So that out-of-town trip last weekend was to where my oldest friend (from the first days of college) was throwing an insanely cool birthday party for his husband. Of the 16 people present, 10 were officially gay. As Red and I arrived, one of the other six (Tall Guy) greeted us with "Hey, good to see some other straight people here!" Standard banter for this crowd.
Later that night at dinner, we're pouring out yet another round of wine.
Tall Guy: "There ya go - and here's to the straight contingent!"
Me: "Heck yeah!" *clink*
Red: [elbows me in the ribs]
Me: (whispering) "Oh, right - wait, crap! Do I not count?"
Later, Oldest Friend hears this story and cracks up. Red solemnly observes: "We eschew labels." And that much, Dear Reader, is true.
This post is not about "what is my sexual orientation?" ... Not only do I not care what you call me, or what I call myself, I think the question is boring. I am Chloe-and-Red-o-sexual, is all that matters. No: what arrests me about this moment is the issue of Coming Out.
I noted in passing that a couple of months into our intense, jaw-dropping, dizzingly happy and also VERY SECRET relationship, National Coming Out Day came and went. I had no desire to walk through a cardboard closet door on the college plaza, though I did think that was awfully cute back when I first saw it. But I wish - dearly - that we didn't have to hide so hard. From family, friends, co-workers (all of whom think Chloe is wonderful but whose heads would explode if they really knew why we hang out so much).
We three have traveled out of town some, to get away from it all - which of course has the added bonus of a king-sized bed. (We actually went to a hotel seven miles from home one night, just for that part - I mean, even as close as we are, the queen mattress is a little crowded when it comes to sleeping.) It's been divine to squeeze Chloe's knee at the table, see her kiss Red at the next chair, feel her fingertips drifting across the back of my neck, and not worry that an ex-spouse's best friend might report back on the scandal. There are places where we can walk down the street hand-in-hand-in-hand and no one bats an eye. Then we get back to a bar near home a few days later, and at some point as we're talking and laughing Chloe leans over to kiss me, and at the last second we both spring back: shit! We're not allowed to do that here!
I get that part of being not-altogether-straight, now.
And honestly, it's one of the most painful things so far. It keeps me up nights sometimes. I love them both so, so much. I want to wear a little discreet piece of symbolic jewelry, and decorate them with the same. I want to take all our vacations together. I want to live in the same house, yes-in-the-same-room-why-do-you-ask-Mom?
We joke all the time about trading up to the giant California King size bed. But that's only a fraction of the way in which we don't fit.
Later that night at dinner, we're pouring out yet another round of wine.
Tall Guy: "There ya go - and here's to the straight contingent!"
Me: "Heck yeah!" *clink*
Red: [elbows me in the ribs]
Me: (whispering) "Oh, right - wait, crap! Do I not count?"
Later, Oldest Friend hears this story and cracks up. Red solemnly observes: "We eschew labels." And that much, Dear Reader, is true.
This post is not about "what is my sexual orientation?" ... Not only do I not care what you call me, or what I call myself, I think the question is boring. I am Chloe-and-Red-o-sexual, is all that matters. No: what arrests me about this moment is the issue of Coming Out.
I noted in passing that a couple of months into our intense, jaw-dropping, dizzingly happy and also VERY SECRET relationship, National Coming Out Day came and went. I had no desire to walk through a cardboard closet door on the college plaza, though I did think that was awfully cute back when I first saw it. But I wish - dearly - that we didn't have to hide so hard. From family, friends, co-workers (all of whom think Chloe is wonderful but whose heads would explode if they really knew why we hang out so much).
We three have traveled out of town some, to get away from it all - which of course has the added bonus of a king-sized bed. (We actually went to a hotel seven miles from home one night, just for that part - I mean, even as close as we are, the queen mattress is a little crowded when it comes to sleeping.) It's been divine to squeeze Chloe's knee at the table, see her kiss Red at the next chair, feel her fingertips drifting across the back of my neck, and not worry that an ex-spouse's best friend might report back on the scandal. There are places where we can walk down the street hand-in-hand-in-hand and no one bats an eye. Then we get back to a bar near home a few days later, and at some point as we're talking and laughing Chloe leans over to kiss me, and at the last second we both spring back: shit! We're not allowed to do that here!
I get that part of being not-altogether-straight, now.
And honestly, it's one of the most painful things so far. It keeps me up nights sometimes. I love them both so, so much. I want to wear a little discreet piece of symbolic jewelry, and decorate them with the same. I want to take all our vacations together. I want to live in the same house, yes-in-the-same-room-why-do-you-ask-Mom?
We joke all the time about trading up to the giant California King size bed. But that's only a fraction of the way in which we don't fit.
Sexual orientation labels are so archaic and boxy. I like your term "chloe-and-red-o-sexual" :-)
ReplyDeleteWell, I just found your blog and decided to start from the top. Three posts in and I'm kinda hooked :-D
Well hello! Hope you've enjoyed the rest of it. :)
ReplyDeleteIn the time since I wrote that post, I have actually come to embrace the "not-straight" identity much more fully. But it's still true that "bisexual" doesn't tell the whole story. I give money to the Human Rights Campaign, I put a rainbow candy dish in my office, and if anyone asks yes that IS my girlfriend. I guess I just have an asterisk!