As you may have noticed, I’ve invited a new author to join this blog: cheerios. I’d capitalize that, but I’ll stick with the submissive lowercase he chose. He’ll be able to give a unique male perspective that I can’t provide, being female and all. Sue George’s blog, Bisexuality and Beyond, is the only other blog out there that’s a non-personal blog (and still the best, Sue!) specifically about bisexuality. If you’ve ever searched for relevant information about bisexuality in the blogosphere, you’ve come across her site. That’s how I came upon it, and as much as I adore her writing, I’m frustrated by the lack of bi-perspective I find on the internet. There are many, many resources and blogs out there about bisexuality—as an adjunct to homosexuality, almost a tagged-on afterthought. With Cheerios writing for the guys, and I for the girls, I hope we can shine a brighter light on bisexual experiences. So, welcome, stud!
Warm greetings, everyone. Mercy has been kind enough to let me join her bisexuality blog, so you’ll get a chance to know me through my posts. I have to warn you up front, I’m a guy, so if you were just looking for hot girl on girl discussion, you’ll have to ignore me.
I think a common misconception is that bisexuality is just about sex, attraction and lustful desire. I haven’t heard much discussion about loving people of both genders, but I know it happens. My first love (and my first lover) was a guy, and my best friend.
Jayson and I were both 12 years old, almost 13 really. We lived in the same apartment complex, and did everything together. He went on family vacations with us, I went with him to stay at his dad’s farm for a week over Christmas. Every day after school we would go fishing in the pond behind the apartments, and there is even a picture in our 8th grade yearbook with our arms around each other’s shoulders. “Like peas and carrots,” as Forrest Gump would say, and at some point friendship turned into more.
The way we ended up having sex is, I assume, pretty common. Boys being boys, and curious, we started masturbating with each other in the room when we had sleepovers. Jayson couldn’t yet ejaculate, so he was fascinated by the fact that “goo” would come out of my dick, and things progressed from him watching me jerk off to him jerking me off to see me cum. That was as far as things went for a very long time (for a pre-teen, that is). It was almost 6 months before we had the conversation.
“Well, I’d put one in my mouth, I guess, uh, just once, just to see what it was like.” – c
“Yeah, I guess I would too. I sure do wanna fuck somebody!” – j
“Me too.” – c
“Hey, I’ve got an idea, do you want to buttfuck?” – j
And there it was. He had put it out there, as brave as hell for a 13 year old. Needless to say, I ended up getting my anal cherry popped that night. Things didn’t work the other way, though. Like I said, I was more developed than Jayson, and my 13 year old pecker was just too big for him. It kinda always worked that way. Sexually, Jayson had all the power over me, and he knew it. Not in a kinky kind of way, though I did beg him to paddle me with the flat wooden stock from my Daisy Red Ryder BB gun a couple of times, but in a he controlled the timing, the pacing, and set the boundries as to what was acceptable and what would make us “queers” as he put it, kinda way.
For example, I wanted to kiss Jayson so bad that my lips would swell whenever he walked in a room. I begged him to kiss me, with his tongue, on a daily basis, but he refused. He had two excuses that he would whip out on different days. First, he thought kissing put us in danger of “being gay”. I’m not really sure how pumping his dick in and out of my ass didn’t pose a threat, but hey, whatever. The second was that he “wanted to leave something for (me) to experience with a girl”, but he only started using that one after he got his first girlfriend. They would make out behind the parked school buses during lunch. Still, he came to me for what she wouldn’t give him. I had become second choice. He was still my first.
Eventually, Jayson’s mother remarried and he moved to Florida. I never did get that kiss, not from him anyway, and I regret that. I bet it would have been fantastic. Not some aggressive, mega-macho, face smashing BrokeBack Mountain man kiss, but just the right mix of affection and desire; a kiss of gentle insistence, like the tugging at my heart reminding me that I did love this person as he packed up the moving van one August morning.