My religion teacher in my senior year of high school, Sister Regina, once said: God made Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve.
WTF?
Back then, I hadn't yet become Hyperactive™ enough to respond: "God gave women a vagina so they can use it, not lose it."
What, was I meant to engage a nun in a verbal battle about what's natural and what's not? Celibacy is unnatural, not homosexuality. Human beings are animals. Animals are designed to copulate. Otherwise, they would be plants. Have you seen a celibate rabbit? But I wanted to graduate - plus who was I to question an adult human being's decision to be celibate? So I kept my mouth shut. Sister Regina scored me a big, fat 87 in religion, and I missed the honor roll by very little.
I don't mind nuns. I love nuns. I spent summers with the Franciscan sisters in Delfin Albano, a sleepy riverside barrio that was only accessible to the rest of Isabela province via little motorboats. There was no TV, certainly no internet, no magazines. To entertain ourselves, my cousin Mark and I would have a contest to see who can eat more clams - and then we'd count the shells. I cried whenever I lost; I hated losing. But I enjoyed my summers with the nuns and remember them fondly. Maybe that's why I'm still prone to call "Hey, sister!" by default when I don't know someone's name.
Back to Sister Regina, who was always earnest with her reminders to act "manly," because even she acts manly. She grew up around brothers, she said. And then she would collect our reflections on the Sunday Gospel - a weekly homework which I resented.
I went berserk in university. The school was run by Jesuit priests. The Jesuits encouraged us to question everything - even faith, itself.
It was an eye-opening experience. It was mind-opening, mouth-opening, leg-opening, butt opening. Fuck, I was just horny all the time. For the first time, there were no scornful reminders for me to say "one Our Father, one Hail Mary and one Glory Be" whenever I felt like I was "backsliding" again.
I was lucky to have been inducted into gay relationships with a couple of nice boyfriends, with whom I had great fun and terrific sex with. We'd agree on mutual "study periods" to duck backstage of the Rizal Mini-Theatre for a quickie, or just behind the chapel at Gonzaga Hall.
During the "gap weeks" when I was single, I'd fill up my schedule with the usual police line-up of one night stands (ONS - as if you didn't know). Some were nice, some not so nice, some had bad breath, some kissed like a dog, some kissed like a fish. My most horrible ONS involved taking a shower with a guy who used an exfoliant, in the absence of soap, to lather up my penis. He probably thought it would give me extra sensation, except it stung like hell. I screamed. He panicked. He didn't know how to shut me up.
"Top or bottom?" usually suffices as a pick-up line when gay guys are on the hunt. Top means you like penetrating; bottom means you like being penetrated.
In the early years, I was mostly just top. I tried bottoming but it made me nervous and it just wasn't as much fun. Plus, I had trust issues especially when it was just ONS. Of course I could always trust myself to tread with care, but how can I be sure that the other guy would take as much care if our positions were reversed?
"I was purely top when I was younger," a friend of mine reminisced, "but it just got to be too much work."
When I first moved to Hong Kong, I met a guy who described himself as a "service top" - that's a top who likes to be ordered around by a bossy bottom. "Fuck me. Harder! HARDER!"
I have another friend, a pure bottom, who says that the best sex he ever had was with another bottom.
I've had encounters with other guys who described themselves as "top" on Gaydar. Truth is, so long as the chemistry is right, you'll inadvertently find ways to enjoy despite being both tops.
There are lazy tops - boys who just lie down there and expect to be worshipped. There are lazy bottoms - boys who just lie down there and expect to get plowed.
Of course when you're horny, you just wanna hook up as quickly as possible. Who the fuck has time for complicated subtexts, for subtle flirtation? We're not in Jane Eyre's England. But the answer to the "Top or bottom?" question is never a good enough gauge of how much fun you're gonna have with the other guy.
God bless the Versatiles - those who freely flip-flop between topping or bottoming - without getting emotionally fraught with issues of self-doubt, trust or control. May their tribe increase. Amen.
For gay men, sex is a religion for which we have no clear gospel.
And that works just fine.
With Affection,
James
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| Typical. One of the more PG-rated profile pics I posted on Guys4Men, a popular hook-up sight in Manila. I was 19. |
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