SEXUAL FLUIDITY
Understanding Women’s
Love and Desire
LISA M. DIAMOND
Harvard University Press
Contents
1 Will the Real Lesbians Please Stand Up? 1
2 Gender Differences in Same-Sex Sexuality 17
3 Sexual Fluidity in Action 54
4 Nonexclusive Attractions and Behaviors 91
5 Change in Sexual Attractions 137
6 Attractions to “the Person, Not the Gender” 171
7 How Does Fluidity Work? 202
8 Implications of Female Sexual Fluidity 235
References 263
Notes 309
Acknowledgments 325
Index 327
SEXUAL FLUIDITY
C H A P T E R 1
Will the Real Lesbians
Please Stand Up?
In 1997, the actress Anne Heche began a widely publicized romantic
relationship with the openly lesbian comedian Ellen DeGeneres
after having had no prior same-sex attractions or relationships.
The relationship with DeGeneres ended after two years, and Heche
went on to marry a man. The actress Cynthia Nixon of the HBO
series Sex and the City developed a serious relationship with a
woman in 2004 after ending a fifteen-year relationship with a man.
Julie Cypher left a heterosexual marriage for the musician Melissa
Etheridge in 1988. After twelve years together, the pair separated
and Cypher—like Heche—has returned to heterosexual relationships.
In other cases, longtime lesbians have unexpectedly initiated
relationships with men, sometimes after decades of exclusively
same-sex ties (examples include the feminist folk singer Holly Near,
the activist and writer Jan Clausen, and Deborah Sundahl, a founding
editor of the lesbian magazine On Our Backs). What’s going
on? Are these women confused? Were they just going through a
phase before, or are they in one now?
Consider, too, the growing number of popular terms that have
been coined to describe women with changing patterns of samesex
and other-sex behavior, such as “heteroflexibility,” “has-bian,”
and “LUG—lesbian until graduation.”1 This new lexicon has been
matched by increasing media depictions of women who pursue
sexual contact that runs counter to their avowed sexual orientation,
ranging from the much-ballyhooed kiss between Madonna
and Britney Spears at the MTV Video Music Awards to films such
as Kissing Jessica Stein and Chasing Amy, which depicts a lesbian
becoming involved with a man, contrary to the more widespread
depictions of heterosexual women becoming involved in same-sex
relationships.
The reason such cases are so perplexing is that they flatly contradict
prevailing assumptions about sexual orientation. These assumptions
hold that an individual’s sexual predisposition for the
same sex or the other sex is an early-developing and stable trait that
has a consistent effect on that person’s attractions, fantasies, and
romantic feelings over the lifespan. What few people realize, however,
is that these assumptions are based primarily on men’s experiences
because most research on sexual orientation has been
conducted on men.2 Although this model of sexual orientation describes
men fairly accurately, it does not always apply so well to
women.
Historically, women who deviated from this model by reporting
shifts in their sexuality over time—heterosexual women falling in
love with female friends, lesbian women periodically dating men—
were presumed few in number and exceptional in nature. In other
words, they were just inconvenient noise cluttering up the real data
on sexual orientation. Yet as research on female sexuality has increased
over the years, these “exceptional” cases now appear to be
more common than previously thought. In short, the current conventional
wisdom about the nature and development of sexual orientation
provides an incomplete picture of women’s experiences.
Researchers now openly acknowledge that despite significant advances
in the science of sexuality over the past twenty years, “female
sexual orientation is, for the time being, poorly understood.”3
This situation is now changing. As scientists have begun investigating
female and male sexual orientation as distinct phenomena
2 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
instead of two sides of the same coin, consensus is gradually building
on why women appear so different from men. Specifically, we
have found that one of the fundamental, defining features of female
sexual orientation is its fluidity. We are now on the brink of a revolutionary
new understanding of female sexuality that has profound
scientific and social implications.
A Brief History of Fluidity
Sexual fluidity, quite simply, means situation-dependent flexibility
in women’s sexual responsiveness. This flexibility makes it possible
for some women to experience desires for either men or women under
certain circumstances, regardless of their overall sexual orientation.
In other words, though women—like men—appear to be born
with distinct sexual orientations, these orientations do not provide
the last word on their sexual attractions and experiences. Instead,
women of all orientations may experience variation in their erotic
and affectional feelings as they encounter different situations, relationships,
and life stages. This is why a woman like Anne Heche can
suddenly find herself falling madly in love with Ellen DeGeneres after
an exclusively heterosexual past, and why a longtime lesbian
can experience her very first other-sex attractions in her late forties.
The notion of sexual fluidity is not a new one. Rather, evidence
for this phenomenon has circulated in the scientific literature for
decades, though it has tended to be “submerged in the data rather
than explicitly theorized.”4 Some of the earliest discussions of flexible,
changeable patterns of sexuality came from sex researchers
who kept finding perplexing cases of same-sex sexuality “in some
unexpected places and among some apparently heterosexual people.”
5 For example, in 1977 the psychologists Erich Goode and
Lynn Haber published a study analyzing “experimental” same-sex
behavior pursued by college women who identified themselves as
heterosexual.6 They concluded that though some of these women
Will the Real Lesbians Please Stand Up? • 3
appeared to be headed toward lesbianism, others simply seemed to
be adventurous and open-minded about their sexuality. Similarly,
in the late 1970s the sociologists Philip Blumstein and Pepper
Schwartz conducted a groundbreaking study of more than 150 men
and women with bisexual patterns of sexual behavior. They found
that though some of their respondents had experienced same-sex
desires for many years, others appeared to have undergone major
changes in their sexual attractions.7 They concluded that early
childhood influences on sexuality (whatever they may be) were not
immutable, and that most individuals were unaware of their own
capacity for change in sexuality over time.
In interviews with fourteen nonheterosexual women, the psychologist
Joan Sophie found that many of the women experienced
unexpected transitions in their self-identification and sexual expression
over time. Sophie concluded that conventional identity models,
with their emphasis on fixed selves, needed to be revised to account
for such changes.8 Fritz Klein, Barry Sepekoff, and Timothy Wolf
eventually took up the call and developed a new approach to measuring
sexual orientation (the Klein Sexual Orientation Grid, or
KSOG), which for the first time considered the element of time.9 Individuals
rated their current, past, and “ideal” patterns of attraction,
behavior, and identity, making explicit the existence of prior
and perhaps future change. However, this time-sensitive approach
did not take hold, and researchers generally continued assessing
only current attractions, identities, and behaviors.
Around the same time, other academic fields began giving greater
consideration to sexual fluidity. In 1984 the anthropologist Gilbert
Herdt published a now-famous account of ritualized homosexuality
among adolescent boys in Melanesia.10 What was notable about
this practice was its developmental specificity. Unmarried men pursued
only same-sex encounters during their adolescent years out of
a belief that this practice was necessary for them to reach full maturity
as men. Once they were adults, same-sex activity ceased (with a
4 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
few exceptions); they then married and pursued only other-sex activity.
Herdt’s account of such an abrupt developmental transition
from same-sex to other-sex sexuality showed that our Western notion
of fixed sexual “orientations” was culturally specific.We might
view homosexuality as an inborn predisposition, but other cultures
expected and even arranged for drastic changes in same-sex and
other-sex desires and practices over the life course.
The anthropologist Evelyn Blackwood made the same observation
in her extensive review of female same-sex sexuality across
non-Western cultures, underscoring the limitations of the Western
notion of fixed sexual orientations. These perspectives were consistent
with a broad class of social constructionist models of sexuality
(discussed in more detail in the next chapter), which posited
that sexual identities did not exist as fixed types but were created
and given meaning through social interactions and cultural ideologies.
11 Most of the scholars advocating this perspective were not
specifically interested in sexual fluidity, but they highlighted the evidence
for it in order to challenge conventional, biologically determinist
views of sexuality.
The poet Adrienne Rich was one of the first people to discuss
fluidity’s specific relevance to female sexuality, and she took one of
the broadest and most explicitly political perspectives on the issue.
12 Rich argued that women throughout history and across a variety
of different cultures had always managed to form intimate,
emotionally primary ties to other women, despite the persistent
efforts of male-dominated societies to rigidly channel them into
heterosexual reproduction. Rich argued that all intense bonds between
women, even if they were not explicitly sexual, occupied a
“lesbian continuum” that ranged from purely emotional relationships
to sexual liaisons. This model suggested that regardless of
whether a woman currently experienced clear-cut same-sex desires,
she maintained a capacity for diverse forms of same-sex intimacy
and eroticism.
Will the Real Lesbians Please Stand Up? • 5
In the 1980s, the empirical evidence for sexual fluidity and its
disproportionate prevalence in women increased. For example, in
their study of gay, lesbian, bisexual, and heterosexual people living
in San Francisco in the 1980s, Martin Weinberg, Colin Williams,
and Douglas Pryor found that many of their participants—but especially
the women—recalled experiencing both minor and major
changes over time in their sexual attractions. This finding led the researchers
to conclude that “sexual preference is not always a fixed
phenomenon.” Although gay, lesbian, and heterosexual people reported
smaller and less frequent changes than did bisexuals, Weinberg
and his colleagues attributed this difference to the anchoring
effects of claiming a gay, lesbian, or heterosexual identity, since
such identities have “definable boundaries that can restrict the ability
or desire to explore change.”13 They came to the conclusion that
some degree of fluidity was a general property of sexuality, a view
that already had a steady group of adherents at that time, and
which continues to be influential.14 Although Weinberg, Williams,
and Pryor observed more sizable and frequent changes among their
female respondents, they did not advance an explanation for this
difference, except to speculate that it might have to do with the
women’s involvement with lesbian and feminist groups, which often
encouraged women to question their sexual identities.
