Tag Archives: Love

Wavin’ Flag

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The following post is from a friend’s blog. It really struck a chord with me and therefore I’d like to share it with you.

The flag, American flag to be precise, is of huge importance to me. In 1992 I enlisted in the United States Army to protect what the flag stands for, the liberties it symbolizes, and the freedom that it provides for us. I was prepared to fight and, if need be, die for it in order to protect what it stands for. Fortunately, I was never deployed in any officially declared military action to do so, but, I stood ready to do so on a moment’s notice and would have done so with pride. And it is pride that PP&B’s post below addresses. Not only am I proud of the country in which I live, I am proud of who I am. I am proud of the fact that after forty years of roaming this earth that I was finally able to realize that the fact that I am attracted to all genders. I am a married, gun toting, meat eating, flag waving bisexual American man. I don’t have to apologize to anyone for who I am or for what I believe. I’m proud of myself and for those who unashamedly count me as a friend.

I am Foxfur!

There’s another flag that I am immensely proud of. It’s one that I used to feel made me a target or was a symbol of exclusivity. In reality, it is a flag of inclusion and solidarity. Many straight people I know proudly display it on their car, clothing, skateboard, and gun case. The following post describes it with more detail than I am capable of providing.

Without further delay, here is Pink, Purple, and Blue‘s post:
Wavin’ Flag

The rainbow flag: the ultimate symbol of gayness.  Seeing that flying somewhere, posted on a door, or sewn onto a backpack lets you know that you’re around something safe.  It tells you that there is a supporter, if not many, in your midst.  Love it or hate it (some people seriously just do not like rainbows), it has a clear message that folks from the coast of California to the bars in Belgium can understand.  There are other symbols that mean the same or similar things, but I’m willing to bet that, universally, that damned rainbow is the clearest one (at the moment, anyway.  Things could change in a few decades).  When you wear it, it lets people know that you are here, you are queer, and you are proud.

Not all rainbow flags have to be literal flags.  There are, of course, other ways to make your message clear.  No, I’m not talking about just coming out.  Coming out is great.  It means you’re being open and honest with people about who you are and that’s lovely.  It’s beautiful, it’s wonderful, it let’s people know that GBLTQ people are real.  I’m talking about more than that.  You see, a rainbow flag isn’t just a bunch of colors that represent a group of people.  It’s a mother-effing flag.  It moves.  It blows confidently in the wind.  It weathers rain and snow and scorching heat.  It’s a symbol of power.  Have you ever really though about just how powerful flags are?  There’s a reason various nations will throw you in jail for burning one.  The American National Anthem is all about a giant deadly battle that was worth it because, when it was over, the damned flag was still there.  That, friends, is a sign of resilience!  No, to be like a flag, you have to do more than just come out.  Coming out is like the colors: it’s necessary to recognize what’s being represented, but it’s not the thing you can really hold onto.  No, the real power, the flag, is you.

Allow me to clarify that statement a bit.  We all have lives, we all have stories.  They tell the world who we are, they make up our history, they are a part of us.  They may be something as simple as stating who we are in the world and how we navigate it.  They may involve tales of sorrow or triumph.  They may be the most mundane tales in the world.  They may seem ordinary, but they are not.  Regardless of whether they are miraculous or mundane, they are all amazing.  They show a person who, regardless of what life has thrown at them, has dealt with things and lived to tell.  When the rains came down or the sun smiled sweetly or the bombs burst in air, when it was all over, you were still there.  You are still here.  They didn’t chase you back into a closet or make you feel so bad about yourself that you can’t look into a mirror or make your forget that there’s nothing wrong with you.  They also didn’t raise you so high onto a pedestal that you crashed and burned after the very first mistake you made.  You’re around, regardless of what good or bad or nothingness has happened.  You survived the coming out.  You are a mother-effing flag.

The thing about flags is that all their greatness and majesty and other words used to describe regal things is only potential until you do something with it.  If my flag stays folded or rolled up in a drawer somewhere where nobody can see it, then all of its glory lives only in the future.  I may decide to put it up one day.  I could raise it up and watch it fly.  Someday everyone will marvel at it.  It had great power, but none of that means anything unless you give it a chance to do something.  Similarly, YOU have to do something.  You have these stories, you have this existence, but until you start telling them, all they are are great stories.  They’re folded up and hidden in the dresser of your mind.  Sure, you know about them, and they may even inspire you, but they won’t have an impact.  No one will feel motivated by them.  No one’s going to write a song about that thing they never heard.  And this isn’t just about some kind of personal honor thing.  When you tell your story, when you wave that flag, others notice.  Those who are scared and feel weak and don’t know if they can weather the storm see you and know they aren’t alone.  Those who have fought and fought and feel too tired or jaded to go on look at you and see that the fight has not been abandoned.  Those just trying to make it through their lives unscathed see you and know that there’s more than one story in our community.  We are as diverse as those colors, but damn it, we need to SHOW it.   Otherwise, there is no impact.

