Life after Lesbianism

I may never sleep with a woman again. Not because I’m no longer attracted to other women, but because my current monogamous relationship is starting to get serious. I might marry this guy. I might have a child with him. I might make a commitment.

Of course, modern marriage can be flexible and customisable. There are open marriages, polyamorous partnerships, even acknowledged affairs. Realistically there’s a good chance we won’t stay together forever.

But sometimes my boyfriend talks about growing old with me and, just for a second, I imagine a future where another woman’s lips never touch mine. I imagine a future where the lesbian feminist movement goes on without me. My feelings are mixed, because part of me worries that I’m abandoning something I used to believe in – that life without men is possible.

Bisexuality can be cruel. Although I never wish my boyfriend was a woman, sometimes I do wonder what life would be like if he were. Would our domestic habits be more equal, because we’d both have been socialised to care about dirty kitchen floors and forgotten coffee cups growing mould? Would I feel this broody if I knew children were years of IVF (or years of wading through the adoption process) away? Would both our parents be so immediately supportive if ours was not a straight relationship? 

Straight privilege is definitely a ‘thing.’ While we are unmarried at the moment there seems to be no prejudice, shame or stigma about our lack of rings. Instead people smile at us everywhere we go. Neighbours, cashiers, bouncers, waiters… all seem to give off an air of approval. I’ve started taking him to restaurants just because it’s so easy. I have accessed the privilege. 

But I remember sitting at a restaurant with a girlfriend or a date and seeing waiting staff whisper with suspicious eyes, experiencing ruder service because another girl’s hand was in mine. I remember kissing girls on the street in different cities and being heckled. Feeling the fear of men. Now I drive past lesbian couples and see the unconscious defensiveness of their bodies. The tight grip with which they hold each other’s hands. It makes me sad, because I was them once.

The guilt I feel about loving my boyfriend, about being with my boyfriend, is a low-level constant. I am no longer visible. Although I am public about my bisexuality, and refuse to stand by passively to homophobia or misogyny, my love life is no longer a battlefield. And that makes me feel as if I’m not pulling my weight. But, as gay rights argues, we can’t help whom we love. So I may never sleep with another woman again – as long as I love him I’m an ex-lesbian. But, really, that’s okay.