Whitebird

I trace my coming out to myself as a bisexual to the day I realized that I was in love with Whitebird.

Oh, sure, I'd made love to women before, but I'd also taken some psychology classes. Thus, I handily dismissed these infrequent and guilty encounters as 'normal adolescent exploration.' Obviously I wasn't gay, I told myself, since I liked fucking men. What can I say? I was young.

But Whitebird, well, that was different. *She* was different.

I was an undergraduate math and computer geek, stuffed to the gills with theory, but with little practical experience. So I decided, one summer, to do an internship.

My boss was a Cal Tech PhD, prototypical computer geek. Sweet but socially hopeless. He was quite friendly and supportive. And, in this sexist field, truly unprejudiced. He was also a mediaevalist - a member of the Society for Creative Anachronism. We discussed the SCA a bit over coffee at work - it sounded a bit like live D&D to me - fun, but not compelling.

Then, one day he introduced me to his wife, who had come to pick him up after work. That was Whitebird.

What was my first impression? A lady. Soft gentle face, silky brown hair, huge brown eyes, nice curvy body. The softest skin - Whitebird has skin with the texture of silk. But I didn't know that then. What impressed me that first meeting was the way she carried herself. A real lady.

And then she smiled, and I was lost. Not a smile, really, more of a playful, wicked grin - subtle but definite, and, somehow, integrated into that ladylike persona.

I joined the SCA.

All spring and summer I spent as much time as I could with her. She was the dance mistress of the local group, and I had two left feet. Since there were far more women than men who wanted to learn to dance, *naturally* she would dance with me a lot.

Understand - this was a married woman. Me? I was still a teenager (I went to college young), and definitely clueless. Her husband was ex-military, security clearance and all.

Surely she didn't mean anything by it when she stared into my eyes while we danced, or kissed me at the appropriate time during Mistress Caecelia's Pavanne.

Summer passed with me drowning in my love's big brown eyes, flinching when she would touch my bare skin helping me make a dress, giving and receiving a thousand 'innocous' backrubs. I would blush and stammer like a fool around her. All she had to do was grin, and I would melt.

I, child that I was, actually thought I was keeping all this from her. Far from admit to her that I was in love, I couldn't even admit to myself that I loved her. After all - she couldn't mean any of this - she was married for christsakes. And I was a fool.

What changed? We went to Pennsic War together: Whitebird, her husband, myself, my current lover (male), and several other friends. One friend of hers, in particular, who I knew only as an acquiantance before the War. I'd met Dancer before, and knew she was good friends with Whitebird, but had never spend any in depth time with her.

There we were, all camping together. I'd see Whitebird wander around the camp in her chemise, and just ache. She was so beautiful. I know most folk would think her quietly pretty, but in that time, she shaped how I view women. To this day, I am attracted to women who remind me of Whitebird.

Halfway through the War, I was walking back to camp with Dancer. We'd gotten to know each other fairly well in several days of enforced contact, and were becoming friends. We were walking arm in arm when, out of the blue, she turn to me and asked 'Are you of Whitebird's persuasion, or are you just fooling around?'

Revelation. I stood there in shock. Dancer looked at my face and said 'Ooops. I've let the cat out of the bag, haven't I?'

I don't remember how I got back to camp - whether I walked or ran. Personally, I think I just floated. The first person I saw when I got back to camp was Whitebird. I was so happy I thought I would spontaneously combust. I was smiling so hard it hurt. She saw my face, grinned that grin, and said 'Pooh. Dancer told you, didn't she?'

And then she was kissing me. Her mouth tasted so sweet, and her hair smelled like... life. I wanted her so badly I was afraid I'd break her in two. But I always was protective of Whitebird, even years later when I knew her strength - understood her fundamental toughness.

I remember very little of that War other than Whitebird. Her feel, her smell, the sun shining through her hair. Learning that she was anorgasmic, and holding her while she cried. Her, smiling up at me from between my legs, commenting on my unusually subtle smell and taste.

I will love Whitebird until the day I die. Probably beyond.

Now? I see her rarely. She lives a zillion miles from here. It hurts and it gives me great joy to be with her. She loves me, but never with such passion as I love her. I love her so much, I can even respect that fact. But at least I know now who and what I am. That was Whitebird's gift to me.