“Shell, bisexuality is just the last stop on the way to Gaysville.” Nope. Wrong. People are still saying this. People are still saying it’s just a phase. Let me tell you how I know they’re wrong. Let me tell you how I know bisexuality is real. This is the story of how I went to Gaysville and a proposition for a threesome gone wrong brought me back.
One of the “jobs” I had when I first got to Los Angeles was as a “background actor” in film and television. That in and of itself is a joke, but stories for another time. Around this time I was also strictly dating women and had come out to my LA friends as a lesbian. I was minding my own business on set one day when I hear a guy sitting next to me say to someone, “Yeah, that was me. No point in denying it. I did porn.” Um, what? Anyway, this isn’t about that guy. I just wanted you to know that happened.
I actually met The Extra over lunch that day. A bunch of us are talking about shitty LA traffic and the best route to hit out of there when we wrap. Turns out The Extra lives in my neighborhood, just a few blocks from my place. He’s also new to Los Angeles, so we start chatting about go-to spots around town. I let him know the Ralph’s on Magnolia sucks and the one on Ventura is worth the couple extra minutes drive. This is important stuff, so we continue our conversation after lunch back in the extras holding area. Somewhere in conversation, we confirm that he’s straight and single, and I’m a lesbian.
“Look, I don’t normally even talk to people at these things because everyone is usually super weird,” I say. He laughs and I continue, “But you seem chill and we live in the same neighborhood. And I kinda wanna introduce you to my friend.” I show him Facebook pictures of her and he’s down. We exchange numbers and we’re on our way.
The friend I had in mind for The Extra had been super supportive of me coming out as a lesbian. She had accompanied me on many a trip to gay and lesbian bars in West Hollywood. Well, supportive of me and also trying to land herself a threesome. I told her not to look at me, I was done with the D. I had met some girls at the gay bars, gotten some dates out of it, even a trip to Vegas with one, but nothing was sticking. And my friend was growing weary, too. She was striking out and still two-thirds short of a threesome. At this point she just wanted to feel the weight of a man on top of her again and the bois of WeHo were not gonna cut it for her. I felt her pain. It was time for me to help her out.
That weekend we met up with The Extra and one of his friends at a dive bar near our places in the valley. The Extra apparently doesn’t have any lesbian friends and brings a straight dude. I’m crushing wing woman duty when something unexpected happened. Wires got crossed and my friend didn’t hit it off with The Extra. She’s into The Wingman. The Extra and I just shrug and saddle up at the bar and talk about set life. This ends up becoming a weekend ritual for a few weeks in a row, until one night my friend is exceptionally thirsty for something other than vodka crans.
Never Have I Ever
We’re at our usual places at the bar where The Extra and I are discussing whether or not background actors should join the Screen Actors Guild when my friend interrupts. It’s getting close to last call and she’s drunk, loud and comes barreling into our conversation, “Let’s go back to my place!”
I ask her if this is part of her plan to get laid. It is. I tell her these are great life decisions and I’ll get The Extra and myself out of there so they can hook up–but she somehow convinced me to keep playing wing woman all the way back to her apartment. The Extra and I agree to one drink at my friend’s place. One drink back at her place turns into we lost count during all the drinking games.
At one point she suggests “Never Have I Ever” as an attempt to turn The Wingman on by mentioning threesomes and kissing girls. The crazier the statements get though, the more The Extra and I are drinking and laughing while they watch us. This is failing. Now The Extra and I are drunk and not going anywhere even if they wanted us to at this point. It’s after 3 am and this girl throws a Hail Mary. This is it. She’s desperate to make something happen with her and The Wingman.
Spin The Lesbian
This bitch breaks out an empty wine bottle and lays it down sideways in the middle of the four of us. She seriously wants to play spin the bottle right now. I swear this isn’t middle school, but it’s a bunch of wasted 20-somethings, so practically the same thing. Let’s do this. A couple of spins of the bottle and against all my better judgment (what judgment? I’m drunk) I kiss my friend. It probably lingered a little too long. A couple more spins and we’d exhausted all combinations of everyone kissing except the two dudes (because they hadn’t been in LA long enough to know that’s cool and totally doesn’t make you gay). Then things got blurry. I just remember her saying something about a threesome again, but there were still four of us …
I grab The Extra by the arm, and I whisper–but I’m drunk, so it was more like yelling, “We should go! Leave these two alone!” We were wasted so leaving meant stumbling into the next room to pass out. He takes his shirt off to go to sleep and holy shit this guy’s in front of me shirtless looking like Jake Gyllenhaal in the mother fucking Prince of Persia and I forget what a lesbian even is. I give him a look he’s never seen from me before and he knows it’s game on. In between making out and articles of clothing flying I’m saying nonsense like “This doesn’t mean anything. We’re just friends ok?” Who even cares? It was so hot I thought I died for a minute. I saw Jesus.
I cried, “Jesus, does this mean I’m not a lesbian anymore??”
And Jesus said, “Shut the fuck up dyke! You’re missing the best part!” And then I came to–and The Extra came, too–and we passed out and slept for a hundred years.
When we finally woke up from the most heavenly post orgasm repose, the first thing this hot bastard says to me is, “I thought you were a lesbian.”
“I am,” I say sharply. “This doesn’t mean anything. It was one time ok? We cool?”
“Yeah,” he laughs.
“Don’t get weird,” I order.
“I won’t,” he says with a grin. In retrospect I can only assume the laughing and grinning was because he knew it wasn’t going to be just that one time. It was obviously fan-fucking-tastic and we really owed it to the universe to make sure that sex that amazing would continue. And we did, many times, many places.
Things Get Weird
We had super hot no strings attached sex with each other on and off for a while. I’d get a girlfriend and we’d stop hanging out for a bit. Then things would end with the girlfriend and I’d wake up at his place again. I’d pretty much mastered the friends with benefits thing between girls with him until one day the other shoe dropped. All of a sudden he met a girl and it was his turn to disappear for a while. I got upset and jealous and suddenly realized my worst fear coming true. I had feelings for him. It hit me like a ton of bricks and I passed out from the shock. I saw Jesus again.
I cried, “Jesus! Does this mean I’m straight?!?”
And Jesus said, “No you fucking bitch, you’re bisexual! Now get out of here!”
And I prayed and prayed, “Jesus, please don’t make me bi. Nobody really likes bisexuals. We’re not gay enough for the gays and they treat us like trespassers and the straights all think we’ll leave them for the gays … ”
And Jesus said, “What does it matter to you? You’re going to leave everyone ever anyway because of your crippling fear of commitment, you asshole! Quit bothering me!”
And so it was. Jesus was right, I was bi, and also an asshole with a fear of commitment. And I have a track record going back to age 5 of kissing girls and running away to prove it. And I have a track record also going back to age 5 of kissing boys and crying and running away to prove it. And if that ain’t proof bisexuality is real, well then slap my strap-on and call me Michael, I sure as shit don’t know what is!