Fuck My Sexual Orientation and Identity

I was reading a post on Figleaf's Real Adult Sex today where he answered several questions designed to provide enlightenment about his gender identity. He apparently got all these questions from Bond at Dear Diaspora.

One question in particular gave me a big jolt as I was reading, one that suddenly clarified a huge issue with my sexual orientation that I've been half-subconsciously grappling with for years. It was this:

What would your gender identity be if you’d been born as the other sex? How masculine or feminine would you be? (This comes from an old one for when one is questioning her sexual orientation: What would your sexual orientation be if you were the other sex?)

Now, my response had more to do with the parenthetical aside than the question itself. I answered without a millisecond of hesitation in my head: I would be a femme gay man.

And I was suddenly struck with the absolute truth of that. If I were male-bodied and could have queer sex with other men, I'd be gay. Not bisexual, really. Maybe a little. But no, I'd be gay. Almost entirely.

So sure, I'd still be femme. My gender identity is actually pretty solid and apparently has little to do with my body. The thought of being a femme man sounded just as comfortable as the thought of being a femme woman. But the question of orientation? That blew my mind.

I have historically had many more male sexual and romantic partners than I have had female ones. I've been annoyed with that fact. It feels like a barrier to my identification as queer, as a true bisexual. I know for a fact that I've been more attracted to some of my female partners and enjoyed the sex much more than that with many of my male partners. It's exciting in a different way that I like. A lot.

But.

I think that might have less to do with liking female bodies and femme gender presentations than it has to do with liking queer sex. When I so easily answered that gender/orientation question for if I had a male body, something clicked in my head. The thought of being a gay man felt like a relief. If I were a gay man, I'd be able to have the kind of sex that I like best with the people whose bodies I like best. And I think, weirdly, that those bodies for me are male.

This has been so confusing for so long. Because, yes, I definitely like women and their bodies. Just not as much! But I like like lesbians soooooooo much more than I like most straight men. Maybe all "straight" men, if we define that as hetero- and gender-normative. In fact, I’m not particularly attracted to straight people. (Male or female.) I do like the ones who will say “I tried gay sex“ or “I would try gay sex” and it didn’t do that much for them, or the ones who approach sex queerly. That’s different. That’s not “straight,” that’s just heterosexual.

The problem here is that I'm QUEER. I like queer sex. I like queer relationships. I want to sleep with guys, but I want to sleep with gay guys. Or queer guys. I want to sleep with them queerly, without the total emphasis on PIV intercourse or the lack of respect for female pleasure. I want the sense of play and transgression I've had with other queers. Queer sex!

Which is frankly kind of sad. I'm female-bodied. I love being female-bodied. I really wouldn't want to change that. I just wish that more queer guys wanted to sleep with/date me. And yes, there are queer guys who like women, but they're so much harder to find. It takes "bisexual," which expanded my dating pool and turns it into “female bodied queer person who likes queer men," which drastically shrinks it.

As if there weren't already enough reasons it's hard for me to find a partner. Pfft.

Gay Bar

I went, tonight, to a gay club in the Castro. San Francisco's pretty fun in that its queer culture is exactly what you'd expect it to be. This club was all techno, mostly gay people, more men than women, and a good amount of drinking. It was packed. The bodies writhed together. It might as well have been a scene from Queer as Folk. (Although I know that was set in another city.)

I went to gay bars and clubs a lot throughout my college career. There was a period of time where I'd go to a gay bar at least three nights a week, to socialize and sometimes dance and sometimes drink.

I didn't like going to straight dance clubs because men would inevitably feel me up or at least hit on me in a very sketchy fashion. At gay bars, there isn't this problem. The men are only interested in each other and the women know better than to be totally disrespectful.

Since I've graduated, though, I've spent less time with queer folks. My job is to canvass for a queer issue, but there are still more straight people at work than gay ones. I'd sort of forgotten how much more comfortable I am within the queer community than I am in the straight one.

