Bisexual Girl Quotes

If I was gay, I wouldn't need an asterisk beside my name. I could stop worrying if the girl I like will bounce when she finds out I also like dick. I could have a coming-out party without people thinking I just want attention. I wouldn't have to explain that I fall in love with minds, not genders or body parts. People wouldn't say I'm 'just a slut' or 'faking it' or 'undecided' or 'confused.' I'm not confused. I don't categorize people by who I'm allowed to like and who I'm allowed to love. Love doesn't fit into boxes like that. It's blurry, slippery, quantum. It's only limited by our perceptions and before we slap a label on it and cram it into some category, everything is possible.

The first rule of Bi Club is that you can talk about Bi Club all you want, because most people won't believe it's real anyway.

A tomboy is a bisexual girl’s dream lover.

Do you fall in love with boys or with girls?" I asked her. "Sometimes boys," she replied. "Mostly souls.

Like boys all you want, Park. It still won't fix this. I'm bi and I promise you, it's not a fucking light switch. You can't just set it on 'boy' because it's inconvenient that you like a girl right now.

This is was what their mothers would say if she and her cousins ever told them the things they folded inside their hearts. Twice as many paths to trouble, their mothers would whisper. As though their daughters loving both men and women meant they wanted all of them in the world. There was no way to tell their mothers the truth and make them believe it, that hearts that loved both boys and girls were no more reckless or easily won than any other heart. They loved who they loved. They broke how they broke. And the way it happened depended less on what was under their lovers' clothes and more on what was wrapped inside their spirits.

Bye bye binary. For gender, for sexuality, for everything. ... Lots of people can like lots of people. And could everyone please get over it and update their idea of normal.

Sometimes I think that maybe I like guys more as a concept than a reality. And girls more as a reality than a concept.

His kisses were so hungry and male, which isn't bad. Every kiss said he could never have enough, but he wasn't going to stop trying. They were so hormonal. I wanted his sugar roughness. Girl's kisses are deliberate and polished. When she kisses me - when I kiss her - she doesn't want me. She has me and knows it.

Because that's why bi girls exist, Garrett. For your masturbatory fantasies.

You know what else is hot?" said a nameless blonde as she put her arm around the one black girl. "What?" "Bisexuals." "Totally. Well, not like real bisexuals who are just sort of your everyday people, but, like, the kind of bisexuals you see in magazines wearing nothing but body paint and kissing both boys and girls to promote a new single." "Totally, totally hot.

Amanda’s life and identity would be just as valid if she didn’t figure herself out until later in life, or if she were a tomboy, or if she were bisexual or a lesbian or asexual, or if she had trouble passing, or if she either could not or chose not to get “bottom” surgery.

Looking back, it’s embarrassing to recognize the degree to which my intellectual curiosity those first two years of college paralleled the interests of various women I was attempting to get to know: Marx and Marcuse so I had something to say to the long-legged socialist who lived in my dorm; Fanon and Gwendolyn Brooks for the smooth-skinned sociology major who never gave me a second look; Foucault and Woolf for the ethereal bisexual who wore mostly black. As a strategy for picking up girls, my pseudo-intellectualism proved mostly worthless; I found myself in a series of affectionate but chaste friendships.

Some women who married and also had lesbian relationships were genuinely bisexual. Many others married because they could see no other viable choice in the day.

All the cutest girls are bi, didn’t you get the memo?

This girl sparks my sadistic side.

As though I had displeased the gods with my erotic hubris, I managed to be the only bisexual girl in the history of colleges who failed to arouse the interest of the campus queers immediately upon setting foot in the dorms.

The word bisexual had stood out so bright and clear in my head that all else had ceased to exist. Bisexual. I had a word. I understood; it was me… a nice clear label that said it all. I didn't have to choose. I didn’t have to be not attracted to either guys or girls — a prospect I had found utterly absurd and likely impossible, but had thought was perhaps necessary. Now it wasn’t necessary. Now it was okay to be me. I was not unheard of. Bisexual.

Last year I told Lori I thought I might be bi. Ever since, whenever she saw me looking at another girl, she asked if I liked her. Lori didn't get that sometimes it was fun just to notice people without having to think about whether you liked them or not.

An avowed feminist activist and an outspoken bisexual, DiFranco has been candid about the necessity of women musicians identifying with the F-word. "Either you are a feminist or you are a sexist/misogynist," she once wrote. "There is no box marked 'other'".

