I went to a bar.
That tends to be the prologue to some very new, and intense experiences for me. This one is no exception. Hence the title: I like a woman.
I went to a bar in Rennes, France with James. We were invited to sit at a table with a bunch of strangers. They were colourful, alternative people. The language barrier wasn’t going to be an issue. I speak enough French, but also, I know their kind. I am one of them. They smile often. They enjoy people. They see the good in life. A little piece of home.
I sat beside her first, thinking nothing of the evening or what could transpire. I was in the present. Several rounds of darts, foosball, and pints later, I noticed that she and James took a liking to each other. I’m not saying it was sexual. I’m just saying it was evident: something was there.
Her thick, dark curls brought out the freckles on her face; the sun specks lightly brushing over her nose and cheeks. The contrast illuminated her blue eyes. Her timid, yet positive energy was contagious. Her smile drew people in. One of them being him. The man I love.
When the group moved to a different bar – a classier place deep within an old, French maison; I could feel the history in its silence. It was quaint, and loud. We made ourselves comfortable next to an open window, overlooking the jardin. We sipped beer and champagne, feeling young and alive.
I don’t recall who kissed who first. To be honest, it was most likely me. I’d hit my peak, and I couldn’t resist her smile. Her friends gasped somewhere behind us, and I could feel she wanted to be alone; their peering eyes making her self-conscious.
As the three of us walked down cobble stone roads towards her apartment, she played electronic sounds through her phone. Our Franglish conversations made us giggle; egos lost. The night air kissed our skin and pushed us together.
When we entered her apartment, we made our way to the mezzanine – her bedroom. She lit a joint, and after a few tokes, we were entangled in bed together. Between the excitement and sparks, I was able to pull my way back into consciousness, presence, and…
I watched James move with another woman.
Not in the way we always imagined. There was no domination. No submission. It was our way of opening doors to each other, her and us. Getting to know each other’s bodies, and their desires, without pressure or restraints (literally). And through this experience, I watched James in a way I’d never seen him before.
I know how my man moves. I know how he feels, tastes, smells, but until this moment, I’ve never understood the beauty of what he does; the objective view of how he can please a woman.
I held her, as James held me, and for the first time I experienced something my body had been longing for since I was an adolescent: the physical, intimate touch of another woman. She was curvy, cool, and affectionate. Venus in a red robe, with a joint between her fingers; head of curls as big as her heart.
I fell asleep, from a dream into another.
Feelings, Hurdles, and Self-Discovery
The following days weren’t as simple as that night.
I fell into myself. It became a rollercoaster of emotions, which I’d expected. The jealousy came 24-hours later, but so did an unquenchable thirst for James. We had more sex in the following 72-hours than the previous three weeks combined. He jokes that we should have sex with women more often, just so I always want him that strongly. The animal brain was alive and working; she needed the reassurance, the reinforcement that he was still mine. Even if my human brain knew it was undoubtedly true.
It seems appropriate since I’m writing this during Pride Month, and perhaps this is the greatest tribute I can give to it. Up to this point, I’ve been describing myself as “heteroflexible,” minimizing the truth and what really goes on inside of me. This woman changed that.
After the sex had finished, this woman fell into my arms. I held her, not James. She cuddled into me, and we kissed. Several times. It was gentle, it was different. It was what I needed then. Maybe that was the source of my pain the following days… As a species that is so dependent on categories, naturally I began reconsidering mine.
I am not heteroflexible. I wouldn’t even say I’m bisexual. I heard a term recently – vibesexual – and although it gives levity to the process of self-identification, I believe that my sexual feelings aren’t based on genitals or gender, but rather the attraction and vibe I have for and between an individual.
When I wrote to a friend after the experience, revealing my fear she said to me…
“You’ve liked the female form since you were young. It doesn’t surprise me…I’m proud of you.” I realize there are layers of this coming out. The fear, the uncertainty of the world’s acceptance, and for me, accepting that I like a woman, and figuring out if I’m okay that my man likes her, too.
Our love will never be broken. I can say that with confidence. And what happens next will be something we decide together. But at least for now, I can be honest with myself, and you, readers, that yes…I am vibesexual. And yes, I like a woman…
Until next time,
Fuck well, friends!
Quean Mo xx
So, tell me, have you ever experienced pain or fear during a moment of growth in your life?