I can't count the number of times I've heard it on my digits,
even in triplicate. There I am, having a conversation with a Lesbian
(with a capital L), and she tells me that she's made a point of
avoiding bisexual women like the plague, because they'd no doubt
leave her for a man.
To which my response is always, "And a lesbian won't leave you
for someone else -- why?" I have yet to notice the clause in the
Dyke-penned version of the Geneva Convention that says lesbianism
equals automatic monogamy, or that any woman you get involved
with cannot, under any circumstance, leave you for another person,
or heck, just plain leave you. Usually, this response is greeted
with a Great Big Silence and then some muttered prattle about
a lesser possibility of it happening, and some mention of heteropriviledge,
that nasty, nasty "H" word.
Here's a newsflash: bisexuality is not nonmonogamy, and single-sex
partnership is not an instant mix for trust or acceptance. Bisexuals
do not need to be with more than one person any more or any less
than lesbians or heterosexuals do. In my sexual lifetime, which
began with a girlfriend, and quickly ran the gamut all over the
place when it came to gender, race, shape, size and age, I have
left someone for someone else once in over 15 years, and I left
that one man for another one. Of the two strictly lesbian girlfriends
I had who left me, and one did for another woman, and the other
for a man. Of the bisexual men and women I have been involved
with, none of them ever left me for anyone, we simply ended relationships
because they were over. Now, I certainly don't feel this sets
any golden rules, but when it comes to having"lesser possibilities"
in my life of being left, it has never had anything whatsoever
to do with orientation at all, let alone bisexuality.
To be homosexual means -- so far as modern psychology and sexology
is concerned -- to be sexually attracted MAINLY to members of
the same sex. To be bisexual means to be attracted fairly evenly
to either sex. Not both; either. It's worthwhile to note that
when we ask how that-little-so-and-so gets off calling herself
a lesbian, queer, bisexual or homosexual that the answer is simply
because what they call themselves is up to them. As far as what
we are, that's largely for biology to determine, and for us to discover
(or not to) as we grow into ourselves. If any of us is going to
try and skirt what we know about orientation and try and call
bisexuality a "choice" then we'd better be ready to accept that
any orientation is choice. And we know that it certainly is not.
When we're talking about sexual attraction, we're not talking
about monogamy or nonmonogamy. Those are relationship choices
we make not based on our orientation, but based on our lifestyle
and personality, and that of our partners. I can't really think
of a time in my life when I suddenly found myself jonesing for
a member of a sex I wasn't with at a time -- not a particular
person, but simply a nameless, faceless person with different
genitals than the person I was with. Heck, that's what toys are
for, not people. You'd have to really wonder about someone who
did. Imagine it: your partner turns and tells you that they just
simply have to be with someone else. You, reasonably, ask who.
They say that doesn't matter at all, it's just about breasts or
a penis right now, it may not be in the morning, but who knows.
We don't call that sort of person bisexual, we call them confused
and terribly superficial. And rightfully so.
For me, being bisexual has simply always meant that who I am attracted
to has nothing whatsoever to do with gender. It just isn't a factor
I have to take into account. I've never simply wanted a man or woman, I have wanted a particular man or woman, and usually the one I want just happens to be the
one I'm with. Though I have been in a few relationships that were
polyamorous, I am monogamous by nature (and by schedule -- hell,
if I even have time to slap a goodnight kiss on one person a day,
it's a bleedin' miracle). I simply don't have the attention span
for nonmonogamy, and even when I have, it had far more to do with
an increased libido or social need than it did with being bisexual.
I have never found myself wanting nonmonogamy because I didn't
feel "whole" by being involved with only one person of a particular
gender. That is most likely due to my own personality, but I'd
be remiss if I didn't consider the notion that doing such was
to expressly ditch the bisexual bias that being bisexual isn't
about orientation, it's about sluttishness.
I have had, in my life, more lesbian friendships than relationships.
Overall, I just get along with men a bit better, romantically
as well as platonically, in the long haul. But in those friendships,
when walking down the street, sitting at coffee, or casually eavesdropping,
inevitably some "slut" is pointed out who is bisexual (or seen
as such, regardless of how she identifies) who left someone for...a
man. Gasp. Wake up and smell the macchiato: it happens. To everyone.
Women leave women for men. Women leave men for women. People leave
people because people just leave sometimes, and no orientation
can lessen the risks we take in any relationship. If we think
it can, we're probably a lot closer to denial than we are to our
partners.
As a sex educator, I have encountered more than one lesbian who
has a sexually transmitted disease. A few of them have gotten
them from men, which of course has it's own sad shame in the lesbian
community. Sadder still though, are those who have caught them
from women, but do not tell a soul for years because they are
deathly afraid that they will be perceived as less of a dyke (because
of the myth that lesbians cannot transmit disease, it is assumed
they MUST have slept with a man) or worse still, as a bisexual.
