My fascination with sex and sexuality all started when I was three. My Communist Manifesto-reading, motorcycle-riding mother took me to see a drag queen show at the Holiday Inn near our apartment. I remember being slightly confused yet fascinated by how these men were able to transform from being scruffy, beer bellied males to fabulous ladies of the night. Ever since then, I have always been skeptical of the gender binary and the definition of what really makes a man, a man, or a woman, a woman. I do not have the answer to this, but in writing this column I hope to learn more about sexuality through my retelling of my experiences and thoughts on sexuality and sex.
So what makes me so qualified to dirty the Blargus with my and other people’s sexcapades? It is because my sex life has been anything but your typical suburban teenager’s. It is probably because I ate out a girl before my first kiss, or that I gave one of my best friend’s boyfriend road head on Valentines Day. I mean don’t take my word for it, take the CollegeACB’s, where I have been dubbed, “controversial queer” and “ridiculous man whore,” my personal favorites.
If you are curious, I’m bisexual, which definitely gives me perspective on sex with girls, boys and both at the same exact time.
So my first sexual experience all went down (pun intended) when I was in third grade. Tanaynay (not her real name) was one of my best friends and she was adopted, so she was very curious about where she came from. She finally learned on one fated day about sex (probably on Cinemax’s Night Passions) and she told me all about it. Thirty seconds later, I learned about the clit and eating out. Five minutes later in the very backseat of bus 91, I was eating Tanaynay out until a 5th grader, whose only comment was, “sexy,” walked in on us. Ever since then, eating out has been one of my favorite hobbies in the world.
Yet, as much I would want like to divulge more in my very first column, the sex bell has been rung, so I must depart.
Stay sexcellent,
Dylan