The first time I heard the word bisexual, I was fourteen, a freshman in high school, and it was when a close friend that I had at the time used it to describe herself. I think the idea had occurred to me before, but it had never been put into such explicit terms. She liked boys and girls. Simple. She then told me that I was also bisexual and asked me to be her girlfriend. She wrote me poetry and called me her everything. I said yes, not really thinking about it. Not much later, I broke it off and told her that I was straight. Simple. A year or so later, after I had dated two guys consecutively, I started to crush on my best friend. She didn’t write me poetry, but I loved her all the same. I wanted nothing more than to kiss her and call her “sweetheart” and just be with her. Not so simple.
The first thing I felt was fear. Would people call me a liar? An attention whore? A slut? I wasn’t any of those things. At least I thought I wasn’t. I shrank into myself, needing to figure out what was happening. I convinced myself that I was turning my feelings of friendship into some greater and I left it alone. That is, until I heard whispers that she liked me too and I realized that I really wanted this. I went to her and whispered in her ear: I really like you. After I told her, I started crying and she hugged me, told me it was all okay. She was a girl and I was a girl and I wanted her.
To make a long story short, it didn’t work out, but I appreciated her so much. She never pushed me, but rather gave me time and options so that I could work it out for myself. She was the first girl I ever admitted to actually liking and I created a home for myself in the never-ending support and guidance that she gave me.
Admittedly, sometimes I question myself, but it’s also perfectly valid to do so. There are endless possibilities in the realm of human sexuality. We all take up our own boxes, we are all “special snowflakes” as my father puts it. Sexuality is fluid and complicated and extraordinarily beautiful. It still baffles me that people still believe that even one aspect of human nature is simple or completely rigid.
The word “bisexual” doesn’t scare me as much anymore, but on some level, I think that it still does. I feel like I constantly have to prove myself to others. I still have to whisper to myself that this is okay, that I’m okay. Kissing, touching, experimenting, feeling, or even doing none of the above; it’s all acceptable. There is no checklist that I need to justify the way that I feel. I love whatever is enchanting to me: gentle hands and bright eyes, bold wit and kind words. I am not a liar, an attention whore, or a slut. I love men and women and there isn’t anything wrong with me. There never was. Simple.
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