The second coming out
My heart had been banging against the inside of my ribs at full volume for ten minutes, ever since I’d decided to tell my brother. He’d been talking about amp repair, his face aglow with nerdish glee, and I’d just thought: I want him to know. I’d been wearing the label around privately, to try it out. I’d only told two people – my therapist and the friend who’d inadvertently helped me figure it out by dating me.
Andrew had surprised me today by appearing in our mutual favorite restaurant while I was finishing my dinner, plopping himself down in the seat opposite mine, and keeping me company while I did homework and he scarfed down a spicy chicken gyro. Now we were standing on the sidewalk outside The Black Sea, me shoving my hands awkwardly into my pockets and him bending over to unlock his bike.
“So, I’ve kind of got a second coming out to do,” I said.
Now you’ve done it. Can’t not say it now. You’ll say it and he’ll look at you with that blank stare he reserves for Mom and you’ll know he’s judging you internally.
“Oh?” he pulled his bike around and started walking back toward campus, smiling at me. Like whatever I had to say wasn’t a big deal. Because he was one of the most open-minded, accepting people I knew. He’d been the only member of our immediate family who hadn’t even raised an eyebrow when I’d come out as bisexual, years ago. This conversation already had my heart pounding more than that coming out, probably because everyone knows what bisexual means. I had very little worry that someone would tell me my label didn’t exist when I came out to them as a bisexual.
He’ll question this, though. He probably thinks you’re going to tell him you’re a lesbian. He’s going to think you’re making shit up. He’ll call you a special snowflake in his head. Probably spelled ‘speshul snoflayke.’
“Um,” I started, eloquent as always. “Are you aware of the asexuality spectrum?”
Andrew laughed. “That was my FYSEM!” (That’s first-year seminar course, for those who didn’t attend colleges obsessed with pointless acronyms.)
“They had a FYSEM on asexuality?”
“Well, no, it was on–” He rattled off a series of words that sounded like someone had picked words from a Lit Theory glossary at random. “And it was with Kostihova.”
“Ohhhh.” I nodded. “So of course sexual identity got involved. Man, I love Kostihova.”
“Yeah, she’s great.”
He’s acting cool in theory, but he’ll probably tell you you’re just chickening out on dating. Or you’re overreacting. Or you’re weird.
“So, uh,” I started again. “I think I found a new label.”
Tell him you’re a lesbian.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. ‘Bisexual’ hasn’t felt like it fit me for awhile. I’m just not…well…”
Tell him you’re just high on cold meds and don’t know what you’re talking about!
He nodded, wheeling his bike along and hopping up to walk on concrete planter boxes as we passed them.
“It’s like–you’re supposed to look at people you like and think, ‘I’d hit that,’” I said, snapping my fingers. “And I don’t get that. The ‘I’d hit that.’” Another snap.
TELL HIM YOU’RE A DRAGON. HE CAN’T JUDGE YOU IF YOU’RE A DRAGON.
I licked my lips, ignoring the way my entire body seemed to be going into fight-or-flight mode. “So, the label I’m finding kinda fits is ‘biromantic demisexual.’”
Well, that’s it. Here comes the judgement train. Brace for impact.
“Huh,” Andrew said, shrugging with his mouth.
“Have you heard that before?” I asked, trying not to look too hard at his face for a reaction.
He tipped his head at me. “Romantic…yeah. Demisexual…?”
“It’s sort of a gray area of the asexuality spectrum, where you have the potential for sexual attraction but it only happens once in a blue moon, and only when you’ve already got a strong emotional attachment to the person.”
“Ah, okay,” he said, nodding. Smiling again. Good sign?
I stared at the sidewalk coming up under my feet, suddenly feeling more awkward about the “talking about sex with my little brother” part of the conversation than anything. “Anyway, I realized I’ve been attracted in, uh, that way, to two, maybe three people in my whole life. I’m definitely romantic – I love the idea of having a partner for life, I want to find that, y’know. But when I see someone I like, I don’t think, ‘I’d hit that–’” again with the snapping “–I think more like, ‘I’d cuddle the shit out of them.’”
Andrew hopped down from the last concrete planter and threw his arms forward. “And I have the opposite problem! I’m like, ‘I’d hit that–’” he snapped, too “–toward everyone, even when I’m with someone!”
“Because you’re a really sexual person. I like how the snapping’s become a thing.”
“Snapping’s good.”
“It’s like a punctuation mark on the statement.” I said “I’d hit that” again, snapping with attitude, and for a little while we were just walking along the sidewalk, snapping our fingers in no particular rhythm like a dork parade.
“I mean,” I said, the words coming out in a rush once I started, “if I wound up with someone I was attracted to like that and we did sexual stuff, that’d be awesome. But I’m cool without it, basically. I’m not missing out on anything not having it.”
“Yeah,” he said, nodding like I was trying to argue a point he already agreed with. It felt good to have that reassurance.
“It kinda makes some of the arguments you and I have had about relationship stuff make a lot more sense, I think.”
A while back, on a rainy walk to the Goodwill, we’d had a blowup over him saying I was “unhealthy” for not having had a relationship in years and me shooting the word right back at him for being a serial monogamist. It was the worst fight we’d had as adults, and the moment we’d finished angrily shopping at opposite ends of the store, we’d apologized to each other and hugged it out. (That’s the weird magic of our siblinghood – as kids we were ultra-violent little shits to each other, but as adults we have the kind of relationship where “I love yous” are exchanged enthusiastically and every disagreement comes with the knowledge that there’s a sincere apology on its way. If we cut out the swearing, we could be picked up by ABC Family. It’s disgusting, really.)
Andrew thought about it for half a second and nodded. “Y’know, it really does!”
I honestly don’t remember what else we talked about from there to the corner where our paths diverged, because the reality of the conversation had sunken in and my whole brain was yelling, It wasn’t a disaster! No one is on fire! I didn’t have to pretend to be a dragon! It’s okay and he believes me and he doesn’t think I’m weird for it and it’s cool!
At the corner, Andrew held out his arms and I hugged him.
“Love you, sis,” he said.
“I love you, too,” I said. “Thank you.” Thank you for listening and for not making it a big deal or an argument or questioning who I say I am.
When I pulled away and flashed him a smile, he had just a touch of confusion on his face, like he wasn’t sure what he was being thanked for. He’d probably figure it out while he was biking home. I crossed the street away from him with a big stupid grin on my face and a small weight lifted off my shoulders.
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I love that you shared this! It’s rare for me to have that “I’d hit that” reaction, but I SO get the “I’d cuddle the shit out of them!” lol!
Hee. Yeah, attraction’s a weird beast.