Originally written in the fall of 2019, edited in the fall of 2020
It all started with a survey.
To be fair, it surely started long before that, but the survey is what got me thinking about it. Or rather, my response to the survey got me thinking about…myself. Because sometimes we don’t think about the labels that others might give us until we’re asked to name those labels. Then we have to step outside of ourselves, and think about how others see us — a dangerous game, but sometimes an insightful one.
So I was asked to think and respond, rather quickly, about who I am, and about what my label would be, on this little survey.
I’ve never had a co-worker inquire about my sexuality before, perhaps because it seems as if the answer is obvious. I’m married to a man, so I’m at least partly straight. As for the other part…well, my appearance and demeanor all scream “straight white suburban lady.” I don’t have tattoos, or piercings other than in my ears, or any edgy haircut. I’m not outspoken about gay rights, women’s rights, and, well, I’ve never said anything to anyone about being interested in anyone or anything other than my husband. And no one has ever asked.
The survey was about workplace culture and climate. I must’ve been in a mood that day, because in response to a question about sexual orientation discrimination, my answer was all fired up. I can’t recall my exact wording, but I essentially said, no, I don’t think there is blatant sexual oriention discrimination because no one expresses their sexuality at all. We just assume we know what everyone’s sexual preferences are. We don’t talk about sex in that way — in a real way — because it’s a taboo topic that makes people uncomfortable. I then went on to say that I had to be closeted because if not, I believe I would be judged and possibly discriminated against.
Yeah, I know, right? I went home and spent a weekend in shock that I actually clicked submit on that. I seriously wonder if I was still quasi-high from the night before, and something stimulated that don’t-give-a-fuckness of highness that I typically love at home, but at work? Not smart.
But I honestly don’t think I was high. I wasn’t even particularly inspired by anything…I hadn’t listened to any of my podcasts recently, and I don’t think I’d even watched Dr. Doe. I was triggered by some part of me that is just so exhausted of hiding myself from the world.
I often don’t feel seen for who I am, or valued yet for what I have to offer the world. It could be a midlife crisis sort of thing, but I don’t think that’s quite right. I’m bored by my day job in many ways, that’s true. I want to be a full time writer — yes, so much. I want time to think, to let the words flow out on paper. I want that flow.
But what do I want to write about? What am I most interested in? Sex. So, there’s two things — I want to write about sex, and I want to be seen. I want to be open about myself and my thoughts on my favorite subject. I want to be real with someone, other than my husband. So I started this blog. It’s an amazing hobby for the husband and I to work on together, and it also helps me sort out my thoughts, especially my thoughts that I can’t just openly share in polite society. I have a lot of thoughts about sex, in particular my own sexuality.
Disclaimer — my husband is amazing, and I am adamant that he is my soulmate. He is also more than supportive. Of what he is so supportive that I had to throw this in there, you dare ask?
…as a near forty year old woman, married to a man and with a giant family, I’m slowly coming out as bisexual.
He’s supportive of the fact that, as a near forty year old woman, married to a man and with a giant family, I’m slowly coming out as bisexual. Maybe. Possibly. Definitely a bicurious woman. It’s hard to put a finger on who I am, especially because it’s tricky to talk about this in real life, given my situation. I don’t feel taken seriously.
I hadn’t really considered the label that I associate myself with until about a year ago, when we decided that we would like to venture into “the lifestyle,” or at least explore what our options could be. We were open to possibilities…we still are, for that matter.
When Jack and I started really having conversations and discussions about what we’re into as far as the lifestyle, we talked through all the scenarios. Would flirting with another couple be appropriate? Sure. What about a “soft swap” — a little fooling around that didn’t involve intercourse? We’re game for fingers, but fluids make us nervous. I’m not into kissing other guys; I’m not even really into kissing Jack all that much, to be honest.
In early days, we didn’t think we’d ever want to “full swap” (have intercourse) with another couple, until we considered the possibility of doing so with some of our closest friends. Not yet, but one day. Initially we didn’t want to swap fluids at all; now we’re thinking we’d be fine with it if it was with someone as close to us as they are. The more we communicate about our thoughts, needs, and desires, the closer we get to pinpointing exactly what it is we’re going for, or at least open to.
I don’t like kissing guys, but women are a different story. With women…I like it. Quite a bit.
Then we started talking more and more about women. I don’t like kissing guys, but women are a different story. With women…I like it. Quite a bit. I started kissing other girls in high school and it continued through college, mostly with the girlfriends of Jack’s guy friends. I’m sure I started doing it because I liked that it turned on the guys. It got me some attention, which in small, sexy groups is something I actually like. (Large crowds are a different story, though one time I got drunk in a bar in Canada at age nineteen and apparently made out with another girl on stage. It’s a very blurry memory, unfortunately.)
I remember liking how soft and gentle the girls were when I kissed them. I liked their bodies, and I had fun doing sexual things with them. I became real friends with them, too. We cared about each other. I’m still Facebook friends with most of them.
I miss that bond that I had with those women. I miss the closeness that we experienced together, both physical and emotional. I liked the possibility that we might get a little tipsy and do something a little naughty, a little unexpected and wild. After college, life got serious quite quickly for Jack and me. We began our careers immediately. We married the year after graduation, and had our first baby just two years after that. Our friendships altered as the guys broke up with their college girlfriends, eventually marrying others (and then divorced and married again, for some). Our friends caught up with us and had their own little families and big careers. My frisky female friendships faded into a thing of the past.
Really, Jack and I both miss having close friends like that. We miss the silly, sexy fun of fooling around with another couple. We miss being so open and honest, and then not unfairly judged, for our wild whims. With the girls in that group, I miss the camaraderie, the raw relationship we shared. We were bold, and we didn’t give a hoot about what others thought, so long as we were fulfilled and no one got hurt. No hard feelings, just good vibes and fun. That’s what really set us on this lifestyle joyride. True friends first, sex second…if we all find ourselves in the mood.
