Tag archieven: gay men

Confessions of a Yoga Teacher – Gay

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by LS Harteveld

 I have never invited a man to take our animated conversation to the bedroom. Even when I was completely single, and free to experiment, I never had sex with a man for his intellect. Even if they were intellectual, it hardly mattered, because I felt attracted to them for totally unrelated reasons.
And they to me.
Most men were significantly younger than me. And one lover over a decade older. To this day I suspect him of being an Israeli spy. I capped having an older lover to this one-time experience. And not just because I feared I would open the secret door to the armory if pushed the wrong button on the oven.
With fluid sexuality being the norm these days, I wondered;
had I been prudish? It wasn’t too picky when it came to agreeing to a date. I had been on dates with nerds, intellectuals, older men, students, and even a woman.
And I rarely beforehand ruled out falling head over heels in love. But my poor rep sheet of who had actually made it to the bedroom, proved my heart had been far from fluid and the kitty further south, had given diversity the middle finger.
And then it hit me. Something that moved this whole diversity, fluid sexuality ideal from the Stuff Singles People Do List, all the way over to;
Bullshit Things Couples Tell Themselves.
First of all, I still don’t rule out having sex with women. Or older men. It’s a fine line between being curious and scarcity. And I know scarcity of sex will make you curious about sex with partners who would not be your preferred choice. And that’s not a bad thing. Given the whole Adam and Eve situation, you may even argue that when push comes to shove, you owe it to your species to not be too picky about this.
But when it came to being diverse the only situation I saw where people stretched their orientation was when couples discussed the options of having sex with other people to keep their monogamous relationship interesting.
But guess what?
The moment a woman has sex with another woman because this is the only threesome her man doesn’t feel threatened by?
Doesn’t count.
A man agrees having another man present because his female partner wants this threesome?
Doesn’t count.
A man allows his girlfriend to only have lesbian affairs?
Doesn’t count.
Your real sexual orientation is this:
IF you are living in the land of plenty, and you can choose to have sex with, or have a relationship with, whomever you want. And that person will accept you with all your quirks, and honor your needs, and be happy for you if you find joy in bedding other people as well, or have second or third relationships on the side;
if that were ALL true, then tell me:
with who would you have a relationship?
More than likely, your sexuality turns out to be as flexible as an iron fist.

<3LSH
An unexamined life is not worth living

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yoga studio

Cougar rules

 

Gay men are judged, for being promiscuous whoring creatures indulging in unnatural sex. Usually the criticism comes from normal men, who are merely promiscuous and whoring, and save the unnatural sex for a female partner. Lesbian women too, are judged. The fact that they set up their own party, makes men say the cruelest things. And that they rather buy their sperm by the bottle, instead of with the smelly half-ape it came from, doesn’t improve the relationship either. The third minority prone to discrimination (omitting bi- and transsexuals and transvestites, in favor of clearity) are older men who date younger women. The root of this discord is that the monkeys were counting on the Silverbacks to grow flabby arms and prostate problems, and now they actually have to accomplish something for themselves in order to get to the girls. Bokito is not giving up his hard earned right to the juiciest chicks, and the biggest bananas.

On June 10, 2008 I discovered that I liked young men, although at the time I thought it was just one pretty faced incident that walked into my yoga class. I was paralyzed. And that moment, when you feel your heart being drawn out of you, into the hands of a reckless 19 year old, you see your life passing by you. But when after a few months of staring, stuttering, flirting and no, not fucking, you find you are still breathing, you realize being borderline pedophile is a condition you can still grow old with.

Fortunately for me, the cougar virus, first spotted in America a short while before, was spreading and successfully conquering the continent one cub at a time. A cougar is a woman of at least 35 years old, dating a cub, a man 7 years younger or more (preferably more). Our age gap was more than 16 years. We qualified twice over.

After the initial horror of desiring the barely-legal, I stepped up to play the part of cougar. An empowering choice! I transformed from being a victim of my heart (or more South perhaps), into a predator who could choose between kill or kiss, between suck or bite.  Depending on how much I liked what I encountered, and how old it was.

Eager to test the sturdiness of my new identity, and up for a fight, I stepped out of my cage and became very vocal about my preferences. But the alpha male that owned the gym where I taught my classes, just petted my mane and told me to go for it. My friends all asked how they could be me. And all the straight men wanted to have sex with me even more. Okay, that last bit shouldn’t have come as a surprise.

Four years and four cubs later (yes, fucking), I realize that being a cougar is, by all means, a sexual preference. Even though I am not excluding a whole age group beforehand, I know what I like: flawless cheeks and a strong jawline, a clear voice asking intrusive questions, big Bambi eyes playing innocent after breaking my spirit. After the initial scare, I’ve come to like my heart in the hands of someone young. He only plays and doesn’t go for the kill. Wounds heal quickly, love heals all, it’s all very Disney.

