My colleague who almost died called me this morning. I told her about the couple that I met last night at the potluck. I’m definitely intrigued by the wife and had a conversation with her husband–truthfully, I mostly listened to him and validated his perspective and asked a few questions wherein he’d talk more at length. My two friends and another woman who I know from our discussion group were there too. While I was talking about that with my colleague, I had this epiphany.

My first girlfriend lived across the street from me 1987 – 1994. Those last two years I lived out of state where I had completed my undergraduate degrees, but she didn’t move out of her Dad’s house until 1994 when she got pregnant with her daughter. Her daughter was adopted. Her son, who she had a few years afterward with the same guy, was raised by her Dad and her Dad’s new wife.

I don’t think that my first girlfriend ever slept with any other girls than me. I guess she’d be what you call now heteroflexible. She dated my cousin who is only 2-years-older than me, and that didn’t bother me. In fact, I’m not usually attracted to lesbians who are stereotypically so. It’s often called “100-footers.” That term came from an episode of “The L-word.” These women are usually quite butch, heavy set, wear boots and have edgy short haircuts. They remind me of men. I’m not sexually attracted to men, so I don’t hit on these folks.

I hadn’t realized that in the early 1990s that I was also in a polyamorous relationship. That makes three total for my lifetime. I think that I’m having a second coming out. I started out solo poly when I was 15.