I love my partner like a wave loves the shore that it passionately crashes into. I adore him more than any other human. But, if he left—I would choose a woman next.
This is not a statement on gender preference and sexuality, nor is it a disliking of penises or a preferring of breasts. It is a comment on my desire to taste every bit of life and to not be restricted by old ideas of what my relationships could be.
If the opportunity arose, I would seize it—a female lover—certainly. I want the experience of every spice in the cupboard. Don’t you? If not, there is room on this planet for your way, too. Mine is the desire to transcend into free.
And last night, as my partner lay in my arms, I had an intimate dream. It was not of him. It was of her. I dreamt what it was like to be with a woman, to have her wrapped up around my own curvy body.
In real life, I am regularly pleasured. I do the same pleasing for my love. It is part of my relationship with the man of my dreams.
Last night, though, I dreamt of the woman of my dreams. And it got me thinking…why are many of us still so darn heteronormative? We don’t have to be. Where I live, we can marry anyone we choose. But, heck, marriage shouldn’t be the yardstick.
Many of us think only in man/woman vocabulary, where it is necessary to specify if we are straight, gay, bi or trans. Why aren’t we simply open to life and each other, to the idea that whether a vagina or a penis is involved might be insignificant?
Would that kind of freedom scare us?
I have experimented with being more masculine and increasingly feminine. I chopped off my long, brown hair for a crew cut. I fish and I can shoot. I also make a nice fire and run a good barbecue, too. Maybe because I have been called female my whole life, I also paint my nails and straighten my hair. I wear dresses.
If I hadn’t been called a girl, though, I would probably fit in swell as “one of the guys.”
Many places in the world have more than just two genders; they have a third or several. Over 130 Indigenous North American tribes use the term two-spirited to describe someone in their society who neither identifies as man or woman. Often, two-spirited individuals are considered healers or medicine people.
There are regions on our planet where gender is a spectrum, from masculine woman to feminine woman to feminine man to masculine man. None of these labels are a reference to biological equipment, only a descriptor of how we show up in the world—sex is biology, gender is cultural.
When I was single, I flirted with men and women. I was also attracted to people who were undecided. I pondered what it would be like not to hold onto the label of woman looking for man. I felt if I chose to be different, life might be harder, especially if I chose “unidentified.”
People seemed to feel safer knowing “what” I was and who I was looking for.
Now I am slightly older. I feel comfortable with the notion that the rug can be pulled out from under us—that to challenge tradition and open our eyes is a healthy practice.
If my partner left, I would probably be with a woman. The very one I dreamed about last night, the one who stirred my heart and inspired a fire.
I desire men, often. I also believe love should have no gender or sexual boundaries.
We are more fluid than we give ourselves credit for—if it is, in fact, about the spirit within and not the body that holds it. As we progress as humans I hope we see this—that we can just love each other, that we can love everyone.
We can find sacred places on the flesh of each individual. We can lick them and love them and be proud to be together. Many indigenous societies recognized this, years ago.
What if vagina and penis didn’t matter? What if what was important in a partner was that they were real, present and ready for an adventure?
Pleasure can be found everywhere. It comes down to how much we are able to love.
I choose this man, and if he left, I would pick another beautiful, inspired and vivacious female soul just fine.
We can shift our limited ideas of man, woman, straight or otherwise if we choose. Heteronormativity is absorbed and dissolved by a culture that is expansive enough to delete the “us and them.”
“I like you. You light me up. Wanna be my mate?”
That seems more authentic than,
“I love you, but I can’t choose you because you are not the correct sex.”
I think we are growing beyond this—I feel we are ready for much more.
Author: Sarah Norrad
Image: Global Panorama/Flickr
Editors: Emily Bartran; Catherine Monkman