Bisexuality Saved My Life … and My Orgasm
Straight men broke dating — bisexuality let me survive it
If I’d been born exclusively straight, I’d probably be locked in my apartment right now, feeding my seventh cat while explaining to my mother why I’m “taking a dating sabbatical.” Thanks to the rise of Incel culture — and the spectacular collapse of male emotional literacy — heterosexual partnership has all the appeal of a colonoscopy performed by an art student.
Luckily, I’m bisexual.
The straight dating scene in 2025 isn’t just bad — it’s a dumpster fire floating down a river of gasoline. While experts drone on about our “loneliness epidemic,” what they’re not saying is that many women would rather French kiss a cactus than endure another date with a man who thinks Jordan Peterson is “just asking the hard questions.” Dating apps promise connection, but deliver a marketplace where emotional intelligence is considered optional equipment.
Let’s be brutally honest: Incel ideology has escaped the basement. What started as sad Reddit forums has metastasized into mainstream dating culture. It’s not just bad taste or bad luck. It’s a cultural rot that’s curdled male desire itself. The signs appear everywhere: the guy who calls you “too opinionated” fifteen minutes into coffee; the Hinge profile listing “traditional values” (translation: “please have the autonomy of a houseplant”); the sweet texter who reveals he was negotiating, not courting, the moment you say “no.”
The modern straight man appears trapped in an identity crisis of his own creation: desperately wanting companionship while actively resenting the independent woman he’s trying to date. It’s like watching someone loudly complain about hunger while slapping sandwiches out of their own hand. The problem isn’t just individual bad apples — it’s an orchard fertilized with toxic masculinity and watered with algorithm-driven outrage.
Growing up queer in an evangelical pressure cooker taught me early how some cultures dress control up as “love.” I just never thought I’d see that same script playing out on Hinge profiles and dinner dates. The control mechanisms, the demands for feminine compliance — it’s all painfully familiar. Except now it’s not just happening in church; it’s happening on Bumble. The world doesn’t just want a “trad wife” on Sundays anymore; it wants her on dating apps, at dinner parties, and especially in the bedroom.
This is where my bisexuality functions less like a sexual orientation and more like an emergency exit in a burning theater. Dating women offered an alternative universe — one where saying “I’m not in the mood” doesn’t trigger a constitutional crisis. Queer dating spaces have their own hot messes, certainly. U-Hauling after three dates isn’t exactly emotional stability’s poster child. But there’s something breathtakingly different about connecting with someone who doesn’t view your independence as a personal attack on their identity.
To be crystal clear: queer relationships aren’t magical fairylands where everyone communicates perfectly while rescuing shelter animals together. We’ve got our own brands of toxic chaos. But there’s a baseline absence of “I bought dinner. Therefore, you owe me access to your body” energy that feels revolutionary after existing in straight dating culture. Dating women allowed me to discover what relationships feel like when they’re not structured as elaborate power struggles disguised as romance.
If sexuality were a next-day delivery option, every straight woman I know would’ve changed her settings years ago. But reality isn’t that kind. Straight dating isn’t failing because women are too demanding. It’s failing because men think bare-minimum decency deserves a standing ovation.
When connection stops feeling possible, women build their own safety nets: solitude, sisterhood, sex toys.
Your vibrator doesn’t argue, doesn’t flinch, and doesn’t treat your orgasm like a favor. Honestly, it’s outperforming half the dating pool.
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