Bisexual Boy Quotes

Isabelle snorted, "All the boys are gay. In this truck, anyway. Well, not you, Simon." "You noticed," said Simon. "I think of myself as a freewheeling bisexual," added Magnus. "Please never say those words in front of my parents," said Alec.

Isabelle snorted. 'All the boys are gay. In this truck, anyway. Well, not you, Simon.' 'You noticed' said Simon. 'I think of myself as a freewheeling bisexual,' added Magnus. 'Please never say those words in front of my parents,' said Alec. 'Especially my father.' 'I thought your parents were okay with you, you know, coming out,' Simon said, leaning around Isabelle to look at Alec, who was — as he often was — scowling, and pushing his floppy dark hair out of his eyes. Aside from the occasional exchange, Simon had never talked to Alec much. He wasn’t an easy person to get to know. But, Simon admitted to himself, his own recent estrangement from his mother made him more curious about Alec’s answer than he would have been otherwise. 'My mother seems to have accepted it,' Alec said. 'But my father — no, not really. Once he asked me what I thought had turned me gay.' Simon felt Isabelle tense next to him. 'Turned you gay?' She sounded incredulous. 'Alec, you didn’t tell me that.' 'I hope you told him you were bitten by a gay spider,' said Simon. Magnus snorted; Isabelle looked confused. 'I’ve read Magnus’s stash of comics,' said Alec, 'so I actually know what you’re talking about' A small smile played around his mouth. 'So would that give me the proportional gayness of a spider?' 'Only if it was a really gay spider,' said Magnus, and he yelled as Alec punched him in the arm. 'Ow, okay, never mind.

I suppose it’s not a social norm, and not a manly thing to do — to feel, discuss feelings. So that’s what I’m giving the finger to. Social norms and stuff…what good are social norms, really? I think all they do is project a limited and harmful image of people. It thus impedes a broader social acceptance of what someone, or a group of people, might actually be like.

Isabelle snorted. "All the boys are gay. In this truck, anyway. Well, not you , Simon." "You noticed." said Simon. "I think of myself as a freewheeling bisexual," added Magnus. "Please never say those words in front of my parents," said Alec. "Especially my father.

Do you fall in love with boys or with girls?" I asked her. "Sometimes boys," she replied. "Mostly souls.

Like boys all you want, Park. It still won't fix this. I'm bi and I promise you, it's not a fucking light switch. You can't just set it on 'boy' because it's inconvenient that you like a girl right now.

This is was what their mothers would say if she and her cousins ever told them the things they folded inside their hearts. Twice as many paths to trouble, their mothers would whisper. As though their daughters loving both men and women meant they wanted all of them in the world. There was no way to tell their mothers the truth and make them believe it, that hearts that loved both boys and girls were no more reckless or easily won than any other heart. They loved who they loved. They broke how they broke. And the way it happened depended less on what was under their lovers' clothes and more on what was wrapped inside their spirits.