Allow me to lead by example.  I am a twenty-six year old Black American bisexual.  I came out to myself when I was twenty years old and it scared the crap out of me because bisexuality and homosexuality was a fine and fantastic thing that happened to other people, but was never supposed to happen to me.  I got over that pretty quickly.  I told my friends two months after I figured it out, and two months after that I had a girlfriend.  My parents weren’t thrilled but were fine with it.  My first break-up remains one of the five lowest moments of my life.  I was once vaguely heterophobic, but I learned better.  I was once obnoxiously queer (the obnoxious was on purpose), but I calmed down.  I used to be afraid that my orientation would keep me from the job I want to do, but things have changed and it’s now fine.  I am currently afraid that my orientation will keep the folks in charge of declaring me qualified for the job I want to from allowing it.  I’m still pursuing that job anyway.  I have been in love four times and been loved back once, which proves that, even when you don’t feel like anyone will ever love you, chances are someone will.  I have survived low self-esteem, abuse, and really unfortunate choices in wardrobe.  I have a very weird sense of humor, which has been shaped by those three things above.  I am still here, still proud, and still alive.  I am a waving flag.

I invite you to go out and share your stories with the world.  Tell people about yourself, let them know your stories.  Just like you rock your rainbows, rock yourself.  Let the world know what you’ve overcome or what’s important to you or what other flag you’d like to fly (Pink, Purple, and Blue y’all!).  Use the comments on this post to share if you’d like.  Just, get out there.  Wave your flag.

 

Thanks PP&B!

International Women’s Day 2012

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International Women’s Day. Nope, not a worldly edition of that stereotypically stultifying magazine, no ma’am! It’s a day to celebrate the power and grace of women the world over.
I won’t bother saying that some of my best friends are women. Why? Because ALL of my best friends ARE women. Seriously. Every one of them. I’m no man hater, I love myself. Regularly. But this isn’t about me. It’s all about the women.
Without women, none of us would be here. Without women all we’d have is a bunch of gay men. Nothing wrong with that, no sir. But hey, this is about the women we know and love and those we don’t even know yet but are loveable nonetheless.
First, some facts.
My mom? A woman.
The first woman I made love to? WOMAN!
The second? Another woman.
The third? Haven’t gotten there yet but it will most likely be a woman. Maybe a guy but I’ll dress him up all pretty-like.
The best teachers I’ve had? Women.
Some of the best soldiers I served with? WoMeN!!!
My wife? (Psst… Woman!)
The best soldier I’ve ever served with that became my wife? —>WOMAN<—
My dearest lesbian friends (Burnerbaby & Gadget, Love You!)? Hmmm. ***Women***
A few of the coolest guys I know were born as women. Fact!

The next time you hear some asshole making sexist jokes about women, kick him in the jimmies! Ain't got no use for fuckers like that! None!

Women of the world, thank you.

I’d Rather Not Be Having Sex…

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I recently met someone on an online dating site (OK Cupid) who is just as rad, if not radder(?), than me!

We’ve been out a couple of times in the last week and have had a great time getting to know each other. We share an incredible amount of interests and views on issues that are important to us. Sushi, cats, the love of bacon and steaks, the ability to hold views on both sides of the political spectrum, guns, the sciences, art, meaningful conversation, etc.

One of the most important aspects that we also agree on is that of sex. Sex has never really been a big deal to me. That view has caused me more trouble in relationships than anything else. I’ve been ridiculed and humiliated by both sexes for my having assigned a low importance to it. To me, it is not the be all end all of a relationship. It does not define a relationship for me and does not indicate loving a person any less. This is very frustrating to most people and especially so to people I’ve met in the LGBTQ community. It’s as though they assume that because I identify as a bisexual man that I should automatically drop my pants for anyone who is gay or bi. This has been the almost universal response to my saying that I am bi when meeting someone of a similar persuasion. While it is quite flattering to be seen as desirable, it is maddening to be seen purely as a sex object. I feel it to be very presumptuous and a bit dehumanizing to be seen for my genitalia or my orifices instead of being seen as a whole person. Hey! I’m not just a pretty face with a dick! There are so many other parts of me that can and should be valued first and are far more interesting and unique than something that every other male on the planet has.

It turns out that both of us had been nervous about telling the other that this was an issue. We’d been worrying about stating that just wanting to be friends would lead to rejection. It’s not that he’s lacking in the looks department, far from it. He’s hot as hell and covered in awesomesauce, very, very sexy in both mind and body. We accidentally found out that we shared this view when we were texting last night. You could hear our relief in bold letters.

I look forward to the next time we get together. I think we’ll both be more at ease now that we’re on the same page.

Big Love with an Old Flame

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It seems like only yesterday, but I fell in love with her many years ago. Our relationship has been on and off over the years. It wasn’t her, it was me. You know how it is, sometimes life gets in the way. My priorities got confused and at times I even forgot her. When I first discovered her she was hot, real hot. As with many relationships it mellowed as I got used to her initially overpowering presence. I began to see her as more sweet than hot, not that she minded. She’s always had good taste but the nature of it changes, always for the better though. And I absolutely love her body! Silky, smooth, salty, fragrant, and with a reddish complexion that truly defines her.

I met another saucy individual in the last twelve months, Frank. Initially he appeared hot, I’m talking red hot. But you know the old saw about books and covers, eh? Yeah, I’m subject to falling for it, building something up and being disappointed by the end result. Frank appeared to be red hot, I mean he had it written all over him, really. My first experience with him was lukewarm at best. Not too hot. He just didn’t taste like I thought he would. He’s really sweet but I was expecting more character from him. It was my own fault. At least I didn’t have much invested in him. He was pretty cheap, all things considered, but his sweet and salty taste is appealing nevertheless. I still keep him on the side as he can provide me with pleasures that my old flame cannot. Their bodies are totally different. I cannot realistically expect him to deliver the satisfaction to me that she does and vice versa.