I was proud of the way I was, but sometimes being bisexual was like running a race with your ankles tied together. If you dated a guy, people said you were really straight. If you were with a girl, you were actually gay. There was no winning. It only made telling people harder.

Everyone knew that girls who admitted to liking girls stopped being whatever they were before and became a cross between a lumberjack and a punk-goth-anarchist. - Adena Galinksy, USA (p. 38)

Brynne shuddered. 'You're my best friend, but I would never like you. One, because you're basically my brother. Two, I prefer boys who can beat me in a wrestling contest.' She thought about this and added, 'Or girls.

There was no way to tell their mothers the truth and make them believe it, that hearts that loved boys and girls were no more reckless or easily won than any other heart. They loved who they loved. They broke how they broke. And the way it happened depended less on what was under their lovers’ clothes and more on what was wrapped inside their spirits. What secret halls and trapdoors their sounds held, and what each one hid and guarded.

I feel like there’s a genuine hole in me. The little death, almost. I need stimulation. I used to need physical stimulation constantly, whether that be from listening to the sound of my own voice, or flirting with guys or girls. I’m not bisexual, but that moment when you realise someone likes you – it’s the best feeling in the world. If you could bottle it..

There comes a time in a girl’s life where she finds her heart broken, what matters is not the boy who broke it but the boy who stitches it back together

I like some men a lot, but from the start, before I knew anything, it was always girls and women who lit me up.

Conspicuous lesbians abounded—it's hard to miss teenage queers who have yet to figure out subtlety—and, though I can’t deny that I like my girls a little rough, most leaned so heavily on the dyke archetype that they looked like a Timberland truck crashed into Lilith Fair.

After all, everyone is bisexual after 11pm.

Because falling in love with a girl who feared nothing in this world had left her ready to love a boy whose heart had been broken before she ever touched him.

That’s the definition of bisexual, Casey—pretty girls and pretty boys, it’s like an all-you-can-fuck buffet!

The message I've gotten about guys who like guys and girls is that we're faking, that we couldn't possibly be attracted to girls if we're attracted to boys. Bi girls get the same thing, but for them it means they're perceived as straight and for us it means we're perceived as gay.

Twice as many paths to trouble,' their mothers would whisper. As though their daughters loving men and women meant they wanted all of them in the world. There was no way to tell their mothers the truth and make them believe it, that hearts that loved boys and girls were no more reckless or easily won than any other heart. They loved who they loved. They broke how they broke.

I slow my step as a spark of realization pricks in the back of my mind. Shut it down. Crush the thought. Is the truth that I don't get strong crushes on guys the way I get on girls? Or is the truth that whenever those crushes start to poke their heads up, I squash them and ignore them?

He also thought about prying up the staples with his fingers and taking the picture out and keeping it in his room, but he never did. His fingernails were too stubby; they weren't made for it like June's, like a girl's

But in fanfiction anything was fair game. If we could turn protagonists into vampires, bounty hunters, or elves, we could sure as heck turn them homosexual, bisexual, asexual or any ot he wonderful, beautiful in-betweens. Characters slid all over the rainbow. And through fanfiction I learned about identities like transgendered, genderfluid, and demisexual.

You should have seen it. Women were all over him. Nora and Juliette had to beat them off with a stick. I’m not kidding. Juliette picked up a stick and hit a girl with it, but the chick was a bisexual pain slut so it only made things worse.

It was the perfect meet-cute, except when you're a girl who likes other girls, there's this little additional dance, because what if she doesn't? So you're not looking for red flags like a girl does with a guy---you're looking for rainbow ones.

Acknowledging that my biological imperative may not include the drive to procreate, that I just might be attracted to XX chromosomes instead of XY? That's so stupid-minor in comparison to the fact that I might actually be in love for the first time in my life. It's with a girl...so what? Lesbian, bisexual, whatever! Thus isn't about categorisation or chromosomes. This is about how I feel about another person.

He could fuck some weird-looking girls who turn out to be bisexual

I guess Diana would be surprised that the one dressed in frills turned out to be the one skipping down the rainbow path toward bisexual city

bisexual

She's that bad boy you want, but in a girl who believes in recycling. Freud described the kinds of feelings I had for Amy as loving the same person twice, as a woman and as a man.

