On being bisexual, like most women

A study says all women are same-sex attracted. Here's why it makes no difference

If this woman said she fancied me, I’d… be amazed, frankly. But very happy. Photo by Cleyton Ewerton on Unsplash.

Women are beautiful. No, not every woman. You probably wouldn’t want a threesome with Ann Widdecombe and Thérèse Coffey. Or maybe you would: sexual attraction is a personal thing and preferences vary (either that, or you need to see an optician).

But speaking of eyes, it’s rare that a man catches mine. With men, for me, attraction is usually a slow burn where I gradually become smitten with their intelligence, wit, kindness and sexiness: it’s the whole package. Including the meat-and-two-veg package.

But Angelina Jolie, Jessica Alba, Rachel Zegler, Meghan Markle, Rachel Weisz, Jodie from my last workplace (she’s not famous, she’s just gorgeous): they’re stunning, and the lust I feel is immediate. And, were I my hot skinny past self and lucky enough to meet them when we were both single, the attraction might possibly be mutual.

“C’mon Ari, you can’t possibly be deluded enough to think that Meghan Markle would jump your bones!” you’re probably saying. Firstly, you’re underestimating how deluded I am; secondly, you haven’t seen The Study. Yes, it’s from 2015, but it’s quite something.

The BBC reported it as “No woman ‘totally straight’, says study”. The Independent said “Women are never straight - they are either gay or bisexual, study suggests.”

Basically, University of Essex researchers showed both straight and gay men and women videos of sexy naked people of both sexes, and measured how hot they found them. 74% of women who claimed to be straight were strongly aroused by both women and men.

Lesbians were only turned on by women, gay men only by men, straight men only by women.

But straight women? My hot skinny ex-self has a 74% chance with them.

Here I am ten years ago, looking horny.

Newsflash! Sex with men is different from sex with women

I mean, duh. But it’s worth elucidating the differences.

Women are softer. Their skin is softer, they often kiss more softly, they get wet when turned on instead of hard (“tell me something I didn’t know, Ari!”). They’re more responsive: more likely to make noise during sex, contort their faces and moan with pleasure when you touch them. They generally smell sweeter and take more care over hygiene and preparing their bodies for sex.

The number of boyfriends who have thought, “I know, here’s a nice treat for Ariane: I’ve been at work all day and haven’t washed my fishy willy, I bet she’d really love to go down on me!” And I’ve been too polite to say no, so I’ve just gagged, then come up and said, “I need you to fuck me hard right now!” (Translation: “I need you to take your haddock-dick out of my mouth right now!”)

I can’t imagine a woman ever letting anyone go down on her without showering first. But it’s a big world so I’m sure there are lots of women with smelly vaginas. (That’s not a sentence I ever envisaged writing.)

These women are probably not smelly. Photo by Alexander Grey on Unsplash.

Bisexual, with some addendums

I think I’m what’s called ‘bisexual but heteroromantic’, because I’ve never fallen in love with a girl. Then again, I don’t think a girl has ever fallen in love with me. Never say never though, eh?

I’m also bisexual but not pansexual. I was hazy on the difference: apparently bisexual just means you fancy more than one gender, whereas pansexuals fancy people of all genders including non-binary. It’s kind of like if a lot of bisexual people are only open to eating Margherita and Hawaiian pizza, while pansexual people are open to eating all the pizza, including Margherita, Hawaiian, pepperoni, etc.

It doesn’t really work as an analogy here, because I’m very fat and would eat all the pizza myself. Unless it contained goat’s cheese. Goat’s cheese is Satan’s own preferred cheese and should only exist in the seventh circle of hell.

“Oi, why you dissing my cheese?!” Photo by Nandhu Kumar on Unsplash.

I’ve known I was bi for three decades

My first sexual experience was with a boy who went to my school, when we were both ten. He asked if we could kiss “without tongues”. I panicked, having no idea how to take out my tongue. In the end I just pushed it as far back in my mouth as I could, and hoped for the best.

Next, he asked if I wanted “to sex”. I didn’t know how to sex, but he said he knew, because he’d seen it in films. He told me to lie down on the floor, wearing only my knickers. He then stripped off down to his underpants, lay on top of me, and thrusted while making loud grunting noises like a constipated bear.

I spent the next six months terrified that I was pregnant, even though I hadn’t started my period yet and he wasn’t old enough to make semen.

My second sexual experience was with a girl who was fourteen, when I was thirteen. We were sharing a bed one night, when I slid my hand under her nightie and started stroking her stomach. Which felt transgressive (my boldness, not her stomach: her stomach just felt incredibly soft).

But instead of her saying, “Ari, what the hell do you think you’re doing? Take your little brown hand off my belly!” she whispered, “You can touch me wherever you want.” So I began touching her breasts, though I was too shy to go any further. We’re still friends, though neither of us has ever mentioned the incident again in the past 30 years. Her willingness to allow me to touch her might mean she was bisexual too, but she’s now married to a man.

Thankfully, despite my failure to grasp basic biology, I didn’t worry about being pregnant this time.

I would have three more lesbian experiences in my late teens and early twenties, increasing in duration and intensity. The first was with Tia, a beautiful nineteen-year-old Lebanese brunette.

This isn’t really kissing, is it? They’re basically just resting their faces together. Photo by V T on Unsplash.