It wouldn't be half as sad if most times that fear wasn't valid.
Unfortunately, it usually is. Too often, in the lesbian community,
bisexual is a four-letter word, and not the sort anyone wants
to reclaim.
There is a lot of inherent bias in being bisexual, and it comes
equilaterally from all sides. The heterosexuals assume you're
just kinky; the gay and lesbian community often assumes you just
can't make up your mind, even when many of us are full aware that
orientation isn't a choice that we make. I have had people tell
me I wasn't a "real" bisexual because I was monogamous with a
male partner. I have had people tell me I was probably robbing
myself of my needs by not having some sort of quasi-nuclear family
of one man and one woman to fill "all my needs." All my needs?
That'd take a housekeeper and a publicist, not a romantic partner,
thanks. At times in my life when I have been promiscuous, that
has often been attributed by others to my bisexuality, as if it
were a formula -- if I enjoy both sexes I must need both, so if
you multiply normal sexual needs by two I clearly will crave more
sex than anyone else. Regularly, an assumption is made that because
I am bisexual, I am more sexually adventurous, and that my life
must be something akin to a twenty-four hour love-in in which
I somehow manage to pay the rent and run a business between orgies.
I have, of course, had heterosexual men with wild zeal assume
I would be ready to have a secondary female partner with any passerby,
as if being bisexual didn't factor in for having any taste or
other preferences, and that it somehow meant that I'd always be
interested as long as there were another vagina involved. Suffice
it to say, when I've suggested we do so with another man, the
topic usually gets dropped like a hot croquette.
Of course, we all deal with stereotypes and assumptions, whether
we're bisexual or homosexual, male or female, black, white or
yellow, blonde or brunette. Because most of us deal with biases
every day, we crave venues and communities in which we are free
from them. Yet when I see a publication, for instance, that claims
to cater to the gay-lesbian-bisexual-transgender community, I
don't feel very hopeful. I've hard bisexuals prattle on about
really ignorant ideas about gays and lesbians and heterosexuals.
I've heard lesbians say things about gay men, and gay men say
things about lesbians that are so ugly and ignorant, that even
being as salty as I am, I can't bear to repeat them. I should
add here that the only people I have ever heard a transgendered
person diss was another transgendered person, but I digress. More
times than not, we just don't have that sort of a unified community,
and it is only so reasonable to expect that we would, or imply
that we should. It is something that may as well be the "everyone-who-isn't-het"
community, and it's far easier to put all the blame on "them"
instead of "us." Were that the case, the only thing that would
unify us is not being het, and noninclusion is never a very good
basis for community.
We'd be a little closer to having some semblance of community
if we laid off the heterosexuals for a bit and took the time to
develop an understanding, acceptance and advocacy for one another
first. Until we do, we're not our own community at all -- we're
just a bunch of people others won't fully accept or include. Upset
as that may make us, if we take a good look at how hard it seems
to be to include and accept one another, it may be more clear
how very difficult that inclusion is. I've heard bisexuals prattle
on about really ignorant ideas about gays and lesbians and heterosexuals.
I've heard lesbians say things about gay men, and gay men say
things about lesbians that are so ugly and ignorant, that even
being as salty as I am, I can't bear to repeat them. To really
have a community, we're going to need -- like most things -- to
start with ourselves.
However, I do think we're all awfully self-defeating at times
in this. One sees transgendered people consistently discredited
on the basis of gender because of what they "used to be," yet
they were really no more of that gender identity than a lesbian
was straight before she realized she was attracted to women.
It is nearly more important to me, and always has been, that I
be able to be out with everyone else who is, and in that instance,
I most certainly do not have heteropriviledge. I am often -- as
long as I keep my mouth shut -- more easily accepted in a culture
which understands me less than I am in one which should understand
me more, and with whom I have far more commonality.
Here's a hint: the person who would leave you for someone else
based on something as superficial as what genitals they have may
or may not be bisexual, but what they certainly will be is simply
a shitty person. And assholes some in every shapes, size, color
and orientation imaginable.
When it all comes down to it, most of our needs when it comes
to relationships are the same: we want people to partner with
to whom we're sexually attracted, to whom we can relate and trust,
with whom we have come commonality, and with whom we can grow,
both as a person and as a partner. In my case, and in the case
of most bisexuals, the only difference is that that person could
be male or female, and if they've got all that going, it doesn't
much matter which.
The next time you flirt with the fantasy of heteropriviledge,
consider how privileged we really may -- or may not -- be after
all. I don't want to get legally married anyway, and I'll hold
whomever's hand I want anywhere it's appropriate to be hand-holding.
But being continually excluded from groups and communities on
the basis of my orientation isn't something that heterosexual
society has a monopoly on. It happens across the board. That's
a tough pill to swallow when your orientation is one which --
by it's nature -- doesn't discriminate.
Copyright 2000, Heather Corinna. All rights reserved. |
