I fuck men. I fuck women. If the opportunity ever arose, I’d fuck a person who didn’t identify as either, but I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting such a kick-ass human being. I’m not gay, and I’m sure as hell not straight. A lot of people would probably call me “bisexual,” but I’m not down with that either.
I imagine some of you reading this are about to roll your eyes and think the same old smack. All the “bi” chicks you know get drunk at bars and make out with their best friends in the sloppiest manner possible, all tongues outside the mouth, touchin’ non-existent ass, slobberin’ all over each other for the benefit of twenty drunk-ass dudes who just simultaneously sprang twenty chubs (a half-hard penis, for those of you over 25, wherever you are). Maybe one time those girls did it and hell, you saw them. But they only did it because they were drunk and wanted to “explore” and whatever, they totally don’t swing that way, am I right?
Despite how much I might seem to look down on such behavior, I’m not judging — because right before someone has to follow one of those girls to the bathroom to hold her hair back as she pukes her guts out, it is pretty hot. But my skeevy voyeurism isn’t the point here (that’s a whole other article).
I have a friend who likes to give me shit for owning my lady-lovin’ ways instead of being discreet about them. According to this friend — a straight male who identifies 100 percent as such — sexual labels aren’t necessary, especially one as clichéd as “bisexual.” (Easy for him to say — when’s the last time you heard of a straight person “owning” their heterosexuality?)
According to him, every girl is bi, bi like our aforementioned face-sucking friends: only on weekends, only shitfaced, and only in the presence of a group of ten or more. Now, what these gals do is their business. They probably they don’t even call themselves bi; they’re just having fun, after all. But me?
I’m over here trying to smoothly (ok, sometimes awkwardly) work my way into the pants of a person of my choice, innocently loving whoever the hell I want in some wicked, wicked ways — and all of a sudden, I’m one of “those girls.” Ain’t that some shit?
On the one hand, most people — men and women — tend to think I sleep with women because it turns men on to hear about it. What?! Let’s clear something up right now: I don’t sleep with a person for anyone’s enjoyment or pleasure other than mine and the writhing body’s next to me. I’m not saying it can’t be a powerful aphrodisiac to know you’re turning someone else on (fetishes have been built around the premise), but don’t strip away anyone’s agency by saying their sex has more to do with you.
On the other hand, part of the reason I don’t claim “bisexual” as a sexual identity is because of the stigma attached to it. You’ll often hear that bisexuals aren’t “serious” — bisexual women are just greedy straight girls, and bisexual men are only one foot out of the closet. I call bullshit.
I know I’m not doing my part to help out; wouldn’t claiming the word be a big old defiant act to end the stigmatization of bi kids everywhere? I’m just not sure I care that much about the label. Maybe my painfully straight friend has a point. You can call yourself whatever you want, keeping in mind that who you fuck, who you want to fuck and how (or if) you label yourself don’t actually need to agree.
Everyone has different reasons for doing what they do. Maybe you’ve just come to college and see this as a place to explore your sexuality via your cute roommate’s mouth. You’re finally free from parental restrictions and gosh, Mom and Dad would be so ashamed but that just makes it hotter! Maybe you figure, college is where you screw around and screw up before you move on to the real world. All of these are perfectly valid reasons for swappin’ fluids with whomever you want. Hell, I don’t think you need much more of a reason than “Because we wanted to.”
Ultimately, it’s not the Weekend Warriors who need to change. It’s time for everyone to stop thinking about the meaning of who someone sleeps with (and why they choose to do so) and focus on what really matters — whether that person will sleep with you.
So go ahead and get your sloppy make-out on this weekend — whatever way you swing, and whatever you want to call it.