A Face for Public Consumption

Diced up, any way you slice it. Yeah, that’s the ticket: show me that flank, those corsetted tits. Lady Gaga and Tila Tequila. Katy Perry singing, “I kissed a girl, I hope my boyfriend don’t mind it.” This is the public face of female bisexuality in the good ol’ U S of A… and I hate it.

It’s all a show. That’s what they suspected all along, isn’t it? That all women are somehow for sale, and if bisexual women really do exist, they’re in for an angel’s three-way because they showed up with a cock?

Fuck you, America. Fuck you, world. I did not spend my teenage years in a panic flipping out that I might be a lesbian just to satisfy your desire for female-on-female flesh. A youth in hiding: jumping from boy crush to boy crush to keep my feelings for women at bay, to deny that the erotic dreams I’d wake from sweating were as often about my female peers as the males. To take that anguish and turn it on me with a lecherous grin and a “ur so hawt!” is to equate me with a steak. Or a basketball. Or a cum towel. Fair warning: I have a mean elbow strike, and the last time I checked, towels didn’t hit back.

Conversely, I’m tired, bone-weary of being told that I’m less pure in my feminism for dating men. That if I were really into women, I’d be giving up the dick just like that. That if I really want to date a woman for who she is, this bisexual phase is something I’ll “grow out of.” Condescending correction of the poor misguided young girls isn’t feminism anyway.

No, this is not a thing I’ll “grow out of.” I grew into my sexuality. I grew up and had to unlearn all the tropes—that bisexuals were bad, greedy, dangerous, wrong. I had to stopper my ears to the insults shot from both sides, screaming “dyke” and “liar” and “play thing.” I had to ignore the self-righteous “pity” over my “confusion.” And I have to still the quaver in my voice every time I speak of my orientation, for fear that my mother might hear… because she still doesn’t know. The rest of the world does, but she still doesn’t know.

So I kiss girls. You can’t watch and I don’t tell. I kiss boys. You didn’t ask that time, but the answer’s the same. My sex drive is mine, and it’s not for sale. Go watch a Katy Perry video, perv.

2 thoughts on “A Face for Public Consumption”

  1. I wish I had something witty to say, something that would prove me to be an educated and intellectual person, but really, I'm at a loss. So, as a short time reader of your blog, here is my comment:

    You cannot please everyone. Conversely, everyone cannot please you.

    It seems like there's a lot of time spent railing against those who aren't pleased by you and those who don't please you.

    “ACCEPT ME!” You scream. “See me as an individual!”

    Unless it's a non-mainstream, minority, sub-culture, off-the-grid, or otherwise different group member, I don't see a whole lot of acceptance from you.

    “Your beliefs are wonderful,” you say, “unless they infringe upon mine.”

    Just like every other holier-than-thou person out there.

    Seems like a large energy drain when one could instead focus on goals and the more positive things in life.

    Accept that others will not accept you and get on with it.

    That said I really do enjoy some of your posts that deal with conquering your demons as well as those that are pictures painted in words.

    I wish I lived in your area of FL; I would love to pick your brain over coffee. I bet you're a great debater.


  2. Personally I'm also tired of people trying to control other people's sexuality. I think it stems from insecurity with their own gonads. I think you had a lot of good points. *hugs*


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