The psychologist Carla Golden provided some of the most compelling
discussions to date of diversity and variability in female sexuality
in her interview study of heterosexual, bisexual, and lesbian
women in their twenties, thirties, and forties.15 She specifically analyzed
the contexts that elicited sexual transitions, for example, political
organizations and women’s studies classes. Golden argued
against the notion that such experiences simply prompted women
to “discover” long-suppressed same-sex orientations. Rather, she
argued that in some cases, same-sex sexuality “may have started as
an idea but it did not remain purely in the cognitive realm.” In
other words, women were capable of real change occurring in real
time.16
6 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
As for the causes underlying such changes, the psychologists Celia
Kitzinger and Sue Wilkinson emphasized sociocultural influences
and opportunities. They interviewed women who undertook abrupt
transitions from heterosexuality to lesbianism in mid- to late adulthood,
and concluded that such women “are no more driven by biology
or subconscious urges than they are when, for instance, they
change jobs; such choices could be viewed as influenced by a mixture
of personal reevaluation, practical necessity, political values,
chance, and opportunity.”17 The sociologist Paula Rust also emphasized
complex interactions between personal and cultural factors
that led some women to adopt different sexual identities and different
practices at different times of life, depending on their circumstances.
18
The role of intimate emotional relationships as a catalyst for
change in women’s sexuality was also gaining attention. The psychologist
Rebecca Shuster, for example, noted that “often women
fall in love with someone of an unexpected gender, and the power
of that relationship pulls them to re-evaluate their identity.” She
argued that such experiences “uncover a range of sexual and emotional
attraction and closeness of infinite variety” and pose an inevitable
challenge to the notion of fixed sexual identities.19 The
psychologist Vivian Cass made similar observations, noting that
same-sex emotional ties were particularly influential for women: “It
is not uncommon to see a woman who in mid-life ‘falls in love’ with
another woman for the first time in her life. This experience may
not necessarily include sexual responses, although the quality of the
emotional experience is similar to other love relationships she may
have had with men. Where a sexual component does become present,
this may occur after a period of time or after the emotional responses
have been reciprocated.”20 Other researchers had begun to
wrestle with these apparent gender differences. The sociologist Vera
Whisman conducted a comparison of lesbians’ and gay men’s personal
understandings of the causes of their same-sex sexuality. She
found that men were significantly more likely to view their sexual-
Will the Real Lesbians Please Stand Up? • 7
ity as fixed and innate, whereas women more often acknowledged a
role for specific relationships, choice, change, and circumstance.21
Current Perspectives
The psychologist Roy Baumeister was the first researcher to synthesize
these accumulating strands of evidence into a comprehensive
argument for female sexual variability.22 Several years ago he
published a review of the extensive psychological, historical, and
sociological evidence suggesting that women’s sexuality is more
“plastic” than men’s. His notion of “plasticity” includes not just
same-sex and other-sex sexuality but also overall sex drive, desired
partner characteristics, preferred sexual practices, and consistency
between attitudes and behaviors. His work provides critical support
for the notion of a robust gender difference in women’s capacity
for sexual variability. Note that I use the term “sexual fluidity”
to distinguish flexibility in same-sex and other-sex sexuality, which
is the topic of this book, from the broader forms of variability in
sexual attitudes and practices discussed by Baumeister.
New research has provided even more support for the notion of
gender differences. One study (described in detail in Chapter 4)
found that both lesbian and heterosexual women became physically
aroused by visual images of both men and women. In contrast,
men’s responses fell in line with their self-described sexual orientations.
23 That said, genital responses should not be considered more
accurate measures of desire than individuals’ own subjective experiences
(in fact, interpretation of genital arousal in such studies has
long been controversial). But such findings certainly dovetail with
the extensive evidence suggesting a pervasive gender difference in
erotic variability and flexibility.
Not all sex researchers agree with this view. Some have argued
strongly against the notion of a gender difference in fluidity, maintaining
that women’s apparently greater sexual variability might be
due to social and cultural factors.24 Blumstein and Schwartz, for ex-
8 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
ample, echoing a widely held view, argued that “there are few absolute
differences between male and female sexuality. What differences
we observed are primarily the result of the different social
organization of women’s and men’s lives in various cultural contexts.”
25 Other researchers have similarly argued that the appearance
of a distinctively female capacity for fluidity might simply be
an artifact of female sexual socialization. For example, the social
and cultural forces that have long controlled and suppressed female
sexuality26 may have left women with blunted awareness of their
own sexual feelings and identities and few opportunities to express
and experiment with those feelings.27 In this case, women’s sexual
variability might simply be a manifestation of sexual repression; apparent
changes in sexual feelings and behaviors might simply stem
from changes in women’s awareness of their “true” sexual nature.
Cultural assumptions and expectations about female versus male
sexuality certainly contribute to gender differences in fluidity. However,
such differences are not wholly cultural; nor is women’s variability
largely an artifact of denial and sexual repression. Although
this is certainly the case for some women, it is unlikely to account for
the full range of findings reviewed above. It is also inconsistent with
many first-person accounts from women undergoing sexual transformation,
including the accounts of the young women in this book.28
Something more is going on. The hypothesis that female sexuality
is fundamentally fluid provides the most robust, comprehensive,
and scientifically supported explanation for the research data. Yet
this notion has not yet entered popular consciousness. Despite the
increased visibility of incidents like the Madonna-Britney kiss, most
people continue to view such cases as exceptional, and to hold
fairly rigid views about the nature of sexuality and sexual orientation
more generally. I hope to change this thinking.
This book is based on findings from my longitudinal research study
on female sexuality. For the past ten years, I have been following a
Will the Real Lesbians Please Stand Up? • 9
group of nearly one hundred young women whom I have interviewed
every two years, as they have moved through different patterns
of attraction, behavior, and sexual identification from adolescence
to adulthood.29 My study is the first to follow young women’s
sexual transitions over an extended period of time, and thus it provides
an unprecedented glimpse into how women experience the
changes brought about by sexual fluidity while such changes are
under way, and not as they are sketchily remembered years later.
These women’s experiences, recounted in their own words throughout
this book, provide powerful testimony to the potentially transforming
effect of sexual fluidity on women’s lives.
I am well aware that the notion of sexual fluidity is potentially
controversial and susceptible to politically motivated distortions.30
For that reason, I would like to address some of the most common
misconceptions at the outset:
Does fluidity mean that all women are bisexual? No. Just as
women have different sexual orientations, they have different degrees
of sexual fluidity. Some women will experience relatively stable
patterns of love and desire throughout their lives, while others
will not. Currently, we simply do not know how many women fall
into each group because a number of different factors determine
whether a woman’s capacity for sexual fluidity will actually manifest
itself.
Does fluidity mean that there is no such thing as sexual orientation?
No. Fluidity can be thought of as an additional component of
a woman’s sexuality that operates in concert with sexual orientation
to influence how her attractions, fantasies, behaviors, and affections
are experienced and expressed over the life course. Fluidity
implies not that women’s desires are endlessly variable but that
some women are capable of a wider variety of erotic feelings and
experiences than would be predicted on the basis of their selfdescribed
sexual orientation alone.
Does sexual fluidity mean that sexual orientation can be
10 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
changed? No. It simply means that a woman’s sexual orientation
is not the only factor determining her attractions. A predominantly
heterosexual woman might, at some point in time, become attracted
to a woman, just as a predominantly lesbian woman might
at some point become attracted to a man. Despite these experiences,
the women’s overall orientation remains the same.
Does fluidity mean that sexual orientation is a matter of choice?
No. Even when women undergo significant shifts in their patterns
of erotic response, they typically report that such changes are unexpected
and beyond their control. In some cases they actively resist
these changes, to no avail. This finding is consistent with the extensive
evidence (reviewed in Chapter 8) showing that efforts to
change sexual orientation through “reparative therapy” simply do
not work.31
Does fluidity mean that sexual orientation is due to “nurture” instead
of “nature”? No. In fact, sexual fluidity sheds no light on this
question, since it deals with the expression of same-sex and othersex
attractions rather than with their causes. Questions of causation
typically receive the most debate and attention, but questions
about expression are equally important. Nonetheless, fluidity raises
important questions about how we think about biological versus
cultural influences on sexuality, and it highlights the need for more
integrative models.
Couldn’t all individuals be characterized as fluid? Perhaps, though
women appear to be more fluid than men. Certainly, few researchers
would argue that sexual orientation is the sole factor determining
each and every instance of sexual desire and behavior. Human
sexual responses have been shown to be somewhat flexible, and
thus any individual should be capable of experiencing desires that
run counter to his or her overall sexual orientation.32 For example,
many men from different cultures and times have been shown to periodically
pursue sexual behaviors that are atypical of their overall
pattern of desire.33 But in general, the degree of fluidity in women
Will the Real Lesbians Please Stand Up? • 11
appears substantially greater than in men, though we do not yet
have enough data to fully evaluate this possibility. More rigorous
investigation of fluidity in male sexuality is beyond the scope of this
book, but it has begun to receive some attention and will likely be a
fascinating area of future research.34
Key Terms and Concepts
In this book I use the term “sexual orientation” to mean a consistent,
enduring pattern of sexual desire for individuals of the same
sex, the other sex, or both sexes, regardless of whether this pattern
of desire is manifested in sexual behavior. A woman can have a lesbian
orientation but never have a same-sex relationship, just as she
can have a heterosexual orientation and still pursue multiple samesex
affairs. Most scientists consider desire, not behavior, the marker
of sexual orientation. “Sexual identity” refers to a culturally organized
conception of the self, usually “lesbian/gay,” “bisexual,” or
“heterosexual.” As with sexual orientation, we cannot presume
that these identities correspond to particular patterns of behavior.