I have my own gripes with the gay community, mostly involving their sometimes exclusion of bisexual people. I still feel better, though, with teh gays than with teh straights. There's so much more gender flexibility, such an understanding that gender roles don't have to define everything. It cuts down a lot on the blatant sexism.

I'd forgotten, before tonight, how much more comfortable I feel around gay people than around straight ones. I'm considering taking a little break from dating men, just because I've gotten into such an unfortunate head space about them. Even if I don't skip out on all the less-sexist men who I do like, I'd like to spend more time with gay people. I think it's time to start pursuing women again.

Stripping and "Hating" and Dating Men

When I first started stripping, I heard from lots of my coworkers and a few of my friends in the industry that the job would make me hate men. They said that when you do sex work, you see the worst in men and so it is inevitable that you start to dislike them at least a little. I didn't write this off entirely, as of course they had experience at that point and I didn't, but I hoped that it would be different for me.

I was, I rationalized, doing sex work for different reasons than most of them. I didn't need the money, I just kind of wanted to see what it was like to dance naked and get paid for it. I figured this privilege would protect me from making some of the compromises they might have had to, would protect me from a changing opinion of men. I knew the industry would definitely alter me, as everything in life does, but I figured my compassion could hold up to it in that regard.

Well, my compassion is certainly still there. I feel sorry for men much more than I hate them. But things have definitely changed in my feelings towards them.

I've been thinking about my recent heterosexual trend, wondering why my attention has been so much more on men than on women. It hasn't been for lack of physical attraction to women; it's just that when I meet a nicer (and attractive) man, my focus zooms in on him immediately. He stands out to me. This hasn't been happening much with women.

It occurred to me that I've got a little reaction formation going on when it comes to men. (Wikipedia: In psychoanalytic theory, reaction formation is a defensive process in which anxiety-producing or unacceptable emotions and impulses are mastered by exaggeration of the directly opposing tendency.) In this case, I'm very uncomfortable with and somewhat dislike men, so I've been dating them.

So I certainly don't hate men, but I do hate a lot of the things a lot of them do. I don't much like being objectified without my permission. (Accepting money for it is giving permission.) I don't like it when they assume I'm sexually available or feelingless based on my orientation or relationship style or job. I feel almost paranoid about being imposed upon by them, pushed into ways of being or thinking of myself that I don't like, and it affects me from day to day.

So I'm very defended against them. In order to protect myself, I have to be paying attention to the men around me at all times. I'm expending an enormous amount of energy and attention on making sure I don't interact with men in ways that will hurt me. I'm super up front about my job, orientation, and relationship style so that I can immediately avoid the men who objectify them. Putting up barriers like that takes a good amount of effort and so I'm always very aware of men.

What this means is that when I do find a guy who's nice to me, who doesn't do those things I hate, I've already been paying oodles of attention to him in order to find that out. It seems notable, remarkable, that he's not going to be sexist towards me. I appreciate him a lot. I date him, if he's available. There you go. I'm not as afraid of women, and so this happens less often.

(As a side note: I don't claim this is a rational reaction to anything. These are feelings and my attempt to understand them.)

Now, back to stripping. Stripping didn't force me somehow to have these feelings towards men. It's not even that men act much differently at a strip club than they do in general. In fact it's just the opposite, and that's the problem. Stripping commodifies the sexist interactions that exist every day, everywhere. It puts a monetary value on them and so it makes them very, very obvious.

As a stripper, I have to trade somewhat in misogyny, to play off it and manipulate it so that I can get lap dances and tips and avoid groping and slurs. It's something I simultaneously like and hate about the job. I've learned oodles about gender roles, particularly about what's dysfunctional in masculinity. I like learning. However, this knowledge makes it hard to move comfortably in a world that's so full of sexism. I'm just so aware all the time. I can't really sit back and accept it, learn to ignore it, bite the harness and move on like women have been doing for centuries. I'm psychologically fighting it out most of the time.

I'd like to try to shift my focus a little. It's probably unnecessary and certainly draining to be so defended all the time. I'd like to learn, in my day to day activities if not my scholarship and activism, to brush off sexist men. I don't want to let them inside my head, let them affect me, which is something I do have control over even when I can't change their behavior. It'd be nice, even, to spend more time with women and live more in a sisterhood community where I can feel safe. Focus on safety, on whom I am comfortable with rather than on whom I'm not.