When you’re in the lifestyle, people like to ask you about what you’re into. Helpfully, on the Kasidie profile, there are a number of options and checkboxes presented. I didn’t hesitate to check off women. That’s old hat. Been there, done that. And I would happily play around with a girl again.
Ideally, I would prefer someone that is married, so that boundaries are clear and there are less complications, just as a single girl would prefer not to be involved with a married man. I am not really interested in her husband, though I’d want him to be attractive, too, for when we play as a group. But I might want her to myself, sometimes, too. I would be interested in that.
But do I “count” as bisexual? I’ve never had sex with a woman, so how do I really know? Don’t teenagers decide their sexuality without ever actually “doing it?” I suppose that desire would be one box to check.
But do I “count” as bisexual? I’ve never had sex with a woman, so how do I really know? Don’t teenagers decide their sexuality without ever actually “doing it?” I suppose that desire would be one box to check. For me, personally, I’m not interested in going down on a woman, but I would let a woman go down on me. That’s pretty much how it goes with men, too, to be fair. I’m the taker in our relationship (but believe me, I take it well). I do enjoy giving from time to time, and the idea of using a vibrator or my fingers on another woman peaks my interest. If it was the right woman, that is.
I like to look at women about as much as I like to look at men. I’ve always appreciated beautiful women on screen; movies like the 1990s version of Romeo and Juliet and The Notebook were amazing to watch as much for their hot female leads as their male ones. I happily “let” Jack subscribe to Playboy for years, back when there was nudity. I appreciate a smile, a compliment, or a quip from a cute woman much more than I do a man. Female friendships in which we talk openly about sex intrigue me, and sometimes with the right friend, something a little strange stirs inside me.
It seems, upon reflection, that I even have a type. I would prefer the women that I’m with to be slim or curvy, but never overweight…dark hair and light eyes are my favorite…and I’d like for her to just be a touch more masculine than me in her facial features. Perhaps a look akin to Alexis Bledel when she’s in her professor gear in The Handmaid’s Tale. (It doesn’t hurt that she plays a lesbian in that role, though she’s gorgeous in everything else she’s ever been in, too.) Someone who smiles a lot, who talks about real things, who’s gentle but silly and a little aggressive. Not that I’ve thought about it too much. Why does thinking about an imaginary woman like this cause me to daydream like a hormone crazed teenager?
And who daydreams about having a full-out relationship with a woman when they’re already so happily married to a man?
I’m not sure, because this is just the sort of thing that I can’t tell a soul. So when that anonymous survey was presented to me, prodding me with questions about acceptance and honesty and sexuality…well, I told my truth. Anonymously, so I’m not sure if that counts, but still. It felt good. And then it was terrifying.
What if the people reading the survey found out it was me who wrote that funky little line? What would people think about me? Why did I even care what anyone else thought?
The next week, we had a Sexual Orientation Awareness training at work. To be fair, I missed it, but I got the notes, which included a full blown glossary of terms. I didn’t know there were so many ways to identify. We’re supposed to be supportive of our students — children — who identify as one of these sexualities. But I’m not allowed to define myself at work? Straight or gay, as evidenced to the world by whoever you present as your partner. That is, if you have a partner. If you don’t, you may be subject to endless chatter behind your back about what your sexuality could possibly be, as is the case with one of my “too-good-looking to be single and straight” male co-workers. Such unnecessary judgements and inquiries. Such silly labels that we all want to slap onto people to put them into the correct boxes. What about those of us that are open to possibilities and want to explore?
We are being taught to act accepting, but most people my age and older, the people I work with, aren’t there. They might talk the talk and walk the walk…but they don’t really think it. For some reason, people tell me everything. They open up to me very quickly, letting me know their viewpoints and their gossip. People seem to see me as a mirror; whatever they think, they’re always sure that I think it, too. Perhaps I don’t speak up enough.
If word got out that I’m a married, bisexual, potentially polyamourous woman,
I have a feeling that I would be the subject of much gossip and judgement.
If word got out that I’m a married, bisexual, potentially polyamourous woman, I have a feeling that I would be the subject of much gossip and judgement. My mother would probably faint. Most people would just think I was a little crazy and neglecting my family. Not that fooling around with a friend would be much more time away from my kids than, say, going off on a hike with a friend. It’s just more of an emotional risk, I suppose, if it becomes akin to adultery.
That’s another thing about the lifestyle, though. There’s a T-shirt out there that says something like “It’s Not Cheating If He’s Watching.” You get the sentiment. Some guys are into watching their gals with other gals or other guys. It’s not that unique. For some people, it’s just sex. For others, there’s a true friendship at the heart of it. We’re the kind of people that like to have a relationship with another person before sex…Lord knows, we took our first time having sex a little too seriously.
I’ll also note here that we tried the casual sex sort of swing thing, and while I was interested in the woman, I wasn’t too happy with the lack of friendship vibes. They were lovely people and she was gorgeous, but without deep friendship…well, it just wasn’t enough. Anyways, that’s a different story. I want a friend. Ideally, a friend who’s on my same wavelength.
Does that make me bisexual? Maybe. Maybe I’m just questioning, or maybe I’m just a sex crazed suburbanite rebelling against the system. Does it matter what I am? Well, it does to me, and it does to Jack. I suppose that’s all that matters.
But apparently, it doesn’t mean anything to anyone at work. My work is not a sexual place, nor is it a place where we can talk about sexuality openly. No one ever approached me about the survey, so it seems my secret is safe. I can’t tell if I’m relieved or disappointed…but I’m still curious. Am I a mystery to others, or just a mystery to myself?