Nor can we presume that they correspond to particular patterns of
desire. Because sexual identities represent self-concepts, they depend
on individuals’ own notions about the most important aspects
of their sexual selves. These notions, as we will see, can vary quite a
bit from individual to individual. Moreover, some people—particularly
women—reject conventional lesbian/gay/bisexual identity labels
in favor of alternative labels such as “queer,” “questioning,” or
“pansexual.” Others reject all identity labels in order to make room
for a broad range of sexual possibilities, as well as to acknowledge
the fact that all labels are somewhat arbitrary.35 I devote substantial
attention to this issue later in the book, as it is directly related to the
phenomenon of fluidity.
Global terms like “homosexuality” or “lesbianism” imply that
same-sex desires, behaviors, and identities cluster together as part
12 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
of an overall syndrome. But again, this is not always true. For this
reason I find such terms to be potentially misleading. Instead, I use
the term “same-sex sexuality” to refer to all experiences of samesex
desire, romantic affection, fantasy, or behavior. A person might
experience one and only one form of same-sex sexuality (like samesex
attractions), or perhaps several (such as same-sex attraction and
a lesbian identity), but I do not assume that any of these experiences
necessarily cluster together. Correspondingly, I use the term “othersex
sexuality” to refer to all aspects of other-sex desire, romantic affection,
fantasy, or behavior (readers will be more familiar with the
phrase “opposite-sex,” but researchers have increasingly gravitated
toward “other-sex” because it is more scientifically accurate. The
two sexes are certainly different from each other, but they are by no
means opposites).
Terms like “lesbian” and “bisexual” are also problematic. Do
they refer to an individual’s sexual orientation, sexual identity, or
sexual behavior? To avoid confusion, I always pair these terms with
the words “orientation” and “identity.” Hence a “lesbian sexual
orientation” can be taken to mean a pattern of near-exclusive desire
for the same sex, even if a woman does not call herself a lesbian.
A “lesbian sexual identity,” in contrast, refers to a woman’s selfdescription
and self-presentation. Thus she might have a bisexual
orientation but a lesbian identity (or vice versa).
When referring to desires and behavior, I use the descriptors
“same-sex” and “other-sex.” I refer to attractions and behaviors
pursued with both sexes (either concurrently or sequentially) as
“nonexclusive.” If being 100 percent attracted to one sex means
that you are exclusively attracted, then all other patterns of attraction
are nonexclusive. I use this term rather than “bisexual,” which
has a wide range of different definitions across cultures and communities,
making it potentially confusing. Of course, “nonexclusive”
comes with its own problems. Because the term “exclusive” is
often used to describe monogamous sexual relationships, “non-
Will the Real Lesbians Please Stand Up? • 13
exclusivity” could be misinterpreted as sexual infidelity. This is not
what I mean! I use “nonexclusive” simply to refer to the capacity
to experience both same-sex and other-sex desires and behaviors,
though not necessarily at the same point in time. Someone with
nonexclusive attractions might have experienced only other-sex attractions
up until adolescence, and then only same-sex attractions
thereafter. Someone else might experience desires for both women
and men concurrently. All that matters is that for that person, both
types of desire are possible, in contrast to someone who has always
been exclusively attracted to one sex or the other.
Finally, when speaking in the most general sense about individuals
who have any experience with same-sex sexuality, at the level of
orientation, desire, behavior, or identity, I use the term “sexualminority.”
This term captures the fact that regardless of a person’s
identity or orientation, any experience with same-sex sexuality—
from fantasy to unrequited love to sexual behavior—violates societal
norms prescribing exclusive heterosexuality, thereby making
that person a sexual minority.
Why It Matters
The writer Minnie Bruce Pratt, reflecting on the confusion she experienced
when she first discovered her capacity for same-sex sexuality,
recalled being aware that such an abrupt change seemed impossible
and incongruous:
I didn’t feel “different,” but was I? (From whom?) Had I changed?
(From what?) Was I heterosexual in adolescence only to become lesbian
in my late twenties? Was I lesbian always but coerced into heterosexuality?
Was I a less authentic lesbian than my friends who had
“always known” that they were sexually and affectionally attracted
to other women? What kind of woman was a lesbian woman?36
Pratt perfectly captures the conundrum created by sexual fluidity.
Because our culture believes that all individuals are, unequivocally,
14 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
one sexual type or the other (such that a lesbian must have “always
known” of her essential lesbian nature), women with more complex
and variable patterns of sexual experience are inherently suspect.
No wonder Pratt felt “inauthentic” when comparing herself
with the cultural prototype of lesbianism as uniformly stable, earlydeveloping,
and exclusive.
Yet it is this rigid prototype that is inauthentic, not experiences
like Pratt’s. Greater appreciation and awareness of sexual fluidity
are critical not only for building more accurate models of sexuality
but also for communicating to women—young and old, lesbian and
heterosexual, married and single—that flexible, changing patterns
of sexual response are normal rather than deviant, and that they
can occur in any woman at any stage of life. This information needs
to be integrated into the numerous educational and therapeutic
programs aimed at providing support and acceptance for individuals
coming to grips with their same-sex desires. If such programs
cling to rigid models of sexual orientation that inadequately represent
the enormous variability in female sexuality, women may end
up feeling doubly deviant, their experiences reflecting neither mainstream
societal expectations nor perceived norms of “typical” gay
experience.We must refashion science and public outreach to better
represent women’s experiences.
But this brings its own challenges. Almost every time I present my
research publicly, someone raises their hand and asks, “Isn’t the
idea of fluidity dangerous? Couldn’t it feed right into antigay arguments
that sexual orientation can—and should—be changed?” Let
me be clear: fluidity does not, in fact, imply that sexual orientation
can be intentionally changed. But I know from experience that
some people will nonetheless manipulate and misuse the concept of
fluidity, despite my best efforts to debunk such distortions. Yet the
solution to this danger is not to brush fluidity under the rug and
stick to outdated, overly simplistic models of sexuality. Such an
approach offers no real protection against political distortion: the
truth is that any scientific data on sexual orientation can be—and
Will the Real Lesbians Please Stand Up? • 15
pretty much have been—appropriated to advance particular worldviews.
If scientists discovered tomorrow that same-sex sexuality
was 100 percent genetically determined, some people would say,
“Aha, this proves that homosexuality is normal, natural, and deserving
of social acceptance and full legal status!” Others would
say, “Aha, this proves that homosexuality is a dangerous genetic
disorder that can be screened for, corrected, and eliminated!” In
short, there are no “safe” scientific findings—all models of sexuality
are dangerous in the present political climate. The only way to
guard against the misuse of scientific findings is to present them as
accurately and completely as possible, making explicit the conclusions
that they do and do not support. This is my goal in this book.
The well-being of all women will be improved through a more
accurate, comprehensive understanding of female sexuality in all its
diverse and fluid manifestations. In short, women like Anne Heche,
Cynthia Nixon, Julie Cypher, and Holly Near are not “noise in the
data” on sexual orientation. Rather, they are the data with something
important to tell us about the nature of female sexuality. Any
model of female sexual orientation that fails to account for their experiences
is no model at all.
16 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
C H A P T E R 2
Gender Differences in
Same-Sex Sexuality
Scientific inquiry into the nature and development of same-sex sexuality
continues to be one of the most fascinating areas of sexuality
research.1 It is also one of the most controversial. Popular discussions
in newspapers, books, magazines, and television shows typically
frame the issue around the classic “nature versus nurture”
question; that is, is sexual orientation preordained at birth, or is it
acquired through social-environmental influences (take your pick:
poor family relationships, social permissiveness, exposure to samesex
sexuality in the media)? Is it fixed, or can it change? Is it beyond
an individual’s control, or is it consciously chosen?
These questions are compelling, but they vastly oversimplify the
issue. Sexual thought, behavior, and development are governed by a
range of interactions between biological and social processes that
can be exceedingly hard to disentangle.2 Neither sensationalized
news stories nor activists making political arguments about the social,
moral, or legal status of sexual minorities do justice to this
complexity.3
Gender is another complicated facet of the nature-nurture debate.
Arguments about whether “homosexuals” are born versus
made do not usually distinguish between women and men, implicitly
presuming that the same cause operates for both sexes. Yet this
does not appear to be the case. Although scientists continue to dis-
agree about various biological influences on same-sex sexuality,
they do agree on one thing: the developmental pathways that operate
for men are probably different from those that operate for
women.
The psychologist Brian Mustanski and his colleagues went so far
as to proclaim that “the male model of sexual orientation has been
rejected in women” and that “the challenge of defining sexual orientation
in women and understanding how biological influences
function in women remains to be adequately addressed.”4 Janet
Hyde, a psychologist known for her pioneering investigations of
gender differences, concluded in her review of genetic research on
sexual orientation that female same-sex sexuality was “undertheorized”
and probably required an altogether separate explanatory
model. The same conclusion has been reached by numerous
other researchers considering the basic nature of same-sex
sexuality.5
Why are we so far behind in understanding women? Part of the
problem is a lack of research. For example, one recent review found
that since 1990, roughly twice as many articles have appeared on
male sexual orientation as on female sexual orientation.6 It is interesting
to note, however, that early studies investigating biological
causes of sexual orientation included both men and women. Over
time, it appears, researchers shifted their emphasis to men because
the findings for men were so much more consistent and promising
than the findings for both sexes considered together.
In this chapter I review the most up-to-date research on the
potential origins and development of same-sex sexuality, with an
emphasis on gender differences. In the past, discussions of sexual
fluidity have been interpreted as “antibiological,” as if same-sex
sexuality had to be either biological and fixed or nonbiological and
fluid. This is a false choice. Fluidity does not necessarily disprove
biological influences on sexual orientation; rather, it helps to explain
why the biological data regarding women are so inconsistent.
