I've found it necessary at several points in my life, not recently, to deal with people who were genuinely interested in arguing - or insisting, or enforcing - that I shouldn't behave in accord with my romantic and sexual desires for male partners. I've never found the argument under discussion here to be of any use in convincing them. In fairness, though, the "because I feel like it" argument hasn't worked any better in those cases. The only thing I've found that has, has been something much more on the order of "if you want to try and stop me, take your best shot".

That one works best when you're part of a community that's visibly willing to back you up on it - when it's evident to your interlocutor that, if they make you have to fight about it, at least you won't be fighting alone. That hasn't been the case for me as often as I'd have liked, but when it has been the case, I've found I rarely even need to say a word.

I came out as gay in a Catholic high school, and it actually went really well for me. But, one day right after Matthew Shepard's murder, our religion class hosted a speaker who wanted to talk about how it was a shame but really he brought it on himself, you know the drill. I didn't say a word because I couldn't, but it turned out I didn't have to, because everyone else in the class - all straight as far as I knew then and, with one exception, as far as I know now - they said everything I would have and more besides. Louder and more persistently than I would have, too. And yeah, in theory there was a power differential there, Authority vs. School Kids, but you know what? That woman turned out not even to have what it took to stand up to a room full of teenagers talking. She fled in disarray, and I have never in my life before or since felt more safe than I did at the end of that half hour. Or felt less alone.

That was the point of the original pride parades, maybe you know and maybe you don't. I was there - admittedly as a child, too young yet to really even understand what I was or start to wonder why, but I was there, marching up the middle of a small Mississippi town with my mom and a bunch of other grown-ups with whom I had something in common that I hadn't even realized yet. "We're here. We're queer. Get used to it."

And people did. Not always happily, and it wasn't always easy, but what it would've cost to shove all those people who marched back in the closet was more than anyone was willing to pay. Better put, it was more than everyone was willing to pay, because - as the march's primary purpose was to demonstrate - everyone was what it would've taken. So they got used to it, instead, and then it turned out never to have been such a big deal after all.

Sweet reason is wonderful, as far as it goes. But if it's going to work, you need the other guy to be willing to meet you in the middle. If he won't do that, you need something to fall back on, if for no other reason than to be able to protect yourself. What that "something" is, is power. Maybe you don't have to use it. Ideally, being seen to have it will be enough. But for even that much to happen, first you have to have it.

We used to understand that. I don't think we do any more.

> everyone else in the class - all straight as far as I knew then and, with one exception, as far as I know now - they said everything I would have and more besides. Louder and more persistently than I would have, too. And yeah, in theory there was a power differential there, Authority vs. School Kids, but you know what? That woman turned out not even to have what it took to stand up to a room full of teenagers talking. She fled in disarray, and I have never in my life before or since felt more safe than I did at the end of that half hour. Or felt less alone.

That's such a heart warming story to read. Thanks for posting it here. I read up about Matthew Shepard. He died 20 years ago, which means your story is equally old. Impressive!