The Good Bi Girl (with apologies to Neil Simon)
by Beverly Fisher, Slut at Large and Woman of Easy Virtue

“The good thing about being bisexual is that it doubles your chance of a date on a Saturday night.” — Woody Allen

I’ve always liked women. What’s not to like? To quote an old friend, “the thing about girls is, they’re soft, and they smell good.”

Women have curves in all the right places. They’re even better in motion, jiggly round flesh, swaying and bouncing. Women look terrific naked. Men look great in their underwear. Men are all hard planes and lines, muscle and sinew, until you take off their underwear. Then there’s this thing hanging there. It just doesn’t fit with the rest of the body. It’s like God finished making man, stepped back, and went “Oh, shit, I’ve got this extra part here. Well, I’ll just stick it on there someplace.” Like assembling a toy at Christmas and discovering you’ve got one piece left over.

Women are just a better design. We even have indoor plumbing.

That’s not to say that I don’t like men, because I do. I just happen to enjoy both sexes. I’m bisexual. It took me years to be able to say that, so I’ll say it again: I’m bisexual.

A young girl’s fancy

Since I was very small, I loved looking at women, or reading about them. When I was around seven or eight years old, I discovered some very interesting things in my parents’ bedroom. Tucked away under my mother’s side of the bed was a book, Delta of Venus, by Anais Nin. It was very adult erotica, not meant to be read by elementary school children. The book featured short stories about a variety of fetishes and sexual experiences, including adventures with three or more people of a variety of sexes. I found the book fascinating and read it whenever I got the chance. If my mother only knew how she had accidentally warped me from a very young age.

Under my father’s side of the bed was a stack of Playboy magazines. I explored all of them, looking at the pictures of all the pretty girls. I was delighted by their smooth skin, their full breasts, their dreamy looks. I loved the slight swelling of the belly, the roundness of the hips, the curve of the calves. I didn’t imagine that I would look like that one day; I knew that these women were some kind of ideal, perfection frozen in the pages of a magazine. The women in my life – my mother, my aunt, teachers – didn’t look like that. But I loved to look at the pretty girls, and both the magazines and Delta of Venus became staples of my masturbatory repertoire.

At that point, it really didn’t occur to me that there was anything wrong with finding photos of women, and stories of lesbian acts, arousing. I just felt what I felt, and that was okay.

But I grew up in Colorado, a place many gays and lesbians refer to as “the Hate State.” It wasn’t safe to be queer in Colorado. Kids in school used derogatory words about gays to insult one another: “Don’t be such a fag,” “You’re a faggot,” “That’s so gay!” “You’re a sissy,” etc.

So I came to view my fascination with women as something wrong, dirty. It was bad to look at pictures of pretty girls. At least, if you’re female.

As a young teenager, I began to have graphic sexual dreams. In these nocturnal adventures, I would make love with one woman, or even several. I would awake ashamed and horrified, knowing that what I had dreamed was bad, somehow. I would masturbate to try to stave off these dreams, even though I had come to believe masturbation was bad, too.

But the feelings were still there.

A grand experiment

One night when I was fifteen, I spent the night over at my girlfriend Trudy’s house. Trudy was cute as a button and had a great smile and twinkly eyes. We were bad girls that night. Her mother wasn’t home (of which I’m sure my parents were quite unaware), and we went to the park that night. Young guys always hung out at the park, drinking beer. We would go spend time with them, lying and saying we were older, drinking their beer and getting into some serious heavy petting. It was very arousing. We staggered home very late, both of us flushed with alcohol and the feel of the male caresses on our bodies.

We went to sleep in her mom’s waterbed. Sometime in the night, I began having dreams about those men in the park, still feeling their touch on my breasts, a hot hand rubbing my crotch through my jeans, deep wet kisses on my lips. I awoke to find myself wrapped around Trudy, kissing her cheek, her soft brown hair, her ears. And she was responding. Then we came awake fully, and blushing with shame, wiggled over to our separate sides of the bed. We never discussed it, afterward.

Yet I still didn’t think of myself as bisexual.