18 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
To provide some context for the discussion, I begin by reviewing
some of the key philosophical and methodological issues involved
in studying the causes and development of sexual orientation: Why
are we so preoccupied with these questions? What is at stake? How
exactly are such studies conducted, and which individuals do or do
not get included? I then review the two most promising areas of biological
research on sexual orientation—behavioral genetics and
prenatal neuroendocrinology—highlighting the evidence for gender
differences. Finally, I conclude by addressing gender differences in
psychological and behavioral aspects of the development of samesex
sexuality.
Readers will notice that all the research findings I review in this
chapter are mixed. This area of study has yielded no cut-and-dried
answers. My hope is that readers end this chapter, not with a clear
sense of exactly what sexual orientation is, what causes it, and how
it normally develops, but with an awareness that these processes are
fundamentally different for women than for men.
Origin Stories: Essentialism versus Social Constructionism
One reason that questions about the origin of sexual orientation are
so controversial is that they highlight larger philosophical divides
between people with an essentialist perspective on sexuality and
those with a social constructionist perspective. Briefly, essentialists
view sexual orientation (and sexuality more generally) as based in
internal, intrinsic, biological processes. Social constructionists, in
contrast, maintain that sexuality and sexual orientation are culturally
constructed, meaning that they are determined by social norms,
culture, and systemic political forces. For essentialists, sexual orientation
is a part of basic human nature. For social constructionists,
the very concept of human nature is suspect; they would maintain
that so far as some individuals might feel that they possess an essential
sexual orientation, it is only because our culture leads us to in-
Gender Differences in Same-Sex Sexuality • 19
terpret sexual thoughts and feelings in this way.7 After all, in many
other cultures and historical eras, same-sex feelings and behaviors
have been interpreted not as signs of an essential same-sex orientation
but as fully compatible with heterosexual marriage and
identification.8 The very notion of “homosexual” as a category of
personhood is a recent phenomenon.9 Essentialists acknowledge
such cultural variation, but they do not think it implies that sexual
orientation is a wholly cultural construct. They would simply argue
that though same-sex sexual orientations have always existed, different
cultures develop vastly different interpretations of them and
different rules governing their expression.10
Advocates of these two different perspectives (which I admittedly
present in extreme form for the sake of clarity) use different types of
theories to explain human sexuality. Essentialists typically emphasize
evolutionary theory, arguing that various features of human
sexuality and gender differences are “coded in our genes” because
over the course of human history they promoted survival and reproduction.
For example, consider gender differences in sex drive.
Social scientific studies have found that on average, women in our
culture and many others report less frequent and less intense desires
for sexual activity than do men.11 Some evolutionary theorists view
this disparity as the legacy of evolved gender differences in reproductive
strategies. They argue that because women need to invest so
much time and energy in every baby they bear (nine months of gestation
followed by several years of intensive care and feeding), they
ought to be fairly reticent and “choosy” about sexual activity, mating
only with high-quality men who have lots of resources to invest
in the resulting child.12 In theory, a low sex drive would facilitate
this reticence. This is not the only possible evolutionary model of
female sexuality, however; a number of recent theories have shown
that promiscuous sexual behavior might actually have proven adaptive
for females under certain circumstances.13 The main point is
that despite their differences, all evolutionary models view human
sexuality as governed by evolved, biologically based “programs.”
20 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
Social constructionists, by contrast, emphasize cultural factors.
They maintain that despite the biological architecture of human
sexual organs and functions, men’s and women’s experiences of
their sexuality are constituted entirely by social and cultural influences,
ranging from large-scale cultural ideologies to specific socialization
practices. Feminist social constructionists have called
particular attention to the political context of our experiences of
sexuality.14 Specifically, they argue that social forces collectively
define and reproduce certain notions of female sexuality—for example,
the idea that females are “naturally” sexually passive or uninterested
in sex—which serve the interests of male authority and
power. Over the course of history, societies have consistently constrained
and controlled female sexuality by restricting not only
women’s sexual behaviors but also their thoughts and feelings.15
Thus when interpreting the finding that women report less interest
in sex than men, we must take into account the powerful cultural
norms telling women that a lack of interest in sex is normal and
natural. Girls learn from an early age that only “slutty” women
want a lot of sex, whereas “good” girls are supposed to serve as
gatekeepers for men’s uncontrollable desires. Such messages inevitably
shape girls’ understanding of their sexuality and lead them to
discount their own experiences of sexual arousal.16 This might be
why adult women are often totally unaware of changes in their own
physiological states of sexual arousal, and why low sexual desire is
the single most common form of sexual dysfunction in American
women.17 Girls internalize cultural and social factors, which then
shape their experiences of sexuality at a deep level.
Taken alone, neither essentialism nor social constructionism adequately
explains women’s sexuality. Pure essentialism, for example,
is blind to the powerful sociocultural forces that mold individuals’—
especially women’s—sexual desires over the lifespan. There is
simply no way to identify, measure, or even conceptualize sexual
desires outside of their situational and sociocultural contexts.
Hence, investigations of love and sexuality must always consider
Gender Differences in Same-Sex Sexuality • 21
the multiple social and cultural factors that make some types of affection
and eroticism acceptable for women, whereas other types
are suppressed, punished, or never even imagined.18
But pure social constructionism is also deeply problematic. As a
feminist, I champion its emphasis on the social, political, and cultural
factors that structure women’s experiences. Yet as a psychologist
interested in the links between mind and body, I am frustrated
by the fact that pure social constructionism discounts the role of
bodies and biological processes in sexual experience and rejects the
very concept of sexual orientation.19 Pure social constructionism
fails to consider how sociocultural factors interact with real bodies
in real time to generate different forms of erotic experience.
In the end I count myself among the growing number of social
scientists who view sexual feelings and experiences as simultaneously
embedded in both physical-biological and sociocultural
contexts that require integrated biosocial research strategies.20 This
is the perspective I take on sexual fluidity. This view fits squarely
within those of feminists like the philosopher Elizabeth Grosz, who
has argued that though biological processes provide the raw material
of human sexuality, these building blocks are altogether powerless
to shape human experience until cultural meaning systems
organize them into conscious, intelligible, embodied drives and desires.
21 This integrative perspective helps us avoid misinterpreting
fluidity as the antithesis of biologically based approaches to sexual
orientation just because it emphasizes culturally and situationally
influenced changes.
The notion that evolutionary theories and culturally based theories
of human sexuality must be viewed as opposing perspectives reflects
faulty assumptions about how both biology and culture operate
to shape variability in sexuality. Most notably, such a view
presumes that anything biological or essential is fixed over time,
whereas anything culturally, environmentally, or situationally influenced
is fundamentally variable. This is not the case. The psycholo-
22 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
gist John Money used the example of language to demonstrate the
misguided nature of such assumptions.22 You were not born with
your native language, and nothing in your “nature” predisposed
you to learn English rather than Swahili. Nor did you “choose”
English over Swahili. Rather, language was determined by your native
culture. Yet our brains are innately predisposed to assimilate a
native language, whatever that language turns out to be. Once acquired,
it cannot be unacquired—it is as firmly fixed as if we were
born with it. Some people have contended that certain environmental
influences on sexuality operate in similar ways. As Anne Fausto-
Sterling has argued, “bodily experiences are brought into being by
our development in particular cultures and historical periods. . . .
As we grow and develop, we literally, not just ‘discursively’ (that is,
through language and cultural practices), construct our bodies, incorporating
experience into our very flesh.”23
Research on alcohol use provides a good example of how traits
can be biologically influenced and flexible. There is solid evidence
that some individuals have a genetic predisposition to excessive
alcohol use.24 Yet genetic influences on complex behaviors are
rarely rigid and deterministic, and so situational and environmental
variation can modify the expression of such a trait despite its essential
components. The psychologists Brian Mustanski and J. Michael
Bailey called attention to one notable study showing that the
heritability of adolescent alcohol use (that is, the degree to which
variation in this behavior was due to genetic versus environmental
factors) actually changed as a function of the amount of migration
and social mobility in a community.25 The investigators found
that communities with more social mobility and less social control
tended to foster the expression of youths’ genetic predispositions to
alcohol use. In contrast, communities with more stable social structures
and more social control over adolescent behavior had the
effect of constraining the expression of young people’s genetic predispositions
to drinking. As a result, adolescent drinking was less
Gender Differences in Same-Sex Sexuality • 23
“genetically determined” in one community than in another. This
finding clearly shows not only that genetically influenced traits
show significant variation in expression but that the very balance of
genetic versus environmental influences is also variable.
How do these examples relate to the case of sexual fluidity? As I
argued earlier, sexual fluidity can be seen as a component of female
sexuality that operates in concert with sexual orientation to shape
women’s sexual desires. Thus the notion of female sexual fluidity
suggests not that women possess no generalized sexual predispositions
but that these predispositions will prove less of a constraint
on their desires and behaviors than is the case for men. As a result,
it might be impossible to determine whether, in a particular instance,
a woman’s desires or behaviors are more attributable to
dispositional or situational factors.
Because sexual fluidity should strengthen situationally influenced
pathways to female same-sex sexuality, it should correspondingly
dilute—but not completely cancel out—the overall evidence for biological
contributions to female sexuality. The evidence for biological
contributions to male same-sex sexuality, in contrast, should be
stronger and more consistent. This effect is, in fact, supported by
the biological data. Yet before I review this evidence, let us consider
how such research is conducted and which individuals are included.
Who Gets Studied?
Scientific research is a fundamentally social practice that relies on
the same cultural preconceptions that govern general society. This
has been particularly problematic with respect to research on sexual
orientation. Historically, sexual orientation has been considered
a phenomenon with only two forms: exclusive same-sex sexuality
(traditionally called “homosexuality”) and exclusive other-sex sexuality
(“heterosexuality”). This rigid dichotomy has its roots in the
historical view of homosexuality as a form of pathology with an as-
24 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
sociated cluster of signs and symptoms.26 Quite simply, homosexuality
was an illness that you either had or did not have.