I suppose it's a lesson for me as an activist. I want to keep working to change the things in the world that strike me as unfair and wrong, the things that make me angry and hurt me. I need also, though, to focus on healing from that anger and hurt. It's just as important.

Bisexuality and Dating Men

For the last couple of years, I've dated only men. I've slept with plenty of women, but all the people I've seen consistently or seriously were men. I wouldn't say that I've done this on purpose, but it's been a pretty obvious trend.

I think a lot of the reason for this is simple convenience. There are a lot more straight men scattered around in obvious places than there are queer women. They tend to approach me more often and I end up with them just as a matter of odds. In the past six months or so, I have been on more of a hetero kick, but that's not unusual. I've always gone through cycles of leaning one way or the other every once in a while. I had a lady cycle three years ago, and now I'm going the other way. Woo, fluid sexuality.

This trend of male-dating, however, puts me in a strange and slightly uncomfortable position. I'm a bisexual person who has been very involved in the queer community. In college, most of my female friends were queer. I was part of the leadership of the Gay Straight Alliance. I went to gay bars. Most of my jobs were in specifically queer-friendly or queer-oriented places. I tied a lot of my identity in with queerness.

And yet, most of my relationships were heterosexual. Straight, if you will.

Of course, the fact that my relationships are always open does allow me to sleep with women. That doesn't change the fact, though, that people assume I'm straight when I go out in public with a male sweetheart. It's sort of like the queer part of me is hidden inside myself.

I don't like feeling hidden. I end up questioning myself a lot because there is pressure from both sides to define and present myself as either queer or straight. It's not always an open or spoken pressure, although I've heard my share of "choose already" jokes and not-so-jokes. It's more often a pressure based on the fact that the queer community is so close and clearly-defined. There's a norm there, and there are great rewards of community and support for following it.

I do have a strong desire to be recognized for who I am and to fit in with a group. I'd like to be more independent, but part of my identity is based on how others see me. I suppose that's my own cross to bear, but it makes the bisexuality particularly hard when it keeps me separate from what seems to be such a fun and close-knit group. I'd like to be a part of it.

I'm not letting identity issues stop me from dating whomever I like (or love) or dressing how I want or making friends with whomever I want. It does cause me some angst, though, when I feel excluded not only from the straight world which kind of turns me off anyway, but the queer community that appeals to me.

We Have to Stop Now

I've been fairly religiously watching the new web series We Have to Stop Now. It's about lesbians and therapy and is hilarious. It's on Jill Bennet's website, and I hope you'll check it out. The episodes are fairly short, and well worth watching.

Here's episode 1:

We Have To Stop Now: Pilot Episode from DynaKit Productions on Vimeo.

I've watched a few of Jill Bennet's other videos; she's got a vlog series called The Violet Underground. While I did really like We Have to Stop Now, I was a little saddened at the interview Bennet did where she and Dalila Ali Rajah discuss bisexuality. It was clear they were coming from a good place of trying to understand, but it was also hard to see them blithely trotting out a lot of the stereotypes.

That said, please check out and support We Have to Stop Now. I agree with Bennet that it's important to have media representations of all kinds of people and lives, and we can support those online.

25 Things About My Sexuality

I'm sure you've all seen the 25 things meme on Facebook or wherever, given that the New York Times wrote about it. There's a new blog up where folks can anonymously share 25 things about their sexuality. It's an interesting read and I figured it'd be fun to join in. I'm posting my 25 things on here, since this blog has enough anonymity for me.

1. I'm a stripper (duh, if you read this blog) and I've dated/had sex with exactly one man that I met at work. It was when I first started and he was very cute and nice, but terrible in bed. After our first time, I stopped seeing him.

2. My first clue that I was interested in women was when I was 12. I had a sex dream about my sister. I was pretty horrified and upset, but also suddenly realized that I was seeing women in a sexual way. This was quite separate from my sister, but it's always bugged me that she was in the dream that brought me to that realization.