My first true sexual experience with another woman was in high school. I spent the night at my friend Donna’s house and we decided to just try “it.” I remember reveling in the feel of her big breasts, her thighs creamy and soft on either side of my head, the taste of her, the feel of her. I don’t know if she orgasmed or not. I didn’t. But it was thrilling. The part I liked best was lying with her afterwards, naked, entwined in one another’s bodies. Just feeling her soft curves, her silky smooth flesh, was absolutely heavenly. The taste of her vagina was sharp, not bitter, but sharp... and somehow sweet at the same time. It was an absolutely foreign experience. But it was wonderful.

Heavy Penthouse petting

Still, by this time I’d lost my virginity and was very busy screwing boys. I loved men, and I loved sex. It was by far better than anything else I’d encountered in my rather short life. Better than Christmas, Halloween, and my birthday rolled into one. Men are fantastic.

One night, when I was 20, my high school friend Donna and her boyfriend Mike came over to my apartment. We had a few beers and were feeling pretty relaxed... and somehow one thing led to another and we were having a threesome. (Don’t ask me how we got there... the memory is less than perfect, due to the beer we consumed and several years of self-abuse) All I remember was that it started in the living room, with Donna and I on either side of Mike, and ended up in the bedroom, with me and Donna licking one another and Mike asking, jealously, if we wanted to be alone... to which we both replied “no, no!” and dragged him back into the action.

The menage a trois was a revelation for me. It was like the best of both worlds. I could have my cake and eat it too. I began actively seeking threesomes, much to the delight of my male partners. Being with two women is the number one male fantasy. Finding willing female partners was much harder.

I had come to think of myself as bisexual, finally. But I was still fooling myself. In order to cope with the internalized shame and homophobia I’d picked up from my culture, I decided that I was bisexual, but only if there was a guy around. I was like those girls in Penthouse magazine – I liked being with women, but only because it turned on the guys. I would never be with just a woman alone! That would make me a lesbian! And being a “lez” was almost as bad as being a “fag.”

So I spent the next few years dating men exclusively, and having the occasional titillating threesome, if I could manage it. I still liked looking at pretty girls, but I figured everyone did. It didn’t occur to me that not all women admire other women. I’d always had close friendships with women, and enjoyed their company usually more than I enjoyed the company of men (girls talk about cool stuff, like shoes and clothes and men. What are you supposed to talk to guys about? Cars?)

A revelation

I was married in 1991, had a baby, and then watched as the marriage slowly disintegrated. It was a painful time. My husband wasn’t interested in sex after I had the baby, and my marriage felt like a sexual straightjacket. When he finally moved out, in 1994, I went on a sexual binge. I found a couple of young men who were more than capable of satisfying my pent-up urges, and I went on a sex fest. I was doing it anywhere and everywhere. I discovered multiple orgasms. I was having a ball. But in the end, I was very lonely. Sex only went so far, and the men who were obliging me were not interested in much else about me – nor I them.

Meanwhile, I had started back to college, and had met a new friend. Her name was Ruth. She was (is) incredibly beautiful. Long curly dark hair, huge soulful eyes, and a lovely soft, curvy body with high, firm breasts. Ruth and I became the best of friends, totally inseparable. She eventually moved in with me, a housemate and company for me and my daughter. Meanwhile, I’m screwing every man in sight, and while I found plenty of sexual satisfaction, I was emotionally starving. I spent more and more time with Ruth, who satisfied me on every level. We were becoming closer than I’d ever been with a woman in my life... and I’d had many, many close friendships. But this was something different.

I was in the process of breaking up with one of my boy toys when, one day, I found myself just looking at Ruth. I felt something I’d always thought I knew, something I thought I had already experienced, but until that moment had never truly understood. I realized that I had fallen in love with my best friend.

I was shocked. I freaked out. I went running to my therapist, asking him, “what’s wrong with me? Am I just so lonely [after my husband left] that I’m just falling in love with whoever happens to be around? Is this part of my sexual binge?” He asked me if I thought that was true. And I had to answer no... I was in love. “So,” he said to me, “you’re bisexual.”

Oh my god, I thought. I really am bisexual. Not like Penthouse bisexual, to make men hot, but genuinely QUEER bisexual. I was really bi. I was capable of loving both women and men. I was capable of wanting a relationship with a woman. I had finally come out of the closet – to myself.

