My sexuality is never something I thought would be part of a public conversation. It wasn't that I felt it should be private, it was that up until a year ago, I considered myself straight and thus, boring. Now what am I? Welcome to the conversation. 

When I told those closest to me, beginning with my mom, that I was in a same-sex relationship last year I was unprepared for all the follow-up questions that followed my reveal. Most frequently was "So what are you now? Are you bi-?" I didn't know how to answer the question. I still don't. And to be honest, I used to totally roll my eyes at people who claimed to be "beyond labels" yet here I was one of them. For the first few weeks of my relationship, I tried on different labels. I would not claim to be a lesbian, but I would own being in a "lesbian relationship." Still finding myself checking out men, I knew I had not left them behind entirely. I just could not, for the life of me, figure out how to accurately describe myself. Additionally, I could not let go of the need to do so. 

Sexually Fluid? Hetero-Flexible?  

I quickly found out that those terms, especially to men, were synonymous with "easy". Propositioned for threesomes, partner swaps and sex parties, I grew curious as to how and why these invitations came out of the woodwork NOW. But, if 2016 taught me nothing else, it taught me that in our culture most people operate from a heteronormative perspective; women are supposed to want men. So, anything counter to that narrative seems deviant and for women specifically, it becomes unfathomable that we would ever elect to be without a man. Surely I was with my girlfriend only until I found the right man, specifically the right penis, to set me straight again. I am not sure if it was the lesbianism or simply the increased time I now spent with people who defied social norms, but last year I also really started to dislike "masculinity" and the women and men who fell on their swords to preserve it. I found myself more drawn to people--women, men, and those who choose not to conform to the gender binary--who showed an ability to be both soft and hard, feminine and masculine. I am not speaking sexually, I am speaking consciously...if there is a difference. Perhaps it would be better to say, I grew increasingly more skeptical of and averse to those who kept themselves in the rigid confines of one or the other. 

I, however, felt no different even though I was. And after a few weeks of wavering back and forth, I decided not to label myself at all. If anyone asked, I would simply say I was in a same-sex relationship. I would scoff at the demand to know which of us was the "man" and which of us was the "woman" in the relationship. I could not understand how OTHER people did not understand, that I was still the same me. How or why would I lose my femininity because of who I was in a relationship with? To say I was frustrated would be an understatement but I'd found my peace in simply not explaining myself. The more I stopped trying to figure out "what" I was, the less I cared about what others might make of me. I was still Jessica Jamese, I simply had a girlfriend now. Which, again, was fine until she and I broke up and I began dating (men) again. Speaking candidly with new suitors about past relationships, she would come up and so would that perplexing question: So, what? Are you bi-? Are you into women? Yes, an unbelievable amount of threesome and group sex requests but I'd weed those out quickly. Regardless of my interest in either, what I was not interested in was a man leading with sex in any capacity. Constant, though, was the need to identify myself. 

One ex said he was not surprised I ended up dating women. I hear this often from men who believe I am too wild for taming. I speak too openly, I am too sexually liberated. I am to unapologetic, too untraditional, too much of one thing and not enough of another.  To be fair, men are not the only perpetrators of this ideology, there have been plenty of women even some I call friends who judge the way I wear my womanhood. How dare I love sex? How dare I show off my body? How dare I say I am going to keep my last name? How dare I take liberties with the recipe? My defiance, my muchness, made me less than a woman or at least not the kind of woman men would want. So naturally, it made sense that I would end up dating women. It was the undercurrent of his assertion. I corrected him: A Woman. He asked if it was a phase, or an experiment. I was hurt at the accusation. It was no more an experiment than you and I were, I told him. In a way, all dating is an experiment. But I knew that's not what he meant. I clarified that I would never play with someone's heart in that way. I grew exasperated and angry at people like him who minimized my relationship and I know this was exacerbated by my unwillingness to put myself under the rainbow umbrella. 

Another friend who recently came out as Bisexual asked for details of my experience for comparison. In some ways I felt I disappointed because I did not feel neither discomfort or liberation at holding my girlfriends hand in public. It did not feel like stepping into my truth, nor did it reveal a susceptibility for judgment or ridicule,  it only ever felt like being in love. It did not cross my mind that other people would be uncomfortable with our love, and my cavalier attitude was one that was checked everyday of that relationship because she did not share that same ease. My friend diagnosed me assuredly: You are definitely not gay.  It was a diagnosis that my ex-girlfriend affirmed, ironically. My lack of internal struggle against the norm of heterosexuality and my oblivion to certain queer prejudices told them all they needed to know. I was " a straight". I sulked. But how could I be straight? 

Would you ever do it again?

Date a woman? I always ask quizzically. I found it to be such a strange question. No one had ever asked me if I was giving up men after a break-up. I shrug. I don't know, I answer. And I truly don't know. Because here is my truth as far as I can understand it: I am attracted to emotionally intelligent, curious, quick-witted, ambitious, and socially conscious people. Sometimes those are the people I am also aroused by, and sometimes not. I think women are beautiful but prior to my ex, I never wanted a relationship with a woman and I never thought of women sexually. Since her, I have not entertained the idea at all. When asked "why her?" Well, her heart. She was and is one of the most pure and kind people I have ever known and when someone loves you like that, you want to be in an intimate energetic exchange with them. Similarly, I imagine the next person I commit to will come to me the same way, energetically.  

Oh so you're pansexual? Demisexual? 

The questions are ceaseless. Maybe I am. Or maybe I'm not. What I know for sure about my sexuality is that, it's mine. And whether I choose to share it with others is a choice I get to make without consultation or collaboration. I have always been and will always be an advocate for human rights which absolutely means LGBTQA+ Rights. I will always work to learn more about this community which has always felt like home, and how it intersects with other social identities like race, class, religion and ability. I want to work being more vocal about my own journey because I think that maybe a lot of people don't know what to call themselves but are SURE that their lack of label does not mean they are open to being rewritten or categorized by others. 

The public commodification of sexuality is not something I support nor subscribe to. I cringe at my old ways of labeling women for who they slept with; be it different genders, or simply the quantity or frequency of sexual partners.   I hate that I looked at masculinity through the lens of alpha male priority and privileged. I have grown to understand both masculinity and femininity differently now, in a much more broad and inclusive way. I've found that, the more accepting and loving I can be with all of my different pieces, the more compassion I have to extend to others. And the more grey I allow for myself, the more grey I can hold in others. That is what allows me to be okay with my lack of a label, and my simultaneous assertion that I am part of the community. How very millennial of me, I know.