The Invisible Bisexual is a contributor on my blog. She is a real person, sharing honest comments about her experiences as a closeted bisexual. ~Loraine Hutchins
The Invisible Bisexual
My sensual awakening happened long before I understood that there were strict rules attached to one’s apparent gender and discovered that a lot of creepy stigma was directed at “queers.”
Among my earliest memories are feelings of attraction to both boys and girls. Perhaps my innocence was lost too early? It happened when I was four during a game called “mommy and daddy” that was initiated by a couple of slightly older boys. They convinced their little sister, another girl and me to participate in this secret reenactment in a neighbor’s field where we were hidden by tall grass. Our activities were pretty harmless, but the powerful, sensuous charge our play evoked in me was a revelation. I recall feeling amazed that our bodies could create such pleasurable energy. But I was unaware of the acceptable practices of this adult activity.
I remained naive about most things until puberty arrived. When I was around 12-years-old, it occurred to me that I might be a lesbian because I “liked” girls as well as boys. If I was a lesbian, I reasoned, I’d have to give up the freedom of the larger world and live separately in the shadowy, maligned “queer” world away from boys and my family. People would call me queer and make fun of me. Just thinking of the stigma filled me with dread. If I was a lesbian my family and everyone else I knew would not like me.
When I confessed my fears to my mother I was crying hysterically, and she comforted me. She said, “Don’t worry, honey. You’re not a lesbian.” I wanted to believe her, but the nagging doubt stayed with me throughout my teen years. By the time I was around 18, I’d had enough experience with boys to sour me on them. I figured that this must mean I was a lesbian. So I decided to find out.
I continued my search for the mysterious lesbian world. I knew the truth was out there, and if a girl set her mind to it she could find it. I found the bars, the women and the truth. But it was not what I expected.
But where could I find any lesbians? A friend told me that her mother had once been involved with a lesbian and that lesbians hung out in certain bars. So the first thing I decided was to get myself some fake ID. This was easy enough for an enterprising and determined girl. With a birth certificate proving that I was 21, I got a very convincing driver’s license with my picture on it. Drag shows were easy enough to find in my big city hometown. They were entertaining and, as it turned out, a good place to find out where the lesbian bars were located.
I continued my search for the mysterious lesbian world. I knew the truth was out there, and if a girl set her mind to it she could find it. I found the bars, the women and the truth. But it was not what I expected.
After a year of dating lesbians, I was really bummed out. The women I’d met seemed no different than the men I’d known. They even dressed and acted like men. Most of them willingly took advantage of my inexperience for their own pleasure with no concern about my enjoyment. To my horror, I realized that I disliked women as much as I disliked and resented men! How could this be? I had to choose, right?
How could I spend my life alone and loveless? What kind of person does that? Good thing my panic didn’t last long. An epiphany illuminated my quandary. It wasn’t one or the other. Nor was it none of the above. My orientation was to both men and women. I really don’t know how the concept of bisexuality entered my consciousness. But I remember how relieved I felt when it did. “Oh that’s what it is,” I thought, laughing and shaking my head. I didn’t have to choose. I was so happy. One of my life’s big dilemmas resolved.
Of course, I didn’t know about the stigma that I was going to face as a bisexual from both the “straight” and “gay” worlds. It didn’t take long to find out. I soon learned it was easier to pass as straight and stepped inside the bisexual closet. But that’s another story—many other stories.
