While my girlfriend was in the bathroom at the bagel place, the counter guy asked me if I lived with her. “No, we don’t live together,” I said. Just then, she reappeared and I went down to the restroom. When I came back up, I said buenos noches to the guy. Then she asked him, “You want a date?” She was sneering, not smiling. “What was that all about?” I asked her once we were out on the street. She wouldn’t give me a clear answer through her oblique jabs at the underpaid immigrant who made us bagel sandwiches at two in the morning.

“He was into you,” she said. Her insinuations triggered my line of defense: “It was a friendly conversation … I was practicing my Spanish!” All I said was por favor when I asked him to wrap up the rest of my sandwich. Then he asked me, “De donde es usted?” and we continued in his language: What are you doing out here? Do you live in Manhattan? Where did you learn Spanish? Does that sound like a flirtatious dialogue? OK, he was cute, but he was working and we were on our way out! What did she think I was going to do? Take him to go along with the sandwich?

Of course, I knew what it was about before I asked her. He was Mexican. Since my Mexican lover left, everything Latin reminds me of him, which is about 75 percent of New York. I’ve been an ethical slut—keeping all partners informed of the others—but I never told her about my true feelings for him. She doesn’t want to know. Yet I know she knows, or at least she guesses. And her awareness of me being in love with a man has the power to turn an innocent exchange with a stranger into a stab in her heart.

What can I do? I can tell her I love her, that my feelings for other lovers don’t change my feelings toward her. But these expressions don’t change the fact that I’m bisexual. Or am I bisensual? A friend of mine calls herself bisensual because she doesn’t need women like she needs men. But she wants women, romantically and sexually. So do I. However, the general definition of bisensuality is romantic attraction to both men and women, without the sexual desire (so says the Urban Dictionary). Asexual people may accurately call themselves bisensual. But the term seems to resonate more with sexually active women who know they’re not straight, but feel inauthentic identifying as bisexual or even hetero-flexible. It’s common for women to openly admire the beauty of other women, regardless of sexual preference. And it’s common, trendy even, for straight girls to make out with each other in public places. Although many “straight” women genuinely crave kisses and cuddles with their female friends, they have no desire to lick their pussies. Yet.

I have no problem acknowledging that my attraction to women is sexual as well as romantic. My erotic dreams and fantasies involving females are replete with raw sexual desire that burns at both ends of the Sapphic spectrum: girlish and androgynous. This is certainly beyond romantic. And yet every fantasy and dream involves character, personality, or sentiment—something that probes further than a finger up a quim. It’s not just about T&A. It’s about tenderness and affection.

To me, sex with women feels more equal (though not necessarily better) than sex with men. The mutuality of parts defies penetration expectation and orgasmic order. It doesn’t matter who comes first. It doesn’t even matter if one doesn’t come at all. Nor does it seem to matter if one is horny and the other isn’t. She’d rather have you admit you’re not in the mood than “perform” half-heartedly. As long as you’re into cuddling, she’ll be satisfied. There’s less mystery in relating to women, which is precisely why I crave men. What’s so mysterious about women if you have a vagina? The only female mystery of which I’m aware is my own in the eyes of men. Now I know what my ex-boyfriends felt like when my moods seemed to erupt from my uterus and vomit on their bewildered brains.

Maybe it was mostly PMS that twisted the counter guy into an emotional threat, but I didn’t see his co-workers laughing at her when I disappeared into the restroom. If I had been in her shoes, I probably would’ve been annoyed. Despite this understanding, I’m still a glutton for mystery and male/female erotic dynamics. Frankly, I don’t think I could subsist exclusively on romantic relationships with women because they’re supplements to my sensual diet of men. Then again, I used to think it wasn’t possible for me to fall in love with a woman. And I did.