I’ve finally chased the homophobic words of my parents from my head, almost.
I’ve finally admitted to myself and the world that I am not a straight woman. When I first began this story, I wrote that I had been wrestling with my bisexuality for a year. That is far from true. I’ve been wrestling with it since I was eleven.
I had a friend, Gia, that I felt more than friendship for. I didn’t know how to describe it because I hadn’t been given the words for it. She’d come over to my house, and we’d play in my room just like I would with other girls, but there was more to it.
I liked the way Gia’s dark glossy hair swung when she ran. It was so different from my brown ringlets that I couldn’t help but reach out and touch it. She was soft and lovely.
I’m relatively sure Gia echoed my confused feelings. Still, after my mom found Gia and me in my bed during a sleepover sans clothing, I was no longer allowed to play with her.
As a teenager, I dated quite a bit, but only boys. My mother made it clear that if any of her children told her they were gay, she would be horrified and would never speak to them again. This homophobic attitude was not the only conservative ideology about sex that permeated my home as a child. Still, it was the most damaging for me.
I’m not a lesbian. I’ve had enough experience with men to know that I thoroughly enjoy masculine energy. I love men, but I could never shake the feeling; I like women too.
I love women’s bodies, the curves, and the mystery. I enjoy watching women move, and the way their smiles spread across their faces and to their eyes. My favorite part of a woman is where her thighs meet the curve of her backside. Women in tight jeans are my kryptonite.
After my teen years were spent in a heterosexual dating pool, I got married too young and divorced six years later. My ex-husband was never open to the idea of me exploring my sexuality with women, or at all, really.
Eventually, I stopped thinking about it unless I was alone with a vibrator. I went through the next decade as a straight woman. Being straight indeed makes life easier.
I think my bisexuality is why I’ve always struggled to form friendships with women, especially those I’m attracted to. I worry that my attraction will show, or that they’ll somehow figure it out and judge me negatively. I fear that they’ll catch me staring at their eyes a bit too long, or notice my gaze drifting to the curve of their hips and thighs.
If I tell people I’m bisexual, what will they think of me? I’m married to a man, and in a relationship that appears like your typical suburban love story from most angles. No one really knows we are open, except those we invite in. How does bisexuality fit into the societal idea of marriage?
I also worried about my parents’ reaction. Clearly, I’m not ready for their opinion yet, because I’m writing this under a pen name. I’ll get there.
The truth is that at this point in my life, I live half a continent away from my family of origin, and they don’t even have a clue what my 13-year career entails. I’ve decided I’m just going to live my way. Clearly, there is no reason to involve them.
My marriage is open and secure. Hubby and I talk about everything, so he knows right where I am as I navigate this puzzle. It’s incredible to have his support as I figure this part of myself out. I can only imagine how powerful this unwavering encouragement would be to a young person wrestling with sexuality.
I’ve had some experiences with women, mostly sexual. I’m not attracted to all women, just as I’m not attracted to all men. It’s a strange combination of physical appearance and intelligent wit that draw me in. I have a friend who has come on to me in a few different ways, but she isn’t my type.
I met Alice three weeks ago. She’s a bubbly, attractive woman in her thirties. We exchanged numbers at a lifestyle club after it became clear that we were interested in each other. Alice is newly divorced, professional, and a single mom who is absolutely owning it. She’s my type.
After countless texts back and forth, I still hadn’t broached the subject of a date. Fear of rejection paralyzed me. Each time I thought about asking her out, I’d send a meme about parenting instead.
The other night, I was on a date with Hubby. As we played Cards Against Humanity at a local bar, he encouraged me to set up a date.
I had never asked a woman out before.
He told me to make my intentions clear and let her know I was asking for a date, not to hang out.
Alice and I texted about our day and our kids. Then, I pitched. I said I’d like to take her on a date; coffee or a drink, her choice. My palms were sweating even though I was doing this via text. I was sure she’d say no. I expected to see three bubbles pop up and then disappear.
Her reply was instantaneous and eager.
I’m going on my first woman-date next week. I have no idea what to wear. I feel a bit like a teenager again.
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