Straight from the Closet

My first girlfriend has been dating men since 2004; when we broke up, she said: “I don’t think I can be with a girl if it’s not you.” Sweet words from a great liar, I took them for what they were worth. (She cheated on me every day we were together…with other women.)

Bachelorette #2 was a bisexual who bounced directly from her construction-worker boyfriend (who supposedly carried a knife) to me, one drunken evening at a party we all attended—not scary or shady at all. She now identifies as a full-blown lesbian who sometimes sleeps with men.

I once dated a girl who was raised by her lesbian aunts, came out as a teenager, and then (shortly after we parted) had a break-down wherein she explained to her aunties that she jumped on the gay wagon too fast and was now deeply in love with a boy. They were devastated.

I started to date an out-and-proud lesbian, only to have her reveal that she had been in a secret relationship with a man for over a year.

What kind of world do we live in where women have to hide the fact they’re sleeping with men?

And, of course, there’s my tEXt girlfriend, who is straight, whom I have been loosely involved with for close to three years. (We kissed for the first time on my 22nd birthday, I’m going to be 25—older, yet not a day wiser. I like to think of it as youthful optimism.)

WHAT THE FUCK.

Are there no real lesbians out there? I mean come on people, what gives?

Given this bizarre, skewed series of encounters that make up my mangled love-life, I started to question homosexuality as a hard-and-fast rule (versus some sort of impractical, impossible social construct): Is Gay something I am being forced into? Because I like some women, have I completely ruled out men and squeezed myself into a corner where no other “lesbian” actually exists?

It seemed as though women were picking labels with no clear connection to the behavior they were exhibiting. And, while this may seem positive and progressive, it completely confused me for a time. Can a “lesbian” have a relationship with a man? Can a “straight” girl sleep with women? And more to the point, is this one of those scenarios where everyone else is cheating on the test and getting good grades while I’m showing up to Spanish class, hoping for the best after going to the same “study group” (ice-cream/gossip session) thus leaving me completely unprepared and in the dark (en la obscuridad)? Meaning, should I be keeping one eye out for a man?

I actually met the man of my dreams a few weeks ago. He’s handsome, successful, sweet, funny, smart, and most of all: really interested in me. Wonderful. Seriously, I couldn’t design a better man if I were stuffing pictures and books into a computer during a thunder storm—a la Weird Science (ciencia del weird). I met him at a friend’s birthday party. We hit it off instantaneously and talked all night. As I was saying goodbye, my new friend pulled me into a big hug and kissed me on the cheek. After a moment, he shifted, and went in for the BIG kiss—Here is where sobriety served me well. Had I been drunk, I probably would have let him kiss me for a few minutes, enjoyed the feeling of being wanted, and spent the entire next day questioning the meaning of said kiss. Thankfully, I stopped drinking about a year and a half ago, thus rendering my instincts wilderness sharp—Like a boxer about to take a hit, I ducked and rolled out of the hug, bouncing to the door waving goodbye and exiting smoothly. As I rode the elevator down to the lobby, I thought: “Wow. I’m fucking gay. Who knew? I’m really, really gay. That was the guy. And I passed him up. I couldn’t have found him more interesting or attractive. He was truly perfect. And he was into me. And I ducked. I had no impulse whatsoever to kiss him.” I felt like coming out all over again. Before, I used to wonder what would happen if the perfect guy came along. Now I know. I would duck & roll…like a boxer…or a big lesbian…or a big lesbian boxer.

As if to solidify this message, I met another guy when I was at the beach. After an attempt at sweet-talk, he invited me to go sailing with him. I politely declined. He made some comment of the certainty of us being together. I chuckled. Later, an older gentleman at the beach bar informed me that this guy’s grandfather was worth $300 million dollars, and he was the heir to some sort of grand law-firm fortune. Still uninterested, I packed up my things and headed home. Again, surprised, I realized I wouldn’t even go straight for a $300 million dollar fortune. Shocking. I can’t be bought. If you had asked me a month ago if I thought I could go straight for that amount of money, I would have guessed yes. I would have guessed wrong! Who knew! I have scruples!

I’ve spoken to a few lesbians in recent days who swear to me they’re not confused or lying about their sexual habits. So I am not alone. Real lesbians do exist. I guess I seem to be picking mine like fresh shirts, straight from the closet. Next time, I’m picking mine off the clothes line, hopefully softer and better-fitting.

Quiero una novia lesbiana. No me gusto las chicas indeciso. Causan mucho dolor.