Alfred Kinsey famously challenged this dichotomy. He argued
that “the world is not to be divided into sheep and goats,” meaning
that distinctions between “homosexuals” and “heterosexuals” were
matters of degree rather than of kind.27 In other words, you could
be somewhat attracted to the same sex without being 100 percent
“homosexual.” To represent such possibilities, he developed a tool
known as the Kinsey Scale. Individuals would rate their sexual behavior
on a scale ranging from 0 (representing exclusive other-sex
behavior) to 6 (representing exclusive same-sex behavior). In later
applications of the scale, individuals rated different aspects of their
sexuality, typically their attractions, fantasies, behavior, and identity.
Thus instead of simply proclaiming someone either homosexual
or heterosexual, researchers could instead characterize him or
her as a “0” for identity, a “1” for behavior, and a “3” for both fantasy
and attraction.
The Kinsey Scale provides a more nuanced picture of the complexity
of sexual experience than did simple either-or characterizations.
Yet such complexity is difficult to accommodate at the
level of basic empirical research. If the ratings differ, which one is
most important? To avoid having to resolve such questions, many
researchers average participants’ ratings on different dimensions,
which washes away the very complexity that Kinsey sought to reveal.
28 Moreover, many researchers turn their participants’ Kinsey
ratings back into rigid categories by designating certain ratings
“heterosexual” (0–1), “bisexual” (2–4), or “lesbian/gay” (5–6).29
Clearly, the “sheep versus goat” model of sexuality is alive and
kicking.
This tendency toward rigid categorization is also reflected in the
way researchers recruit participants for studies of sexual orientation.
Even today, researchers recruit samples of “homosexual” or
gay/lesbian/bisexual individuals on the basis of self-identification;
Gender Differences in Same-Sex Sexuality • 25
in other words, they look for individuals who call themselves gay/
lesbian/bisexual and are willing to take part in a research study on
that basis. Yet because individuals (including the social scientists
themselves) have diverse definitions of “lesbian,” “gay,” “homosexual,”
and “sexual orientation,” different studies end up with
very different subject populations. One study might include men
who openly identify themselves as gay, another might also include
bisexuals, another might include men who have sex with men,
regardless of identity, another might include men with same-sex
attractions, regardless of sexual behavior, and so on.30 This ambiguity
makes it extremely difficult to interpret and compare research
findings.
For example, consider the following cases: a teenage girl falls
in love with her female best friend but does not experience any
other same-sex attractions; a thirty-year-old man had sex with
other males throughout his adolescent years but currently desires
only women; a woman experiences her first same-sex attractions at
age forty. None of these cases fits the conventional prototype of a
lesbian or gay person, that is, someone who has been consistently
and exclusively drawn to the same sex from early adolescence onward.
Should a researcher studying sexual orientation include these
ambiguous cases? What if some of them are not “really” gay or
lesbian? Wouldn’t including them introduce significant error into
the study? If they are included, how should they be categorized?
Does any experience of same-sex sexuality automatically land you
in the “homosexual” category, or must your interest in same-sex
partners be long-standing? Alternatively, does one same-sex relationship
disqualify you as “heterosexual,” even if it was many years
ago? Should we put all ambiguous cases into a catch-all “bisexual”
category?
If you are uncertain, you are in good company. No scientific or
popular consensus currently exists on the precise cluster of experiences
that qualify an individual as lesbian, gay, or bisexual instead
26 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
of just curious, confused, or experimenting. Faced with this ambiguity,
researchers seeking the most interpretable data have traditionally
tended to exclude individuals whose mixed patterns of attraction
or behavior make them difficult to classify.31
We now realize that it was a mistake not to include individuals
whose experiences and desires did not fit into neat categories. People
with nonexclusive (or “bisexual”) attractions provide perhaps
the most salient example. Early on, many scientists as well as lay
people doubted whether bisexuality even existed, and consequently
it received virtually no attention. Between 1975 and 1985, for example,
only 3 percent of the journal articles on same-sex sexuality
included discussions of bisexuality in the title, abstract, or subject
headings. Between 1985 and 1995, this figure increased to 16 percent,
reflecting the growing acknowledgment of bisexuality as a legitimate
sexual identity. In the past ten years, however, that percentage
has climbed only 3 more points, demonstrating that bisexuality
continues to be systematically understudied.
Yet we now know from research using representative samples
that individuals with bisexual attractions actually outnumber individuals
with exclusive same-sex attractions, especially among
women. Combined with the fact that most individuals with samesex
attractions do not publicly identify themselves as lesbian/gay/
bisexual, this means that studies of self-identified lesbians and gays
actually focus on a very small and unrepresentative subset of all
sexual minorities.32
This weakness is widely acknowledged among sexuality researchers,
and many studies have attempted to correct it by recruiting
research populations on the basis of same-sex behavior
rather than lesbian/gay identification. Accordingly, many researchers
now speak of “WSW” (women-who-have-sex-with-women)
and “MSM” (men-who-have-sex-with-men) instead of lesbian/gay/
bisexual men and women.33 This approach is especially useful when
sampling ethnic-minority populations that may reject lesbian/gay/
Gender Differences in Same-Sex Sexuality • 27
bisexual identities as largely white constructs. Yet focusing exclusively
on same-sex behavior still underrepresents individuals who
experience same-sex attractions but never act on them. Consider,
for example, the following survey item which appeared in the national
representative sample administered by the sociologist Edward
Laumann and colleagues in the early 1990s: “I find the idea
of sex with the same sex appealing.”34 Surprisingly, this was the single
most widely endorsed measure of same-sex sexuality among
women. In other words, more women agreed with this statement
than reported experiencing same-sex attractions or behavior. Yet
because only a minority of these women identified as lesbian or bisexual,
it is safe to say that they have been entirely absent from previous
research on same-sex sexuality.
We do not know how much this omission has distorted research
findings. Excluding such individuals would not be a significant
problem if researchers were confident that there was only one
causal developmental pathway that produced all possible forms of
same-sex sexuality. Yet this is not the case. Rather, researchers view
same-sex sexuality as the product of multiple, interacting processes
involving a range of biological factors in combination with a range
of environmental factors. Furthermore, not everyone experiences
the same mix of influences, and so two women might end up lesbian
through entirely different routes.35 Because previous studies have
sampled only a subset of individuals who have experienced some
degree of same-sex sexuality, they leave us with only a partial picture
of the nature and development of sexual orientation.
Genetic Influences
No area of research generates more nature-nurture debate about
sexual orientation than genetic research. These debates reached a
peak in July 1993, when the geneticist Dean Hamer published an
article in Science identifying a potential genetic marker for homosexuality.
36 Immediately, some activists seized on the findings to
28 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
argue that same-sex sexuality was equivalent to height or eye color
and therefore merited acceptance and tolerance. Others worried
that the finding might reinvigorate the old pathology model of
same-sex sexuality and inspire homophobic physicians to screen for
and “cure” homosexuality.
Nearly fifteen years later, the debate continues to rage. Typing
“gay gene” into Google yields more than four million hits, ranging
from lesbian/gay/bisexual support groups publicizing the latest scientific
findings to politically conservative organizations denouncing
attempts to make same-sex sexuality seem “natural.” Not surprisingly,
most of these discussions rely on the kinds of simplistic dichotomies
that I critiqued earlier as misleading and inaccurate.
One thing that these debates almost never mention is the existence
of gender differences in the genetic data. For example,
Hamer’s investigation of a potential genetic marker for same-sex
sexuality on the X chromosome included only men. A subsequent
study by a different research team replicated Hamer’s findings for
men but found no evidence that lesbians shared this marker.37
Moreover, a third independent study failed to replicate Hamer’s
findings, though there were methodological differences between the
studies that might explain the discrepancies.38 More recently,
the first full genome scan for sexual orientation was published. The
researchers found intriguing evidence for genetic transmission on
three different chromosomes, but (sound familiar yet?) they studied
only men.39
Most researchers believe that if sexual orientation is biologically
based, it is probably influenced by multiple genes rather than by
just one (this is called “polygenic” influence). If so, then studies focusing
on the overall heritability of same-sex sexuality are more
likely to be successful than studies looking for a single “gay gene.”
Many such studies have been conducted with both men and women,
and the results consistently suggest greater heritability of
same-sex sexuality among men than among women.40
To make sense of this finding, it helps to have a firm grasp of
Gender Differences in Same-Sex Sexuality • 29
heritability and how it is measured. Heritability is defined as the
proportion of variation in a trait that is due to genetic factors. Estimates
are typically represented as numbers ranging from 0 to 1,
with 0 representing no genetic effects and 1 representing complete
genetic determination. For the sake of familiarity, these numbers
can be thought of as percentages; thus, if a trait has 50 percent
heritability, this means that half of the population variability in a
trait is due to genetic factors.
Estimates of heritability are typically computed by comparing
identical twins (who have 100 percent of their genes in common)
and fraternal twins (who have 50 percent of their genes in common)
on the trait of interest. If a trait is highly heritable, we would expect
to find substantially greater similarity between identical twins than
between fraternal twins, and almost no similarity between adopted
siblings. In the early 1990s, the psychologist J. Michael Bailey and
his colleagues conducted a series of studies making just such comparisons,
and the results were reliably consistent with the hypothesis
of genetic influence.41
Of course, to draw this conclusion we have to assume that identical
twins are not treated more similarly by their parents than are
fraternal twins. If this were the case, then identical twins’ greater
similarity in sexual orientation could be attributed to family treatment.
Yet this does not appear to be the case. Research suggests not
only that identical and fraternal twins have similar childhood experiences
but also that similarity of childhood family environments is
not significantly associated with twin resemblance on same-sex sexuality.
