical vestiges of bisexuality. In fact, having used marijuana regularly for over 20 years, male bisexuality seems like just another closet. Society isn’t ready yet, so we partake in silence. Swinging would too, I suppose. Why not a Swingers’ Closet?
Honestly, searching my feelings, this new sexual experience turned on a new button that had I been younger and not committed I could see myself exploring more. But I’m not younger and I am married. I simply didn’t feel these things when I was younger. Growing up I recognized the attractiveness of other boys and men, but I was never drawn to it, nor am I now. I can see how sex with another man is something different than I have known and that I enjoyed. I’m approaching midlife and I’m still finding myself. Isn’t that the point?
Yes it is. I repeat that I believe that bisexuality is real, that people should be able to choose to identify themselves the way they want to be identified, and that my own identity says very little about anyone else’s. Heck, I find the term “homosexualities” to be more accurate than mere homosexuality. We’re complicated sexual and emotional creatures. We owe each other forgiveness, honesty and respect.