by Mel Bossa
I like girls who like girls who like boys who like boys who like girls.
Yes, I’m one of that kind.
Way too queer for straight, a little too straight for queer.
Gays to the left of me, lesbians to the right, here I am, stuck in the middle with who?
Where are all the bisexuals in the world? Have they boarded the purple spaceship back to their wonderful, inclusive little planet of Bisexualinia? And when they left, why didn’t they take me with them?
I struggle here on Earth.
Dissociated, yet whole, always in search of validation. Am I a friend to the gay community, or a nuisance, a nagging note in the margin? And what about the straight world? Yes, I live within its confines, but whenever I allow myself to open up to it, I am quickly stuffed back in what I call “the queird” box. You know, where straight people put everything they don’t quite understand: transgendered people, intersexed people, polyamorous people, and those people…Those damn confused bisexuals.
Well, no surprise when you look at how bisexuality is portrayed in the media (yes, let’s blame them a little, it feels good). Most straight girls view bisexuality like a Katie Perry song; catchy, temporary, soon forgotten. Yes yes, something one does to stir the boys up—a cheap way of drawing some attention from the jaded male audience. Or maybe, a harmless experiment? Others, let’s call them men, see bisexuality (especially within their own gender) as one tiny but oh so slippery step away from being FULL BLOWN OH MY GOD gay. Meanwhile, the silent majority still believes that bisexuality is another term for “exploration.”
Wake-up call boys and girls. Bisexuals aren’t exploring their sexuality—they’re living it.
Now the question should be, are we living it in a healthy way?
Not so much, on a collective level I mean. It’s a dirty little secret, this bisexual thing. Trust me, I’ve had to give a bisexual absolution to two different men this year. One of them came to me, tormented, guilt-ridden in his faded blue jeans—this man, this self-defined beefcake, gay all the way baby, had the misfortune of being attracted to—brace yourself—a WOMAN. How could he tell his gay friends about this?
Another poor soul, a young stud with numerous male admirers, had kissed a girl that night, and wondered if the said girl would tell the rest of the staff (he works in a gay bar which shall remain nameless to protect his all mighty gay reputation). “Oh man,” he said to me, that dark night, sucking on his cigarette, glancing around nervously. “I’m so fucked.”
What did he fear, deportation? Would the romeos tear his gay badge right off his perfectly trimmed chest?
I don’t know. I just don’t know.
One thing I’ve learned about being in the middle—it gets real tight. Sometimes, you can barely catch a breath.
But, we are here. We exist. Do we challenge comfort zones? Perhaps. Do we mix the cards up a little? I think so. Should we pick a lane and go with it?
No thank you!
This is one of our truths: we are not a threat. We won’t steal your girl or sleep with your man. But if we do, it will be because we are human, thus terribly flawed.
Not because we are bisexual.
And we won’t bite you.
Well, I might, but only if you ask me nicely.
So, I declare today, “Hug a bisexual” day.
But first my sexy queer friends, you’ll have to find one.🙂