The Discursive Work of “Bottom-Shaming”: Sexual Positioning Discourse in the Construction of Black Masculinity

Abstract

This article uses ethnographic data and interviews with young Black gay cisgender men to illustrate how masculinity is interactionally created and policed within gay communities. Here, I specifically highlight the ways Black masculinity is constructed against Latino and white men’s masculinity, discursively situating this masculinity within a racial hierarchy celebrating hypermasculinity among Black men. Black masculinity is further policed within Black gay communities through what I term sexual positioning discourse. Through the use of sexual positions within gay relationships (e.g., “top,” “bottom,” “versatile”), peers shame the act of bottoming to interactionally shore up their own masculinity through a ritualistic emasculation of other men, which simultaneously denigrates the social position of women and femininity. Building on prior empirical and theoretical work examining the use of homophobic discourse among straight men as playing a critical role in their constructions of masculinity, I show similarities and differences through an examination of gender and sexual discourse mobilized within gay communities and by Black gay cis men. Sexual positioning discourse is integral to masculinity boundary work among gay men, yet when employed by heterosexual men, this discourse calls their sexuality into question. Specifically, when Black gay men mobilize sexual positioning discourse, it serves to assert their claims to Black masculinity relative to one another; whereas when straight men use the same discourse it serves to cast doubt on their claims to “straight” sexual identities.

Author:

And what about some of the messages you received about what it means to be a man?

Torian:

Well, that correlates with the gay and stuff, too, because a lot of my friends who I came out to, they said, “Oh, as long as you’re the man in the relationship.” Like as long as you’re the top, I guess. They don’t know that terminology. . . . But that’s . . . I know that a couple of them have said that. Unfortunately, for them, it’s the opposite.

Interview with Torian, 26

Sexual positioning, or the sexual roles that gay men play in their sexual encounters (i.e., “top,” “bottom,” “versatile”), plays a critical role in gay men’s intimate lives and sexual identities more generally. Beyond organizing what occurs between partners in intimate sexual encounters, sexual positioning operates in diverse ways in the lives of gay, bisexual, and queer men. From monogamous relationships and informal hookups, to perceptions of HIV transmission risk, to considerations of whether someone is a friend or romantic interest, what gay men actually do in sexual interactions is as much a part of gay life as it creates that world. Fundamentally, sexual positions carry social values linked with gendered notions of masculinities and femininities within queer communities. Thus, how one’s sexual position is perceived or understood can dominate interactions within both gay and heterosexual spaces.

As the opening quotation illustrates, what it means to be a “man” is intimately intertwined with sexual positioning, and perceptions of masculinities are tied to particular gay sexual positions. As Torian notes, his straight friends express disdain for the social position of “woman” within their perception of gay relationships. In this article, I further examine the role of sexual positioning within gay social spaces by going beyond individual experiences of being a top, bottom, or versatile, and instead illuminate how the discussion of others’ sexual positioning simultaneously works to police the boundaries of both masculinity and race. I use ethnographic observations and interviews within a community organization that provides services to LGBT people of color to illustrate what I term sexual positioning discourse—the public labeling and shaming of “bottoms” and celebration of “tops” to celebrate masculinity and denigrate femininity. That is, rather than discussing the experiences of gay men who may identify as “bottoms,” I examine how the discourse of sexual positioning is mobilized among men in this study specifically against “other” men to re-inscribe and challenge gendered presentations and expressions of masculinity.

Calling or labeling someone a “bottom” among other gay men effectively challenges the masculinity of the accused, while simultaneously symbolically reinforces the relative masculinity of the accuser. If we consider Connell’s (see Connell 1987, 1995; Connell and Messerschmidt 2005) original theorization of a hierarchy of configurations of masculinity, which argues that gendered masculinities are constituted through patterns of practice, we can investigate how masculinities are created through varied acts across the categories of hegemonic, marginalized, and subordinated masculinities. The focus population of this work is often associated with both subordinated (i.e., gay) and marginalized (i.e., Black) masculine positions when compared with straight white men. Their awareness of this fact is also highlighted in their discussions of relative racial masculinities. Whereas much has been said about the harmful effects of the hypermasculinization of Black men, these Black gay men leverage hypermasculinization to create a racial masculinity hierarchy that positions them at the top and casts all other races as inferiorly masculine. In so doing, the young men reinforce the very effeminization of gay sexuality among men across races. As I demonstrate, Black men in this group understand their masculinity as being dominant while simultaneously acknowledging the challenge of their social positioning in the U.S. racial hierarchy. Thus, race acts as a conduit to understand how various acts create hegemonic, marginalized, subordinated, and complicit masculinities among Black men. That is to say, through understanding the expressions and actions of Black gay men, we can underscore how masculinities are created and contested through social interactions.

Also central to the deployment of sexual positioning discourse is a distancing from femininities as acceptable or desirable among gay men. The disdain for men who take on a “woman’s role” in gay relationships helps to show how gay men use misogynistic discourse to reinforce negative attitudes toward the feminine and thus toward women more broadly. As scholar Laura Harris (2008, 273) argues, “sexual passivity has already been defined in popular culture as a sign of feminine acquiescence to patriarchal domination.” Thus, the use of bottom-shaming within sexual positioning discourse serves to prop up one’s masculinity at the expense of the labeled bottom’s association with the feminine (see Winder 2023). As Hale and Ojeda (2018) have argued, white gay men police male femininities to maintain a gender and racial superiority to women and other non-white men; similarly, I find that Black gay men use sexual positioning discourse to assert their dominance as the most masculine men among racial groups and to distance themselves from women.