But I would appreciate a little more opposition. I would like to be chastised for seducing innocent men to have unnatural sex with someone twice their age. For going for the hardest bananas and the juiciest tricks. Because your reprimands would confirm what even Disney knows: That it was never a monkey, that was king of the jungle.

Voor hen die ringen dragen

Pakistaans? Arabisch? De vrouw met de volle lokken en olijfgetinte huid sprak in elk geval Engels, en bombardeerde mij onder de vuile blikken. Ook haar boomlange gay-best friend, met wie ik aan het begin van de avond nog erotische fantasieen over Ian Somerhalder had gedeeld, negeerde mij aan het einde van de potluck party inmiddels vakkundig. Vanaf de Tiramusu, was de buffer tussen ons  vijf meter en een clubje pratende expats. Ik sloot mij zwijgend aan bij een conversatie, om de  gastvrouw te zeggen dat ik naar huis ging, toen de Egyptische schone het woord tot mij richtte.
“ You know Nathan and Lara right?”
Mijn laatste slok witte wijn proestte in de gootsteen van het kookeiland. En dat was nog voor ik wist waar deze Cleopatra mijn ex-minnaar en ex-beste vriendin van kende.
“ I heard they’re back together again,”  zei ze toen ik mijn mond afveegde.

Nathan had tijdens onze affaire een relatie, naar nu bleek dus met deze Cleopatra. Hij bedroog haar met mij en willekeurig 37 andere zakelijke contacten, kroegmaatjes en exen. Cleopatra vindt een sms, smijt Nathan eruit, ik kom erachter dat hij aan het pimpampetten is met mijn beste vriendin. Het was allemaal jaren geleden maar de pijn droop ook op deze avond, na therapie, nieuwe vriendjes, en eindeloos vallen en weer opstaan, tussen onze verwensingen en vloeken.  Buitenechtelijke relaties blinken zelden uit in openheid, slurpen tijd, veroorzaken bergen verdriet en eindigen er meestal mee dat iedereen elkaar hoer noemt. Dat doe ik tenminste.

Cleopatra en ik sloten de gelederen. In een stille hoek van de keuken hieven wij het glas. To us. To love. May Nathan rot in hell. May Lara give him herpes.
Deze dingen verzin ik nu, want in werkelijkheid ging er zoveel drank doorheen dat ik geen idee heb waar we allemaal op hebben getoast. Ook alle geheimen die ze mij vertelde over Nathan ben ik goeddeels vergeten, hoewel ik mij nog herinner dat ik bepaalde dingen nipt voor haar wist te verzwijgen omdat ze haar zouden kwetsen. “ Had ik u maar eerder gekend, Hellenistische Heerseres, nooit zou ik u hebben bedrogen!” Ook dat wist ik voor mij te houden, dit keer om haar niet de stuipen op het lijf te jagen.

Het was aan die keukentafel dat ik mijzelf beloofde dat dit de eerste en de laatste keer was, dat ik mij moest schamen voor wat ik had gedaan.  Nathan’s excuus kwam nooit verder dan “ It’s complicated”  maar ook “ Mijn vrouw weet ervan.” , “ Wij liggen in scheiding.” Of “ Wij hebben een open relatie,” zou voortaan niet genoeg zijn om mijn stringetje uit te doen. Ook dat soort dingen wil ik uit haar mond horen.

Voor wie dat wil kan ik een stuk schrijven, over hoe wij (alleenstaande vrouwen) echt niet altijd zitten te vlassen op je echtgenoot. Wij hebben onze verplichtingen, carrieres, vriendinnen waar we elke mogelijke intimiteit mee delen. Zelfs vakanties, donkere kerstdagen en de druilerige zondagmiddag hebben we naar volle tevredenheid van onszelf ingevuld.  We zitten niet te wachten op een vent. En al helemaal niet op een single die naast ons nog vier andere kippetjes bespringt. Dan hebben we liever een getrouwde man, die het gewoon met zijn vrouw doet.

En jullie hebben een huis in een buitenwijk, deeltijdfuncties, een ivf tweeling en een zoontje met adhd. Dat is een investering die beschermd moet worden. Zodra één van jullie hele dubbellevens aanlegt op Twitter, Secondlove of de cruisingstrook van de A2, waait dat kaartenhuis om voordat de hypotheek is betaald.

Als je een vaste minnares zoekt voor jouw echtgenoot of vaste vriend, neem dan contact met mij op. Met pasfoto & aanbevelingsbrief altijd antwoord. Ik wil maar één relatie, maar bi-seksuele mannen mogen ook samen.

Verder ben ik straight as a doornail dus ik stap niet in jullie echtelijke sponde.
Al ben je de Koningin van Panama.

 

 

Class of 1991

 

One had baby blue eyes, and liked football riots.
One was cheerful and innocent.
One an overly confident fashion model.
One was skeptical. He had older sisters and had become an uncle when he was 10.
One was playful like a monkey and suggested a “little shag” in the morning.
And from the 400 male students that started in my year, only one was brown. Lees verder