Are you okay? After everything you had to . . . are you all right?' Such a simple question--and it has a simple answer. It breaks me open all the same, that she asks that first. Like I come first.

Their mothers did not notice the other moments that made color bloom in their daughters’ cheeks. How Azalea flirted with girls in ruffled dresses. How the thing that first made Estrella fall a little in love with boys or girls was so often their hands, whether they were showing at the edge of a shirt cuff or a lace sleeve. How Gloria blushed when she caught the eye of women in sleek gowns, women who wore their hair in low, smooth chignons and who preferred gray or black or navy. And how she shared her laughter, her true, fluttering laugh, with boys who could more easily be called pretty than handsome.

In retrospect, I didn’t really want to be a slut. What I wanted and needed was a therapist who would consent to fucking me, but I doubted my parents’ insurance would have covered that. I had a lot to figure out for myself and I did that by making poor decisions that summer. If some wise, authoritative adult could simply have explained why I wanted to do these things and then done some with me, I think I would have refrained from most of my sexual misadventures...

I know my father blamed himself, since he is the one who discovered me pawing through his pornography in the basement as a child. Even then, I marveled at the strangeness of the women in the magazines, their hair feathered in a style I struggled to believe was ever in fashion.

Take some time to get over her, to get back to town, and maybe then you can think about girls. Or boys.'' I wrinkled my nose. ''Think I’ll pass on the boys.'' He arched an eyebrow. ''What happened to being bisexual?'' ''I am attracted to men,'' I said. ''And I choose to do nothing about that attraction.

Lately he's consumed by a sense that he is in fact two separate people, and soon he will have to choose which person to be on a full-time basis, and leave the other person behind. He has a life in Carricklea, he has friends. If he went to college in Galway he could stay with the same social group, really, and live the life he has always planned on, getting a good degree, having a nice girlfriend. People would say he had done well for himself. On the other hand, he could go to Trinity like Marianne. Life would be different then. He would start going to dinner parties and having conversations about the Greek bailout. He could fuck some weird-looking girls who turn out to be bisexual. I've read The Golden Notebook, he could tell them. It's true, he has read it. After that he would never come back to Carricklea, he would go somewhere else, London, or Barcelona. People would not necessarily think he had done well; some people might think he had gone very bad, while others would forget about him entirely. What would Lorraine think? She would want him to be happy, and not care what others said. But the old Connell, the one all his friends know, that person would be dead in a way, or worse, buried alive, and screaming under the earth. (26-27)

A sign in the far corner showed a large rainbow flag flying on a black background. Below the flag, the sign said SUPPORT SAFE SPACES FOR GAY, LESBIAN, BISEXUAL AND TRANSGENDER YOUTH. Reading the word 'transgender' sent a shiver down George's spine. She wondered where she could find a safe space like that, and if there would be other girls like her there.

It's a love story about confessional poets and thwarted playwrights, about sad rock stars and tattoo artists who are fighting with their kids, about messy bisexuals and untidy queers and evangelical Christians who make podcasts about art and girl who write beautiful songs in their bedrooms. About old lovers, new lovers, friends. I think it's a story worth telling.

University of Cambridge.68 When compared with non-CAH girls, CAH girls do more rough-and-tumble play, fighting, and physical aggression. Moreover, they prefer “masculine” toys over dolls. As adults they score lower on measures of tenderness and higher in aggressiveness and self-report more aggression and less interest in infants. In addition, CAH women are more likely to be gay or bisexual or have a transgender sexual identity.

In each club we went the dancers had the same moves, none nearly as sensuous as mine on any dance floor, but because they are scantily clad and stripping off the men go nuts and throw money at them. In the largest club and the last we went to I watched one pretty girl with big boobs pull a handful of twenties in one set. I followed her to the ladies-room to learn she only danced a few rounds per night and averaged $250 every night and with my face and body she said I would bank much more.

I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve betrayed her somehow, by dating a boy. It doesn’t make any sense, especially for me—gender is truly not the thing that makes me attracted to someone. Silvie knows that. But this girl vs. boy thing is complicated. The image thing is complicated. And okay, maybe I still feel the need to justify it to myself too. I always assumed I’d just date women. Like, forever. It’s what I know, and I know I like it, and I’m so entrenched in the queer community already … I’ve always been totally okay with boys being nothing more than a possibility.

