Go Ask Alex: I'm a straight guy. Can I be a sub for a gay dom?

Got a question that would scandalize your group chat? That’s what this column is for. Go Ask Alex is an anonymous space for queer readers to ask the questions they’re afraid to ask anyone else — about sex, love, life, and everything in between. It’s judgment-free and completely anonymous.

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Hey Alex, I read a few of your articles. I’m a straight guy with a submissive side. I’ve fantasized about bottoming for a strong, dominant Black man since I was a teen watching interracial hetero anal porn. I always wanted to know what it felt like to be the girl in those videos.

I’m much older now, and I’m putting serious thought into trying a long-term dom/sub relationship with a gay dominant, provided I can find one who is interested in me.

I’m not into casual sex at all. Exploring submission on more than one level really interests me. I also like the idea of commitment and putting the needs of your partner above your own — kind of like a 1950s-style marriage. Commit yourself to your partner and then learn how to make things work with him.

Do you think a straight guy can make a good bottom and sub for a gay dom? I don’t want to do it if it’s not good for the dom.

Hey sub,

Short answer: yes. A man who identifies as straight can submit to a gay dominant and make it work if both people are honest about what they want and why they want it.

I know a handful of men who call themselves straight but are sexually submissive with men. They’ll tell you the turn-on isn’t the gender of the person dominating them; it’s the surrender, the power exchange, the psychological dynamic. If that’s true for you, then the setup you’re describing is possible.

Your biggest challenge won’t be whether or not you can do it. It will be whether you can find the right person, which is the same challenge every kinky person faces. If anal play is part of your fantasy, you’ll also need to learn how to bottom safely and comfortably. That takes patience, communication, and practice. Read my two guides to bottoming — an earlier one from 2017 and an expanded one from 2022 — in Out.

Now, let’s talk about this “straight” business.

You specifically want a male dominant. Not just dominant — male. So I’d gently ask: Why is it important to frame yourself as straight here? I’m not trying to take a label away from you. You can call yourself whatever you like. But if you’re seeking out men for sexual and relational fulfillment, it’s worth being curious about what that means.

Sexual identity doesn’t have to be rigid. Plenty of men move through the world identifying as straight and still explore same-sex desire in certain contexts. But sometimes holding too tightly to a label can limit what’s actually possible for you. If you find yourself wanting more than just submission — if, at any point, you want affection, tenderness, or true romantic partnership with a man (and it sounds like you might) — then it may be useful to leave room for the possibility that you aren’t fully straight.

And here’s something practical: The man you’re looking for will likely be looking in gay spaces, both online and in person — on apps like Scruff or Recon, or at kink events. That means that in those spaces, you will be perceived as a man seeking men, and you need to be comfortable with that. Whether you privately think of yourself as straight or not, the world you’re stepping into will read you differently.

None of that diminishes you. None of it takes away from your masculinity or your worth. It just means desire is more complex than we’re often taught — that for many people, it does not file neatly into a clean label or category.

Now, let’s talk about race.

You’re specifically fantasizing about a Black dominant. Attraction isn’t a crime, and preferences exist — but when race becomes central to a fantasy, it’s important to examine why.

Is it about power? About stereotypes? About an imagined dynamic rooted in cultural narratives? There’s a long and painful history of Black bodies being fetishized and reduced to physicality, dominance, and sexual myth. If you’re going to pursue this fantasy ethically, you need to be honest with yourself about whether you’re attracted to a person or to an idea.

Fetishization becomes a problem when it reduces someone to a trait. A healthy D/s relationship — especially a long-term one like you’re imagining — requires seeing the full person: their vulnerabilities, their flaws, their ordinary humanity, not just the fantasy version.

If a Black dom asks you why you’re specifically seeking him, you should be able to answer in a way that doesn’t reduce him to a racial archetype. “I’m attracted to you” is very different from “I want a Black man because of what that represents.” The first centers the person; the second centers your projection.

Interracial kink isn’t wrong, but it requires maturity and self-awareness.

You also mention wanting something like a 1950s-style marriage, by which I assume you mean structure, hierarchy, and devotion (I know what you’re describing, but let’s avoid, as best we can, viewing a time that was regressive and punishing for women through a nostalgic lens). That part of your letter is the most interesting. Submission, at its healthiest, isn’t about humiliation or self-erasure. It’s about intentional power exchange. It’s negotiated. It’s chosen. A good dom does not want someone who feels ashamed or confused about why they’re there. They want someone self-aware.

That’s the heart of this.

You ask whether you’d be “good for the dom.” The answer depends less on your sexual orientation and more on your self-knowledge. A dom doesn’t need you to be gay. He needs you to be honest, communicative, and stable. He needs to trust that you’re not using him to work out unexamined racial fantasies or running from an identity crisis.

If you can do the internal work — examine your attraction, loosen your grip on the “straight” label if necessary, and approach men as whole people rather than stereotypes — then yes, you could make a good sub for the right guy.

Desire doesn’t always fit neatly into the boxes we were given at sixteen. It grows, changes, and often surprises us.

But it’s worth asking where this fantasy comes from, what it might mean about you, and whether it can truly make someone else, as well as yourself, happy. Relationships — even strictly sexual ones, even dominant-submissive ones — require everyone’s feelings and needs to be considered. Right now, at least in the way you describe it, it sounds like you might be using him to fulfill an erotic projection rather than meeting him as a real person, and that doesn’t bode well for either of you.

If you enter this world with humility, curiosity, and respect — for yourself and for the man you’re seeking — you’ll be OK.

Alexander Cheves is a writer and former sex worker who spent more than 12 years in the adult industry. He writes Out’s sex-and-culture column Last Call and is the author of My Love Is a Beast: Confessions (Unbound Edition Press), which Kirkus Reviews called “not for squeamish readers.” In Go Ask Alex, he offers candid advice for readers with real questions they’re afraid to ask anywhere else. Send your question to askbeastly@gmail.com — it may be answered in a future column.