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I felt somehow that if I got this act out of the way, the kissing and fondling wouldn’t be such a big deal. And I gave Tom the kind of head that I would want to receive.Īs unsure of everything as I was, I had known this was the first thing I wanted to do. I wanted to inspect it further - I mean, how many dicks have I gotten to see up close? But I closed my mouth around the tip. I pulled down his pants and gripped his dick. I knelt on my knees and stared up at him. I mean, how come women get to have lesbian “experiments” with little judgment and not men? And if I was going to do it, might as well chalk it up to those crazy college days, right? Before the hosting queen announced the final number, I whispered to Tom that I thought I wanted to have a “gay experience.” I curved my lower back and flashed my most seductive smile at no one in particular. At first, I rolled my eyes at my friends. At the lounge, a guy tried to grind with me. He told me to come to a local drag show with the gang. We met freshman year during comedy auditions (I didn’t get in) and became closer as seniors through a leadership group as we each ran a service club on campus. He was the kind of person who when you meet him you think I bet he does improv and then you find out he does. He was tall with curly brown hair and a bony frame, effeminate.
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Was it just a choice I needed to make? Was it something they were born with? If it’s based on my behavior, I certainly have control over that, but would that be faking it or something? I began to wonder what made these queer folks so different than me. It made the fist-pumping, beer-crushing hetero-masculinity I’d been cavorting with for several years feel limiting, almost naive. Queers were like dots on a map, in territory I didn’t know existed, expanding and distorting the borders until it felt useless to try to locate anyone anymore. At each party, I observed different ways to inhabit a gender role or sexuality.
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Since these norms are defined socially, any group of weirdos can call bullshit, call it something made up - constructed - opt out, and perform it all quite differently. Even if a collective agreement to honor ideas such as “women like art” and “men like sports” made them felt, real by experience, that didn’t make them essentially true, and certainly not fixed. The strict sex categories presented to me as a kid had apparently been fluctuating throughout time and across cultures. The class gave me a vocabulary for something that had been becoming more and more intuitive to me: Gender was a bit of a performance. You’re welcome to join if you’d like.”Īt the beginning of the semester, I had signed up for a Queer Theory course (pass/fail) with a few friends. I curled my body to rest my head on his shoulder and whispered, “I’m going to the bathroom. Our friends’ bodies littered the room, crumpled up in different corners, either asleep or in a bloated daze. Our arms and legs were strewn across a ratty futon. of the first day of Spring Fest of my final semester at college, and Tom and I were wasted. To read all the entries in the series, click here. We're re-running this story as part of a countdown of the year's best personal essays.