I wish I could go back in time. I would find my twenty-something-year-old self and tell her not to worry so much. I’d tell her that she’s bisexual and that it’s fine. I wish I could give her the LGBTQ sex-ed I should’ve had in high school.
I’ve been sexually attracted to women since my early twenties. I met my now-husband when I was twenty, and as I started having feelings for women, I quickly repressed them. Sure, I kissed a few girls, but who doesn’t experiment in college, right? That, at least, was my rationale. My boyfriend and his friends fetishised this behaviour with my boyfriend telling me that he sometimes worried I was lesbian.
When I grew up, in a very conservative Christian household, we never talked about sexuality. My Christian school didn’t teach an LGBTQ curriculum and I didn’t know anyone who wasn’t straight. I’d heard of gays and lesbians, of course, but that really was my only knowledge of non-straights. And being a conservative Christian, it had been drilled into me that the gays go to hell.
Against this background, I had to find a way of dealing with my sexual attraction for women. I resented my husband for telling me that he worried I was lesbian. I was worried that he might be right. I mean, I did want women more than men. Whenever we watched porn, I was watching the women. Not because I imagined being her, but because I imagined doing her. I loved the sight of pussies and I hated the sight of dicks. Whenever I masturbated, it was with fantasies of being fucked by a woman.
But acknowledging these feelings meant (in my mind) breaking up with my husband. I couldn’t be lesbian and still be with a man, right? But I did love my husband. Our sex life was great and I was definitely attracted to him. So I focused on that and ignored all the other feelings. The only time I’d allow myself to think about women was when I masturbated. It almost became taboo for me, which of course heightened the excitement during masturbation.
Any psychologist will tell you that repressing your feelings isn’t healthy. As time wore on, I started commenting on women more. If we were watching a movie and my husband said he found the female lead attractive, I’d agree with him. I became more open about my feelings, especially when I started writing erotica. My early erotica was pretty much all FF as that was what turned me on. Again, my husband expressed his worry about me being lesbian. This time, though, this comment didn’t instil fear in me, rather curiosity.
Nearly twenty years after I first got together with my husband I realised I was bisexual. I can’t tell you how relieved I was. I remember the moment I thought, “Hang on, could I be bisexual?” I was reading Jenny Trout’s blog and she spoke about her own realisation that she was bisexual. She’s happily married with two kids – just like me. And that’s when it hit me: being bisexual doesn’t mean that I need to leave my husband and live with a woman. It could mean that, but that’s not a requirement. I could be bisexual and still be happily married.
I can’t tell you the feeling of relief, validation and – as cheesy as it sounds – homecoming this realisation brought me. I wasn’t a lesbian-in-denial. My sexual attraction to women wasn’t counter to my attraction to men. I wasn’t some sort of freak, I had a valid sexual identity.
It’s honestly shameful that it had to take me twenty years to understand my own sexuality. I wish I could go back in time and tell my younger self all about bisexuality. But only time can give you wisdom and a zero-fucks-given attitude. Had I told my younger self about bisexuality, I may not have listened. I may still have been too scared of hell to allow myself to identify anything other than straight. I was still too caught up in the conservative Christian world.
But at least the knowledge that there is something like bisexuality would’ve made life easier for me. It might have taken me a while to come to terms with it, but at least I would’ve had a label I could identify with. It makes me sad to think of all those years in which I grappled with feelings which were perfectly normal. All those years worrying that my sexual attraction to my husband was a lie because he was the only man I was attracted to. What a fucking waste. And what infuriates me is that it would’ve been SO easy to avoid. If I’d had proper sex education in school. Or if I’d had parents who told me all about LGBTQ (and were supportive rather than judgmental).
But, here we are. I’m finally out as a bisexual, though only to myself, my husband and a small selection of friends and family. My parents, as you can imagine, would disown me if they knew I was bisexual. Although maybe being in a heterosexual marriage would give me some brownie points. After all, if I’m straight-passing, they can ignore the inconvenient truth, right? I’ve been too scared to find out though. Chances are, if I tell them, they’d just deny it. “Every woman is a little curious about sex with another woman,” is the phrase I keep hearing when I tell people I’m bisexual. While that statement might be true, the truth for me is that apart from my husband, I’m solely attracted to women. I’m not just a little curious about sex with another woman. I’m sexually attracted to other women. There’s a difference.
My husband is still not really okay with my sexuality. We don’t really speak about it, but when we do he admits he is worried I’ll cheat on him. “I can’t compete with a woman,” he told me the other day, as if I have hordes of women falling at my feet trying to pull me away from my marriage. I told him not to be an idiot. I’m married to him. I’ll be just as faithful to him as a bisexual as I would be if I were straight. Bisexuality doesn’t mean being unfaithful. I hate that stereotype so much. Do I wish I had “experimented” more in college? Sure! But I’m married now and I’ll honour my wedding vows whether I’m attracted to men or women or both.
People worry that teaching kids an LGBTQ sex-ed curriculum will “turn them gay”. We all know that’s utter nonsense. You’re either gay or you’re not, learning about your sexuality isn’t going to change that. What it will do, though, is make life easier for kids who do identify as LGBTQ. It tells them that their feelings are normal. That there’s nothing wrong with them. That they can love whomever they want to love without having to repress “unacceptable” feelings.
Had I learned more about LGBTQ in high school, I would’ve still fallen in love and married my husband. He’s amazing and I couldn’t imagine life without him. But it would’ve saved me years of anguish in which I felt broken and wrong and in which I doubted my own experience. I wish I could go back in time. But that’s impossible. The only thing I can do is make sure my own children know all there is to know about LGBTQ. Sex-ed in the UK is still lacking, but I’ll make up for that at home. It’s the least I can do.
I linked this post up to Mx Nillin’s One Rainbow Apart 2020 meme. Click on the image below to read more posts from LGBTQ bloggers.
Rachel loves her job at the library and the perks that come with it. When she is caught spying on a couple having sex between the bookshelves, that should mean the end of her job. However, Chris has other ideas. Instead of reporting her, he has a proposal for her. As Rachel enthusiastically embarks on a journey full of sex and depravity with Chris, it soon becomes clear that his mind is even more twisted than hers.
Can she endure everything he instructs her to do and can he succeed in making her his submissive?
A dark, twister BDSM novella.