Sha is a former psychology student from Cornwall, who studied at Catz and remained in Oxford after graduation. She now volunteers for an Oxford based charity. She is openly bisexual and bipolar and is not afraid to speak out when she feels either group is getting a raw deal. You have been warned…

I loathe the response I get if conversation forces me to reveal that I’m bisexual. So much so, that I frequently identify myself as a lesbian just to get away from the unpleasant stigma currently surrounding bisexuality.

Ideally, I wouldn’t define myself at all, but it’s a sad fact that a feminine girl who doesn’t go out of her way to assert her sexuality may as well wear a big sign marked ‘hetero’. Besides, since sex is such a popular preoccupation, conversations soon turn to who you fuck.

There is a song by the hard rock band, Living Colour: Everybody loves you when you’re bi. Nothing could be further from the truth. Bisexuals have a reputation for being indecisive, unreliable, false and lacking in self-awareness. In contrast to the old-fashioned image of being dirty social outcasts—bisexual women are now often regarded as light-hearted, airy-fairy party girls. Consequently, lesbians are wary of us and straight men disrespect us, thinking they’ve found their ticket to threesome heaven. In fact, some of us receive as many offers of threesomes as we get for one-on-one sex.

A threesome with two women seems to be regarded by some as the very height of masculine achievement. Nothing said this more explicitly than the fact that a male drinking society at one of the Oxford colleges had a scoring system whereby one could win points for achieving certain goals. It was common knowledge that the highest scoring accomplishment was having a threesome with two of my best friends—a monogamous lesbian couple. Strangely enough, nobody ever cracked that one.

The extent to which men fail to take sexual relationships between women seriously was particularly evident during my last relationship, which was with a rather striking girl in her early 20s. Why is it that two women belting out the lyrics to My Lovely Horse for ninety minutes, gathers less attention than when the same women discreetly kiss for a few seconds?

One night, after one too many Ribenas, my girlfriend and I decided to try and make a spectacle of ourselves by pretending to be atrocious buskers on St Giles in Oxford, a street where we’ve previously been heckled for holding hands. We performed the intentionally dreadful My Lovely Horse from the TV comedy Father Ted, with my girlfriend on guitar and vocals and me on general yelling. We were there for well over an hour and despite singing at the top of our lungs to almost 100 passers by, only two people paid us more than an awkward glance.

On the other hand, the hassle we received from men during our non-busking moments was beyond belief. One evening, whilst hugging at the bus stop at Carfax, a young man walked up to us, aggressively kissed my girlfriend, then kissed me and then walked off. We were so shocked that he was halfway down the road before we managed to muster the presence of mind to show him the finger.

On another occasion, two men saw fit to chat us up as we walked home from the supermarket. I mentioned to the one who was intent on getting my phone number, that my girlfriend was in fact, my girlfriend. And yet, he continued attempting to convince me to go out with him! In the unlikely event that a guy approached a girl while she was with her boyfriend, would he have proceeded to ask her out after discovering that she had a partner and that this person was right by her side? I think not, and if he had done so, he may well have ended up with a black eye.

And don’t get me started on the teenagers who asked us to repeat a kiss so that they could capture it on their mobile phone cameras.

Perhaps these men believe that a woman’s sexuality serves only to please men. This would explain why women who are most feminine are often subject to the most abuse. The more butch women who conform to a traditionally masculine stereotype provide onlookers with a more adequate answer to the question, “But where is the man?” Therefore, they are more likely to be left alone.

While I’m glad that the attention we attracted was not of a critical nature, it was still a form of homophobia.

Someone once told me that to call what transpired ‘homophobic’ would be an insult to homosexuals. I disagree. I’m not trying to discredit the more severe types of homophobia, but I would argue that prejudice is not limited to the dislike of gay people; prejudice also manifests itself in disrespect. The constant heckling was precisely due to the lesbian nature of our relationship, and although the men claimed to “approve,” they displayed a complete absence of respect for our lifestyle. We are not a circus act.

