I’m Zachary Zane, a sex columnist and author of Boyslut: A Memoir and Manifesto. Over the years, I’ve had my fair share of sexual experiences, dating and sleeping with hundreds of people of all genders and orientations. In doing so, I’ve learned a thing or two about navigating issues in the bedroom (and many other places, TBH). I’m here to answer your most pressing sex questions with thorough, actionable advice that isn’t just “communicate with your partner” because you know that already. Ask me anything—literally, anything—and I will gladly Sexplain It.
To submit a question for a future column, fill out this form!
Dear Sexplain It,
I am a 23 year old virgin. I think I am very sexually confused. I think I am bisexual, but I can’t really tell.
When watching porn, I basically watch everything except extreme fetishes. I can start with a straight porn, move on to trans porn, and finish with gay porn.
In real life, I can be staring at a beautiful lady and find her sexually attractive. The next moment, a muscular dude’s dick print would get me so horny I would want to jerk off with him.
Honestly, I feel like I don’t know myself or what I want sexually. Please help me out.
— Confused
Dear Confused,
Your question hit me like a bag of bricks, giving me déjà vu.
I was once in a very similar position to you. I was 22 (though not a virgin) and in my new therapist’s office. I specifically sought him out because he was listed as an LGBTQ-affirming therapist on Psychology Today. In his bio, he mentioned that he had been an attorney for twenty years before giving up to become a shrink. Over the phone during our consultation, I expressed that I liked that he was previously a lawyer, as I wanted him to be direct with me. I didn’t want some “wishy-washy” answer asking, “What do you think?” when I asked him a question point-blank. I wanted to hear his thoughts. He agreed he’d be more forthcoming with me, so I met him in person.
During our first session, I rambled on for 45 minutes straight without taking any breaks for oxygen. My therapist couldn’t get a word in edge-wise. I spoke similarly to you about how I found myself attracted to women, but then I’d find myself jerking off to gay porn. I’d talk about how I’d fuck a woman one day but then get blown by a man the next. While sharing my story, I would repeatedly use the words “confused” to describe my attractions.
On my second session, I was about to start up again, retelling what I shared the first time, when my therapist cut me off.
“Zach,” he said. “You asked me to be forthright with you, so I would like to be. Is that okay?”
”Yes,” I replied cautiously.
“When we say the word ‘confused’ in the context of questioning sexuality, it means something rather specific and does not describe your attractions. You clearly seem bisexual unless there’s some additional information you’re not telling me.”
I was quick to say, “Bisexuality doesn’t exist in men.”
And his reply was, “Zach, you’re too smart to think that.”
Actually, at that point, bisexual visibility wasn’t nearly as widespread as it is today, to the extent that I felt I also needed a medical expert to confirm that male bisexuality was indeed real. Following that conversation, I started to embrace my bisexuality. It was a journey that didn’t happen overnight, but I got there in time.
What I needed—and what I think you need—is permission. My therapist granted me permission to be bisexual. Now, over a decade since coming out as bisexual, I’m granting you permission to be bisexual. (Or, you may prefer the word pansexual, though both words accurately describe your attractions. Just a reminder, though, being attracted to trans women doesn’t make you gay or bi, as trans women are women. Being attracted to men, on the other hand…)
Now, if you don’t want to label yourself as bi or pan, you don’t have to. You can enjoy your attractions and act on your sexual desires with all genders without labeling yourself.
But I know, for me, there was comfort when I embraced the bi label. I no longer felt like a castaway, stranded alone at sea. I felt like there was a word that described my attractions, behaviors, and desires—and using that word helped me to embrace my attractions further and feel less shame. I also felt part of the larger LGBTQ community and was able to start connecting with other bi folks, which helped me feel less alone.
I have a sneaking suspicion that if you embraced being bi (or pan), you might start to feel a little more comfortable and experience a little less shame, too.
