Being “The Straight One,” The Basics Of Butt Stuff, And Talking To Your Kids

by Lindsay Miller

For a long time, the majority of my closest friends have been lesbians or queer-identified. From high school to college to now in my twenties, in every city I’ve lived, my closest friends have always been queer. I’ve always been “the straight one.” My friends and I have made jokes about my short hair and how there was a time when I got more attention from ladies than from dudes, and that’s all cool. Recently, I’ve made friends with a group of awesome ladies who all identify as lesbians or bi. Again, all cool. The issue is that I made friends with them through one of my queer-identified friends who immediately introduced me with my name and “Can you believe she’s straight?!” I don’t want to complain about being identified as straight in a group of lesbians because I’m aware that it would silly be to complain about feeling like the minority in a group of people who have been singled out as the minority by the rest of society. It’s more that I’m afraid I’m imposing myself as the straight one in queer spaces.

Or, maybe I’m just complicating this situation by making this about me in the context of queer spaces. Maybe the real reason I don’t want to be introduced as “the straight one” is because I don’t think I’m entirely straight. I’ve never had a sexual/romantic interaction with anyone but hetero cis dudes, but I’m a late bloomer, so my sexual/romantic life only began about a year ago. I guess I’ve just always identified myself as straight because that seemed like the default for someone who liked dudes and never felt like they “just knew” anything about their sexuality, or like my sexuality was a defining aspect of my personal identity. I don’t really feel like the words “queer” or “bisexual” apply to me at this point (maybe later on in life that will change, who knows) but right now I basically just don’t think I’m straight. I guess I’m a little bit afraid of expressing this to my queer friends without it coming across like I’ve been lying to them by letting them think I’m just straight. I tried casually mentioning it to one friend and she responding by essentially saying that if I were really into girls I would have “just known.” I guess my question is how to be a part of queer communities without seeming like I’m an interloping straight person, but also without having to explain my complicated un-straightness/queerness/Ihavenoideawhatyouwouldcallit-ness to my new friends? And how do I start to come out to my old friends without feeling like I’ve been lying to them?

Only you can ultimately decide what your orientation is, but I’m going to go ahead and say that if you don’t identify as straight, you’re totally, fully, 100% and for all time allowed to call yourself queer. You don’t have to, but queer is here for you if you want it — that’s why I love the word so much. You don’t have to have slept with girls to use it. You don’t necessarily have to WANT to sleep with girls, or with any girl in particular. Queer might mean gay, bisexual, fluid, asexual, or any of a thousand shades of orientation and identity in between. Queer has room for “I’m not exactly sure yet” and “It’s too complicated to explain.” If you’re pretty sure you’re not straight, queer has room for you too.

In case your friends are reading this, I’d like to point out that introducing someone by telling people her sexual identity is kind of a dick move. It reduces you to your orientation and, as you’ve noted, makes it really difficult to revise what you call yourself if new feelings make you question your previous label.

For what it’s worth, in college I knew a couple of girls who hung out with a primarily queer crowd but were ostensibly straight, and there were a lot of “can you believe she’s not into girls?” jokes at both of their expense. And today, both of them…are into girls. I don’t bring this up to insinuate that all straight girls with gay friends will end up on the lady-loving bandwagon (although, duh, they totally will), but to point out that sexuality and gender are sometimes more malleable than we give them credit for, and that we should take care not to push labels on people they don’t choose for themselves.

Furthermore, your friend who said that you would “just know” if you liked girls is full of it, and you can feel free to tell her I said so. Plenty of people don’t particularly like girls until they meet a girl they really like and it changes everything. Plenty of people are attracted to various genders at various points in their lives, and it might change based on the day or the season or the barometric pressure. Plenty of people aren’t attracted to much of anyone, because they’re on the asexual spectrum, which is also a subset of the queer community. There are all sorts of reasons a person might come to identify as queer later in life without “just knowing” from birth, and policing other people’s identities based on how long they’ve identified is decidedly unkind.

