Dale H West Menu

© 2004 Dale H. West. All rights reserved.

Bi-X - Not the Happy Curious
(on being married, mongamous and bisexual)

Okay. I admit it. I have been married to the same man for fifteen years (and having monogamous sex with him for nearly 20 years) AND I’m a bisexual. I’ve had some experience with women with the blessing of my partner, but pussy diving is still on my list of things to do before I die – along with sky diving. I never developed a great sense of fear for situations I’ve put myself in, but exploring inside myself can give me the willies. I’ve done a lot of exploring in this fool head of mine lately and emerged even less fearful. After all that exploration I have determined two things: I am married – but not happily so and I am bisexual - but not curiously so.

Starting with the first idea, why is it a couple, of any combination, which succeeds in creating a loving, strong, enduring relationship must be “happy?” I would walk to the ends of the earth with MJ for any reason, and some day I hope to sail there with him. We have an awesome sex life. We are creative and positive and self-aware. At night, since we don’t own a television, we talk, play games, play music together or use the Jacuzzi. We discuss the problems of the world and of our selves and we kiss each other good-bye whenever we are going to be apart for any length of time.

With all that said, I’ve seriously considered getting a divorce from MJ so we could apply for a Civil Union. Honestly, we both find the institution of marriage to be depressing and statistically unsuccessful. But the State of Vermont would deny us a Civil Union because we are not the same gender. I’d like the benefits of a CU – property and health – without the burden of taxes and the other income related discrimination of a childless marriage. I would also rather be associated with the people who have asked the State of Vermont for a Civil Union. Even though my partner is male and I am female, I feel a stronger bond with their commitment to their partners than my married counterparts.

I couldn’t be more pleased with the relationship I have with MJ but we are both realists and know that happiness is not an adjective for a relationship. Happiness is a state of a particular moment. Our relationship exists beyond the moment; it is bigger than either of us alone and even the two of us together. We have learned to do things for the “us,” not the “me” and that is why things work, not because anything or anyone is presumably “happy.”

Then there’s that other label I despise – curious. Why is it when a woman says she is attracted to other women she is declared de facto bi-curious? What is it with that label, anyway? We do not append ‘curious’ to other genders or orientations and that makes me feel like it is another modification of orientation. It seems as though those of us who have committed to monogamous relationships, or even serially monogamous relationships with the opposite sex, should not possibly know whether we are sexually interested in the same gender without the associated experience. We must look inside and do our best to know ourselves. The axiom “you are only as old as you feel” applies to our sexuality as well. I am sexy. I am a woman. Without a doubt, I am bisexual.

My husband has tried to tell me my attraction to women is just trendy. In some ways, that burns my ass more than the fact I am expected to call myself bi-curious by a world of personal ad readers and writers. I have never been one to follow the pack in any realm of my life so why would I start with my orientation? Besides, he should know better about our tendency to follow trends based on the diversity of perversions we share in our own relationship.

I am inclined to cut him some slack on his opinion. He has been the only absolute witness to my evolution in coming to call myself bisexual so I will concede he maintains a special perspective, not only as my lover, but as my most intimate confidant. My first crush was on another young woman and I still have a crush on her. Having experienced our pubescent years during the early 1980’s probably did more to quash exploring that relationship than anything else. We were too late for the feminist and sexual revolution of the generation before and too late for the more liberal view of same-sex relationships that arose in the 1990’s.

As an adult, reviving that friendship a decade later brought with it an adult perspective of physical responses and emotions that scared the living daylights out of me. Yeah, I’m talking about me, the woman who supposedly has no fear. Everything I thought I knew told me I was wrong, broken even, to have feelings for another woman, especially since I had and have a great relationship with a man. I was too scared initially to admit to myself what I was feeling, much less to the object of my attraction or my husband. I suffered alone many years trying to understand what I was going through. I asked myself if I was a lesbian, but refused to accept that label exclusively. My isolation was compounded by the fact I worked in a male dominated field, lived in a rural area and had no female support group with which I could work through my feelings, emotions and experiences.

One day, with the anxiety of a pending visit to my girlfriend’s house looming, I confessed to my husband what I was feeling and all my worries as best as I could explain. The revelation changed our lives as a couple. When I came to share everything about my sexuality in conversation with him, our sex life blossomed, as did the rest of our relationship. Once I knew I could be completely open, curious and honest with my self and my husband, our ability to experiment and grow together increased exponentially.

As I have been able to be open in my home, I have taken the liberty to explore my sexuality through art – both written and graphic. Some of my joy in my work comes from my lover’s acceptance of my work and his desire to have my erotic paintings framed and displayed in our home. Houssaye wrote: “Tell me who you love, and I will tell you who you are.” My lover finds pleasure in disconcerting people in our home who are uncomfortable with my work and welcoming people who enjoy and embrace it. My art, which he accepts intimately, tells us clearly who our friends are because we are showing them who we are. Usually I paint nude females as an expression of my attraction to that form. It is safe (my brush doesn’t need a dental dam), does not compromise my commitment to MJ, and lets me explore women’s bodies as I might not be able otherwise.

As my naturally curious self, I have researched bisexuality from the scientific to the personal, the eccentric to the seemingly mundane. The stories I read range from women who are intimately in love with another specific woman but are not self-identified as bisexual or lesbian and may or may not have engaged in a homosexual act to those who are multi-sexual with wide ranging experience. The beauty of this topic is, like any topic on sexuality, the experience of each woman is uniquely her own. I love sharing samples of the infinite possibilities of love, sex and attraction women experience.

Many days I look at the world around me and believe it would be easier to say I am a lesbian than to say I am a bisexual. I’ve also found in myself the courage to stop referring to MJ as my husband, but instead as my lover or partner or best friend. Our society is coming around to a primitive acceptance of female-female relationships now - only four decades after the sexual revolution began. Just weeks ago my hairdresser, unaware of my orientation, got on a tangent telling me how she could understand lesbianism, but she just didn’t get how someone could believe they were attracted to both sexes. Her words made me cringe as I realized her ideas likely represent popular opinion in our world. This ideology only continues to oppress our ability to explore our uniqueness as women and as humans – our sexuality being a critical component of that humanity.

I love the human body and the human spirit. Why should I concern myself with the package it comes in? It is the form of love, the thrill of sex, and the hedonistic desire for self-pleasure that causes me to admire and seek admiration. Put me on the ride and strap me in. I don’t care that it goes ‘round in a circle, up in the air, careens through darkness, if it is built of wood or welded steel. I want the butterflies in my belly, the air streaming past my ears and the feeling I am falling when I let go and raise my hands in the air.

© 2004 Dale H. West. All rights reserved.