By Gaz Bearington

What’s in a name? For some, they’ll have only one: the name their parents gave them at some point in life’s early moments. Others might change names as the seasons do, adopting new ones to suit their various moods, phases, or simply as it pleases them.

I’ve found myself at an interesting crossroads lately, as I am realizing that while I have many names depending on how close we are, what stage in life you’ve met me, and the degree to which we might be kinky together…and that one of these names is starting to feel more like “me” than the others…and it wasn’t the one I was given by my mom at birth; but it is close.

You see, the name she gave me was in honor of my grandfather, her father. And as it turns out, he has been an essential part of my life, too. Alive to this day, and sadly longer than his daughter, my grandfather, with my name, turned out to be the most stable male role model in my life as a youth, adolescent, and in some ways, even to this very day.

So, reflecting on the various names I have and what they mean to not only the people who use them in reference to me but also to myself, there arises a feeling of conflict that I might not always honor my family in this way. And then I realize, my mom would want me to always choose to be myself, my grandfather will hardly know that I use our shared name less and less, and since I always keep them in my heart, I think it’s less about what a name is and rather what the name means that is important.

Whether you know me as Bear, Beta, Big Bro, Big Dog, Gary, Gaz, or Gizmo, in truth, I carry each of these names with me on a constant and regular basis. So too, I carry the identities they signify and the relationships they are attached to. They honor me, each in their own way, and whether I’m acting as an outspoken leader of larger men, being a submissive service pup, flirting on camera for entertainment (and a little pay), or simply spending quality time with the people I’m closest to, I am each of these names, and they are a part of me. In the end, the names aren’t as important as what I do with them and how I cherish each of the ways in which I’ve either earned these names or had them bestowed upon me… and how I make people feel when they speak one or more of these names as they engage with me.

Our names are bound up with who we are, who we choose to be, what we choose to do, and who we choose to share them with. Some of these names come from kink spaces, others simply from a fun joke between friends, and many from some sacred rite of passage, be it being born or becoming part of something larger than yourself. Choose which names are right for you in whatever spaces you walk, leave those behind that no longer serve you, and feel no guilt for whatever true and honest relationship you have with any of the names you have or had. And when others tell you their name, believe them; even if you’ve known them by another name at any point in your shared experiences, you won’t always know why that name may be important to them now, and all that matters is that it is. For what’s really in a name is ourselves, all of ourselves, in whatever way we are.

This article was originally published in the eighth issue of PROUD & Kinky Magazine. You may read it in its original format here.

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