Is it possible that we’ve become so fixated on our search for sexual liberation that we’ve lost sight of what we’re really seeking?
BY LEON FOX
Down a flight of stairs and past the reception booth, I—donned in a fabulous coat made entirely of shimmering sequins—pirouetted into the main dance hall of one of San Francisco’s hallmark dance-and-play parties, but stumbled to a stop at what I saw.
The party was packed: a press of turnt, dripping bodies, desperately seeking space to dance or to fuck; the music was aggressive, even bellicose, in its martial 4-4 meter; and the muscle bears had already begun to megazord into their molly-huddles.
At these sort of traditionally carnal events, I have been known to participate in the expected sport-fucking bacchanal with all due enthusiasm. So I disrobed, (save my boots and jockstrap), put on my metaphorical blinders, and made my way through the throngs and into the back room.
The air was a froth of man musk and crotch (and perhaps not the cleanest bottoms), while low and crimson lights glowed dimly in their sconces on the walls. Eventually I reached a clearing in the press of bodies just as three handsome boys did, and a clumsy foursome ensued.
But I quickly began to feel robbed of something. The way these boys were having sex with me was just a greedy grabby mess of graceless gropings, all while trying to maintain their balance on the lube-slicked floor. It didn’t take long for me to lose my patience. I eventually batted them off, saying, “Okay guys, I think I’ve had enough.”
I walked to the edge of the room, spun around, and then I saw it: Dante’s Inferno Level Two, which, in the epic, depicts a realm where violent storms toss about lustful souls in their quest for empty pleasures.
The vision undid me, and I let fly a ferocious cri de coeur, “Does anybody actually wanna have any fucking sex in here!?”
One hundred-plus heads in that room turned towards me with mouths agape. Seeing that I had the floor, I thought, “In for a penny, in for a pound.”
Gesturing grandly with my arms I roared, “Look at what’s become of uuuussssss! I want some goddamn sunshine in my sexuality, for fuck’s sake!”
Then, one of the hottest boys I ever did see came elbowing his way through the crowd, grabbed me, pushed me onto a couch, and fucked a load into me before passing out unceremoniously.
As I laid there, staring at the ceiling, pinned beneath a gently snoring gentleman, I decided to change tactics and spent the rest of the evening passing out hugs. After embracing one boy, I remember him saying, “Oh…thank you. Thanks for that.” And I responded, “Yeah, dude. Sometimes you just need to receive affection, and feel like nothing’s expected of you.”
For many of us, as we were growing, both our families and society at large told us that the sex we sought was pathological and deviant. So as adults we’ve created spaces and fashioned a new culture where we can freely enjoy sex with each other without fear of persecution.
But is it possible that we’ve become so fixated on our search for sexual liberation that we’ve lost sight of what we’re really seeking? Something that we never got the chance to experience when we were younger, and maybe never imagined as possible?
As we pursue our sexual self-actualization, I believe that what we really want is awareness, intention, and soulful contact—intimacy.
”I need some goddamn sunshine in my sexuality for fuck’s sake!”
Be proud to offer the kind of affection and sex you want. This is not an easy ask when sex in Gay culture is so often reduced to its flattest, most pornographic form. Combine that with the dawn of hookup apps, where people and their intimacy are commodities, and we can easily lose sight and what we were seeking in the first place.
I want my lovers to know that I want to make them feel amazing, and that there is no hierarchy of who’s better looking, or more sexually capable. I just want them to feel loved, safe, and beautiful.
Lately, some of my favorite moments I’ve been having with guys is when they can’t get hard with me. They’re putting so much pressure on themselves to perform that they’ve forgotten that you can’t be intimate unless you’re relaxed and comfortable with the person you’re with.
In those moments that I hold them, and look them in the eye, and say, “Your presence alone is more than adequate. Nothing’s expected of you. I’m just so happy you’re here with me.”
