The plum of bisexuality
The first time, we were standing outside Pioneer place on 5th avenue at a time where I was still ripe with innocence, my wavy blonde hair cascading around my rosy cheeks. I met him at the Riverdale school prom when I was attending St. Mary’s Academy, an all- girls Catholic school in the heart of downtown. I spent many of my days ogling over Michael Cera from Juno, skipping mass, and laughing at inappropriate jokes that Sister Linda would’ve found scornful. I lived and breathed boys and desire.
And before I knew it,
finally, it happened. Unexpectedly, his
lips tasted Earthy, like a place I could eventually come home to. We snuck one
in whenever we could: behind corners in movie theaters, on the elevator in the
mall, behind trees at the Chrysanthemum garden. There was definitely a feeling
of urgency and a bubbling sense of anticipation in my body. A year and a half
spent bonding over soccer, funny movies, and riverside strolls felt natural and
right at the time. Fast forward five years to the first time with a girl. We had
just spent an hour or so devouring gelato and walking around NW 23rd
while talking about raves, music taste, and college. I didn’t think it was
going to happen but before I knew it, she asked me if she could kiss me. My
eyes widening, a resounding yes slipped
out of my mouth and she dove in. This one was different. Sparks flew but there
was no Earthiness to it. I noticed how soft her lips were and how they reminded
me of the moment you’re about to sink your teeth into a soft plump plum and you
feel its smooth edges falling into your fingertips. After a flicker of bliss,
we both pulled away, looking into each other’s eyes and grinning. She messaged
me afterwards telling me how amazing my big lips felt. The max ride home was
spent listening to a playlist and Spotify called “bisexual bangers” and smiling
cheek to cheek. Shortly after, she ended up getting back together with her
boyfriend so there wouldn’t be a second date for us. At first I was
disappointed but at least I had finally realized: I was bisexual.
There were several encounters afterwards that brought me to where I am today: get-to-know-you’s over tea, waterfront strolls sharing poetry, late night dancing at Jones and beyond. Now I’m in one of the most fulfilling partnerships I’ve ever been in with an amazing man. Where there once was a fleeting sense of urgency there is comfort, stability, and bonding over things like art, music, and humor. There are sparks, there is chemistry and all the science projects that come along with it. We share our creative endeavors, our funny stories, our greatest tragedies, our hearts. But guess what: I’m still attracted to women and still recognize that part of my sexuality. If I said there were times where I didn’t feel ashamed of my sexuality and previous encounters with women and men, I’d be lying.
The difference is that I’ve now chosen to actually eat the plum have stopped looking at it like it’s some sort of rotten piece of fruit. There are still others who see it that way but that shouldn’t matter. Identifying as bisexual nourishes me, and that’s the important part. I feel at home and I like my desires, wants, and hopes are met. I like not having to choose a side and I like the feeling of being able to love a man but still knowing that I can feel something great while kissing girls too. If you are someone who sees the plum as enticing but can’t help but treat it as something rotten- I see you. We live in a hetero-normative society that often treats gay people like outsiders. I am still finding my way in this society and it’s okay if you are too. I just hope that you’ll at least hold the plum for a moment, if you’re interested in it, before tossing it into the trash. You might be surprised by how it feels in your palm. And one day, maybe even by the nutrition it provides.