This study of Black gay men reveals the constant contradictions at hand with sexual positioning discourse and underscores how reliance on the link between masculinity and sexual roles is always unsettled. In this study, I illustrate how Black gay men experience themselves as accountable to a particularly heightened demand of masculinity due to complex histories of anti-Blackness within larger white American culture (Collins 2004). For example, whereas white gay men actively used (and continue to use) white hypermasculinity to assert their identities as “men” during the gay liberation of the 1970s (Levine 1998), notions of Black hypermasculinity (e.g., uncivilized, violent, aggressive) contributed to the exclusion of Black gay men and cis women by centering Blackness itself with notions of masculinity to avoid the violence of white mainstream culture (Neal 2002). That is, while white gay men were fighting to be recognized as just as masculine as white straight men, straight Black men were suppressing women and queer Black men to assert that they were even men at all (i.e., not “boys” or primitive). Thus, for Black men, including the men in this study, hypermasculinity is simultaneously a forced and embraced label that both defines and confines expressions of Black masculinity.

This article considers the discursive nature of masculinities and femininities within racialized same-sex desire communities. Much like Pascoe’s (2007) “fag discourse,” I offer the term sexual positioning discourse to highlight the use of conversation, debate, and challenges to sexual identity that come to reinforce and transform notions of masculinity. In particular, I illustrate the social conundrum of this discourse by looking at the ways that the young Black gay cisgender men in this study discuss their discomfort with publicly labeling one’s sexual positioning while they simultaneously express a need for this information, which organizes all of their formed relationships on a spectrum from platonic to romantic. In examining the role of sexual positioning discourse in the construction of masculinity, this article (1) underscores the role of labeling theory in masculinity construction and (2) gives insight into the intersectional processes that reify racialized and gendered masculinities and femininities.

Race And Gender Structure Sexual Inequalities

Gender scholars have long argued for the contextualized understanding of gender as a social accomplishment through interaction rather than as a static essential aspect of self (Butler 1999; Pascoe 2005, 2007; West and Zimmerman 1987). In recognition of this, numerous studies have shown how men enact and express curated behaviors to craft an image of manhood to the outer world. Even further, scholars have shown that the social accomplishment of gender is a racialized process (see Collins 2009; Ferguson 2001; Moore 2011). Subsequently, racialized understandings of masculinity and femininity have come to define not only external perceptions but also boundary-making projects within specific groups associated with local, regional, and global conceptualizations of masculinities (Connell and Messerschmidt 2005).

Recent studies have illustrated how homophobia continues to contribute to masculinity even as forms of homophobia are changing (Diefendorf and Bridges 2020). Much of the research on homophobia-based derogatory remarks has occurred in schools and workplaces. For instance, research in American high schools has found that the use of terms such as “faggot,” “fag,” and “sissy” creates clear boundaries around masculinity and sends homophobic messages to queer students (even if they are not the targets of such language directly). Research from GLSEN’s National School Climate Survey underscores the enduring nature of disparaging language toward queer identities and students. In the 2019 report, more than 95 percent of lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer (LGBTQ) students reported hearing words such as “faggot” or “dyke” (Kosciw et al. 2020). Sociologist C. J. Pascoe (2005) theorized “fag discourse” in her ethnography of an American high school to explain how adolescent boys in her study rejected all forms of femininity through the public shaming of “feminine” behaviors. Analyzing these social interactions as discourse shifts the focus away from identities and foregrounds the use and meanings of language as a form of social control that operates in ways that police the boundaries of masculinity. Furthermore, as Pascoe (2005, 329) notes, “penetrated men symbolize a masculinity devoid of power, which, in its contradiction, threatens both psychic and social chaos.”

My research contributes to studies that interrogate the meanings of language in the making of masculinities by illustrating how the idea of a penetrated masculinity carries over into gay communities and is leveraged in the same ethos, but in a different fashion, through sexual positioning discourse. It is well documented that among queer men across races, effeminacy is often regarded as undesirable (Hennen 2005; Sánchez et al. 2016). The emphasis on masculinity and acceptable forms of manhood creates undue hardship for queer men who aspire to achieve typically unattainable markers of manhood. These extant pressures complicate the lived realities of Black men in particular, especially in regard to their mental and sexual health. For instance, public health scholars have argued that, what they name “gender role strain” may strongly influence HIV risk behaviors and self-esteem among Black sexual minority men (Fields et al. 2015). The resulting denigration of femininity among men plays into the ways that gay communities are socially organized from romantic to platonic relationships.

Messages about sexual positioning among gay men are often conveyed in gay media and within community spaces. Many of these messages are racialized in that certain sexual positions are thought to be more common among particular races. For example, the stereotypes of hypermasculinity among Black men (Neal 2013) frequently have them seen as tops (McCune 2014; Ward 2008), and Asian men are relegated to the role of bottom due to their perceived femininity (C. W. Han 2015; Nguyen 2014). Studies on Latino men and sexual positioning also reveal deeply entrenched beliefs in the masculinity of Latino men in the maintenance of machismo ¹ ; furthermore, these beliefs are coded in the Spanish language equivalents for top, activo, and bottom, pasivo (Asencio 2011; Mirandé 2016; Ocampo 2012). Research on the role of top and bottom identities has consistently traced stereotypes of masculinity and notions of power within gay communities as a prominent force in the social organization of relationship (Dangerfield et al. 2017; Hennen 2008). Yet most of the sociological research on sexuality fails to account for the intricacies of actual sexual behavior within sexual social spaces, especially how those sexual roles shape racialized masculinities.

