The Bisexual Amendment

Early 2020

Jack is great and all, but for years, I felt deprived of a female bestie. I’d had several throughout high school and college, but once I entered the workforce and pumped out the babies, those relationships drifted away and were never replaced.

Until Veronica.

When she was first hired, I was intimidated by her. She radiated confidence in her stiletto booties and thick framed fashion glasses. I found myself admiring her tiny facial features and her dark silky hair, which she constantly restyles throughout the day. And then I found myself smitten with her attitude — quiet but not shy; she often has a hilariously snarky comment to contribute in meetings.

Another coworker told me to get over myself and talk to her, so I did. Turns out that Veronica and I had a ton in common, from kids to values to creative pursuits. We started taking walks together on our breaks, growing closer with each revelation into our real lives.

I suddenly had a bestie again, and it felt so good.

Maybe a little too good. Jack often raised his eyebrows at me when I shared a Veronica-tidbit from the workday. He knows me too well. 

I’d had girl crushes before, but never the shameless sexuality to own up to it. Fine, yes, I admitted to Jack. But no way was I going to tell Veronica — no need to make it weird.

I was well aware that my crush wasn’t reciprocated — after all, she’s straight. But that didn’t really bother me, and if anything it made the whole situation more enjoyable. There was all the enjoyment of being platonic friends with a beautiful woman, without pressure or expectations.

But this crush did get me thinking. Fantasizing. What if I found a friend that I cared about as much as I cared about her, but with someone that I could also be intimate with? 

I envisioned a woman similar to Veronica, but more lesbian-looking. A slim woman with smallish breasts, taller than my five feet, but not too tall. I pictured luscious lips surrounding perfect teeth below a narrow nose. Her hair, perhaps cut shorter, perhaps in a straight bob or even a punk alternative style, would highlight her angular cheekbones. Her body would be firm but her skin would be soft. She’d smell good.

We’d have insightful, soulful conversations during which I’d look deep into her eyes, gorgeous with or without her heavy going-out makeup. Not to say that we’d always be so serious — most of the time, we’d be downright flirty, sensationally silly. There would be laughter, touching, hand holding or arm linking, hugs and holds, and sex, of course. 

After a morning of coffee and antiquing, we’d end up naked in my bed, caressing, expressing our desires in gentle, feminine voices that would escalate to nasally moans, all while basking in the afternoon sun as it came through the windows.

And then we’d meet our kids at the bus stop, go home to our own respective houses, and get dinner started. “See you tomorrow, girl!”

Apparently, in that fantasy I’ve also quit my job and become a full time writer, writing only when the mood strikes and not on an ideal day for scouring thrift stores followed by daytime girl-on-girl action.

But I digress. My point is that I was starting to imagine what my life could be like if I just lived how I wanted — if I said “fuck it” to the prescribed path and went on my own adventure.

Thing is, my fantasies didn’t include any dudes. Not even Jack.

I tried to alter the fantasy to include him. Easy, right? A threesome. But it didn’t do the trick. Nothing against Jack; obviously he pleases me. It just wasn’t what I wanted, what I found myself longing for.

I wanted a lesbian relationship. 

I wanted a relationship with a woman that was similar to my relationship with Jack — BFFs with benefits, but minus the whole marriage and mortgage thing. Like friends with benefits, but more romantic. A girlfriend.
I also wanted the relationship I already had with Jack. How would this work? Would he be okay if I found that other person of my dreams? Was it possible to have two separate sexual relationships, with two people? 

Was I crazy? I felt distinctly different from who I had been just years before. I was reading books like Sex at Dawn, my eyes opening to the expanse of humankind’s relationship with sexuality. I meditated during yoga. I smoked pot and thought about death — or more specifically, what comes next after I die. I sat with my fear of finality; I let it settle into my soul. Then, I thought about what I wanted to do while I lived.

My longing intensified. 

Some people, Jack included, are spewers, sharing their ideas aloud immediately. Me, I’m a chewer. I want to make sure that the idea is legit before I vocalize it. I want to examine it from all angles in my mind before I discuss it, especially if the idea feels big. And this idea, it felt huge to me.

We’d just finished yet another amazing round of sex. I’d been more assertive than ever lately, telling Jack exactly what I wanted and how I wanted it. I was in a phase of having consistent, leg-shaking, magical orgasms while on top of Jack, straddling him. I was enjoying being in control of the depth, the speed, the angle that would rub my clitoris just so. It was working well for both of us.

Now, I had something else to tell Jack. 

Per usual, we headed to our bathroom almost immediately after our session, bypassing aftercare for efficiency. After I cleaned myself up over the toilet, I joined Jack at the vanity to wash my face and brush my teeth. 

Jack and I often find ourselves pleasantly tired but clear-headed after sex. That night, we still had a half hour before we needed to be asleep. It felt like a good time to broach the subject.

“I’ve been thinking about how I’d like to date women,” I said.

Jack spat his toothpaste foam into the sink. “Oh?” he said. “How’s that?”