I am, and always have been - first, last, and always - a child of America. You raised me. I grew up in the pastures and hills of Texas, but I had been to thirty-four states before I learned how to drive. When I caught the stomach flu in the fifth grade, my mother sent a note to school written on the back of a holiday memo from Vice President Biden. Sorry, sir—we were in a rush, and it was the only paper she had on hand. I spoke to you for the first time when I was eighteen, on the stage of the Democratic National Convention in Philadelphia, when I introduced my mother as the nominee for president. You cheered for me. I was young and full of hope, and you let me embody the American dream: that a boy who grew up speaking two languages, whose family was blended and beautiful and enduring, could make a home for himself in the White House. You pinned the flag to my lapel and said, “We’re rooting for you.” As I stand before you today, my hope is that I have not let you down. Years ago, I met a prince. And though I didn’t realize it at the time, his country had raised him too. The truth is, Henry and I have been together since the beginning of this year. The truth is, as many of you have read, we have both struggled every day with what this means for our families, our countries, and our futures. The truth is, we have both had to make compromises that cost us sleep at night in order to afford us enough time to share our relationship with the world on our own terms. We were not afforded that liberty. But the truth is, also, simply this: love is indomitable. America has always believed this. And so, I am not ashamed to stand here today where presidents have stood and say that I love him, the same as Jack loved Jackie, the same as Lyndon loved Lady Bird. Every person who bears a legacy makes the choice of a partner with whom they will share it, whom the American people will “hold beside them in hearts and memories and history books. America: He is my choice. Like countless other Americans, I was afraid to say this out loud because of what the consequences might be. To you, specifically, I say: I see you. I am one of you. As long as I have a place in this White House, so will you. I am the First Son of the United States, and I’m bisexual. History will remember us. If I can ask only one thing of the American people, it’s this: Please, do not let my actions influence your decision in November. The decision you will make this year is so much bigger than anything I could ever say or do, and it will determine the fate of this country for years to come. My mother, your president, is the warrior and the champion that each and every American deserves for four more years of growth, progress, and prosperity. Please, don’t let my actions send us backward. I ask the media not to focus on me or on Henry, but on the campaign, on policy, on the lives and livelihoods of millions of Americans at stake in this election. And finally, I hope America will remember that I am still the son you raised. My blood still runs from Lometa, Texas, and San Diego, California, and Mexico City. I still remember the sound of your voices from that stage in Philadelphia. I wake up every morning thinking of your hometowns, of the families I’ve met at rallies in Idaho and Oregon and South Carolina. I have never hoped to be anything other than what I was to you then, and what I am to you now—the First Son, yours in actions and words. And I hope when Inauguration Day comes again in January, I will continue to be.

You know what else is hot?" said a nameless blonde as she put her arm around the one black girl. "What?" "Bisexuals." "Totally. Well, not like real bisexuals who are just sort of your everyday people, but, like, the kind of bisexuals you see in magazines wearing nothing but body paint and kissing both boys and girls to promote a new single." "Totally, totally hot.

Brynne shuddered. 'You're my best friend, but I would never like you. One, because you're basically my brother. Two, I prefer boys who can beat me in a wrestling contest.' She thought about this and added, 'Or girls.

There was no way to tell their mothers the truth and make them believe it, that hearts that loved boys and girls were no more reckless or easily won than any other heart. They loved who they loved. They broke how they broke. And the way it happened depended less on what was under their lovers’ clothes and more on what was wrapped inside their spirits. What secret halls and trapdoors their sounds held, and what each one hid and guarded.

There comes a time in a girl’s life where she finds her heart broken, what matters is not the boy who broke it but the boy who stitches it back together

You're sadly fucked up. And really homo, too." Jared scowled. "Bisexual, fuck you very much, and unless I yank your dong it's none of your business anyway.

I don't think I could ever live with either a man or a woman for a long time. Male and female are attractive to my mind, but when it comes to the sexual act I am afraid. In every situation I need a lot of stimulation before I am conquered by the forces of passion and lust. But confusion, before and after, is the dominant factor. I dreamed many times about a mature man with experience who would have the vigour of a boy but an adult's polished methods. Strangely enough, I also dreamed about women of my mother's age who were ideal lovers. These dreams came superimposed on one another. Sometimes the masculine element was dominant, sometimes the feminine one. At other times I wasn't sure. I saw a female body with male organs or a male body with female ones. These pictures, blended together in my mind, occasionally brought pleasure but more often pain.

Because falling in love with a girl who feared nothing in this world had left her ready to love a boy whose heart had been broken before she ever touched him.

Is there a term for when you are only gay for the top half of someone?” “I think that makes you bisect-ual.

That’s the definition of bisexual, Casey—pretty girls and pretty boys, it’s like an all-you-can-fuck buffet!

The message I've gotten about guys who like guys and girls is that we're faking, that we couldn't possibly be attracted to girls if we're attracted to boys. Bi girls get the same thing, but for them it means they're perceived as straight and for us it means we're perceived as gay.

Twice as many paths to trouble,' their mothers would whisper. As though their daughters loving men and women meant they wanted all of them in the world. There was no way to tell their mothers the truth and make them believe it, that hearts that loved boys and girls were no more reckless or easily won than any other heart. They loved who they loved. They broke how they broke.

