Tuesday, June 18, 2013

Red Mink Delivers A Final Nom De Plume!

I posted this elsewhere, and I figured the time was right to post it here.  So....there ya go.
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http://teresawymore.wordpress.com/2008/02/11/bisexuals-and-bad-science/

...said much better than I could. Which isn't going to stop me from adding my own two bits of course.

I went through the 70's in a town that was pretty gay friendly. Portland was referred to as San Francisco North back then, in fact. It was a great place to be young and gay, or at least it must have beat the living crap out of being young and gay in a place like Vernonia. The thing was-hell, the story of my fucking life was- I didn't quite fit in. I'm only kinda gay. I'm bi.

Back then, there were only three sexual orientations:

Straight
Gay
Lying

It simply isn't that way. I've had girl crushes and guy crushes equally ever since I was a little kid. It wasn't friendship with bad boundaries. It wasn't youthful experimentation. It was romantic. I'm stone Bi, too...to the point where I had a real difficult time coming to grips with the fact that there even was such a thing as 'only' straight or gay; which means that while everyone ELSE thought I was lying, I 'knew' everyone else was lying! It was a therapy issue! I've had huge problems with other things in my life, but this was something that simply was, and I never gave it another thought.

Now lest I make myself out to be some kind of strong, intrepid individual, know that all the 'girl stuff' was repressed hard (to my way of thinking back then, I figured being gay or straight meant that someone had just made the wrong choice; the correct answer was 'both'.) Anyway, I was ashamed of it and embarrassed by it. I agonized over it. I thought that if I let it out to play full time I'd end up driving a road grader and I did not want to be a lesbian because of the social stigma. That, as you can tell by my use of terms like 'driving a road grader' I totally bought into because I was young and a dumbshit.

What happened was I got to a point where I figured 'Fine. If I am a lesbian, then that's what I am so I better get started while I'm still young and I have a chance of qualifying for my equipment operators license.' Jumped right in feet first. Hit the dyke bars on Foster St. Hung around in the Aradia Bookstore and flirted. Joined the Co-Op. Read Ms. and Utne Reader. Checked out all the books about lesbianism I could from the library. Went to dyke bars. Crossed in public. (Back then I was uniquely ill-equipped for crossing. I made Bernadette Peters look like Charles Bronson; still, the Annie Hall look was in vogue and people thought I was cute in my slouch hat and tie.  And Arrow shirt, wingtips, grey pinstripe vest, and creased trousers.  Yeah, shit. ) Met a wonderful woman and moved in with her. Patronized all the women's businesses, looked into Dianic religion and Wicca -did the whole thing.

And I'll be goddamned if I wasn't still checking out mens' butts.

The great thing about the woman I moved in with-besides the fact that she was wonderful- was we both happened to be at the same exact place in our lives. We set up house and fell into whatever couple-role we fit (guess which one I was.) That worked. It lasted for a few months and then it just sort of....faded out for both of us. No problems. Totally clean. It was the sanest relationship I've ever had outside of my present marriage.

People think that when you're bi you get a choice, or that the whole world is filled with potential sexual partners. When you're young you think it is; of course, you're young. But after awhile you learn to follow your instincts, just like everyone else does, and the field narrows waaaaay down. In a mixed crowd I might be lucky to spot one person I'd even consider.  Me, when I learned how to respect myself and be picky I WAS picky. Gladly picky. Gratefully picky. Voluntarily picky.

Another assumption is that bisexuals are bi because their drive is so overwhelming that they'll just turn to any port in a storm. Man, that doesn't describe me AT ALL. Still, it does describe how a lot of people who were sexually abused as children look when they act out, and lord knows I fall into that category. Once I got all that shit untangled in therapy though I came out the other side still liking the boobs. I was like 'Yay! Boobs! ' A sentiment many of you can appreciate, I'm sure.

Ladyboys and post-op kings do nothing for me. Yeah, seems like it would make sense, right?  But nope.  Am I attracted to people who are only bi?  No.  I am attracted to people.  Not all of them, though.  Just the hot ones with nice asses.

There's a lot of overlap and confusion between swingers, hypersexual, roleplaying-s/m, and bi. I don't know about any of that stuff, but I'm willing to bet that any given person falls in to more than one sexual category anyway. I don't worry about it, but I want to be known as precisely what I am, too. As it stands I'm usually relegated to the subcategories on someone elses' site. I am not a subcategory.  I am not your potential 'third'.  I am not undecided.

The only thing that really bothers me about the whole bisexual thing is that people keep trying to dick around with the nomenclature. Do NOT call me a chimera ohgodohgod gaaaaaaah that's so gimpy. Bleaaaaagh, that's so gimpy ew ew ew ew. Really.  What I am is BI. Really. It's OK.

12 comments:

  1. Do NOT call me a chimera

    Can I call you Cthulhu?

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    Replies
    1. I prefer 'Nyarlathotep the Crawling Chaos'. It's what they call me at church.

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  2. I personally could never afford to be picky!

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    Replies
    1. If it makes you feel any better, I wasn't any good at it. You should have hung around with me: I have a type of radar that can spot the spineless loser in any room and draw him/her in with my tractor beams. That way YOU dodge the bullet!

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  3. I think you're fabulous. What more needs to be said?

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    Replies
    1. As well you should, because I am fabulous, and it takes one to know one, which makes you fabulous too. Like a beautiful unicorn.

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  4. Küsschen auf's Ärschchen!

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    Replies
    1. Yeah, well, so's your mother. *tries to look smug*

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    2. I'd never call you a "Chimaera", that's plainly wrong: Ladyboy or virago would be better - if one needs to replace the simple word "FirstNations", what is totally un-necessary. :)

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  5. I have decided that I am asexual. I guess.

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  6. chimera? I thought that was the little pottery fire place on my patio. the hell?

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    Replies
    1. You're right. I am a tiny ceramic chimney. Half of one, anyway.

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