Ruth and I were together for many years. She was – and still is – the love of my life. In the end, I ruined the relationship, which is a long, ugly rant for another day. I still have yet to forgive myself for throwing away the best thing that ever happened to me. But I take a kind of bittersweet pleasure in knowing that she is happy in her life, now. She’s married to a wonderful woman and they have a son. When you truly love someone, you want them to be happy. In the end, that’s the most important thing. I miss her terribly, all these years later, and I think I always will. But she’s happy and that’s wonderful. She’s better off without me and my circus train full of baggage. I wasn’t good for her. At that time, I wasn’t good for myself, either.

But I learned a lot in that relationship. I learned what prejudice and hatred looks like – an experience I, as a white woman, had never encountered previously. I learned what it’s like to be afraid just to love someone. As I came out of the closet, not just to myself, but to others, I discovered homophobia. And biphobia, too.

Queer like me

What does it mean to be bisexual? Really bisexual, not Penthouse bisexual.

The best definitions of bisexuality deal with the person’s capacity for love, not necessarily his or her sexual behavior. In other words, bisexuality is simply the capacity to love and/or have a physical attraction for members of both sexes. Bisexuality may be latent, never acted upon, but the desires and attractions are there nonetheless. I was bisexual when I was eight years old. I had desires and fantasies about both men and women. And while I had never acted upon them, just the desire alone was enough to define my sexuality – even though I couldn’t name it myself.

Based on research done by Kinsey in the 1940s and 1950s, as many as 15-25 percent of women and 33-46 percent of men may be bisexual, based on their attractions and behaviors. But this is Kinsey, and research that’s 60 years old. The actual numbers today may be much higher, as it has become more socially acceptable to talk about such feelings. I know that it’s a lot easier for me to come out to people as being bisexual, than it used to be. Maybe I’m just more comfortable with myself, I don’t know. But it seems as though people are being more understanding, or at least trying to understand.

It’s hard to say how common bisexuality is, because very little research has been done on the subject. Most studies focus on homosexuality or heterosexuality. A new study released this year, from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, indicates that more women, particularly those in their late teens and 20s, are experimenting with bisexuality, or are at least willing to report same-sex experiences. Rates for same-sex encounters for men were lower, though it is thought that this may be due to a less-acceptable environment. It’s more socially acceptable for women to experiment with same-sex encounters than for men. Overall, the study concluded, most people have relatively few partners and are at low risk for sexually transmitted diseases.

Out of the closet

Bisexuals are an invisible population. Most people assume when they meet someone that they are either gay or straight. They don’t even consider bisexuality. Bisexuals don’t have a “look” or some other physical markers to clue people in to their sexual preference, and the population is largely ignored. Especially if I am dating a man, people only know that I’m bisexual if I tell them. And even then, more than likely, they think of “Penthouse” bisexual. They don’t imagine that I could ever have a serious relationship with a woman. In other words, saying I’m bisexual tends to make people think of my sex life, not my emotional life.

I’m very open about my bisexuality now. And it’s hard, because I’ve encountered stereotypes and prejudices from not only the heterosexual world, but the homosexual universe as well. I never expected the latter. I always assumed that we were “all queer together” but that hasn’t proven the case.

One assumption you get from both gays and straights is that bisexuals are hot for everyone, and are constantly seeking sex. Like bisexuals are oversexed machines, driven to fuck anything and everything that moves. Overcoming this stereotype has been particularly hard for me, because I am a very sexual person. But that doesn’t mean I’m not discriminating. I’m choosy about who I invite into my bed. No, really, I am.

Many people believe bisexuality is “just a phase.” I know my parents think that my relationship with Ruth was some kind of aberration, a college experiment. As far as they know, I’ve been dating men exclusively since Ruth and I split up. This is not the case. I’ve had a couple of relationships with women since then, but simply let my parents believe I just had a new female friend. It was easier than trying to force them to understand. They’re ostensibly liberal in their views and politics, so it’s not politically correct for them to have a problem with my bisexuality. And yet they do. The worst part about political correctness is that they’re so busy acting as though they don’t have a problem, they never end up talking about the problem. So it never is discussed, never is resolved. I have tried to talk to them about it and met with such resistance that, at the moment, I’ve just given up.

