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I’ve always been an effeminate guy and having grown up in a very, very conservative society that has never been viewed kindly. Not that effeminate guys are treated with anything less than some form of ridicule throughout their schooling. I’d say on the whole, I developed an astonishingly thick skin to most haters I went to school with.

But somewhere along the way, being told over and over again that I’m ‘gay’, it really struck a chord with me. I was maybe 13 or 14 when a guy in my class called me that for the first time. Ever since then, it spread like wildfire. I have particularly fond memories of the ‘untouchable’ game that kids in school played whereby if they accidentally bumped into me, they’d be infected by my ‘gayness’. So every kid in my class and my year would go to great lengths to give me a wide berth at all times. I know, kids are great! (But there was a silver lining – I rarely got trampled over when the recess bell rang!)

In truth though, I was probably sixteen when I first started questioning my sexuality. My only real knowledge of what being ‘gay’ meant was through pop culture. The first time I ever felt that being ‘gay’ was okay and not a big deal was when I was watching Friends and Ross’ ex-wife Carol left him for another woman. The show gave us insights into the home life of a gay couple, and in those rare episodes, Carol and Susan’s home and family dynamic seemed eerily normal.

Then Glee happened.

I was seventeen and a Senior in high school when the first season of Glee came out. It was a phenomenon! Everyone was obsessed. As a theatre fanatic and drama club staple (yes, remember? Effeminate?), Glee was about as close to a TV orgasm as I was ever going to get. Or more specifically, Kurt Hummel signaled a change.

Pre-Glee, all I’d ever done was watch some gay porn quietly and stare awkwardly at what those incredibly good looking men were doing. I’ve always been fascinated by good looking men. My eye always travels to them, even if there was a supermodel beside them in her knickers. To be honest? I always felt intense shame and guilt after watching porn – gay or straight. But that’s another can of worms isn’t it? Let’s leave it aside for now.

Pre-Glee I was confused, ashamed and most of all, scared out of my mind. After Kurt Hummel appeared on my computer screen (because who seriously watches TV on TV anymore, anyway?), my worldview shifted. Kurt was every bit a flamboyant diva as I’d always been told would be derided by the world. Yet Kurt was proud. He wasn’t weak despite having some traditionally effeminate qualities that are often associated with being weak. He was a strong young man with a good head on his shoulders and dealing with all the complications and craziness that I was going through in my own life.

Post-Glee Season 1, I was no longer scared. And it was good timing to boot! I was officially at university – free from the shackles and confines of my mundane existence at home. Independent. I could officially go looking for a hot guy and see what the ‘gay scene’ was all about.

Turns out, enthusiasm can’t quite overshadow the overwhelming fear that an eighteen-year-old non-white kid faces when confronted with the ‘gay scene’ without a six pack. There was a lot of rejection.

Then, there was him. What was his name? I honestly don’t remember. What I do remember is that he was tall, had blue eyes, an Australian accent and a very impressive dick. Thus occurred my first gay experience.

Now thus far, I wasn’t a totally inexperienced fool. I had fooled around with two girls before and sort of enjoyed it. But this, this would be the mecca. This would help me find that piece of my sexuality that I never quite found with a woman.

So I sucked that dick with enthusiasm that was more forced than I care to admit.

Curiously, penis tastes like nothing. You know, like licking skin – there’s a velvety texture, but no actual flavour of any kind. I don’t know why that surprised me, but it did.

Here’s another thing I learnt – cum tastes fucking awful.

Anyhow, cute Australian guy had his pants up and was out the door before I could muster up so much as a ‘how was it’.

So I didn’t enjoy myself…so what? First times are always a bit messy, right? Right? Clearly, there’s something I’m missing.

For the next few years that I was at university, I went onto have intimate encounters with multiple men – four of whom were paid. Yeah, I paid for sex. While getting attention from the brawnier gay men was always challenging for me, I never quite exactly had a dearth of offers. I chose to pay for sex, because I thought that if I was in more control of the encounter, I’d like it more. That didn’t quite work out at all. During these encounters, I found myself fumbling, nervous, unsure and even more awkward than usual because now I wanted my money’s worth and yet, I really didn’t.

Not once have I enjoyed myself with another man. Not once. Through all my multiple encounters, I still remain a virgin – by choice. The thought of putting my dick in a guy’s arse or vice versa is icky to me.

In these years, I also had encounters with two women (neither paid for, I should add). One as a semi-serious date with whom things didn’t quite pan out as I’d anticipated they wouldn’t. The other as a random hookup. Both were exciting. Getting and maintaining an erection whilst with them was not hard (no pun intended). I didn’t have penetrative sex with either of them. But I could have had I wanted to. I didn’t feel ready though. Not with this maelstrom of complex and confusing emotions waging war inside of me.

Through all these experiences what I found definitively was only one thing: I enjoy, enjoy snogging women; men, not so much.

Yet if you asked me to name a female pornstar, it will take me a few seconds to get to maybe 5 or 6 at best. If you asked me to name a male pornstar, I could rattle off 10 names easily in a single breath. I’m obsessed with the male body and yet when I dream of marriage and sharing my life with someone, only a nice, girl-next-door comes to mind.

This led me to questioning something else altogether – am I into men or into being like them? I always hear that our society today is hypersexualised. I always just dismissed that. But what if there’s some truth to that.

I rarely go more than a day without porn. It’s true. I always choose to watch videos with handsome men and when I watch them, I deeply envy their bodies. Sometimes, I wish I was in the girl’s place, I do admit that, but most times, I just wish I had that body. Other times – and this happens quite often, I wish I was a female. I wish I had long hair and a pretty face and boobs.

Consequently, I googled transgender people and what it means to have Gender Identity Disorder. I’m quite certain I’m not transgender – I really love my dick – and while my body has never been something I’m particularly proud of, I do like it a fair amount.

And that has brought me to the end of this much-too-long drabble. A piece that involved vomiting my sexuality confusions and arriving at no answers whatsoever.

It’s been four years since that first magical season of Glee. Since then the show really has gone down the crapper as have my grand ideas of sexuality.

I don’t know what my sexuality is. But four years of fumbling and killing myself trying to understand it has allowed me to come to an eventuality – I. Don’t. Care. Anymore. I’m done with labels and experimentation. My sexuality is but a bud on the tree of my personality. It doesn’t define me but is simply one of those things that only adds more colour to my complications.

Gay. Straight. Girly. Effeminate. Manly. Confused. Whatever.

Some days, I’m gay, and other days, I’m not. You know what? That’s fine by me. Maybe, some things aren’t meant to be put in a box, labelled and figured out.