I am thankful that the person that I am is able to love blindly. I do not discriminate by appearances and if I fall in love it’s just that, love. Love allows one to challenge assumptions, to open their mind, to accept differences, and to follow their heart no matter what others opinions are. If someone disapproves of my idea of love or how I choose to express it, it’s on them, not me. My love is fluid. It doesn’t matter where it comes from as long as it’s hot. I know it turns some folks off completely, but hey, you don’t have to engage in my kind of love if it makes you uncomfortable. Some cannot believe the ease with which I practice my love. Others believe it takes great bravery. A few even see it as masochistic, exposing myself to pain unnecessarily. They just don’t get it. They could easily do it if they simply let go of prejudicial notions that they’ve grown up with.

Back to my old flame. I’ve been seeing her pretty regularly for the past few years. Quality is said to be better than quantity but I beg to differ. I really needed to see more of her. That has proved difficult. She is, how do I say this, rather expensive. Yeah, I pay for it. There’s no shame in it. Neither of us feel cheapened by it. It is a mutually consenting business transaction after all. I pay for her and she satisfies me and my needs. She is totally unique in the world. I’ve been around the country many times and have yet to find another so satisfying to me. If you want the best you’re going to have to pay for it.

Last week I told my wife that I had to see more of this old flame. She rolled her eyes and asked why I needed more of her than I already had. I told her that I need what I need and that it’s difficult for me to articulate those needs. Sweetpea doesn’t care for her but she doesn’t mind if I have her in the house. I also spend quite a bit of time with the old flame out in the travel trailer where things can get really hot without bringing tears to Sweetpea’s eyes. So I decided to head into town to see if I could get a bigger helping of her. I should state here that I’m a honorable man. Sometimes I’ll pick her up in a restaurant and use her but I always leave her there. Others love her and I don’t feel right in taking her home in situations like that. It’s just not right. But in this case I was going to find her in a new location and I was prepared to lay down good money to take her home. Again, with my wife’s understanding and support.

I drove to the big city and went to a district where I thought I might be able to locate her. My hunch turned out to be correct! I saw her, money changed hands, I brought her to my rig, got her comfortably settled in the back seat and headed for home. Several times I looked over my shoulder to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. No sir! She was as real as real gets. She was much bigger than I’d ever seen her but that’s a turn on and very appealing.

I finally arrived home and opened the truck’s rear door. I picked her up and carried her into the house. I set her down in the kitchen and just couldn’t help myself. I started in on her right there while my wife slept just yards away. After we had some sloppy fun I decided it was time to wake Sweetpea and show her my old flame. When she walked into the kitchen she gasped. Then she giggled. She was amazed at how big my old flame was. I still hadn’t gotten over that myself. Sweetpea asked if I was happy and I sighed and agreed that I was. I didn’t really think Sweetpea would mind but with these things you just never know. Even though she said it was ok beforehand, I was still nervous that she might be upset. It was mainly the money that I thought she’d mind. Once I told her how much it cost me she was totally cool with it! She told me it was better to pay the price I had rather than to pay for it in smaller amounts for briefer encounters that never seemed to last. She was excited for me that I would not have to pay for it for some time to come. She headed back to bed and told me to have fun.

My old flame...

Family Outings

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Hey!
I forgot to tell y’all.
I came out to my mom and brother last Thursday!
I was planning on doing it in person but my brother left a message saying he knew exactly what was up after I sent them an email letting them know I’d be down next month with some big news.
So I called and talked to mom. Turns out they’d figured out something else entirely different! Bro had figured out that I’d taken up romantically with my long time friend, Miss Bee, and formed a triad with her and Sweetpea. Mom figured that I’d taken up with her and was planning to leave Sweetpea!
Mom and bro have known her as long as I have ever since I brought her home some 25 years ago and they love her as much as I do. We were very close then and have been since we reconnected three years ago. Actually, our friendship has grown closer since I came out to her and also since she left a dysfunctional long-term relationship. She’s the sister I never had and she thinks of me as the brother she never had. We’ve never so much as kissed. We simply offer each other genuine friendship, support, and counsel.

I told mom what my big news was before she told me what they’d come up with. I mentioned it pretty casually since I thought they knew. Since it wasn’t even close, she was quite surprised and taken aback. I apologized for being so matter of fact about it and said I should have worked up to it a bit. Hindsight is 20/20…

The upshot of it is that both she and my brother were / are 100% supportive and accepting! In reality they were relieved, “Whew! He’s just bi and not with another woman.” It hasn’t changed a thing and they both told me their love is not lessened a bit by it! They were honestly surprised and so happy that Sweetpea has been able to accept it and be supportive and encouraging about it. They were glad to hear that Miss Bee was the first one that I came out to and could not think of a better person to do it with. Both were also pleased to hear that I’d found somebody to form a relationship with and am taking things very slow, not rushing into anything. They greatly admire Sweetpea for not feeling threatened by him and are amused by the fact that he can call here and Sweetpea thinks it’s cute when he does. SP has said she doesn’t mind if my “mistress” calls me though I told her he’s more like my “mister”.   

I am very fortunate to have the friends and family that I do. I have heard so many stories of folks like me who when they finally came out with it have been faced with rejection and hostility. I count myself lucky in so many ways. Miss Bee frequently reminds me of just how wonderful a wife I have in Sweetpea. She is so right and I thank her for this. It not only refreshes my perspective but also reminds me that others admire her for her open and loving acceptance of me.

