For instance, for us sex is fun. Not painful-ecstasy fun, but more like playful fun. It's somewhere along the lines of kids playing tag - not that I've ever played tag in my life, but it's got that same sort of adrenaline rush to it. Simple, safe, giggly. Know what I mean? Like that moment when playing a board game degenerates into silly, mindless antics like rolling the pieces around the board and tackling your opponent. Ever do that sort of thing when you were little? That's kind of the approach Reg and I take to sex. That's not normal, is it? And we seem to be missing a lot of the other stuff people talk about. I'm not sure our version of 'the heat of passion' is what other people mean at all. I think we've approached it a few times... I believe there was one time when, I hate to say it, I lost consciousness in the middle of it. I certainly don't count that as the best sex we've ever had. I prefer the silly, fun stuff. Maybe there's something wrong with me.

And he never lets me enter him. You know what I mean, right? He sometimes enters me, but it's something I could take or leave. It doesn't seem to be Reg's favorite thing, either. I don't know if I'm missing something really great by not trying it myself, but that's all right. If I ever found myself on top, I doubt I'd even know what to do.

I guess this is why I'm not interested in sex with anyone else. With Reg, it's comfortable and familiar; we've done everything a hundred times before and I know what to expect (even if I don't know why). I know he has as much fun as me, although he doesn't laugh, per se. He gives off other signals, and I'm good at recognizing them. But nobody else is quite like him. If I had to figure out someone else's expectations, I just know I'd be utterly lost before we even started.

So, for all my experience, I still feel like I don't know what I'm talking about. It doesn't help that I don't know any of the terminology. I don't read about or listen to people talk about sex a whole lot, but when I do, the terms seem to refer to techniques I've never even imagined before. So few of them seem to approximate those little things Reg and I do... those things I can't quite gather up the courage to describe. But nobody wants to hear about them anyway. You'd probably just think we're freaks. But I guess so little about either of us is normal anyway, so why should this be?

I know this is going to sound ridiculous, but something I can't seem to come to terms with is the concept of gay sex in general. It's funny, but if I start thinking in the middle of it, "Hey, we're performing gay sex!" it totally ruins the moment for me. And quite often the entire night (or day, or afternoon, or whatever). It works so much better if I just think of Reg as my playmate, or my best friend, or best of all, not think about it at all and just enjoy the act for what it's worth.

That's probably because I don't identify with the whole gay thing at all. I can't relate to gay people, and I can't relate to anybody if I'm forced into the role myself. People can't relate to me, either. They seem to fall into two categories, neither of which I can tolerate. There are the so-called gay-friendly people, who have all sorts of ideas and expectations and get annoyed when I don't fit them. I annoy just about everyone, so that's nothing new, but I appreciate it if people at least allow me to be grouchy and bitter and all those other things that the stereotype doesn't cover. And then, of course, there are the people who hate me on principle without even looking at me as a person. I actually deal with those people better. Being despised for what I am instead of who I am is very familiar to me. If there's one thing I've faced all my life, it's that.

I think it's more than that, though. I can't pinpoint it exactly, but maybe I can offer a little indirect insight. For instance, my introduction to the concept of homosexuality was through the movie M*A*S*H. You remember when the dentist tried to commit suicide? Yeah, that was my first impression. I was about nine, I think... yeah, eight or nine, because we were living in the trailer and my mother's boyfriend Jimmy was still alive. In fact, I think Jimmy watched it with me. Looking back, I realize that M*A*S*H was a very judgmental show and I probably learned a lot of my prejudices from it. It might even be the source of my fear of insanity. Watch any episode featuring the shrink, Stanley or Irving or whatever his name was, and you'll see what I mean. They didn't do the gay stigma any kindnesses, either. How's that for an auspicious beginning? I doubt I had any positive influences for many years afterward, either. I can't remember everything, but I do recall some big uproar over whether it was safe to be gay in my high school. The resounding sentiment was that it wasn't. I wasn't terribly concerned with the issue at the time; being who I was, getting laid by either gender was as likely as spotting the Easter Bunny.

Even when I hooked up with Reg, it wasn't something I was part of. It was surprisingly easy to hide that dynamic of our relationship. I think people genuinely didn't want to believe that we two freaks were capable of sex, especially with each other. And since neither of us were apt to mention it, even to each other, it was easily swept under the table. When we first started developing that sort of relationship (which didn't happen right away; we moved in together a couple of months before anything happened), I dropped by the college's gay and lesbian club once to see if I could get some support. But the guy I talked to effectively laughed me out of the office. I have to admit that was partly my fault. I think he expected me to come out and tell him what I wanted, and I didn't. I couldn't. I have never spoken to a gay person since; or at least, if I have, I didn't know it. Ever since then, Reg and I figured things out together, just the two of us.

The point I'm leading up to is that, that night, we had a really good night. If I did make a list of the best experiences we've had, last night would definitely be near the top. I can't even say what was so good about it, except maybe for Reg's enthusiasm. Maybe after a week of relative isolation from the world, and whatever else he was going through, he really needed it. I know I did. I'd been starting to fear that I was losing him. I can now say with all confidence that Reg is back, and dare I say, better than ever.

Just as much of a relief was that he wanted to go to work the next morning. He was still a little spaced out, so I had to help him with certain parts of the routine. And we had to do everything. His facial hair grows so slowly that he usually only has to shave every other day, and can even get away with skipping two if he has to, but he had four days' growth by then and was starting to resemble a homeless guy. But I have to admit I don't mind shaving him (at least, when he's able to hold still). Actually shaving him is a pain because my hands are so unsteady, but there's something really appealing about playing around with shaving cream.

I'm probably just a sick bastard, huh? I guess I shouldn't be sharing this. I think I'll just skip the rest of it. Besides, talking about it cheapens the whole experience. Let's just say that it was a good morning. We had a lot of fun.