I have a little secret to share with you: I’m in lust. With a young girl. Well, she’s not that young, perverts.
She’s 18 (soon to be 19) and is a friend of the family who babysits my kids on occasion. She is gentle and mature, intelligent and ecologically minded, reliable and a little crunchy. But I must confess that I don’t even notice those things when she talks; she rings my bell and under the light of my front stoop, I want to ravish her on sight. Long blonde hair, beautiful big green eyes, perfect skin and full rosy lips, with a fit but voluptuous body honed from years of dancing and a brief flirtation with an eating disorder. She is a “Weird Science” experiment come to life. Except I’m not a pimply teenage boy with a penchant for computer programming. I’m a respectable mother of two with a naughty nature and a very active fantasy life. And for the past several months, this Left Leaning Lolita has played a starring role in my after dark desires. But I keep my hands to myself and place her firmly in fantasy land. And that’s perfectly satisfying.
Bisexuality is nothing new to me. In fact, I’ve known since I was LLL’s age that I was attracted to women. Of course it wasn’t as openly discussed in my small town ’80 era childhood as it is today. LGBT didn’t roll off of our tongues with the ease that it does today’s youth. There was no Ellen & Portia (or even Ellen & Anne Heche). No Britney and Savannah scissoring on “Glee.” There was touching and experimenting at slumber parties but all the other girls woke up the next morning and pretended that nothing had happened. I, on the other hand, was torn. How could I love boys – and trust me, I do love them – but also enjoy being with girls?
At my big city university, I met a broad spectrum of people, a bouquet of sexual preferences that I had only read about: gay men with a flair for drama and love of bath houses, butch lesbians with mack jackets, short hair and radically feminist ideology, transgender men and women who felt that they had been born into the wrong body. But I didn’t meet any other bisexuals. My straight friends dismissed my brief experimentations as Pussy Love, sure to die out once I met the right man. My gay friends tried to convince me that I was really just a lesbian in sheer clothing: straight acting and looking in order to fit in with the patriarchy. The truth was much more complicated. I was a feminist who looked like a cheerleader. A straight woman who had satisfying relationships with men but craved the gentle curves of a feminine woman. A seemingly well-adjusted, confident girl who spent several years locked in personal turmoil and self-loathing because she was “different.”
There’s a trend right now for bloggers to write a letter to their 20 year old self. They tell their younger selves what they have learned at 30, 40, 50…and wish to impart that wisdom to their younger selves. They tell stories about confidence, acceptance and self-love. Remind them that they are beautiful and fierce and fearless. What I would write to my 20 year old self is this: you’re not weird. I would make a point to say that pretty girls are not always clueless or cruel and that smart girls want to have sex too: with boys AND girls. That sexual desire is complicated and confusing but to never feel ashamed about what you crave. That there is a place for you to feel loved and accepted, without judgement, ridicule or damnation. That not everyone will understand you or be able to deal with your dual nature but the ones that can are the ones you will want to hold close to you. That once you own who you are, people will respect your honesty and vulnerability, instead of being repelled by you, they will adore you.
As for LLL, should she ever want to talk about life, or love or even lust, I will listen with an open mind and heart. I will sit on my hands (if necessary) and I will do my best to let her know that she is perfect and amazing. That someone will love her just as she is. They will worship her beauty and her mind, delight in her unique qualities and accept her perceived faults. I will remind her to love herself and let others follow her lead.
And if she wants to make out? Well, that’s another story.
3 Comments
I’m sure that there will be some not-so-sure people that read this and I hope that they see the same self love and acceptance that I hear in your words. Life is too short to spend it being someone else.
And hey, if she wants to make out, she’s an adult. Literally and figuratively.
Besos, Sarah
Love and attraction are not black and white as so many would have us believe. I find it particularly frustrating when I’ve tried to have this conversation as a woman, its been sidetracked by primitive guys whooping for girl on girl. LOL, they haven’t figured out they aren’t, in many cases, going to be invited to the ‘party’.
Loved this honest post.
Love this. I had a love affair in high school with my best friend. There is no other way to describe it. I have not been with another woman since and I consider myself straight now. I loved her so much, and I was so attracted to her emotionally and physically, that there was only one thing to do about it. And, I have not an ounce of regret. Nor an ounce of shame. I think we have the ability to love, if we let ourselves, in many ways, and to show that love, in many ways. Great post.