Why Choose To Be An Outsider?

[CW: the post is sad (& angry)!]

Why would I feel a compulsive need to tell people I’m Queer (and hence perhaps run the risk of being an outcast)? Well, because I would choose to be ‘Different’ rather than being ‘Invisible’.

Also, my therapist was of the opinion that I should start telling people how it is being a Lesbian (or just me) — if people ask, that is, rather than being dismissive or defensive about it. But my problem is, all people seem to be interested in is how I have sex, what my body-count is, or if people are still afraid to approach me (as a professional) because I am Queer?

How can I answer such intrusive and homophobic questions without being offended?

Maybe I will answer some of these questions toward the end. But I think I’ll also reflect on a memory that unfortunately surfaced today, in a random harmless discussion with a well-meaning individual.

Well, one of the things about being a Lesbian in India is being out (of the closet). I don’t even know if I know another out Lesbian of my age, in the city I live in. Anyway, so every now and then people ask me, why am I so out! It’s made life difficult for me because closeted Lesbians and Bisexual women find it very hard to date me — because they feel they’ll be outed just by being seen with me. Some well-meaning (straight) friends have also advised me against being so out as to isolate people. But I wonder, would someone give this advice to heterosexual people? Do heterosexual people hide their sexuality by omission just to fit-int?

Anyway, I have a purpose of being out. A small incident I’ll write about here. Maybe it will make sense then, why I am so compulsively out — rather than being mysterious about my sexual orientation, or just living in a don’t ask-don’t tell kind of a setup. And yes, I am out to my entire family as well as my co-workers. I am out!

When I was a teenager, I fell in love with my so-called best friend. It wasn’t love at first sight. We built our relationship on time, shared interests, some commonalities, and perhaps mutual care and admiration. And a lot of physical touch — non-sexual and sexual. We thought, it’s an experiment.

However, somewhere in the midst of all this, I fell for her. I did tell her, eventually, but before I could really say it out loud, I tried to confirm with her about what she’s doing. Homosexuality was illegal in India at the time (15 years back), I couldn’t just get-up one day and profess my love for another person of the same-sex. Yet, I asked her if what she was doing was practising for boys, or displacing her love and sexual feelings for a boy she had a crush on, on me. We were making out left, right, and centre. Anyone who has successfully been in love with a person they were friends with knows how that can feel. I mean, you already love this person, as a person, and now you love making out with them too! I mean, can you blame a teenager for falling for that?

Anyway, I asked her as many times as I could. Her reply was consistent, that she was doing all of that with me, because she wanted to, with me, not with someone else. The profession of love every day (from her side as well), in long messages and phone-calls, and in person; the kissing and making out, what felt like, after every class. The long nights together, in the hostel and in my home. Her clothes were in my wardrobe, permanently, because she would come here so often. My mom knew what she liked to eat, her dad would leave his office and come to meet me when I visited her place. It was perfect. Only, it wasn’t. She was really just experimenting I guess, and she continued to do so while she fell for a guy. The day she would spend with him, but the nights, with me. It was then that I would ask her if she’s kissing and touching me because she really wants to do that with that man, but that’s high-risk, and I am an easier displacement. The answer I got was no. She was sure she was doing it with me, because she wanted to, with me, and that she didn’t feel like doing any of it with him.

Yet, when the man and this woman, started having their unnamed relationship troubles, there were hours and hours of baithaks and phone-calls with friends to sort their issues out. Hours and hours, just talking about what’s happening with them, who’s right, who’s not, how can we support them better, who supports the guy, who supports the girl. Mind you, they were evidently only each-other’s crushes. They were not dating, they were not physically involved. Only crushes who exchanged ‘I love yous’. A very unnamed relationship. At the same time, this very girl was also in a very unnmaed relationship with me. We were all in the same friend group. This unnamed relationship also had ‘I love yous’, but that were common in our friend group, we all really loved each-other (I guess deep down, we all still do). But what was more in the relationship between this girl and me were the long nights we spent together, walking, talking, studying, talking and walking the campus even more, cuddling, kissing, making out, then mornings where we’d go have breakfast together, sometimes, rather many a time, just the two of us. The one thousand ways in which she touched me, physically and otherwise.

But, you know what the sad part is, when she and I actually had a confrontation and a fall-out hence — basically when I professed my feelings to her and she started ghosting me, no-one came to know.

