From Bi to Bye

Chapter 1-3

“It’s perfect, isn’t it?” she asked, clapping her hands together like a geeky kid in a video game store.

“Kristen, I can’t go to this.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” I hissed. “Do you know what it’s like to be a female geek amidst a group of men?”

“Like the center of attention?”

“Well, yes, but you say it like it’s a good thing…”

“In this case, it is!”

“No. It isn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s creepy as hell. Most of the men don’t know how to speak to women and end up being really awkward. The others spend the entire time trying to catch me in a lie. I once went to an event like this. This random guy came up to me and, I kid you not, said, ‘Something’s gotta be a lie.’ I said, ‘Excuse me?’ and he said, ‘Either you’re lying about your interests, or you’ve had plastic surgery to look the way you do. Both can’t be true.’”

“Maybe he was trying…to flatter you?”

I rolled my eyes. “No. He was trying to intimidate me into leaving because for some reason he felt threatened.”

“That makes me so frustrated. If I were there, I’d roll up my sleeves and tell them where they can put their sorry excuse for a—”

“Okay, okay,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. I was starting to get a headache. “No need to get vulgar.”

“You don’t drink, dance, cook, or speak with men at all,” she teased, mimicking some of the men I had encountered in the past. “What can you do?”

“Nothing,” I said, quickly, then paused. “Unless whining on the internet counts.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Damn.”

We both laughed. She spat her gum out onto a wrapper. “Even if there’s nothing going on tonight, you should probably start saying yes to more adventurous things.”

“Adventurous?” I intoned, as if the word were some kind of frightening curse.

“Yes. Adventurous for you, that is. You need to get out of your comfort zone. Try new things.”

I crossed my arms in front of my chest. “You sound awfully cliché right now.”

“Every cliché has a sprinkling of truth in it, dear,” she said.

“Okay. Fine. I’ll be adventurous.”

Kristen gasped. “Seriously? You will?”

“Yes.” I flipped through my social media invites. “It looks like some of my classmates are organizing a costume party.”

“In the summer?”

“Yep. My friend Anne invited me. She’s the one who’s really into geeky stuff.”

“The eccentric lady?”

“Yeah.”

“That works.” She tapped her index finger against her chin. “It’s only two weeks away.”

“Thank God. Gives me time to mentally prepare.”

“Do you really need to mentally prepare to enjoy yourself?” she asked incredulously.

“Yes,” I replied. “I really, really do.”

“All right,” she huffed. “It’s better than nothing. Are there going to be any gorgeous people for you to seduce there that evening?”

I mentally evaluated my peers for hotness. “Eh…to be honest, there aren’t many attractive people that I can think of that would be into me.”

“Why not?”

“Because most of them are straight women,” I said sorrowfully. “It’s my curse to always be into the ones I can’t have.”

“No, it’s your curse to be hopeless. I don’t think if it would matter to you if they were straight, gay, or anywhere in between.”

“I’m bisexual, not gay,” I retorted.

“Could’ve fooled me. You get so moony over women in a way you don’t moon over men.”

“That’s not true,” I protested weakly. “I like men. I’ve liked plenty of men in my life.”

“Yes, yes. So you say.”

“Kristen…”

“They were absolute nitwits.”

“But all I meant to say is that I do like men,” I said, then added, “Sometimes.”

“Yes, well, most people would not have to qualify that.”

I rolled my eyes. I had a feeling Kristen just wanted me to be gay because she was gay herself. And she did have a point, after all—I didn’t have the best luck with men. But if I admitted that to her, she might try to convince me I had my orientation all wrong.

“I’ll do my best to at least talk to people at the costume party,” I said. “Does that make you happy?”

She snorted. “Delighted.”

“I need to get started on this article.” I checked the time. It was getting late. I’d probably only manage to write a couple paragraphs, but that would be better than nothing. “I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

“Okay. Night.”

“Night.”

The call ended. I opened up a blank document. I needed to think of a pithy title, but for now I settled on just titling it “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing,” and decided I’d change it later, if need be. (But let’s be honest, it will probably stay there, because I really do not know what the f**k I’m doing.) I didn’t want to write using my real name, so I’d need a pseudonym. I considered for a moment. One of my favorite authors was Tamora Pierce, so I decided to use her first name as my pseudonym.

I usually started articles with a hook, but in this case, I was writing about my own personal experiences. It wasn’t like writing news articles for class or anything like that. I’d need to be real with them. I tried to start with an honest confession about how I feel.

Dear Readers,

If you’re reading this advice column, you’re probably either bisexual or bi-curious. You might be feeling anxious, or scared. Believe me, I get it. I’m right there with you. Dating can be difficult, especially if you don’t fit into the “norm” of society. It’s even worse when you have seemingly unlimited options out there. Dating apps have been a blessing for bisexual women, because you no longer have to agonize over how to ask a girl if she’s interested in you—if she’s on there too, you can safely assume she’s into girls. But knowing there’s potential between the two of you and actually going for it are two different things. It can be challenging to put yourself out there.

I get it. You’re not alone. I’m super introverted. I find it difficult to connect with other people on a platonic level, let alone on a romantic level. But it’s important to remember, you’re not hopeless, and neither am I. Everyone starts somewhere. I mean, think about when you were a kid. You probably sucked at your hobbies. I wanted to be an artist when I was young. My drawings weren’t very good, but I practiced. Eventually they were reasonably okay (I wouldn’t say I’m a master by any means!). But dating isn’t that different from drawing or playing an instrument. It takes practice.

People can be messy, regardless of gender. This can make bisexual dating seem intimidating, especially if you don’t know where to start. I might not be the best at bisexual dating, but I’m hoping we can work through this together. I’ll be here to receive your questions and comments, and I’d be glad to engage with you all. Maybe we can learn from each other.

Tamora.

I paused. That was about all I had to offer right now. I had never actually fully put myself out there. I had to at least pretend like I knew what I was talking about. Georgina wanted me to write something encouraging. Something that would make people feel safe and welcome reading L’amoureuse. She was trying to make the magazine more inclusive. I didn’t know for sure that I would be able to do that, but as long as I was honest with everyone, it might ring true with a few readers.

I wished I could give them more insight, though. I wished I had more experience. I felt totally unqualified, on so many different levels. I had never worked for a magazine of this size before, even as an intern. I didn’t have enough experience to confidently advise other people on what they should do in social situations. I didn’t even know if gender mattered in a relationship. How was a relationship with a man any different than a relationship with a woman? I had no idea. I could only refer to what I had observed with other people, since my romantic fantasies hardly counted as evidence. I imagined women were more emotionally intuitive than men, but without having any proof to back that up, it came off as being slightly sexist. I knew men could be just as sensitive as women. But it seemed like the only thing I had to go off of were stereotypes.

I really, really hoped going out would inspire me. I desperately needed answers.