Lesbian Request Denied ✔

About "types" and attraction

Did a dude have long hair? Especially long blond hair, falling a little above the shoulder? Then I was into him, alright. Definitely wanted to sleep with him, possibly get married and have cute babies.

Unless the dude was a real-life person. Actual boys in my life with long hair were just never as sexy as the ones on TV. "Oh, it sucks so much to be a girl who's into flower power boys in this day and age!" I can still remember saying that, complaining about all the boring dudes in this century.

I used to collect pictures of actors or singers I was attracted to, marking them as MSME (Most Sexy Men Ever), as if I wanted to say: "Look, I'm super straight, I collect pictures of sexy men!". Girl, nobody cared!

Browsing those files now, I can tell you that in my twenty-two-year-long 'straight' life, I managed to find around ten/fifteen men I was (mildly) attracted to. And they all had long hair. Or long hair and a beard, and very manly hands, because hands, am I right? Yes, the thing I was most attracted to in a man was his hair (if it was long) and his manly hands. I'm a writer, and most of the leading men in my romance stories had long hair just reaching their shoulders. I tried to create a dude with short hair once, as none of my female friends seemed to understand what was sexy about a long-haired dude — but it just felt so wrong. As a teen, I liked the Love of my Life best when he wore his hair long, and my attraction would plummet as soon as he'd shave his head.

The men I thought I was attracted to were usually the embodiment of manliness: muscular, bearded, closed-off, alcohol-slurping, chain-smoking, gun or sword-slinging, lady-protecting men. Because that was what a man was supposed to be, so that was what I liked, obviously. And six-packs, right?

(No, absolutely not, I have never been able to fool myself into thinking I love men with ripped stomachs. What is the deal with that? Now, if we're talking boobs, my opinions are very different...)

Or, they were feminine in a way, with long hair and big eyes with long lashes, sensitive and emotional — like Kurt Cobain, my teenage crush. I still love you, Kurt, just not like that.

As a newly-proclaimed lesbian, I analyzed those pics again and concluded that with some of the men, I wasn't really into them: I was into their female counterparts. Did I like Jack Sparrow? Nah, just Elizabeth Swann. Was I into Tony DiNozzo on NCIS? Nope, just Ziva David. Pierce Brosnan in Mamma Mia? Ha, nope, just Meryl Streep.

After going on a date with a sweet guy I'd been exchanging letters with for weeks and telling him on the spot I didn't want to see him again (nicely, though), one of my long-time friends accused me of having high standards. "Erin, what you want is a fantasy. Why didn't you just kiss him?" Because I really did not want to? He was a nice guy, but that's where it ended for me. He just didn't have it. He was too shy and too sensitive. Of course, the other man I went on a date with, a very manly man, was too arrogant and dominant. And ugh, no, I didn't want to kiss him either. There was always a reason why a man wasn't good enough. And if he was good enough, he was unattainable.

Oh boy. At one point in my life, I concluded I must be fucked up, because "unattainable men" seemed to be my type. I liked older men. Married men. Teachers. Any man that was unavailable in some way. The Love of my Life in my teenage years was my history teacher. I was just too mature, I told myself. When I'd be older, the men would be wiser and less boy-like, and I would find them attractive. Well, I reached my twenties and discovered I didn't like older men any better than boys. They were still annoying. I wonder if I needed to make my attraction forbidden to make it exciting — because without the forbidden element, well, men were just boring.

Women, on the other hand...

This world is filled with beautiful, sexy, smart women, and I wouldn't be able to tell you any characteristic a woman must have for me to be attracted to her. There are just so many different qualities I can like in a woman, so many different physical attributes. They don't even need to have long hair. Since discovering I was bi and then lesbian, which was respectively 1,5 year and a few months ago, I've been keeping track of the actresses I'm attracted to in a file called WIL (Women I Love) and later MBWE (Most Beautiful Women Ever). Currently, it is filled with 31 women. Women are just better, I've always said.

As a "bi" girl, I was far more certain about my attraction to women. I could walk the streets and point out tons of girls I'd like to kiss. I could not say the same about men. I have a memory of someone telling me I was so lucky to live in a city with all these cute guys and me going like: "Where? I haven't seen them?" Again, I was accused of being picky or having high standards. Women's bodies are just more aesthetically pleasing than men's, right? I remember saying this as a teen, with a straight face, thinking it was an uncontested fact. "Almost all women are more attractive or prettier than most men". It's ridiculous that I've said this stuff without realizing what it might mean. I was sure everyone must be attracted to women in some way; how could you not be?

Also, have you seen men's legs? And men's butts? Chests? Just... no.

One time, I saw the Love of my Teenage Life shirtless, and I had to force myself to be attracted to his chest. It was pale and flat and had a bit of hair. I remember thinking not everyone could be a supermodel — yet, somehow, most shirtless girls are hella attractive to me, and I can't understand I didn't see that before. I went deep-diving into my old stories to search for gay signs, and I found a description of the Love of my Life from back when I was seventeen.

Only when she got him for world history, she began to notice how cute he was. She admitted it: he was no supermodel. He did not have a six-pack, or the features of a god, or a particularly sexy clothing style. He did not have pearly white teeth, or a golden skin, or blonde, shiny curls. Then again, why would she need all of that in a man, if he was alive and walking? John was kind, funny, with big, blue eyes and mousy brown hair that he messed up every time he had to think something through - in those cases he always ran his hand through it. He wore jeans, shirts and sweaters. And he was not ugly. He was okay. And apparently, that was good enough for her.

I'm not kidding you. This was how I described the guy I had been pining after for years, the one I was definitely going to marry and have babies with. Basically, I said: "He was a guy. And he was alive. Which was cute."

A few years back, I met a cute gay girl at a party, and I was super awkward around her. I was so aware of the fact she was gay all the time: I kept thinking I was a homophobe to be this obsessed with it. Let me tell you, I never give a shit about being naked in front of others. One of my guy friends once asked me if I could maybe stop walking around in my underwear with him there, and I absolutely did not understand what the big deal was. Ha. Sorry, sweetie. With her there, though, I was suddenly awkward about it and pretended to have lost my bra so I could search for it in the other room and get dressed there. I'm sorry if that hurt you, Hannah. It was just me being a confused, closeted lesbian. Hannah was going to Pride with her friends the day after the party — I remember sitting together at the bus stop and having the urge to ask her if I could come with her.

But why the hell would I want to go to Pride? I wasn't even gay.

Who knows? Maybe after Covid, when my bisexual friend Emma and I go to Pride together, I might run into Hannah again, and then I'll tell her sorry for pretending to have misplaced my bra.