My experiment with bisexuality.

One thing about living in California – whether you were born and raised there or just passing through – at some point, you’ll find yourself doing something you never imagined. That’s part of the reason I moved there.

In 1992, I was living at Ocean beach in San Diego, attending community college, and working at the Olive Tree market. Life was good. I knew I was at the beginning of the rest of my life, and I said yes to every new opportunity – provided it wouldn’t cause me physical harm. I probably should have re-evaluated that philosophy from time to time but that is what our early 20’s are for, right? Right.

My living situation was a bit tumultuous, as it had recently been discovered that I was dating the ex-boyfriend of my roommate, while living with my then boyfriend. Complicated, yes. Unheard of? No. Fortunately, one of our neighbors was moving to another part of OB and I signed up as a live-in nanny for her little kids. Our home was cozy – the kids shared a double bed and I slept in the single bunk above them. Their Mom was the definition of an earth mama. Beautiful, curvaceous, wise, with a huge heart and a sharp edged wit to her. And really soft skin. I know this because one night, when the kids were away and we had too many margaritas, we laid in her bed, laughing and making out. I don’t remember how we went from laughing at the bar to laughing in bed, but I do remember thinking how soft her skin was. I remember thinking that I could lay with my cheek against her thigh forever, if she’d let me. It was pure comfort, and I felt safe. At some point, I made my way to my bed and woke with worry about what had happened. Not only could it ruin my living situation but we’d become real friends, and I didn’t have many in California yet. But I needn’t have worried. She gave me a hug that morning, we laughed about rolling around together, I asked some questions about her sexual preferences, and then everything went back to normal. We just decided, and it was so. I feel so blessed to have had that experience with someone who had many other important things to worry about besides hurt feelings and awkward mornings. I thought all sexual experiences would go that way from then on.

I was wrong, of course.

At some point shortly after my night of soft and gentle thigh revelation, I was invited to a party down the street. This couple was friends with my ex-boyfriend, and we were all still hanging out, drinking and smoking pot, because that’s what was happening then and I was still saying Yes to everything. As the party was winding down, it was just me, another guy, and the couple saying our goodbyes. (Note: the retelling of this story is done so through a drunken, stoned haze, so while its true, the anecdotes may be better or worse than reality.) I remember the boyfriend saying that we should have another round and just chill out together. And then the word orgy came up. Probably as a joke, at first. An uncomfortable moment, putting it out there, waiting to see our responses. And then its a blur. A blur of bodies, nervous laughter, and not a bit of worry that we weren’t being careful. Naiveté at its finest.

Sadly, the 4th wheel couldn’t keep it up, so it was just me and the couple. I do remember thinking that the girlfriend would certainly take issue with the boyfriend having sex with me. That would be a normal response, in my mind. I thought this as he was fucking me, naturally. But then something interesting happened. The girlfriend came over and started kissing me. She pulled me away gently and the two of us spent the rest of the night (or what I can remember) rolling around. I remember thinking that what had transpired before, with the guys, felt violent and forced – not rape-y, more calculated. But she was soft and supple, like the experience I’d had with the thigh. Different, though, as she was tall and thin with perfect C cup breasts. I felt the same inside, a warm sense of safety and comfort. The two of us spent a few more days and nights together over the next month. Sometimes the boyfriend watched but occasionally, we would just go to the beach and braid each other’s hair. Eventually, they decided to move, which was perfect timing for me, as I was about to embark on a weekend road trip to Colorado. That vacation turned into a month long cross country trip with a woman I barely knew when I left, and who spent a good amount of time between my legs by the time we hit Kentucky. But that’s a story for another post.

My first (and only) one-night-stand

My only one night stand took place on my 21st birthday. I was at this dance club a couple of blocks away from where I lived on Garnet St. in Pacific Beach. They had a the perfect DJ for a newly 21 year old and the bartender made delicious blue Hawaiians. Don’t know what a blue Hawaiian is? That’s cool, you’re not missing anything but a hangover. And possibly STDs.

I remember seeing this guy checking me out but the truth is that he may have been checking everyone out. We just made eye contact once or twice. And then enough blue Hawaiians had kicked in and I went up and started a conversation with him. OK, fine, maybe it wasn’t actually verbal communication, it may have been in the form of body language. Mine next to his. And dancing, of course. Because I can dance. In the white-girl-overbite dorky yet sexy fashion.

The guy’s name was Jim. Jim from Boise, Idaho. He was in San Diego on his spring break. He had these sparkly blue eyes, was super tan, and had shoulder length brown wavy hair with sun streaks. And a ridiculously hot body, of course. I took him home, we had lots of sex, then he left. I was strangely proud of myself because I’d often been the clingy type with guys – trying to figure out what was going on with the relationship instead of just going with the flow. Girls like to know what’s going on, that’s just the way it is. But I let go and had sex (safely!) and said goodbye. I was real proud.

Until he called a week later, invited me to Boise, and I hopped on a plane.

I don’t know where I got the money, maybe I used some of my grant money for college, but it seemed like the logical thing to do: visit my one night stand. Anyone will tell you this is a terrible idea that will go nowhere and usually end in heartbreak. Fortunately, I was a bit more realistic. I saw it as an adventure. I even learned how to ride a motorcycle while I was there. I met some cool Boise folks. We went for beautiful hikes. Jim and I had more sex. And then I had an honest conversation with Jim’s best friend who basically told me that Jim was in love with someone else and it was so great of me to let him take his mind off of her. The day I was leaving, Jim showed me pictures of himself when he was younger. Turns out, he didn’t actually have curly hair – he permed it! He wanted to be a model, which is why he went to a tanning salon. I think his eye color might have been from contact lenses.

It was a fun adventure but I was also brought back to a harsh reality. We are all vulnerable people, distracting ourselves while our heart heals.

(Total sidenote for my son: Your Dad and I were in some in-between phase at that point, btw. I wasn’t cheating on him. For the record. I mean, one time we were in a vague in-between phase like I couldn’t quite tell if we’d actually broken up again or if we were just really really mad at each other. We did the off and on, ‘we’re on a break’ dance a lot. There was this guy that we’d been hanging out with. He was the brother of this girl Andie that everyone adored because she was so pretty and intelligent and wrote poetry (barf.) Anyhow, we were drunk and we made out. Or had sex. Honestly, I can’t remember the details but I DO remember someone telling your Dad and he wasn’t happy. He wasn’t pissed. I mean, I’m guessing here because you know how well he communicates but I remember thinking I fucked up pretty badly. But with Jim, I was in the clear, we were broken up for real.)