Sexually Amphibious

Almost everyone has questioned their sexuality before- it’s a natural part of coming to terms with oneself. Modesty Sanchez goes through her own internal questioning when she acts on previously ignored sexual urges at a college party.

I opened my eyes to another Sunday morning, the sun exceptionally bright as it reached across the entirety of my room, and a dull headache giving me a vague reminder of my bad decisions. But it isn’t until a sudden rush of conflicting emotions rolls through me that I fully remember the events from last night’s party. Flashes of dancing, a multicolour lamp, laughter, and someone else’s tongue fill my head. Oh, that’s right; I kissed a girl last night. It felt good, exactly as I thought it would. Even sweeter, actually. All those months of pondering my urges toward women answered by one brief make out session in the corner of a house party. It had been preluded by an hour of flirting, both of us drifting in and out of the other’s vicinity as we moved through the dance floor. It was the most fun I’d had with someone in a long time, but it left me with even more questions than before.


I had never really allowed myself to completely delve into this other part of my sexuality. I knew I liked guys- while I hadn’t enjoyed every sexual encounter I’d had with a guy (come on, who has?), the few I did enjoy, I had enjoyed a lot. Yet here I was, thinking about the girl from last night. Of course I’d had thoughts of other girls in the past- that girl from seventh grade, my female friend I kissed on a dare junior year, the breathlessness I felt at seeing a girl on the train all dressed up- but I’d never acted on them, simply choosing to go with security, with the norm, with strict heterosexuality. But here I was, frozen in bed, moved only by the ferocity of my internal feelings.

I stared up at the bed above me, empty for now, but later would be occupied by my roommate, who would be freshly returned from visiting her boyfriend. Would she care if I liked girls? Do I even like girls? Am I bisexual? Sexually ambiguous? Or am I just another person exploring the fluidity of sexuality? (Did that last question make me a hippie on top of all this?)

I knew that these questions were frivolous- my friends wouldn’t care if I liked girls. And in fact, I was pretty sure I did. Of all the conflicting thoughts and emotions occupying my head, regret was not to be found. Instead, what I felt most prevalently was the longing to go back to that corner of the house party. It wasn’t even that I particularly liked the girl- it was more that I liked giving into my natural urges, I liked accepting the part of me I’d tried to stifle for most of my adolescence, and I liked that, while my back was against that wall, there was the thought that all those questions about who I am were about to be silenced.

Of course, they were just replaced by new questions: How do I identify? What am I going to tell people? etc. etc. But all I knew in that moment, as I lay in bed really regretting the use of wine as a chaser the night before, was that I could figure it out later. I was lucky enough to be surrounded by a community of loving, supportive friends and family who would be there as I navigated this formerly obscure part of myself, and would be there when (if) I finally figured it out. I then proceeded to roll out of bed and puke.