On another front, I came out to my cousin. He came out as gay to his family when he was 16-17. He was disowned by his mom, dad, and siblings. My mom had / has no problem with it nor do my brother and I. Jairus was so deeply hurt that he refuses to talk to any family member, direct or extended. It took me three years to contact him. I wrote to him of my status to let him know that I truly identify with him on his life in a way that other family members just can’t. He wrote back telling me that he has decided that he needs to focus on his life and does not have any room or time for blood family in it anymore. It was a real slap in the face. Granted, we are about 20 years apart in age and the last time I saw him he was about 7 years old, so I don’t really know him well. But hey! I let him know that me, my brother, and our mom all love him, care about him, and fully accept him. I guess I expected a positive response. He’s a young guy, in college, sort of idealistic and naïve… I’m hoping he’ll come around some day. In the meantime it still hurts my heart to know that he’s not willing to communicate with me or the family members who truly do love him.

The nicest megaphone on the playa

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Bunny and I set out for the deep playa on Sunday afternoon. We were heading for the chill platforms, seven raised platforms with futon mattresses and cloth shades with a revolving mirrored heart in the center, to relax and kill some time. Upon arriving we found all were occupied… We rode further out into the playa and happened upon a tall triangular structure. As we rounded the corner to the open side we saw two gentlemen comfortably lying down, one with a megaphone. Just as I thought we were going to get a blast of abuse, the guy opens up with “Hello! We’ve been waiting for you…”. The volume of the megaphone was just barely audible. He said a few more very nice things that I cannot remember. We had a wonderful conversation exchanging light talk and compliments; me with my voice and him with his megaphone. I gave him his new name: The Nice Megaphone Man. I opened my backpack and dug around for something appropriate to give these fine people and came up with a chocolate pie. They accepted it warmly and almost disbelievingly. I dismounted my bicycle and went to sit with them. Sitting only feet away we continued our chat with him still talking barely above a whisper over his gentle megaphone. I couldn’t stop smiling. This encounter was one of the most memorable I’d had so far for its simple kindness and good humor. I sat and drank some water, nibbled on a snacky cake, and enjoyed the shade the structure provided. The nice magaphone man eventually curled up for a nap with his head on his companion’s belly. They looked so tranquil. It was contagious. As Bunny and I rode off, that tranquility stayed with me. We went back to the platforms, found one open, and curled up for our own nap.

Come out when you’re ready

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Coming out about your sexual identity is a very personal decision. One that should not be driven by others or their opinions. If done “wrong” it might have negative or downright disastrous consequences. I am uncomfortable when I hear or read that one should come out as soon as they realize who they truly are. I was discussing this with my wife this afternoon. I told her that if I had come out 20 years ago that I would have been wrong. We’d have never met. 20 years ago I would have come out as gay. There’s nothing wrong with being pure gay, nothing at all. But for me it would have been wrong. I had feelings for men that I could not reconcile with my feelings for women. I thought in terms of a sealed dichotomy consisting of either/or. I did not understand or even comprehend that there was a both/and option. Although I knew the term bisexual, I didn’t understand the term, in fact, I completely misunderstood it and had a completely wrong working definition of the term. I understood it as many do today, as I understood it until only months ago. I assumed that bisexuality was a term for people who couldn’t get enough sex from one gender and had to include the gender to which they belonged in order to satisfy their insatiable sexual appetites. Pretty ignorant, I know. I thought that a bisexual must be a very confused individual addicted to a buffet of sexual pleasures without regard to gender. Quite narrow. A bisexual seemed to me to be a sexual opportunist looking to get some where ever it was available at the time. What a wrongheaded view. A person identifying as bi must surely be gay but is still holding on to loving the opposite sex because they can’t admit or cope with the fact that they’re gay. Bullshit.

It had never occurred to me that a bisexual human being could be a stable, loving person who is interested in forging deep and meaningful relationships with other stable, loving people. I was basing my definition solely on the ‘sexual’ part of the term. I failed to see that they were me. I have always been a relationship focused lover. Not that one night stands and flings are a bad thing, they were just not a part of my sexual development. I see that as both a good and a bad thing. That’s just me. Please don’t take it as me passing judgement on others for their relationship choices.

It still blows my mind that I didn’t fully realize what the term means in reality. It shames me to know that while I had admiration and acceptance of the GL_T crowd, I was pretty fucking ignorant on the B part. I remember being jealous of the gay kids in junior high and high school. I was so impressed that they were able to come out and be, for the most part and by most people, accepted. To me it seemed that they were pretty damned happy and were doing just fine in getting on with their lives.

My failure to understand the term that defines my sexuality was a huge stumbling block and a source of tremendous pain and confusion. My life would most certainly have had an entirely different trajectory had I only realized that I had the both/and choice. Going back to my initial thoughts in this post, I am glad that I didn’t jump 20 years ago. I would have made the wrong choice for myself and sealed off half of the people who I love and the one that I love above all others.

I’m very glad I waited.

Just because you can doesn’t mean you have to

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I found a great blogger who’s blog is a great source of information for “hardware interface” issues as well as physical boundaries and limits. Just as with het sex, you’re allowed to Just Say No to that which you don’t want to do. Simple really. Just because you can doesn’t mean you have to.
Be prepared though, campers. KDaddy don’t pull no punches. He addresses issues in a no bullshit way with phrases that would make your grandmother blush, a lot. He’s not vulgar, just explicitly honest. I find it refreshing and have encouraged him to write his book so offline bi’s (and anyone with genitals and the urge to use them) can access his wisdom and humor.
Here’s a post to get you started: http://kdaddy23.wordpress.com/2011/09/16/bi-to-what-degree/ 

The fact that he’s a married bi highlights his attention to detail and boosts his credibility in my book.

