To be fair, she’s known me in the past few years, when most of the people I’ve dated have been guys, and has only heard me geek out about a few women I’ve been interested in or dated/slept with, so it was an interesting comment.
I’m not writing this column because I feel like I need to justify “how bisexual” I am, but because it made me think about why I value the label, and bristled at being thought of as “straight.” If my sexual identity were based only on the kind of sex acts I was presently engaging in, not only would it be constantly changing, but I fear I’d get mental whiplash from trying to reprocess who I am with every person I fuck. Sexuality, as I understand it and experience it, is so much broader than that, and I’m glad it is. Right now I’m in a monogamous relationship with a man, but that, for me, has no impact on my sexual orientation.
As Sinclair Sexsmith recently wrote in response to a reader query on the topic: “There is more to a queer identity than just who you’re sleeping with, and while many people don’t understand that, many others do, and you’ve got to understand that deeply in order for others to take what you’re saying seriously.” I see identifying as bi and queer as both highly personal acts, and political ones. It’s a rejection of heterosexual privilege, even though I recognize that when I’m walking down the street holding hands with a guy, or making out with him or engaging in other public displays of affection (or any of the myriad ways straight privilege plays out), to anyone watching, I’m the epitome of straightness. That is true, but it doesn’t mean that I have to embrace straightness or pretend that bisexuality begins and ends with who I’m presently sleeping with or dating. For some people, their sexual identity might center around their partner, but not for me.
In the decade plus since I came out as bisexual, I’ve started to care less about what other people think about me and more about trying to be true to myself. My sexuality is not a fixed entity; it changes and grows, sometimes by the day or week. I like that I can’t precisely pin it down, that I might find myself attracted to someone I never would’ve predicted “on paper” that I would be, and not much of that has to do with gender. Whether we’re talking sexuality or anything else, there’s no way we can please all of the people all of the time, and if I were to try to do so, I think I’d doom myself. How I live out and conceive of my sexual needs and desires changes often, sometimes related to who I’m sleeping with, sometimes related to lots of external factors. There have been times when I enjoyed taking my top off and walking in the Dyke March, in screwing my way through San Francisco’s queer men and women in a weekend, times when I’ve engaged in extremely kinky roleplaying, and other times when, frankly, I’d really rather be alone. The through line to all those scenarios is that I’m still me.
In some ways, my embrace of bisexual is also about a rejection of heteronormativity, of all the parts of straightness that feel oppressive to me. Yes, there are privileges accorded to straight people, but I feel there are also burdens; it’s assumed that you want to get married and become a parent and be monogamous. Stepping outside any of those roles messes with the dominant culture’s plans for you. I’d like to think being part of the LGBT community has made me more open and empathetic, and showed me how people are, in fact, so much more than any label.
What’s interesting to me is that this title, bisexual, is important to me, It's something I feel I carry no matter who I’m dating, or not dating, whereas “poly” and “kinky” are not intrinsic parts of my identity. They are things I have been at various times in my life, or rather, my relationships have been. Bisexuality is different for me, perhaps because it feels more primal than either being poly or kinky — not that they need to be pitted against each other. I used to struggle with the word “bisexual” because it implies there are only two sexes or genders, which is not something I believe, but it’s a shorthand that, in general, works for me.
My bisexuality has also played itself out in almost all of my relationships in some form. Often the form it takes is in talking dirty, and sometimes it’s gone beyond that. One girlfriend, who was pretty much exclusively into women, indulged my interest in a male friend of ours with a threesome. With most of the straight men I’ve dated, not surprisingly, they’ve been interested in fantasizing aloud about me with another woman or hearing about my own fantasies. I certainly feel freer when I have a boyfriend sharing my fantasies about women, real or imagined, than I do about other men.
Sadly, there are still some people who don’t understand that “bisexual” can coincide with “monogamous” (if that’s what you’re into). Actress Anna Paquin came out as bisexual in a PSA last year; she also wed True Blood star Stephen Moyer, and there were inevitable tabloid stories wondering how her bisexuality would impact her marriage, as if it would be a hindrance. But it was never a secret; Paquin told him at the start of their relationship, reportedly, that she was attracted to men and women, and Moyer said in an interview, “I condone what she has done 100 percent, and it’s her business to talk about it, not mine. It doesn’t change anything. I’m proud of who she is.”
In researching this column, I found out that Green Day’s Billie Joe Armstrong, also married (to a woman), identifies as bisexual. I’m pretty sure once you start asking, you’re likely to discover people who fall at least somewhere outside the category of “have never even thought about someone of the same sex” right next door — or in your family. Not that we have to know what our friends, neighbors and relatives are up to behind closed doors, but I bet if we did, it would knock some of that compulsory heterosexuality down off its pedestal.
