Most of my life I have comfortably navigated the calm waters of perceived heterosexuality and cisgenderness. As a child, however, I was bullied for being a dyke, a sapatĂŁo, as kids would scream in the musical way they typically do, adding a whimsical touch to the psychological warfare they relentlessly wave at each other.
I always knew I was interested in boys and girls, though I found women more attractive. I was the last to realize that a boy was cute. I soon understood that my tardiness in recognizing the latest child-hunk was frowned upon, largely thanks to the chanting about my dykeness.
I tried to tell my mother about my bisexuality, and she dismissed it, even if gently. It’s just a phase.
There was full-on prejudice against queerness in my school. I had several female interests, but homophobia was a widely adopted survival strategy, and it was impossible to anticipate the consequences of overtly stating my desires. There were zero uncloseted queers in the surroundings of my late 1990’s youth. My attempts at flirting, tortuously embedded in innuendos, failed every single time. Boys were easier but felt superficial. I could’t switch on and get horny. I’d get pressed against a dark corner wall for what felt like hours and experience nothing but utter boredom.
My sexual desire finally clicked when I interested a friend, a proud role-playing-game master, in a time when nerd was not a compliment. He managed to achieve a standing in our school community, thanks to excellent storytelling skills and a home with great food. The price for lunch was joining a Dungeons & Dragons campaign, which in time they learned to love. He lured me in with Vampire the Masquerade and lasagna, little pleasures I maneuvered around my parental restrictions. I stayed for the horniness that finally came with first love.
Many fail to acknowledge the value of identifying gender and sexual identities, the growing number of letters in the queer movement denomination, but it was only thanks to this that I discovered that I am not only bisexual, but also a type of asexual: I need emotional connection to harness sexual desire, a demisexual. The fact that this is a recognized part of the sexuality spectrum offers me relief. There are just too many ways people will try to convince you that you are broken.
As an adult in Berlin, I once attended a talk about bisexual awareness at a work-sponsored event, something yet to be imagined in large companies in Rio de Janeiro. It was there that I connected with the notion of how this identity is systematically erased whenever a person is in a monogamous relationship. Whatever happened before was not part of who they were; it was a phase.
So I heard from my mother decades ago, as a child, and so heard all other partnered bisexual women I know. Being demisexual, I even lack ample evidence. I am not the bisexual example dictated by the male gaze, the lustful orgy-prone woman.
But I don’t need to provide evidence, do I? I’ve known who I am for a long, long time.
© giuliakollmann 2023-01-19