3. I "came out of the closet" at the exact moment that I realized the label bisexual could apply to me. I was on the bus on the way home from school and discussing what bisexuality meant with some acquaintances. I said "I know I'm attracted to guys, but I'm pretty sure I'm also into girls. So yeah, I guess I'm bisexual." Thank you, California upbringing.

4. I once gave a boyfriend a blow job in front of a pack (flock? gaggle?) of wild turkeys. Really.

5. I almost never masturbate with my fingers. I went from rubbing myself against a stuffed animal for years to using a vibrator. Fingers are generally too rough for my very sensitive clit. I can make it work, but it takes a LOT of effort and lube.

6. The first person I fell in love with was an emotionally abusive asshole. The only good things he did for me were teach me how to drink and give me lots of good sex. He also made me feel bad, though, about sex, as part of the whole abuse thing. I'm proud of myself for getting out of it before he became physically abusive, as he did with his next girlfriend.

7. I took naked pictures of myself when I was a teen and sent them to at least one person I was having random cyber sex with. My mom found them on my computer and chose to believe me when I told her they were just for me. I deleted them. It makes me feel kind of awkward (and scared, given recent prosecutions) that they may still be out there.

8. I didn't have sex with a woman until I got to college. This made me feel a little like a fraud saying I was bisexual, but I knew it was true. I didn't tell my first few female sexual partners how inexperienced I was. I wish I had, so I could've spent that time learning from them.

9. When I was young I used to have fantasies about being tied up by a male figure and put in cold places or deprived of food and then fed grapes. They were vague fantasies and not exactly sexual as I'd mean the word now. They were arousing, though, in a not-quite-sexual-yet-but-almost way.

10. I keep a list of all the people I've had sexual encounters with. If I didn't, I'd have trouble naming them all, particularly in order. I like to look back at it and remember.

11. I used to read and write erotic short stories and romance and erotic novels. I got teased at school for reading "porn for women," which actually didn't bother me at all. I was kind of proud.

12. I've never watched that much porn although I find it very arousing. It's too much effort to find what I like to see, and I can get off just fine without it. Lately, I've been trying harder.

13. My first time having anal sex was when the afore-mentioned abusive boyfriend got me drunk on his birthday. I was open to the idea sober so I didn't mind. However, the only time we'd talked about it, I'd said I wasn't sure. I'm pretty certain that he was getting me drunk so I'd do it, which is really rapey. It's a weird situation because I was actually willing despite the alcohol, but he didn't know that.

14. I love group sex. I want to have much, much more of it. I've had a few really good threesomes, a foursome with all bi folks which was fantastic, and one of my favorite sex experiences was a lesbian orgy in San Francisco I was lucky enough to be invited to.

15. I have had sex in all kinds of ridiculous places. I've posted here before about how much I love public sex. It's definitely something I've done a lot and will continue to do.

16. I'm just starting to really experiment with BDSM. I've been interested in it for a long time, but the community's focus on pushing boundaries was really intimidating. I'm finally at a point where I'm comfortable negotiating exactly what I want so I can feel okay with someone topping me. Boundary pushing can come over time.

17. I really like being spanked. I'm not sure why this is as I was never spanked as a kid and it's arousing in absence of any role playing. I just like the way it feels; it turns me on.

18. I go through phases where I'm more attracted to one sex/gender than others, but normally I'm pretty pansexual. I don't identify as pansexual because most of the people I've met who do are kind of annoying. Growing up, being pansexual was the cool, non-conformist thing to do and I still associate it with that.

19. The more sex advice I give, the more I realize how little I actually know about sex and the more comfortable I get with that fact. There are always more questions and new things to learn!

20. I like sex outside of committed relationships, but not really "casual" sex. I want to have a connection with someone I'm sleeping with, even if it's just once for forty minutes. Otherwise it's not particularly satisfying to me, even if I have fifteen orgasms.

21. I almost always masturbate before I go to sleep. I often also masturbate at random moments during the day when I'm reading or bored or just horny. It's been a very long time since I've gone more than one day without masturbating.

