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Start Sleeping with the Same Sex and Get On With Your Life

This is a call to arms. Straight people, I want you to stop daydreaming about boning your hot same-sex “girl crush” or “man crush” and just do it. I’m tired of your shit. I don’t want to hear you say, “I totally could be gay but the only thing stopping me is licking a vagina.” Why you thinkin’ bout lickin’ a vagina, huh? Newsflash: lesbians don’t just sit around thinking about cleaning pussy off their face.

You think I wanted to be gay so I could lick vaginas? No. That’s not how it works. I found out I was gay cause I was having extremely close personal attachments to the same sex. So if you’re saying you’re feeling all the emotional sides of a lesbian relationship and you are sitting around thinking about licking a vagina…SEEMS PRETTY GAY.

I used to think the same thing as you: “I can’t go down on a girl!” Turns out, I’m super gay! Do you know how many excuses I’ve made for not being gay? About the same number of red hairs on Julianne Moore‘s body. So what’s stopping you? Let’s explore, in more way than one.

Chad

The protagonist in this story, as in every story in America, is the “straight” white teenage jock boy, Chad, who shoves you into a locker and calls you gay for almost everything you do. We navigate our lives dodging Chad. Every move we make, we try not to make too gay. But why are we trying to avoid being gay? Chad infused the word “gay” with negativity and inferiority. Our men can’t be too feminine, they can’t cry, they can’t talk about a trans woman without calling them a “tranny,” or Chad will think they sympathize with trans women and, therefore, must want to be a woman, which is gay. So Chad will shove them into a locker and yell, “Fag!” Then all Chad’s friends will laugh and fist bump and tap each other’s junk.

They’ll go home and exchange secrets about their deepest emotions and ask each other if the emotions they’re feeling are weird. Chad’s best friend Brad will say “No.” Chad and Brad trust each other. They might even kiss. They’ll have a sleepover and Chad will ask if Brad will hold him just a little because he is lonely, and he will.

Chad and Brad will wake up, put on their varsity jackets and go to school. While leaning on a locker, Brad will interrupt Chad’s conversation with a total babe and ask if they’re still on for tonight, and Chad will say, “Are you trying to fuck me? Ew, fag.” Brad will be confused.

Eventually, someone will shoot up the school because everyone in America, even toddlers, has access to a gun. The first person they will try to kill is Chad but Brad will nobly take the bullet and Brad will die.

Chad will grow up and get fat and get a wife and join the military and become a staunch Republican and support Donald Trump and sign a petition to reinstate Don’t Ask Don’t Tell. He will have a son, Dom, and Dom will be gay. When he comes out to his father, Chad will kick him out of the house and yell, “FAG!!!” Chad’s wife will be like, “What’s wrong with you!?” and she will divorce him. Chad will have nothing left and he will put a gun he bought at Wal-Mart in his mouth and through tears he will say, “I’M NOT THAT FAG, YOU’RE THE FAG.” Chad will take his own life because the pressure to not be a fag was too high, even for Chad, who was a fag.

Coming Out

Now that I’ve divulged that darkness, I want to tell you another story. This is a story about the last year of my life.

I, like many in America, had a shitty 2015, mostly because at the top of the year, I came out. It was fucking hard to deal with and I was super depressed in the beginning of the year because not only did I come out, but also I found out I was gay. It wasn’t a secret I was hiding since my pubes sprouted; it was something I discovered about myself in my 23rd year of life. I was mortified and embarrassed that I, a self-aware and anxiety-ridden Jew (only by blood), could go 23 years without knowing something about myself so crucial to my being. It was because I, like many people in America, dealt with years of internalized homophobia, because of Chad.

I spent my entire life hearing Chad in the back of my head. I didn’t agree with him, but I also didn’t stop him. I figured if the masses agreed with Chad and it was kosher to call some kid gay and actually mean it in a malicious way, then being gay must actually be bad.

As a kid, I was a tomboy. I was bullied for being boyish and I had no friends that were girls. So I was forced to adapt. I started dressing more “girly,” in the American vernacular sense of the word, but it was too late. I was already friends with all the boys in the school. None of them saw me as a sexual object like they did the girly girls. I even called a boy gay in middle school for an entire year. He was. When you’re a kid, you don’t think something might be wrong if everyone was doing it, especially adults.

I spent high school being basically asexual and unaware of it. I liked boys because I knew I was supposed to. I didn’t have a boyfriend until my senior year and when I finally had one, I didn’t even like him, I just wanted a prom date. Sorry if you’re reading this, first boyfriend. I never felt love, like real, movie-love, for a boy. I was curious about sex, but who wasn’t? My hormones were like, “I’M AWAAAAAAKE, GURL!!!!!”

I went to college and my behavior persisted: a few hookups here and there, nothing serious. I was feeling what I was supposed to be feeling. The only lesbians I knew of were Ellen Degeneres and coincidentally a woman named Ellen who my dad worked with. But besides them, I never even saw lesbianism as something that was real or could happen to someone I knew-because the only time I ever heard the word “lesbian” was when I, or a girl butcher than I, was being called that as a joke.