Mother Mary, help me. You are not bisexual. You're just a confused straight dude.” Spencer looks down at me, and I glance back, meeting his eyes. He narrows them on me, and I grin sheepishly. “He's probably right,” I tell him, reaching up to push my glasses up the bridge of my nose. “You should just leave me alone, and find a nice girl at the party.” “I've had plenty of nice girls,” he says in a way that makes me bristle like a porcupine. “Not to mention naughty ones. I want to try …” He pauses and chokes on his words for a second. “Dating introverted nerd boys instead.

Roxy was bi, and in my opinion she was—and still is—a total badass. Of all my childhood friends, this girl’s my bestie. Even when we were young, I knew deep down that Roxy was going to conquer the world. Her brilliance, coupled with her unwavering commitment to feminism and human rights, made her truly exceptional. And she cared, really cared, about animals and the pressing issues in our world. She wasn’t just one of these people that wore shirts and posted awareness videos online. She dedicated her weekends to protests and taking action. And I loved that she was hooking up with Amren, or whoever this girl was, if she made Roxy happy. I loved her. I loved all of her. Hopefully Amren would see how awesome Roxy was and make her feel special.

He stares at the webpage again. Lately he’s consumed by a sense that he is in fact two separate people, and soon he will have to choose which person to be on a full-time basis, and leave the other person behind. He has a life in Carricklea, he has friends. If he went to college in Galway he could stay with the same social group, really, and live the life he has always planned on, getting a good degree, having a nice girlfriend. People would say he had done well for himself. On the other hand, he could go to Trinity like Marianne. Life would be different then. He would start going to dinner parties and having conversations about the Greek bailout. He could fuck some weird-looking girls who turn out to be bisexual. I’ve read The Golden Notebook, he could tell them. It’s true, he has read it. After that he would never come back to Carricklea, he would go somewhere else, London, or Barcelona. People would not necessarily think he had done well; some people might think he had gone very bad, while others would forget about him entirely. What would Lorraine think? She would want him to be happy, and not care what others said. But the old Connell, the one all his friends know: that person would be dead in a way, or worse, buried alive, and screaming under the earth

The blonde was staring at herself in the mirror, taking on a thoughtful, reflective tone. “Well, it isn’t easy. And his mood changes in an instant. But he collects different girls for different flavors – so one girl doesn’t have to be everybody and everything.” “Oh.” I splashed water on my face and stared for a moment at the mask in the mirror. “You’re just his type, totally. With all the tattoos, you are utterly monstrous, if you don’t mind my saying so. Punk-Goth gone mad.” She swung around to take a close, direct look. “I never saw the point of tattoos, mind you, just fad and fashion. But,” she focused on me, stared, grinned, and rolled her eyes. “My God, darling, you really are perfect! How could you do that to yourself?” She licked her lips. “I think you will be a success. As I said, Sergei loves tattoos. He’s totally into the weird and the monstrous. He adores freaks – and kid, you are about as freakish as they come.” “You think so.” I turned my mask towards her and gave her an extra big smile – I was even more grotesque, Martine told me, when I smiled. “Oh, Gwen, how totally utterly horrible!” she declared and then kissed me to console me for having become a monster. As I grinned at Sergei’s girl, the metal rings in my ears clanked against each other. I could feel the large ring nose, warm, smooth steel, against my curled upper lip. “Yes, you look like a masterpiece of self-loathing.” “It’s called body art,” I said, “It’s a statement.” “A statement?” “Absolutely,” I hiccupped. Everything was fuzzy; I forced myself to focus. “Whatever it is, you’ll be a big success. Sergei collects waifs who suffer from extreme self-hatred. Self-destructive and self-hating girls are one of his hobbies. You can do so much with them.

So how do you define this shit? If you're attracted to a million girls and one guy, are you bisexual? It was a question worth asking.

Doesn't count," Mark told them. "Either of you. Whether you're pansexual like Chance, demisexual like Dez, hetero, homo, bisexual." He shook his head. "It's not a flaw. Sorry, guys.

