Life of Bi

By: June "Moon" Sadler

The life of a bisexual, gender fluid, polyamorous individual is precarious. There happen to be lot of other words to describe us, most not so positive. See, we’re in an odd predicament. We fit in most places. I can chill with the boys and the boi’s. I can kick it with the femmes, stem’s, studs and Trans folk. A better word may be chameleon. Plain and simple, I’m also a threat. Yes, I know you know it and I know it too. Which is why for the longest time, the B in the LGBTIQ(GQGF) was frowned upon or resented. Choose a side, we’d hear. If only I could choose. In kindergarten, I had a crush on a girl. In first grade, I had a crush on a boy. I had my first girlfriend in third grade. I had my first boyfriend in sixth grade. My bi life goes back like rocking chairs.

Take caution, while I’m kicking it and chilling, it’s also in my nature to look cute and flirt. 


Let me introduce scenario number one I like to call “Hold On To Your Love, Life.” I met a new, young celebrity on the rise of success as a musician and filmmaker. She was travelling and performing without her mate. She was fine, and I mean hella fine. I couldn’t resist complimenting her, her style and her music. We flirted back and forth. Shit, I’m not the one in a monogamous relationship, even though I claim to have some respect for them. She made me aware of her partner immediately, because I asked, even going so far as to say she felt guilty talking to me. I understood that feeling. I came forth with all of the compassion and empathy my heart could muster. Yet, I’m hue-man and a prisoner to lust. I gave her my number through Facebook. The next day, unasked, she returned the favor.  Here, I must mention, she’s a youngster and to communicate, we had a 21st century affair. Meaning, most communication was done electronically with Smart phones. But I romanced the hell out of her with emails, text messages, and Instafacetweetsnap hearts and likes, lmao.

Now, you’re trying to find fault. I have to stop you, because I’m also hella fine and extremely charming. I get it from my daddy. All humility out the door, I warned her of my irresistibility. This electric romance was heavy and deep. We shared insanely private secrets in a short amount of time. We connected like, dare I say it… soulmates. It seems cliché until you’re in the midst of figuratively standing in unadulterated nakedness. We bared our souls to each other. Weaknesses, silent ambitions, sour addictions, dense childhood memories, high hopes, and big dreams. I asked her to share her innermost wishes as I told mine. We then sponsored each other on the actualization of those wishes. To me it was like holding a promise for our best self, for each other. Yeah, like that.

We had exactly three phone conversations. Let me go back. I’m a 70’s kid. The phone was our link to the outside world. It was how we gauged our popularity even. How many of you remember landlines? We had one line, one phone and it was in the kitchen. Since my mom wouldn’t spring for an additional line, I begged for a long cord. Millennials, see Google for an image of a corded phone. I would test the limits of that cord in the name of privacy while talking to a love interest or making plans to go out on the weekend.

Now getting back to our three conversations. The first one was when we established a romantic interest. The second one, we confirmed we liked each other. The third one was to plan.

Time passed and fate conspired for us to see each other. I thought it was a dream come true when she invited me to her home for the weekend. Conflicted much? Ecstatic to see her and be invited to meet her family, friends and wait for it. Yes, the lover, the partner and in her words, her everything! Now the dread feeling came in. I was sick with nerves. I asked twice, is your partner okay with me visiting? I literally reminded her, you know we “like” each other right? I questioned, have you experienced a new love interest in the same space and time as your current partner?  She replied no. Then I remembered that I had.

It was case number two, which I’ll call “Unrequited Love Life”. I’m lifelong friends with benefits with a man. He’s been my best friend since he was in kindergarten and I was in 2nd grade. Now, let me describe this dude. Tall, handsome, intelligent, warm brown eyes, caring soul, loves his momma and daddy. Helps to take care of his niece who suffers from juvenile diabetes. Steady job, educated, owns real estate, nice car, open-minded and very sweet. All the things. If you can imagine the numerous women that flocked to him and fell at his feet, then you would know how many haters of our friendship there were. Oh so jealouso. I’ve been at his side through elementary, high school, college (we attended universities one mile apart), and girlfriends that numbered in the double digits. Eventually, I fell in love with him also, I mean damn, I have a heartbeat. Then, being witness to the girls became almost painful. Wasn’t I the ultimate homie and potential girlfriend? I could chill, be a designated driver, a wingman, and rock him between the sheets. But commitment or becoming something other than besties wasn’t in the plans. Over time, and it has been decades, the feeling of wanting more, transformed into a safe and comfortable friendship. I wouldn’t take nothing for that, even with all of the angst I used to feel over him.

