Today’s Bisexual Thoughts: Why Bother?

Quite a few years ago, I was having an interesting discussion with a female friend about my being bisexual and she asked, “Why bother with that? Aren’t women enough for you?”

I frowned at her question, having heard the underlying admonishment: She thought I was being greedy, that old-assed stereotypical assumption that, in my mind, never made a lot of sense since I’ve always been sure that I’m not the only person interested in getting all the sex that I can — and that included the woman I was talking to, someone who was very well-known for her, ah, voracious appetites.

But I laughed and said, “While I don’t believe there’s such a thing as too much pussy, there’s more to be had in the sexual world; what’s wrong with feasting at the table?”

It was her turn to frown and I resisted the urge to laugh at her consternation; over the years, I’d gotten used to having conversations like this with women in particular and now found it amusing that they couldn’t see the connection between how I liked getting my rocks off and how they were doing it.

“It doesn’t make sense to me,” she finally said. “If you needed to get laid that bad, all you have to do is ask me and I’d break you off some…”

“I appreciate the offer but it’s not about needing badly to get laid,” I said — after I stopped laughing. “You think that what I like to do is one of those situations where I’m desperate for sex and this is the only alternative… but you’d be quite wrong; I simply like dick.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” she said again. “If you’re getting punany, why do you need dick?”

Okay, here we go…

“Why do you need it?” I asked. “Shit, woman, you get laid more than I do! So why do you need so much dick?”

“That shit is off the hook!” she exclaimed, smiling salaciously. “Shit, man, you don’t know…”

She stopped in mid-stride, suddenly understanding that I did, in fact, know — and the laughter was starting to build again.

“Oh, snap,” she said, shaking her head.

“Yeah, you get it now, don’t you?” I asked — after biting my lip for a moment. “See, the reason why I bother — as you put it — is because I understand some of the same shit you do. You’re always bragging about how you sucked some dude’s dick and had him crying for his mama… and I know exactly what you mean because I’ve had a few dudes calling for someone to help them that won’t be able to save their asses. I know that this shit is fun… just like you do.”

“I get that now,” she said, nodding. “You just don’t look like the type!”

Here we go again…

“What does the type look like? You don’t look like the type of girl who spends six out of seven days fucking four or five times a day!” I pointed out, hitting her with facts she had previously revealed to me — and facts that ensured that I wouldn’t ever be sticking my dick in her even though she was damned delicious.

“That’s cold, dude,” she said, trying not to smile.

“I’m not gay by any means,” I continued. “I found out a long time ago. that I didn’t have to be gay to like dick; hell, I wouldn’t want to be gay!”

“Why not?” she asked.

“Because being gay is just as limiting as being straight — not enough diversity just sticking with men or women only to make me happy,” I said.

“So what you saying? I’m missing out on some shit by being strickly dickly?” she asked, giving me one of those looks that only women can pull off successfully.

“I’m not saying anything although if the shoe fits, either wear it or let your feet hurt,” I said.

“I couldn’t do that shit,” she said.

“How do you know you can’t?” I. asked — oh, was I ever gonna fuck with her now! “You ever try to do it?”

“No!” she practically shouted.

“Then how do you know you couldn’t do it… or like it?” I pressed.

“Man, I’ve heard…” she began but I cut her off quickly.

“See, that’s what wrong with some people; you hear some shit from other people — and it’s usually some fucked up shit — and then you just assume that just because they had a fucked up experience doing it, you’re gonna have one as well,” I said.

“I know I can’t play with no pussy!” she said, getting predictably louder.

“You play with your own pussy, don’t you?” I asked slyly.

“That’s different!” she countered, the words exploding from her mouth and now the people in the area we were sitting in were looking in our direction.

“Well, I figure that if you can play with your own shit, it’s not that big of a reach to play with another woman’s stuff… unless the real reason is that you’re afraid,” I said.

“I ain’t afraid of shit,” she said, keeping her voice down.

“That’s a lie — you’re obviously afraid of pussy,” I said while failing to suppress a laugh.

“You’re fucking with me,” she said, trying to sound pissed off.

“Yeah, a little,” I admitted. “But the point remains valid — you probably wouldn’t do it because you’re afraid people will start thinking that you’re a lesbian, huh?”

Her silence told me that I had hit the nail on the proverbial head… and I kept right on fucking with her… because I could and I liked pushing her buttons.

“I remember you told me a couple of weeks ago that you were watching some porn flick and there were two women — how did you put it? — munching on some carpet and you said that, at first, you thought that shit was nasty… but then you started to think that it was pretty hot,” I said. “Were you telling the truth about that?”

“I can’t stand you sometimes,” she said.

“But you did say that,” I said, keeping the pressure on her.

“Yeah, but…”

“But what? Look, if you thought it was hot — and I agree that it is — then what’s the problem? What, you ashamed that watching two women go down on each other turned you on?”

Another one of those nail-hitting silences ensued, this one lasting a whole five minutes. I sat there picking at my now-cold French fries and watched her think, marveling at how you can look at some people and pretty much know what’s going on inside their skull and seeing them go through their thought progressions.

“So, um, you saying that if it turns me on, I should try it?” she asked.

“Do you really want to?” I asked. “You don’t have to if you really can’t… but for the purposes of this conversation, if you did try it, maybe you’d better understand why I am the way I am, ya know?”

Two days later, she invited me to have lunch with her again. As we settled down to start grubbing, she said, “I did it…” and so quietly that I wasn’t sure I heard. her.

“Did what?” I asked — and because I really didn’t know what she was talking about.

“Got with a woman,” she said, her voice so low I had to strain to hear her over the background noise.