Social reactions to bisexuality differ, and I learned this first-hand when I chose to have a relationship with a woman. My closest friends were prepared to accept my choice of partner regardless of gender. But I was bewildered, by the overwhelming response from others when I brought a female date to a party. It appeared that everybody couldn’t wait to tell me how much they supported my choice.

Although my girlfriend was instantly likeable, this did not account for the magnitude of the reaction. Within minutes of our arrival, one former course mate took me aside to tell me how much she liked my new girlfriend, and afterwards three people emailed me to express their approval—even those who hadn’t spoken to her! Another friend, after just studying my girlfriend’s Facebook profile, proclaimed: “I really like her and you two seem to be made for each other”. I appreciated these reactions, but I wondered why none of my male dates sparked such an intense response. I concluded that a large part of the hype was due to her being, essentially, a her.

This left me divided: on the one hand, I was overjoyed that the people around me supported my choice of lifestyle and were prepared to accept my sexuality. On the other hand, a part of me wished that the girl’s gender had played no part in the evaluations I received from others.

The fact that lesbians distrust bisexuals may be partially due to this decade’s rising fashion for straight women to pretend to be bisexual in order to attract men. It could also be caused by a minority of women who briefly dabble with lesbianism for “a laugh” despite no genuine same sex attraction. This social phenomenon is depicted painfully well in Katy Parry’s hit single I kissed a girl. While some might argue that the song represents an increased acceptance of homosexuality, I feel any positive effects of the song are out-weighed by the profoundly negative impact it will have on people’s acceptance of bisexual behaviour as anything more than frivolous experimentation among girls who essentially want dick. I listen to the lyrics “I kissed a girl just to try it, I hope my boyfriend don’t mind it” and cringe, knowing that I will be tarred with the same brush.

I will recount another prominent example of biphobia. One evening, a girl tried to chat me up on behalf of her friend at a gay night at The Old Fire Station club in Oxford. She beckoned me over and told me that her friend, who stood rooted to the spot gawping, fancied me. Unimpressed by my admirer’s inability to speak directly to me, I stood looking baffled for a few moments before the friend asked, “Are you gay?”
To which I replied, “I’m bisexual.”
“Well that’s no good, she’s a lesbian!” snapped the girl and with that they walked off, looking disgusted.

This incident illustrated only too well that we have not included bisexuals in our general ‘tolerance’ towards sexual orientation.

There’s something seriously wrong with a culture in which a girl feels the need to pretend to be a lesbian in order to be taken more seriously as a bisexual. On the other hand, the fact that “bi” has been proudly claimed by a mass of slightly curious teenage girls could be seen as indicative of a society that’s making vast leaps toward total acceptance of homosexuality.

On a personal level, being bisexual can be both a blessing and a hindrance. It opens opportunities for a more diverse set of partners, which really helps me evaluate what’s important in a relationship and increases my chances of finding someone to love. At the same time, I am aware that my chances are only marginally improved, given that lesbians and bisexual women (unfortunately) don’t grow on trees. The uncertainty surrounding my future can be unsettling. Coming to terms with sexuality must be difficult for any queer person, but I imagine that monosexual people are generally more satisfied with their identities once they’ve come out, than those of us who are attracted to both genders. For years, I found myself pondering whether I’m more interested in men or women until I finally made a conscious decision just to get on with my life and see what happens.

So, if being bisexual really means I have to be an erratic, happy-go-lucky, greedy nymphomaniac, then I’ve seriously misperceived the prejudice, incessant self-analysis, and immense insecurity surrounding bisexuals in today’s society. But then again, the people who really matter to me manage to display respect and acceptance: is it so much to ask for the same kind of treatment from the rest of our community?

FURTHER READING:
For more info about Sha, check out her website: http://bipolar-bisexual.blogspot.com