“I know we talked about being with couples,” I started. “I guess I feel like I’m not really interested in having sex with other men, though.”

Jack raised his eyebrows and continued brushing his teeth, urging me to continue. I knew this wasn’t completely new information to him. We’d scrolled through so many profiles together. We’d often find a pair that looked intriguing at first, but upon looking at their pictures, I’d pass because I wasn’t attracted to the man.

“I also feel like maybe we have different taste in women,” I added.

Jack nodded with a small smirk and a friendly eye roll, continuing to brush. It had become a little disheartening to both of us to learn that my type was quite different than his. I craved a Kristin Stewart or Ruby Rose type, very lesbian-chic. Jack, meanwhile, found himself attracted to a classically feminine frame a la Scarlett Johanssen, nary an article of men’s fashion in her repertoire. 

“So…” I tried to choose my words carefully, diving into the stew that I’d spent weeks stirring in my brain. “I wonder if you would be okay with me exploring separately…just me with other women.”

Jack and I have always been open and honest with each other, for better or worse. Sometimes our blatant honesty with each other caused harsh words and hurt feelings, other times screaming matches and slamming doors.

Now, with our sex life restored to its former glory, the trust and respect between us flourished. It was as if we sealed our bond several times a week with this physical admission of our love for each other. My seemingly endless stream of orgasms made it impossible for me to hide the affection and appreciation I felt for Jack. After my intense clitoral orgasms, I’d often breathlessly pant “thank yous” and “God, I love yous” to Jack with more authenticity and vulnerability than I’d ever allow myself to expose while sex-sober. He needed to hear that from me, and my words would fuel his orgasm that night, too.

Great sex didn’t cause us to shy away from the truth or tough conversations; it made them easier to grapple with. We still talked endlessly, sharing every detail about our day, every like and dislike and musing. Now, when things got dicey, we did a better job hearing the other out, even in the heat of conversation.

And so I relaxed into this potentially tough conversation. I detailed my desires and daydreams to Jack. The antiquing, the daytime sex. The camaraderie and companionship combined with cuddles and caresses.
Jack put down his toothbrush and turned to me. “This turns me on,” he admitted, indicating his erection with a tug on his cock.

I’m sure I rolled my eyes. “We just did that.”

“I know. I just wanted you to see how this does it for me,” he said. He looked pleased with himself.
I went on. “I’m not talking about a threesome or a unicorn,” I clarified, hoping that I wasn’t waving away his arousal too harshly. “I’m not sure that I’m into that. And I’m not sure that we’ll find a couple where the guy is my type, even enough to just watch. I don’t even know if I want you to watch us, at least at first. I feel like this is something that I want to explore on my own. I would want her one-on-one.”

I told him that I wanted to know a woman intimately, as a close friend and as a lover. I told him that she would be mine, not ours. “She would be like my girlfriend, on the side. I would want you to meet her, of course, and even be friends…but I would want her, sexually, for myself.”

Jack considered this fantasy — actually, this proposition for our marriage. It was quick, as if he’d considered it long before I said the words.

“Lizzie, I love you and I want you to be your best self. I only have one request.”

I stood before him on the cold tile floor of our bathroom, still naked from our lovemaking. I had exposed myself and now I was ready for his response. I raised my eyebrows, urging him to share.

He held eye contact and his smiley default settled into serious, perhaps even nervous. “I don’t ever want you to leave me,” Jack said. He wasn’t being some controlling asshole. He was being vulnerable.

I felt my shoulders relax. “Of course I wouldn’t leave you!” I responded immediately, and I meant it. It terrifies me to imagine a life without my Jack. It wasn’t that I wanted someone else, or someone more. I just wanted more someones. 

I wanted a fuller life, with more love, more connection, more pleasure. I wanted to experience all that I desired while I was still alive. I wanted to be all of me.

Jack was visibly relieved at my response, and I made a mental note to be gentle with him. No one would ever love me like Jack does. I needed to be sure to show him how I reciprocated that love, especially now, as I was setting off on my adventure.

We turned to logistics, revising our plan. Jack was certainly still game for foursome-friends-with-bi-women-benefits, partly to watch some girl-on-girl, partly to have others watch us. He also doubled-down on the age-old threesome invitation, noted. Plus, we realized that me starting one-on-one could potentially lead to those scenarios. 

Before we climbed into bed together, Jack gathered me up in his arms. “You were always obsessed with that Kissing Jessica Stein movie. I guess I’ve always known how gay you were.” He laughed at his own joke, which I suppose wasn’t a joke.

I’d seen that movie in theaters with a friend and had promptly purchased the DVD upon its release. Since then, I’ve watched it every couple of years, cueing it up to watch in the background while I cooked, cared for babies, or lifted weights in the basement. I’d don a big goofy grin while Helen and Jessica awkwardly work out their attraction to each other, and then pout at the end when Jessica concludes that she isn’t gay enough to be with Helen and instead reunites with her ex-boyfriend.

It seemed that I, however, wouldn’t have to choose between my main man and the woman of my dreams. I could have it all.