I never liked the term “bisexual”. The first time I heard it used, I was in middle school. On Friday nights, the co-eds from the neighboring middle schools would all gather at the rec center for a night of innocent ice skating, basketball playing, and socializing. At least that what kids told their parents. In reality, kids entered the building, waited for their friends to show up, and then ran off in the field behind the rec center to smoke pot and do God knows what. I never dared go, nor did I receive an invite. I am a strict rule follower. At the time, I feared authority. Later I would learn I am “a Capricorn rising with Saturn in Capricorn in my 1^st House of Self”, which means I prefer to follow rules because it’s easier (if this sounds interesting to you, please scroll to the bottom for more information about go-to professional witch, astrologer, and best friend, Dani).

When kids weren’t in the grass smoking grass, other kids sat all the way at the top of the bleachers overlooking the ice rink, where they were difficult to spot. That’s where the pre-teens engaged in a level of PDA that rivaled what you would see in a 90’s teen movie (think Never Been Kissed or She’s All That); where students made out in the hallways between classes awaiting a bell to ring, at which point they proceeded to their classes in advanced finance and modern medicine because they all look to be about 25 years old. Anyway, the ice rink bleachers were the destination where girls would make out with each other in front of their boyfriends. They were called “bisexuals”.

I wasn’t around for that either, but word spread to the concession stand where I was elbows deep in an Uncrustable, probably sweating through the arm pits of my Pac Sun t-shirt thinking about standing next to the boy I liked at the time. In the safety of my own home, I was in the process of building confidence to kiss an actual human boy. So far, I managed to practice making out with my Hanson poster. When that one faded, it was replaced by a Blink 182 poster that shockingly got even more action. I looked around at my friends and was not tempted to kiss any of them, so this bisexual term could not apply to me. Not to mention, making out is against the rules. Have you no respect for the rules?!

As far as understandings about sexuality—that was the extent of my knowledge until about college. I knew people could be gay or lesbian. And I say “could be” because I didn’t actually know any non-straight people until I went to high school. Even then, gay people were hard to come by. Well—“out” gay people were hard to come by, and bisexuals were just annoying. Like, pick a side already. Stop sitting there dipping your toes into the pool and then walking away. Either get all the way in or go eat a hot dog or something. No one knows what to do with you.

That’s essentially how people talked about bisexuality, myself included. I too thought life would be easier if everyone just picked a side, so I knew what box to place them in. All that to say, bisexuals had a less than stellar reputation. So, you can imagine my dismay when years later, I realized I was one.

Let me rewind.

Liking boys always came easy to me.  My first love came in the form of an Arabian “street rat” turned prince. He sang, he danced, did parkour, and had a monkey. Aladdin had it all. I also remember my first real crush. Kyle Wolfson. We went to pre-school together but after graduation day rolled around, I never saw him again. I know what you’re thinking, and yes, I did try to find him on Instagram right after I typed his name, but I came up empty handed.

In 6^th grade, my friends and I paired off with boys to hold hands on the playground equipment. Every piece of equipment on our elementary school playground had a specific name, loosely based on resemblance. The Hot Dog, the Cheese, the Hamburger, the Newspaper, the Rainbow. The list continues. The Hot Dog and the Hamburger were most conducive to secretive hand holding. Maybe that’s why I often get hungry at the thought of intimacy…

My love of men and male attention only grew with age. I won’t bore you with the details of my dating history—that’s what therapy is for. My point is, until my junior year of college, there was no reason for me to think I was anything but straight. I liked guys and I really liked when they liked me. What else is there to say?

Great question.

It all started when I signed up to play rugby (is there a more cliché location?). I had never played rugby before, but I had played sports in high school, and so far in college, all of my extracurricular activities landed me in a chair indoors staring at a computer screen, fucking up my sleep cycle with massive amounts of blue light. I’d had enough. I landed on rugby because it had the cheapest fees, required almost no equipment, and no one got cut. It checked all my boxes.

Other than finding out I’m not straight, I would say people are equally surprised to find out I played rugby. I get it. I don’t really look like someone who would excel in a sport like rugby. I also did not excel in rugby. I did OK as an averagely athletic individual, but I had no future in the sport. But this is not a blog about the demise of my rugby career. It’s a blog about falling in love. Well, it’s not exactly about that either. You know what? Why don’t you keep reading it and figure it out yourself.

I had two rugby coaches in college. One was a very nice man in his late 30’s, who wore cargo shorts and never made eye contact with us. He was exactly who you would want to coach a bunch of crazy women in their early 20’s. Then there was Hannah. If you follow any of my other blogs, I once admitted to “fantasizing about [my] androgenous female rugby coach”. That was Hannah. She was, and still is, an incredibly talented rugby player with a great face, and at the time, a Justin Bieber hair cut that only someone with her jaw line could pull off.

I felt nervous around Hannah. At first, I just chalked it up to a Girl Crush. I haven’t looked up the Urban Dictionary definition of “girl crush”, but in my experience, the term is used by straight women to express their feelings of attraction/appreciation/admiration for another female person. The word “girl” is used to distinguish it from a run-of-the-mill “crush”; one in which you may pursue. I hope this helps any of my mom’s friends who may be reading this. 