Gays and lesbians often think of bisexuality as a phase, because often when queer folk come out of the closet, they tell everyone they’re bisexual. It’s easier to come out as bi than just plain gay. Eventually, they transition and come out as fully lesbian or gay. Why start with bisexual? In many ways, it’s simpler. Coming out of the closet at all is a hard thing. It can be downright dangerous. Bisexuality, in some ways, is more socially acceptable. Especially if you’re female. Most men don’t have a problem with bisexual women – think “Penthouse” – but they do have a problem with lesbians, who are viewed as “man haters” and worse. Eventually, many queer folk and straights urge bisexuals to “make up your mind,” and choose whether you’re one or the other. I’ve made up my mind. I’m bisexual. I love ‘em both.

It isn’t easy to come out as a bisexual, either. Our friends, family members, and romantic partners all struggle with the issue, trying to understand. They accuse us of “avoiding intimacy” when we date members of the same sex, or, if we are dating a member of the opposite sex, we’re giving in to “internalized homophobia.” Recognizing our bisexuality is not “straddling the fence” or taking the easy way out. It’s damned hard to admit that we are this invisible population in a world of gays and straights.

Yet a recent survey at the University of Iowa found that students were less willing to accept bisexuals, particularly males, than they were to accept gays or lesbians. This was especially true for heterosexual males. According to Michele Eliason, author of the study, “The men were more hostile to bisexual men than they were to bisexual women, but women rated bisexual men and women about the same.” The fact that men are hostile towards bisexual men did not come as any big surprise to me. It seems to me that when I encounter really virulent homophobia, it’s coming from a man, not a woman.

Eliason also noted that while research about homophobia abounds, there have been very few studies of biphobia. She noted that this may result from the misconception that homophobia and biphobia are the same thing – which simply isn’t true. Hell, my spell checker doesn't even recognize "biphobia" as a word... though it readily recognizes "homophobia." Biphobia has its own unique and complex features that go beyond homophobia, though bisexual people may also experience homophobia, particularly when they are involved in a relationship with a same-sex partner.

Part of the reason male bisexuals have a harder time stems from yet another stereotype, this one involving disease. Heterosexuals, in particular, believe that bisexual men and, to a lesser extent, women, spread AIDS/HIV and other STDs to heterosexuals. Yet bisexual men and women are as capable of practicing safe sex as gay men and lesbians, and more likely to do so than heterosexuals. Heterosexuals still have this assumption that AIDS is a “gay” disease, and that practicing safe sex is not really necessary in heterosexual relationships. Being an escort and part of the queer community means that I am hardcore serious about safe sex. But I know plenty of heterosexual friends who aren’t, and it troubles me deeply.

Assumptions and stereotypes

Another form of biphobia is the assumptions people (particularly men) make. One night, Ruth and I went to a college house party. It was pretty wild. The place was packed and the booze was flowing, not to mention pot and other entertaining substances. I was out on the front porch, smoking a cigarette, when this handsome young man sat down next to me. We struck up a conversation. Eventually, he made it clear that he’d like to get to know me better, in a biblical sense. I responded, “I’m sorry, but I’m here with my girlfriend.” He pressed his suit. I explained that my girlfriend was more than just my friend, she was my girlfriend. At that point, Ruth appeared and sat down on my other side. “See,” I said to the guy, “This is my girlfriend.” His response? “Well, let’s all party together, then!” I could have happily hit him.

Had I been with a boyfriend, this little exchange would never have taken place. The guy at the party, like so many people, assumed that as a bisexual woman I would be willing to fulfill his sexual fantasies and desires. Too often, a straight guy sees two women together and assumes that he can get in on that action. It doesn’t even occur to them that we are a couple, utterly monogamous. Yet that same assumption would never be made if I were with a man.

I always identify as bisexual, even if I’m with a male partner. Another part of biphobia is that some people assume that if I’m with a man, I should identify as heterosexual. But my feelings towards women are still there, even if I have a boyfriend. I am still a bisexual person, but living in an opposite sex relationship.

