Okay, so as part of my daily tour of the web, I read a variety of blogs, including ones that are of queer-interest. One of these is Queerty, which annoys me more often than not.
Today I was tremendously annoyed by a piece entitled Are Bisexual Guys … Real?
I mean, seriously?
What. The. Fuck. ?
Basically, it’s your bog-standard situation with gay guys bitching about how bisexual men don’t really exist. Now, as I have not yet disappeared in a puff of smoke, I’m forced to conclude that they’re full of shit. Despite how prevalent this denial of reality is–and I have in fact been out on a date with a gay man, been open about my bisexuality, and been informed that bisexual men don’t exist–still: no smoke. Hell, even at my flamingest, I still don’t disappear in a puff of smoke.
After 32 years of life, during which I have been conscious of orientation for at least 27 of them (no, really, as soon as I had the words, I knew which applied, and I had words pretty much from the get-go), I’ve been bisexual. I’ve fallen in love with men and women. I enjoy sex with women and men. And even if I marry a man or a woman, I’m still going to find both women and men attractive.
I could fall in love with Mr. Right this afternoon, be happily monogamous for the rest of our days, and I’d STILL be bisexual. That applies just as much as if I meet Ms. Right.
In my particular case, I tend to go through longer or shorter cycles where I find women or men more attractive, and I’ve got a whole set of cultural baggage that I’ve been unpacking over the years, and god knows that in this town, it’s logistically easier to just fuck around with guys, but that still doesn’t mean that I don’t exist.
And that’s what it feels like when idiots say such things. And yes, even if you are my friend and have said such a thing, you are an idiot.
Honestly, people. It has taken all of my considerable will power not to haul off and beat you when you say such inappropriate things–and often, at the most ridiculous times. Don’t you realize that at best, you’re saying I’m deluded, and really, what you’re actually doing is calling me a liar?
Over the years, I’ve realized that I do have my lines from which I will brook no crossings, no jokes, no pushing, no arguments. If you want to be in my life, there are a few rules. One of them is that you do not call me a liar about my own truth. I will cut you out of my life for that and not regret doing so, and you will not be allowed back in. If you needed it, consider this your warning.
When I came out to my family, I did so as being bi. Not because that was easier for me or because they would accept that better. It wasn’t, and they didn’t. They have flat-out said that they would understand better if I were just gay. But I’m not. I’m not gay. I’m not straight. Both of those just feel wrong on me, like trying on a badly-tailored suit. I’m bi, and that fits, and I’m quite happy with that, thank you very much.
I suffered a lot when I came out to my family. I lost them, and it took a death for me to be allowed back in. I mean that literally. It took a death in the family for me to be called back to take my place with them. I have paid for my truth, paid for the right to tell my family who I am, paid with the coin of loss, and for anyone to question me on that truth… there aren’t many things that trigger my anger, the cold-fire wrath that’s part of my inheritance, but that one will do it every time.
So, if you’re my friend, don’t do it. If you’ve ever done it, don’t do it again. Ever again. You might not have realized on what dangerous ground you walked, but now, prompted by that inanity online, I’m telling you. You might not have realized that if I actually warn you, that if my expression grows that still and I say, “don’t joke about that,” I really mean it. I know you think that it’s just me, and I’ll bend and flow and go with it, moving things along, and find the humor, right?
Yeah, but there’s a core of adamant in me, and if you push, it won’t be me that breaks.