In this article, I use an intersectional framework to examine multiple oppressive structures and the intersection of those oppressions as critical sites of inquiry. As scholars of intersectionality assert, racial, gendered, classed, and sexualized oppressions collide to create unique patterns of disadvantage for groups at the margins of social acceptability (Collins 2004, 2009; Crenshaw 1991; Hancock 2007). Specifically, I focus on how racism and heterosexism intersect to foster racialized discourse around masculinity within gay communities and work to effectively remarginalize already oppressed groups.

Theoretical Frame

Much of the research on sexual positioning continues to be conducted in public health or using quantitative data to illustrate counts of “tops,” “bottoms,” and “versatiles” in various cities or spaces (Dangerfield et al. 2017; Hoppe 2011). However, there is much to learn from the study of these categories in sociology and how identities are formed and shaped. As sociologist Trevor Hoppe (2011, 194) argued, “these [sexual positioning] categories are imbued with meanings that go beyond a mere preference for insertive or receptive anal intercourse.” Building on this work, I seek to outline how “positional identities” are always racialized through sexual positioning discourse. That is, understandings of sexual roles and labels are imbued with notions of race, and this discourse shapes how differing racial groups are understood across the categories of top, bottom, and versatile. Using the case of Black gay men, I aim to illustrate how the use of sexual positioning discourse among an intraracial group polices the boundaries of Black masculinity while simultaneously reifying masculinity boundaries of other racialized masculinities.

Sexual positioning discourse is an interactional process in which gay men use the public labeling of other gay men’s sexual position to police the boundaries of masculinity. Gay men use bottom-shaming, which is central to sexual positioning discourse, to interactionally achieve masculinity by implying that being a bottom is an undesirable position in gay life. Like the young boys who deploy fag discourse (Pascoe 2005, 2007), anyone can be labeled a bottom even if they do not actually identify as a bottom or engage in bottoming when having sex. As I show in the analysis of the social interactions between these young men, this discourse relies on racialized perceptions of sexual positioning and masculinities. Thus, sexual positioning discourse is inherently intersectional, as notions of masculinity rely on intersecting identities and interlocking systems of oppression that affect identity formations.

This article does not seek to emphasize how Black men are more masculine than others, but rather explores the impacts of a discourse that requires the juxtaposition of racialized genders to constitute Black masculinity. Sexuality, gender, and race converge to create a discourse that illustrates that “doing gender” inherently means doing race work. Black masculinity and Black manhood then are constituted through the continual acts, behaviors, and discourses that they argue set them apart from other races of men, heterosexual and homosexual alike. Additionally, the discourse relies on the misogynistic disdain for women’s roles in relationships, sex, and society more broadly. Thus, I am not arguing that Black manhood is inherently marginalized or that gay sexualities are inherently subordinated; rather, I show how the case of Black men engaging in sexual positioning discourse allows men to embody all four of these configurations of practice (hegemonic, subordinated, marginalized, and complicit). Sexual positioning discourse adds nuance to our understanding of hierarchies of masculinity by illustrating how sexual practices and racial stereotypes converge to further complicate these configurations of practice.

Research Site, Data, And Analysis

The data that comprise this project were collected at a Los Angeles-based HIV prevention organization that I call UpLiftLA. Black gay experiences in Los Angeles are shaped by several features of the local landscape, and to understand the role of UpLiftLA, it is imperative to outline two major points about Black gay life in Los Angeles more broadly. First, the vast landscape of the city covering nearly 469 square miles means that Black gay men are traveling from all over the city to access Black queer community spaces. As other work has outlined (see Moore 2010), Black queer people tend to live in Black communities rather than in queer enclaves in the city. Furthermore, community organizations targeting these populations are often not located within those Black communities. These two facts together contribute to the long commutes that Black gay men traveled in this work to find community space. Second, the population of Black people more broadly has been diminishing in Los Angeles over time. During the time of this study, the population of Black Angelenos decreased steadily from nearly 10 percent to 8 percent of the county’s total population (Our Weekly LA 2014). The shrinking of Black communities and the large expanse of the city contribute to the ways that community spaces like UpLiftLA attract young men from all across the greater LA area for services.

Between 2012 and 2017, I was a participant observer at UpLiftLA’s weekly men’s leadership meeting and conducted 50 in-depth interviews with self-identified Black, gay, bisexual, and pansexual men. Participants ranged in age from 18 to 31 years, and each interview lasted between 30 and 120 minutes. All except one (98 percent) of my respondents had finished high school or received a GED. Eight participants (16 percent) had received Bachelor’s degrees and one (2 percent) had a Master’s degree at the time of interview. Although I did not systematically collect income data, the organization attracted lower income Black gay men as their services offered housing support, job placements, access to free HIV testing, and connections to local health services. During my time there, I observed casual conversations, moderated discussions, and informal interactions among more than 250 young men. While this program targeted Black gay men, occasionally Latino men or Black transwomen attended weekly meetings and were observed in conversation with the study’s focal population of Black men. ²

While many of the young men spanned the duration of my time with the organization, the relative turnover of the group and its open-door policy for participation produced a wide range of participants, many of whom attended meetings infrequently. Roughly 70 percent of the 250 men observed attended only one to three of the meetings during the period of observation. In addition to these meetings, I also observed participants at various events outside of the organizational space (e.g., birthday parties, local nightclubs, other LGBT community events, pride celebrations, weekend brunches). In this article, I draw on both interview and observation data collected over this period, analyzing how these young men make sense of the messages about masculinities, sexual positioning, and relationships that they hold, but also examining the interactional processes that allow sexual positioning discourse to challenge, reinforce, and bound masculinities among gay men.

