Yesterday was “Pride in London 2014” and I took to the
streets to see what all the fuss was about. Friends and colleagues had attended
these rallies for years and somehow, I had always been busy. This year I
decided to go along and see for myself.
Positioning myself in Piccadilly, I was struck by the
extent of the crowd. I was also struck by the diversity. Onlookers were not all
gay; far from it. There were heterosexuals all over the place – families,
couples, siblings, friends and me.
Me.
Am I heterosexual? Because I’ve been kissed and fucked by
a woman, does that make me bisexual?
Recently, I contacted a charity for advice and support.
They asked me if I would mind doing a quick survey. I agreed.
What is your gender? – Simple to answer. What is your age
bracket? – Another easily defined response. What is your sexual orientation?
What is my
sexual orientation?
I paused.
My response was that I was heterosexual but…….
The person
at the end of the phone waited for a more complete response. Was the “but” big
enough to call me bisexual, we were both thinking although not saying?
Eventually, I just left it at that; I was heterosexual.
But this answer was and is incomplete.
I like women. I love big, natural boobs. I like looking
at cleavages accompanied by fulsome tits. I love the shapeliness of women. I
love kissing, and whether the person I am kissing is a man or a woman is
irrelevant if I am turned on. And I am turned
on by women but I am far more turned on by men. I’m a person who would prefer a
WILF (Willy I’d like to fuck) rather than a MILF.
If I was looking for someone (which in itself is a pathetic
phrase because I don’t exactly go out looking) to have a sexual
relationship with, I would certainly prefer men. If I were to join a dating
agency, it would be men I wanted. Yet I’d probably want to have sex with men
that would revel in my enjoyment of women too. I’d want to spend time
enjoying looking at other women – maybe on pornography sites, without
necessarily wanting to fuck them. I’d want to share erotica with any sexual
partner and I wouldn’t want him to be disturbed by my interest in other women.
I look at women in the street. They are beautiful. I look
at them and see a beauty that isn’t always sexual. They are just beautiful. I
find myself looking at women, possibly more frequently than men, but that doesn’t
mean to say I want to fuck them. I want cock!
So am I heterosexual? Or am I bisexual? Or am I actually
as gay as gay and deluding myself that I want willy?
In truth, my sexual orientation is “without label”. I’m a
non-person as far as the survey goes. I’m a heterosexual woman who likes tits
but I don’t necessarily want to have them in my mouth, and I don’t necessarily
want to get down and offer some cunnilingus. I just like looking at women, and
yes, I’ll readily wank myself off when doing so.
Yesterday, at Pride in London, there were plenty of
beautiful women – stunning women, who happily marched down the streets of the
capital city, declaring that they were gay or bisexual. They were proud of
their sexuality and they were demonstrating their pride with others.
That was, and is, admirable. And whilst I didn’t join in
the march or parade, I wanted to be walking with them with my label-less
sexuality there for all to see. I wanted to walk with a banner saying “I am
heterosexual, but…..” without having to explain the “but” - because that is who
I am.
In the same way, I have never wanted to be labelled in a
relationship either. I’m perfectly happy to be in a relationship. I’m perfectly contented to be called someone’s “woman”
without the connotations of what that might mean to others. What is important
is what the relationship means to one another – the two (or more) people in a
relationship. And yes, I want to be the most significant because that is what I
deserve, after putting so much into a relationship. But I don’t really want to
be called a partner or a lover or a wife or a friend with benefits. I just want
to be me – a woman; a heterosexual woman, but……
Yesterday, I watched all these beautiful people (and some
more beautiful than others) walking by – laughing, smiling, dancing, chanting,
skipping, loving, being.
It was a celebration of gayness, yes of course. However,
what struck me most was that it was a celebration of being a sexual human being.
There they were, demonstrating to the world, that they
liked being gay but within that broad word there was an underlying statement
that they liked sex. They liked being sexual. They celebrated their sexuality.
Some even flaunted it.
Lucky, lucky buggers.
And here’s my Utopia. Once we live in a world where
people are free from discrimination due to their labelled sexual orientation,
then shouldn’t we see “Pride” as a rally of sexuality, where people like the “heterosexual
but….” could join in the march too and tell the world that they are sexual
beings, that they love sex and that they want everyone to know the importance and
value of sex in their lives?
The vivacity, the honesty, the emphatic and constant
smiles said it all yesterday – “I am an actively sexual being and proud of it”.
I wish I could have joined in with that label alone.
