Understanding my Queer Self

I've never fully fit vanilla society's mold of what a man should be.

- I have no desire to work on cars

- My wife taught me how to love sports

- I cry at movies

- I'm into musicals, rom-coms, cocktails, flowers

- Beer is nasty to me

- I don't fart, scratch myself, belch, and laugh about it

- A mani-pedi is a nice way to spend the afternoon

- I do not believe a woman's place is in the kitchen

- I hated using my fists to solve problems

There are some of society's *manly* things I'm into.

- I like to build things with my hands (carpentry, metalworking)

- Sporty cars and muscle cars are cool

- I like whiskey

- Action movies are fun

- I am a top-leaning switch who enjoys dominating

- While I do cry, I have fought to keep that private

- I like women *(and boobs...a lot...like really a lot)*

- Cooking on the grill is my thing - **B-B-Q!**

- I do occasionally use my fists

I've succumbed to society's pressures to provide for my family, and I feel worthless when I cannot.

**Please do not come at me for these lists.** They are to illustrate how the society I grew up in represented what a *real man* was supposed to be like and how I never felt like I fit in. These are stereotypes, and I do not believe in them anymore.

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You would think that growing up in a conservative Christian family would make me feel uncomfortable with my perceived differences and drive me to become a *man's man*, but it didn't. My Dad didn't check all the boxes, either. He didn't like cars or sports and was into musicals and occasional romantic comedies. I even saw him cry on occasion.

This isn't a story about how I grew up questioning my sexual orientation. With my Dad's example, I felt it was okay to be the boy I was and then grow into a man who didn't fit the world's mold. There were unspoken pressures to be a good heterosexual cis male, but I didn't have to fit society's mold for what that meant. While still following a conservative point of view, my father permitted me to live outside of traditional norms.

I remember having discussions about sex, sexuality, identity, and monogamy that did not start or end with "because God said so." He gave me real and well-thought-out reasons and was bold enough sometimes to say he didn't know the answer. He allowed me to ask questions, challenge authority and the status quo, and have differing opinions.

It wasn't till I was an adult and began to break away from the conservative values I grew up with that I started to look at myself differently. I would still consider myself a believer in God and a follower of Christianity...to a point, but that's another story for another time. Those beliefs have driven me to closet my feelings for a while, but thankfully not suppress them forever.

I've known I was kinky for a long time, but I didn't know how to express it in a healthy way. My wife and I tried exploring together, but I often overcompensated. I would come on too strong, trying to force it instead of letting it unfold. That approach turned her off, and our attempts fizzled out.

Everything shifted when she met someone kinky and fell in love. He practiced ethical non-monogamy. Her relationship with him opened both of our eyes to new ways love and connection could look—less about exclusivity, more about honesty, consent, and growth. After many discussions, some fights, and a ton of research, we decided to open our marriage, sparking a new chapter in our lives.

I remember the evening clearly. We decided to visit a BDSM club for the first time. I was nervous that my conservative upbringing would rear its ugly head. I was sure that when I walked in, people would immediately tag me as a wannabe and run me out of the space. I was so afraid of not being accepted for who I was. Having no idea what to expect, I hesitantly made my way in.

Some of the scenes were overwhelming. All of the scenes were erotic in ways I had never seen before. What I remember most, though, was the immediate feeling of acceptance. I didn't burst into flames and was not run out of the place with torches and pitchforks.

For the first time, I felt accepted and felt like I had permission to question old boundaries. That night didn't suddenly redefine my orientation, but it gave me the space to ask what I'd previously kept off-limits. I began to allow myself to look at things in ways I didn't think "straight men" were allowed to.

That meant acknowledging things I used to suppress, like recognizing that masculine bodies could be beautiful. I'd never let myself say that out loud before unless it was in the form of a joke designed to hide what I felt deep down.

Before, if my wife found a masculine body handsome, I would get jealous and disgusted, not at her, not even really at them, but at myself. I didn't know how to hold space for admiration without shame. The kink scene began to show me that I didn't need to feel shame or disgust.

In the scene, I met someone who encouraged me to express my thoughts and feelings toward masculine bodies. They provided safe spacing where I could explore without fear of judgment or rejection. It was a very liberating experience for which I am incredibly grateful. Their acceptance and encouragement of who I can be have been a driving force in my exploration.

With the help of them and the kink community as a whole I have felt comfortable embracing and better understanding that I have a queer side that wants to share space in my body and mind.

My journey has only just begun. The lessons I learned in the past, good and bad, have made me who I am today. My experiences in the kink community today are helping me further define myself. Through all of it, I am discovering that I don't have to be straight or gay, manly or soft, believer or skeptic, to be whole. I'm still learning. And I think that's okay.