The setting of sexual boundaries and limits is of high importance to me personally. I have connected with a friend whom I began admiring on the internet because his writing, both style and substance, showed him to be a person who is really worth knowing. I have always been a more emotional than physical lover, preferring cuddling over jack-hammer loving. I do not intend to change this as I stroll down the other side of the street. My main interest in being with a guy involves a deep emotional connection that goes beyond what is deemed acceptable in the “normal” world. Some might call it soft-core, puppy love, or grade school, but I call it wonderful. I like camping, hiking, conversation, collaborative creation, someone to hand me wrenches or spot me when pulling a transmission out of a truck. Someone to go shooting with and reload the empties with. Someone to cook with, eat with, curl up in front of a fireplace with. Sex is almost beside the point though it will be present in one form or another. Occaisional companionship. A close relationship that features what I value in my marriage but is no longer available due to Sweetpea’s injuries and disabilities after the accident.

Something you will not see Foxfur getting into is anonymous, glory hole, teahouse, roadside rest stop, or drug or alcohol fueled sexcapades. Just won’t happen. Never been like that, don’t plan on changing. I’d throw one night stands in there but you never know… Chances are they’d be few though. Call me old fashioned but I still like the idea of taking it easy, keeping it in your pants, getting to know each other kind of relationships. If I need a quick and easy release, God gave me two wonderful hands to choose from and I know each one’s complete sexual history. Just because I’m attracted to men doesn’t mean my pants will be flying off at the first wink. Bisexuality, in my case, might be called bihumanality as it’s really the human that I’m interested in, not necessarily the sex, at least not immediately. Besides, we still have STD’s / STI’s out there, not something to be taken lightly. Foxfur will always use protection and you should too, straight, gay or bi.

Why don’t I just go get a girlfriend? Valid question.

One, she wouldn’t be a guy. I know, sounds lame but I want what I want. Sue me.

Two, I don’t have explicit permission to do so from Sweetpea. As far as I know, that’s not in the deal. So long as it didn’t involve heavy sex it would probably be ok. BUT, a lady would be competition for Sweetpea. She’s made clear that she does not see a guy as competition. Does that make sense? It does to me.

Besides, I already have many girl-friends. Many who enjoy the activities listed above. When I need alternative female companionship I have an admirable number to choose from who are respectful of my self imposed limitations. Would I like to kiss the girls? Of course I would. I’m a healthy male specimen and love the ladies. But there are so many things in life that we want to do but do not do. When I see an armored car, I’d really like to pull a heist, but alas, I always seem to be able to restrain myself. 

I really don’t regret not pursuing outside relationships with women. I could easily see many domestic problems arising if I were to do so. I’m happy to take things one step at a time. I’m pretty darned happy with Sweetpea and am not looking for a replacement for her. In the other department, I’m looking at building a significant non-exclusive and non-competitive relationship and taking baby steps in doing so. Why rush things?

I’ve got a whole long life ahead of me.

Tend your own garden, please

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As I have come to accept the fact that I am able to love both women and men, I have also come to accept the fact that I am able to love myself. This is possibly the most important lesson learned during my discoveries. The old dictum is absolutely correct. One must love one’s self before one may love another. One of the ways I can tell that I love myself is the absence of the self-abuse which had been a part of my life to one degree or another for nearly four decades. Chemical, physical, psychological, sexual. Substance abuse. Risk taking. Self hate & suicidal ideation. Denial of physical sexuality.
These are gone. I have no longer have a use for them.

—

 
Something else I have realized as of late is the equivalence of caution and judgement.
A few friends have expressed concerns about my well-being and that of my relationship with my wife. I understand your concerns. You need to understand this: Repeated cautions are dangerous to OUR relationship, friends, truly they are. For when you continually voice your opinion that I should do this or shouldn’t do that, these suggestions come across as judgements. When you voice these judgements in a public way, as rejoinders to my words as expressed in a public forum, these judgements tell others that you don’t trust MY judgement. This is not acceptable.
You must bear in mind that Sweetpea and I have had many deep discussions about where I am and where I am going. When I came out to her I truly had no idea what would come next. I had an inkling that now that I knew what and who I was, that that would be enough. The psychic pressure was relieved by the simple knowledge and acceptance of that internally. I had no intention of becoming a practicing bisexual, none at all. My relationship with my wife was paramount and primary. When she not only accepted who I discovered lived inside of me but also encouraged that man to emerge, explore, and enjoy himself, it was almost more than I could believe. She has suggested non-fiction and educational literature that I may want to read to learn more about who I am and what it means. She has offered me some of her favorite gay erotica to read. Yes, HER favorite male-male gay erotic fiction that she has been reading for years unbeknownst to me (this partially explains her easy and open acceptance of my new reality). She has told me of the boundaries she is comfortable with. We have discussed the possible outcomes of my future relationships with men that I intend to become involved with. We have discussed the fact that some of these people may want more of a permanent relationship, one that does not include a wife on my part and how this is unacceptable to both of us. She is the one that equipped me with protection, though I had already done so, before going to Burning Man and encouraged me to explore my friend or others who would be there. She is the one who has told me that it is important that I no longer deny myself that which I have desired for so long. She is the one that has told me that it is important to her that I express and experience myself to the fullest extent to which I feel comfortable. She knows what she is in for and is very aware of what may happen in the future.
Believe me friends, I know the risks that lay ahead of me on this new path, in these new fields, in these new beds that lay before me. Believe me when I say this. Believe. Know that I accept your fears. But also know this: I am deeply involved in my relationship with my wife. I know us. Trust me. I have far more of a vested interest in the continued success of this relationship than you will ever know or will ever imagine. You cannot possibly appreciate the nuances of our relationship just as I do not presume to know them in yours.  I have been blessed with something far beyond acceptance. Permission. While I do need your love, I do not require your permission. That I already have. Continued insistence and continued warnings come across as a subtle but no less corrosive form of intolerance. As a form of distrust and misgiving. Even as a form of jealousy. That you may not accept these, my interpretations of your intentions, is of no matter to me. The matter to me is that you accept me for who I am. Who I am includes my choices and my freedom to make those choices unhindered by your misgivings and worries. The best thing that you can do is to keep these insecurities to yourself. I would not dare to offer you marital advice in a public manner. All I ask is the same consideration from you. I ask this in love, in friendship. If you truly feel that you must administer a warning to me, that you must share your fears of failure with me, please do so in a private communication. To do otherwise is to advertise to the world that you lack confidence in my ability to make decisions for myself without your guidance and input. It not only shows disrespect to me, it shows in a very public way that you discount the wisdom of my wife and elevate your knowledge and judgement above that of hers.
I love you,
Foxfur