The stereotype that particularly drives me crazy centers around monogamy. Bisexuals are assumed to be incapable of monogamy, because they are always going to want/fantasize about the other sex. Like we’re not capable of being happy with one partner, forever pining for something else. This assumption is ridiculous. Bisexuals, like heterosexuals and homosexuals, can carry on monogamous relationships with ease... and, like everyone else, have the potential to be unfaithful. In my lifetime, I have been both faithful and unfaithful. Usually, if I was ever unfaithful, it was at the end of another relationship, when it was clear things were going badly and would be ending soon. I practiced (in the past) a type of serial monogamy... and occasionally there would be an overlap, a “changing of the guard.”

Then there’s “heterosexual privilege.” This particular little gem comes from the homosexual community. Bisexuals are accused of being willing to “pass” as heterosexuals, when we are in opposite sex relationships, and that we enjoy the “heterosexual privilege” of being socially accepted wherever we go. This one is frustrating. I’m openly bisexual and not ashamed of it, but when I’m in an opposite sex relationship, what would they have me do? Wear a sign on my forehead that says “queer” so that I negate the heterosexual privilege? What about my white privilege, while we’re at it? One bisexual woman wrote of her “big city privilege” whereby it’s easier to be queer in big cities than in small towns. I’ve got all kinds of privilege. Does that mean I exploit that privilege? No. Does that mean I revel in it, looking down on my queer brothers and sisters? No. Fact is, bisexuals can’t win sometimes. We’re forever pissing someone off, be it gay or straight.

I have a hard time meeting girls. I love lesbian women (particularly the butchy type) and lust after them when I see them in queer bars. But I haven’t got a shot. Recently, a Lesbian Life poll on the question of lesbian bias indicated that a huge percentage of lesbians won’t date, or become seriously involved with, bisexual women. There is this lack of trust, that we are going to be unfaithful, that we’ll leave our lesbian lover for a man. Being bisexual means you don’t fit into any world. I can’t really fit in with the lesbians, but I don’t really fit in with heterosexuals either. I don’t belong either place, and am misunderstood everywhere.

What it means to me

Being bisexual means that I am capable of loving all people. Who someone is as a person is my primary interest; their gender is secondary. I relate to people as individuals. I have tried to suppress my attraction for women at various stages in my life, and it just hasn’t worked. It’s there, no matter what. I accept that now, and even appreciate it.

For me, I can appreciate that we all have masculine and feminine sides. Bisexuality for me means balance in my life. I am free to express those parts of myself that are viewed as traditionally masculine, and I can revel in my feminine self as well.

I am capable of monogamy, when I choose. I don’t believe monogamy is natural to the species, but I do believe that it is a loving choice that we make, a way of honoring our partner. Why does love have to have a gender? I am capable of giving love to whomever I wish.

One aspect of bisexuality that I think is very important is that not everyone is exactly “half and half” – attracted to both sexes equally. Like many bisexuals, I do have a preference for one gender over the other. Overall, I really do prefer men. But I enjoy women tremendously, and the relationships that I’ve had with women have been strong and deep. The strength of our attractions to one sex or the other can vary over time. Right now, I’m not dating anyone... but the way I’m feeling today, I think that if I began actively seeking another relationship, I’d be interested in meeting a woman. Given my profession, I spend a lot of time with men, and I’d really enjoy being with a woman. I want and crave the deep nurturing and caring that I get from women, and don’t often find in men.

When I discovered Tantra, it really resonated with me. Tantric love encourages both partners to acknowledge and explore both their masculine and feminine sides. Tantra is a way of life, not just a sexual practice. It honors the male and female energy in all things. It is a mindset, a way of life in which we separate ourselves from the dualistic, compartmentalized views of Western culture and begin to see ourselves – male and female – as a part of the universe as a whole.

I am very female, very much a woman. I love being a woman, and wouldn’t trade sexes for anything. And yet I have behaviors and attributes that are traditionally thought of as masculine. Through Tantra, I can explore these sides of myself without shame – far from it. I have only explored Tantric love with men up until this point; I would very much enjoy using these principles with a woman.

Sexuality is dynamic, fluid. It transforms over time. My sexual and romantic self is a growing, changing thing. The ability to love is constant; who I share that love with can vary, depending on where I am in my emotional development and needs. Being openly bisexual means that I can fully experience this process, as my needs change over time... and it means that I have an infinite capacity for love not bound by gender.

 

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