That doesn’t mean, however, that my bisexuality is only something I think of in terms of how a boyfriend might look at it, though I can safely say that any guy weirded out by the fact that I’m bi would not be someone I’d feel comfortable dating. It’s a part of me that goes deeper than simple lust and certainly has broadened personal definitions of what “sex” is. That’s a far from original thought, but it’s true nonetheless.
At the risk of contradicting everything I’ve just written, I also think that we rely a little too much on labels. I know self-identified lesbians who sleep with men on occasion, straight girls who are up for everything from flings to true relationships with women, and all sorts of in betweens. Sometimes the labels put more pressure on people, because if they don’t feel they fit a certain stereotype of what that label means, they fear they can’t even conceive of being part of that group.
Not everyone cares about labeling themselves, and I’m glad that more people are okay with making statements acknowledging same-sex desire, whether joking or not. It makes it more acceptable to even acknowledge that, yes, men can be attracted to men (and identify as straight, gay, bi or whatever) and the same for women. I love that Khloé Kardashian answered a question about which celebrity has the best hair by saying, “I’m obsessed with JLo and everything about her. She looks so freaking good and I would totally bone her.” Does that make her bisexual? Who cares?
I’m not writing this column because I feel like I need to justify “how bisexual” I am, but because it made me think about why I value the label, and bristled at being thought of as “straight.” If my sexual identity were based only on the kind of sex acts I was presently engaging in, not only would it be constantly changing, but I fear I’d get mental whiplash from trying to reprocess who I am with every person I fuck. Sexuality, as I understand it and experience it, is so much broader than that, and I’m glad it is. Right now I’m in a monogamous relationship with a man, but that, for me, has no impact on my sexual orientation.
As Sinclair Sexsmith recently wrote in response to a reader query on the topic: “There is more to a queer identity than just who you’re sleeping with, and while many people don’t understand that, many others do, and you’ve got to understand that deeply in order for others to take what you’re saying seriously.” I see identifying as bi and queer as both highly personal acts, and political ones. It’s a rejection of heterosexual privilege, even though I recognize that when I’m walking down the street holding hands with a guy, or making out with him or engaging in other public displays of affection (or any of the myriad ways straight privilege plays out), to anyone watching, I’m the epitome of straightness. That is true, but it doesn’t mean that I have to embrace straightness or pretend that bisexuality begins and ends with who I’m presently sleeping with or dating. For some people, their sexual identity might center around their partner, but not for me.
In the decade plus since I came out as bisexual, I’ve started to care less about what other people think about me and more about trying to be true to myself. My sexuality is not a fixed entity; it changes and grows, sometimes by the day or week. I like that I can’t precisely pin it down, that I might find myself attracted to someone I never would’ve predicted “on paper” that I would be, and not much of that has to do with gender. Whether we’re talking sexuality or anything else, there’s no way we can please all of the people all of the time, and if I were to try to do so, I think I’d doom myself. How I live out and conceive of my sexual needs and desires changes often, sometimes related to who I’m sleeping with, sometimes related to lots of external factors. There have been times when I enjoyed taking my top off and walking in the Dyke March, in screwing my way through San Francisco’s queer men and women in a weekend, times when I’ve engaged in extremely kinky roleplaying, and other times when, frankly, I’d really rather be alone. The through line to all those scenarios is that I’m still me.
In some ways, my embrace of bisexual is also about a rejection of heteronormativity, of all the parts of straightness that feel oppressive to me. Yes, there are privileges accorded to straight people, but I feel there are also burdens; it’s assumed that you want to get married and become a parent and be monogamous. Stepping outside any of those roles messes with the dominant culture’s plans for you. I’d like to think being part of the LGBT community has made me more open and empathetic, and showed me how people are, in fact, so much more than any label.
What’s interesting to me is that this title, bisexual, is important to me, It's something I feel I carry no matter who I’m dating, or not dating, whereas “poly” and “kinky” are not intrinsic parts of my identity. They are things I have been at various times in my life, or rather, my relationships have been. Bisexuality is different for me, perhaps because it feels more primal than either being poly or kinky — not that they need to be pitted against each other. I used to struggle with the word “bisexual” because it implies there are only two sexes or genders, which is not something I believe, but it’s a shorthand that, in general, works for me.
My bisexuality has also played itself out in almost all of my relationships in some form. Often the form it takes is in talking dirty, and sometimes it’s gone beyond that. One girlfriend, who was pretty much exclusively into women, indulged my interest in a male friend of ours with a threesome. With most of the straight men I’ve dated, not surprisingly, they’ve been interested in fantasizing aloud about me with another woman or hearing about my own fantasies. I certainly feel freer when I have a boyfriend sharing my fantasies about women, real or imagined, than I do about other men.