If you’re a straight person with a bunch of queer friends who likes hanging out in queer spaces, that’s totally fine. Just think of it as visiting in someone else’s home: be respectful, don’t talk over the folks who live there, and don’t leave a mess. But if you’re a person of indeterminate-but-still-probably-queer identity, those spaces exist for you as much as for anyone else. Don’t second-guess your right to be there.

As for coming out to your friends, since they’re all queer, they should be able to handle it without too much coddling. You can just say something like “I know you all think of me as ‘the straight one,’ but I’ve actually come to the conclusion that I’m not entirely straight and it’s not out of the question that I will one day date a chick.” At least one of your friends will claim she knew this all along. It’s probably easiest to humor her.

I want to try anal sex but have no examples of queer women going about this. Why does rimming seem to be such a guy thing, and do you have any tips on that?

I don’t really know why anal sex tends to get left out when we talk about girl-on-girl sex. I think maybe there’s an unspoken cultural assumption that it’s a substitute for vaginal penetration, so people with vaginas don’t need to do it? I don’t know, that’s stupid, but it’s the best I can come up with. It’s possible that DFAB people in general are less interested in butt stuff than DMAB people because we don’t have prostates, but you can still have a great time exploring anal sex no matter your anatomy. The basics are: be safe, use lube, and start slow.

Be safe: If you’re unsure about your (or your partner’s) STD status, butt play should always involve a latex glove or a condom for penetration, or a dental dam for rimming (AKA analingus AKA oral-anal sex). In addition, when you get up close and personal with someone’s ass, there’s always a possibility that you’ll encounter poop. You can minimize the risk by showering just beforehand and sticking to other activities if anyone involved is feeling digestively less than stellar, but even if everything is good to go, fecal bacteria will still be present and can cause all sorts of problems. Therefore, don’t put anything that’s been in an ass into a vagina without washing it first, or changing your glove or condom. Finally, any toys you’re planning to use anally need to have a flared base — unlike a vagina, where there’s only so far something can get away from you, it is possible to lose a toy in someone’s anus, and the trip to the ER to get it taken out can really kill a mood.

Use lube: This might not be relevant if you’re just interested in rimming, but it’s crucial if you want to try penetration — the anus doesn’t provide its own lubrication, and friction can tear the sensitive tissue, which increases your risk of STD transmission and is generally no fun. Just like with vaginal sex, avoid oil-based lube if you’re using gloves or condoms, since it can break down the latex and render your barrier method ineffective. If you’re using enough lube, it’s likely to be messy, so lay down a towel or two to protect your sheets. Any time you wonder “Do I need more lube?” the answer is probably yes.

Start slow: Again, this tip is more about penetration than oral-anal sex. If you just want to rim, go for it. But if you’re planning on using fingers, toys, or a penis (let’s not forget that some queer chicks have those), be aware that the receptive partner may need some time to work up to penetration, since anal sex can feel super intense. Start with just a finger or a finger-sized toy, and again, use plenty of lube. If that feels comfortable and enjoyable, gradually work up to more fingers, bigger toys, etc. But if it’s a no-go, don’t push it! People who are turned on by the idea of anal sex but don’t actually enjoy the penetration part can still have an awesome time stimulating the outside of the butt with fingers, tongue, vibrators, or whatever else you can come up with. There are a ton of options, so if at first you don’t succeed, grab some more lube and try again.

I’m a straight cisgender woman, and I participate in swinging and group sex with a straight cisgender male partner. This includes sexual contact with women — I kiss them, I touch them, I go down on them, I finger them, use toys on them, etc., and they do the same to me. I don’t think much about it, really; some of them identify as bi, some as straight/bicurious, but the parameters of the situation are such that most of them are married or at least committed to men and so there’s no question of romantic involvement. My question is really this: I find myself bothered when my partner makes remarks about “my lesbian side” or variations on that phrase to me and to other couples we’re with. Not because I’m bothered by the insinuation that I might be queer, but because I’m just…not. I wouldn’t have sex with a woman outside of this specific context, I’m not romantically interested in women, and the arousal I feel in the moment is mainly from being watched and knowing my partner is excited, plus the cool physical challenge of getting a girl off, which is way more complex and interesting than getting a guy off. Basically I’m uncomfortable co-opting the personal and political label of a group of which I’m not a part, but I don’t know how to describe it to my partner in a way he’ll be able to absorb without my overwrought women’s college education. And I guess I do wonder about the larger question — is “bisexual” an orientation or can it just be a behavior? It seems ridiculous to say that I have sex with a woman every other week, and still call myself straight, but that’s what feels most accurate to me. Overthinking it? Also likely. Thoughts?

