By Michelle Snyder
Rebecca was unique, mysterious, and beautiful. She was unlike any other girl I had ever known, and I considered myself lucky to have become her friend. Around her, I felt I could express myself freely, away from the strictness of my parents. I was 17. My feelings started to change when one day we were hanging out with some friends and we kissed for the first time. I was sitting between her and this guy I liked, kissing her while she had her hands in my pockets; he was kissing me on the neck. A surge of sexual energy passed through me like nothing I had ever felt before. This was the beginning of my first crush on a girl. Infatuation, desire, wanting to touch her, kiss her, experiment with her; oh, the rush I felt. It was two years of endless desire for her skin to be naked with mine, our breasts touching, our legs intertwined with each other, making out and kissing. I wanted her to be my girlfriend. In the end, my heart was broken when we found ourselves in the same bed and I lay there while she had sex with her boyfriend instead of me, but that feeling and desire to be with a woman never left.
I met Matt at a house party purely by accident; I was 19. He was sitting alone, and I went over to him and said hi. He was quiet, shy, and sweet. We spent the rest of the evening together, and even though I was drunk, he never once took advantage of me. We were each other’s first serious relationship. We dated for a year and a half and had so much fun together. His family and friends welcomed me with open arms. He brought out the best in me. When I told him about Rebecca, he never judged me or treated me differently; he was very supportive. He was willing to let me explore this other side of me while we were still dating, and I wish I could have, but I felt like I would have beem cheating on him, and I just couldn’t get past that. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that he noticed my evolving crush on my roommate Renee even before I did! I had no evidence that she had any attraction to me or that she even liked women. How could it be that I loved Matt and still had the desire to be with Renee? Was I a closet lesbian and just afraid to admit it? I was still physically attracted to Matt, but at the same time, tangled up inside, was an insatiable urge to make love to Renee. I didn’t know what to do or where to turn. I felt fear, confusion, and guilt. As time went on, I found that Matt wasn’t willing to communicate with me in the way I needed in order to keep a long-term relationship moving forward, so with deep sadness, I broke it off.
I looked up a coming out support group at the nearby college. Once I started talking and sharing, I realized that I wasn’t crazy, sick, or confused. It gave me a refuge where I could be okay for an hour or two. I searched out books on the subject of bisexuality, but never found anything that spoke to me. I came across a lot of stories about threesomes, and as erotic as they were, that wasn’t what I was interested in. There wasn’t much out there that sounded like me that I could relate to. I cried a lot. I thought a lot. I was scared a lot. The Kinsey scale came up in most books, but it didn’t make much sense to me. I felt lost, lonely, and confused. I can’t describe the disgust I had with myself. Would I ever be able to lead a normal life? What kind of relationships could I have? How could someone ever love me?
Renee was just an acquaintance when I moved in with her. It was a convenient living situation: she needed a roommate, I needed a place to live, and the rent was cheap. I thought she was adorable right away; she was intriguing, and she was creative like me. She even got me a job at the bakery where she worked. For the first few months we did our own thing, we mostly kept to ourselves but did enjoy the same tastes in decorating and shared our smoke breaks together on the steps outside. After eight months, we moved into the downstairs apartment. I quit the bakery job and when I returned from a weekend trip. Renee started treating me differently: I didn’t see it coming. I couldn’t believe that she liked me. After all those feelings I had been hiding, I found that she had been feeling the same way. Little by little, we started dating and sleeping together. This was our first lesbian relationship. It was new and exciting. All I wanted was to make her happy; I would have done anything for her. It was too bad that I didn’t know how to make myself happy. I didn’t miss men; I was devoted to her and only her, but I still didn’t feel that the label of ‘lesbian’ fit me. After two years, our relationship had grown stagnant; we hadn’t grown as a couple or as individuals, and I broke up with her. A year later our paths crossed again. We seemed to have grown and were willing to give the relationship another try. We really wanted it to work; it was a fresh start for both of us. For the next two years, we dated, but codependency took hold and we fell into the same unhealthy patterns as before, so with heavy hearts, we once again broke up. Over the course of the last ten years, we have remained in contact and have created a lasting friendship.
At some point in my mid-twenties, I came to the conclusion that I didn’t want the burden of other people’s opinions controlling my thoughts or poisoning my beliefs. I wanted control over my own life and happiness. I wasn’t a bad person. I wasn’t a delinquent. I was ready to be who I was, label or no label. I let people know that I was in a relationship with a woman, hoping that others could see that gay people are not scary, dirty, or shameful. I didn’t preach to them; I just talked about my girlfriend just as a straight woman might talk about her boyfriend. Why should I be left out of the conversations?
For me, identifying as bisexual is more about attraction to people, not what is underneath the clothes. It is a matter of what clicks with our personalities, our views on life and our interests, and a human connection. Love is love, and it is colorful and bountiful. It could be a girl with long red curls, or a guy in nicely-fitting blue jeans. Sometimes I find that I lean more towards one sex than another, but I never tire of either. I am not attracted to every woman I see, just as I am not attracted to every guy I see. A girl can be attractive to me, but that doesn’t mean I would take her to bed or desire to have a relationship with her. I like what I like. There has to be a more personal connection in order for there to be a sexual connection. We are comprised of both female and male chromosomes, and to be attracted to both, for me, means balance.
Michelle, 39, recently married Bill. They have an open relationship, one dog and four cats. Bill works as an engineer during the week, and runs a skydive operation on the weekends, Michelle runs manifest, and occasionally jumps out of airplanes. She recently started a dog-walking business and manages Bill’s storage facility. She enjoys yoga, knitting and kayaking.
Featured image: This graphic was created by Shiri, Eisner, author of the forthcoming book, Bi: Notes for a Bisexual Revolution. It is reprinted with her permission.