The story of my dalliances with bisexuality is quite a sad affair.
I am not the type of person who admits defeat readily, or easily, but when it comes to my bumper-to-bumper quasi-lesbian interactions, I can only say that I failed most dismally.
I naively thought that being in possession of a vagina, and knowing my way around it rather well, would mean that pleasuring another woman would be a piece of cake. Oh, how wrong I was. To all the men that I have mocked in the past for not being able to give me an orgasm either orally, or with their fingers – I take it all back because, NEWSFLASH, it’s hard.
From a very young age, I always had crushes on other girls. Whilst not always sexual in nature, these infatuations and admirations began to evolve into fully fledged one-sided love affairs and I started to fantasize about women in the same way that I did men.
My first lesbian experience was at the age of 13, making out with female friends at sleepovers and playing spin the bottle in a desperate attempt to relieve some of the pent-up hormones and desires bubbling away inside our bodies. Of course, these giggly kisses harbored no sexual connotations, but I remember enjoying the softness of a woman’s lips and their more gentle and sensual way of kissing. (Remember that at this age, the boys I was kissing were spotty, smelly, lanky, adolescents that would kiss me with the same rhythm as a broken tumble drier, whilst simultaneously trying to insert a finger into my vulva.) Kissing my female friends was a great way to enjoy the intimacy of a kiss, without feeling pressured or uncomfortable by some over-amorous teenager pushing his feeble erection into my thigh, or trying to dry hump me like a frustrated dog.
By the time I was 15, kissing female friends was the done thing – not in a petty attempt to attract the attention of guys, but rather because I was lucky to grow up in a very liberal atmosphere. My teenage years were spent living in a small town by the sea where we spent our youth surfing, smoking weed, going to gigs, hooking up with each other, and generally living the sort of life you imagine your cool aunt might have done in the 1960s. Bisexuality, homosexuality, heterosexuality, everything and anything was accepted as the norm and no one would bat an eyelid at what gender your partner was. Then, as I turned 16, I decided to step things up a gear and have my first taste of pussy.
Most weekends, we would descend en-masse onto a beach; armed with tents, alcohol, weed, and speakers, we would set up camp for the weekend and party away into the night. One night, after about half a bottle of vodka and cherryade, I found myself locking lips with a girl from my philosophy class. I am not quite sure how our dalliance progressed from tongue on tongue, to tongue on vagina action – but it did, and it was weird. It tasted strange, looked strange, smelt strange, and neither of us seemed to be getting much pleasure from the situation. Embarrassed and dejected, we went our separate ways and never spoke or made eye contact again.
Over the next ten years, I tried and failed to be a good giver of cunnilingus (or any sexual pleasure) on many occasions. From being fingered by, and fingering colleagues in club toilets, fucking my best friend on my sofa whilst my then-boyfriend watched, and falling in lust with a big-busted blonde who I was actually quite into – no matter how much I tried and wanted to be good at it – I just couldn’t quite hit the spot. Whether it was me not knowing what I was doing and declaring breathless defeat after half an hour, or her lapping away furiously whilst I dreamed of dick, the pleasure that I so desperately craved from my Sapphic adventures remained ever elusive.
Whilst I have had real feelings for some of these women, and I have tried to convince myself I am truly bisexual on several occasions, my experience down under would suggest that in actual fact, I am not. The lack of chemistry, and the feeling of not being quite aroused enough probably hinges on the fact that I need an emotional connection to truly enjoy sex and that my perusal of these encounters was nothing more than acting out a fantasy.
So, at the age of 30 and three quarters, I decided to give up. Being a good bisexual is probably not going to happen to me and whilst I am sure I will still enjoy the odd fantasy, the occasional caress of a breast, or the softness of a woman’s mouth on mine, I think my days of trying to be something I am not are over …maybe.
Image via tumblr.com.