Photo via Flickr user Bruce Frick
I recently had lunch with my friend Anderson, who was telling me about a sexy, dominant, daddy top he met in San Diego at this year's Gay Pride.
"I always hated when a guy would say something like, 'I want to breed your boy pussy,'" he said. "I don't even like it when they call me 'boy.' I'm not your son, and I don't have daddy issues. But this guy—I've never wanted to drink someone's piss so bad. He fucked me in an alley outside this bar. When I left in the morning, he made me walk naked to my car. None of that is me. But the next weekend I asked if I can see him again. He told me only if I begged him. So I begged."
Anderson works in real estate, and his boyfriend is a corporate lawyer. They're respectable guys: They wear suits and ties to work and belong to a Methodist church. Anderson's not the type you might think would drink a dom daddy's piss.
"He wants me to try sounding," he said. (If you're unaware, this involves sticking something down your urethra.) I tried not to cringe.
"Does Chad know?"
"About San Diego Daddy? No way," Anderson said. "Chad wouldn't understand. You know Chad. He washes his hands after sex. This guy... he made me lick him clean after fucking me in the alley." He looked around the restaurant to see if anyone was listening. "Chad doesn't know the person I am with him. I'm not even sure I know who that person is."
I, too, knew what it's like to have someone draw a different side out of you. A couple of years ago, I met this gorgeous boy from Scruff, a gay dating app. He was 23 years old, and had just graduated from USC.
When we first met, we made out, and it was sweet. When I fucked him, he asked me to choke him.
Afterwards, he asked if I'd ever been anyone's "Sir" before.
I hadn't. It wasn't something I'd ever thought about. I like to consider myself "Los Angeles vanilla": I'll do cum, fucking, light fisting, piss, maybe some spit. I can be a little alpha, but nothing too crazy. This was new for me.
The next time he came over, I made him kneel in my bedroom and wait for me. I left a glass of piss on the bedside table, told him to drink it all, and left. An hour later, I went back in. The glass was empty and he was waiting.
Sometimes, I would fuck him while he washed my dishes. One night I kept him in my closet, taking him out every time I got horny. When I was done with him, I would put him back.
I didn't love him. I don't even know who we would have been if we had gone to the movies together. That wasn't who we were. But we shared something incredibly intimate, something I've only ever shared with him. He brought out a side of me I hadn't known existed.
I am not a Sir to my husband, Alex, or our boyfriend, Jon. Alex and I are adventurous. We like to pick up guys and fuck them and be dirty together. With Jon, I'm different. Jon is less interested in other guys. He likes boyfriend sex. But at the same time, I know he's gotten bathroom blow jobs at parties and pissed on guys—with other men, he becomes another person.
Just like I can. Just like we all can.
And that's what I thought about as I listened to Anderson—how subjective sexuality is. All the ways we get to explore who we are, and how others bring out sides of us we didn't know existed.
One of the reasons I wanted to open up my relationship with Jon and Alex was a desire to see how far I could go. How much love I could experience, who I could become sexually, and what my limits were.
I have worked hard to get to a place in my life where I don't feel guilty or ashamed of my sexuality. I don't want to lie or keep dark, dirty little secrets. I want to celebrate and expand who I am.
I know a couple with three adopted kids. They're great dads and husbands, but every so often, one of them will stay home with the kids while the other goes out for the night, with the aim of being as slutty as possible. Maybe it's at a bathhouse or a sex party, or maybe it's pizza and cuddling at a motel with some guy they met on Scruff. It doesn't matter. It's just a chance to be something different than what the pressures of family and parenthood demand, to escape the limits that society and life try to place on us.
We spend so much time defining and limiting who we are: Top, bottom, polyamorous, monogamous, kinky, vanilla. We define and box others in with words like "slut," words which demean them for being sexual. But I believe that the more we explore and open ourselves up to new experiences, the more those limits and definitions fall away.
I can be the hungriest, most submissive bottom in the world, or the roughest, most alpha top. I can want something with a stranger that I don't want to be with my husband. My only limits are those I place on myself, and the ways I define who I am.
"I was wondering," Anderson said to me that day, "if I could be dom one day—maybe I could be someone's Dom Daddy?"
Why not? Sex is intimate and loving, something you can share with the most important people in your life—but it's also playful, and a way to explore and discover things about yourself. Why limit ourselves? It takes courage to break down the ways we define who we are, because it can threaten our masculinity and our identity, but once we do it, something opens up: a you you never knew existed. A kind of freedom emerges.
"I wonder if Chad would let me tie him up," Anderson said. "That would be fun."