My Husband Knew I Liked Women Before I Did

There’s a woman I want to take selfies with. I asked her out for drinks and a drag show. I want to DM her on Facebook, post to her profile page, “Let’s do gay things together.” I keep myself in check.

I’m a married woman and I have no idea if she’s single.

Am I gay? I have been asking myself this for months. A day of drinking turned into a night in bed with a beautiful woman not too long ago. The tryst was above-board, meaning my husband gave me the okay beforehand to pursue any opportunity to suss out my inhibited sexuality. He knew I liked women long before I did.

In fact, Facebook knew I liked women long before I figured it out, judging by the incredible number of panty and bra ads I’ve seen. Facebook even knew my type before I realized there were models a certain shape I would pause my scroll and gape at long enough to register a clenching deep inside, but not long enough to actually engage that I wanted.

Oh my god, I wanted. I want.

It’s strange to be a wife in a hetero marriage and wonder if I am gay. But am I? I’m leaning toward yes on this.

I’ll tell you why. I love my husband. I am attracted to him.

But sex with men has never stirred in me half the desire I feel for the female form. I like to look at men. I want to touch women.

This woman I want to take selfies with? We are both over the hump of 35 and I spent a good portion of today imagining sitting next to her at a movie theater, our hands bumping in the popcorn. I’ll tell you what, the thrill that shoots straight down my center whenever I imagine making contact is as gay as can be.

Not hetero.

I want to make love to a woman. I want to strip her and be stripped by her and touch her and be touched by her and I can’t follow this train of thought anymore because it’s scary, but mostly because it makes so much sense.

I grew up with straight as the only option. I knew from birth I was destined to be the sexual partner of a male. I came with female genitals, therefore I would marry and mate with a male. I would reproduce.

Sex was presented as a performance for a man’s pleasure. Now more than a decade into my marriage, it has become abundantly clear to me and my partner that I can be physically present for sex, enjoy it even, but the emotional presence requires a few drinks to bring my inhibitions down.

I have no desire to partner with a man. The engine revving, juices flowing, erect nipples response I feel as I think of my female crush has never happened to me with any man. Sex with men is curiosity, friendship, or duty.

So I’m running a search of my herstory. What I’ve found startles me. I see myself attracted to women from childhood.

My romantic fantasies, I take them apart to discover yes, men were present, but the “man” was always me. I didn’t know how to imagine sex any way other than through a heteronormative filter. Imaging myself as the man let me be with a woman and not question why I switched the roles.

Until now.

Am I gay? I am almost certainly a lesbian. My husband has encouraged me to explore just as I have encouraged him to find a woman with whom he feels desired.

I asked my crush out. She said yes. I still don’t know if she’s single or at all interested in a poly relationship. I just know I want to do gay things with her.

Drinks and a drag show. Maybe selfies. Maybe sex.

Maybe more.

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M. Colette

M. Colette is an accidental writer and possible lesbian in the contiguous United States. She's heard a lot about the "gay agenda" from U.S. media. Now that she's here and is pretty sure she's queer, she's eager to clap back with her own gay agenda as she writes her way through the complications of landing a girlfriend and dating while married to a man.

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