By Chelsea G. McNall
In ninth grade I spent a lot of time in our school library. One of my best friends at the time, we’ll call him Jacob, also spent a lot of time in the library. He was quite the class clown, and I was quite introverted. I have no idea now how we became friends, except we were both only children being raised by single parents, loved reading, and wanted to be writers. Books cemented our friendship, and we consistently ended up in the library together.
“Are you a lesbian?” Jacob asked me one day. We’d been friends for about two years by this point.
Startled, I looked at him. I had never considered my sexuality, but I knew damn well being a lesbian in a rural Midwestern town was not the best way to survive the next four years of high school. I didn’t get along with many of my cohort, and I sure as hell didn’t want to add a whole new reason for people to gossip.
“No!” I cried. “Why would you ask?”
Four years later, when I returned from college on a break, Jacob asked the same question. Four years after that when I returned from graduate school on another break, Jacob asked the same question. Of course, my answers got sassier every time. Why did my sexuality matter so much? He had a girlfriend, after all. Why did he just assume? Why did he feel the need to consistently dig? So many whys.
By the third time he asked if I was a lesbian, I’d run into the same question multiple times. Apparently being an independent feminist with short hair, tattoos, supporting equality through actions and language, enjoying LGBT films, having friends who embraced diverse sexualities and talking about sexuality in any way is proof of lesbianism.
I had no desire to live within strict binaries and hated that others looked at my decisions as an indication that I must be one way or the other. It’s problematic to make assumptions about someone else’s sexuality based on what you perceive as straight or queer behaviors and interests.
I didn’t like how their assumptions made me feel, so I chose to let people believe whatever they wanted without addressing any of their assumptions. Why should I pick a side to represent when all I wanted to do was write, read and love?
Moving forward, I started to play with assumptions concerning sexuality, mostly to fuck with the people around me. I turned the social mystery of my sexuality into a game and observed the reactions of those around me. Some people assume I’m straight and I’m automatically given the privilege of a straight white woman, but more often than not people assume I’m a lesbian. But my favorites are the people who just aren’t sure – like Jacob. Generally, they’re confused and think pretty hard about it. When I taught as a graduate teaching assistant, I found out I had a class of students who spent the semester debating my sexuality. Am I straight? Am I a lesbian? They dig around, hoping I won’t figure out what they’re trying to ask. As you can imagine, this group is the easiest to screw with.
Those whom I respect are those who just don’t give a damn if I’m sexually attracted to the Spaghetti Monster, Minnie Mouse or the Man in the Moon. These people are rare. They can be straight, LGBT, cats or dogs. They just accept.
No one – and I mean no one – has ever just assumed I’m bisexual. Why? It doesn’t fit their binary, and there are no stereotypical “bisexual” characteristics that happen to be physical. When we’re with men, we’re straight. When we’re with women, we’re lesbians. Without bisexual tattooed across our collective foreheads we aren’t easily identifiable.
Once I told a good friend of mine how Jacob would consistently ask about my sexuality, and he asked why I had never told Jacob I’m bisexual. I responded with a shrug.
“No one ever asks the right question,” I explained. “They always ask specifically if I’m a lesbian or if I’m straight. Jacob just didn’t ask the right question.”
Binaries bore me, and bisexuality throws a wrench into our societal binaries. We need to live our lives out LOUD and fuck with the sexual identities others force onto us.
I refuse to hold an identity that isn’t mine simply to appease someone else’s preconceived notions, and I refuse to announce my sexuality to someone just so they feel more comfortable around me. I will continue to (infrequently) date whomever I want or chill at home with a book and my laptop in a pair of my grandpa’s old sweat pants.
If the only options are straight or lesbian, I pick my cat. Thanks anyway!
Chelsea G. McNall spends her time writing, reading and drinking a ridiculous amount of coffee and tea. Haku and Momo, ninja cats extraordinaire, accompany her on literary and writing adventures.