#jon: georgie i have something to tell you....i think i might....be attracted to...men....and other genders possibly

[dickwheelie]

real quick before pride month ends I wanna post this thing about jon being bi that i've kind of been trying to write for months now. I think I've finally managed to articulate how I feel about jon being bi and how I feel about being bi, and this is very much a melding of the two. a lot of this is very specific to me and I can only hope other people find it interesting, and maybe some of you out there will share some of my experiences. anyway please enjoy, and happy pride all <3

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He supposed that there must have been a part of him, deep down somewhere, that had always known. That was how it worked, wasn't it? Something in his DNA, or a hardwired part of his brain; it must have been in there somewhere, all his life.

But of course, in the world he was raised in, he'd never had much of a chance to investigate that sort of thing. Before he went to uni, all he knew was that men liked women, and women liked men, and there was a small group of people somewhere else, off to the side, who did things differently. A strange, exotic group of people that had nothing to do with him.

Uni had been less of a wake up call and more of a gradual rise to consciousness, a slowly dawning awareness that most of the people around him were, in fact, members of that strange group that did things differently. And they were all perfectly ordinary; not exotic at all. Many of them were like him; they went to the same classes, the same pubs, studied the same subjects. He remembered once, in his first year, speaking to a woman he'd sat next to in class for half a semester and being shocked when she mentioned, off-handedly, that she was trans. All he could think for the rest of class was, I had no idea.

He also remembered the first time he'd ever considered that he, himself, might actually be one of these people who did things differently. The thought had never really crossed his mind, despite the fact that he was surrounded by them, and that he felt at home with them, somehow, more than any other group of friends he'd had before. It was shortly after he'd met Georgie, when they were friends but not yet dating, that she was sitting with him in a pub and pointed out for him all the people in the room she thought were cute. She pointed out a couple men, and then a few women, and then someone whose gender was entirely a mystery to him. And then she'd asked him, what about you? And he had looked around the pub, at all the various types and shapes and colors of people, and he'd pointed out a few women, and a couple men, and a handful of people whose genders were a mystery. It was easy, he realized then. He hadn't even had to think about it. It had been there, somewhere deep down, all along.

He didn't tell Georgie right then, but later, when they were together, he'd confess that that was the moment he'd realized. Georgie laughed, kindly enough, and told him she'd been surprised herself. I hadn't pegged you as queer, she'd said, but when you said it I thought, of course he is. I know how to pick 'em.

Which got at one of his problems, post-realization. He wanted people to know, to be seen as part of that group that was once so strange to him, but for the most part, people just . . . couldn't tell. He dressed a certain way, and spoke a certain way, and though he'd never been the most masculine person in the room nobody ever suspected he was anything but a hundred percent straight.

And it . . . hurt, in a strange way. He'd look around at all of his loud and proud friends and classmates, people who dyed their hair and dressed in fantastical outfits and spoke in particular ways, people who you couldn't mistake for anything but who they were, and he would feel somewhat apart from them. Compared to all of their colors, he felt very grey.

He made attempts at flirting with men, but he had never been very good at that sort of thing and none of them seemed to notice. It didn't help that he knew, no matter how good he got at flirting, there was a part of that scene he'd never really belong in. By then he'd discovered that about himself, too, though strangely it was less of a revelation. He supposed some part of him had always known about that, as well.

His attraction to men, he found, was rarer than women, which might have been why he hadn't noticed it for so many years. It wasn't that he disliked men at all, he just found them harder to trust. With men there were certain expectations, of masculinity, of sexuality, of language, even, that Jon couldn't even begin to fathom. It was just easier, with women. He liked the way they spoke, and how they moved their hands as they talked, and all the various ways they'd wear their hair. He wasn't the sort to kiss many people, but when he did get the chance, he liked that their lips were soft and that they often smelled very fragrant.

Of course there were exceptions to all of these things, but in general, he found he was more comfortable with women. He worried, for a time, that perhaps he had internalized some sort of heteronormativity from his youth, that maybe liking men was just a frightening discovery about himself that he was still trying to process.

But liking men didn't frighten him at all. Maybe some men intimidated him, maybe he didn't feel entirely comfortable with some of them, but the idea of liking them was . . . it was nice. It made him feel sort of warm, when he thought of it. He'd daydream sometimes about kissing someone with a beard, or a larger hand holding his own.