Data were analyzed via abductive analysis (Timmermans and Tavory 2012). The process involved analyzing collected data while simultaneously consulting relevant theories and literatures to generate theoretical insights. The data were coded for instances of sexual positioning language, meaning the mentioning of sexual roles such as “top,” “bottom,” or “versatile,” and for discussions of racial differences among masculinities. Passages were then assembled into separate documents organized by theme and subsequently analyzed for cases of the deployment of sexual positioning discourse. This process of coding, memo writing, and analytic theme generation produced the results and analysis that follows. To distinguish between interview and ethnographic fieldnotes, I use the terms respondent for interview data and fieldnote excerpt for ethnographic observations. Additionally, to protect the identities of my research participants, I employ pseudonyms for both the organization and the observed men in accordance with the approved Institutional Review Board protocol.

Furthermore, it is important to note the way that my own positionality granted access to this space as the young men engaged in a process of backstage work (see Goffman 1959). As a self-identified Black gay man who fell into the race, gender, and age range of the population, backstage work continued relatively undisturbed. Throughout the project, my own positionality as a Black gay researcher affected the extent to which I was expected to participate or observe conversations and behaviors in the organizational space. Thus, perceptions and understandings of my role in the space varied, and the young men came to simply disregard my presence as a researcher and often quipped that they often forgot I came to the space for research. This blurring of the researcher’s gaze into the interactions I highlight gives me confidence that the behaviors, thoughts, and expressions of the young men were unaltered by my presence because I was typically considered just another member of the group.

Findings

The findings are organized into three sections: (1) constructing Black masculinity, (2) sexual positioning conversations in public, and (3) bottom-shaming as integral to sexual positioning discourse. Taken together, these three sections illuminate both how racialized notions of masculinities and “appropriate” sexual positions are conceptualized within this community, how Black gay men contend with the contradictions between masculinity and sexual roles, and how sexual positioning discourse plays out in the organizational space among young Black gay men in order to police the boundaries of racialized masculinities.

“Clockability”—Black Gay Men’s Constructions of Black Masculinity

Among the young Black gay men in this study, messages about how Black gay men should portray a public sexuality are imbued with understandings rooted in racial stereotypes and perceived expectations associated with gender expression. They confessed a belief that there is an exceptional difference between the ways Black men are gay and the ways that white, Latino, or Asian men are gay—particularly related to gender expression, self-presentation, and sexual positioning. For example, two of the young men, Malachi and Chadrick, describe the expectations and pressures that they feel about how their race, gender expression, and sexual positioning must align:

Malachi argues that Black men must be “strong and macho” and they cannot be sensitive. He adds that they all want someone straight acting, or “no one ‘clockable.’” He continues by saying he believes that this is true because these types of men “give a sense of security.” He adds that he believes many Black gays feel this way because that way “they won’t suspect us if something goes down.”

They continue to discuss the problem with trying to perceive someone’s sexual role from their outward expressions of masculinity. Chadrick comments that many times “people scream ‘I’m a top! I’m a top!,’ but when the lights go out . . .” Malachi finishes his sentence “then legs go up!” Many in the room laugh and Malachi asks “Do you think it’s internalized homophobia? What can we do to combat that?” (fieldnote excerpt)

The conversation between the young men about outward expressions of masculinity and whether these expressions imply a specific sexual role conveys the importance of gender-appropriate behavior for these Black men. Malachi details the expectation that Black men are supposed to be emotionless and “macho.” He draws attention to the adulation of “straight-acting” gay men who he argues are most sought-after types of gay men within the community. Another concern for young Black gay men that is highlighted in this dialogue is being “clockable,” meaning that their sexuality can be discovered from behavior and appearance alone. These young men use covering or aligning themselves with another masculine man to protect against threats of violence or being ostracized for their sexual orientations.

Gender presentations and expressions are intimately intertwined with perceptions of sexual roles, and Chadrick illustrates how masculine gender presentations among Black gay men are sometimes accompanied with a perceived sexual position as a top, whether or not this is the case. In this sense, attempting not to be “clockable” operates interactionally in two ways: to mask sexual orientation from the threat of racial group castigation while also to conceal true sexual position preferences and practices in ways that maintain appearances of an authentically heteronormative Black masculinity, even among Black gay men. Research on “discreet” Black men by scholars such as Jeffery McCune highlight the ways that outness is often ill-fitting or unapplicable to the experiences of Black men (McCune 2008). Concepts such as clockabilty underscore the obsession with discreetness and frequent fears of racial castigation for Black gay men who are often accused of being “white” for their sexualities.

The young men in this study find the expectations of being strong, macho, and, if one is gay, to not be “clockable” to be distinctively salient for Black men. The conversations among the young men detail how they feel racialized pressures to portray authentically Black masculinities are sometimes at odds with (white) gay culture. Much like Muñoz’s (1999) articulation of artistic disidentifications, Black men in this study morph understandings of mainstream masculinity and gay culture to fit their own conceptualizations of acceptable masculinities. That is, they suggest that there is a particular expectation of Black masculinity that makes it difficult for them to exist in predominantly Black community environments if they do not embody very specific notions of manhood. For example, consider Dwayne and Tory’s discussion of the differences of masculinity between Black, white, and Latino men:

Dwayne begins to discuss men of different races and how it can be difficult to recognize their sexual orientations. He says people of different races are “more feminine than how we Black people are.” He continues by saying that one might think “oh he gay” but having that not actually be the case. He says that as an example Hispanic dudes arch their eyebrows and sometimes their girlfriends will even do it for them.

