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Yes, I’m bisexual – and this concerns you how?

Yes, I’m bisexual – and this concerns you how?

‘So before your boyfriend…did you date other people?’ said the straight man struggling to make his curiosities look like small talk.

‘Yeah, but nothing as serious as what I have with Tom’ I always reply, knowing what they want but refusing to give in so easily.

‘Oh cool. So, did you date a lot of men who look like him? Is he you’re type?’ He prods, not giving up on his fishing expedition.

‘Eh, I don’t really have a type. I’ve dated people of different races, nationalities, size and genders.’

‘AH-HA! I knew you were gay’ he exclaims.

‘Actually, I’m bisexual’ I resign, knowing what comes next. The quiz.

My cover is blown when people ‘discover’ that I’m bisexual.

When people find out, they always have this excited look like they’re Sherlock Holmes and they’ve just solved the case. And at the same time they’re relieved because I don’t match their expectation of what a straight woman should look like.

I confuse people, you see. I am female and I look female. I usually wear something low cut that shows off my breasts. I have the kind of hips that were meant for birthing strong Germanic babies who, when born, can immediately bale hay.

There’s little denying I look female. But I also have shock pink hair that comes out of the top of my head and, for ease, I keep it in a top-knot showing off my shaved head and the tattoo on my scalp.

I have a masculine gait. That I’ve tried to make more feminine but have given up. I walk with my feet turned out and my crotch kind of leading the charge. I got that big dick energy walk.

Also, my posture when I’m sitting is less than demure. If I can’t tuck my feet under me in lotus position, then my knees are apart and I slouch low in my chair. People would call it manspreading. But I like to think of it as Abigoliah-splaying.

So, I present as female but I’m not feminine. Yes, I have the tits of a stripper. But I’ve also been blessed with the shoulders of a bouncer. And this mixed gender presentation means people assume I’m gay.

When I introduce them to my partner a, a cis Englishman named Tom, they are even more perplexed. I can see in their faces that they’re trying to figure it out. But then once they figure out that I’m bi, they relax. ‘Of course she’s bi! You don’t get hair like that without licking a pussy or two!’ they think.

I don’t care that people know my sexuality. I care that they care so much about it. Because once they, and by ‘they’ I mean straight people  – It’s always straight people because queer people are too busy enjoying sex with each other to care what kind of genitals I touch – know I’m bisexual, they need to know how bisexual. They have a quiz.

THE QUIZ. A series of questions they have come up with to determine where on the spectrum I lie. Everyone who identifies as bi has been asked these questions.

‘Have you slept with women?’

‘How many?’

‘Were any lasting relationships?’

‘When was the last time you were with a woman?’

That’s my favourite question. When was the last time? Like if it was over a set number of years or months ago then my attraction to women must have expired.

It’s sexuality. Not yoghurt left in the fridge. It doesn’t expire. I didn’t ‘choose a side’ when I settled down with my male partner. I chose a mate. And that person happens to be male.

But my attraction to women hasn’t diminished. If anything, I’ve found being in a heteronormative, monogamous relationship has increased my attraction to women. I mean FIVE YEARS! ONE man! I’m throwing up in my own mouth as well.

I don’t understand what this fascination people have with bisexuals. But it makes me uneasy. Like they’re trying to catch me doing something either super straight or super gay so they can put me on one side of the line or the other. I don’t want to be on a side. I want to be in the middle. I’ll happy straddle that line and any beautiful person who’s on either side it.

But for some people that doesn’t work. They so desperately need a nice clean box that they can put me in. Their sexuality is clean and tidy, so they assume others will be as well. But mine is messy and blurry. My sexuality ebbs and flows.

I guess, dear man at the beginning of the story, what I’m trying to say is this. You don’t need to know who I have slept with and who I haven’t. You don’t need to know what gender they are and when we got busy. What you do need to know is this. I will never sleep with you.

Abigoliah Schamaun is a comedian and writer living in London. She’ll be performing her show DO YOU KNOW WHO I THINK I AM? 5-6 August at Soho Theatre then touring nationally in the autumn. For tickets go to

Follow her on social media at Twitter (@abigoliah) and Instagram (@abigoliah)

See also

We need to talk about bi erasure in media: ever heard of the Unicorn Scale?

Society’s expectations of bisexuality and disabilities isn’t stopping this model