I didn’t chose to be me. I didn’t choose the green eyes, and freckles. And I certainly didn’t choose to be bisexual. I kept it buried for most of my life, but it was always there. Just lurking in the background.
I don’t know that the desire to look at Playboys meant I was attracted to women. I didn’t know that the need to touch breasts meant I was bisexual. I simply didn’t know.
I came out bisexual in January of 2013. There were times that I wondered if I really was bisexual. After all, the only experience I had occurred when I was 7, and kissed the little girl next door to me. I had doubts.
I no longer doubt my sexuality. I know for certain that I’m bi. In August, I had my first (and only) sexual experience with a woman. I enjoyed it. She must have too, because I made her orgasm. I had no idea what I was doing. I went entirely on instinct, and what I thought I would enjoy if it was me.
So, now, I’m 48 years old. I have had an experience with a woman. I fell in love with another woman. It feels natural. I don’t feel conflicted. I don’t think I’m going to hell.
I am bisexual. It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks a bisexual is, or should be. I am attracted to women. I have loved a woman.
God made me the way I am. It was never a choice. The only choice I made was a subconscious one to ignore the female attraction. That finally came to the surface. I can’t say that I embrace it, but I certainly don’t fight it. I can’t change it even if I wanted to. I do choose to be happy. I choose to live a life with my husband. He made a choice to allow me to explore the female attraction. Life goes on, and I still have so much to learn.