The Tourist

It seems that the time for my annual cis-boy romp has come, and inevitably when this time of year comes around, I'm asked by a suitor what the deal is with my sexuality - why I'll fuck cis boys but not date them. And why, even though I have fun fucking them, I don't identify as bisexual.

Forgive me the extended analogy, but it's like this.

I am a New Yorker. I have a lot invested in being a New Yorker: my job is here; my apartment is here; and my friends and community are here. I love being here and don't plan on leaving anytime soon. Yet, I also go on vacation to the Caribbean at least once a year. And when I'm there, I fucking love it. I lay on the beach, drink the tropical drinks, swim in the lovely waters, and sightsee around the island. But when I'm there, I'm a tourist. I don't live there, nor do I want to. As much fun as I have while I'm in the Caribbean, I just couldn't see myself living there long-term. And of course, enjoying the Caribbean while I'm there once or twice a year doesn't make me half Caribbean or a non-New Yorker.

There are many people who are such die-hard New Yorkers that they won't leave the boroughs. Hell, some of them won't even leave Manhattan! But me, I like to venture outside of New York from time to time. Sometimes it's because being here for really long stretches of time makes me feel like I'm kind of trapped on a really small island. Sometimes it's because I need to luxuriate in the sensation of a cold piña colada in my hand and the feeling of warm sand between my toes. And sometimes it's because I want to experience something different, even if only to remind me at the end of the trip why I love New York like I do.