Intolerance at my door

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Wow! So soon?

This morning, two christian missionaries knocked on my door and wanted to share some good news and bible revelations with me. I decided to begin our conversation by discussing some of the revelations I’ve had in the past couple of months.

They were more than a little shocked at my story and especially so, visibly so, at Sweetpea’s response to it. They wasted no time in page flipping to quote me chapter and verse of how I was wrong. Of how god hates sinners. They actually said that to my face. God hates sinners. Ouch. That hurt. They suggested that I examine myself and pray for god’s wisdom and correct my evil ways. I informed them that I had examined myself and I was completely comfortable with myself, who I am, and god’s love for me. In fact, I have talked to god about it. He’s totally fine with me and very glad that I have stopped hating myself for what I thought I was and have started loving myself for who I truly am. He has blessed me with a wife who has gone beyond anything I had ever guessed she would and who loves me unconditionally like he does.

They then shared that the gates of hell are open and waiting for me not only for who I am but for blasphemy against god. I was not feeling very uplifted or inspired. Perhaps I was expecting too much from them. What I was expecting was a give and take conversation. A civilized discussion of ideas. Perhaps a bit of understanding. What I received was hate. It was ugly and totally devoid of the love and compassion. To me, it felt like they directly contravened what god has asked his followers to consider and practice. It appeared that they themselves were passing judgement on the spot and all too hastily to have considered what potential damage they might be doing not only to their own credibility but to that of their core mission and focus. I pointed this out to them. They responded that god leads them in all that they do. I responded that it did not appear that they’d asked godand had acted impulsively in passing judgement on me. I asked them if they’d like to take a moment to reflect on that and that we could bow our heads and pray about it together if they wished, heh heh. Their eyes were shooting sparks like that wind-up nun you can buy at Spencer’s. I wasn’t trying to elicit that response. I was trying to give them a moment to consider what kind of impact they were having on me. They had no interest whatsoever in taking a pause to cool off and consider the message that they had just delivered.

Do you know what I really wanted to do to them at that moment. I wanted to hug and let them know that we’re all special in god’s eyes no matter what we do, who we love, or how we choose to express that love. To hug them into submission to the fact that we can all be wrong about things and that it’s ok as long as we don’t hurt others feelings or insult them because they do not agree. To show them that even though we are in complete disagreement on interpretations of what morals and ethics mean that we can still love each other.

Though I wanted to, I did not. It would’ve been a threatening gesture and perhaps insulting one as well. Instead, I related those thoughts verbally. I’m disappointed to report that the reception fell short of what I’d have liked to have seen. I told them that though we disagreed and though they still showed me open hostility that I loved them. That I respected them for opening themselves up to rejection and ridicule from less than understanding souls who might heap grief upon them for sharing their message. That theirs is a decidedly difficult path to walk and must take incredible strength to persevere in the face of such obstacles. I made sure that they understood that I meant this from the bottom of my heart and meant no insincerity or insult. They had cooled somewhat at this point. I asked them if we could agree to disagree and let god sort it out. They really surprised me with small nods. Again, I truly wanted to offer each of them a hug to let them know that I wasn’t angry with them though I had every right to be. Instead, I walked them to their car and wished them safety as they continue their mission deeper into the hills of the hollow up the road. I also told them that I forgave them for their insult to me and my beliefs and those of my wife’s and for committing trespass upon my property. I waved and they actually waved back as the did a seven point turn to turn around and drive back down the mountain.

My apologies to readers expecting snark and venom. That was a choice I had in this encounter. One that was incredibly tempting. God was it tempting. But I decided that the only way to deal with intolerance is acceptance. It was difficult maintaining my cool at times but was a great demonstration to myself that it could not only be done but be done well. I really do hope they will think about how their behavior reflects upon them and what they hope to accomplish. I could have shoveled them a much bigger pile of hate than they served up to me, believe me, I’ve got plenty of surplus from years of hating myself that would have been all too easy to misplace and project. Sometimes we need to do that which we don’t want to do. After we do it we can see why it was a better decision. I feel bad for them and their intolerance. I don’t feel bad about myself though. If I’d have chosen the angry way I’d probably still be shaking with anger. Instead I feel a satisfying calm and tranquility. I like that.

