We were mid-way through having sex when my then boyfriend expressed his need to be penetrated. For some, his announcement would have been a welcome invitation, but for me – a 5’7”, 145 lbs., cute, sexually submissive and 100% proud and out bottom, this was a buzz kill.

“By me?” I laughed. Clearly my boyfriend had to know that when he approached me, drunk and twerking every way imaginable in the club to every Beyoncé song, that topping him wasn’t at the top of my sexual wishlist. In fact, it was nowhere near it. And furthermore, when it came to having sex over the past 3 months, he naturally assumed and claimed the position. So why now in the heated throngs of our Top to Bottom lovemaking did he all of a sudden have this epiphany?

I collected myself. This wasn’t a complete 9-11. Believe it or not I had topped before with a previous boyfriend, but it was more a result of my love and commitment to him than my preference to get behind the steering wheel if you will. Long story short – we broke up. Sure, I would have topped my then boyfriend as my connection to him was strong and there's more to a relationship than just sex (clearly it plays a big part!), but the reality was that with his confession I realized he didn’t really want me to. I offered in the best way I knew how, but from the truth I read in his eyes, I knew he didn’t just want to flip flop in the bedroom. Sure, he may have been Vers and wanted to mix things up from time to time, but what he really wanted was someone else.

So, there you have it. Another failed relationship on my dating resumé on the account of:

My seemingly dominant boyfriend was more concerned with presenting as masculine and claiming the title of top than being upfront about his sexual desires
Most men, naturally suck #FuckBoys
I was a strict bottom?

This bothered me. It took years of teenage angst and rejection to finally embrace my community and accept my sexuality only to find myself bottom-shamed by a group of so-called Tops that actually want to Bottom. Where would I go from here? One of my close friends suggested I go Vers. “Everyone else in New York is doing it,” he said. “You’re like the last full Bottom there is around here.”

I continued to Bottom. That was my big, capital F-U to the system. It was my way of sticking it to the man – actually, the only sticking I would be doing. As a gay man I always knew who I was and what position I wanted to play, and I felt liberated by that. When that scarlet covered question arose during the occasional tea-time with a new friend circle or acquaintance, I spoke up about my sexual preference without a flinch. You can call me a Power Bottom all you want, but make no mistake I have the power.

The fact of the matter is all gay men are having sex and it’s foolish to impose the outside constraints around masculinity on ourselves. Yes, I’m somewhat guilty. I shouldn’t assume that because a suitor presents more masculine than feminine that he doesn’t enjoy an occasional #EggplantFriday, but if he doesn’t even feel comfortable to have that conversation in the first place then we’re back at square one. Some gay men are just hell bent on holding on to whatever appearance or façade of masculinity they have so they can call each other, “Bro” and flip flop to infinity.

I prefer to just be me. I’m not Vers, I’m a Bottom. And if you’re not a Top, you’re not a Top. Who are you trying to impress, sis? Isn’t there some gay rule somewhere that one man’s Top is another man’s Bottom anyway?

Bottoms, It’s Time We Man Up About Our Sexuality