The insecure person tends to reject, the mature person to accept. Sexual labels divide us into the known “we” and the feared “them.” No matter which label or behavior pattern our own individual inclinations most closely conform to, we might at least entertain the notion of opening our minds and lives to people of all sexual orientations.
CHAPTER 6
The Troubled Bisexual—Profiles
Because one person’s neurosis may be another’s saving grace, the question of who is, who is not, or who may be psychosexually troubled depends on where you stand. A good therapist tries to stand close enough to be of help yet far enough away to see the whole person. He or she also tries to take different points of view at different times in therapy sessions so that the sum of perspectives approaches something reasonably close to the truth of the matter.
The profiles in this chapter represent a sampling of what I feel are essentially troubled bisexuals with whom I have worked in this fashion–trying to merge objectivity with concern, and avoiding any fixed point of view that would reduce a living person to a mere snapshot.
Nora W.
Tall, with blue-black hair, large, warm brown eyes, and a smooth olive complexion, Nora is strikingly attractive.
“Let’s begin with essential information,” I suggested at our first meeting. “How old are you? Where were you born and where are you living now?”
“I’m thirty-four. I was born in Brooklyn. I still live in Brooklyn.”
“Have you ever lived any place else?”
“No. Not really. Not for any great length of time. I was brought up in the Red Hook section. It’s very Italian. I’m Italian. Close family, you know. I live now on the same street I grew up on.”
“In the same house?”
“No.” She sighed, as though trying to remove a weight from her chest. “A few houses down. My mother still lives in the old house. My father died when I was thirteen.”
“Brothers and sisters?”
“Two sisters. One older. One younger.”
“Do they live nearby?”
“The older one does. She’s married. Has a family. They live across the street from the old house. The younger one is away at school in Vermont. She doesn’t come home much.”
“What about you? Did you go to college?”
“No. I was never a student type, if you know what I mean. I did okay in school and like that, but when I got out of high school I’d sort of had it with... I don’t know. I just didn’t want any more. Anyway, I got pregnant.”
“How old were you?”
“When I got pregnant?”
“Yes.”
“I was eighteen. Just eighteen.”
“Did your mother know? Your sisters?”
“Oh yeah. My mother had a fit. Everybody had a fit. My family’s very emotional. Very religious. The whole neighborhood is like that. I mean you’re supposed to be a virgin until you get married and all. I almost ran away rather than have anybody know, but… ”–two lines of tension formed between her eyebrows–”where would I go? Anyway, it all came out and my mother said if my father was alive he’d kill me. It’s more likely he would have killed Bill.”
“Bill was the father?”
“Yes.”
“How many times did you sleep with him before you became pregnant?”
“I never did sleep with him before we were married. We did it in cars and places, you know. I guess it was about, I don’t know, maybe ten times.”
“Was Bill your first?”
“Yes.”
“And you married him?”
“Well, I was pregnant.”
“What kind of person was your husband?”
“He was older than me, thirteen years older. He was a car mechanic and people said he was good at it, except he drank a lot. We never really got together but anyway I got pregnant again. The first was a boy and the second a girl. Bill never even came to the hospital for the second one. He was drunk.”
“How did you feel about that?”
“I don’t know. I was confused about him because he beat me up from time to time and when I got home he started again and it was really bad. Anyway we were married eight years and I tried to kill myself.”
“How?”
“Sleeping pills. My mother found me and after that I divorced Bill and he took off and no one has seen him since, but he does send money. You know, just enough to keep me from pressing charges of nonsupport.”
“How old are the children now?”
“The kids? The kids are fourteen and sixteen.”
“You say Bill was the first. How was sex with Bill?”
“Hard. He liked to do it hard, you know. He liked to bruise me.”
“Did you like it?”
“Sometimes I did. I was so lonely that just to be with someone... you know?”
“Did you have sex with anyone while you were married to Bill?”
“Oh, no. Never.”
“Why?”
“I was married. I mean I was home. I was married, my mother right down the street. There was no way.”
“Did you think about other men?”
“No.”
“Did you love Bill?”
“I could have maybe if he didn’t drink. No, I don’t think I did.”
“How did life go after the divorce? I mean your sex life.”
“At first there wasn’t much ‘cause, you know, I was getting over Bill and all that. But then I started going out with guys.”
“How was it?”
“It was all right except I would freeze up when they wanted to do it.”
“Did you do it?”
“I did it sometimes but I could never feel anything.”
“Is that still true?”
“I haven’t been to bed or anything with a man for over a year. A few months ago I went to a resort for Christmas and I met this man I kind of liked but we, or I... I don’t know, it just never happened.”
“Do you like men sexually?”
“Yes I do. I just find it hard to relax.”
“Do you masturbate?”
“Not so much.”
“When you do, what do you think of?”
“Bodies.”
“What types of bodies?”
“My own kind of. Women’s bodies. I don’t know.”