He never got the chance to do anything like that in uni. He wouldn't get the chance for many years. Instead he sat quietly off to the side, in his grey little corner, hoping that someone would see him for who he was. It was, he would be the first to admit, a poor way of going about things, but at the time he wasn't sure what else to do. The idea of changing his wardrobe was already too much for him, let alone marching around with a flag in his hands. He wished there was some kind of secret code, known only by those who were like him.

Then he left uni, and suddenly all the colorful people he'd been surrounded by were gone, and the backdrop of his world felt as grey as he was. And that was fine. He was an adult now, he didn't need reassurance or external validation. It was fine.

He was working in research when he met Tim, and suddenly there was color back in his life. Tim was like the people he'd gone to uni with, loud and proud, with the hair and the clothes and everything else. He began to feel that strange longing again. I'm like you, he wanted to tell Tim, have you noticed? Can't you tell? He said nothing, of course. It would be weird to say something, and probably inappropriate.

But then a day came when Tim just . . . asked him. They were getting drinks with a few other coworkers and Tim leaned over and pointed out the bartender. He's cute, right? he'd asked. Are you into guys?

And he hadn't known it could be that easy. But it was. It was the easiest thing in the world to reply, Yeah, I like men. Women, too. And yes, he is sort of cute.

It was easy, but it felt unbelievably warm to say aloud.

It didn't change anything, not overnight. There was still that underlying greyness he felt, that invisibility, when he was on the train or standing by the copier or ordering from a restaurant. But with Tim, and then Sasha, and much, much later, with Martin, he felt noticed, and known.

He never did end up marching around with a flag, or changing his wardrobe. Instead he carried it with him constantly, in the feeling in his chest when he saw a pin on someone's bag and in the way Martin looked at him and in the way his coworkers laughed when he made dry little jokes about liking only two things.

Which made sense, didn't it? After all it had always been there, deep down. It had always been his. And it wasn't going anywhere.

[statementends]

Ace enby jon stuff with him double loving purple? Saw you just mention nonbinary jon, so!!!! If you want to!

One of Jon’s earliest memories was a hot summer day sitting in grass and mixing paints. And over and over he would bring blue and red together and make purple. Sometimes more blue than red, sometimes more red than blue. Sometimes he would dab in white or black or another colour to see how it changed the hue, but over and over again shades of purple.

It had always felt like a secret colour that had explanations to questions he hadn’t discovered yet.

When Georgie took him to the pride parade he helped her carefully paint little pink purple and blue flags on her face. He was there to support her. She explained that although they were in a relationship it didn’t change that she was attracted to more than the one gender that was supposed to be allowed. 

“Did you ever like other men Jon?” 

Jon thought back to the people that had made him feel like Georgie did. People he wanted to spend time with. Who made his heart flutter from their company.  

“Oh.” He blinked. “Yes.” 

In the archives Tim gave out pins. He was very open about his streak of pink purple and blue. He often reminded Jon of Georgie which endeared him. 

“Would you like one, Jon?” 

Tim stuck out the bucket and there were more than just bisexual flags. There were rainbows of course, but other ones as well that Jon didn’t know the meaning of. One particularly drew him. Black, and grey, and white, and purple. 

“The ace flag,” Tim said when Jon picked it up.

“I don’t know what it is,” Jon explained. 

“Oh!” And Tim was always happy to share. He explained each of the flags that Jon didn’t know. 

Jon ended up taking the bi flag (For Georgie he told himself although he wasn’t sure that was accurate) and the ace flag. Something resonated. And it did have his purple. His purple with answers. He never wore them, but they were tucked in his desk drawer that was later joined by his own rib. Parts of him. 

The yellow, white, purple, and black he had found by himself. Well... Martin had helped.

“I was thinking that maybe... I’m not just... a man.” He looked over to his partner to gauge his reaction. Martin was nodding along with him. 

“I think I might be... non-binary?” Jon finished like it was a question. Martin’s own gender non-conformity had opened Jon up to the idea that it wasn’t one or the other. He googled it. Thought about it. It was like finding the answer to a long nagging question. 

“Thank you for telling me Jon.” Martin said when Jon was finished blurting out his own reasoning and questions and a very long story about finger painting as a child. 

Martin painted each of the flags: bi, ace, and non-binary on Jon’s nails to celebrate. 

Each with it’s own dot of purple.