Over the last decade, the size of the LGBTQ+ community has increased dramatically — and bisexual women are largely responsible for that growth. That’s not just an anecdotal observation, either; it’s backed up by statistics and large surveys. But despite our increasing strength in numbers, being newly out can still be hard. A half decade ago, when I came out, I felt a mixed bag of excitement and fear, especially as I tried to imagine what queer dating might be like.
I came out in an article when I was 26 years old on a website that no longer exists. In one fell swoop, I perhaps foolishly deemed my sexual repression and religious trauma to be a thing of the past. A whole new frontier was before me! I was ready to expand my horizons. But I was also terrified. Like many — but certainly not all — people who now identify as bisexual, I had previously been a victim of compulsory heterosexuality. I didn’t know how to convey attraction in queer settings. Apart from a few handsy moments over the years, my gayest experience up to that point had been confessing my secret attraction to a curly-haired female basketball player in a 2014 conversation with my college roommates. What did it look like to actually act on feelings like that?
I had so many questions and frustrations: How do I have sex with a woman? What does it look like to date a nonbinary person? How can I tell if someone queer is interested in me? In hindsight, many of these questions seem basic, but at the time, they felt like vast, insurmountable mysteries.
After much trial and even more error, I now have five years of queer dating under my belt, including two longish-term relationships. Coming into one’s bisexuality can look different to different people, and each person’s trajectory to the identity is unique. My own experiences have been as a now-pansexual woman mostly dating other women and nonbinary people for the first time, so my reflections will be most helpful to others who have taken a similar trajectory.
Even so, this is not a comprehensive guide to queer dating for newly out bisexual women; it’d be impossible to write one. But these are a collection of tips and tricks I wish someone had told me when I first came out, which may also prove useful for you. Good luck, babe!
First and foremost, learn to take Ls.
This is perhaps the hardest lesson I learned after coming out as a bisexual woman. I have never taken so many Ls in my life as I did when I first started flirting with women. Whoever you choose to pursue under the queer umbrella, there’s a high likelihood that you will face rejection early, and perhaps often. This is fine, even if it doesn’t feel fine. You’d hardly expect a barbecue pitmaster to bake a perfect souffle first try.
The reality is that you’re doing something that can at least seem very different from what you were doing before: If you’ve been accustomed to receiving attention from men for most of your life, as I had, you may have strong preconceived notions about how to flirt. You know which buttons to press, what body language to read, and other cues that indicate you’re on the right track. Once you expand your pool of possibilities, you may have to learn new buttons, cues, and triggers. And I can say with confidence that you’ll fall flat on your face at least once.
To illustrate one of my many Ls: When I was freshly out, I stumbled into a group dinner with a lesbian to whom I was immediately attracted, and with whom I flirted all night. Two cocktails later, on my walk home, I sent her a vulnerable DM, asking, “Would you want to go out sometime?” to which she responded, “I think we’d be better off as friends.” My mortification was instant. In my head, I flicked through every word I had said, trying to recall the moment I had flown a red flag. What had I done wrong? I thought we had made a connection.
The truth, as I would come to learn, is that queer attraction can be very specific. You will not always be someone’s cup of tea. Some people may not be attracted to your gender expression, or even the ways you might want to have sex. There is all sorts of intra-community discourse about the ways that self-expression and sexual attraction intersect and interact, and that knowledge takes a while to absorb. But the important thing to know off the bat is that you might be automatically disqualified as a potential date for reasons that might go over your head and still sometimes go over mine.
On the bright side, the beauty of the queer community is that there are almost certainly people out there who will be attracted to you reciprocally, just as you are, even if it takes some work to find them. My advice, given my own history of losses, would be to take the L(s) as they come, and move right along.
Flirting is actually just talking.
“It’s so hard to flirt with women!” This is one of the most common misconceptions I have heard from people who are freshly out, and believe me, I’ve been there, which is why I think it’s important for me to be honest: You, in fact, do know how to flirt with a person of any gender you’re interested in dating.
That’s because flirting is truly just talking. It is showing a vested interest in someone. It is asking questions and pursuing the conversation when it wanes instead of letting silences linger. It is being complimentary and kind and listening closely. If you’re comfortable with physical touch, it can look like a quick shoulder tap or a knee brush. Queer flirting may feel different from flirting with straight cisgender men, but the fundamental principle is the same: people like attention, so paying attention to someone is the best way to make it clear that you like them.
The issue here is that many queer people — but certainly not all of them — talk to each other with kindness and affection because we tend to care for each other as a community. Maybe this makes it hard to discern whether someone is flirting with you, or whether your interest is getting across. If, for whatever reason, your flirtations don’t seem to register with the party you are pursuing, this is the time to access your gutsiest self. Bring up your bisexuality casually in conversation. And if you’re feeling truly bold, be honest about your attraction by sharing it openly with your crush, and even mention the fact that you’d like to get to know them better on a date. Directness is a virtue.
We can separate ourselves from heteronormative expectations, but someone does, in fact, have to ask the other person out, so why not make it you? In my own experience, I had to learn how to take a more active role in the dating process than I was used to, and — as noted above — I faced the sting of rejection.
Again, Ls will occur, but they are necessary. To use a tired sports adage: You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take. When you whiff, it won’t mean anything about you or your worth, it will just mean that it wasn’t a good fit for either of you. And when the Ws do happen, you’ll understand why all those Ls were worth it.
This may feel more challenging than dating cis straight men, and that’s OK.
