Consider this my coming out.
That’s right, I’m penis-loving-hairy-man worshiper. Although, more accurately, I’m lover of skinny-tall-tech-geek boys who likely have no chin pubes.
And yet, I have to sometimes wonder why I’m not a lesbian. It was just the other day that a friend asked me to explain "my type" to them, and I responded, "He has to be more beautiful than me, weigh less than I do, and do something artsy…" Pausing for a second, I found a more accurate description: "He has to be borderline gay."
After all, looking back on my past loves, I found that most of them looked more like Shane from The L Word, and had occupied professions like fashion stylists and jewelry designers. There was a time when I thought I was gay—or something close to it. I had, after all, attended Lesboville University, otherwise known as Smith College, where I came in freshman year claiming to be bi. I desperately wanted to be accepted, and to gain entrée into the Queer community at Smith, I was certain that loving women was the way to do it. For a time, I managed to convince others of my gayness. Having never discussed sex with my parents, my mother asked during one Thanksgiving break why I was so dour and depressed. "Did Sheila break up with you?" she asked out of the blue. Horrified, I could only stare back at her. "Honey, we don’t mind if you’re a lesbian," she continued. "Just raise the children Jewish." And with that she walked out of the kitchen to set the turkey on the dinner table.
Looking back, I cringe to think that I was one of those girls who "experimented" during her college years, but it’s true. I made out with ladies like crazy, pursued my female crushes, and even made a few home runs. (To those bedmates with whom I made it: I’m sorry. I’m terrible at lesbian sex).
Since then, I’ve left behind my lady-loving ways…for the most part. Yet, there are those moments that catch me; when there’s that petite brunette I spy in a club who I want desperately to hold and kiss. But touch her vag? Not so sure about that. And then there’s my butch, gayer-than-gay best friend, who I sometimes want to be my life-long partner. Yet, a make-out sesh? Ehhh...
It leaves me wondering why I’m straight, why I’m not a lesbian, and what does bisexuality mean at all to me?
These are things I would like to explore with "Blip on the Radar."
Are you a straight girl with lesbian leanings? Are you "bi-curious"? Have you ever "experimented" ? Are you the dyke who dated/kissed/fucked someone like me? Send me your stories! Email me at firstname.lastname@example.org with the subject line "Blip." Maybe together we can sort out this stuff out…
—by Leonora Epstein