42
A more significant problem with interpreting these early studies
comes from the fact that the researchers recruited participants by
advertising for lesbian/gay individuals who had a twin; it is possible,
then, that gay individuals with a gay twin were more likely to
volunteer than gay individuals with a nongay twin.43 Furthermore,
these studies sampled only individuals who openly identified as gay
30 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
and did not typically include bisexuals or other individuals with
“partial expression” of same-sex sexuality.44
Researchers have rectified these problems by using twin registries,
lists of thousands of identical and fraternal twins who have
agreed to participate in different studies measuring the effects of
genes and environment on human behavior. The participants who
register do not know in advance the kinds of studies in which they
will take part. The primary advantage of these studies is that they
use populations that are not “self-selected,” and so they tend to
have very large sample sizes. Several registry studies have been published,
along with a number of studies using large samples of twins
not recruited on the basis of sexual orientation, and all have found
significant evidence for the heritability of sexual orientation.45 In
other words, if one member of a twin pair reports some aspect of
same-sex sexuality (even if he or she does not actually identify as
gay), the other member is likely to report same-sex sexuality as
well. Furthermore, just as one would expect, this correspondence is
substantially more likely among identical than fraternal twins.
Nonetheless, heritability estimates vary from study to study, and
no study provides evidence for complete heritability (in which case
you would expect to find that identical twins always have the same
sexual orientation). Rather, heritability estimates range between 30
percent and 60 percent. Specific estimates vary from study to study
but are typically larger among men than among women.
When considering these heritability estimates, it is useful to compare
them to heritability estimates that have been calculated for
other complex behavioral traits. For example, twin studies have
found that the heritability of smoking (a behavior that most people
consider to be under conscious control and yet situationally influenced)
is also around 60 percent. Similar estimates have been found
for the heritability of marijuana and alcohol use. Even job satisfaction
shows significant heritability, most likely because it is strongly
related to personality, which yields heritability estimates ranging
Gender Differences in Same-Sex Sexuality • 31
from 45 to 60 percent.46We tend to trumpet biological effects when
it comes to homosexuality, but I have yet to see the cover of Time or
Newsweek display a newborn baby with the headline “Born unsatisfied
with his job?”
Given that genetic influences are not completely deterministic
and operate more strongly in men than in women, how do we account
for the rest of the variation, and especially for the gender
difference? In the terminology of behavioral genetics, nongenetic
factors are linked to “the environment.” But what exactly does
this mean? What specific environmental factors might contribute to
same-sex sexuality?
Family influence seems an unlikely factor, since behavioral genetic
studies typically find that most of the nongenetic variance is
attributable to nonshared environments, meaning aspects of the environment
that are different across twins/siblings. Furthermore, research
finds no evidence that childhood rearing influences sexuality,
despite early psychoanalytic theories to the contrary.47 There is also
the obvious fact that lesbian/gay/bisexual individuals are almost always
raised by heterosexual parents, and usually fairly conventional
ones at that. This fact contradicts the notion of a “modeling”
effect.48 Only one study has found any evidence of increased exploration
of same-sex sexuality among young adults raised by lesbian
parents, but almost all of these individuals identified as heterosexual
as adults. Given their home environment, they may have been
more open to considering same-sex relationships, but doing so did
not “turn” them gay.49
Consider, too, the results of several “natural experiments” with
gender-reversed rearing that have occurred in different cultures. In
the now-famous case of David Reimer, a male infant was raised as a
girl after his penis was severely damaged during circumcision. Despite
the fact that David received every possible push to behave in a
female-typed fashion and to perceive males as sexual objects, he developed
sexual desires for women at puberty. When his mother
32 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
finally confessed to David that he was actually male, he immediately
assumed a male gender identity and eventually pursued sexual
relationships with women. Similar outcomes have been found in
other cases of young boys who were raised as girls owing to genital
abnormalities, in our own society as well as in other cultures.50 We
would expect a very different result if early rearing had an appreciable
influence on same-sex sexuality. Furthermore, in cultures in
which young boys traditionally engage in same-sex sexual behavior
during adolescence, they show no enduring preference for such behavior
as adults.51 No cultures with analogous same-sex practices
among young girls have been documented.
What about general cultural permissiveness? Can exposure to
images of same-sex sexuality in popular culture, combined with the
fact that American society has become more accepting of same-sex
sexuality, influence sexual orientation? If this were so, then we
would expect to find higher rates of same-sex sexuality in more
tolerant societies. Yet this is not the case. For example, despite the
fact that Denmark, the Philippines, and Thailand are relatively nonhomophobic
societies, they have low rates of same-sex sexuality.52
Another possibility is that environmental influences become relevant
only for individuals with an existing predisposition to samesex
sexuality. In other words, same-sex sexuality might be influenced
by specific gene-environment interactions. In this case,
certain environments might be considered “releasers” for a samesex
predisposition. Yet again, the nature of such releasers is unknown;
nor do we know whether certain environmental conditions
might be capable of triggering same-sex sexuality in the total absence
of any genetic predisposition. If so, such “pure environment”
cases would end up reducing heritability estimates.53 Thus, the fact
that lower heritability estimates have been found among women
than among men is consistent with the possibility that if there are
purely environmental pathways to same-sex sexuality, they are
more likely among women.
Gender Differences in Same-Sex Sexuality • 33
Additionally, the relative balance of genetic and environmental
factors might vary substantially from person to person. To make
sense of this, keep in mind that an estimate of, say, 40 percent
heritability does not mean that 40 percent of one person’s sexuality
is attributed to genetics. Rather, it means that within a population,
40 percent of the person-to-person variability in same-sex sexuality
can be attributed to genetic versus environmental factors. This explains
why estimates of heritability can vary quite a bit when they
are computed in different populations.
Knowing about the general range of genetically influenced variability
of same-sex sexuality cannot tell us how many individuals—
or which ones—were (1) so strongly predisposed toward same-sex
sexuality that their environment did not matter; (2) needed some
sort of environmental “releaser” for their same-sex sexuality; or (3)
needed only the right environment and had no genetic predisposition
whatsoever. All three of these “types” probably exist in the
overall population, yet the genetic data suggest that the last two
profiles might be more common among women than among men.
The Neuroendocrine Theory
Although research on the genetics of sexual orientation gets the
most media attention, the neuroendocrine theory of sexual orientation
is arguably the “origin story” generating the most contemporary
scientific research.54 Some consider it the most promising
explanation for sexual orientation, but there are far too many conflicting
findings and unanswered questions to warrant firm conclusions.
55 Moreover, as with genetic factors, it is likely that if
neuroendocrine influences matter, it is only for some individuals,
and more likely men than women.
The neuroendocrine theory is based on the idea that prenatal
hormonal exposure in utero might influence sexual orientation. To
understand this theory, keep in mind that certain regions of the
34 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
mammalian brain are sexually dimorphic, that is, different for
males than for females. Examples include the hypothalamus, the
septum, the preoptic area, and the amygdala, among others.56 Of
course, the notion of intrinsic differences between female and male
brains has a long and troubled history and continues to spark controversy
and debate.57 Most recently, in 2005 Lawrence Summers,
then president of Harvard University, was roundly denounced after
suggesting that one reason women are consistently underrepresented
among high-level scientists may have to do with intrinsic
differences between the cognitive abilities of men and women.
The resulting firestorm contributed to his eventual resignation. Yet
keep in mind that gender differences in brain structure and function
say nothing about the implications of such differences.58 In many
cases, all we can reliably say is that men’s and women’s brains perform
the same tasks through slightly different routes. For example,
men typically show greater lateralization in brain function than
women do, meaning that for many tasks they tend to use one side of
their brain or the other, whereas women use both.59
Returning to the neuroendocrine theory, extensive animal research
has shown that androgens and estrogens secreted by the developing
fetal genitals play a fundamental role in sexual differentiation
in mammalian brains.60 Furthermore, alterations in fetal
hormone exposure have been associated with alterations in animals’
adult sexual behavior. Specifically, male-typed sexual behavior
in female animals has been associated with abnormally high levels
of prenatal androgen exposure, whereas female-typed sexual
behavior in male animals has been associated with abnormally low
levels of androgen exposure.61
This finding has led researchers to speculate that similar processes
might operate for humans, such that same-sex sexual orientations
might reflect alterations in brain “masculinization” or
“feminization” owing to altered prenatal hormone environments.62
Yet there are some important hurdles in applying this theory to hu-
Gender Differences in Same-Sex Sexuality • 35
mans. First, we know much less about the processes that produce
gender differences in human brains than in animal brains, and some
biologists warn against extrapolating findings regarding hormonal
organization of animal mating behavior to complex gender-linked
phenomena in humans.63 With animals, scientists have been able to
manipulate hormone levels in utero and directly observe the resulting
brain effects. This is impossible in humans; instead, we have to
rely on “natural experiments” that arise when babies are born with
genetic and endocrine disorders.64 Studies of such cases suggest that
the links among genes, hormones, gender identity, and sexual identity
are complex in humans, making straightforward cause-andeffect
pathways hard to identify.
Second, the central assumption of neuroendocrine theory—that
the brain structures which differ between males and females happen
to be those that are involved in sexual orientation—has no direct
evidence in humans. In animals, this notion is supported by the
fact that animals who have been exposed to sex-atypical hormonal
environments in utero show sex-atypical sexual behavior in adulthood.
65 Yet in these animals, sexual behavior is a fairly automatic,
hormonally controlled behavioral program. For some species, simple
exposure to an animal of the right sex is sufficient to trigger sexual
activity. In humans, sexuality is more complex (how is that for
an understatement?) and is mediated by an array of cognitive, emotional,
and environmental factors. Hence, a direct causal connection
between brain structure and sexual orientation may be less
plausible in humans than in animals. The neuroendocrine theory
has also been criticized because it presumes that same-sex sexual
orientation is, at heart, a form of sex-atypicality in brain structure.
