I Just Have To Say It Out Loud


Dear friends,

I have something to tell you. No don’t worry, I promise it’s nothing bad; it’s not bad at all. I just need, I just need to write it down in full I guess, because I have been thinking about it for a while now, and because I think you two are the first people that I would want to tell. Here it is,

I think that I’m—

I’m going to start at the beginning. When I think back to when I first met the two of you, I almost can’t believe that we became friends. I was so different from you, but somehow, I guess, I just fit in. We spent nights ordering pizza and watching bad 90’s movies together, wandering around the streets of downtown at 3 in the morning on the search for drunken noodles and burritos, and you were probably the first people that I openly talked about sex with, which was a big thing for me, as my group of high school girl friends and I had never even seen a penis until we were 20 years old. You were the first people that made me feel like sex was actually a normal and exciting thing to talk about. And after several months of hanging out with the two of you, I realized that discussions about porn and pubic hair were regular dinner conversation topics.

So I thought that I should tell you that I sometimes—

Sometimes I think it’s funny how the three of us might look when we are at a club together. One of you is chasing after the few cute gay boys you can find, one of you is making your rounds between everyone at the bar, just looking for anyone with a heartbeat and air in their lungs to have sex with, and I casually dance with a few shy boys, maybe earning a hickey or two depending on my level of alcohol intake. I’m also the token straight friend that you bring to every gay bar, who usually ends up drinking alone in the corner, trying to look busy with my phone. Although, it’s not like I want to be in the corner alone,

I might actually—

Actually, I almost forgot that I never told either of you this. Two years ago, right before we became friends, I met someone. I don’t even mean in the romantic kind of way that you’re probably thinking, I literally just met someone, a new girl at work. Why was she so important at the time, God, I don’t even know, but I do know that the minute I met her I just wanted to be her friend. Everything she said dripped coolness in my mind. She was the sweetest person I thought I had ever met, she was talented, had a sense of humour like no other, a perfect taste in music, and an infinite supply of vintage band t-shirts. I knew that by the end of the summer that we were working together, I was going to become her friend.

Over the next couple of weeks, I pushed for our friendship in any way that I could l— trying to sit beside her in staff meetings, changing my route through our building ever so slightly so I could graze past her desk, working so hard to “casually” bring up things that I knew she loved in all of our interactions. I wanted her to like me so badly, and I didn’t even know why. Now I know though.

It was because I kind of, well—

Well, we became friends, and I felt wonderful. It felt incredible when we hung out, like I had just befriended the most popular girl in school and I was now flying high above everyone else at our workplace. We laughed, cursed, cried, sang, and drank together, and all I could think about when I was with her was how perfect this human being was. Then, without even realizing it, my subconscious conjured up something I had never even considered before.

I dreamt about her a few times that summer. I dreamt that we had gone to a concert and being the good friend that I was I offered that she could stay in my dorm room afterwards. We decided that we should go out to a club before that though. So we stumbled into my room after a night of head banging, dancing, and alcohol, and collapsed into my bed, stifling laughter so I wouldn’t wake my roommates. And then we just lied there on our backs for a minute. And then I felt your arm brush up against mine.

And then—

Then I think about the last couple of months. I think about my friendship with the two of you. I think about the secrets we have shared. I think about the times that we have went out dancing and drinking. I think about the phone that I lost, that guy that we got kicked out of the bar, the pictures that we took that thankfully have still not surfaced on Facebook, and the people that we have hooked up with. I think about that time that one of you hooked up with our friend. It was the first time that she had been with a girl. I think of you and her.

I think about all of the life chats that I have had with you, just you. I think about how you get flirty when you drink. I think about the time that you got drunk and showed me your boobs. I think about that time that you jokingly said, “you should try it…” when I said in a game of Never Have I Ever that I had obviously never gone down on a girl. I think about how maybe if you get drunk enough, and I get drunk enough, maybe you would try something on me, like you did with our friend. I think about how you always seem to be the one convincing me to do things, so maybe you could convince me to hook up with you, like it was your idea. I think about how I don’t even really like you in that way I just want to know what the hell it feels like to be with a girl. I think about how fucking badly I want that to happen, because I just want to know what it’s like.

I think about how terrifying it might be.

I think about how perfect it might be.

I think about how I might—

I might like, I—

I like girls.

I am bisexual.

And I don’t know why it’s so scary to actually do something about it, to try something new, to take the leap, but it is.

So there, I wrote it in full.

Maybe next time I can say it out loud.

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