You’re in a fairly unusual but not unheard-of situation, wherein your sexual activities and your sexual identity don’t quite match up. Much of the time when this is the case, it’s because someone is hiding a facet of their identity, like a closeted lesbian sleeping with men because she’s afraid to come out, and so the mismatch is associated with fear, shame, and/or general unhappiness. But in your case, it’s something you’re totally fine with — you’re not attracted to women, but you enjoy having sex with them because it turns your partner on.

Since attraction is the key to sexual orientation, I’m going to agree with you that it doesn’t sound like you’re bisexual. Nor, for the record, do bisexual women have a “lesbian side.” We’re not gay on the left and straight on the right. I think it makes sense for you to keep calling yourself straight if that’s what seems right to you, no matter how many women you bang or how much it gets you off. And I think you should tell your partner that he should stop describing you as a lesbian, because it’s inaccurate and it makes you uncomfortable.

You can also mention, if you like, that there’s a huge difference between what you do — having sex with women because he likes to watch and you like being watched — and what gay and bi women do, which is having sex with women because we’re super into women. By conflating the two, he’s perpetuating stereotypes about female bisexuality being a performance for the male gaze and implicitly invalidating real queer sexuality. This not an “overwrought women’s college education” talking, because I went to a state school. It doesn’t take a fancy degree to know that your orientation is what you say it is.

My kid is totally gay and is too embarrassed to tell me. I don’t think it’s about her being afraid that I won’t accept it, I think it’s about her being embarrassed of having sexual feelings about *anyone.* How do I make it clear that it’s okay to talk with me about these feelings or crushes or whatever’s going on without pushing her further away?

Wait, how do you know she’s totally gay if she hasn’t told you? If you found out by snooping in her journal/phone/closet, that’s not cool and I don’t endorse it. Kids deserve their privacy. And whatever you found, if she hasn’t disclosed it yet, it’s because she’s not ready to — end of discussion. Don’t confront her about anything you found while going through her belongings, because that will definitely not nurture a closer, more trusting relationship between the two of you. It will just make her put a padlock on her bedroom door.

If, on the other hand, she’s just giving you hella gay vibes and she got a fauxhawk and her room is wallpapered in Tegan and Sara posters… you still shouldn’t confront her about it. Maybe she’s gay, maybe she’s just adopting signifiers from queer culture because she’s old enough to realize that queer people are super cool. Again, asking her “So are you gay or what?” before she’s made up her mind to tell you will only make her feel that you’re being intrusive and disrespecting her privacy (because, um, you are).

All you can do is work hard to be an approachable, accepting, and loving parent and trust that she’ll come to you when she feels the time is right. It’s okay to say things like “I know you’re at an age where you might be starting to have crushes on people and think about dating and sex, and I want you to know that you can always ask me questions about those things without fear of judgment.” But you also have to show your approachability through your actions. Don’t shy away from talking about difficult topics, and make sure you talk about same-sex relationships in a way that makes it clear you see them as valid (for her, not just in general).

If you can demonstrate that you’re cool with the gays, that you don’t feel embarrassed talking about sex, and that you love her unconditionally, she’ll disclose her orientation to you when she feels ready to do so. Remember that if she doesn’t come clean immediately, it’s not a referendum on you as a parent; there are a lot of other reasons she might want to keep it to herself, including the possibility that she’s not entirely sure yet. Sometimes it takes people a long time to decide how to interpret and label their feelings. One of the ways you can show her your respect and support is by not trying to rush the process.

Lindsay King-Miller is also on Twitter, and you can peruse the AAQC archive here. Do you have a question for her?