Case number three, I’ll call, “She Gotta Wife Life.” I fell head over heels, like love at first sight with this incredibly dope woman. We reconnected after having met once. A couple years had passed and in the interim, she’d gotten married! I literally ran away from her. I rushed home after our second encounter and dramatically collapsed on my pink yoga mat raging at the heavens. WHY! Why? Is this a cosmic joke on me to keep finding these ultra-attractive mates only to find them hitched to another? A bit of sunshine shone through on this interaction when she mentioned being polyamorous. At the time, I balked. I wanted that special someone for me and me only and vice versa. The gods didn’t see it. My philosophy of “one love” was truly being tested. If I really believed in one love, then that love was for everyone right? Right? Let me tell you, I fought tooth and nail against the idea. I felt I was the side bitch, and I wanted to be wifey. I did mention there was already a wifey and time came for us to meet. There I was, sick with nerves. Wait a minute. I recall this feeling…

It was that dastardly weekend when I met the partner. The young lady and I were both shy and nervous about seeing each other again. Mind you, we hadn’t seen each other at all in the weeks that had passed since our first dalliance. Would the sparks still be popping off? Would anyone else see the electricity flashing between us? I had no idea what she told her family about me. I guessed I’d have to play the platonic friend role and oh boy was it difficult. The partner wasn’t there yet and I was thanking my lucky stars. This temporary gratitude felt like being underwater. The water feels great, you’re having fun, but eventually you have to come up for air. The whole day passed and we were getting to know each other. All was well. Then around midnight, the partner came through the door. I realized in that moment as she gave me a fake ass hug, the true meaning of the witching hour. The tides of what the love interest and I had built turned hard. And not in my direction, not unless the direction led to the exit. See everything sounds fine in theory. 

The sophisticated partner may have been like - “Oh you have a little friend visiting?” “Oh she likes you, huh?” It was all well and good until I was there in the brown, fresh haircut with green hue, eyebrows on fleek, bubble butt in a sport skirt, flesh. Laugh out loud, now honey, but at the time, no one was smiling. It was more so straining. I was completely ignored the rest of the weekend. I kid you not. I was the IG, the invisible girl except to her sister who did a great job of making me feel welcome in an immensely awkward situation. In the end, I was given the digital boot. The last text message I received was, “One day we could be great friends, but not at this time.”  When I spoke to my homies about the whole story, they told me the potential love interest was likely delivered an ultimatum from her partner. It was her or me and I was chopped. It took me weeks to gather myself off the dissing grounds.

Last and final case relates my barber’s interest in me. It’s a case I like to call, “Nice Cut, But No Cutty, Life.” He’s heterosexual, cis-gendered, and we share a lot of laughs. Also, he’s the one responsible for the extra fresh haircut I had from the first case. He calls it the little Pee-Wee and it’s perfectly molded for the shape of my head and the shape of my face. Folks from coast to coast, all genders and colors have stopped me in the street to complement this look. The first time he gave me this cut, he asked me to dinner. This is one of the perks of the Life of Bi. I get to have double the date opportunity. Also, though, I get double the diss possibilities, so things are balanced out. Now, bisexuals are thought by some to be unable to choose a side. More often, we’re considered to be straight up freaks. Yeah, that’s when all of those tired clichés come in. “Oh you want your cake and eat it too” lines. I ask you, who of you has had a piece of cake in front of them and won’t eat it? I digress. This man just had a newborn baby and was also living with the mother. If we weren’t considered freaks, then why in the ham sandwich would he think I’d contemplate such a scenario? Like I said before, I do try to respect relationships. I’m actually not “down for anything.” I am however, down for a free meal, a few laughs and conversation. Whatever else he had in mind, I had to quickly correct him.

It’s true what the sex scientists say, a woman knows within seconds of meeting someone whether or not they’re desirable for an intimate tango. My barber is cute and talented, but that electric zap I seek just isn’t there. I know the feeling from the first instant I meet anyone either under the Rainbow letters or not, regardless of gender or non-gender and any other possibility of human revelation as it exists in the mind, body, and spirit. The attraction is to the person, period. It’s the soul to soul connection that I seek and if I see it in someone, then it is in me to act on it, and that is the Life Of Bi.

June Sadler is a storyteller,‭ ‬utilizing all media to deliver a pop culture laced oral herstory.‭ ‬Her‭ ‬writing is a prayer,‭ ‬a‭ ‬rhythmic verse bundled in melodies wandering the musical galaxies between soul and hip hop.‭ ‬LIFE OF BI is based on true stories,‭ ‬the not so innocents remain nameless.

Follow June on Twitter: @iblashu and on her/their website!