22. I sometimes get aroused during lap dances. It has a lot to do with how respectful and responsive my customer is. If he or she is both, I'll get turned on.

23. The only things I can think of when my mom asks me "What do you want for your birthday?" are more sex toys. They're some of the only things I want that are too expensive to buy for myself. It doesn't seem appropriate, despite our good relationship, to ask Mom for them.

24. My best friend calls me "Little Nelly Bottom." I worry sometimes that by being more of a bottom I'm not contributing enough to sex. I know that bottoming for me is as much about giving and wanting to please, but I still wonder sometimes if I'm being lazy by wanting my partner(s) to take control.

25. I'm hugely orally fixated, in a not-just-a-joke kind of way. I love giving head and kissing and using my mouth as much as possible during sex. I have a candy problem. I chew on things. When I masturbate, I do things with my mouth like bite my pillow, suck on my fingers, or go down on a dildo.

Paradox

I have a tattoo that probably doesn't have much obvious meaning to other people.

The double spiral, in very simple terms, symbolizes balance. In Celtic lore, it can also be tied to the equinoxes. To me, though, it's more complicated than that.

One internet writer tells us that the double spiral "represents a deep understanding of chaos as potentiality and of coming into being...The double spiral is an expanding dialectic, a spiral of transformation." Another says that the double spiral symbolizes "opposing forces, the personification of opposites blending to make a whole. "



It's contradiction and transformation that turn me on, physically and emotionally, That's why I've engraved the symbol on my body. It reminds me that opposing things can actually be connected, that binaries are really a continuum and a circle. Male and female, heterosexual and homosexual, good and evil, life and death. I call myself Paradox when I work because I always want to embrace the apparent contradictions in myself and other people. I want to see it all as whole.

I was thinking about all this because of the video below (via Spiritual Cowgirl). I really like the text quoted there; it reminds me precisely of the meanings I assign to my tattoo. I thought I'd share it with you.

That's so Hardcore, Man!

There's this weird idea that we have as a culture, that there is a scale of sex acts from "normal" to "waaaaaay kinky and degraded and weird." Like drugs, as though sex comes in different doses depending on the act, and that you can develop a tolerance and need More Extreme Sex to maintain your erotic high. You'll keep upping the dosage to stay interested in sex.

I think, though, that basically all sex is created equal. If you've got consent, it's all good. And sure, everyone's turned on more by some things than others. It's just that across the board that all tends to level out and we've got a giant pool of sex acts that are all just sex acts.

Each person is sexually unique, and we all change sexually over time. As we get more comfortable with sex, sure we might want to explore things that we were afraid of before we realized that the social norms are bullshit. But it's not like appreciating one sex act (which may or may not be "extreme") has to affect your appreciation for another.

Like I said, we do all have changing preferences over time, and I think it's all pretty flowy. There are times when I just wanna have sex while spooning because I want closeness and comfort. I want to stare into my partner's eyes and make love like bunnies. There are also times when I want to be tied up in a public bathroom, spanked, and fucked. These desires are not mutually exclusive.

This bleeds into a lot of discourse on sex. You'll hear people saying all the time that they're afraid of exploring their sexuality because "where do you draw the line?" If you watch gay porn, or anal porn, or any fetish porn, or god-forbid-engage-in-any-non-missionary-heterosexual-vanilla-sex-acts, you're starting down a path that will inevitably lead to Bestiality! and Child Molestation! Sex is a slippery slope! (Ahem, so to speak.)

In talks of sex addiction (which I think is mostly bunko), there's the concept that you can be drawn in deeper and deeper to sexuality, as though there is a rote "normal" level of sex and everything else is like heroine: impossible to resist once you've had a taste. I don't want to disrespect anybody who has issues of sexual compulsion, I just think that sex addiction is based way too much on ideas of a norm.

Let's have an attitude adjustment here. Just do what turns you on; it doesn't matter whether it's supposedly kinky or not. We have the ability to choose what we want to do. Our feelings about sex are going to vary hugely from person to person. Do YOU score a 10 on the Richter scale of kink? Who cares? Live your life.

