“The bisexual dream” — a lover in perfect harmony with the duality of human nature; sensitive to male and female desires, basking in the sensuality of each sex.
That's what I believed when I first considered my bi-thing.
I was sixteen; I had just been kissed, and in my case, it was a two-headed introduction. Sitting on the next-door neighbor's bed, I kissed my best girlfriend, and then, turning my head to the other side, I kissed the fella. Then all three of us made love. I was so pleased with myself you'd have thought I'd just baked two perfect cherry pies.
My first time was very much in sync with my political ideals. I thought that if everyone would get into a big waterbed, smoke a joint, and rub noses, we could live in peace, tranquillity and a perpetual state of arousal— my solution to world strife.
This was before I had my own nose rubbed in that jealous, selfish pot of piss called human nature.
I came out as bi before there was a "bisexual movement" as such, before the B-word was a…