Why would I ever want to be a lesbian if it was all a big joke to everyone? That wasn’t me. I was cool. I mean, I wasn’t as popular as Chad—I was on my way to art school. I had tons of friends at many different lunch tables. I was smarter than a significant amount of my peers, unlike Chad. I was a good kid. I wasn’t a lesbian.

Cut to: I am a lesbian. It took about a year for me to process everything, from the moment I realized the thoughts I was having were gay, to asking myself if I wanted to touch a vagina, which I didn’t. I realized that certain things I was feeling for certain people weren’t normal. Or, let me rephrase that-it was normal, it was just gay. And not Chad’s version of gay, just actual gay. I was having gay feelings for women, the movie-feelings I was apparently supposed to be having for me my whole life. Here’s when it all changed: I met other women like me. Actual lesbians and bisexuals and queers and trans people; they were real.

I remember the first out lesbian I met was in college. My best friend was close with a group of lesbians at her college. That was the first time I realized lesbianism wasn’t folklore, these people were real and they were dating and fucking and living their best lives-and my best friend of all people was friends with them. Was it OK to be gay? Yeah, maybe it was.

You’re Gay; It’s OK

I want you to know it’s ok to have gay feelings for each other. Less importantly, but still relevant, closeted people: you’re so obvious. After I came out, I met a bunch of women, each one claiming to love gays but proving to be more internally homophobic and self-deprecating than the next. I started to notice a trend, a nasty case of internalized homophobia that I saw in myself a year earlier, I was now noticing in others.

The first girl, I was very close with. Let’s call her Amy. I wasn’t sure if I had gay feelings for Amy, but then again, I wasn’t sure if Amy had straight feelings for me. She crossed more boundaries than I ever thought I had and my therapist agreed. She was testing me. Amy would say things like, “Good thing one of us isn’t gay. That would make our relationship complicated,” and I would be lik, How? She would lay on top of me in bed and joke, “Let’s not date boys anymore.”

Amy forced me to kiss her on the mouth as a “joke” multiple times at multiple bars. When I finally came out to her, and yes, she was the first person I came out to, she asked if there was one person in particular whom I had these feelings for. And finally, to top it all off, she told me she could never be in an emotional relationship with another woman. I thought, weren’t we in one?

So to you, Amy: You’re kind of gay. You like boys, too, but let me be the first to tell you as I wish someone had told me in a non-bullying, straight-up way: You’re gay. And the most important part is: It’s ok. Chad is dead.

Next, to the first girl to truly hurt my feelings: Let’s call her Jordan. Upon our second meeting, knowing I was gay, she told my friends & I that people always think she’s a lesbian but she doesn’t know why. I asked if she was. She snickered and said, “No!!” The next day, when we were alone, she admitted to me that her and her childhood best friend, a girl, have been hooking up for years, but it was over for now. Jordan and I continued to flirt, she would invite me over to hang out and nothing ever happened. But she did invite me to her birthday party where she made out with a guy in front of me. Dear Jordan, you’re gay, fuck you, but also-it’s ok.

(p.s. We saw each other months later and she told me she was full on dating her childhood best friend-the girl—and was the happiest she’s ever been. Gaaaaaaaay.)

Then there’s this odd friendship. Let’s call her Sapphire (because I can’t think of any other names right now, not because she’s an adult performer. She’s not.) Sapphire is double my age and we met on a business trip. We got drunk together multiple nights in a row and she is possibly the most bizarre person I’ve ever met. She made me laugh harder than I can ever remember laughing because she was an alien. I was never attracted to her, but all my friends kept taunting me, asking why I was spending my days after the business trip texting Sapphire about her flings with male twentysomethings. I didn’t know. I thought it was hilarious, mostly.

She asked me a ton of questions about my sexuality, how I came to know, when I knew, what it was like, and ended the questioning with “I tried it once in college, but who didn’t?” Girl. You’re 55, have never been married but you want to be, you’re chasing after 20-year old men but befriending young women like me and badgering me about my sexuality? You’re kinda gay. It’s OK now. Chad killed himself.

And finally, to the one other girl who I met on the same business trip: an actress. Way too touchy feely. My friend bluntly asked her if she dated men or women. She broke into uncomfortable hysterical laughter and closed with, “I’m, like, the straightest person you’ll ever meet.” ‘Nuff said. You gay, it’s OK. Chad is literally decomposing right now.

So now I call upon you, my children, my Chadren. Revolt against Chad. Men, just wear pink without saying “real men wear pink.” Don’t say you’re “manscaping,” just say you’re plucking your eyebrows and shaving your fucking balls. And don’t say, “don’t worry, no one is going to think you are gay.” People are absolutely going to think you are gay and that shouldn’t be a problem. If you’re gay, FUCKING GREAT. Straight people are a myth. IF YOU LISTEN TO ARIANA GRANDE YOU’RE PROBABLY FUCKING GAY WHO CARES!!! CHAD IS SIX FEET UNDER!!!

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