Male Sexuality and Threesomes

Okay, I know I already blogged today, but I found an AMAZING post at Marx in Drag, and I just had to share it. The rest of the blog is awesome, too, so check it out.

An excerpt:

Catherine Waldby* points out that the hetero-masculine body is defined by its ability to fuck another and its refusal to be fucked. The fuck-er is always the man, and the fuck-ee is, well, anything but a man. This is why we can believe that, when two women get it on, it’s not really fucking (no hetero-masculilne fuck-er) and when a straight guy thinks about being sexual with another guy (a fuck-er), he fears becoming the fuck-ee. When there’s another cock in the room, someone besides the girl might get fucked.

Put another boy in the action, especially if there is only one girl, and suddenly the gendering of fuck-ers and fuck-ees gets, well, fucked up. This is why, when there is group sex involving two men and one woman, straight men have to tell themselves that they’re “taking turns on the girl”. In other words, hands off, bro’. We’re just a coupla straight guys taking turns.

And this is why, with only a few notable (and much appreciated) exceptions, I don’t know any straight guys who would ever consider, let alone have, really hopped in bed with their girlfriends and another guy or with a straight couple (and by ‘really’, I mean not-just-taking-turns-on-the-girl ‘really’). Rather than resonating with normative heterosexuality, especially hetero-masculilnity, it throws a rather large wrench in the hetero-normative gears. In other words, it’s really quite queer and no longer mimics and reproduces that old myth of masculine sexual power and feminine sexual vulnerability.

Which is precisely why Catherine Waldby calls for feminists to develop and proliferate new cultural narratives and sexual experiences that eroticize a receptive masculinity. Images and experiences where no longer are boys automatically fuck-ers (in power, the destroyer) and girls fuck-ees (the destroyed). Not only would this open up possibilities for feminine sexual power as fuck-ers, but it would also open up the wonderful world of being fucked to straight men. As Waldby points out, straight men are missing out by not allowing themselves to be the fuck-ee once in awhile. It’s deeply pleasurable to be “destroyed” (in a good way) by erotic pleasure, something most straight guys don’t get to experience. And this isn’t just about straight men becoming more receptive. It’s also about straight women being open to eroticizing a receptive masculinity in their own desire.

My favorite line from Waldby’s essay is the following: “Maybe what…feminism needs now is a strap-on.” (p. 275)

Yeah, feminism and every straight woman I know.

Hell fuckin' yeah!

This is just completely spot-on when it comes to male sexuality and its supposed rigidity. It's all tied in with gender roles and male privilege, and it's all utterly ridiculous.

As a happy feminist, very little turns me on more than a guy who's willing to play with "fuck-er" and "fuck-ee" roles. I want a guy who can do a little gender fuck. It's damn hot, and hard to find. Especially in straight men, who are unfortunately usually the ones attracted to me. You know, by definition.

I've had a threesome with two men that was just ridiculously sexy because they were both queer and into each other and we all got to play equally. I loved watching them make out, watching them go down on each other. I got to engage sexually with them both and nobody was left out. It was just a hot pile of limbs and energy.

More people should do it, I highly recommend it.

Note: I linked to this post from the Feminist Carnival of Sexual Freedom and Autonomy, hosted this month at Susie Bright's blog.

Poly What?

I do not like monogamy.

I've been in long term relationships. I love intimacy and cuddling and comfort and even commitment, when I get to it. I like living with a lover; I like waking up in the morning to kissing and sex and conversation. I like to debrief at the end of my day with someone I care about and trust. I am looking, constantly, for someone I can share a deep bond with.

But I don't like monogamy. Even when I am in those loving, intimate relationships, I still want sex and excitement outside of them. My animal attraction to other people does not, for me, detract from my feelings towards my partner. In fact, being able to talk about and share the crazier aspects of my life and sexuality makes me feel closer to them. Jayme Waxman wrote in her blog the other week about having a monogamous heart but not a monogamous groin. That's what my anatomy looks like, too.

