Tops & bottoms & sides, oh my!
Two weeks ago, I met Patrick on Match. Patrick is incredible. In just fourteen days, we’ve formed a deep connection, sharing our visions for the future, our personal goals, and the core values that guide our lives.
And in doing so, we’ve built a profound connection.
We have spent 2–3 hours talking on the phone each day. Hours. It reminds me of my teen years when I got yelled at for tying up the phone line for hours each night, talking about absolutely nothing with friends that I had just seen hours before at school. Except we aren’t talking about nothing. We have been open. We have been transparent. We have been vulnerable.
And in doing so, we’ve built a profound connection.
I know he speaks fluent Spanish (I perfected saying “Hola guapo”). I know his favorite architect is Frank Lloyd Wright (I saw a picture of Fallingwater in his office). I know his favorite classical composer is Chopin (I introduced him to “ Dans La Nuit” by Sarah Brightman).
I know how he likes his coffee. I know how he likes his eggs cooked. I know how much it would cost to replace the windows of his house.
You know what I don’t know?
I don’t know whether he is a bottom, a top, a versatile bottom, a versatile top, a side, or other such nonsense.
When exactly did sexual positions become an identity?
I remember when I was going out to meet (and pick up) guys in bars in my college days. “Top”, “bottom,” and other terms were not part of the process. The only “code” out there was the hanky code used in leather bars. I thought I might have been hallucinating, so I dug out Gay Monopoly from my closet. The Gay Monopoly board game was created by the “Parker Sisters.” Only a few copies of the game were made until the company went out of business (sued by Parker Brothers). I recalled that Gay Monopoly was loaded with references to gay culture in the 1980s. I figured if there was any way to assess the prevalence of “tops,” “bottoms,” and “sides,” it would be this board game.
The only reference I could find in the entire game was one of Ollie’s Sleaze Bag cards (the chance card for the game) called the “Tops and Bottoms Ball,” where you collected “$20 from each top” and “$10 from each bottom.”
I remember when I met my husband, Brian, in 1988. Neither of us introduced ourselves as a sexual position. Neither of us demanded that the other person conform to some sexual-position stereotype. Neither of us refused to engage in only one sexual position. We just had sex.
Over the years, “sexual position” never emerged as an “identity.” We were “Tough Mudders,” “canoeists,” “musicians,” and even “Trekkies,” but never “tops” or “bottoms.”
So, what happened?
Hookup apps on our phones. But you can’t blame the apps. They are only responding to the demands of the marketplace. And what are those demands? Efficiency (“I want it now”). Over-simplification (“The Top 5 important things you need to know about ___________________”) Hookup culture. These are driven by the same forces that drive us to encapsulate the world around us into 30-second sound bites and memes. It is the trivialization and compartmentalization of others to the point where we think we are together but, at the same time, wonder why we feel so separated.
What if Grindr (and other hook-up apps), instead of having checkboxes for sexual positions, had checkboxes for the day of the week you preferred to have sex? Would people be declaring their unchanging identity by the day of the week? (“Sorry, you are a Thursday and I am a Tuesday. I only have sex with other Tuesdays.”).
To be clear, I am not suggesting — in any way — that you do not talk about what turns you on with your sexual partner. Sharing what you like and don’t like is a way to discover more about your partner and yourself. Sharing what you like and don’t like is a way to be vulnerable. Sharing what you like and don’t like is a way to ask that your needs be met. It is essential to share.
But to be locked in that current preference as an identity — as who you are? There is so much more to who you are than what your current favorite sexual position is.
And believe me, things will change. Do you like the same food as when you were a teenager? Do you like the same kind of TV shows? Do you like the same music?
Probably not.
Everything changes. (And no, I am not saying you can somehow change the gay in you).
What I am saying is that if you are locked into some static preference — and even worse — if your identity is locked into that static preference, you are in for one rude awakening. Aging alone changes our preferences because it changes our abilities. I identified (note past tense) as a hiker: I hiked the entire Appalachian Trail, Vermont’s Long Trail, France’s GR20, and did more single-day Presidential Traverses than I can count. Hiking the Pacific Crest has been on my bucket list for as long as I can remember. I identified as a runner (note also past tense): My wall is littered with running bibs and medals from half marathons (and one marathon). All that hiking and running resulted in two things: not-one-but-two total knee replacements. Extreme long-distance hiking is no longer an option. And running? Well, the surgeon said the only time I should ever run is if something is chasing me and I am in fear for my life. If I rigidly held onto these identities like some people hold onto their rigid sexual-position identity, I would be at home, alone in the dark, depressed and whining about how I can’t go hiking.
Instead, I am paddleboarding. And I am embracing paddleboarding with the same extremely silly sensibility that prompted me to do a single-day Presidential traverse: Last year, a buddy and I paddleboarded 14 miles in one day; this year, we did 21 miles, and next year we are talking about 28 miles. My love of the outdoors hasn’t changed (just like you're being gay won’t change). But I had to find a different way to engage with what I loved.
More separate. Harder to connect.
As I write this, there are people in my life that I haven’t told about Patrick because one of the first things they will ask me is whether he is a “bottom” or a “top.” I am dreading those conversations. DREADING those conversations. In part because I can already hear the shock and dismay that I don’t know this (seemingly) important detail, but also in part because it is a reflection of me and the lens with which I often view the world through: a lens that ultimately trivializes another human being.
What if there is the perfect person out there for you? A person who would bring more joy, happiness, and fulfillment than you can even imagine. Perfect, except for one thing: that person “identifies” who they are using the same sexual position that you do. You are both “bottoms,” or you are both “tops.” Would you refuse to color outside of the lines of your sexual-position identity, and forgo a life of joy, happiness, and fulfillment? Or would you seek to find alternative ways to get an orgasm with that person and enjoy a life of joy, happiness, and fulfillment?
Don’t we have enough things pushing us apart from each other as gay men?
Aren’t there enough barriers to not being alone?
Stop with the silliness of rigidly identifying yourself by your current favorite sexual position.
Sexual intimacy is selfless. Sexual intimacy is fluid. Gay hookup culture, with its emphasis on efficiency, has created an identity that, at its core, is not selfless — it is not fluid. In fact, when you honestly examine the impact of this “trend,” what you see is selfish and rigid.
Don’t trivialize who you are. Don’t close the door to the magic that comes from a loving relationship by writing off someone because their current favorite sexual position is different than yours. Don’t let something so fluid and adaptable define the depth of your connection with someone, as real intimacy is built on mutual understanding, respect, and shared growth.
You are far more than the sexual preferences or positions you currently enjoy. Your identity, worth, and complexity extend well beyond any single aspect of your sexuality. You are a dynamic being with a mind, heart, and soul that encompasses a wide range of emotions, experiences, and qualities. While your preferences are a valid part of who you are, they don’t define the entirety of your personhood. Your essence is shaped by your values, passions, dreams, and connections with others, far beyond the boundaries of your sexual choices.
