Oh God! The bi privilege!
I may never come out to my parents as bisexual.
I haven’t identified as bisexual for very long. I didn’t actually have sex with a girl until last year, and although I quietly wanted to–was terrified to–for years before that, I never did, and wasn’t comfortable calling myself bi until I had actually interfaced with a pussy that wasn’t my own. I figured that was what the term “bi-curious” was for. Also, for me, if there was such a term as “bi-terrified”, that would’ve also applied. I was fairly certain that I would never actually be able to get together the courage to eat a girl out. It seemed so daunting and advanced and, although this is counter-intuitive…alien.
Of course, that was roughly the feeling I had about sucking cock before I tried it. In fact, to my teenage mind putting a penis in my mouth seemed like a disgusting, degrading endeavor. When rumors went around my high school about any girl “needing a pair of kneepads” as we put it, I always thought, “Poor thing! Why on Earth did she do that?” Remember, blooms just don’t happen much later than mine did. Obviously, once there was finally a cock rearing in front of me all hard and enticing, it finally clicked and I swallowed it with alacrity and without a speck of doubt. Similarly, when I finally had a pussy waiting under me, pretty and beckoning, I was suddenly way less scared and way more bisexual than I had ever given myself credit for. I only ached to make her feel something amazing. I only felt humbled, elated by the way she bucked and moaned as I tried to be less inept, to faster figure out her spots and secrets.
After that experience, I started to shyly define myself as bi. I sort of looked around the couple times I said it out loud to make sure it was okay, to see if anyone objected or called shenanigans on me. No one batted an eyelash (I don’t think anyone I told was all that surprised), and I didn’t get struck by lightning either.
I’ve never had a relationship with a woman. I’ve had weird pseudo-relationships, definitely. My best friend in high school had a meltdown when she learned I was thinking of going to Homecoming with a guy; my other best friend and I used to share chewing gum the fun way. The girl who became my Sophomore year roommate in college decided to become my friend when she watched me during a courtyard session of our Freshman Comp class, my hair backlit by the afternoon sun, and determined that she thought I was pretty. We read books about sex to each other late into the night, gave casual caresses that crackled with sexual tension, and our fights were practically lovers’ quarrels. I spent a lot of time during my late teens/early twenties thinking I could well be a lesbian (I did have a boyfriend, but I wasn’t physically attracted to him so much as in some kind of occult thrall, and I knew it). I was always sure I could date a chick; that was never the question.
Now that I’m no longer afraid to fuck a chick, there is no question. I could easily have a relationship with a woman. But I’m attracted to guys too, and so I have the bisexual privilege of never having to deal with being in a same-sex relationship if I don’t choose to. This makes it really easy for me to just not mention that I lust for, desire, could love women. It makes it easy to have a boyfriend and play with girls once in a while and never have to ask people to confront any facet of my sexuality that might be uncomfortable. And for my parents, my liking women would be a problem. Probably THE irrevocable problem. Maybe even worse than getting… gasp!… an abortion.
My friend Eloise Chestlegrinn didn’t come out to her family when she identified as bi, but as she became more and more sure that she preferred innies to outies it grew into a big issue. She started feeling that not claiming her sexuality was like lying to her very close (and very religious) family. What had been an acceptable deception as a bisexual woman was suddenly intolerable as a lesbian. And that makes sense: once you eschew men you can’t “pass” anymore. The option of camouflaging as straight has disappeared, and you’re no longer hiding what may be one aspect of yourself; you’re now hiding your entire romantic life. The fact that she fell in love with an amazing woman only adds to her yearning to be out. She wants to say “This is who I am and this is who I love!” fearlessly from the rooftops. Of course, she also feels like she’s going to need to add “…and please don’t hate me.” because her parents are probably going to shit bricks and then tell her she’s going to hell.
And that’s more or less what my parents would also do. They would be very, very sad and talk a lot about “urges” and “choices” and “lifestyle”. My mother would cry that she won’t be seeing me in heaven. It would honestly suck, and I don’t want to do it. I never want to deal with the mess it would make. And in a way, they’d be right about one thing: it is a choice in my case. I don’t have to fuck girls; I want to fuck girls. I really want to fuck girls, and it bothers me that anyone is pathetic enough to have a negative reaction to that choice, but I went through over two and a half decades not fucking them, and I can obviously choose not to. I just find that choice insipid and limiting, because my attraction to women is not a choice. And if I ever really fall for one, I may very well want to holler something from the rooftops about it and not get lectured about Leviticus 18:22.
Same-sex attraction isn’t a choice. Behavior is a choice. My father has worked with churches his entire adult life (does it surprise anyone that I’m a preacher’s kid?), and has counseled many well-meaning people who were terrified of hell on how to modify their behavior and “resist homosexual urges” by becoming half-hearted heterosexual spouses. You know how that turns out? Fucking badly! When I say behavior is a choice, I’m talking about Eloise’s parents, and potentially, someday, mine. We can’t change the fact that we want to touch boobies and lick clits and make pussies quiver and their owners writhe. And we shouldn’t be the ones to adjust. It’s a lot easier to choose to react to the news that your child’s gay or bisexual with understanding and love than it is for that child to eternally resist her truth. Our parents could modify their judgmental behavior and choose to embrace the parts in the Bible (if Bible-thump they must) that deal with not condemning others, loving everyone, and leaving the tough questions about who and who is not damned for all eternity to the great big Dom in the sky rather than focusing on the couple places that say “OMG fags are evil!” right next to where it says that eating shrimp is an abomination. How about THAT lifestyle choice?
