It exposed my internalized homophobia but primed me for consensual sex with men.
I knew I was attracted to girls because I loved watching lesbian porn more than any other category. I was bi-curious then, willing to enjoy the feather-light touch of another girl. However, the close-minded society I grew up in kept me from sharing this information with my closest friends.
Summer 2002 at 17, I gave my first blow job to a guy I?d just met to get it out of the way. By the end of August, I moved to Halifax, Nova Scotia for university. I met a girl and we became fast friends when I was there earlier in June for Orientation.
The weekend before we were allowed to move into our residence hall, I had a hotel downtown. I?d talked my parents out of accompanying me to Canada, we spent the week before in Miami shopping so they took me that far. Naturally, I was anxious to flex my autonomy.
Cynthia came to stay with me at the hotel that weekend, slumber party shenanigans sounded like a great idea as I held onto the last vestiges of my teen years. We spent the day exploring Halifax, I soaked up the local guide and enjoyed our banter. Ecstatic to have one friend already.
That night back at the hotel we talked, endlessly, and then sex came up. My lack of experience now was chafing a bit. I?d only given oral sex a handful of times and I was still skittish around guys and wanted them kept at arm?s length when it came to returning the favor.
Now, in retrospect, I can say I was still smarting from all the trauma from the sexual abuse of my formative years. I knew Cynthia was bisexual she?d told me straight away, I was intrigued.
It started with cuddling, she explained that she loved snuggling up to her female friends while watching TV, I acquiesced but felt a little awkward at first. Her touch was comforting though, tentative at first a request of more.
I wish my memory of the feeling was more absolute so that I could fully articulate what I felt at that moment.
Desire all-encompassing threatened to devour me and even that sounds cheap but that?s what it was. Our eyes locked in a steady gaze and she leaned toward me and kissed me soft, slow and sweet.
We did that for a while, languid, gentle lady kisses before her tongue grazed my bottom lip then she captured it between her teeth. It was a siren?s call to my libido, flint against steel and the fire blazed. This was my first sexual experience.
Time seemed to stand still and we were lost in each other, lips, tongues, fingers, hands, intertwined in a sensual dance. Marooned on a sapphic isle together drinking from the fountain of pleasure and want. There was no need to come up for air or take a break to refuel. We drowned in each other and I was a living flame.
The dawn gave way to shame and internalized homophobia.
That is until the sun came up and I remembered who I was supposed to be. Shame, confusion, guilt ? Formed the first 3 tails of the whip. Denial, self-hate, disgust ? Comprised the secondary tails of the whip. The final tails included anger, fear, and judgment. I flagellated myself with that whip until I was riddled with lashes.
The negative feedback loop was a fitting punishment for my transgressions. I became distant and snappy with her as the day progressed. She didn?t to her credit make a big deal out of it and gave me space but remained with me.
Once Frosh Week (freshmen week of partying in Canada) began, I was so busy it was easy to avoid what happened and how alive it made me feel, but more importantly, it was easier for me to ignore how much I wanted it to happen again. She called me two weeks after classes began wanting to hang out and I blew her off.
There was so much rage and I was confused. My Christian upbringing had me fucked and trussed up in a constrictor knot unable move and enjoy my existence as a bisexual. I tortured myself for some years after that.
Living My Best Sexual Existence
At 22, I had my first threesome and it was the first experience with a woman I?d had since Cynthia popped my sapphic cherry, only marred by the penis in the room. Subsequently, I unfucked myself and began living my best sexual existence, feasting like a glutton from a table laden from a bountiful harvest and it was glorious.
The only issue is, I never took the time to work through the issues I was feeling when it came to defining my sexuality. I was stubborn and tried to hold onto identifying as a heterosexual woman.
I started saying I was heteroflexible because I?d had multiple female partners by the time, I felt I needed to acknowledge the truth, I wanted to consider what it all meant.
Heteroflexible was what I was comfortable with. Bisexual seemed to only extend to people that had romantic relationships with the same sex and I?d never experienced that so why adorn myself with a label that didn?t seem to measure up.
Now, I can look back at the first sexual experience fondly, the passion we had for each other was intoxicating. I only regret handling it so poorly, but it is one of my favorite sexual experiences to date, and I?m happy my first time was with her.
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