By Monica Meneghetti
Some days start with whiskers. Some mornings, I roll over to find Sheldon’s upper lip still hiding beneath mustache, his eyebrows sending out feelers to my fingertip, his grey eyes, his amused cheek. Often, I rouse to a belt buckle’s clink and the jangle of keys dangling from a carabiner on his belt loop. I smell coffee and shoe-shine as he spiffs his steel-toes for work. Some afternoons, our companionship shifts as lips give way to tongues, and words to sounds of pleasure. My body welcomes his body in, and we vanish into trust. Emerge, laughing.
Other mornings, Laura’s salty juice jolts me awake instead of coffee. Or I wake with my finger sheathed in her, dowsing essence, and her pleasure is my alarm. Other times, I find the crushed petals of her lips clinging to my hip and her impossible silk spinning down, capturing the pillow. Some nights, my heart pounds me awake. I hear the voice of the Gay and Lesbian Association’s helpline attendant replaying in my head: “You’re probably a lesbian, afraid to come out.” To drown it out, I chant the names of men who made me wet just by standing close to me and men who broke my heart. I even review my list of childhood crushes.
Night after night, I consider leaving Sheldon, not because I want to, but because people act like I’m supposed to. The thought of losing him stabs me. I will learn to clutch that pain as an amulet against biphobia. I will stab myself like that at least once a night, for months before I understand.
A long-time BWQ subscriber, Monica’s “out” memoir What the Mouth Wants (Caitlin Press) was released this spring. Learn more at https://monicameneghetti.wordpress.com.