Pride 2024- My Bisexual Desires

I’ve had many blog post topics floating around my head recently- some of them serious; some of them whimsical; some of them too vulnerable to share right now. But what feels most important during the month of June in the UK, is to perhaps lend some time to my own experiences of bisexuality, and to honour my pathway in a more personal way. I might even be kind to myself and not worry too much about my writing style; my grammar; how I might be perceived. By doing that, I hope to contribute to a conversation regarding what it might mean to unique individuals to love (or be attracted to) more than one gender, and although I could touch on some sobering undertones regarding mental health stats, discrimination and bi-erasure in today’s society…what I actually want to do more than anything this time is just to celebrate the magical times I’ve been lucky enough to experience with men and women.

Because it’s Pride Month.

And maybe I just wanna tell you a sexy or touching story or two, about how I came to be. So that you can hold your cup of tea with both hands and feel warm (or turned on) for a few moments, while we continue to endure the chaotic weather of another British Summer, and you’re still mourning the ending of Bridgerton Series 3.

So settle in and come with me…

When did I know?

Honestly, looking back at my childhood, adolescence, and even my early twenties, even if somebody had hit me over the head with a shovel labelled ‘Raging Bisexual’, I still probably would’ve come back around on the floor, held my hand to the wound on my head, blinked a few times…and gone back to wondering why that boy hadn’t text me back.

I was more clueless than my husband is when I remind him of our weekend plans.

Now, let’s pretend that I’m not indulging in silly sapphic stereotypes, and look at the evidence below, which suggests I might not have been completely straight from birth, as I’d previously assumed.

• There are many pictures of me as a child wearing frilly dresses that my Nan had bought me, an accompanying frown in response, and the most vibrant red, Doc Marten style boots that I insisted on matching to anything that I felt was too feminine for me.

(Yes, I know there are many beautiful women in the lesbian and bisexual community who adore a feminine-presenting look… but don’t try to tell me that Docs are not a gay shoe. We all know that they became somewhat symbolic in the 1970s of non-conformist gatherings, a significant number of whom were LGBTQ+. I’m convinced my 7 year old bisexual soul knew this. The boots were flagging hard).

• Most girls my age had the first stirrings of an innocent sexual awakening during that scene of Casper, where Devon Sawa made us all realise that we fancied a fucking ghost (see below):

And I was right there along with them. Except I also wondered why nobody was talking about the beauty of young Christina Ricci.

• I watched the music video of Tatu’s ‘All the Things She Said’ an unhealthy number of times as a teen, while telling my Dad that I was just enjoying this duo’s powerful lyrical exposé of pain.

• I had a very large poster of this classic scene on my wall for the whole three years I was at Uni:

Many a friend came into the room and hesitantly asked: “Are you….?” and I’d just say: “….no, I just like the image.”

Well I liked having some alone time to it, anyway.

• I only ever had boyfriends growing up, and I was always very clear in my attraction to men. I still love men and I would never want to give them up. But… I was asked out by quite a few women at College and University, and I’d always feel slightly confused and tell them in an oddly apologetic tone that I was, in fact, straight. And every single time, I was met with a raised eyebrow and a facial expression that said “Ya okay. Come back to me in a few years and say those words.”

So, despite the fact that I had kissed a few women as a teen, it’s true that I lived a very happy and seemingly-contented monogamous life with my husband throughout my twenties, until I hit my 30th birthday and we began our ENM journey (look up previous blog posts, e.g. “Is It All Worth It” if you’d like to read that story).

However, looking back, I had bouts of depression or significant unrest at times, and despite there probably being complex reasons behind that (including PND)…I know now that in hindsight, I had unwittingly suppressed a very important part of my identity for many years, and I wonder if at least part of my depressive feelings was a deep sense of confused longing; an aching hole that I didn’t understand how to fill. At times, I wondered why I felt like something was wrong, when my life presented itself as very ‘right’.

The moment that I truly realised the impact of this came much later than my first time being sexually intimate with a woman. It came when I was finally able to build a deep connection with another woman who I felt safe with; who understood my unrest and the effect that suppression can have on your life, even when you’re happily married to the most gorgeous and wonderful of men.

