A lesbian threesome in Norwich
As part of a series of articles written for Pi across the course of LGBT History Month, one student explores the prevalence and complexity of biphobia.
I spent my Valentine’s crying and apologising to my boyfriend because I cheated on him. Objectively, this makes me an awful human being with a flagrant disregard for the monogamic rules laid out by major religions and societies in general. In order to understand why this neglect for the fundamental rule of monogamy occurred, we have to look at what biphobia is, how it manifests itself, and how, even when someone does shit things, it’s not as a result of their sexual identity – even if society tells you it is.
I am bi. I came out about a year ago, but, like many people, I knew I wasn’t straight long before that. I had wanted to come out for around five years, but I was in a long term, straight-passing relationship. I was terrified that my then-boyfriend would think I didn’t love him anymore, that this “change” was a result of him being an incompetent partner – oh, the patriarchy and toxic masculinity, my favourite. So, I kept it quiet, thinking that I could bury these feelings – because if you’re in a hetro relationship, it means you’re straight, right? It has taken me a good year or two to unpick this damaging narrative within myself.
Biphobia is complicated. It comes from both the LGBTQ+ and straight communities. The logic behind biphobia may be understandable, but that doesn’t mean it’s right. We grow up in a heteronormative world, where it is seen as going against the grain to identify as anything other than straight. Bi people are seen as sitting in that in-between space – they never fully got on board the LGBTQ+ train, despite the fact there is a very obvious ‘B’ in the acronym. We never fully give up the straight part of ourselves, and so don’t fully commit to being gay. But, at the same time, we give up some of the straightness to be a bit gay, so we’re not in the straight camp either. As punishment for not committing to straightness or gayness, we are erased. If you’re in a relationship with the same gender, you’re gay. If you’re in a relationship with the opposite gender, you’re straight. If you’re in a relationship with a gender non-conforming person, the very possibility that you’re bisexual is still often left off the table.
Bisexuality refers to being attracted to those of your own gender and those of other genders. Bi people shouldn’t have to ‘pick a side’, despite shows like Love is Blind telling us to. Sure, people may complain that “bi means two!”. But Sept means seven, and you rarely hear those same people whining about September being the ninth month in our calendar. Bi people can like anyone they choose to, and are no less bi depending on who they are dating, seeing, having sex with, and so on. We shouldn’t have to justify a percentage of our attraction to one gender or another, either. I like people of any gender, 100% of the time.
As well as being a symptom of heteronormativity and exclusion from LGBT+ spaces, bierasure has been argued to arise from the patriarchy. Being a young woman, I am constantly told that I haven’t found the right man yet. I have male bi friends who have been told that they are in fact gay – they just haven’t admitted it to themselves yet. It all centres around men – classic. It would come as a surprise to the patriarchy, then, that my adultery was not male centred at all. It was a lesbian threesome in Norwich.
The threesome came about because I was drunk and going through a 2 month long Gay Crisis™. Bi people are familiar with my self-branded Gay Crisis™, which consists of feeling completely insecure in your sexuality and thinking you might be fully one way or another, resulting in frantic googling for people with similar experiences, and crying over pizza/chocolate/miscellaneous comfort food. I even started reading research papers on the topic. Academia agrees with me. Bi people are less secure in their sexuality, and are constantly questioning how gay, straight or queer they are – and that never lets up. It continues throughout a bi person’s life .
My infidelity was drunk me’s way of solving the crisis - of proving whether I was gay or bi, I suppose. Having never slept with a girl before, I got two in one night. And whilst freeing (given that cheating is so completely out of character for me), it subsequently caused the most emotional pain I have ever felt. I had to come clean about my lack of loyalty. I had to watch my boyfriend realise that I was not as trustworthy as he had thought. I had to watch him realise that I had weighed up the fact I could lose my relationship against the prospect of something that might make me feel more secure in myself, and that I had thought it was worth the risk.
Bi people are labelled as promiscuous, greedy, deceitful and confused – to name a few stereotypical traits. Despite this article’s purpose – to dispel bi myths – I am, or have been, all of these. Was my foray into the world of cheating and non-monogamy a reaction to my constant questioning of identity? Yes, absolutely. I felt I wasn’t a ‘proper’ bi person because I hadn’t experienced what I claimed to be an integral part of my identity – I’d never slept with anyone other than a straight man (as far as I am aware). How could I claim to be bi if I didn’t have experience of anything other than the cultural ‘norm’?
I am now realising that I have internalised the entirety of the biphobic stereotypes that I have so vehemently condemned in this article. Navigating your sexual identity when that identity is continually erased or condemned by those around you is beyond difficult. I saw my position as a problem that I needed to fix, and I went about fixing it in a way that ultimately caused more confusion and more pain, both for me and my boyfriend.
We’re still together. I think in some ways it has enabled us to be more open with each other. It has enabled us to say exactly how we are feeling about it, and, presumably, about other problems that may crop up in the future; a silver lining to a very poor decision. It has also made me think more about how damaging societal norms can be. When those norms become so enmeshed with sexual identity, it is hard to differentiate between the authentic ‘you’, and what is a reaction to what you have been told ‘you’ should be.
So, what does this promiscuous, greedy, deceitful and confused bisexual woman have to say about dispelling biphobic stereotypes? Whilst I was misguided, frustrated, and being led by disordered thinking when I had a lesbian threesome in Norwich, that doesn’t mean all bi people should be labelled by the classic tropes. And what if, like me, they do fall into those stereotypes? Once we take into account the prevalence, force, and complexity of biphobia – both in society and deeply internalised – it becomes clear that the situation is undoubtedly much bigger than that of sexual identity alone.
This series of articles was curated and edited by Jess Fairchild. Artwork for the series created by Vera Liu.