Sexual curiosity and denial of being gay after two encounters

Two encounters out of curiosity and the antiestéticar of naming them

How many times does something have to happen before it stops being called curiosity? The question runs through an anonymous account that has struck a nerve: a man says he has had sens twice with trans women, insists it was a one-off sensual curiosity, that the pleasure was less than expected and that, despite everything, he doesn't consider himself lgtb. "I like girls and trans women," he sums up.

The majority reaction wasn't surprise. It was mockery. Much of the response amounted to dismissing the author and doubting his version, with a recurring argument: curiosity opens a door once, not twice.

What's the difference between curiosity and sensual orientation?

That's the crux of the disagreement. For some, repeating an experience turns curiosity into preference, because nobody keeps doing something they don't enjoy. The reasoning falls apart on its own: many people repeat behaviors due to social pressure, habit, or because desire doesn't work with labels.

For others, orientation describes a pattern of attraction —toward men, toward women, toward both, or toward people outside the binary— not a tally of episodes. One encounter proves nothing; it doesn't erase anything either.

Why does male bisensbi make people more uncomfortable than any other label?

Because it breaks the all-or-nothing logic. Traditional male identity allows for two boxes —straight or lgtb— and anything in between is read as confusion, a phase, or a white lie. That's why the author insists on his heterosenshetero with an "I like women" and then adds the nuance about trans women without the two statements seeming contradictory to him.

The harshest comments didn't attack the behavior. They attacked the explanation. He was expected to pick a box, and he refused. The real objection, deep down, wasn't "you did it," but "you're talking about it."

What the tone of the conversation reveals

Setting rigor aside, the exchange paints an uncomfortable picture: the matter gets settled with mockery and invented hierarchies about which practice is more or less manly. Nobody offered a single fact, nobody mentioned sensual health, and the only useful question —what leads someone to explore, and why is it so hard for them to name it— went unanswered.

The anecdote does serve to take society's temperature: talking about two experiences still costs more than having had them. And no, repeating doesn't turn anyone into something else. Curiosity doesn't ask permission or sign an identity contract before showing up.