“Oh! So, how was it?” I asked and like I was asking her about the weather or something.

“Now I know why you bother,” she said, her head down like she was talking to her burger instead of me. “I fucking hate you sometimes, you know that, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I know you do,” I agreed, not taking any offense at all. “So, how was it? Seriously now.”

“Man, damn, that shit was good,” she said. “I ain’t never got off like that before! I gotta admit that it was so good, not only did she spend the night with me but that’s all we did all night… and the most of the next day.”

Ah! That would explain why I hadn’t seen her at work, then.

“Oh, okay,” I said. nonchalantly. “So… now you know like I know, don’t you?”

“I fucking hate your ass! You’re always making me do shit I wasn’t even thinking about doing!” she said, reaching across the table and poking me in the chest with her finger.

“I didn’t make you do a damned thing!” I said laughing. “All I did was ask you a question! Is it my fault that you decided to go looking for the answer?”

“Yeah it is!” she said, finally letting her smile light up the joint. “You always putting these ideas in my head!”

“I’m not gonna apologize but I figure that if you wanted to know why I do the things. I do, well, maybe you should do them yourself and find out — that kinda makes sense, wouldn’t you agree?” I asked, setting my humor aside.

“I fucking hate your smart ass…” she said. “Can I tell you something?”

“You know you can tell me anything — you usually do,” I said.

“When she kissed me, um, shit, I had an orgasm,” she said meekly.

“Nothing wrong with that,” I said.

“Then, when we got naked, she started sucking on my titties and it happened again,” she said. “No dude ever made me do that shit fucking with my nipples! But when she went down on me, damn, oh, damn…”

“It’s okay,” I said, seeing that she was getting flustered.

“I went down on her and I couldn’t believe that I was doing it…: she said quietly. “I was scared like a motherfucker… but I wasn’t scared — does that make sense?”

“It makes sense,” I said with equal quietness.

“She tasted so good… I couldn’t stop licking her pussy…, oh, fuck me…” she said, suddenly shuddering.

Did she just have an orgasm? Holy shit, I think she did!

“Hey, are you okay?” I asked.

“I just nutted in my drawers,” she said. “I fucking hate your ass!”

She got up and went to the ladies room… and it was all I could do not to start laughing even though this was a really serious situation for her. I honestly never gave any thought to her actually wanting to find out what it was like even though I had meant everything I had said to her. Over the years, I’d get hit with questions like the ones she asked, had to listen to the stereotypical claptrap that never seemed to go away and it made me adopt the position that if you really wanna know why I like pussy and dick, why don’t you give a try and find out for yourself?

She returned to the table and stood next to me for a moment, tapping me on the shoulder and said, “Here, take this.”

I held out my hand and she dropped a rather nice pair of panties in my hand, all scrunched up in a ball but very recognizable.

“Oh, no you didn’t,” I said, slipping the panties into my jacket pocket. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with these?”

“I don’t give a fuck what you do with them,” she said, plopping her butt down in the booth. “It’s a good thing I keep a pair in my desk! Oh, did I mention that you can be a real bastard?”

“You usually do mention that and I keep telling you that my parents were married when I was born,” I replied and, no, this time, I couldn’t keep the smile off my face. “Shit, you wanna blame me because you had a pleasant memory — what kind of shit is that? How the fuck am I gonna explain to my wife why I have your panties in my pocket?”

“That’s your problem,” she said with a bit of disdain. “That’s the price you pay for making me remember that shit!”

“Oh, like it’s my fault you tried it and. liked it?” Man, this was getting kinda funny because I knew she was just embarrassed by what happened.

“Yeah! It is your fault, damn it!”

“Okay, well, good thing I’m used to getting blamed for shit,” I said, picking up my burger and taking a big bite out of it before it got too cold.

We were silent for a few moments, me eating my lunch, her deep in thought.

“So now what?” I asked after polishing off the remainder of my milkshake.

“I’m supposed to spend the weekend with her,” she said after a moment. “She told me not to bother bringing any clothes because I wasn’t gonna be needing them until I went home.”

“Wow, that sounds like some serious shit,” I said. “Are you gonna go?”

“Would you go?” she asked — but I knew the question was rhetorical, just like I already knew that she was going to go no matter what I said.

“Of course I would,” I said truthfully. “There’s no shame in it at all.”

“I still hate you, you know,” she said, grabbing the check that the waitress had discretely placed on the table.

“I got it,” I said, reaching for the check.

“No, this is my treat — you can pay the next time,” she said.

From what I heard, going down the road and according to the rumor mill, my friend and this mysterious girl were becoming an item. Yep, she was still on her serious dick diet but had apparently added pussy to the menu. Sometimes, it’s good to ask questions about things you don’t understand but as in the case of my friend, sometimes, if you really wanna know, you just have to find out for yourself. I really hadn’t expected her to go and do it and I figured that the only reason why she did was because she had some latent desires she had been keeping secret — and understandably so, I might add.

People attach so much shame to being bisexual, calling us greedy and shit like that and all because we like more sexual diversity than most people and like one of our purposes in life isn’t to have all the enjoyable sex we can have. I still get a little miffed today to hear people calling bisexuals greedy and like we’re the only ones who like getting laid a lot and more so when I knew other people who, like my lady friend, spent the majority of their time fucking like it was gonna be declared illegal any moment now. But I know that the greedy sentiment exists because you’re supposed to pick a side — straight or gay — and stay there; it’s okay for someone who has picked a. side to then chase down all the sex they can catch… but if that’s okay, then why isn’t it. okay for a bisexual to have the same pursuits?

I’ll leave you to ponder this question…