PRIDE MONTH | THIS HAPPENED TO ME
This Bisexual Woman Could Pass, but Not Today
It would be so easy to pass as straight, but truth is I’m not
When I was twenty years old, I fell in love with a beautiful, dark woman whose roots we didn’t know. She was adopted, so we could only guess at her dark skin and eyes, and thick eyebrows. Like Frida Kahlo, she had her own style.
She really didn’t give a fuck what anyone thought of her appearance. She wore painter’s pants, refused to shave her legs and underarms, and make up? No way.
She could get under the hood of a car and fix things and she swore like a sailor. Like me, she had grown up in rural Oregon, but unlike me, she was not guarded about her sexuality. She would tell anyone who was interested that she was gay. Usually men who were hitting on her, and they constantly were.
I was happy living with her, and my life revolved around her — but I wasn’t going to talk about it. Most certainly not with Mom and Dad.
My parents looked at me sideways, but they’d seen me with plenty of guys, and as my mother insisted one day, “You are not a lesbian. I gave birth to you. I raised you. If you were, I’d know.”
She was angry because I was the subject of conversation with my slightly more savvy aunts and uncles. They noticed me with Kelli, and were apparently in tune with what plaid flannel shirts meant. Mom was not— no way !— having anything to do with that kind of stuff, and she gave me a stern warning, “Just knock it off. Don’t be ridiculous.”
Okay, Mom.
Kelli and I were inseparable. Both men and women were attracted to her. I was smitten, and she and I spent all of our time together. All of it. Further to that, she was the only person who didn’t run away from my grief. Having lost my brother, I talked constantly about him.
About my late brother, I saw signs. I found pennies, saw flocks of ducks, and experienced cold places in a room. I knew he was trying to communicate, and I was so desperately sad. She listened, and listened, and listened. Then, we’d go downtown and see a movie, or hit the bars and dance together. We fell asleep wrapped in each other’s arms, and woke up and made breakfast for each other.
Some people say that you’re either gay or straight, and there’s no in-between. That bisexual people are just playing and experimenting — and hurting other people, using them. In my experience, I have always loved who I loved. That included Kelli.
She went to Arizona with me when my sister was getting married. She stayed in Phoenix with her aunt, while I moped around helping my sister with her dress, veil, plans, all that.
I missed Kelli, so at night, I took off and drove to Phoenix to spend the night. We slept in her aunt’s spare room, so happy to be in each other’s company, as young lovers are.
Then, I drove back the next day to my sister’s, and she was furious.
“What’s wrong with you! Why are you ditching me to hang out with a friend? It’s my wedding week,” she said.
How could I tell her that Kelli and I were more than friends? I hated being criticized, and didn’t want to put myself in the family crosshairs. As it was, I constantly fielded comments from others.
“You’re sure with her a lot.”
Yeah, we’re best friends.
“Someone told me you’re gay, but I told them you’re not. Are you?”
Wow, who said that?
On and on. I was on edge. I didn’t want to come out to anyone. I just wanted to live my life, happy with Kelli.
Our neighbor from the Deep South made sure I was aware of how fucked up I was. June Jump Snow White, who had been married first to a Snow, then to a White, was a fifty-year-old alcoholic woman with frizzy brown dyed hair. It was always flat in the back from sleeping on it.
She spoke the truth, according to herself.
“Look,” she said to me one day, “You are one or you are the other. Choose one. Be that. You are not a damn bicycle. That’s what Ah call ’em. Bicycles.” Then she laughed. I did not.
I felt so marginalized. Why did I have to sneak around? Finally, I told my parents I was with Kelli. Dad was cool about it, kind of amused. He grew up in San Francisco, so it didn’t concern him. He said, “I think you’re bisexual, but whatever makes you happy is fine.”
Mom, however, was angry. That said, when Kelli’s mom died, Mom sent Kelli a beautiful card and expressed concern.
In time, I developed a good attitude about dealing with all the anger and questions. I ignored it all. Was it easy? No. Did I get dirty looks when I was out and about with Kelli? On occasion. Mostly, guys fetishized us — “can I watch?” Annoying and horrible.
When I was in my twenties, I was a beautiful girl and I was in love with the most amazing woman. I have no regrets, and I am glad she was such a significant part of my life. How lucky I was to have some very good years with her. No regrets.
I’m married to a man now, and have been with him for more than two decades. This I will proudly admit — I am not straight. For the records, I’m bisexual, and proud of it. I claim myself, and love myself. Every single wonderful bit!
Thank you for reading! Here’s another story you may enjoy.