This theory of course harks back to historical models—and contemporary
stereotypes—of minority sexual orientations as disorders
involving gender reversal and inversion.66
I will revisit this issue, and the broader question of links between
sexual orientation and gender identity, a little later. For now, I re-
36 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
view the existing evidence for the neuroendocrine theory. As noted,
because researchers cannot directly manipulate humans’ fetal hormone
exposure, the available evidence is indirect. It is based on
studies of humans who had unusually high or low androgen exposure
in utero as a result of congenital abnormalities, maternal
stress, or maternal medication, as well as on studies of sexual orientation
differences in a variety of psychological, morphological, and
neuroanatomical domains known to be influenced by prenatal
hormonalization. I focus only on the most notable findings, since
comprehensive reviews of this research can be found elsewhere.67
Some of the most intriguing evidence for the neurohormonal
theory comes from research on girls with congenital adrenal hyperplasia
(CAH), a condition in which girls are exposed to abnormally
high levels of androgens in utero because the adrenal gland
does not produce enough cortisol. Girls with CAH are typically
born with partially masculinized genitals, which are usually surgically
altered at birth, and they must undergo cortisol-replacement
therapy throughout their lives.68 Girls with CAH provide a natural
experiment for the investigation of prenatal androgen effects on a
variety of sex-linked phenomena, from sexual orientation to sextyped
play and activity preferences, and the condition is common
enough to have received fairly extensive study.
Are girls with CAH more likely to develop same-sex sexuality?
Longitudinal studies conducted by the psychologist Sheri Berenbaum
and her colleagues suggest that they are, but not uniformly.69 Overall,
girls with the condition generally have higher levels of genderatypical
behavior during childhood and adolescence and higher levels
of same-sex attractions in adolescence and adulthood, consistent
with the neuroendocrine theory. Other researchers studying CAH
have found similar effects.70 However, as noted, these effects are not
uniform: some girls with CAH report same-sex attractions and fantasies,
but others do not. More important, these periodic attractions
and fantasies are not typically manifested in consistent same-
Gender Differences in Same-Sex Sexuality • 37
sex behavior or lesbian/bisexual identification.71 If prenatal androgen
exposure was a key pathway to female same-sex orientation,
we would expect all girls with CAH to develop stable, robust, and
consistent lesbian/bisexual orientations.
A common critique of the CAH research is that increased samesex
sexuality could stem from social rather than hormonal factors.
Specifically, given that girls with CAH are born with masculinized
genitals and undergo hormonal treatment over the course of their
lives, they may be aware of their “differentness” from other girls,
and might also be (consciously or unconsciously) treated as more
masculine by their parents. If such girls consequently come to perceive
themselves as less feminine than other girls, this might account
for their male-typed play preference in childhood and their
higher rates of same-sex sexuality in adolescence and adulthood.
But we would not expect this alternative explanation to apply to
“DES girls,” girls whose mothers took diethylstilbestrol (DES) during
pregnancy. This nonsteroidal estrogen was widely prescribed
from the 1940s through the 1960s to reduce the risk of miscarriage,
until it was found to potentially increase women’s cancer risks and
to have masculinizing effects on female fetuses, though these effects
were not as extreme as in the case of CAH. Girls exposed to DES
are not born looking different from other girls, as is the case with
CAH, and so they are not treated as different. But do they show increased
rates of same-sex sexuality in adulthood? The answer is
somewhat; like girls with CAH, they tend to grow up heterosexual
but report an increased prevalence of same-sex fantasies.72 Thus
this line of research suggests that prenatal androgen exposure does
not produce lesbian or bisexual women. Rather, it appears to produce
heterosexual women with periodic same-sex attractions.
An interesting corollary to the research on excessive prenatal androgen
exposure is the research on androgen insensitivity syndrome
(AIS).73 Children with this syndrome are genetically male, but because
of a mutation on the gene for the human androgen receptor,
38 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
their bodies are either completely or partially “insensitive” to the
masculinizing effects of prenatal androgens. In the case of complete
AIS, the fetus has undescended testes but develops female external
genitalia and a female-appearing body (but no uterus, fallopian
tubes, or ovaries). These children are raised as girls, develop and
maintain female gender identities, and grow up attracted to men.
Such cases provide powerful evidence that genes alone do not determine
either gender identity or sexual orientation. Without the
masculinizing effects of prenatal androgen exposure, these genetically
male fetuses develop into (heterosexual!) women.
Another line of research on the neuroendocrine theory concerns
male children born to mothers who were exposed to extremely
high levels of stress during pregnancy. Animal research has found
that such experiences can affect sexual differentiation in utero
through a delay of the testosterone surge that influences brain
masculinization. Although some of this research finds small but significant
associations between maternal stress and the eventual sexual
orientation of male children, the findings have been inconsistent
and the studies have notable methodological shortcomings.74 As a
result, this evidence is not considered conclusive.
More consistent findings have come from studies investigating
the surprisingly robust phenomenon that men with same-sex orientations
are more likely than heterosexual men to have older brothers,
a finding that has been called the “fraternal birth-order effect.”
75 Researchers have hypothesized that this effect is due to
the fact that pregnant women show an immune response to male
fetuses (specifically, immunization to Y-linked minor histocompatibility
antigens, called H-Y antigens) that becomes stronger
with each successive male pregnancy. Thus boys born after multiple
brothers would be exposed to progressively higher prenatal levels
of H-Y antigens, which may alter the sexual differentiation of the
brain in a more female-typed direction (much like low androgen
levels contribute to undermasculinization).
Gender Differences in Same-Sex Sexuality • 39
Currently, there is no direct evidence that this particular cascade
of prenatal events can lead to male same-sex sexuality, but
some research provides indirect evidence. Specifically, studies have
found that men with same-sex orientations who have older brothers
have lower birth weights than heterosexual men with older
brothers, suggesting that a prenatal phenomenon might be responsible
for both low birth weight and same-sex sexuality. Yet the maternal
immune hypothesis would suggest a more pervasive brain
“feminization” in men with same-sex orientations than is typically
observed, and its purported effects are not consistent with other
phenomena that have been observed among men with same-sex orientations.
Notably, no birth-order effects have been detected among
lesbian-bisexual women.76
Another line of evidence for the neuroendocrine hypothesis concerns
sexual orientation differences in brain structures and functions
that are affected by prenatal hormone exposure, such as
lateralization. Recall that lateralization refers to the fact that men’s
brain functioning tends to be more specialized in one hemisphere or
the other, whereas women’s brain functioning is more evenly distributed
between the hemispheres. If men with a same-sex orientation
have less masculinized brains, we might hypothesize that they
should show less lateralization. A comprehensive review of studies
investigating this possibility found largely inconsistent results, as
have several studies of handedness, which is an indirect index of
lateralization.77 In fact the handedness studies actually show greater
support for an association between same-sex orientation and handedness
in women (specifically, increased left-handedness in lesbians,
which would be consistent with high fetal androgen exposure) than
in men (decreased left-handedness in gay men, which would be consistent
with low fetal androgen exposure). Given such conflicting
findings, researchers have been reluctant to draw strong conclusions
from this line of evidence.
As for brain structure, there was much publicity in the early
40 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
1990s about a finding by Simon LeVay showing that the third interstitial
nucleus of the anterior hypothalamus, which is typically
larger in males than in females, was significantly smaller (and in
fact comparable in size to that of heterosexual women) in the brains
of gay men.78 Although this study was widely criticized because it
included gay men who had died of AIDS, the findings were successfully
replicated when the comparison group of heterosexual men
was restricted to those who had also died of AIDS. Other studies
have found sexual orientation differences in some—but not all—
sexually dimorphic structures in the same general brain region,
specifically, the medial preoptic anterior hypothalamic region, or
mPOA.79 This region is thought to be involved in the regulation of
male sexual behavior, which is consistent with the fact that no sexual
orientation effects have been found in these regions among
women.80
Much publicity also accompanied recent findings suggesting sexual
orientation differences in finger-length ratios. Specifically,
women typically have index fingers that are comparable in length
to the ring finger (this ratio is typically called the 2D:4D ratio),
whereas men’s index fingers are typically shorter than their ring
fingers (meaning that their 2D:4D ratios are smaller). This difference
between the sexes is thought to become established as a result
of fetal androgen exposure, a theory consistent with research
demonstrating that both boys and girls with CAH, who therefore
had higher than normal prenatal androgen exposure, show smaller
2D:4D ratios than unaffected children.81 Thus if male same-sex orientations
result from low androgen exposure in utero, we would
expect men with same-sex orientations to show larger 2D:4D ratios,
similar to those observed among heterosexual women. Conversely,
if female same-sex orientations result from excessive androgen
exposure, we would expect women with same-sex orientations
to show smaller 2D:4D ratios.
Studies testing this hypothesis have yielded mixed results. Some
Gender Differences in Same-Sex Sexuality • 41
have found sexual orientation differences in the predicted directions,
whereas others have found significant differences in the opposite
direction or different kinds of effects in different subsamples
or different genders in samples collected in Europe as opposed to
the United States, or in samples using measurements of real fingers
versus photocopies of fingers.82 Thus though these studies provide
some support for the prenatal hormone hypothesis, the discrepancies
between findings—and particularly the fact that some of the
significant effects are in the wrong direction—pose problems that
require future investigation.