I think it’s important here to make a distinction between sexuality and Ethical Non- Monogamy. For many (perhaps most) bisexual people, they can feel completely fulfilled within a monogamous relationship.

Bisexuality is not synonymous with non-monogamy.

For me, I do feel that I need to be able to explore connections with women as well as my husband. And I guess that if I were forced to put a label on the situation, that makes me ‘bisexual’ as well as somebody who practises ‘ENM’.

Do I think that this is for everyone? No.

Are bisexual people necessarily entitled to explore non-monogamous connections if their partner isn’t on board with this? Absolutely not.

It’s a conversation, and you can still honour your bisexuality, or support your bisexual partner within a monogamous relationship. Anything more than this needs careful consideration, ongoing conversations/ boundaries/ agreements, and if that doesn’t prove possible, then challenging decisions might need to be made.

Bisexuality and ENM are two separate things. I know I’m incredibly lucky to be on the same page with my husband in that we’re both wired in an ENM way, and that allows us to explore together, in the ways we’ve mutually agreed. But that has also taken lots of work at times, and it’s not without heartache and frustration.

My husband did ask a hypothetical question once which was fairly uncomfortable:

“Would you ever feel able to be monogamous again?”

…because I realised that my desire to be with women (whether that’s in an emotionally intimate or sexual way) now feels more like a ‘need’ than a ‘desire’. And we both recognise that my husband isn’t able to meet this need (nor would either of us expect him to). So that would be a very difficult cross-roads for us if it ever arose.

Ultimately, if my marriage and family depended on it, then that’s what I would be willing to do every single time. Along with my son, he means more to me than anything in the world. But my husband and I both know that significant sacrifices would have been made… and it would be impossible to predict the eventual effects of that on our marriage as we currently know it.

With all of this in mind, bisexuality and ENM can very much feel like a double-edged sword.

On the one knife-edge, the continuous sliding of sharp evolution in ENM can sting, or threaten a deeper wound that would take time to heal from. But on the other side, the slice of excitement, adventure and acceptance burns enough that it’s equally unpredictable and beautiful like a flame; it’s hot. And when my husband and I have a handle on it together,

It is synchronicity and fulfilment, rather than a battle.

Ultimately, our mutual gift of compersion to each other has enabled me to enjoy some of the most beautiful, eye-opening, wholesome (and very unwholesome), sexy experiences with both men and women.

So in honour of Pride 2024, I’ll share some of them here, in the hope that whoever you are, you might be inspired to move towards your more authentic and intimate self, whatever that might look like.

The First Time I Made a Woman Come

Before I continue, I refuse to spell it as ‘cum’ because the visual of this word makes me want to spoon out my eyes. ‘Come’ is sexy. It’s an invitation; a command; an arrival. Hot.

Anyway, the first time I made a woman come was much later into my adulthood than I care to admit (not because I’m terrible in bed btw; I just hadn’t had the opportunity). My husband and I were meeting a couple we had played with before, but only in a larger group setting. They were due to meet us in a more intimate foursome setting and I was positively almost sick with nerves. I knew the woman was bisexual like me, and more experienced. I was excited but terrified because I suddenly felt like a virgin again in my thirties. I kept telling myself there was no room for error.

What if I did it wrong? What if I made a fool of myself? What if she didn’t like what I was doing but was too polite to say anything?

I remember my husband smiling as I outlined all of these things, and he told me that I’m awesome in bed. That I actually own the anatomy that I was seemingly so scared of touching on another woman. That I had always been intuitive and communicative in the bedroom. That it would be absolutely fine. We’d chat, explore, laugh, make mistakes, find out what each other likes. It didn’t have to be perfect…but we’d look after this couple and we’d have fun together.

Despite these wise words, he still took great delight in giving me a tutorial in oral skills that he’d picked up along the way, and we had way too much fun in bed while I watched him jokingly tongue-fuck the air in fits of laughter!

