092511 I am *so relieved* that I don’t have to be gay. I have been trying for twenty years to come out of the wrong closet. In case the gods of getting what you wish for and taking you at face value are myopic and imprudent and happen to be reading this, let me say for the record: I still want to suck cock and have men do other stuff to me. But I’m not gay. Fools in love.... I was so close and yet so far when I said I had to earn the right to be a pathetic loser by not being one elsewhere. Yes, AND.... She laid it down for me (again) today. Each time she does that, it gets a little more serious, a little more dangerous. I think I finally saw the essence of what she’s getting at: it’s not a game. It’s not only sometimes. It’s always. All the time. Every day. In front of the kids. In the grocery store. In the kitchen. In the daytime, nighttime, and all crepuscular in-between times. In Wisconsin and in Missouri. On a waterslide or in a stadium or in a school or in a hot air balloon. “Sure, sometimes you might have to act differently. But in your own house--or *my* house, actually. Because I’m the head of the household, aren’t I?” “...and if you decide not to, I will take you down. And I think you know I can do that. You’ve been seeing it.” Dare I suggest, perhaps you would . . . pin my ass to the wall? It’s about so much more than sex. God, yes, it is about sex, oh my god. But it is also about nothing less than my very existence being recognized and accepted. It is about “me” being okay. Consequently, it’s about parenting, teaching, everything. Maybe I can let go of some of this anger. Maybe some of the hidden grief can melt. Maybe I can forgive my dad. I haven’t felt this young in years. I can stop being a lousy actor. Nobody really believes my shtick, anyway. Least of all, me. But I was the easiest to fool. Be who you are. Why does it always take me so long to hear *all* of what she says? I’ve always strung along, letting other people think she was so awesome. Their seeing her that way was an asset for my portfolio. How utterly stupid and ignorant of me not to see it myself, genuinely, and actually believe it myself, feel it myself, touch it. Marriage. This is a little bit religious, all of a sudden. Or at least it has become about actual faith. I was dicking around. I can’t do that any more. She has defeated that part of me. She has already taken me down. I honestly never thought anyone would ever be able to do that. Hell, I didn’t even know that part of me existed--or rather, I didn’t know it was a part. I couldn’t see it, because it was all I could see. I couldn’t recognize it, because I thought it was me; I mean I thought “I” was just “myself”; I didn’t realize I was going to step outside of Flatland, and I sure as hell didn’t think my *wife* would be the one taking my hand and leading the way. “You’re going to have to let me take the lead.” “If you don’t want it, step away. I can take all this away. And I *will* still go out and get what I need.” Praise Goddess. I started to get it (again) when she said “You only want it when you’re excited and it’s getting you hard.” In my mind I play it back as: “...and it’s getting your little dick hard.” Maybe she really did say it that way. Either way, I got hard. Breathed faster. And then started to see the rest of it. Started to understand how I was wrong. I really had acted like a pissy baby. “And you can go out and find someone who will play the chameleon, and you can top from the bottom all you want.” I then tried to think about whether or not I could do it, be truly submissive in a deep, genuine, everyday-life sort of way, but the fact is I wasn’t thinking about it. Instead I was marvelling at the fact that I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I would do it, no matter what. Pretending to think about it was a little kneejerk game played to buy myself a little time before the awesome hugeness of space enveloped my free-falling tiny self. As I woke up. Again. Each time, I think it’s the real world. But this time, I don’t want to go back to sleep.