Sadly, there are still some people who don’t understand that “bisexual” can coincide with “monogamous” (if that’s what you’re into). Actress Anna Paquin came out as bisexual in a PSA last year; she also wed True Blood star Stephen Moyer, and there were inevitable tabloid stories wondering how her bisexuality would impact her marriage, as if it would be a hindrance. But it was never a secret; Paquin told him at the start of their relationship, reportedly, that she was attracted to men and women, and Moyer said in an interview, “I condone what she has done 100 percent, and it’s her business to talk about it, not mine. It doesn’t change anything. I’m proud of who she is.”
In researching this column, I found out that Green Day’s Billie Joe Armstrong, also married (to a woman), identifies as bisexual. I’m pretty sure once you start asking, you’re likely to discover people who fall at least somewhere outside the category of “have never even thought about someone of the same sex” right next door — or in your family. Not that we have to know what our friends, neighbors and relatives are up to behind closed doors, but I bet if we did, it would knock some of that compulsory heterosexuality down off its pedestal.
That doesn’t mean, however, that my bisexuality is only something I think of in terms of how a boyfriend might look at it, though I can safely say that any guy weirded out by the fact that I’m bi would not be someone I’d feel comfortable dating. It’s a part of me that goes deeper than simple lust and certainly has broadened personal definitions of what “sex” is. That’s a far from original thought, but it’s true nonetheless.
At the risk of contradicting everything I’ve just written, I also think that we rely a little too much on labels. I know self-identified lesbians who sleep with men on occasion, straight girls who are up for everything from flings to true relationships with women, and all sorts of in betweens. Sometimes the labels put more pressure on people, because if they don’t feel they fit a certain stereotype of what that label means, they fear they can’t even conceive of being part of that group.
Not everyone cares about labeling themselves, and I’m glad that more people are okay with making statements acknowledging same-sex desire, whether joking or not. It makes it more acceptable to even acknowledge that, yes, men can be attracted to men (and identify as straight, gay, bi or whatever) and the same for women. I love that Khloé Kardashian answered a question about which celebrity has the best hair by saying, “I’m obsessed with JLo and everything about her. She looks so freaking good and I would totally bone her.” Does that make her bisexual? Who cares?
I personally like the terms "heteroflexible" and "homoflexible". They help in some areas. I do agree with the fact that labels tend to limit how people view a person. I am forever being asked to explain my lifestyle choices. And I honestly don't mind. Every time I do, I am either educating someone on the vast possibilities of simply being oneself or I am uncovering the fact that this may not be the type of person I wish to associate with. I love this post and kudos on speaking up!
I've read a hundred of these articles in which bisexual women complain that no one believes that they're bisexual because they're dating men. This is made-up attention-seeking. I know this because any woman who dares to say that she's heterosexual is told "Oh but all women are bisexual" and "Oh but you must desire women just a little bit because the female body is just made to be sexually appealing" and "You haven't experimented enough" and "My wife thought that until...". Some women are truly bisexual, but I simply don't believe that they have a problem convincing anyone to believe that. Men find the idea of "straight-looking" women having sex with each other sexually arousing, and those men's opinions rule the world - we all seek to please those men, and saying your bisexual as a "straight-looking" woman is about the best way to make sure they hang on your every word.
I LOVE this article. I think that it is a much less discussed misplaced stereotype that bisexual means not capable of monogamy. My mother thinks this and I have yet to tell her that I am in fact bi but the truth is I AM and have been married to a man for 13 years. Happily so. Does this mean I no longer desire women? Nope. LOVE women! LOVE THEM! BUT I made a choice to be monogamous with a man that I love so I don't act on it. That is integrity not bisexuality. I do not and could not identify as straight. Sexuality is fluid. Thank you for so eloquently saying what I never could. PERFECT!
What is straight? A line can be straight, or a street, but the human heart, oh, no, it's curved like a road through mountains. ~Tennessee Williams, A Streetcar Named Desire, 1947
While as a bi-sexual woman I find this article to be very accurate. But I want to ask the author a serious question.
Why did you use the word fuck? I hope there was a good reason beyond shock value, because I shared this with my friends and family and now I'm sorry I did, because none of my older generation of family is going to be able look past that word to the very important information in this article.
And those are the people who matter. Those are the ones who need to see articles like this... We already know. We are the people who feel this way. It's stepping up and being able to show how we feel inside to the people we love and through them to the world that we need to focus on. It's easy to forget that in this day and age of polarized emotions and opinions. We have to reach out, not just lash out.
