Dating in Boston, or any big city, for a bisexualwoman is sometimes like entering The Hunger Games. The urge to scream “I volunteer as tribute!” upon meeting an equally single lady is too real. But, since shouting quotes to strangers drawn from books written for preteens is creepy (and illegal if you keep doing it in public, apparently), I tend to suppress those urges and just check out the LGBTQ scene.
Every first Friday of the month, Boston’s LGBTQ organization The Welcoming Committee hosts a guerilla-style party (i.e. they crash straight clubs) for the night. Since I live in the area, and there isn’t a lot of community in more rural areas of New England for gay and bisexual women, I often participate in these guerilla nights out. A friend and I had decided to join the group for some drinks at Tequilla Rain – not the classiest bar, so you can see where this is going– when I realized my straight friend was getting more attention from women than me.
That kind of attention can be especially frustrating as a woman looking to date other women – although, in my case, it was how I realized I was attracted to women in the first place.
Anyway, it might have been the two-for-one tequila shots coursing through my bisexual veins, but somehow I thought channeling my inner Kristen Stewart would amp up my frequency on the gaydar. So I gyrated.
Did a K Stew look-alike awkwardly thrusting into the air look desperate? Absolutely. But apparently it stirred someone’s honey pot, because I immediately felt hands on my hips.
I was so drunkenly excited about the interaction that I started grinding into the girl behind me without looking back. And then I turned around.
The girl was a stone cold butch. Now, I can handle a little chapstick, but concrete? Not my thing. But it was 3 a.m. and the crowd had thinned, so I kept dancing and with a little encouragement (I’m a sucker for a good ass grab, let’s be honest) took her number.
I never called.
What I’m saying, ladies, is that sometimes you need a launching point. A rock, if you will, to confirm that someone mightactuallywant to start a cat family with you and share her wardrobe.
So what does this mean for straight women and other bisexual women like myself?
Not every tequila-fueled night will end with someone’s head between your legs, but the thought that someone wants to be there is pretty empowering. One of the best things about being bisexual is that I get attention from tons of people: men and women. With twice the experience, I’ve learned that it’s easy to set up a date with a pretty lady or buy a handsome bar-mate a drink. Everyone, regardless of gender, wants to feel desired, which means the key to a busy love and sex life is delivering that feeling. I stress the word “busy” instead of “successful” or “satisfying” because that experience is individual.
This means that any woman interested in men is in total control. Believe me – after dating women, it’s obvious that men are far less discriminating than women are made to believe. Toss your mascara and melt your curling iron, ladies. All you need is you.
Earlier in the night, I was waiting in line for the bathroom sipping my Vodka Cranberry (it’s not just a cocktail for sorority girls, thank you) when a suave Middle Eastern type flexed his arm over my shoulder and smiled. We chatted, he asked for my number, and I allowed him to give me his. When he asked if he could kiss me, I told him he could kiss my cheek.
“But your lips look so soft,” he said.
“I don’t think so,” I replied.
Let’s be clear. I’m not a prude. I’ve gone down on a woman in the bathroom stall of a rest area stop, gotten laid on the hood of a car, solicited foot massages from submissive men on Tinder – you name it, I’ve done it. That’s why I felt so confident turning that guy down.
Men will always come back for more, no matter what. It doesn’t matter if you turn down their kiss or sleep with them within the first hour of meeting. By telling the Aladdin look-a-like “no,” I didn’t feel like I was losing anything because I know that I’m in control. I usually always get what I want.
Despite multiple offers, I didn’t go home with anyone that night. Because sometimes the porridge just isn’t right.
Even as a bisexual woman, with her pick of men and women, the best option can often be going home alone. The important thing to remember is that your choice is right for you. Take your time, if you want, or don’t. As Carrie Bradshaw wrote, playing the field simply means you’re pretty sexy and often discerning. A force.
So go ahead. Let your inner Carrie Bradshaw free.