There’s a woman I want to take selfies with. I asked her out for drinks and a drag show. I want to DM her on Facebook, post to her profile page, “Let’s do gay things together.” I keep myself in check.
I’m a married woman and I have no idea if she’s single.
Am I gay? I have been asking myself this for months. A day of drinking turned into a night in bed with a beautiful woman not too long ago. The tryst was above-board, meaning my husband gave me the okay beforehand to pursue any opportunity to suss out my inhibited sexuality. He knew I liked women long before I did.
In fact, Facebook knew I liked women long before I figured it out, judging by the incredible number of panty and bra ads I’ve seen. Facebook even knew my type before I realized there were models a certain shape I would pause my scroll and gape at long enough to register a clenching deep inside, but not long enough to actually engage that I wanted.
Oh my god, I wanted. I want.
It’s strange to be a wife in a hetero marriage and wonder if I am gay. But am I? I’m leaning toward yes on this.
I’ll tell you why. I love my husband. I am attracted to him.
But sex with men has never stirred in me half the desire I feel for the female form. I like to look at men. I want to touch women.
This woman I want to take selfies with? We are both over the hump of 35 and I spent a good portion of today imagining sitting next to her at a movie theater, our hands bumping in the popcorn. I’ll tell you what, the thrill that shoots straight down my center whenever I imagine making contact is as gay as can be.
Not hetero.
I want to make love to a woman. I want to strip her and be stripped by her and touch her and be touched by her and I can’t follow this train of thought anymore because it’s scary, but mostly because it makes so much sense.
I grew up with straight as the only option. I knew from birth I was destined to be the sexual partner of a male. I came with female genitals, therefore I would marry and mate with a male. I would reproduce.
Sex was presented as a performance for a man’s pleasure. Now more than a decade into my marriage, it has become abundantly clear to me and my partner that I can be physically present for sex, enjoy it even, but the emotional presence requires a few drinks to bring my inhibitions down.
I have no desire to partner with a man. The engine revving, juices flowing, erect nipples response I feel as I think of my female crush has never happened to me with any man. Sex with men is curiosity, friendship, or duty.
So I’m running a search of my herstory. What I’ve found startles me. I see myself attracted to women from childhood.
My romantic fantasies, I take them apart to discover yes, men were present, but the “man” was always me. I didn’t know how to imagine sex any way other than through a heteronormative filter. Imaging myself as the man let me be with a woman and not question why I switched the roles.
Until now.
Am I gay? I am almost certainly a lesbian. My husband has encouraged me to explore just as I have encouraged him to find a woman with whom he feels desired.
I asked my crush out. She said yes. I still don’t know if she’s single or at all interested in a poly relationship. I just know I want to do gay things with her.
Drinks and a drag show. Maybe selfies. Maybe sex.