When the night came, it felt surprisingly easy, fluid and connected. I slowly made my way down this woman’s stomach and ran my fingertips along the inside of her thigh, following this touch with my tongue. I looked to her for consent and fully tuned into her body to know when the circling of my tongue was teasing or when it was the direct touch that she wanted. I slid my arms underneath her thighs and gripped her waist as my mouth moved against her, and the almost adolescent-pride I experienced when I felt her orgasm against my lips was a thunder-bolt.

Yeah. I was definitely bi.

A Kiss in Luton

These two memories are hard-coded into my brain, because they remind me of the first time we were with a couple who my husband and I have come to know and love as two of our best friends (and incredible lovers to boot). It’s a shame these two kisses happened in Luton but you can’t have it all, can you.

Just like a rogue Mills and Boon romance that had gone seriously off-piste, the kiss I experienced with the male half of this couple started with us watching a flogging show in a sex club. Across the room, I watched my husband kissing his wife in a dark corner, to the sounds of soft whipping and distant music. I’d been wanting to kiss this man for months, as we had been getting to know them from a distance in the lead up to a lifestyle event. He was intelligent, empathetic, quick-witted and incredibly attractive. However, I soon came to realise that it might be up to me to make the first move, because I could tell he was nervous. For those minutes leading up to making the decision to ask him for that kiss, I could hear my heartbeat whooshing in my ears and I was scared! Scared he’d say no, worried I’d misread signals, and fearful of rejection, even though rationally I knew it wouldn’t be like that. I could feel the opportunity slipping away and; almost detached from my body, I turned to him, put my hands underneath his shirt to hold his back, and heard myself asking if he’d kiss me. But when our lips met, I rushed back into myself again and honestly, it was 0-60 mph in one second flat… ongoing proof that this man (along with my husband) proves over and over again that I can feel 100% gay sometimes… but I’m simultaneously 100% straight. I dream of that tongue, and he knows it.

As luck would have it, I was also gifted a searingly hot moment with his wife later in the night. Our husbands had gone to get drinks and I was standing by a wall, looking out at people talking and dancing in the main part of the club. I was feeling quite new in my experiences of bisexuality, but as soon as we had this moment alone together, she pinned my back against the wall with a gentle dominance, and kissed me hard with one hand on my neck and the other hand exploring my body. The level of desire I had coursing through me was exhilarating, and I remember she was wearing lingerie with vertical zips covering her breasts. I slowly unzipped them, revealing perfectly hard nipples, that I immediately placed between my fingers, before feeling them in my mouth. Her knee was placed firmly between my thighs, and I hope that when I’m geriatric and playing a game of Chess in a stuffy communal room with broken pieces, I’ll think of this kiss and tell my doddery opponent the story with a smug grin on my naughty, old face.

Since these initial kisses, I’ve enjoyed too many emotionally and sexually intimate times to mention with these guys, along with my husband… but that night was a real first in me wanting to thank whatever Higher Being had decided to give me a life-long case of Being Bi.

The Hotel Stay

This night involves the same woman mentioned above. It was my first sexy overnight stay with another woman and effectively, we would be able to just hang out together, talk about things that were important to us, float around in the spa, eat snacks and explore each other until we fell asleep. And that’s exactly what happened. I’ve got such a deep respect and care for her, and we have such fun together that it was like having one of the best sleepovers ever, where we were able to have hot sex together, instead of those ones as a teen where you fall asleep too early and wake up with a dick drawn on your face.

I remember spending so much time just kissing and running our hands over each other. There was no rush; no specific direction; no assumptions. It was fluid and lovely…and led on to exploring things I’d been fantasising about for years. After midnight, we took a break and owing to our joint sapphic chaos, I taught her some tipsy Samba dancing, we made way too much noise stomping around, and then we fell about laughing…and when we got back into bed and slipped under the covers in the darkness, my hands found her body again, and we melted into Round 2.

To do this together with the absolute support of our husbands was something truly special, and something I know we’re both thankful for. We got to explore our bisexuality together in a liberating way, and then go home to our partners, share our hot memories, and be welcomed back into the comfort and hot connection of our respective marriages.