Okay I think I'm done *picks up her soap box and goes back to playing video games*
@ Rebecca Gerdel: Don't blame the author for the reaction of the audience. If I were in your shoes, I would have copied and pasted the article into an email for my family to read, and edited out the swear word. Then again, my family's a little more flexible than your appears to be where words are concerned, so I probably wouldn't have bothered and just shared the link to the article as is. To each their own, I suppose. I just wouldn't want the author to think she has to start censoring herself for an audience she doesn't even realize is going to see her work. *shrugs* I loathe censorship on principle, so maybe that's why I took exception to your taking exception. lol
I identify as a bisexual man, and have faced many of the stereotypes described in this article. And a couple of stereotypes that women don't seem to have to deal with very often.. like the simple concept of a man being attracted to another man being generally seen as disgusting as opposed to arousing. As was pointed out, two women can make out and men see it as hot and sexy.. but two men make out, and people get grossed out. I think it's ridiculous to think that way, but there it is.
Not only that, but then there's the standard attitudes.. one woman I dated, upon being told from the get go that I am bisexual, took it upon herself to try to convince me that because I hadn't been with a guy since I was in my late teens... I wasn't really bi. The old "it was just a phase" according to her. It was as though I had this big problem that she thought I brought to her attention because I wanted her to "fix" it by rationalizing it away. Then she asked me how bisexuality "worked". She asked, in earnest, if I just woke up each day and decided which gender I'd be attracted to that day. She asked me how she could trust a me to stay faithful if I was just going to wake up some random day and not be attracted to women anymore. As though I could only be attracted to one or the other at any given time. It made me want to jump out of the moving vehicle we were in and walk home. I didn't, because my sense of self-preservation is quite strong. But I really really wanted to. lol
That was the event that made me realize that people really just have no idea what bisexuals are all about. I had to curb my instinct to run away screaming and explain to her that my attraction doesn't switch back and forth. I could see she had trouble with that concept. To her, the world was black or white. but never black AND white. Forget grey entirely.
In any case, I think this article is beautifully written and that's why I'm proud to have shared it on Facebook with friends and family alike. If they take issue with the one "bad" word in there somewhere, that's on them. If they let that word take their focus away from the point of the article, that's, once again, on them. I'm not holding the author responsible for her audience's reaction to her work.
I love this article. I have been struggling with this issue a lot lately. I hate being identified as straight. I have been in a monogamous relationship with a man for 5 years and I am always identified as straight and have felt the need to correct people who make that assumption. I am always treated like I'm not REALLY bi because I haven't been with a woman in 5 years.
@Internet.Techmonkey: I personally find the concept of man-on-man very arousing! In fact, I would love it if my boyfriend was bisexual and would agree to an MMF threesome. It's unfortunate that there is such a double standard though
I also identify as bisexual, however I have never even been with another woman. I have had three (monogamous) relationships, all of which have been with men, and I only realized that I was interested in women while dating my current boyfriend. I am questioned frequently about how I can identify as bisexual if I have never had a sexual encounter with another woman and that because I have not, I must not either 1) know that I am or 2) be bisexual. I, however, am very much attracted to women and desire having sex or (possibly in the future) a relationship with one. I am currently unable to pursue any of this because I am in a monogamous relationship, however that does not mean that I am straight, although many people try to tell me that I am. In any case, those are the people I do not desire having a friendship with because they are very closed minded and usually do not have anything very interesting to say anyway.
@Willow, I have problems with people asking how I know I'm bi if I've never had sex with a woman, and I like to turn around and ask how they knew they were (insert sexuality here) before they had sex? Just little thing that makes people stop for a moment.
I am so very excited to have found this article. THANK YOU!! I'm bi, always have been; and never had an issue with it. I've been married for 6 years, but i've never identified as straight. My first sexual experiences were with women/girls, in highschool--i knew early on that i was attracted to people, not their "parts." However, recently one of my newer friends called me a breeder, which is a term I find demeaning and offensive. Additionally, she knows better she's educated,gay and she knows I'm bi. I am regularly pissed-off and cynical. But her comment literally made me start crying--which shocked both of us. I told her her comment was ignorant and hurtful.But, later I had trouble nailing down what really bothered me.
Your article brought me some clarity on the whole issue. Thank you so much for your eloquent and accurate article about bi people in monogamous opposite-sex relationships.
I enjoyed this article. I actually hate labels, but I pick the title "queer" as the lesser of the label evils. I feel like my sexuality is out on the swingset. I can be very kinky, but I do enjoy vanilla lovin,' I've only dated men at this point, but I've had such strong attractions to certain women that felt too strong to be a "phase." I call myself queer because I want what I want, but I know it won't always be the same.
I find it frustrating to be told by some of my friends that I'm straight, just about as frustrating that some kinky people I know think that if you're someone kinky, you must always be sexually kinky. Why do people think that the lines are so defined? For me the lines are blurry and they always have been. That's why I hate labels.Labels are stifling.
This is so great. I really hate being identified as straight as well. It's really annoying when you come out to family and then when you aren't dating someone of the same sex they think it was a phase. No, I still wanna bang girls, sorry mom and dad.