Tory agrees with Dwayne saying that White guys are feminine in general “They are very, very feminine, but they turn the corner and are kissing their girlfriend.” (fieldnote excerpt)

These contrasting descriptions of masculinity and gender expression among white and Latino men become the juxtaposed masculinities for Black men. From these different descriptions of white and Latino men, it is clear that these young men find transmitting a particular type of Black masculinity to others crucially important because the type of masculinity that they emit not only confirms their manhood but also simultaneously illustrates a sense of racial affinity. Dwayne and Tory both suggest that men of other races are simply more feminine or effeminate than Black men, thereby making it harder to distinguish between queer and non-queer men based on appearance or behavior across racial lines. Here, the discourse surrounding other racialized masculinities acts as a collective masculinizing strategy among the Black men in this study. Dwayne’s comments that even women partners of Latino men accept culturally feminized beauty work, such as arching men’s eyebrows, situate this as emasculating for Latino men while simultaneously situating Black men as more masculine than other groups. Notably missing from this description are Asian men and their expressions of masculinity. In many ways, the young men focus their conversations about masculinity mostly on how Black masculinity differs from white masculinity, which reifies the notion of a “Black–white” racial landscape in the United States (Bonilla-Silva 2015). These conversations about Black masculinity and its relationship with gender expression and sexual positioning highlight existing societal pressures of masculinity that exist for Black men regardless of sexuality. Rather than rejecting the trope of Black hypermasculinity, the Black gay men in this study seek to embody the hypermasculine space in order to create hierarchies among themselves and against masculinities of other racialized men (i.e., white, Latino, Asian). This reliance reveals that even though these Black gay men articulate their masculinity as higher than that of white men (gay and straight), they are still defined by the white gaze through reliance on tropes of Black hypermasculinity (e.g., the alpha male, Mandingo).

These examples show precisely how young men transmit and co-construct beliefs about sexual positioning tied to racialized constructions of masculinity and gender expression, highlighting the intersectional nature of sexual positioning discourse. Furthermore, the discussion of men of various races highlights how these young Black men perceive outward expectations on Black men specifically, while simultaneously illustrating the stigma and negativity associated with embodying femininities for men. That is, not only does feminine appearance and behavior challenge one’s racial affinity as Black; it also marks the Black gay man as a “bottom,” which, as I show in the ensuing sections, is undesirable. These findings also reveal that because femininity and masculinity perceptions are inherently racialized, they are unreliable indicators of sexual position; yet young Black gay men continue to rely on these perceptions to manage relationship expectations and social interactions.

Making Private Sexual Positions Public Knowledge

Although explicit details about what occurs between two people in sexual interactions are not frequently discussed at UpLiftLA, perceptions about the importance of identifying sexual positions are of critical importance to those in the space. For example, even when these young men resist a prioritization of sex in their expressions of sexuality, they highlight that this information is paramount in gay relationships. The dilemma of identifying a sexual role lies at the core of both intimate and platonic relationships. There is an expectation that you can identify your sexual role explicitly, but also that you can signal to others your preference for particular sexual action and availability to perform that position in sexual encounters through gender expression. In one exchange during a Wednesday meeting, the importance of being able to identify one’s sexual position is expressed by some of the young men as they speak about the need to find a sexually compatible romantic partner:

Fredy starts by saying, “The first question that someone asks you is always if you’re a top or bottom.”

Rudy replies that it is asked first, “Because I need to know you don’t play the role I play.”

Rahsaan replies “It’s a problem that it’s not how fast can I get a hug from you, but who’s fucking who . . . ” (fieldnote excerpt)

Fredy’s initial emphasis on sexual positioning inquiries “always” being the first question in interactions between gay men highlights its primacy in gay relationships. As the sole Latino participant at this meeting, Fredy provides an alternative voice and validates the sense of an existence of this primacy across racial groups. For these interactions between same-gender–attracted men, information about the sexual positioning role that one plays is essential information when meeting new potential partners. Rudy’s comments further explain the necessity of this information to his ability to assign roles within relationships. While this information may be useful in negotiating how a new individual may fit into one’s life, as we see in Rahsaan’s response, some gay men draw issues with foregrounding conversations about sexual intercourse over more innocent expressions of caring, like the sharing of hugs. Rahsaan’s sentiments were echoed by 24-year-old Stephon in an interview where he shared his frustration with needing to fit-in these sexual positioning categories:

There’s all this stuff instead of loving a person for who they are. You’ve got to fit this. Are you bottom or are you top, vers (versatile) this, that? You have to fit somewhere. Are you masculine? Are you femme?, Are you . . . I’m like, you have to get somewhere.

From Stephon’s and Rahsaan’s perspectives, there is perpetual tension between knowing where someone “fits” within categories of sexual positioning and gender expression instead of a focus on more encompassing notions of love and acceptance.

