The bisexual
divide

What would be worse: if your girlfriend left you for a man or for a woman? Ever since I started dating my girlfriend, Meg, who has dated men in the past--not men she feigned desire for, like a closeted dyke might, but men she actually loved, both physically and emotionally--I have been obsessed with the concept of bisexuality. Before pinning my prejudices and misconceptions to the mat, I was sure it would be a much worse betrayal if she ever left me for a man. A few months ago, I was cat-sitting at the quintessential straight couple's apartment in an upscale neighborhood in New York City. They are the portrait of happiness: attractive, wealthy, and newly married with a beautiful baby. My girlfriend stayed with me in their luxurious apartment the last weekend I was there. One morning we were sitting on the couch reading the Sunday Times and she nostalgically asked, "Wouldn't it be great to have the social acceptance these people have?" To understand why my reply to her question got caught in my throat, you have to know a few things about Meg and me. I grew up with the certainty of my exclusive same-sex desires. I always felt like I was on the outside looking in on the rest of the world. Despite a few emotional scars from the youthful trials and tribulations of not fitting in, I always knew this queer perspective was my strength. But it wasn't until college, taking GLBT studies classes, that I was able to put words to the reasons why. I now know that this outsider viewpoint is the lens through which I see how certain ideas (conventional notions of gender) and institutions (marriage, the health care system) work in ways that oppress certain groups of people, desires, and behaviors. This viewpoint has engendered my social consciousness and sensitivity, and I now recognize it as a vital perspective necessary to society as a whole. Meg, on the other hand, had a very different experience. As a child and well into her early 30s she aspired to--and succeeded in maintaining--a straight life. She had two long-term loving relationships with men. On the surface she continues to blend seamlessly into mainstream society: she is feminine, attractive, well-educated, and successful. For most of her life she has seen her differences--not the cool ones, like being left-handed or a talented artist, but the ones that might set her outside the normal--as wrinkles in need of a hot iron. Though she doesn't self-identify as bisexual, she has access to the world of heterosexual privilege as well as a history of knowing its rewards and benefits. I have not and never will.

In fact, I am many things she is not. Although I have at times passed as straight, I have never felt at home in hetero culture: I have a tattoo; I'm a freelance writer who could probably make more money working at McDonald's; I swagger slightly and wear clunky boots; I'm a soft butch with a faggy flair and am ever-changing. The reason I choked on my reply to her question was because I know that she could, if she chose, have the social acceptance she seemed wistful for; I cannot. And her rejection of me for a man would feel like a rejection of a subculture I strongly identify with and a political and social philosophy--based on the tenets of our long-forgotten Stonewall politics--that I deeply believe in. It would also conjure up my painful past of pining for straight girls I could never have, a history of always being beaten out by the boys. But what I'm learning in my obsessive struggle to wrap my mind around the concept of bisexuality is that these are emotional reactions unchecked by reason. In the same way that you don't have to be a woman to be a feminist, a lesbian doesn't have to be sleeping with women to affirm and celebrate queer politics. Gradually my heart is giving way to my head and I am realizing that if she should fall in love with a man, it would not necessarily mean that she would fall out of love with women or abandon her lesbian politics and sensibilities. And it would not mean that she loves me any less than those straight girls loved those boys I lost them to.