On being Queer

Years ago, when I was in my early fifties, my teenage step son called me a weirdo. He left the room in disgust when I thanked him.

I have always been “different,” even among the different. Even as an outcast the labels never fit.

I moved around a lot as a child, never feeling any place was “home,” it was just where I was. I was always an outsider. As close to having a home I ever have been was my grandparents house in Kingsland, Texas. I could always identify that place as my home, even though I never lived there. They built that place themselves, maintaining a large property that has now been divided, and the house itself has been razed and rebuilt by my cousin, who incorporated many parts of the original in the new building. I am almost certain that my grandmother’s piano is standing on the precise coordinates it has been for the last sixty years.

I am fairly effeminate. I can also produce an authoritative voice and brutal demeanor. When I was working as a digital technician in Philadelphia, some of my clients took to calling me “Dr. House.” It was a title of respect, I cut off explanations that went off-topic, and was generally short with people who wanted to tell me what was wrong with their printer. When I was finished, the printer worked as well as it ever had, and stayed that way for a while; it was unusual to see the same client twice in a month. I dug that moment when they went from being offended to appreciative. At one point I went through a phase of wearing nail polish, a gun metal grey that toner wouldn’t stick to, the only person who complained was my manager, who thought it was too “gay.” I only saw him once a month or less, so I cleaned my nails before going into the office.

I’ve done some unusual things with my appearance, partially because I still don’t like to be recognized but want to be noticed. When I lived in Wildwood, New Jersey for a summer in my twenties, I started wearing exceptionally revealing clothes, it wasn’t the first time people had called me a “faggot.” When they were available in the states, I would smoke Sobranie Cocktails, with their gold filters and pastel papers. In the seventies I had long hair that drew some remarks. In Kindergarten my creativity was mistaken for mental retardation. Gay guys have found me attractive since High School, and one girlfriend used to enjoy walking with me in New Hope Pennsylvania, a fairly gay community, because of the whistles I would receive. I liked it too.

My pastor as a child was exceptionally educated, breaking down scriptures through translation to original Aramaic, saying “but it could also mean this.” He was a questioner, and had found the answers in Christ. He told us to gather all the information we could and make our own decisions. I did. After practicing several religions, I developed a belief system of my own. I refer to it as “Zen Baptist.” In a more literal world it would be called Christian, as in I follow the teachings of Christ. His words as related by the New Testament of the Bible. The Bible is an easy book, if you can read a Stephen King novel you can read the Bible. I sure wish more “Christians” would. In religious discussions I have been called a Fundamentalist, a Muslim, a Bible thumper, and an Atheist. This helped me understand that labels are only meaningful to the labeler, not the labeled.

I even have different physical illnesses. in 1989 I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis (thirty years and still going strong!). In my fifties I was diagnosed with Osteoporosis. Just a few years ago I suffered a Traumatic Brain Injury and the incredibly unusual condition of Superior canal dehiscence. There are people who think the changes in my lifestyle are related to my TBI, which is why I routinely give historical references to demonstrate I have always been this way.

I have had gay relationships, but I am not gay. I have had bisexual relationships (relationships based on a three way exchange of Love and responsibility), but I don’t consider myself bisexual because I don’t seek out men. The best description of me is Queer. I am different. I don’t fit your labels, and your labels might not mean what you think they do.

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Alternatives

It should be obvious to anyone reading my blog that I lead an alternative lifestyle. I feel open and free, and will discuss anything about my “adventures” as a heteroflexible polyamorous person. Unfortunately, that “anyone” includes many members of my family, who accept my lifestyle in varying degrees. I don’t wish to cause them alarm or embarrassment, so I will be commenting on the alternative aspects in another forum in the future. I will be posting to the ScorpioFullOn profile on FetLife. Too many intertwined lives are casually mentioned by me to keep posting these articles publicly.

I will continue posting here, just not the subjects that my Southern Baptist relatives may have trouble with. Odd move at sixty, you’re supposed to stop caring what other people think.

I recognized how”normal”my life was last night. Or more precisely, how my alternative seemed normal.

There we were, three couples, sitting around at a sex club, talking about insurance rates. Fully clothed. Would have been even funnier if we were nude, but the stark contrast of an earthy adult theatre with people having sex in the corners and three suburban couples who came for one thing but were instead talking about gardening was intriguing. We actually became one of the more popular “rooms,” largely because the only three females in the place were in our group. We would get up to walk around and see what other people were doing, and this crowd of single men would follow us, waiting for something to happen.

