One day, sitting around talking with two friends, R. says to me: “I don’t know why, but I always thought of you as bi.”
He had reason to be uncertain. Since I’ve known R., I’ve been with my Hubby. At first, dating, then engaged, and finally married. As far as he knew, I’ve only been with that one man. Still, much as some guys joke about their gay-dar, a lot of people have instincts that subconsciously notice things that lead us to different conclusions other than the obvious one. R. has amazing senses, but that’s a story for another blog.
Yes, I consider myself bi. I’m in a straight, monogamous marriage, but that doesn’t change the underlying predilections for anything beautiful. That is exactly where it started too. Beauty. The naked body was, and is, beautiful. When I was in junior high and my father was travelling a lot for business, I would look forward to his return, not because I missed him (sure, I did, but that’s not the point) but because he’d always bring home a Playboy and dispose of it in the newspaper rack. I doubt he knew that I knew he hid them there, about a week down the pile, but I did. Like clockwork, the afternoon after his return, I’d sneak that magazine out and flip through it, hiding behind his Laz-E-Boy and wondering why naked was so sinful.
Oh, yes, I’m sure I’ve told you. I was raised Catholic. I wouldn’t even undress in front of a mirror, but those magazines were breath-taking. So was, yes, the occasional Playgirl that I could glimpse here and there as my girlfriends discovered ways to get their hands on them.
At that age, I only knew that a good Catholic girl didn’t put out and hoped to land a good Catholic boy to marry and have kids. It never dawned on me that there was something else beyond girls waiting for boys to kiss them. Though, even then, I didn’t feel right about that dream for the “perfect family.”
Fast forward through high school and a finance that had no ambition to move out of his dad’s house.
I found a pagan group run by a bisexual woman. She spoke openly of the girls she crushed on and flirted with. She reminded me of those days, nosing around, enjoying what shouldn’t be interesting to a young girl. Through her, I started writing again and through her I met my now Hubby. My writing, little by little, began to reveal hidden beliefs that both women and men were beautiful, sexy creatures. Little by little, gay boys appeared among my vampires, and girls were more-than-friendly with each other.
Still, I stifled it, saving those characters for myself and not sharing with anyone. Books I read – devoured – on a regular basis didn’t have gay characters, so I couldn’t if I wanted to write for an audience. I found a friend on a writing website who invited me to write campfire style in her Yahoo Group. That group had shed those veils, if they had them at all, and through writing with them, and with that friend, I freed my gay characters from the prison of minor roles to main characters with real relationships.
Through them, I found myself. I’m happily married. I’ve played here and there with the Hubby’s blessing. I openly drool over women as much as men, but it is to my Hubby that I give my heart and body.
To R., that night, I replied only after a moment of thought. “Yes, I would say I am.” I do believe it was that same night that I kissed his adorable girlfriend and she told him that I had some damn fine nipples.