LABELS... WHO NEEDS STINKING LABELS?

Sexuality is something that should never be labeled. Naturally you have people who categorize themselves as heterosexual, and you have people who categorize themselves as homosexual. Within these two sexual preferences sits a gray, leveled middle. In the center of the Kinsey Scale lies what is considered the bisexual (I would be a number 5). Bisexuality allows one to be attracted to both sexes. In between these sexual categories lies those who might consider themselves neither one or the other. We are the forgotten, unpopular crew who don't necessarily have a clear-cut definition as to what may define our most inner desires.

Speaking for myself, I find that I am certifiably aware I am attracted to men. Some may call that homosexual... but here is where things get a bit blurred. You see, I occasionally find myself languishing over women. To be a bit more clear, I thrive and swoon when I'm in the company of gorgeous, voluptuous women despite considering myself a "gay" man.

You might be asking yourself, "Is this poor guy just a confused bastard?" Well let me answer that with a thunderous NO. I feel that I am too intelligent and varied to be limited to one category or title. Me stymie my sexual potential? I think not.

It takes a very special kind of woman to test my sexual desires and have me walking the fence of ambiguity. I work with one such woman and I'm perplexed and intrigued by my unabashed gravitation towards her. Let's call her MARCY shall we?

Marcy is someone whom I speak to regularly and our conversations are unlike any other. Sure, I have countless stimulating conversations which leave me out of breath and quite aroused, but Marcy is someone who regularly tests the circuits of my libido.

BUZZ BUZZ

Whatever the name or category one might conjure up regarding someone like myself, I wonder if what I feel should even be studied or examined at all. Shouldn't embracing my feelings be enough? What is the need for labels anyway? I find these labels extremely limiting and claustrophobic if you ask me...

Women are gorgeous, soft, layered and intelligent. I enjoy touching and squeezing them. I love kissing them whilst grabbing a boob or two. They offer substance and are emotionally available at the drop of a dime. Ok my bad, most women are. Nevertheless, I enjoy being surrounded by the most attractive ladies (and I don't mean strictly outer-shell). Beauty has an obvious meaning in my attraction to someone as it is honestly the first quality that catches my eye. But as you and I know well, substance is key. It could be their little gestures that may come off as a bit corky... or maybe it's their coquettish reactions to my advances that have me sitting giddy. With me, my main attraction to a lady manifests itself in the little things. Little things mean the world to me.

Now don't get me wrong. Although I do find myself occasionally attracted to women, my most prominent lust lies with men. I'm secure in the fact that I have a raw, natural attraction to the male species and have known this since I was a child. When I'm near an attractive man, my zipper bursts in excitement. I "came out" to close friends and family when I was 21 and until I had my first experience with a man, I had no clue what I was missing. Before my sexual rebirth, nothing felt quite right. The essence of my identity was extremely blurred and missing in a sea of confusion.

I guess what I'm really trying to say is that I'm satisfied with the occasional hiccups within my sexual desires. With age comes limitless possibilities in the realm of attraction and I ponder what may unfold if I continue to explore what I thought I once disliked.

THANK YOU TO ALL THE MARCYS OUT THERE FOR FUELING MY CONTINUED EXPLORATION OF THE EVER-INTRIGUING SEXUAL GRAY AREA.

BESITOS