I haven’t been to church in more tha 20 years due to the all too common politics and infighting present in any church. I’m done with having someone filter and interpret information for me. Me and god are still friends. We still talk from time to time. Please don’t waste my time trying to tell me that your church is different. It’s not.

Fighting fire with fire does have its place though. Had these been true haters instead of misguided individuals my response would have been much different. While I carry love in my heart I also carry a .45 automatic on my side. That’s my other savior.

Dear seared albacore roll, I hate you!

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What did you do to me? Why? All I wanted to do was enjoy you. I’ve always loved you in a can. I even got with the times and adjusted to your new foil-pak outfit and discovered that it was still the same beautiful you inside. I have always savored your delicious flavor and incredible texture. You are simple and yet complex. What I’m trying to figure out is why you turned on me the other evening.

I caught a glimpse of you as you slid your way toward me in your smooth and practiced linear fashion. I saw you beckoning me and giving me that come hither look. You looked so fine and inviting, sweet and hot. Throwing all caution to the wind, I swept you up, placed you on the bar in front of me, and gently removed your top. You were so beautiful, so alluring, so inviting. Your nori corset held you as though the two of you were born as one. The grains of rice that adorned you were divine, glistening. Your green onions and red sriracha made you look as though you were the Christmas present I’d always wanted but never knew to ask for. I gazed down upon your delicate flesh and eagerly anticipated the moment that was to be ours. It was to be our first time together and the visions of ecstasy that awaited us momentarily obscured my vision. It seemed that I could taste you before you had even entered my moist, warm mouth. Oh the things I imagined doing to you my teeth, my tongue, my hard palate… I smeared you with wasabi and showered you with soy sauce and then lovingly guided you between my open lips in a slow, passionate, deliberate celebration of your form. I took you in deeply. I couldn’t imagine a more loving and tender moment between us as I began to manipulate you, to blend our flesh together, to become one with you and you with me. And then?

Then you shit in my mouth. I was aghast! At first I thought it must be some kind of synesthetic confusion brought on by the woman sitting across from us in the über busy red Ross Dress For Less pantsuit with the purple flowers, the green piping, and the gold fringe accents. I thought that her outfit must taste just like what you were doing to me at that moment, that once special moment. But it was not synesthesia. No. You were indeed shitting upon my tongue. The more I tried to deny that fact the more you shat upon my most delicate and sensitive organ. Its moistness sullied by your astringent tissues. Its sensitivity ruined by your acrid green onions. Its curiosity dashed by the sriracha that had adorned you and made you look like a goddess on that conveyor belt catwalk. I contemplated pushing you out of me immediately but I couldn’t bear the thought of squandering all of the desire that I had already invested in you. I believed that if I allowed myself to continue to completion with you that everything would be alright and that I would make you mine. After all, true love is about accepting the faults of others. I was in a profound state of denial, like an abused lover believing that if I just gave you another chance that everything could be the way it was before. That’s where I really fucked up.

 I should have rejected you as soon as the passion had turned to poison. I should have spat you upon your creator who was only mere feet away. But no, I just had to keep going. It was a huge mistake, like masturbating and crying at the same time, I should have pulled myself together and had the strength to say no. But alas, I did not do so and so you continued to torment me unrelentingly. I left the restaurant in tears clutching my take out tray tightly to my chest. I left your two awful companions sitting on the bar, the bar that was to be our gateway to a love bigger than you and I put together. I ran to my truck fumbling for my keys, desperate to climb into the womb-like safety of the cab where I could be alone and be far away from you. The next few minutes were a blur. I remember yelling, a lot. I remember shouting “WHY?”. Then I remember being on the open road trying to flee that awful rendezvous with you and your tongue-shitting ways. Oh dear, what was I to do? What could I do? I frantically searched the center console, the armrest, and the door pockets for a mint. Just one mint. That’s all I needed, all I wanted. I could find none. I greedily slurped down half of the contents of my 64 ounce insulated travel mug hoping that the soothing flavors of my carbonated beverage would rinse the taste of shame and humiliation from my mouth and move it closer towards my digestive tract. But it did not. Oh no. Not even close. You cunning little bitch. Did you, Satan, and the Pepsi Cola corporation sign a blood pact to intensify my oral and olfactory agony? I would argue in the affirmative.

The next logical action to take was at hand. A cigar. I lit it and drew so deeply that my forehead made a popping sound like a freshly opened jar of applesauce. But the relief, the relief that I expected, that I needed, was not to be had. No. No, you tenaciously held to my tongue like a barnacle holds to a whale’s adipose vent and ruining forever what once was good and clean and pure. I finished that cigar and immediately lit another. Again, I found no relief from your putrescence. Why oh why would you not leave me to my misery, allow me to be alone and ashamed of what I had done in the peace and privacy that I yearned for at that moment? I needed no further reminders from you of what a fool I had been, of what weakness I had displayed in accepting your advances, of my short-sighted decision made in the heat of the moment. My drive home was not a short one. In fact, it was rather long and made only longer by your continued insistence on fouling my palate with your disgusting residual ridicule. And when your filth finally started to fade and I thought that I might just make it out alive after all, you came back! I burped. I burped and there you were! It was as though our first congress had begun all over again. Each and every time I burped you came back to me. Each and every time I burped I shouted “FUCK!”. I will never be able to estimate just how many times I screamed “FUCK!” during that seemingly endless drive home but it sure as hell was a fuck of a lot. My world was simply full of fuck.