She's that bad boy you want, but in a girl who believes in recycling. Freud described the kinds of feelings I had for Amy as loving the same person twice, as a woman and as a man.

Their mothers did not notice the other moments that made color bloom in their daughters’ cheeks. How Azalea flirted with girls in ruffled dresses. How the thing that first made Estrella fall a little in love with boys or girls was so often their hands, whether they were showing at the edge of a shirt cuff or a lace sleeve. How Gloria blushed when she caught the eye of women in sleek gowns, women who wore their hair in low, smooth chignons and who preferred gray or black or navy. And how she shared her laughter, her true, fluttering laugh, with boys who could more easily be called pretty than handsome.

Take some time to get over her, to get back to town, and maybe then you can think about girls. Or boys.'' I wrinkled my nose. ''Think I’ll pass on the boys.'' He arched an eyebrow. ''What happened to being bisexual?'' ''I am attracted to men,'' I said. ''And I choose to do nothing about that attraction.

Thus is the defining characteristic of gay millennials: we straddle the pre-Glee and post-Glee worlds. We went to high school when faggot wasn’t even considered an F-word, when being a lesbian meant boys just didn’t want you, when being nonbinary wasn’t even a remote option. We grew up without queer characters in our cartoons or Nickelodeon or Disney or TGIF sitcoms. We were raised in homophobia, came of age as the world changed around us, and are raising children in an age where it’s never been easier to be same-sex parents. We’re both lucky and jealous. As the state of gay evolved culturally and politically, we were old enough to see it and process it and not take it for granted–old enough to know what the world was like without it. Despite the success of Drag Race, the existence of lesbian Christmas rom-coms, and openly transgender Oscar nominees, we haven’t moved on from the trauma of growing up in a culture that hates us. We don’t move on from trauma, really. We can’t really leave it in the past. It becomes a part of us, and we move forward with it. For LGBTQ+ millennials, our pride is couched in painful memories of a culture repulsed and frightened by queerness. That makes us skittish. It makes us loud. It makes us fear that all this progress, all this tolerance , all of Billy Porter's red carpet looks can vanish as quickly as it all appeared.

I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve betrayed her somehow, by dating a boy. It doesn’t make any sense, especially for me—gender is truly not the thing that makes me attracted to someone. Silvie knows that. But this girl vs. boy thing is complicated. The image thing is complicated. And okay, maybe I still feel the need to justify it to myself too. I always assumed I’d just date women. Like, forever. It’s what I know, and I know I like it, and I’m so entrenched in the queer community already … I’ve always been totally okay with boys being nothing more than a possibility.

Mother Mary, help me. You are not bisexual. You're just a confused straight dude.” Spencer looks down at me, and I glance back, meeting his eyes. He narrows them on me, and I grin sheepishly. “He's probably right,” I tell him, reaching up to push my glasses up the bridge of my nose. “You should just leave me alone, and find a nice girl at the party.” “I've had plenty of nice girls,” he says in a way that makes me bristle like a porcupine. “Not to mention naughty ones. I want to try …” He pauses and chokes on his words for a second. “Dating introverted nerd boys instead.

And praying that he was gay. Hell, I'd be happy with bisexual. I'd scrub the memories of all those pretty young bi boys I'd met in Bar Harbor and Kennebunkport over the years. The ones who sucked cock like they'd declared it their major. The ones who preferred to sneak around because their parents wouldn't understand, or so they claimed. The ones who always went back to Yale or Penn, and their girlfriends, come September. The ones who returned summers later for their posh, picturesque weddings. The ones who taught me to stick with one-night stands and no last names because my heart was too tender for anything real.

Joe. This shit started because of me confronting the dude who threatened to out Simeon. You think I’m stupid enough to trust someone in my house? If you think my image is shitty now, just wait until a housekeeper or a PA finds out I like fucking guys. Gavin Brawley, the Barons’ alpha asshole, being bisexual will be a lot more sensational than golden boy Simeon experimenting at the club while wasted.” Joe cringed. He went through life pretending I only chased female tail when off the field. It was less stressful when it came to sorting out the potential homophobic backlash if word got out that I was bi. I tried to choose my male hookups carefully, and never a random stranger. Even on the days when I craved a man’s hard body and low, deep voice more than anything else, I sometimes told myself it was more trouble than it was worth. And Simeon’s latest disaster only cemented that thought in my mind, so having a stranger in my house .

