From: (Todd Morman)
Newsgroups: soc.motss
Subject: Re: Straight-acting vs Queer (was Re: Guys who don't.)
Date: 6 Apr 1996 09:31:29 GMT

[attributions removed]
>Having never really been a str8 male of course, but growing up being
>treated like one, I still find it incredible how the concepts of
>competition and survival of the strongest seem to drive so much of str8
>male culture. Maybe it is all evolutionary genetics, but jeez boyz, give
>it a rest.

Amen to that. One thing's for sure: being a scrawny adolescent gay guy did
teach me a lot about male competition. In fact, sometimes I wonder if the
macho bluster I had to deal with didn't have something to do with my
turning out gay--you know, like trying to defuse all that guy fear and guy
anger with guy sex and guy love. I know I've read something like this
before on soc.motss, and it rings really true for me. 

Of course, it's chickens and eggs with the causality, but I do feel pretty
deeply that a part of my desire for men (starting, I think, in sixth grade
but continuing through high school) is linked with the attempt to find
ways to break through the strutting and blustering of all the oh-so-macho
guys around. I remember vividly one incident where this big Wrestler Guy
came up to me after school when I was at my locker, just standing there
talking to a friend and holding a plastic thing of gummi bears in my hand
(we always seemed to be selling gummi bears or lollipops or chocolate bars
for something). The wrestlers had been doing laps around the hallway, and
had passed us a couple of times; I was friends with one of them and said
hi as he passed. So, after they're done, Wrestler Guy (not the one I'd
said hi to) stops by my locker and starts tossing himself around, asking
me what I'd said to them, being belligerent, puffing up his body, leaning
over me and just generally being a dick, right?  And I'm standing there,
intimidated--hell, really scared--but also thinking to myself "what the
fuck is this all about?" and trying to look at his eyes to see what's
going on in his head, because I really didn't have a clue. And my friend's
totally silent, trying to fade away (I'd have done the same, so no
judgement there), and I get the feeling I'm supposed to respond to
Wrestler Guy's presence somehow but I must have missed that day in Guy
School because I'm at a loss here and just stand there knowing that if it
gets physical I'm in deep shit, and then there's this pause, see, this
wonderful little pause where Wrestler Boy isn't saying anything, and I'm
looking up at him, and he's looking down at me, and I'm sure he sees the
fear in my face, but also the question, like "What do you want? Just tell
me, guy, because I'd probably be willing to give you more than you think,
but not until you cut the crap and stop threatening me," which is what I
was thinking in and around the fear, and I wonder how much of it
penetrated the dense testosterone haze (probably very little) but then he
breaks eye contact and turns to the plastic thing full of gummi bears in
my hand and says "what are those?" and I kind of just look at him because
I'm still really scared and he says "give me some" and I hand it to him
and he takes a handful of gummi bears and he's looking at me and I'm like,
what? take as many fucking gummi bears as you want, dude, and then he
makes some comment like "watch what you say from now on" which totally
makes no sense to me but works as a way to end this thing and off he goes
to be back with the other Wrestler Boys. And, strangely enough, I kind of
feel like I've won, somehow. Like, somehow, his inability to make anything
sensible happen with the clear macho advantage was my victory, you know? 

Sure, as I'm left there with my friend, I feel pretty violated, and we're
both obviously embarrassed by the whole thing, but I'm also kind of
fascinated with what just went down, and even a tiny bit more confident in
my belief that the Wrestler Guys of the world are the ones with the
problem, not me. Of course, my friend and I couldn't bring ourselves to
talk about it, being guys and all, so we just went on with our lives as if
it never happened, as if the alpha males never exercised their alpha male
jerk privileges on us, and as if it didn't matter even if they did. 

Here's the good part:

That night I had this amazing wet dream about Wrestler Boy and me. Oddly
enough, it wasn't about him being a jerk, rather it was about him being
kind of quiet, but still very macho, and me being myself, but confident,
and the two of us making out like crazy in the back of his pickup truck
(not sure where the truck came from) and I remember waking up with the
lingering dream-feeling that I could really like him, that there was this
kind of lovable guy there, asking me for Gummi Bears, and that maybe he
was even wishing that he had better ways of showing me his interest than
being a macho dickhead, but he didn't quite know any other way to say,
"hey you're interesting and I'm feeling this kind of spark here and I'd
love to touch you and kiss you and make out with you but I'm a macho
dickhead and so I don't know how so I'll puff myself up and act
intimidating and very *very* male and maybe you'll see that what I'm
trying to do is make myself desirable to you and then we can maybe
connect, if you know what I mean." 

I know, I know, but what are dreams for, right?

I'm not sure what the point is, except that cleaning myself off that
morning just might mark the start of my suspicions that all this
"straight-acting" stuff isn't what it seems to be.

todd ok so maybe there isn't a point but I felt like sharing anyway morman
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