Upon arriving home, Sweetpea came running to my side. She had heard the wail of “FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!” as I tore ass up the mountain. She was crying, as was I, and pleading with me to tell her what had happened, what was wrong, what could she do for me. I brushed her aside and bolted for the one place that I knew that I could find reprieve: the bathroom. I ran to the sink, grabbed the toothbrush from its old and crazed plastic preschool juice and crackers cup, squirted gobs of red jellied toothpaste upon its bristles and jammed the salvation on a stick into my mouth. I went at it with a ferocity that I’d never imagined my vanilla whitebread ass to be capable of. I brushed and cried, cried and brushed, and brushed and brushed and brushed. At last, when the gums surrounding each and every tooth, facial and lingual, mesial and distal, were awash in the blood of my shattered heart, I decided that was enough. I spat the crimson mess into the sink and stared into the mirror at myself. I shall never forget the eyes that looked back at me. Hollow, empty, devoid of the spark of life that they once held. The face that I beheld was one that was lacking the humanity that it had once had in abundance. A defeated visage of the man I once was. A spectre. A lad insane.

Long into the night as I lay curled in a fetal position on the couch, alone and shaking, the only sound that could be heard to escape my lips was a low and moaning “fuuuuuck….”.

I will never, Never, NEVER again pollute my mouth or taint my soul with another seared albacore sushi roll. My last words to you are a haiku that I hope you will take to heart and remember.

Fuck you albacore

I will never be the same

Your taste lingers on

She Knows!

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She now knows.

She knew long ago.

The self deception and hiding is over.

Life 2.0 begins.

Sweetpea has once again amazed me with the depths of her knowledge. After 18 years of faithful companionship, we are now beginning a whole new chapter. She has been ahead of me for so many years but had decided that unless I owned myself then her input could only confuse me and lead me on a path that would not have been mine. Long ago she had known where and who I was. In fact, she knew before we were married that I was capable of loving and had feelings for members of both sexes, though I’ve never acted upon such feelings. Her approach was absolutely correct and I love her more deeply now than I ever believed possible. Any sooner would have been too soon and I would not have been ready.

She has encouraged me to begin my education and exploration independently of her. She does not want to litter my path with her own biases, unintended though they would be, because it is my path alone. Her willingness to go hands-off, her strong belief that trust is key, and her permission to do what I feel I need to do to be truly happy and feel good about and comfortable with myself, is something that I never would have imagined. Nearly four decades of denial, confusion, self abuse, and inner anger over why I had to feel as I did are now over. Instead of fighting a usless inner battle to change what is not changeable, I can now stand down and admit to myself that I was not wrong, sick, or disturbed. It is amazing how societal ‘norms’ caused such inner turmoil and hate for myself.

My dear friend who helped me come to terms with myself simply listened, made no judgements and helped me to feel positive in accepting myself for who I am.

I wrote her a note the following day:

Tonight, for the first time ever, I was able to look in the mirror, meet my own eyes, and honestly say that I love myself.

What seems easy to most was something I could never do. I really had no concept of loving and being comfortable with myself. I did have long periods of happy times, but it always was in the back of my mind that I just wasn’t right, wasn’t ‘normal’. 

I fully realize that there are many who will not accept the decisions we have come to. I can only hope that they will be respectful of my right as a human being to live without their interference or imposition of their views upon me just as I am respectful of them and their beliefs.

I fully realize that there are people out there who would wish to do me physical harm because of who I am. I will do my damned level best to assure my safety by whatever means necessary, including the use of deadly force if warranted. I will not be a passive victim, I will not go down without one hell of a fight. I am determined to defend myself so that I may continue to live and breathe, so that I may continue to provide for and protect my wife, and so that I may continue to develop as a newly realized and healthy person.

Is this new outlook scary? Sure. Intimidating? Of course. Exciting? Absolutely.
 
I have a whole new understanding of open relationships. I assured Sweetpea that I have no intention of leaving her at any point. Her condition, disabled in an auto accident 13 years ago (10 months after we married), would never permit me to do so. I simply could not live with myself in abandoning her. She needs me and I need her every bit as much. Our original deep and abiding love is not threatened and only grows stronger with trust.

She’s told me that what she desperately wants is for me to find what I need to feel fulfilled. That all she ever wants is for me to feel happy with myself and to love myself. Whatever that takes. I asked if we could set some boundaries together. She felt that it would be inappropriate for her to participate in setting boundaries and that I should follow my heart. Wow… What an amazing woman I have the fortune to be with! 

I stand amazed.

I love you Sweetpea.

Acknowledgements and Dedication

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              I created this blog at the suggestion and request of my oldest and dearest friend. If she requested that I take a flying fuck at a rolling doughnut, my immediate response would be to ask which airline and what flavor. Her judgement is impeccable, her wisdom deep, and her compassion is truly profound. She has recently helped me come to terms with a part of myself that I have denied for nearly as long as I have been alive. My only regret in sharing that part of myself with her is that I didn’t do so earlier. Decades earlier. Her unconditional love and acceptance has allowed me a newly found pleasure: That of loving myself. For that I owe her a debt of gratitude that can never be repaid. I can only hope that this public declaration of my love, respect, and affection for her will be a small down payment on that debt. I will never be able to to keep up on payments as she will continually increase the principal with her amazing friendship and incredible humanity.

Thank you Miss Bee.

To you I dedicate this blog.