This piece was originally published on Sydney Morning Herald, for DailyLife, on December 23rd 2016. Available here.
--------
Ordinarily the topic of lovemaking between men wouldn't be in any way newsworthy, except for in weekend rehashing with the gays at brunch. But this month, Tom Ford – gay designer and director - has given me reason to raise the matter after he publicly stood by earlier comments that "all men should experience anal" in order to better understand women.
While the idea that anal sex between men could help to understand the experience of women is problematic at best, Ford's point rests on the idea that there's an inherent passivity, femininity and vulnerability in the act of being the receptive partner. When it comes to how other gay men perceive the act of anal penetration, this sentiment may be truer than we think.
I think it's time for us to break down some of these frankly harmful gendered stereotypes - not just because they're wrong about women - but because they're wrong about gay men, too.
For a long time, I identified as being somewhere in the middle of "bottom" and "top", otherwise known as "versatile" – as in, I do what I want, if it feels right, and if it's agreed upon.
As I've gotten older, however, my experiences have changed. When I meet a man, and when we're deciding on who's going to do what, his immediate assumption will be that I'm going to be the receptive partner. Oftentimes, the man I'm with will automatically take the "top" position, without ever having asked for my blessing.
It's only when I look in the mirror that I realise why this is, and why this continues to happen encounter after encounter.
I am a tall, thin, effeminate man.
Most people don't need to ask my sexuality, because they've worked it out on sight. A friend once remarked, "You're not a total dancing queen, but my God, you can turn on the princess at the drop of a hat". After a few Cosmopolitans, I become both a Carrie and a Samantha with reckless abandon.
The gay community doesn't exist in a vacuum. We may be a rowdy bunch of rainbow-touting hoodlums who refuse to be pathologised by the conservative heterosexual masses - but our community isn't some perfectly separate island. We're still mercy to the same social expectations that straight people suffer through. This includes, and is not limited to, gender roles and stereotypes.
Because I'm perceived as feminine, it's assumed that I'll adopt the position that's been deemed "submissive". It's believed that I'm frail and weak – and moreover, that I'll automatically consent to being dominated, whether or not I'm into it. And when a gay man is perceived as masculine – when he adopts stereotypical traits of the masculine male, such as a burly physique, a gruff demeanour, or stern machismo – it's assumed that he'll be more of a top and assert control over his partners.
What makes these gendered stereotypes so terrible is how willingly gay men play into them. All of this bedroom behaviour betrays a misogyny pervasive throughout the gay community; that the more "feminine" of two partners must tolerate a certain degree of dominance and control. Worse still, this gendered dynamic means the same that it does for our heterosexual peers - that the femme is somehow lesser.
I've had men aggress me at bars because they assume I'd be into it. Men have referred to me as their "boy" – infantilising me in another layer of misogyny – and I've been rough-handed and manhandled in ways not so comfortable or exciting.
Society already views gay men as inherently feminine by virtue of their sexuality. Those same standards dictate that as men, femininity makes them weak and therefore less valuable. Gay men are constantly at war with their 'feminine' homosexual identities, trying desperately to adhere to society's expectations of masculinity. As a result, we risk asserting unwanted dominance over those men perceive as 'weaker' – the limp-wristed and outwardly-feminine homosexuals.
In sex, as in life, I desire all of the pleasures my partner can offer me. I want to kiss and writhe and enjoy their company, whether they're long-term partners or just nookie for the night. We all want to feel sexy and flirty, wanted and fun – whether as a top, or a bottom.
Until we can challenge these ideas about our own sexual expressions and damn our gender stereotypes, this will remain a vicious cycle of self-hatred, and a war of shame and stigma that we can never win.
No comments:
Post a Comment