What does it mean to put a label on your sexuality, to assign a category to your own existence? And where does it come from? Does it result from your actions, or how you feel inside?

There’s no denying labels can be very important, to help people forge a sense of identity in a world where they may feel more marginalised – every letter in the growing LGBTQIA alphabet has fought for and earned its place. But just as labels can reassure, they can also confine or confuse, or seem like a restriction to those terrified of being defined by it for ever.

You can’t blame some for not feeling any desperate need to “belong” – with reported crimes against LGTBQ+ people on the up and a political atmosphere that feels increasingly likely to push back on the community’s hard-won freedoms. Although coming out is a huge part of your life as an LGBTQ+ person and can be a liberating experience, it’s not for everyone, and some men are rejecting this what you might call traditional journey to forge their own path when it comes to exploring their sexuality.

If you’re a man who has sex with men on occasion, but identify as straight, who’s to stop you? You are who you are. But what does it mean for those guys who do embrace their label but have sex with guys who don’t? Does it mean their lovers are any less available to them because they won’t pick a side? Of course, nobody needs a label, but for gay and bi guys who worked hard to establish their identity, how does it feel when the man they’re sleeping with won’t do the same?

It depends how things play out, whether it’s out in the open or “our little secret”. Clandestine relationships or regular hookups with one straight and one gay/bi guy sometimes exist in a mutual state of insecurity and fear. The straight guy is worried his “secret” will be uncovered while the gay or bi guy fears he’s being used or unworthy of a relationship in public view. It also depends why the guy doesn’t want to label himself – there’s a big difference between eschewing norms as a form of self-expression and hiding who you are to manipulate the advantages available to you as a straight person.

If you’re in a down-low relationship with a straight guy, you can find yourself going backwards

James identifies as gay, but his first proper relationship was with a man who did not. "It's crushing during the relationship and after," he says. "Being with someone who doesn't want to accept the possibility they’re bisexual is difficult on a relationship, especially if they're still happy at the time to pursue one."

Coming out can be a euphoric experience in a way, and make formerly closeted people feel they’re finally moving forward after years of stagnation. But if you’re in a down-low relationship with a straight guy, you can find yourself going backwards. James continues: “When we spent time together, generally indoors, everything was happy. Outside, there’d be moments: going to LGBT spaces and not feeling comfortable at contact; him being hit on by a group of girls on the Tube, and not acknowledging me; not even introducing you to their friends.” James was plagued by insecurity. "[He set] the boundaries enough to let me think, hope, there's a chance, it just needs time; but there was always that nagging feeling, the dread it could end.”

Out guys are likely to feel sympathy for the straight guy in these situations – they’ve been there – and it’s common for gay or bi men to believe those who don’t come out are not living a full life, even if the straight guy feels that’s not the case.

As a fresher at university, Robin, then 18, fell into a relationship with Dom, 24. “The first year was strictly a bedroom thing,” he tells me. “The whole time he wasn’t comfortable holding hands or kissing outside.” Even though PDAs were kept to a minimum, it didn’t take long for word to get out. “Friends said they saw the way he was with me, and started assuming he was gay so adjusted their behaviour accordingly.” When Dom found out, things regressed further. Says Robin: “I thought he was going to have a heart attack. He absolutely had 100% control over things; the code of conduct imposed on us was coming from him, not me.” Robin admits that while Dom’s behaviour made him feel lousy he still felt a responsibility to him. "He always said he wasn’t gay, but he didn’t believe in bisexuality, either, and he said it so many times over the years."

Fluidity of any kind has been a difficult concept for the mainstream to get its head round

Although gay pornography sells the idea that fun with your “straight mate” is the ultimate fantasy, the reality can be very different. Simon was 17 when his hitherto straight best friend made a move on him. "It was purely sexual for him, mainly receiving oral, but because he was the first person who'd ever shown an interest in me, I fell in love,” says Simon, now in his late 20s. “It was a tough time. He would always tell me he wasn't like me, and couldn't be, because he 'had his whole future ahead of him'. The idea my future was irrelevant and that in some way admitting he was with me would ruin his, made me feel worthless. Gay men aren't toys to be practised on.”

Fluidity of any kind has been a difficult concept for the mainstream to get its head round – we really do love to pigeonhole – and it’s had a bad rap from people who don’t understand it. Bisexuality is historically as adventurous as many people’s imaginations would allow, and even then it’s either dismissed as “greed”, totally erased as a phase en route to a more established label – “fully gay” or “totally straight” usually the end result – or seen as a fetish, especially when it's straight guys gazing upon gay or bi women.

But straight men with sleeping with other men isn’t just a horny trope or a filthy secret – men willing to be open about their sexuality and commitment to identifying as straight do exist. And, coincidentally, Robin again found himself entangled with one.

“Luke was a few months out of an eight-year relationship – his only – with a girl,” says Robin. “He admitted he found me interesting and wanted to hang out, and eventually we slept together.

When Luke battled depression no other pals were on the scene, Robin stepped up top help out and ended up catching feelings. “I’d visit, listen to him, we’d cuddle, and usually have sex. Before long, we were hanging out three nights a week, and on weekends we’d go for long walks and nice dinners and be out – ‘out out’ – in public.” On the surface of it, then, a gay relationship – but Luke didn’t see it that way.

Perhaps it’s not the label that’s important, but the openness and the willingness to commit to a relationship, whatever your sexuality.

Says Robin: “Every time I asked if he was straight or gay or what, he said the whole experience was teaching him not to ask questions anymore. I thought that was adorable, and sensible, and kind of romantic.” Luke was demonstrative in public and Robin discovered he was telling people he was dating a guy. But he didn’t label himself.

“He’s now dating a girl, but because he was so honest and caring and genuine, with never a hint of torment about his sexuality, I took it in my stride. When someone’s that relaxed, and unguarded, it kind of rubs off on you.”

Perhaps, then, it’s not the label that’s important, but the openness and the willingness to commit to a relationship, whatever your sexuality. Maybe straight men who have sex with gay or bi men should question their motivation, whether their rejection of labels reinforces the idea homosexuality or bisexuality could damage your reputation, or are a “lifestyle choice”. Perpetuating, shame, fear, and discomfort – already engrained in much of the LGBTQ+ experience – under the guise of being chilled and progressive is not acceptable.

Labels are something we come up with to make sense of our own feelings, or a reaction to biology, and you could argue it doesn’t matter what sexuality you are as long as you’re respectful about how other people choose to label themselves based on their own experiences. It’s worth remembering that even refusing to choose a label or identifying as straight because it’s the “default” is still a form of categorisation – nope, there is no escape – and you should support the men and women who live under the LGTBQ+ umbrella for their part in your freedom to live as you do. The world, and your sexuality, are there to be explored, and you must make the most of it – just make sure whatever you’re doing, whoever you’re with, you acknowledge their right to be who they are. Inside, outside, wherever you go.

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