Heterosexual These are people who are physically, emotionally, and romantically attracted to members of the opposite sex. This means that girls like boys and boys who like girls. Sometimes, people who fit into this category are known as being ‘straight.’ Homosexual Being homosexual means you’re physically, emotionally, and romantically attracted to people who are the same sex as you. This means boys who like boys and girls who like girls. Sometimes, people who fit into this category are known as being ‘gay.’ Bisexual Being bisexual means you are attracted to both the same sex as you and people who are the opposite sex as you. This refers to boys who are attracted to both boys and girls and girls who are attracted to both girls and boys. Asexual Being asexual means you’re not attracted to anyone, nor very interested in sex at all. Of course, being asexual means you still want to have emotional relationships with other people, but you may not want the physical act of sexual intercourse.

Looking back, as a teenager, I understood I was attracted to women. All the other boys were too. We talked about it, we kissed girls – it was behaviour that was normal. Being surrounded by straight men and doing straight things made me believe I was straight. But what of my attraction to men? Turns out, it was there. I just misinterpreted it. Looking back, it is now obvious there were boys at school I was attracted to, but at the time I mistook this for wanting to be like them or wanting to be best friends with them. Really, I just wanted to kiss them.

Genesis shrugged. “Why would it bother me? I’m gay too… well, bisexual I guess. I had a boyfriend for a while, but now I’m dating a girl. She’s a cheerleader at my school. She’s pretty cool.” God nearly had to pick his lip up from the floor. He’s bisexual. How the hell did I miss that? Where the hell was all this coming from and why the hell was Genesis having such an easy conversation with him like they were best friends? “Genesis,

Do you know what bisexual means?” “Of course,” Myron said. “I dated a lot of bisexual women—I’d mention sex, the girl would say, ‘Bye.’ ” Esperanza

bisexual. I don’t need Ethan to pull a Byron,” I said, amused, adjusting my shoes. “I kind of like him faithful and into girls, specifically me.” Aubrey and I had been friends first, paired together in a bio lab as freshmen, and through her, I had met Ethan. It had started out between us as a quiet friendship but had grown into something more as I realized that he was solid. Loyal. Hashtag No Drama. Unlike some people who had

I just never had a friend who cared as you do. My best friend Destiny doesn't understand me, she has a husband and a child. A life I have always wanted, but unfortunately, tables have turned to where I can't find that one guy I could love." Angel felt bad for feeling lust for the straight woman. She should have known better. "Jana, men have no idea what they are missing. You are as beautiful as they come and I would appreciate you more than any man would.

Esperanza’s sexual preference flip-flopped like a politician in a nonelection year. Currently she seemed to be on a man kick, but Myron guessed that was one of the advantages of bisexuality: love everyone. Myron had no problem with it. In high school he had dated almost exclusively bisexual girls—he’d mention sex, the girls would say “bye.” Okay, old joke, but the point remained.

Oh, oh, look out: MySpace is going to put together a march. On the streets! With big banners! Saying, STOP, BAD GOVERNMENT! STOP DOING THAT BAD, BAD THING! Hold me, Mother! We must, as a governing body, stop doing immoral things immediately, or bisexual college girls with nose rings might wave colorful signs at us! Or

If you aren’t ready, you spend your whole life perseverating on that one situation, getting it wrong time and again. I like to think I am a woman who learns her lesson, but the trick is that you can only ever understand your life backwards, but you live it forward.

More than that, the thought rattled uncomfortably in my child brain that I would one day become one of them. My body then was sexless. Though I had seen the curves of adults, I couldn’t fathom the chrysalis that would turn my featureless body into something with heft and gravity, curves and the inclination to use them.

People were dumped all the time and their tears did not swallow dry land.

Eros had not kissed her like he didn’t like girls. Her conclusion was they were bisexual.

No one had turned to us and held out a handful of questions: How many ways are there to have the sex of girl, boy, man, woman? How many ways are there to have gender - from masculine to androgynous to feminine? Is there a connection between the sexualities of lesbian, bisexual, heterosexual, between desire and liberation? No one told us: The path divides, and divides again, in many directions. No one asked: How many ways can the body's sex vary by chromosomes, hormones, genitals? How many ways can gender expression multiply - between home and work, at the computer and when you kiss someone, in your dreams and when you walk down the street? No one asked us: What is your dream of who you want to be?