I had my fair share of girl crushes before Hannah, but they mostly came in the form of celebrities and TV show characters. After some time, “girl crush” no longer adequately described how I felt about Hannah. The nervous butterflies feeling I had holding hands on the Hot Dog, were the same butterflies I felt when Hannah would talk to me. Luckily, we were running all practice so even if I did sweat through my t-shirt, I could play it off as hard work rather than nervous energy. All the girls on my team joked about Hannah’s good looks, but they seemed able to put that shit away when practice started. Meanwhile I found myself doing what I do best; attempting to charm her with my sense of humor and mediocre athleticism. I wanted her to know I was the whole package. 

I tried to figure out how to appropriately articulate what happened next, but I think I’m going to save that story for the book. Here’s the short version: at some point, I had enough confirmation that my crush was reciprocated, so I made a move. Hannah and I dated for a couple months after I graduated college and it was amazing.  Sure, our relationship was a little…unconventional, but in a super charming way that would make a great Netflix series if anyone wants to write it.

At the risk of sounding overly dramatic, while dating Hannah, I was privately grappling with what this all meant for my identity. As you recall, the word “bisexual” didn’t leave me with any warm, fuzzy feelings. It was kind of like finding out you belong in Slytherin (just an FYI, I only read the first 3 books, but I think Slytherin’s bad reputation holds true throughout the series). But, was that what I was? The sorting hat is never wrong (again, only read the first 3 books. Here’s hoping the analogy holds up).

However, once I stripped away all the connotations and preconceived notions about the word “bisexual”, the more it seemed to fit. Realizing I was bi sort of felt like discovering a freckle on my back I had never seen before but had presumably been there my whole life. Looking back now, there were definitely some signs; like when Ciara’s, Ride, music video came out and I watched it at least 3 times in a row because I felt something. Not to mention, have you seen a Hanson poster from the 90’s? At the risk of offending someone, those were some feminine looking brothers.

After Hannah and I broke up, I starred in another rugby love story, but this one lasted longer. She and I dated for about a year, at which point I started “coming out” to people. As a straight-passing, white women, I had never been faced with an opportunity to risk feeling so rejected or judged by the world for being myself—but I certainly felt that way as I told people in my life about my relationship. I didn’t really think about it as “coming out”. I just wanted to treat the relationship like any other. I knew I loved her like I loved any person I dated before. I wanted to introduce her to friends and family, post pictures of us on Facebook, take her to the work Christmas party. You know—relationship shit.

Unfortunately, it didn’t feel that easy. I felt like I owed people an explanation for why this relationship looked different than the others. I remember a neighbor saw us kiss in front of my house and she didn’t make eye contact with me again for years. Now I just go out of my way to wave and say hi to her. Sometimes I laugh to myself wondering if she thinks she’s going to catch my gayness if we look at each other too long. Maybe she already has…

But truthfully, as far as coming out’s go, I am blessed. The family members and friends I decided to tell (no, I didn’t tell everyone, but I guess they’ll know now…surprise!), all reacted lovingly. I remember telling my brother I had a girlfriend, and without skipping a beat, he enthusiastically said “well that’s nice!” I tell you that for no other reason than to demonstrate how wonderful my brother is.

The rugby love story ended about 7 years ago. I have since dated guys because that’s just how the cards fell. There is a lot of discourse out there about what it’s like to be bisexual in a straight relationship, so I’ll let you do that research yourself if you’re interested. But due to the nature of my relationship, my sexuality doesn’t come up much. It’s still a big part of who I am, and at the same time, it’s also relatively minor. That’s why some of you may have known me for years and this is the first you’re hearing of it. You’re finally seeing my back freckle.

One final side story before I wrap this up. Last June, I wanted to write this blog for Pride Month, but I got “too busy”. It’s cute, right? The lies we tell ourselves to hide from the truth. Even this go-around, I lost track of the times I thought to myself “I mean, do you really have to write this? Why don’t you leave the Pride essays to the professionals” Or, “I think if you wait one more year, you’ll be able to get this just right…”, but when I’m honest with myself, every justification for putting this off boiled down to being scared. Remember what I said about fear of rejection for being who you are? Yeah, I don’t know if that actually ever goes away.

But I’m reminded that every person who comes out grapples with this fear in 1000 different ways; and in all honesty, I have it so good. Some people might be weirded out by this post. Maybe I’ll have to field some questions at the next family gathering, but this blog is probably going to land just like the rest of them. After four days, all will return to normal.

I also remind myself, the more genuine and authentic I am in my life, the more genuineness and authenticity I see, and that’s an enormous blessing. I don’t represent the entire “B” in LGBTQIA+ with this story. I’m simply telling you my own experience because I think about Pride as a reminder for all of us to be our genuine selves without an explanation.

And on the off chance you are weirded out, I’ll leave you with my favorite Chelsea Handler quote: “The world is only getting browner and gayer, so you better hop aboard, or you’re going to miss the bus.”

So there you have it! Happy Pride month, y’all!

Special Shoutout:

Dani: The professional witch and astrologer. Check out her website:

https://www.thatwitchnextdoor.com/links

Keegan: Keegan’s known about my back freckle since we started dating, and similar to my brother, he has always been unphased and supportive. The day before I posted this blog, I was feeling incredibly nervous. I didn’t know what his family’s reaction would be, or mine. Not that I had any reason to think it would be bad, I just didn’t want him to have to field any questions I shared this with him, and without hesitation, he said, “Just post it. Who cares?” He’s the best. He also took these photos, which is no easy task. I’m difficult to photograph.