Venturing Out Into the... Well, the Expected

I've had my share of gay rumors throughout my life; I was first made aware of them around 15 or so. I dismissed them with a grin, taking it as a compliment, explaining the truth. I went to an extremely liberal art high school in the city, and my best friend at the time was a declared bisexual white girl that flitted easily between cliques and groups. We were seen together everywhere, and it was just assumed that she and I were messing around.

Fueling the rumors was the assumption that Dynasty was a great big ho. My clothes were form fitting, yes. I will admit that I wasn't as concerned with style then as I am now, so all it really was was tight jeans and hugging tanktops. I had a body to show off, but here's what sealed the deal: I had -- nay, have -- a walk that could put a seasoned hooker to shame. My height complex demanded that I wore heels every day, and my swagger demanded that I wore them slow. My hips have a beat of their own, and it brought repetition to my name in their mouths. I learned to shrug it off quick, so I floated through the halls decidedly ignorant to what could have been said. Things always found their way back to me, though.

As it turns out, they were confused. Here is this Great Big Ho, look... but why isn't she talking to any of the dudes? She always hangs around other chicks, and gay people. And her best friend is that lesbian girl.

OHHHHHhhhh.

That was easily explained. I was in a long-term relationship at the time with a guy who didn't go to my school. There was a 4-year age difference, and I wasn't comfortable with mixing crowds then in general anyway. People didn't know he existed unless I spoke about him, and I deflected all advances sent my way with a respectful, "I have a boyfriend, but thank you." I'd hang out with a few of them, occasionally flirt back; perhaps boys in general were shyer at that age, because I didn't get that many offers. Then again, almost everyone I ever befriended, male and female alike, first judged me to be a huge bitch. A few have told me that they were surprised I was such a dork; I had initially intimidated them and they would never have guessed that I'd buckle into a conversation. Maybe they just weren't aggressive. It doesn't matter.

I didn't know my friend was gay until after I befriended her. Didn't change a thing.

And, what the fuck. If you go to an art school, you're bound to come across some kick ass gay people. Doesn't make a difference to me either way. The people I hung out with just happened to erect oppositely.

Not to say that I didn't speak with ANY of the fellas there... I might have had a mild affair (which I managed to keep very discreet); I wasn't loyal to my boyfriend throughout the entire 4 years of high school, no. But, I would never bring shit into the place I slept. Having affairs with people in such an immediate community is asking for trouble. You only do shit like that if you want to get caught, and I didn't. Throughout all of my high school career, I must have verbally spoken with a heaping handful of males within those walls.

On top of that, I've always had an affinity for the female form. Before I even knew how to draw like I do now, I was breaking out sketches of nudes at the age of 10. I'd simply seen something and imitated it, eventually it became my defining style. Sexuality in the female form found itself in the hipbones I shaded in, the dip I carved into the lower back, the plush of her smirk, the glint of her eyes. I was always absorbing the shape of a woman with my gaze, appreciating the diagonals and curves that bent light.

I am an ass girl. Somehow it turned into a second nature. Perhaps it was growing up around males, perhaps I secretly am gay, but now I understand the man's plight. I check out every ass that passes by me in the street, consciously or not. I dismiss them from memory if they are subpar, I drag my eyes along their path if they catch my attention. Needless to say, my boyfriends have all appreciated this trait in me. It made looking less thrilling and secretive, but now we had a new game to play. We bonded.

As far as sexual urges went, they never really became urgent. I was blessed to be constantly surrounded by a plethora of the coveted, I was a lucky bitch. We would be passing lunch in the art office, and somehow one would convince the sex-faced wild-haired double-D dominican virgin to lift up her shirt and show us her heft. I've taken PG-21 pictures, actually, with her back in the day. There have been moments where I felt the urge to press my lips against a friend's collarbones; sometimes I'd want to take an earlobe between my teeth. I've made out with a few women, and very rarely I would get a hot throb in response to a gesture, a comment, a coy look. I've never been tempted to pursue a romantic relationship with a woman, nor have I ever flashed into fantasies of one buried between my thighs or vice versa. It just didn't occur to me. Factor in that occasionally, my gutter-girl strut will slacken into an admittedly masculine stroll (it's been pointed out to me that my swagger changes sex very often), it's easy to understand why I get assumed to be a bisexual all the time.

Shrug. Lately, my mind has been wandering. I mean, what if? Not purely for sexual purposes, obviously, but what would dating a woman be like? Could I do it? Something changed in the past half decade, and I'm not quite sure what it is. I wouldn't say that I now have thrilling urges to dig a woman out with my undoubtable oral skills (ha!), but there seems to be an acceptance within me that says, it's time. You can explore now, when you're ready. I'm leaving the window open.

My homegirl NN is in an amazing relationship with a woman she met a few years ago. They live together, they support each other, they've met each others families and they vibe together. They have their tough moments, but they are so in love. I was over there a few weekends ago, and saw two pieces of paper taped to the mirror. It said, in script and rainbow glitter, "Paula loves you." When I turned around to ask about it, NN had seen it and her face broke out into the sweetest, youngest, proudest grin. Her voice went up into a soft, raspy croon, and she was three seconds from clasping her hands to her chest and swaying. She said that they had been fighting; then she received an envelope in the mail. When she opened it up, everything was forgotten. It came with a note which contents I will not disclose, but what stuck with me was when NN said that ten years ago, she would never have imagined herself in a relationship with a woman, so happy where she is. She was straight up until she met Paula. She said, "You never say never, cuz you never know."

I Hm'ed.

I've been hit on by many women who have intrigued me to no ends. I passed because I was juggling men at the time, and I don't have it in my capacity to add new complications to the list. Should I date a woman, I'd have to dedicate a whole bunch of my focus into it. It would be a new experience, one I would absorb and learn from as much as enjoy. But now, I kind of regret having told them no. Some of them looked so sweet.

Recently, my Future Tense revealed in her blog that since she's become single:

I'm dating a few people - a woman included - and remembering that pretty faces and kicking good games don't mean that people have the skills to get me off. The woman I'm seeing, PW, is hot - but more than that, she and I can vibe with each other on so many levels. With the men, it's all about looks and personality - but not intellect. I feel like now's the time that karma's biting me in the ass. It seems to be saying, "You had a good run with so many men who loved you, nurtured your spirit and intellect, and fucked you silly - and you denied each and every one of them any real opportunity at a serious, long-term relationship. Now you get to see what the other side's like."

Ignoring -- or perhaps drawn to -- the foreshadowed warning that passage implied, I said: I've been seriously considering including women into my dating peripheral. How is that going?

She replied:
Dating women is going well. After getting over the initial am-I-really-bisexual-or-am-I-just-following-the-trend introspective inspection, I've succumbed to the old Margaret Cho addage: "I went through this whole thing. I was like, 'Am I gay? Am I straight? And I realized, I'm just slutty. Where's my parade?"

Stay tuned.