Through Jayme's post, I found Tristan Taormino's new website (and book) Opening Up. It's a resource site for those who don't want to practice monogamy.

Whenever I stumble upon things like this, a part of me wants to cry with relief. I feel like I am constantly trying to explain myself to everyone. It's hard for anyone to reject monogamy, and I deal with so much misunderstanding and prejudice, especially as a woman. It's so nice to run across other people who go through and can speak about the same things.

I am so tired of feeling guilty for not wanting monogamy. I often feel like there is something wrong with me, that I couldn't handle a monogamous relationship even if I tried. It feels like a failure that I "can't not cheat." I often find myself falling for people who do want monogamy, and I have to tear that apart because in my experience it can't work. People tend not to change their minds.

It's like being "poly" (look up polyamory on Wikipedia if you don't know what this means) for me is similar to what being gay feels like for other people. I never had much trouble with my sexual orientation; I'm from the San Francisco area and was always pretty comfortable being bi. Trying to negotiate and come out of the closet with polyamory, however, feels like such a struggle. I sometimes wish I could feel comfortable being monogamous. "Normal."

Lately, I've been doing much better. My last relationship was with someone who was open to the idea of, well, openness. We aren't really together anymore, but that's due to external circumstances (location mostly). I think we were doing a pretty good job of negotiating relationship boundaries and working with each other. I have been claiming my non-monogamy and trying to be proud of it. Hopefully I can keep that up.

Playing the Queer Card

I spend a lot of time with straight men. It's in my job description. I've experienced every pickup line, every little grope, every lean-in-too-close-and-breathe-on-my face. Granted, it's refreshing when I'm at work or even when I'm bumming around campus in street clothes and some immediately attractive guy surprises me with better conduct. I am not as jaded as some of the more experienced dancers; I don't think that all men are dirty pigs and that they're ultimately out for only one thing.

But. I've had to learn a lot of ways to fend off unwanted advances from men. My job, as I often tell my girlfriends, is really to reject a guy, make him like it, and furthermore make him pay me to continue rejecting him. It's a fine tightrope to walk.

I tell people all the time at work that I am bisexual. There, it works in my favor because of the prevalence of girl-on-girl porn and the lovely stereotype that any bisexual woman must want to have a threesome with the next available guy. I wear the label as something to make me attractive.

But outside of work I use my queerness in an entirely different way. When I dress myself in the morning, I half-consciously try to wear clothes that I know look a little gay. My pants are not quite as tight. I wear a bigger, thicker belt. I add a necktie randomly, or something with a subtle rainbow. I know that if I dress like a lesbian, if I present myself as queer, I'll be treated completely differently by straight men and everyone else.

Openly queer women are lucky in one sense. By broadcasting their sexual "deviance" to the world, they announce that they definitely are not a part of the heteronormative, sexist world that those who sleep with members of the opposite sex inhabit. If I cut all my hair off, I'm less likely to get stepped all over by a man in conversation. They assume I'll fight back because, of course, queer women are always strong and aggressive. If I have an eyebrow piercing, no man is going to come up to me and ask if I want him inside of me. He'll wait until I give some sign of interest because queer women aren't automatically into anyone who shows the slightest interest in them. If I wear combat boots, people who meet me are less likely to comment solely on my appearance and more likely to listen to what I say. Queer people don't care how they look, so their personality is more important.

Of course, I don't fit completely in the queer community. I do like sleeping with and having romantic relationships with men. I am not a lesbian. When I present myself as a Gay and then I tell some other lesbian that I'm actually bisexual, there's an immediate turning away. I am not really allowed to use a queer identity to protect myself, because according to many people I'm only queer half of the time.

This, of course, is confusing and really annoying. I am everything that I am all of the time, not straight half the time and gay half the time. I need some way to be, some public identity to claim for myself, that lets people know who I truly am. I wish I didn't have to hide in queerness to get away from little everyday sexisms. I wish I didn't have to play down my interest in men in order to participate in the gay community.

But then, I guess I'll have to carve out my own bisexual identity for myself.