People always scandalised our kisses, to the extent that one of our friends, from the very same group even hacked into my FB (Facebook) because my security question was my first kiss. I was obviously excited about my first kiss. But apparently, I should not have been; because so were some other random people (and no points for guessing, again, men). I still have my friends from college send me pics of her and me. Am I supposed to be impressed that you have pics of us walking holding hands? Would you have pictures of a woman with her male-crush/partner, holding-hands? Then why were we so sexualised? I was telling this to my therapist 1–2 sessions back and I broke down even as I recollected this. It disgusts me that men from my college, even after 15 years, have those pictures. It is not flattering, it’s disgusting. My private life, love, is nothing but a fucking fetish for people — and sadly including one who was a part of it.

I am disappointed that while everyone, including the teachers, could see how close the two of us were — no-one came to check on me, the impact this woman swooning over another man would be having on me. The worst part was that apparently the man and this woman were majorly fighting about me — because she wouldn’t stop talking about me (apparently she was my rolling-stone, whatever that means). But, did anyone care to imagine what it might be doing to me? To see a woman who kisses me every night, to see her every day with another man, holding hands, walking around in the campus, or just sitting with arms interlocked the whole day with him, when at night she’ll come and do the same with me, plus the make-outs. It was killing me, but did any of my friends, so curious to know my first kiss, as a fetish perhaps, or those who still have our pictures, ever come to ask me how all this might be impacting me? I couldn’t come out, homosexuality was illegal that time. But someone could’ve asked me, if they were so invested in us.

A senior, a woman this time, did actually ask one of our mutual friends if we were just friends or actually together. I consider that the most thoughtful gesture so far. The most acceptable way of being curious, if anyone had to be.

So, in short. This is what being a Lesbian felt like, in my coming-out days. I was so lonely because I could tell no-one how heartbroken I was. How, daily, I had to see a woman I was clearly in love with also try to get involved with another man, that too a friend. How it felt when she kissed me, but as an experiment apparently. How she started ghosting me when I actually told her of my feelings. Apparently it is better to be kissed by someone who doesn’t have feelings for you, than the one who does have feelings for you. How immaturely she, and maybe I, handled it. But how both of us had to handle it alone. Not one person, no friend, not even our twin sisters, yes, we both had twins, came to advise us or support us at this time. How invisible was all the love, and hence all the fights, and hence all the heartbreak was!

And how people, clearly not in touch with their own emotions, will still ask me how I have sex, what’s my body-count, or why people might be afraid of me, not considering for a moment that these questions might be emotional for me. But, because my therapist has brought the thought to me, and because I respect her, and beyond that, value her, for finally being there for me with my heartbreaks, I’ll answer the following tasteless questions.

1. How do Lesbians have sex?

Yes, we don’t have a Penis, so we can’t possibly have sexual-intercourse, which the heterosexual world calls sex. But we do have sex as in sexual intimacy. We treat our entire bodies as, for the lack of a better word, sex-organs. Our focus is not only on insertion and ejection of semen. We touch each-other, finger each-other, have oral sex, scissor, stimulate each-other with sex-toys, and if necessary, use those for penetration as well. Also, we know where the clit is (and how to access the G-spot). We know breasts and how they’re also sex organs — for a woman too, the woman they’re attached to. They don’t exist only for motor-boating or being sucked-on for the (male) partner’s pleasure — they exist for our own pleasure also and we know how to touch it to give pleasure to the woman they’re attached to.

I’ve also seen this joke on Instagram which asks, “how do Lesbians know when they’re done with sex?”. Well, we try that both of us, the partners, have orgasms. And that’s how we know we might be done with sex. Or say whenever one of us is tired, or feeling content or fulfilled (with or without the orgasm).

2. What’s my body-count?

Well, I’d have to say zero. Because I don’t think I have sex with only bodies and hence I abhor this term.

To be a little more honest, I am sure my ‘body-count’ is a little more than anyone who’s asked me that question. But unlike men, it’s not something I am boastful of. If it were in my hands, I would like to be with the first woman I fell in love with for the rest of my life. I would like to look at her greying hair, the wrinkles that form near her eyes when she smiles, her sagging boobs, her breaking voice as we got the privilege of growing old together. But we, sadly, don’t get forevers (since same-sex marriages are illegal here and families blackmail you if you express an interest in living with your same-sex partner). Anyway, in short, my ‘body-count’ is a little more than the one I’d like it to have been, which would’ve been the ideal ‘one’.

