Being Out
I had my first crush on a girl, I think, thought I had no mold to compare it to at the time and thought it simply the way all girls, all children, felt about close friends. All I knew was that she was leaving me and that I did not want her to. That I would miss her. I kept her picture for years. Dreamed of her returning to be my friend again. I wonder, even know, how she is, though I've forgotten her name and lost the photograph. She moved to Florida. I tried to help her cover herself in poison ivy to make her parents let her stay. Luckily we didn't find the right plant, or it didn't take.
The first person I kissed was a girl as well. Not in love, just affection. Again, I did not understand the impulse, but the reaction was so startled and negative that I never tried to show that sort of affection to a female friend again. By then, fourth or fifth grade, I knew such a thing with a male classmate would have been considered sexual, a come on, but I had no such concept with a female friend. Or, at least, very little of one. Enough to know on some visceral level where the negative reaction was coming from, but not so much that I could have elaborated on what went wrong.
In high school, at summer camp, I met my first out lesbian. I felt drawn to her, and worried about why. Worried about what my parents would say. Felt some thread of concern about even thinking about any of it too hard. I knew I liked boys. I knew I wasn't worried about other women liking women. I’d had plenty of crushes on boys in my class, intense and overwhelming, confusing and exciting. But, I shied away from even the consideration of the possibility that I might ever develop a crush on another woman. I wonder now if any of my friends in high school were bi. If I might have had a chance with any of them. Nothing ever came of any of the boys I fancied. I never worked up the nerve to ask any of them out.
I told my Mom about the lesbian camp counselor eventually, with trepidation. She in turn told me that two of my parents’ close friends I recalled from childhood had been dating at the time. I remember being confused as to how they were related. Too close in age to be mother and daughter, and yet clearly close, clearly living together. I wish now they had felt safe enough to be out with us kids as well as with my parents. I don’t know when I learned what a lesbian was, but I don’t think it was soon enough. Not soon enough for the idea of being attracted to another girl to be as common and unconcerning as the thought of being attracted to a boy. Not soon enough to spare me any confusion at all.
I discovered women in college. Went to a women’s school to give the boys a few years to mature, and found myself going through middle school again instead. Beautiful intelligent women everywhere. I was enthralled. I had tiny blinding crush after tiny blinding crush. I caught myself talking to classmate’s chests. I followed people around in a daze. I was, apparently, highly entertaining and a little alarming. I still never dated any of them. Still never managed to ask any of them out.
After college I dated a few men, had sex, explored, fell in love, got my heart broken. It wasn't until five years after college, nine years after I figured out that women were a thing for me too, that I dated my first girlfriend. We've been dating more than five years now. I moved in with her last week. And, I like to think that by being out I made it easier for my next youngest sister and her wife to find each other. That by being out I made it easier for my younger sisters to acknowledge their crushes, their bisexuality or pansexuality or whatever label they've picked that fits them best. That by being out I've given other people a chance at skipping the confusion and moving right on to the heady rush of young love, no holds barred, instead.
The first person I kissed was a girl as well. Not in love, just affection. Again, I did not understand the impulse, but the reaction was so startled and negative that I never tried to show that sort of affection to a female friend again. By then, fourth or fifth grade, I knew such a thing with a male classmate would have been considered sexual, a come on, but I had no such concept with a female friend. Or, at least, very little of one. Enough to know on some visceral level where the negative reaction was coming from, but not so much that I could have elaborated on what went wrong.
In high school, at summer camp, I met my first out lesbian. I felt drawn to her, and worried about why. Worried about what my parents would say. Felt some thread of concern about even thinking about any of it too hard. I knew I liked boys. I knew I wasn't worried about other women liking women. I’d had plenty of crushes on boys in my class, intense and overwhelming, confusing and exciting. But, I shied away from even the consideration of the possibility that I might ever develop a crush on another woman. I wonder now if any of my friends in high school were bi. If I might have had a chance with any of them. Nothing ever came of any of the boys I fancied. I never worked up the nerve to ask any of them out.
I told my Mom about the lesbian camp counselor eventually, with trepidation. She in turn told me that two of my parents’ close friends I recalled from childhood had been dating at the time. I remember being confused as to how they were related. Too close in age to be mother and daughter, and yet clearly close, clearly living together. I wish now they had felt safe enough to be out with us kids as well as with my parents. I don’t know when I learned what a lesbian was, but I don’t think it was soon enough. Not soon enough for the idea of being attracted to another girl to be as common and unconcerning as the thought of being attracted to a boy. Not soon enough to spare me any confusion at all.
I discovered women in college. Went to a women’s school to give the boys a few years to mature, and found myself going through middle school again instead. Beautiful intelligent women everywhere. I was enthralled. I had tiny blinding crush after tiny blinding crush. I caught myself talking to classmate’s chests. I followed people around in a daze. I was, apparently, highly entertaining and a little alarming. I still never dated any of them. Still never managed to ask any of them out.
After college I dated a few men, had sex, explored, fell in love, got my heart broken. It wasn't until five years after college, nine years after I figured out that women were a thing for me too, that I dated my first girlfriend. We've been dating more than five years now. I moved in with her last week. And, I like to think that by being out I made it easier for my next youngest sister and her wife to find each other. That by being out I made it easier for my younger sisters to acknowledge their crushes, their bisexuality or pansexuality or whatever label they've picked that fits them best. That by being out I've given other people a chance at skipping the confusion and moving right on to the heady rush of young love, no holds barred, instead.