Bisexual Top Quotes

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

It would be a queer sort of god. Among other things it would be bisexual. The top half would be a managing director and the bottom half would be a wife in the family way.

We stepped in, and, as we paid the cover charge, the music hit us. The double doors buzzed open and we walked in. A handsome man and his lover in an orange top snuggled as they walked to the exit. Veronica turned to me and smiled, taking my hand. I unbuttoned my shirt at the neck and exposed my collar. It was a thin metal collar with a padlock on the front. If the padlock wasn’t attached it would have looked like any other interesting necklace that was tight against my neck, but it got more interesting with the padlock. On Veronica’s left hand there was a thick bracelet, and that had a key on it. Her right wrist had a glow bracelet. We walked past the tables of people as they drank and screamed over the music to talk. We decided to go right to the dance floor. She took me by the hand, led me. We were on the dance floor and I couldn’t dance. I ended up just throwing myself around, getting lost in the people surrounding us. The bodies pressed against us, the industrial music loud and crisp. The bass shook your bones, and my ribcage felt like it was rattled to pieces. I closed my eyes and just moved. Veronica moved with a grace I hadn’t seen in awhile when I opened my eyes. She pressed herself against a couple that surrounded her. I felt my breath catch in my throat, my heart pounded from excitement. She squeezed past them and moved to me, her hands ran down my face, and then she gripped the padlock with her left hand. She pulled me down to her, which wasn’t very far, but it was the intensity of the moment that made all the difference. What she did next made me jump, my body tensed and relaxed in milliseconds. She gave me a deep kiss, and, while she kissed me, distracted me, her other hand undid my padlock. I pulled back as I jumped in shock. Our eyes were locked on each others’ in the flashing neon stage lights. She had a twinkle in her eye as she pulled me close to her. “Find a man, for you.” I pulled back, looked at her in surprise. She smiled wickedly, an erotic edge to her features suddenly. She was hot when she was getting dressed and she was even hotter now. I didn’t know what the hell was going on, but I leaned into her ear. “Are you looking for a woman?

Are those Pop Rocks on top of the bisexual cake?” “Yes.” “Why?” “Because it was three in the morning and I had Pop Rocks.

There are several telltale signs of flawed gender theories. First, we should beware of any gender theory that makes the assumption that there is any one "right" or "natural" way to be gendered or to be sexual. Such theories are typically narcissistic in nature, as they merely reveal their designers' desire to cast themselves on top of the gender hierarchy. Further, if one presumes there is only one "right" or "natural" way to be gendered, then the only way to explain why some people display typical gender and sexual traits while others display exceptional ones is by surmising that one of those two groups is being intentionally led astray somehow. Indeed, this is exactly what the religious right argues when they invent stories about homosexuals who recruit young children via the "gay agenda". Those who claim that we are all born with bisexual, androgynous, or gender-neutral tendencies (only to be molded into heterosexual, masculine men and feminine women via socialization and gender norms) use a similar strategy.

Oh my lord. It can’t be. But it most certainly was. What in the heck is he doing here? Why in the hell was the star wide receiver of the Georgia Bulldogs at his mother’s funeral? The man that made history by coming out and telling the world he was bisexual two years ago. He was a hero, and he looked the part. He stood tall, at least 6’2”, or 6’3”. His wavy, dirty blond hair was longer on top than the cropped hair on the sides. Dark shades covered what he knew were magnetic, emerald-green eyes. His broad shoulders made his suit hang beautifully on his large body. Curtis’ mouth watered at the thought of all those muscles. He’d gotten glimpses of the man’s chest and biceps when the reporters and cameramen of ESPN would go in the locker room to listen to the coach congratulate his team on a win. There he was right there, just twenty feet away from him.