Nothing did happen, Sam got bored and we went home before ten o’clock. The other couples stayed, and from what I hear things did heat up, but it just wasn’t Sam’s scene.

I was fascinated by the entire event, the unspoken rules and protocols. The etiquette, being a couple, we got in free and had priority seating and viewing spots and better parking. The first name basis every one had; these folks were regulars. My girlfriend, one of the other couples with her boyfriend, knew almost everyone. It was amazingly comfortable and homey, particularly with the contrast to stereotypes.

But if I went into the details of the evening this would quickly devolve into pornography, and that does not suit this forum, nor the purpose of describing the events. For the purposes of this article, everyone had a pleasant evening, all safe practices were followed, we all learned about each other and ourselves.

There’s a big world out there. The most harm it will inflict is forcing you to understand yourself. Go ahead, take a look.

Romantic connections

My romances have seldom been “normal,” so I have actually given up on “normal” forms of relationships as a goal. Since the TBI, my relationships have been healthier because they are not normal.

Just before the accident Sam and I had decided to live a polyamorous lifestyle. This took a lot of pressure off me during my recovery. I was incapable of intimacy, and she was burning out taking care of me; her other partners were able to give her a break from nursing, as well as satisfy her physical needs. Rather than feeling useless I was happy, knowing she was getting the release she deserved. I “came out” as polyamorous a few months later, but I have only started actively dating over the last few months.

Dating has been fascinating. I am sixty years old, recovering from a TBI, so when a woman finds me interesting it is a boost to my ego, and lately I have found a few who are interested. Where I had no reservations about Sam dating, she has found it is not quite as easy when the shoe is on the other foot. It wasn’t a big deal, but watching her process her thoughts has been fascinating. That said, she did make sure I had condoms with me before my first date, unsure of how she would feel if I used them.

I tried dating a married woman (and yes, she failed to meet the standards of ethical non-monogamy), I was convinced that she was really just a frustrated polyamorist, and even got her to attend a poly meet-up with Sam, but she decided that she was committed to one of her other lovers and polyamory was not the path she wanted to travel. We’re still friends, and will more than likely see each other again (we have common interests), but it would be improper to pursue a romance with her.

Another woman was also experimenting with polyamory. She was recently divorced, and I met her at a poly meet up. We had different goals in relationships, so we parted ways; but again, we’re still friends.

Part of the fascination in dating is the changes to social mores that have taken place.  I met Emma through a personal ad, before the internet. She spent the night on our first date and we moved in together within the week. That has pretty much been my pattern, after Emma died I met women on line but it went the same, with an expectation of sex on the first date. Now that I am polyamorous, which most folks think is a constant orgy, my dates have expressed interest in getting to know me first. But that, it turns out, may just be me. One woman I am currently dating said “I sleep with guys on the first date if it’s just a booty call, but with guys I want to get to know better, I get to know them better first.” This time the ego boost was because she wants to know me better.

Being polyamorous, and operating a polyamorous page on Facebook, I have seen a number of variations in the way partners treat each other. In fact we started our page because we couldn’t deal with the way people behaved on the other pages. All these people celebrating freedom while categorizing and judging everyone else. Many polyamorists are self involved, but Sam and I have a relationship based on communication, and you can’t communicate if you are not honest and open. If more monogamous relationships had the same basis the world would be a better place.

In fact, if more people were open and honest with their spouses there might be fewer poly people. I was attracted to the lifestyle because of the communication required. That was in the early days when I thought everyone believed the same thing; as usual I have been disappointed by reality, poly folks are just as human as mono folks.

I am making every attempt at caution, sometimes I think I may be having too much fun. But these relationships are not throwaways, or one night stands, I’ve met some fascinating people. My latest girlfriend, the one who wanted to get to know me better, has an amazing background in activism, and is not “the girl next door” in any way. New ideas and perspectives are always a turn on.

Many people find relationships difficult after TBI. Mine have been wonderful, even the ones that did not work out. I suspect the difficulty is a result of unrealistic expectations on the part of both partners. I am not an evangelist for polyamory, but I know that the increased communication which is supposed to be a keystone of polyamory (and is in Sam and my case) is fundamental during recovery, impacting every aspect of recovery.

My romantic relationships may be the measure of my recovery. Empathizing with new people, juggling schedules, and new experiences, is a solid road to growth. The fact that my relationship with Sam is stronger than ever leads me to believe we’re doing it right.