There are several telltale signs of flawed gender theories. First, we should beware of any gender theory that makes the assumption that there is any one "right" or "natural" way to be gendered or to be sexual. Such theories are typically narcissistic in nature, as they merely reveal their designers' desire to cast themselves on top of the gender hierarchy. Further, if one presumes there is only one "right" or "natural" way to be gendered, then the only way to explain why some people display typical gender and sexual traits while others display exceptional ones is by surmising that one of those two groups is being intentionally led astray somehow. Indeed, this is exactly what the religious right argues when they invent stories about homosexuals who recruit young children via the "gay agenda". Those who claim that we are all born with bisexual, androgynous, or gender-neutral tendencies (only to be molded into heterosexual, masculine men and feminine women via socialization and gender norms) use a similar strategy.

She grinned impishly. “A girl takes a set early; she likes fellows, so how could she possibly like girls? Of course everyone on God’s earth is born bisexual. You take a baby and tickle between its legs, and it couldn’t care less whether the tickling is being done by a guy or a gal. All that a wee child knows is that it damn well feels good.

It’s no more right to be mad at a brat for tagalong than it’s right to be mad at a squirrel for stupid or a devil for death. Chris climbed the Three Trees, and he swung into Sandy Creek, and he kept being there when I wanted to talk to Penny about important stuff like if there was a grunge scene in Portland or, you know, her opinions on the current popularity of bisexuality among teenage girls.

Beauty was something that transcended any human boundary. Bisexuals and homosexuals alike were not exempt from the curse of beautiful things.

Take some time to get over her, to get back to town, and maybe then you can think about girls. Or boys.” I wrinkled my nose. “Think I’ll pass on the boys.” He arched an eyebrow. “What happened to being bisexual?” “I am attracted to men,” I said. “And I choose to do nothing about that attraction.

In high school he had dated almost exclusively bisexual girls—he’d mention sex, the girls would say “bye.

A silly girl out of her depth, thinking she could cut it as some kind of high class escort to two bisexual guys, just because she took it up the ass a few times at college and enjoyed it.

Well, Misty Hoyt,” Sergei grinned. “Why don’t you go up there on the stage and strut your stuff? I’d like to see you pole dance.” “What?” “Pole dance.” “Oh, pole dance,” I mumbled, slurping back saliva. I figured I would hardly be able to stand up, let alone pole dance. I had never pole danced in my whole life though Misty Hoyt had pole danced and had admitted as much at the bar to Andrei, but I hadn’t had time to catch up with all of Misty’s skills. This was definitely a hole in the planning of my backstory – giving me experience, as a pole dancer, I would not be able to fake. I would look utterly grotesque too, tattooed as I was; the vanity of self-consciousness never dies – I shuddered at the thought of me tattooed and pierced among those buff, golden, perfectly beautiful girls. Whatever! I had to do it. “Okay,” I said, “You are the boss, Mister Sergei.” I managed somehow to stand up, wobble, and then make my way, through tables and guests, and get over to the runway, and climb up onto it. It seemed very high. I weaved, tottered this way and that, and then somehow, I pulled myself together. I pole danced with one of the pole dancers – me weaving around one pole, and she around the other. She was the petite, fine-featured golden Vietnamese girl I had noticed before. I’d seen movies of pole dancing, so I managed to fake it; and then I was the tattooed pierced clown, a freakish waif, I didn’t really have to be very good. Then – I’m foggy about actually when – the golden Vietnamese girl and I were ordered to make love on the runway in the bright lights. The strobe lights had stopped. The other pole dancers had disappeared into the crowd. And now, except for the spotlights on the two of us, the whole place was subdued in dull amber light, a sort of nightclub twilight. The music went down, and it was quiet. I thought maybe I was hallucinating the silence. But no, it was real.

I snort a laugh. Thinking I'm not single is the last thing that will keep some of the cretins masquerading as teenage boys at our school from harassing me. It was bad enough when I came out as bisexual last year, but to date a girl? It's nothing but threesome jokes and passive-aggressive slut shaming every time I venture into the hallway.

I wasn't interested in any weird stuff before I started to watch internet porn. Just real girls of my age. Now, I like BBB, BBW, MILF, Tranny, Crossdresser, Fat, Skinny, and Teen. Once, I saw few seconds of a bisexual video (one woman, two guys) and I started to feel that ‘taboo’ feeling, but I didn't give it a chance, did not masturbate to it, and changed the video. So, I don't watch bisexual videos and have no cravings for them. That's because I didn't gave them a chance. But I gave a chance to every kind of porn I got into. If I had given granny porn a chance, I would like it now too.

I’m attracted to girls and guys.  I’m bisexual.