I would still like my next partner, to be my last, to be honest. But even I know it’s not so simple. So, if you ask me my body-count, it’s just going to hurt me. I am not a man, I am not boastful about how many women I sleep with. I don’t have a penis I need to fit perfectly in a vagina in a very tight-hold. I would love to love the same vagina for years, even if it doesn’t offer the same feeling it might have, say when we’d first met.

3. Are women afraid of me because I am Queer?

Well, let me paint all the straight women and men a picture of the last woman I dated.

She drove more than 300kms to meet me when we went on our first ‘official’ date. She got the fucking halwai shop opened at 8am to get me samosas and jalebis. I scored some nice plants to smoke-up and made it by the time she arrived. I too had travelled 300+ kms to meet her. We both lay talking, watching TV, chilling, and shared some beautiful times and kisses. We also did a lot of that on our eventual dates over two years — a lot of travelling to meet each-other, spending time with each-other, making it to each-other’s important events, even though we were in a long-distance relationship. We both know how to drive, we both took each-other on drives. We both picked each-other up at the stations every now and then. We both made little snack-baskets for each-other when we visited each-other. We both put in an effort to dress up for each-other. We both did something special for each-other — I would tell her bed-time stories and she would feed me with her hands, lovingly. In the bedroom also we both, to whatever extent we could, learnt to be there for each-other and do to each-other what the other wanted. We both fought for each-other in front of our families, repeatedly.

How many straight women would be willing to put so much effort for another woman? Then, what are the chances that, one, I’d be attracted to a straight woman, and two, even if I am, that I’ll be motivated enough to make a move on her? So many straight women I know are passenger-princesses who do not know how to drive/commute/travel alone, or cannot reach me (without taking the help of a male caregiver — father/husband/brother) even to meet within the same city. They also do not know chivalry and kindness as if patriarchy has deemed it only to be performed by men. Why the hell would I, then, jump on straight women, and why the hell would they, then, need to be scared of me? In fact, I am scared of them! They will use us, experiment with us, and then expect us to forget our heartbreaks and keep turning up for them as friends. Ya, I am afraid of straight women, they shouldn’t be afraid of me.

And I am going to say it once and for all, I have standards, and not a lot of women can meet those. So men, chill, we’re not going to take away your female partners. Your bare minimum might impress them, and their bare minimum might impress you, but lesbians are spoilt. We have the same basic anatomies, so we actually need personalities to impress us, and some effort to sustain that interest. For example, physical, emotional, and intellectual presence, willingness to communicate and grow together, willingness to be (more or less) an ‘equal’ partner, etc., and of course, multiple orgasms (straight people don’t seem to have the concept of multiple orgasms because the male partner biologically has a recovery time which women don’t, also many straight women are pillow-princesses too!).

[while I love and respect straight women so much, they play so many important roles in their own lives and systems, patriarchy has somewhere deemed many helpless (anxious, confused) without their male counterparts and that is not attractive at all! I can be empathetic, but not attracted]

Why I thought of writing this today? Well, my therapist and I were discussing in the last session how not one straight woman I professed my feelings to (there were only two actually), have taken in ‘nicely’. How poorly both of them reacted, and hence, how I started distancing myself from all straight women as a result. And as fate would have it, I think I told someone today and they did not react poorly to it, at all.

I could not digest it to be honest. After doing all the necessary things around my work and home, I finally went downstairs, hours after, and cried a little bit. I kept thinking I’ll tell my therapist about it — how surprisingly nice!

So, while I thought about my therapist, I thought of finally taking a chance and answering some of these stupid questions (as encouraged by her), even if only so much later and only if through a blog post that no-one probably reads. It’s a step. Hopefully I wouldn’t be required to keep answering these disgusting questions all my life. Hopefully I’ll meet people who’d ask better questions than these. And hopefully, with all the ‘healing’ I am doing, I’ll meet women who don’t come-up in a panic attack when liked by another woman. I mean what’s so wrong in being liked by another woman? It’s not going to kill you! (Not anymore at least, now that it is legal to love persons of the same sex) Also, we love each-other very deeply (with a lot of respect and admiration), it’s a compliment if anything.