“Do you ever think of men?”
“Yes. I mean, I think of doing it with a man too but... I don’t know. Sometimes I don’t think of anything.”
“Is it difficult not having someone to make love with?”
“I do have someone. I have Rita.”
“Tell me about Rita.”
“She’s my closest friend. I’ve known her about eight years. She’s very strong. I don’t mean strong like muscles or anything but strong with her kids and her husband. She really runs her house. Nobody puts anything over on Rita. We’re both about the same age. I’m a year older.”
“You and Rita are lovers?”
“I guess you’d call it that. She loves me anyway. About two years ago she started to make advances and she convinced me to go to bed with her.”
“She convinced you?”
“Well, yeah. I didn’t really want to but it’s hard to say no to Rita. She usually gets what she wants.”
“How often do you have sex with Rita?”
“Whenever she wants. About once a week, I guess.”
“Do you enjoy it?”
“I do sometimes. I enjoy it while we’re doing it but after I feel mixed up. Guilt, like I shouldn’t be doing it.”
“Why do you do it?’“
“I’m afraid if I don’t Rita will... not come around anymore.”
“Desert you?”
“Something like that.”
“Could you live without Rita?”
“I don’t think so. Rita... she picks out my clothes, if I want to go somewhere she drives me. I’m afraid of trains. I’m afraid to be alone when I travel even just back and forth to shop. I just
can’t take care of myself, I guess, you know? I don’t know what I’d do without Rita.”
“Do you consider yourself dependent?”
“I guess so. Like I once told my younger sister, as long as Bill told me what to do things were all right. And she said I was too dependent. The rougher Bill was on me the more it excited me. Like a really nice man doesn’t turn me on. My sister said I was masochistic. Is that what you call it?”
“Is Rita rough on you?”
“Sexually?”
“Yes.”
“She’s pretty rough, I guess.
“Do you like it?”
“It excites me how excited she gets. I need Rita. I get depressed a lot and Rita snaps me out of it.”
“Do you think of yourself as bisexual?”
“Rita says I am.”
“What do you think?”
“I guess I must be.”
“Are you interested in other women?”
“More and more I am but I haven’t done it with other women. It makes me feel guilty.”
“What about men? Do you feel guilty with men?”
“Yes, but in a different way. It seems more natural but I don’t know. Sex has always made me feel sort of bad after.”
There is a relatively happy ending to Nora’s story. Through therapy she became more assertive and aware of her own needs, and less dependent on other people’s wishes and unhealthy needs.
Before therapy Nora had become a troubled human being whose bisexuality was still another way to reinforce masochistic and dependent tendencies. With a very low self-image, she used her bi sexuality to punish herself doubly for wanting sex in any manner at all. Her lovers, male and female, took her in sex as though she had no will of her own. She is bisexual but she couldn’t handle its complexity, its ambiguity, and she was, I felt, probably better off (considering her values) with one male lover, but a tender and understanding one. She is now living in a southern city with a quiet man who loves her. In time, as her confidence grows, she might be ready for a relationship with a woman. In our correspondence since the close of therapy, she says that though still attracted to women she is faithful to the man who has become her second husband.
Walter D.
I first met Walter at a meeting of the Bisexual Forum in New York City. The members of the Bisexual Forum met once a week in the late 1970s and early ‘80s for the purpose of discussing bisexuality and meeting other bisexuals socially. After giving a talk on the subject of sexual dysfunction and orientation, I asked if there were any questions from the audience.
“Do you think the size of a man’s penis has any bearing on his ability as a lover?” was one question asked by a tall middle-aged man, who identified himself as Walter D. of New Orleans, Louisiana.
The audience groaned. Their disapproval wasn’t, I felt, meant to be unkind. This is a question that has been asked and answered so often that to hear it again was more than those assembled could bear. It’s still a good question, though. The answer, “It doesn’t matter,” is true only to the degree that penis size doesn’t matter to those involved in the sexual encounter. It can affect sexual performance if it is allowed to–the mind being the most sensitive erogenous zone of all.
Before I could answer, one young woman stood up and said that although her boyfriend had the smallest penis she had ever seen, he had “a pile-driving ass.”
Well, that brought the house down and the meeting to a close. Later, over wine and cheese, Walter apologized for the question. I told him that there was no need for apology and that he had every right to ask any question that came to mind.
“Listen,” he said, “I don’t want to commit myself to therapy right now because I’ll be going back to Louisiana in a month or so, but I would like to talk to you.”
We set up an appointment and I saw him for four sessions on a consultation basis, to review his problems and explore his possible choices for the future.
“You don’t have a southern accent,” I observed, after turning on the tape. “Are you from Louisiana originally?”
“No, originally I’m from Chicago. My parents are from Louisiana. They moved back when I was fourteen.”
“How was that?”
“It was okay. I wasn’t too crazy about Chicago.”
