I thought the environment was uncomfortable - dark, dingy, maybe even self-pathologizing. In reality, the last thing I wanted to do in that concrete basement with black-painted walls, communal beds, slings, and booths affording semi-privacy at best, was have sex. It’s amazing how the addition of just one body to a two-person experience can unlock what seem like infinite configurations. In theory, I should have loved the party - my experiences in small groups (threeways, foursomes) have been overwhelmingly positive, and I have enjoyed porn that depicts orgies.
But whatever it is, it’s opaque.Ī visit to a gay sex party in Brooklyn last October left me unsatisfied, in every way. And now, over a decade after coming out - a process that requires conscious engagement with, and ultimately rejection of, society’s homophobic expectations and imperatives that can reverberate indefinitely after saying, “I’m gay” - I’m still being confronted with the uncertainties of my sexuality.
I’ve known I was gay since I was 5, and it took me about 20 more years to be comfortable admitting as much out loud.
