I knew I liked girls when I was in junior high, or even younger. But because I still liked boys, I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t know there was a such a thing as “bisexual,” that I didn’t have to choose one or the other forever and ever.
I finally realized that somewhere in high school, and though I admitted my attraction to women, I very commonly said that I couldn’t see myself dating one.
At 18, as a weird, strategic way out of an argument with my mother, I blurted out “Oh yeah? Well, I’m bisexual!”
Her reaction? “But, I don’t want you to be!!”
She was more worried about my father, who is an ordained Southern Baptist minister (ooooh) and advised me not to tell him unless he just absolutely needed to know.
A year later, I met a girl. We were friends at first, but that turned into a year of on again/off again sex. At some point during that time, my father became aware of what was going on. At the end of that year, we started actually dating.
In less than a month, we’re having our 10-year anniversary. And she loves to remind me that I swore I would never seriously date a woman. The joke is most DEFINITELY on me.
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