I’m Scared to Love a Woman (But Here’s Why I Want To)

Will I be good enough?

By the time I discovered I was bisexual, it was too late.

There were always signs. I had complicated feelings for one of my friends. She made me feel the way I thought only boys could.

I loved the intimacy between us, but it also terrified me.

When she tried to get closer to me, I got so uncomfortable that I pushed her out of my life and tried to suffocate the feelings I had for her.

I convinced myself there was no way I could be attracted to girls. I grew up in a small town in the 90’s and homophobia was alive and well. I told myself I’m not like that. I’m not some kind of weirdo.

A few years later, I clued in and accepted it. I am exactly that kind of weirdo. I didn’t just find girls cute, I could date them. I was drawn to some girls and I wanted more with them. Kissing, cuddling, dating, fucking — whole relationships.

There was only one problem. I was in a serious and committed relationship with the man who would eventually become my husband.

Embracing my bisexuality was bittersweet. It opened me up to a whole new side of myself, but I also realized that I had closed it off by settling down before I could explore it.

All I had were a couple of crushes on girls, the fantasies, and the daydreams.

And that one time I had sex with a girl.

Like Losing My Virginity Again

That should’ve been a huge moment for me. My first time with a woman should’ve been like losing my virginity all over again. But it wasn’t because I was not ready for it at all.

My first time caught me completely off-guard. I know that’s a funny thing to say, but it really did happen almost completely out of the blue.

It was my birthday and I was having a small celebration — just me, Mr. Austin, my friend Abby, and her boyfriend.

We all got drunk. Drunk turned to frisky. And that turned to Abby deciding to get frisky with me.

It happened really quickly. It wasn’t an intimate scenario that I could work through at a pace that felt right for me.

I wanted my first time with a woman to go one of two ways. Either we explored each other — touching, stroking, kissing, and licking each other tentatively, sweetly, and passionately. We would giggle over our awkwardness, blush at our inexperience, and pant from the excitement. And most importantly, we would forgive each other for everything because it’s all so new.

That, or I needed a woman who would take the lead and basically pull me through the process. Someone with more experience and confidence who could help me take my first steps. Someone who would be amused by my inexperience but not condescending at my ineptitude.

Instead, I got to put on a show. I felt the need to perform — for Abby, for the guys who were there with us, and from the sheer fact that a drunken birthday foursome was basically a porn scenario playing itself out in real life.

It was rushed, but I also wasn’t ready emotionally.

I was attracted to women, but it was still kind of abstract for me. I hadn’t mapped out exactly how a relationship with a girl would go. And I definitely hadn’t thought through exactly how I would fuck her if I got into one.

I didn’t do any of that because I didn’t think I needed to. I figured there would be the usual buildup to a relationship. There would be lots of flirting, some dating, some evenings making out for so long we wouldn’t notice it got dark outside.

That would give me plenty of time to fantasize, plan, and work out all the details of how we’d have sex.

Abby was cute, fun, and we got along really well. But I didn’t have a crush on her. I wasn’t into her like that.

We got physical sometimes. We’d get drunk at parties and make out with each other. She was fun to kiss because she was one of the only girls who didn’t feel like she was faking it.

It was hot, but it never felt like we were starting something. We were just two bored teenagers filled with hormones, cheap beer, and coolers.

If I had been ready, my birthday sex with Abby might have felt like losing my virginity again. But instead of a transformative experience, it felt more like the first time I had a threesome with someone I wasn’t crushing on — like I was checking something off a list.

Mostly, I felt embarrassed by how terrible I was at it.

I was more nervous than enthusiastic. I was too timid to do any of the things I had sort of imagined I’d do when I would have sex with a woman.

I knew how to get guys off. I knew how to get myself off. But somehow, I couldn’t get over my nerves and get Abby off.

After that night, my girl-loving side still felt unexplored. Things got even more serious with Mr. Austin. Then we got married, and I was happy and grateful to have found the man I truly believe to be my soulmate.

But I still had these moments of regrets — these realizations that I would never get to have a real relationship with a woman.

Now, I have the freedom to pursue that. It should give me hope. But I can’t help but think that my chances are pretty much gone.

Just Another Dick-Saturated Hopeless Romantic

When I opened my marriage, I thought for sure I would become a double dick clutcher. And I was for a while. I might even become one again in the future, who knows?

But right now, I don’t really feel it.

I’ve got a great husband and we’ve recently learned how to take our sex to the next level with sensual domination, great dirty talk, and all sorts of things that put me in a submissive place.

I feel dick-saturated. One is enough. One is plenty.

When I have a crush on a guy, I override those feelings and try to make room for one more in my life. But those crushes are few and far in between.

The rest of the time, my romantic fantasies involve women.

That’s where I am now.

There’s a big part of me that isn’t fully satisfied, that still wishes it could explore, and that wants to experience something new with someone new.

I want something real and serious. I want that intoxicating mix of love and lust. I want someone sweet and caring. Someone who makes me feel nurtured and who makes me want to nurture her back.

That urge has changed my sexual fantasies, too. A lot more of them are about falling for a woman and stroking her soft skin while we’re lying together.

I want her to lean into me while I play with her hair. I want to kiss every inch of her body in appreciation of her beauty. I want to caress her soft breasts and pinch her firm nipples, listening to the way her breathing changes when I do.

I want to slide my hand down her panties and feel how warm, wet, and soft she is down there. I want to spread her legs and explore her pussy with my eyes, my fingers, and my mouth.

I want to taste her, tease her, and edge her until she squirms.

I want to make her come again and again, taking in the way she looks and sounds while she’s in the throes of her orgasm.

I want to fuck her differently than I fuck a man. I want to play a different role with her — to be another sexual being with her.

I want to tap into another type of sexual energy.

I know what I want. But just thinking about it makes me nervous.

I’m still basically inexperienced. I think I’d do a lot better than I did on my birthday all those years ago, but how much better would I really do? I know what I’m supposed to do — but I knew that with Abby, too. There’s a lot more to being good at sex than knowing where your fingers and tongue are supposed to go.

I’m pretty sure I could get over that if I met the right person. My nervousness could turn to excitement.

I’m just not sure I’ll ever find the right person.

When I was looking for another man, there were obstacles. Most of my experiences dating again reinforced the idea that all the good men are already taken.

And then there’s the fact that I’m paired up and have a gaggle of kids. If I met a decent guy, what are the odds that he would want to hitch his wagon to all of this?

With women, there are even more concerns.

I worry that my inexperience would be a huge turn-off.

I have this gendered assumption that’s drilled into me. It’s that men get turned on or even prefer naive, inexperienced, innocent girls. Women, though, would rather be with someone who is experienced, knows what they’re doing, and can get them off with skill.

I know that’s just a stereotype, but it’s one that still deflates my sense of hope.

I feel out of my depth. If I met someone I really liked, I’m not sure I could make anything happen with her. I’m too slow, too timid, and way too green.

There’s only one thing that gives me a little shred of hope. One thing that makes me think that there’s still a chance I could meet the right woman and it would all work out. It’s that love is patient.

When you fall in love, you figure it out. You feel eager but you can also take your time. Things can get awkward, you can fumble and think you’re saying all the wrong things, you can fantasize a mile a minute but take things slow.

You find your pace together. And as long as you keep moving forward, that’s all that counts. There’s time to figure out the details as you go.

Love is patient, and I’m patient too. As much as I’ve got an urge to explore this part of me, I’m not rushing to make it happen. If I meet the right person, it will all just fall into place. And when I do, I hope she doesn’t mind that I suck at it for a while.

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