I thought I was bisexual – I’m actually heteroflexible

Scrolling through the sexuality options on the dating app, I searched for the term that best described me.

At that time in my life, I considered myself to be bisexual.

While I’d never dated a man, I did find them attractive and liked to kiss them. Though in general I liked women much better: not just as partners, but as people.

Still, being bi was a label I understood, so I thought it was the only term that could fit. And then I saw the app – Feeld’s – option to choose ‘heteroflexible’.

Defined as someone who is predominantly heterosexual, but is sometimes sexually attracted to (or curious about exploring) members of the same sex, something inside me clicked.

This sexuality mirrored exactly how I felt and my experiences to date. I finally felt seen.

Throughout school, I never considered myself to be anything other than straight. I had only ever dated girls.

I grew up in Seattle – known for its progressive politics – but kids were still teased for being gay. I definitely participated in the teasing, and even if I did have attraction to the same sex, I repressed it so as not to appear weak or effeminate.

But then, during my first two years of university, I became part of what one might call a very ‘incestual’ friend group where we, semi-regularly, experimented with each other sexually, and endured all of the drama that came with that. 

It was through this group I met, Gabriel*. We instantly became friends – we were both people of colour in a predominantly white school, so gravitated to each other.

At the end of our second year, Gabriel and I worked at a restaurant over the summer break and began to date the same woman, Coraline*, who was a server there. We had to be always open with how we felt.

Eventually, we decided to have a threesome and the experience changed me. This is when I realised I was interested in the same sex. 

But, although the passion was there, Gabriel and I didn’t touch each other – I assume because of my internalised homophobia.

In the time after the threesome with Gabriel and Coraline, we all spoke about it casually, and there wasn’t ever any awkwardness.

The following year, Gabriel invited me to watch a Pride parade with him and it was there that I learned he was bisexual.

His coming out made me reflect on my own sexuality. In some ways, I was a bit jealous of him having figured out his orientation before me.

So when I saw him comfortable, it inspired me to delve deeper into my past emotions. I finally began to try to accept myself.

Gabriel and I remained friends through our time at university and, after graduation, we moved in together for a year. We became inseparable and had another threesome with another person we used to date. That was when I began to develop feelings for him.

I realised then I could no longer hold onto any shred of confidence that I was simply straight. I told myself that I was bisexual.

Still, I never said anything until the day I moved out. I confessed my feelings for him but unfortunately they weren’t returned. 

And while Gabriel and I haven’t spoken about it since, we have remained friends – he lives further away from me now, but we call each other every couple of months for a catch up. 

I didn’t regret taking that chance though, because in that moment, I was able to truly feel like myself, and be comfortable with my sexuality perhaps for the first time ever.

Then, in February 2020, right before the pandemic, I met Opal* on Tinder.

She is bisexual, beautiful, very queer, whip smart, and hilarious, and we have been together for an incredible four years.

From the beginning, we have been non-monogamous and found what that meant for both of us. This was the first time I was in a truly non-monogamous relationship and there was some trial and error.

We discussed early on if and how we would be intimate with other people – but we said we must talk to each other about it first, and be open to communicate our feelings.

But, during our first summer together, I went on a camping trip with Gabriel and our mutual ex, and had a threesome. I hadn’t told Opal it was going to happen. She was heartbroken and ended things with me.

Two months later, we got back together after I left her a letter telling her how much I missed her and how sorry I was, and we gave it another try. With one big rule: open communication.

We’ve been together ever since and our fifth anniversary will be in February.

Opal and I encourage each other to date whomever we want outside of our relationship, regardless of gender and have always felt comfortable telling each other about our feelings for other people.

We’d already been dating for a while when I downloaded the Feeld app and saw the ‘heteroflexible’ label – it seemed to fit for me. 

So far, I haven’t had many conversations about the term, except with other women, but they don’t seem too taken aback by the label at all. 

I am happy to go by heteroflexible if anyone were to ask, but the honest truth is that as a cis and straight presenting man dating a woman, I do not often get questions about my sexuality.

Mine and Opal’s philosophy is that, in dating, if there is something that we can’t do or don’t like to do, then it should be okay to seek other partners who do. For example, Opal really likes the female body and I simply don’t have the body parts to satisfy that need, so to remedy this, she has a girlfriend who is able to fit the niches that I am not.

However we always come back to each other to do the traditional partner things like give support, discuss emotions, and so on.

We are incredibly happy together, and I am confident that if I found a boy who could fit my standard – effeminate, kind, honest, basically anything that isn’t toxically masculine – she would be nothing but supportive of how I feel.

In my current relationship, I am very satisfied in the way that we work together and are open about our feelings. I know that what we have is an incredibly rare and precious thing, and I also know it would not be possible if I had not fully embraced my sexuality when I did.

My only wish is that I had learned who I truly was sooner. 

I know that the term heteroflexible works for me, but it’s not for everyone. If someone were to feel the same way that I do and they don’t want to be called heteroflexible, then let them be called whatever they want

Sexual fluidity is indeed a spectrum, and it would exist whether or not we had the language for it at all. I just know that this term works for me, so that’s what I stick with.

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing James.Besanvalle@metro.co.uk. 

Share your views in the comments below.

MORE: I’m 23 and my boyfriend is 54 — my parents asked a psychologist for help

MORE: I texted a random phone number as a joke in 1998 and met my wife

MORE: I had a hair transplant a month ago – this is what it was like