“How old are you, Walter?”
“Forty-six.”
“Did your work bring you to New York?”
“Yes. I work for an airline. I’m based in New York for a while. Actually I’m trying to get into public relations again. That’s what I did before I went to work for the airline.”
“Why did you leave P.R. work?”
“About three years ago my wife died of pneumonia. It was so sudden I guess I went to pieces. We had two children. They’re sixteen and eighteen now–a boy and a girl. I lost my job and when I recovered, a friend got me the airline job. I took it for the kids and because it was the only offer I had at the time.”
“Did you have a good relationship with your wife?”
“I’d say so.”
“Do you mind talking about it?”
“No.”
“Did you have a satisfactory sex life with her?”
“The thing is I should tell you now that I left her a few months before she died. Actually about eight months before she died.”
“You said it was a good relationship.”
“It was for what it was, but I met this guy Ken and we fell in love and I just moved out on Bonny....”
“How long were you and Bonny married?”
“Seventeen years.”
“Did she know about your bisexuality?”
“The last few years she did.”
“Did she accept it?”
“No. That’s why we had to split, I think. It was more than she could handle. She wanted me to give up guys. There was no way I was going to do that.”
“You say you went to pieces when your wife died. Were you sorry you had left her?”
“No, but I felt guilty. If I hadn’t left she might not have died, and all that. Then there were the kids. They knew I left to live with a guy. My daughter ran away. Ran away three times until my mother came to live with us. Then Ken and I broke up. There was just too much going on and he got fed up. Then I lost my job. It was a nightmare, all of it.”
“Do you get along with your mother?”
“Better since my father died, but she hates my lifestyle. My father hated it more. He was really bad news. We were always going for each other’s eyes. I never could win with him. He was a man’s man and he used to call me a pansy and stuff like that. He was cruel to my mother. I wasted no tears when he died, believe me. To tell you the truth my whole family is a pain in the ass, including my older brother and my kid sister. I haven’t seen them in years. They’re married, living in California. The only good thing about them is they didn’t like my father either. I’m the only one who gets along with my mother. She was pretty good to me and the kids when Bonny died. It was mainly because of her, though, that I lost Ken. He couldn’t take her sarcasm. I didn’t blame him. I can barely stand it myself.”
“How is your relationship with your children now?”
“With the boy it’s not so hot. But my daughter and I are good friends now. I guess I’m closer to her than I am to anybody these days. She understands me. She stopped running away and she’s accepted my bisexuality.”
“How long have you been bisexual, from your point of view?”
“You mean when did I start turning on to guys?”
“Were you turned on to women first?”
“Yes, I guess I was. I liked girls at first. Then, about sixteen, I got into guys too.”
“Let’s begin at the beginning. Did you masturbate when you were a boy?”
“Yes.”
“How old were you when you began?”
“About ten or eleven.”
“Did you fantasize?”
“Yes, but I began having sex really when I was five or six in the garage at h
ome. Neighborhood kids playing doctor and nurse type of thing.”
“Did you experience orgasm at that time?”
“I don’t think so. The first orgasm was when I was ten, as I said, and then the first real sex I had with another person was in a gang bang when I was twelve. We called the girl–she was about fifteen–the town pump. She put out for everybody. Then we used to have circle jerks among the boys to see who could come first. That used to fascinate me.”
“Do you still masturbate?”
“Sure. Every day.”
“What do you fantasize about?”
“Guys mostly. To tell you the truth, women put me uptight. See, 1 have a small cock. I enjoy the company of women but… the woman I most enjoyed sexually was my wife. We really had good sex. She was a virgin when we married and so I knew she wasn’t comparing my cock to other guys! I felt secure with her in bed.”
“Did you enjoy all kinds of sex with her?”
“No. She used to want to go down on me but I don’t like it when a woman does that. And I don’t like to go down on a woman.”
“How about men?”
“Oh, I like to have a guy go down on me and I like to rim and suck a guy off. But a woman, no. I like to just, you know, feel and fuck a woman.”
“Have you had any relationships with women since your wife?”
“A few. One I met in Florida. I bought this share in a house for the spring and summer and she was there too. I never should have gotten involved with her.”
“Why?”
“She was the aggressive type. I was okay the first time we had sex on the beach at night, but the second time I was impotent. She was one of these really horny women who just come on so strong, but in bed her body was so, I don’t know, tense with need, so demanding, that I had to…. You know when a woman keeps moving up on the bed when you start fucking her.... Well, she was just all over the place, and pushing her pelvis up and just getting all she could out of me before I was really ready. She just wanted to have sex, I guess, just to get off. It was awful. Anyway, I lost my erection. We made it after that but she wanted to suck my cock and there is just something piggy to me when a woman does that. I lose respect for her. Don’t misunderstand, I know this is my hang-up, but that’s the kind of hairpin I am.”
The Bisexual Option Page 8