Heterosexual These are people who are physically, emotionally, and romantically attracted to members of the opposite sex. This means that girls like boys and boys who like girls. Sometimes, people who fit into this category are known as being ‘straight.’ Homosexual Being homosexual means you’re physically, emotionally, and romantically attracted to people who are the same sex as you. This means boys who like boys and girls who like girls. Sometimes, people who fit into this category are known as being ‘gay.’ Bisexual Being bisexual means you are attracted to both the same sex as you and people who are the opposite sex as you. This refers to boys who are attracted to both boys and girls and girls who are attracted to both girls and boys. Asexual Being asexual means you’re not attracted to anyone, nor very interested in sex at all. Of course, being asexual means you still want to have emotional relationships with other people, but you may not want the physical act of sexual intercourse.

Looking back, as a teenager, I understood I was attracted to women. All the other boys were too. We talked about it, we kissed girls – it was behaviour that was normal. Being surrounded by straight men and doing straight things made me believe I was straight. But what of my attraction to men? Turns out, it was there. I just misinterpreted it. Looking back, it is now obvious there were boys at school I was attracted to, but at the time I mistook this for wanting to be like them or wanting to be best friends with them. Really, I just wanted to kiss them.

I’ve discovered that it is common for bisexuals to be much older when they realize their sexuality. In my case, I grew up believing I was straight. I was attracted to women, and attraction to women was what the other boys talked about.

I asked the Count how long he had been a photographer. "Close to six years, now. I started taking photos of Venice's nightlife, people in trendy clubs and bars, when a friend recommended I approach Vogue Italia and show them my portfolio. They loved what they saw and hired me on the spot. My assignments were to photograph that which was considered cutting edge, places frequented by Gays, Lesbians, Bisexuals and Trans-gendered people.

Brad wondered where his dad learned a word like bisexual. The things they put on TV these days.

No one had turned to us and held out a handful of questions: How many ways are there to have the sex of girl, boy, man, woman? How many ways are there to have gender - from masculine to androgynous to feminine? Is there a connection between the sexualities of lesbian, bisexual, heterosexual, between desire and liberation? No one told us: The path divides, and divides again, in many directions. No one asked: How many ways can the body's sex vary by chromosomes, hormones, genitals? How many ways can gender expression multiply - between home and work, at the computer and when you kiss someone, in your dreams and when you walk down the street? No one asked us: What is your dream of who you want to be?

He bangs his hand on the table. ‘I knew it! You like a bit of both, boy! Fair enough, mate. You just like shagging and you’re not fussy! It’s not my scene, but God knows, with women, even I’ve sometimes nearly put it in the wrong hole, so to speak. Good old boy.

Take some time to get over her, to get back to town, and maybe then you can think about girls. Or boys.” I wrinkled my nose. “Think I’ll pass on the boys.” He arched an eyebrow. “What happened to being bisexual?” “I am attracted to men,” I said. “And I choose to do nothing about that attraction.

Tonight we are going to dazzle His Lordship's wealthy friends and leave them with empty purses, minds spinning that they allowed a couple of boys who once lived in the gutter to rob them so delightfully blind.

I snort a laugh. Thinking I'm not single is the last thing that will keep some of the cretins masquerading as teenage boys at our school from harassing me. It was bad enough when I came out as bisexual last year, but to date a girl? It's nothing but threesome jokes and passive-aggressive slut shaming every time I venture into the hallway.

It had occurred to me, while looking over the data, that this is about the same proportion of the male population that identifies as gay or bisexual – a coincidence, according to the Brownmiller model, but highly suggestive if we move beyond it, given that gay and bisexual men commit rape about as often as straight men do, but the victims of these rapists, of course, include other men and boys.

I was the party boy. The epitome of the slutty bisexual.