Too Many Mes

This whole identity thing - sometimes it really sucks.

there are, quite simply too goddam many "me"s.

The male one. The conformist. The "picket fence" version, relegated and tacitly accepting the culturally borne roles.

The "other" male one. the one that really doesn't "get off" on straight fucking but has no idea why. The one who challenges authority. The one with the really offbeat sense of humor, SO friggin' offbeat that 95% of it is completely missed. Too bad. They don't know what they're missing.

The female one. The one who relishes his ankle jewelry. (Is it just the feel? The look?) The one who delights in the erotic nature of shaving. The one who seeks that perfect pair of shoes.

The "other" female one. The cook, bottle-fuckin-washer, swiss army knife. Clean, work, wash, pick up.

That offbeat male. The one that gets really really hard when playing sex with other hot males (that play and that man a distinctly rare event as well as rare commodity). A really good erection is a serious joy - ah to share with another who also relishes it.

The offbeat female. The one who gets really hot wearing his strap-on and rambunctiously fucking the daylights out of a willing bio-woman at camp (I think I seriously lost 5 pounds in that hour).

The male/female tramp. Well, sort of. The one who has it inside to BE that willing tramp. The one who knows s/he is just unversed enough to have the courage to try, but if the door is opened... The one that was on Sunday night at camp: getting sucked off by a sub while being whipped - hard - by a Domme, and then being fucked hard by another strong Domme (you're gonna put ALL that in ME??? Ah damn, I DID!). Trampy enough to want to do the whole thing over again. Trampy enough to delight in the gathering audience, hoping for more.

the broken. The one who can't bring him/herself to actually ask. the one who, when I do screw up the guts to ask, it comes out all weak and puny, like some fucking geek (well, I am part that) who is clue-fucking-less about it all. the one who automatically goes to that same old place: "I'm so nothing."

The felt. (No not THAT kinda felt. See above for that one). The one who writes songs that he cries to. The one who PUBLICLY breaks down in loud tears trying to sings the same song he couldn't even mutter at LAST year's camp, and worries the drama ("NO DRAMA ALLOWED" but is it???) The one who HAS to have that daily does of deeply felt music. The one who gets totally hotted listening to ‘Tank’ and vows public exhibition on the theme of the heart next year: naked, throbbing erections moving hard and fast in total sync on public stage. “Do me now”.

Identity.

TSA should have a field day with this.

"Can I see you passport please?"

"Which one?"