THE STRAIGHT MEN WHO BULLIED ME… AND STILL WANTED ME.

I’ve spent most of my life trying to decode the very same kind of man who once made me feel small.

In elementary school and early high school, I was bullied relentlessly. Slurs like “faggot,” “gaylord,” and “homo” were shouted at me daily—especially by one guy who always made sure I knew I wasn’t welcome, that I was less than. But fast-forward a few years… and that same guy slipped into my DMs, wanting to trade nudes.

It’s a cycle that kept repeating.
Bullied by straight men—then desired by them.
Mocked—then sexualized.
Hated—then hunted.

And because I’ve always been drawn to stoic, masculine, emotionally unavailable energy, I accepted it. I thought I had no choice. I was craving the very thing that traumatized me.

Real men.
Cold men.
Arrogant, dominant, quiet.
The kind who would never call themselves gay. The kind who would never hold my hand in public. But in private? Behind their girlfriend’s back? They wanted everything.

Somewhere along the line, I started seeing more feminine gay men as “less than” too. I’m not proud of that. But I saw them the way I feared others saw me—as soft, weak, too much. And I began idolizing straight men even more. Not because they treated me well—but because I had learned to measure worth by proximity to masculinity.

I became the safe space for their secrets. I was the one they turned to when they wanted to explore. When they wanted to “try something” without accountability. I taught them how to be with another man while carrying all the weight of their silence.

And now, as a grown man, I’m still figuring it all out.

I’m still attracted to straight men.
I’m still drawn to that same emotional coldness that once made me cry.
And now, as a bisexual man, I’m caught in the middle—navigating not just desire, but power, memory, and shame.

Couples approach me now—straight men and their girlfriends, looking to “try something.” Some of the same boys from high school, still in relationships, still in the closet, still sliding into my DMs. And though part of me wants to reject it… another part is still curious. Still wired for it. Still willing to go back into the fire just to feel something familiar.

But I’m learning to pause.
To question.
To steer away from what doesn’t honor me, even if it excites me.

Because the truth is, I deserve more than being someone’s secret.
I deserve to be held with clarity, not confusion.
I deserve to be wanted in the light—not only in the dark.