While certain core principles of flirtation may remain unchanged, the beginnings of queer romance take on completely different shapes, colors, and timbres than hetero romance. While I won’t rest on the tired stereotypes that cishet men aren’t emotionally complex, my own experiences dating women and nonbinary people have felt distinctly more intense. Maybe it’s because we’re no longer coasting between the well-defined guardrails of socially sanctioned and culturally celebrated romance, but there’s often a lot more talking, processing, and feeling involved. You may find yourself accessing different emotions than you’re used to, or doing things that surprise you.
In one queer experience I had, the flirtation began meekly on both sides, with both parties not knowing who would be the first to let the shoe drop, until weeks later, it finally did. In another case, my crush and I called each other on the phone and spoke for 15 straight hours until driving across state lines to meet each other the next day. None of this was normal behavior for me when I was exclusively dating cis men. These new experiences were rigorous, adrenaline-inducing, and sometimes emotionally draining as I navigated the all-consuming feeling of infatuation. It felt like I had suddenly been handed the yoke of a 747 after years of flying on auto-pilot.
So my humble advice would be to check some of your own expectations at the door. You truly never know what’s going to happen in queer dating: That’s what can make it exhausting, but that’s also what makes it beautiful.
Biphobia is real. Swipe “next” on people who are unkind to you.
Part of the reason you may have come to this article in the first place is because of the nagging fear that you will be rejected on the grounds of either: A) your newness or B) general and persistent cultural biphobia. These are understandable fears! When I came out, I encountered people who were critical of me for those reasons, and sometimes even cruel. Those bad interactions are hard to metabolize. But five years in, I’m trying to keep them in perspective.
The truth is, though it’s far from perfect, the broader queer community has never been as welcoming of bisexuality, sexual fluidity, and unlabeled exploration as it is now. It’s hard not to be on high alert, but if you face rejection from someone who does not explicitly say that they are rejecting you for your status as either inexperienced or bi, then try not to automatically assume they are coming from that place. But if they do say that, then simply move on. They’re not worth your time.
Among sapphics particularly, bisexuality can be a controversial topic, but it’s worth understanding the roots of the divide so we can all work toward resolving it. Some lesbians, especially, are coming from a place of trepidation about entering into romantic entanglements they worry might not lead to a more consistent or long-term relationship. On the other hand, some bisexuals might feel like it’s impossible to find out if they’d want to enter into a long-term relationship with a woman if they can’t reliably find other women to date more casually. In my experience, problems arise when we turn this mismatch of expectations and needs into an unhelpful discourse that demonizes people based on their sexual orientation, (e.g. “all bi women just end up with men,” or “all lesbians are biphobic”).
Basically, everyone being forthright about their intentions is the only way out for us to finally bridge this divide: Are you a bi woman looking for a casual encounter? Say so! Are you a lesbian who wants someone who’s ready to U-Haul tomorrow? Don’t spring that expectation on a bi girl and then blame her sexuality when she backs out, as you can't assume anyone will be ready for that, regardless of their orientation. Communication is key, and if someone writes you off entirely because of your sexuality without taking your actual hopes, dreams, and desires into account, forget them and keep looking. You’ll be certain to find someone who will align with what you want. The numbers are quite literally on your side.
Unburden yourself from the idea that you “don’t know what to do” in the bedroom.
Listen, I get to say this because I was in your shoes fairly recently: Sometimes it’s a bit annoying when newly out bi women say, “I don’t know how to have sex with women!” or “What do I do with a trans person?” as though people’s bodies are unknowable puzzle boxes.
It’s true that we don’t get great sex education in many parts of the world, but as someone who has now had years of queer encounters, I know this to be true: A lack of experience or knowledge isn’t an excuse for remaining inexperienced and unknowledgeable.
The first time I had sex with a woman, I didn’t know what I was doing. But no two bodies are ever the same, no matter someone’s gender. As with all good and intentional sex, the best way you can approach queer intimacy is with: 1) exuberance, 2) a willingness to try new things, and 3) a desire to learn what works best for your partner. As with flirtation, even if things feel different or more difficult, at the start, the core principles are the same. Queer people are not magical fairy creatures. All people have a handful of erogenous zones that can be touched, licked, and so on!
Here at Them, we have guides on how to finger someone, how to eat someone out, and more. In general, you’ll find the best advice boils down to some rudimentary principles. Do things that your partner says feel good to them.
Everyone’s sexual needs and desires are different, and must be learned over time. Preferences can be informed by sexual trauma, dysphoria, or even just experience. So please: Ask potential partners what they like. Anyone worth their salt will be grateful that you offered them an enthusiastic, sensual experience.
Lastly, remember your sexuality doesn’t depend on your “success.”
As I was coming to terms with my sexuality, I felt some pressure to prove, if only to myself, that my feelings were valid. But I wish someone had told me that your bisexual identity does not hinge on you having sex with people of multiple genders. You could flirt — successfully or unsuccessfully — in your new dating circles forever without ever being intimate with another queer person, and that would in no way diminish your bisexuality.
To close with a silly metaphor: If you’re reading this, you may only be at the germinating seed stage of your bisexuality. You have years to flower and fruit — pun intended —and to weather different seasons and connections. I have no doubt that when you are standing where I am now, five years down the line from the initial agony that led you to this article, you could write this advice with just as much sincerity and confidence.
But don’t worry, I am still taking Ls. That part never goes away.
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