The pressures of fitting into community standards of “tops” and “bottoms” also came up in individual interviews. For many, a sense that being understood through one’s sexual position was necessary to be truly accepted within gay spaces. Consider 24-year-old Andrew’s discussion of these pressures within the community:

There is a gay community . . . There are tons and tons of people who are just like, “You’re gay, and we’re standing up for our rights. This is our community. We’re all in the same boat ’cause we’re all homosexual. So, you’re my neighbor. You’re my community.” Then you have those who are like, “You’re gay, but you’re gay and you’re Black. Or you’re gay, I mean, you’re gay and you’re White. You’re gay, and you’re gay and Asian. You’re gay, and you’re gay and Latino.” So those are things that separate it. Or like, “You’re gay, and you’re gay and you’re femme.” Or, “You’re gay and you’re a top or a bottom.” Different things that kinda separate and split hairs in a community which is really unnecessary.

Andrew’s comments on the gay community, within-group hierarchies, and categorization practices show his feelings that these distinctions are “unnecessary.” From his perspective, the use of terms like “femme” to describe a more feminine gender expression, racial categories like “Black,” “Asian,” “white,” or “Latino,” and sexual positioning terms such as “top” and “bottom” only serve to further divide an already marginalized group—the gay community. Other research has highlighted how these terms converge to create stereotypical understandings of racial and sexual categories like “dominant Black tops” and “submissive Asian bottoms” (see Asencio 2011; C. W. Han 2015; Hoppe 2011; Nguyen 2014). ³ Andrew’s perspectives document how some young men find these divisions to be isolating and confining. Yet, as we saw in the conversation among Fredy, Rudy, and Rahsaan, there exists a simultaneous sense of necessity for this type of information in order to form meaningful relationships with other gay men.

Conversations about sexual roles often take place privately among potential intimate partners. Yet the organizational space of UpLiftLA offers opportunities for young Black gay men to discuss the importance of sexual positioning to their existence within gay spaces. In this way, this unique space to study sexual positioning discourse provides a context within which taken-for-granted issues, ideas, and meanings are openly discussed. On one night, the group facilitator, Henry, began a conversation to gauge attitudes about beliefs that sexual positions can be discerned from outward appearances and gender expression. Henry begins a discussion of these sexual roles which starts a slight rift among the guys:

Henry begins by asking the group, “Can you tell someone’s sexual role by looking at them?

Kyle immediately replies decidedly, “Yes, I can tell by the way they dress and how they look.”

Many of the older guys in the room make exasperated sighs and say “Yeah right!” A few of them glance to one another almost knowingly, but Kyle seems unfazed and unwavering in his assertion.

David: “I can tell too by the way they walk and the way they talk.”

Donovan: “In Los Angeles, it’s known more because people play the roles more . . . but in NYC or Atlanta or Texas you can’t tell.” He finishes, “At the end of the day . . . I want a boy, not a girl.” (fieldnote excerpt)

This interaction highlights the tensions around the ability to identify sexual roles from simply observing outward traits. While there seems to be a divide among the perspectives of the younger and older members of the group, it is evident that there exist criteria by which these men identify others’ sexual roles interactionally interpreted through language, style of dress, and overall looks. Drawing on what Bridges (2014) calls “gay aesthetics,” Black gay men in this space believe that they can identify one’s sexual position, whether their perceptions are accurate or not. Donovan’s comments underscore the ubiquitous nature of these sexual roles being understood as intrinsically tied to gender expression. His final remark that he “wants a boy, not a girl” reinforces the sensibility that sexual positions are tied to strongly held notions of “appropriate” masculinities and femininities that maintain gender boundaries. These sentiments underscore the contradictions at work as these young men try to predict sexual positions through gender expressions while simultaneously elevating desire for masculinities regardless of actual sexual positioning preferences. Furthermore, comments like this serve to reinforce the misogyny that undergirds bottom-shaming more broadly by rejecting anything relegated to the “feminine.”

The existence and importance of these congruent sexual positioning and relationship roles for some of the Black gay men in the community is solidified in the following exchange seen in my fieldnotes:

Adrian begins to share saying that “Everything has changed now. In the past, the tops would just take care of the bottoms, but now it’s different.” He continues saying that it is less common for these social and sexual roles to be so clearly defined in younger generations, but that some people still expect it to be that way.

Kameron says “being homosexual is a White thing; being Black is the alpha male.” He continues saying that Black men need to feel like they are taking care of their partner as the “Mandingo attitude” suggests.

Adrian chimes back in and adds, “Latinos don’t look at it that way.” He says that they’re more open to fluid sexual roles within relationships.

Rahsaan adds, “Cause they freaks!”

At this moment, everyone in the room seems to turn to the only Latino boy in the meeting, Fredy, who responds, “It’s true!!!” while throwing his hands up and laughing. The whole room erupts into laughter seeming to confirm his perspective.

The excerpt above highlights many of the social understandings that shape the life worlds of the young Black men who frequent UpLiftLA. Adrian’s and Kameron’s comments illustrate a community perception that earlier generations of Black gay men are more expected to abide by prescribed social roles that align with sexual positions within relationships. They suggest that this pressure is rooted not only in a commitment to heteronormative masculinities and a racialized rejection of gay as a “white thing,” but also in the expectation of hypermasculinity of the Black “alpha male.” Similar to the opening interview quotation of the article, perceptions from outside of gay communities about being “the man” in a relationship link gender identity with sexual positioning. The group’s conversation underscores the weight of racialized societal expectations around masculinities and sexualities. Interestingly, the young Black men in the space look to the token Latino participant to confirm their perspective that Latino gay men are “freaks.” Fredy’s confirmation of Adrian and Rahsaan’s comments about Latino men interactionally reinforce the communal understanding that there exist palpable distinctions between how Black gay men and Latino gay men engage in relationships as they relate to their sexual positioning and subsequent relationship roles.

