I can group under one of those letters, but the subject of the group bores me. I don’t know if it’s because I never felt I needed a group umbrella under which I could live a validated life. I’ve faced discrimination many times as a woman in the professional workplace, but never was it related to being an “L” (or a “G”; I’m confused about the letters in this group and never know if I’m saying the letters in the right order or if I’ve left off a letter…).
When I first was coupled as an “L”, it was with a “B”, who was mostly an “L”, but was ending an extramarital affair with a man. This had me wrapped around the axle. I was not surprised about my proclivity toward being and “L” given that I only had heartbreakingly strong crushes on women. I wasn’t even thinking sex, it was the companionship, sense of humor, shared experiences and safety I felt with them. And later, yes, the sex, too.
My first relationship was longterm and it existed before I even had a vocabulary to call it what it was or how it should be identified. It ended sadly, with both of us to blame. Toward the end of this, I had a short “You’re Cheatin’ Heart” type of an affair that I spent more time trying to get out of than I was in it. I consider it a bad “gap” year in “L” couplehood.
Then, I met my now wife; the best coupling. All of the longings of my lifelong crushes wrapped up in a spunky, sassy, hilarious, comforting and quite handsome “L” with blue eyes in which I could swim for days. Getting married to her was the best day of my life. Many “Ls” were in attendance, as well as non-“Ls”.
On balance I think the labels and alphabet soups are irrelevant. The only “L” that means anything to me is love.
Prose in the Pandemic 