I know that I’m living my best years, and that’s both spectacular and existential in its fragility.

My Solo Date

This brings me to my final ‘mention’ of this post. I could go on all day about the incredible times I’ve experiences as a bi woman, but I don’t want you to have to finish this and tell your friends about how ThatSecretWriter is smug AF and that you’re sick of her. Plus, it’s not all rosy; I’m just giving space to the positives this month.

The most recent development in our ENM evolution together, is to potentially explore solo dating in more depth and see how we feel. I’ll be writing a blog post about this in coming months, so I won’t get into the details of how or why this has come about, but for now, let me tell you briefly about my date with a woman I recently met online.

I’ve never online-dated in my life, and having only been on this site for a month, I’m beginning to feel increasingly thankful for that. The incessant requirement to dismissively ‘swipe’ a human being left or right based on their face feels inherently problematic. That being said, these are the things I’ve experienced so far when I have actually clicked on a profile:

• A woman who added “cheesy Wotsit obsession” as the main draw in their bio;
• A person who said ‘Steps’ was their all- time favourite band;
• Somebody who wrote that “The TV Guide” was their favourite book;
• A woman who, when asked about her hobbies, wrote “Maximising opportunities. Boom”.
• A particular ballsy woman who answered the ‘Looking for’ section with a simple scissor emoji.
• A lady whose profile picture was half of a foot.

Am I being too fussy or….?

Anyway, somehow I’d matched with a younger woman who articulated a whole bio really nicely, seemed warm and down-to-earth, had a cool hobby, didn’t feel the need to maximise every opportunity, was looking for something casual like me, and whose profile picture was of her face.

After chatting for a while, we made a dinner date and that’s that. As I drove there on the day, I felt very strange with a tinge of excitement and a flood of nerves. I didn’t know how to behave, what to say, where my mind was. I turned up at the restaurant, knowing this woman was waiting inside and sent my husband a text to say “fuck this”, which he found hilarious as he was enjoying his comfy solitude at home.

I don’t mind admitting that I even googled things like “things to know on a gay date” because Reddit had planted a few seeds of doubt in which I was worried that I’d missed out on some kind of lesbian lore while hiding in plain hetero sight all these years. It turns out that you’re just supposed to be a decent human being, ask insightful questions, listen well, not eat from your date’s plate, and throw a few compliments out there. Who’d have thought!

Overall, it was a really lovely date. We talked about lighthearted things and real things. She was quite shy and it was a new experience not having an obvious masculine presence at the table opposite me. But there were little smiles, tentative flirts, and I actually really enjoyed the slower nature and comparative innocence of it, compared to many of my ENM experiences. When I pulled her in and kissed her gently at the end of the night, it was almost as though I was a 17-year old again (but this time, I wasn’t styled after Evanescence’s Amy Lee, and I had more money and confidence to play with).

So, having come to the end of my reflections and stories, you might be thinking that I focused mostly on my experiences with women, rather than men. This is because my attraction and love for men has never been in question. I respect most men in my life; they’ve taught me a lot; I enjoy their company; I’m curious about them…and the ones I have chosen to play a more intimate role in my life have often lit either a mental or physical fire in me; sometimes both. But because I’ve never doubted my attraction to men, I’ve dedicated much more time recently to identifying, discovering, accepting and celebrating the other half of me that spent so many years buried.

Ultimately, I’ve found that my love and attraction to men and women differ greatly. I don’t look for the same things in men and women, so they could never be compared, and I would never want to lose my time with either. I offer myself in a different way to different individuals and gladly take in the lessons that other people offer me…and the freedom that this implies is of great value to me.

I’ve gone through suppression, confusion, tears, aching, challenges, yearning, and urgency on my way here. My Mum never even knew I was bisexual before she died, and that will always be painful for me. Despite that, when I look back on what I’ve carved for myself, in the comforting bubble of the people I surround myself with, I’m going to allow myself to be proud today.

And Happy Pride to you too x