Sexual Positioning Discourse in Action

As the previous sections illustrate, the connection of Black masculinity to sexual positioning and perceptions of relationship building is discussed within the organizational space as a key element of Black gay social life. Yet though the young men often recognize this organizing feature of gay life, they are rarely asked to discuss their personal sexual practices in open conversation as a group. However, some meetings that occur at UpLiftLA bring the highly private topics of sexual positioning to the forefront and offer a unique opportunity to observe how sexual positioning discourse operates among the Black gay men in this study. Topics that often occur only between potential sexual partners become exercises and discussion topics as the facilitator of the meeting has the men engage in conversation about whether one’s sexual position can be identified at a glance. In this fieldnote excerpt, the discomfort that accompanies this conversation reinforces the taboo nature of the subject:

At the beginning of this night’s meeting, Henry began by giving instructions to the group: “Let’s make sure you’re seated next to someone you don’t know.” The group organized themselves in a full circle around the main room in the office and switched seats from the one’s they had previously occupied by their friends.

Henry announces that tonight we will be discussing “the politics of sexuality.” He introduces the activity saying that the person seated to the left will decide the sexual role of the person who introduces himself.

Henry instructs each person to only say his name and how his day went. Many people laugh awkwardly about the exercise and a few people say “oh goodness” and “oh gosh”! The room is visibly uncomfortable with this exercise; many of the young men glance across the room knowingly to one another since they’ve been strategically separated from their friends for the activity.

Patrick asks Henry for clarity about what is meant by “sexual role.” Henry responds, “society would say: top bottom or versatile.”

Henry volunteers to go first. He introduces himself and says that he had a very busy day, but that it was enjoyable overall. The guy next to him (Paul) is visibly uncomfortable as attention turns to him to decide Henry’s sexual role. He repeats, “I don’t know” while laughing nervously and keeps fidgeting in his seat while looking down on his phone.

After a few guys urge him “just say something already . . . ” Troy suggests reversing the order of the circle “because he’s taking too long.” Henry agrees and the boy to his right, Alec, comments that he thinks Henry is vers.

As the activity goes on, anytime someone says bottom the room erupts into laughter. In particular, as Kyle introduces himself, before he can finish speaking about his day Dwayne says “BOTTOM!”—very forcibly and matter of fact. Many in the room laugh and Kyle gives Dwayne a stare as he begins to introduce himself. Most people say “vers” it seems to be the most neutral answer and the rest of the circle proceeds with most people saying vers to avoid both the laughter and subsequent discomfort.

The initial reaction of the entire room when Henry announces the night’s activity captures the unorthodox nature of this conversation as an open topic for the group. In clarifying the activity for Patrick, Henry immediately creates the structure for the activity and limits the possibility of responses to top, bottom, and versatile, erasing any doubt that they might be able to avoid these sexual-positioning labels. Additionally, instructing the group to rely only on the previous person’s name and description of his day suggests that one can interpret private sexual behavior from appearance and public social persona. Paul’s hesitancy, repetition of “I don’t know,” and ultimate refusal to offer a response in the exercise undergirds just how unnerving this task is for some. Furthermore, the use of “vers” as an inoffensive answer within the space illustrates how the stigmatizing and polarizing language of bottom-shaming within the community is negotiated with a socially accepted middle ground. Other research has illustrated how versatility in this sense may be viewed as neutralizing the stereotypes of masculinity and conveying a more balanced identity of masculine and feminine traits (see Dangerfield et al. 2017; Johns et al. 2012).

The “politics of sexuality” exercise uncovers existing stigmas and negative attitudes toward members of the gay community seen as “bottoms” or receptors in penetrative anal sex. While being some form of a “bottom” or “top” is seen as necessary for all intimate relationships within the gay world, the negativity attached to being a bottom is reflected in the continual laughing that occurs each time someone is called a bottom during the exercise. To drive this home, Dwayne’s public shaming of Kyle as a bottom provokes great amusement from the group, but also draws Kyle’s ire immediately as he’s not even allowed to finish speaking to the group. In this case, Dwayne uses the central tenet of sexual positioning discourse, bottom-shaming, to threaten Kyle’s projection of masculinity. Yet the opposite is seen for those who would be identified as tops in the space. Specifically, in cases where some of the men challenged the ascribed sexual position from the activity, we can see the importance of a “top” status as an important social identity to claim in the space. In the following passage, one of the boys, Dwayne, has been previously identified during the exercise by Malachi, who instead of saying top or bottom remarks “he doesn’t know what he likes.” Dwayne responds to this comment rather defensively:

Dwayne: “I’m a top all day . . . never nothing different” He sits straight up in his seat, gestures to himself with a wave of his hand, and glances forcibly to Malachi who had commented on Dwayne’s sexual position in the exercise. Malachi rolls his eyes in annoyance and Dwayne continues, “I know trannies ⁴ who are all tops . . . they climb backs!” (fieldnote excerpt)

Here, Dwayne replies to Malachi later in the group dialogue with residual anger from being described as not knowing what he likes sexually. Malachi appears to intentionally create a bit of conflict by challenging Dwayne’s self-perception of his sexual position conveyed via “masculine” gender expression. Coming on the heels of Dwayne’s own intended insult to Kyle, this exchange highlights just how critical these impressions of sexual positioning are and the stigma associated with being perceived as a bottom. Dwayne’s behavior indicates his appearance as key to challenge the suggestion that he is not a top. Furthermore, he offers that he knows transwomen who are tops, as well. In so doing, he paradoxically uses his own gender expression to show how he appears as a top while citing transwomen to suggest that levels of outward displays of femininity do not reliably project accurate sexual position assessments. Importantly, using the example of transwomen who are tops as a negative case, the use of sexual aesthetics (Bridges 2014) to confirm perceptions of sexual positioning among Black gay men is reified. These contradictions (i.e., that feminine transwomen can be tops and that masculinity does not always mean that one is a top) underscore the value of studying how sexual positioning operates as a discourse. As revealed in Dwayne’s comments, the tension of these unreliable indicators for sexual roles motivates sexual positioning discourse as a way for these young men to navigate these incongruent beliefs that link masculinity with “top” and femininity with “bottom.”

