Fetish

I was chatting with Diana today about the pains of fetishism. Here I will define it as the sexual objectification of a person based on physical features or race. In yesterday’s post, I wrote that I thought it was awesome to have been fetishized. It was a tongue in cheek comment, a kind of satirical giggle. In reality being adored for what you are instead of who you are is painful. Sure, there can be some benefits. If you are a guy being fetishized then having women offer themselves to you willy nilly can be a benefit, until you want to be accepted as more than the stereotype being forced upon you.

Diana is Asian-American. She told me that sleazy older men have been objectify her her whole life. I think enduring this must be doubly hard for women. I was once aggressively propositioned by a gay man who would not leave my hotel room. It was in Miami. Because I have no sense of direction, he walked me to the hotel. It was a cheap Holiday Inn but he kept going on and on about how amazing the place looked from the outside. I had booze in the room, so I invited him up. He was normal for a while until he thought I was drunk enough for him to make his move. I can never get that drunk. It’s not in my DNA to lose control like that. If the move works, it’s because I wanted it to work. Otherwise all bets are off. He asked, “Tell me something you have never told anyone.” That’s when the alarms started going off in my head. I tried to change the subject. Two of my best friends had been gay. My younger brother is gay. I am not, nor am I a prude. I did not have a problem with where this guy chose to put his reproductive organ, as long as it wasn’t in me.

Because he wouldn’t shut up I told him a lame story about brass band and not being able to face the parents because I was nervous. I thought that would be the end of it but, of course, he had to share his story. That was the whole point of bringing it up. “I have slept with a man before.“. He made the announcement as if I would suddenly open my eyes in big surprise, get the hots for him, and rip off his clothes. All he did was make me nervous. I said, “Oh really, good for you.“ I tried to change the subject but he had a grip on it like a bull terrier. Eventually he escalated and said, “Tell you what, we are both men. You show me yours and I’ll show you mine. .” Before I could finish the word “no” he had whipped out his feeble phallus. “Look at it! It’s beautiful, yeah.“. It was not.

Here is where the situation differs from a women constantly having to deal with assholes like this. I was twice his size and despite being extremely drunk, I knew I could kick his ass if I had to. I wasn’t scared, just annoyed. It took me 20 minutes to get him to put away his junk and get the hell out of my room. I know guys who would have beat him senseless rather than go through the trouble of negotiating as I did. It seems the holy grail for some gay men is to turn out a straight one. Like I said, I wasn’t in any real danger so there was no need for violence. Plus, I am extremely confident in my own sexuality so I didn’t feel like my manhood was threatened. Some guys get violent because they are terrified of facing their own dormant homosexuality. In that awkward moment, I did, however, understand profoundly what women must go through all the time. He was relentless.

Without thinking too deeply about it I wrote that it was awesome to be fetishized and have a little something something just fall in my lap from time to time. For those who have been victimized by it, the truth is far different.

How can you have a voice to speak if all anyone sees is you underneath them. How can you have room to become somebody if the only person you are allowed to become is a slave to someone else’s fantasy. You can’t.