It's true. I have wondered if this is because I hated the male role model figure in my life growing up, but that's pretty much conjecture on a textbook theory. I just found women ... better conversationalists. Men were always about fighting and proving themselves physically, while women seemed to prove themselves to peers by their social behavior. I could deal with that. Women were ... funnier, wittier, and seemed to have less of a brain problem than boys my age. And thus, I became the dreaded, "sweet guy," and "like a brother, a good friend!" In reality, I didn't hate this at all, because I would gladly give up sexual urges to boink the girls just for their friendship. As far as I know, I am the only person who felt this way growing up. So I never dated, I never had any intimate relations with anybody, and my friends were usually women by 4 to 1. My best friend was a girl in high school, and while everyone thought we were a couple, we were only best buds.
Not that I didn't secretly lust after a few girls. I did. There was no doubt in my mind, after countless years of self-analysis, that I was as straight as an arrow. But I had to put those feelings aside, which was only a minor inconvenience. Except at sci-fi cons, where it was pretty distracting. So many perky, plump Goth girls... [drool]. But I digress. I kept my pants shut, and my mind out of the porno booth.
"I do have a cause though: It is obscenity... I'm for it. Unfortunately the civil liberties types who are fighting this issue have to fight it owing to the nature of the laws as a matter of freedom of speech and stifling of free expression and so on ... but we know what's really involved: dirty books are fun!" -- Tom Lehrer on smut
My view of smut has changed a lot since I was a kid. I never had a desire for it, and my parents were pretty open about the human body, so no topic was taboo, and I was allowed to read anything that was in the local library. My father had stacks and stacks of Playboys in his den, but I never looked through them much because all those women were older than I was, and I wasn't into the "Mrs. Robinson" type of relationships. Some of my male peers craved porn, and craved it a lot. Andy down the street had some dog-eared copies of porn buried next to his neighbor's sandbox (odd side note: the neighbor's kid, only a couple of years younger than us, got the nickname of "scrotum" because when he went into the pool, he wrinkled something awful). I recall one day, while a bunch of 11-year olds were looking through them, some went, "Daaaag! Look at that! What is that between her legs? What are those?" and so on. Yeah, your sex-ed tax dollars at work. I'd tell them, because I knew what breasts and the part of the vagina were, but they didn't seem to WANT an answer, they just wanted to marvel at the exotic ... thrill of seeing the forbidden. I didn't see what the big deal was about. And while I understand now, I still don't believe in porn as a worthwhile distraction. Frankly, women's breasts are like any other part of their body: everyone has different sizes, shapes, and styles. They don't go on and on about them (after puberty), so why should I?
But then as I got older, and heard the "male" and "female" versions of the same date story, I began to be sickened by men's attitudes. So many guys were "wham, bam, thank you ma'am," and so many girls wanted more. But the funny thing was, guys wanted June Cleaver who turned into a whore in bed, and most girls wanted a Joe Sensitive who was macho Indiana Jones in bed. But at the time, since my friends were mostly women complaining about what dogs men were, and I had so many male peers who were dogs, I just got sick of the whole dog concept. What I didn't know was that I was a teen, and this was pretty normal.
Then, when I managed a book store, I couldn't stand the trouble porn caused. I wouldn't have carried it, but the head office made me. I kept it behind the counter like the last manager did, and the bloated seals of horny men would beach themselves across my counter to have a look. Twice I threw someone out for masturbating in my store to porn, and I worked in a GOOD neighborhood! Then, there were kids who ... well, read this entry. Suffice to say, I hated porn and its ilk by this time.
But then I got married to a wonderful gal who is not uptight about porn. Then came the Internet, and slowly my attitude of freedom of expression lulled me back to a sensible feeling of "everyone's got a hobby." I don't look at porn except once in a while due to curiosity. But it's been less and less since it all seems the same. I sometimes think, "Man, naked people just look funny."
So, with all this in mind, it doesn't take a brain surgeon to guess why people thought I was gay in high school. Never dated. Liked talking with women. Didn't react to porn. Was a bit odd? On top of that, since I was "raised by women," I had effeminate qualities, like I did housework at home, knew how to cook really well. Hell, I was just a sequin suit away from Liberace as far as they were concerned.
On top of that? I like gay people. I love flaming queers. I love their culture. They are usually fun, fabulous, and smart people with a twang of life's irony in their attitude. Fandom is full of gay people, and once I knew what gay REALLY was, I didn't care how they had sex: that wasn't my business. It wasn't my business with heterosexuals, either. For instance, my friend Rosemark is gay, and a transsexual, and he's really fun to be with. I am sure I have other gay friends, but I don't even think about it, so I don't know if I could count how many, but I think quite a bit.
But the side effect of this whole view is that I really don't get along with fellow men very well. Fandom is different, because I think we all bond on that "outcast" vibe, but the "mundanes" or "normal people" who are into sports, guns, fast cars, and all that ... no clue. I mean, I don't hate them for it, I just ... don't fit in. And I feel bad about that, not because I want to be into sports, guns, and fast cars... I just want to stop feeling like I am putting them down. If some guy comes up to you (and this happens at work) and shows you some pinup of a woman who looks like she was caught during her gynecological exam, I can't say "I am not interested" without it sounding like, "You are low, dirty, sleazy scum." My boss and a coworker were drooling over one of Pink's videos last year (she's barely dressed in some tattered, skintight, black ... thing), and they got a bit miffed when I said, "Oh, she's so young. So not my type."
I can't tell them my type. I don't really have one, but I'll tell you what, it's not those rain-thin, Eastern European walking ribcages with no hips and small boobs. They are as attractive as a preteen in a badly fitting swimsuit. I guess if I had a type, it would be perky, plump Goth girls, or pretty Irish redheads. But why limit myself? I am sure there is some rain-thin, Eastern European walking ribcage with no hips and small boobs that's a pretty darn good conversationalist. But I also feel sorry for women who try and look like these rather unique models, and damage their beautiful God-given bodies in the process of desperate vanity.
But the men watching Pink writhe around her microphone stand don't want to hear that. They want to hear me and other males talk about how we'd "do" her. "I'd hit it," says one person. "Not Grig," said one guy, "he thinks she's too young. He's so lying ... why can't you just admit you want to pork her?" I wondered if I reversed the topic to talk about having sex with goats ("Just admit it, you want to screwed that goat until its horns fall off. Don't deny it. I can smell the mint jelly forming in your pants now!"), but wisdom tell me that they'd NEVER let me live that down. So I shrug and leave.
Not all males are like this, of course. I am friends with many men who are quite civil of tongue about the ladies. I am more friends with males now than I ever have been, and I think that just comes because of maturity. Some men will always be tail-chasers, but I don't hate them for it, or even pity them. We were all given goals in life, and I am in no position to judge them.
Just let me eat my tea and crumpets then, okay?
This entry was originally posted at http://www.punkwalrus.com/blog/archives/00000284.html