Sexual positioning discourse thus relies on the stigma attached to bottoming and on the public bottom-shaming that occurs within social interactions in gay communities. The deployment of sexual positioning discourse to challenge and reinforce the boundaries of Black masculinity serves to re-inscribe heteronormative understandings of relationships, gender expressions, and identities within Black gay community spaces. Furthermore, the disdain for bottoming is undergirded by a general disdain for women and taking on “a woman’s role” in sexual encounters. In effect, sexual positioning discourse serves as a form of racialized gender policing that construct boundaries of masculinity through labeling of others as feminine and thus less desirable. It relies on misogynoir and the disparaging of femininity, and specifically forms of Black femininity among men. In the case of Black men, this discourse thus not only complicates sexual activity between intimate partners but also represents a racialized and gendered process of engagement between men that underscores the importance of gender congruence and adherence to dominant narratives of Black masculinity.

Discussion

The data and findings above support sexualities research on the persistence of labeling discourses as mechanisms in the constructions of masculinities. Yet this article offers new theoretical insight into the ways that sexual positioning discourse is used to police the boundaries of masculinity in racialized ways within communal gay spaces and how these masculinities are constructed not just through misogyny against feminisms, but also against other racialized masculinities. I show how bottom-shaming, and thus the contempt for women and femininity, are central to sexual positioning discourse.

While it has long been known that the sexual position of bottom is discursively situated as “feminine,” this work highlights the in-group struggles with a social atmosphere governed by and around sexual positioning. These insights reveal the intense investments in gender categories that structure these men’s identities and interactions, even in spaces that exist, in part, to celebrate gender fluidity and push the boundaries of masculinity and femininity in organizational programming—such as African-American ballroom competitions, drag tutorials and performances, and the adoption of language such as “sis” to refer to friends among queer men. Additionally, through this case of Black gay cis men, I illustrate how popular notions of hypermasculinity of Black men are not erased within Black queer communities. Rather, my research documents how the enduring importance of achieving these racialized and exaggerated masculinity standards are elevated within these contexts. Notably, the adherence to notions of hypermasculinity is not necessarily surprising if we understand the social position of these young men as embodying what Connell (1995) classically defined as subordinated and marginalized masculinities.

Fundamentally, this work adds to Pascoe’s (2005, 2007) findings that understandings of the fag and the deployment of “fag” in verbal discourse highlight that gay men could still be masculine. In many ways, sexual positioning discourse further reveals which gay men can be considered masculine and how the valuing of masculinity and stereotypically masculine behaviors continue to be idolized within gay social spaces, but differently valued along racial boundaries. The findings outlined here elucidate just how constructs and meanings of masculinity are racialized and intricately tied to specific sexual behaviors. Through the framing of sexual positioning discourse, I show that Black gay men are involved in the positing of specific elements of sexuality in the maintenance of notions of hegemonic hypermasculinity. As the findings reveal, Black gay men use sexual positioning discourse to manage the tensions and contradictions between the unreliability of masculinity and femininity as indicators of sexual roles.

Conclusion

While this article builds on research about masculinity negotiations within same-gender–loving populations, I expect future works to interrogate how sexual positioning discourse operates within heterosexual spaces and interactions. That is, sexual positioning discourse, much like fag discourse, can be deployed in masculinity boundary-making by heterosexual men as well, albeit with different social costs. For example, in January 2018, the rapper Ja Rule who rose to fame in the early 2000s had an exchange with another rapper, 50-Cent, on Twitter where he called the latter “Ticklebooty” and “Powerbottom.” Covered in many media outlets, such as Huffington Post (Wong 2018) and the queer news website Logo News (Avery 2018), his tweet was primarily described as homophobic. Yet, as I have illustrated here, this discourse is simultaneously homophobic and femmephobic; that is, its use among heterosexuals not only suggests a disregard for gay people and queer sexualities, but (re)creates a masculinity hierarchy through the shaming of bottoms, specifically. However, this deployment of sexual positioning discourse is not without consequence for heterosexual men, as the intimate knowledge of sexual behavior within gay relationships subjected Ja Rule to criticism from onlookers. Several Twitter users questioned: How does he know so much about the intricacies of gay sex? These reactions highlight how sexual positioning discourse might be an extension of fag discourse, yet its deployment is rife with threats to the masculinity of the heterosexual user. Furthermore, this social media example provides even clearer evidence that the practice of sexual positioning discourse is widespread even beyond community organizational spaces and instead permeates other domains of pop culture and everyday interactions.

Future studies might consider how sexual positioning discourse operates among other groups, namely Black queer women, Black trans communities, and queer communities of other races. As these populations navigate different sets of within-group pressures to perform gendered and racialized identities, these studies could build more knowledge about how masculinities and femininities are policed within queer communities of color.