Similarly perplexing patterns have emerged from research on
two auditory phenomena related to prenatal hormone exposure:
“otoacoustic emissions,” or CEOAEs, which are click-like noises
emitted by the cochlea in response to sounds, and auditory evoked
potentials, or AEPs, which are brainwave responses that result
when individuals are exposed to sound. Both of these measures
show reliable gender differences that show up as early as infancy
and have been attributed to the fact that the fetal auditory system
develops at approximately the same time as the hormone-induced
sexual differentiation of the fetal brain.83
Support for the influence of androgen exposure comes from research
demonstrating that female twins with male co-twins have
lower, or more “male-like,” CEOAEs than girls with female twins
because they were exposed to higher androgen levels produced by
their brothers’ bodies. Analogously, studies have found that lesbian/
bisexual women had lower CEOAEs than heterosexual
women, though gay-bisexual men did not have higher CEOAEs
than heterosexual men.84
Similar results for women have been found with AEPs, with lesbian/
bisexual women showing male-typed patterns.85 Yet in this
case, not only did gay/bisexual men not show “female-typical” patterns,
but they actually showed more extreme male-typed patterns
than heterosexual men. In other words, they appeared hyper-
42 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
masculinized, in direct contradiction to the neuroendocrine hypothesis.
This finding is similar to some of the “wrong direction” effects
noted above with regard to finger-length ratios. One possible
interpretation, then, is that either abnormally high or abnormally
low levels of prenatal androgen exposure might produce different
“types” of male same-sex sexuality. The situation for women is
clearly quite different. The CAH and DES findings, in concert with
the auditory findings, suggest potential effects of high but not
low androgen exposure. Yet as noted, the evidence is certainly not
strong enough to suggest that this is a key pathway for women.
Gender and “Inversion”
Before leaving the biological evidence, some reflections on the overall
question of gender reversal are warranted. One key source of
controversy about biological investigations of same-sex sexuality,
particularly the neuroendocrine theory, is the suggestion that gay
men are female-like (in their hormone exposure, brain structure,
and brain function), whereas lesbian women are male-like. This, of
course, is a long-standing stereotype about homosexuality that has
its roots in the “inversion” theories of homosexual pathology first
proposed in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.86 The
assumption is that because the sexual attractions of gay men parallel
those of heterosexual women, then all other biological and psychological
features must be similarly female-like or, in scientific
terms, gender-atypical.
Although psychologists reject this extreme, global hypothesis of
sex inversion, there is in fact evidence for a link between gender
atypicality and same-sex sexuality, at least among some individuals.
A subset of lesbians, gay men, and bisexuals—more often men than
women—report gender-atypical interests or behaviors, sometimes
beginning in early childhood.87 Of course, this might have nothing
to do with biology. It is possible that boys and girls with nascent
Gender Differences in Same-Sex Sexuality • 43
same-sex attractions begin internalizing cultural stereotypes linking
gender atypicality to same-sex sexuality and unwittingly conform
to these expectations.88 Alternatively, these stereotypes might make
lesbian/gay/bisexual adults more likely than heterosexuals to notice,
remember, and report gender atypicality.
Another source of evidence for a link between gender atypicality
and same-sex sexuality comes from several well-known longitudinal
studies that followed groups of extremely gender-atypical boys
from childhood to adulthood; importantly, these boys were outside
the normal range of “feminine-masculine” behavior that one might
observe on the average playground. In fact, they were so femaletyped
in behavior and interests that they were referred to genderidentity
clinics. Ultimately, the majority of these boys identified as
gay in adulthood. Yet as many researchers have pointed out, such
studies are not really about gay men, they are about extremely
feminine boys, who are much less common in the population than
gay/bisexual men.89 Thus though extremely feminine boys may be
disproportionately likely to develop same-sex sexuality, they account
for only a small subset of the overall gay/bisexual population.
Studies among girls demonstrate that gender atypicality is generally
more mild, less stigmatized, and less likely to be treated as an indicator
of psychiatric disturbance, and less strongly associated with
later sexual orientation, among girls than among boys.90
When considering the neuroendocrine theory more generally, we
might interpret it as a theory not of same-sex sexuality but of
gender-atypicality in which one accompanying outcome is a particular
variant of same-sex sexuality. Recall the CAH findings noted
above: exposure to prenatal androgens does not appear to “create”
lesbian and bisexual women; rather, it may cause a subset of otherwise
heterosexual girls to show higher-than-normal male-typical
behaviors, interests, and sexual fantasies. Furthermore, neuroendocrine
factors do not always operate in a gender-atypical direction:
the fact that abnormally high androgen exposure may also be
44 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
associated with male same-sex sexuality provides an important corrective
to simplistic stereotypes about gender reversal. Along the
same lines, it is interesting that the tendency for gay men to have a
disproportionately high number of older brothers is directly contrary
to the long-held stereotype that gay men were exposed to excessive
female influence during childhood and became more femaletypical
as a result.91
It bears noting that studies of gay men’s and lesbians’ attitudes
and behaviors regarding sexual and romantic relationships have
found much more evidence of gender typicality than of gender
atypicality. For example, both gay and heterosexual men place
more emphasis on sex in relationships than do lesbian and heterosexual
women (who, comparatively, place more emphasis on emotional
intimacy).92 Of course, this may reflect straightforward socialization
effects. The point is that global associations between
same-sex sexuality and gender atypicality are unsupportable. Even
when such associations are detected, they appear to characterize
only a subset of sexual minorities, more typically male than female.
The difficult next step for this line of research, then, is to document
systematically the many possible pathways to adult same-sex
sexuality, how they interact with one another and with multiple environmental
factors, and whether certain pathways are more influential
for some individuals than for others. Little of this work has
been done, though there are some intriguing examples. The psychologist
Ray Blanchard and his colleagues have attempted to estimate
the proportion of men whose same-sex sexuality might be due
to the maternal immune pathway. They concluded that it might account
for the same-sex sexuality of approximately one in seven gay
men.93 Whether or not this figure turns out to be accurate, it underscores
the message that same-sex sexuality has different causes for
different individuals.
A related question relevant to female sexual fluidity is whether
certain pathways produce more stable or consistent forms of same-
Gender Differences in Same-Sex Sexuality • 45
sex sexuality than do others. Recall my criticism of the common
misconception that if sexual orientation is biologically based, it
should be stable and impervious to environmental influence. It
should now be clear why such a conclusion is incorrect. Not only
are there multiple possible biological pathways, but with respect to
women, some of the strongest evidence for a biological pathway to
same-sex sexuality (the CAH and DES data) suggests that this pathway
produces a relatively unstable form of same-sex sexuality: periodic
same-sex attractions and fantasies among otherwise heterosexual
women! This finding indicates that we still have a lot to learn.
From Causation to Development
The biological data reviewed above support the notion that female
same-sex sexuality has different etiological pathways than male
same-sex sexuality. If this is the case, we would also expect female
same-sex sexuality to unfold differently during childhood and
adolescence, not only because the biological influences might differ
for women versus men, but also because women and men face such
dramatically different social contexts when it comes to sexual development.
As the anthropologists Ellen Ross and Rayna Rapp argued,
“Sexuality’s biological base is always experienced culturally,
through a translation. The bare biological facts of sexuality do not
speak for themselves; they must be expressed socially. Sex feels individual,
or at least private, but those feelings always incorporate the
roles, definitions, symbols, and meanings of the worlds in which
they are constructed.”94 In the domain of same-sex sexuality, this
interbraiding of biological underpinnings and meaning-laden social
contexts is vividly manifested in the process of coming out.
The phrase “coming out,” as used by psychologists, typically refers
to the process by which individuals come to realize, act on, and
privately accept their same-sex orientation, even if they do not
necessarily disclose it to others. There are multiple psychological
46 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
models of this process, and though they do not predict the same
exact sequence of events, they generally agree on the basic components
of this process, at least within a contemporary Western
cultural context. Almost all specify a period of early awareness of
same-sex attractions followed by tentative exploration of a nonheterosexual
identity. This exploration typically occurs through
contact with lesbian, gay, or bisexual individuals, literature, films,
or community resources. The most commonly assessed milestones
include (a) childhood feelings of differentness that may or may not
be associated with sexual issues; (b) gender-atypical behavior, appearance,
or interests; (c) fascination with or sexual attraction to
the same sex, perhaps manifested in friendship choices, fantasies,
dreams, or sex play; (d) disappointment or lack of interest in the
other sex; (e) gradual realization of sexual as well as romantic feelings
toward the same sex; and (f) conscious questioning of one’s
sexual identity.
This “master narrative” of sexual-identity development is familiar
to researchers and laypeople alike and is widely found not only
in the academic literature but in popularized personal accounts
from openly lesbian/gay/bisexual individuals.95 The defining features
of the master narrative are typically consistency across different
areas (same-sex attractions and fantasies and romantic feelings)
and continuity over time (that is, the same pattern of same-sex desire
from early childhood to adulthood).
Before addressing the question of gender differences, it is important
to note that this generalized model has been criticized over the
years. The very notion of “prototypical” pathways of lesbian/gay/
bisexual child and adolescent development has become increasingly
suspect, as researchers have collected more data on diversity in developmental
experiences. For example, though it was once thought
that all sexual minorities experienced the emergence of their samesex
attractions before adolescence, we now know that this is not always
the case. In fact, sexual minorities show a wide range of devel-
Gender Differences in Same-Sex Sexuality • 47
opmental histories, with different ages and contexts for the classic
“milestones” of first same-sex attractions, first conscious sexual
questioning, first same-sex contact, and first self-identification.96
A number of environmental factors can influence such differences.
For example, consider the sharply different environments of
a gay male teenager in a large urban center versus a young man living
in an isolated rural town. The urban youth probably has many
more opportunities than the rural youth to learn about same-sex
sexuality and to seek same-sex contact. Culture and ethnicity are
also particularly important. Studies of the United States have found
that ethnic-minority communities tend to stigmatize same-sex sexuality
more stringently than mainstream Anglo society, a finding consistent
with the lack of positive or neutral terms for “lesbian,”
“gay,” or “bisexual” in some languages.97 As a result, ethnicminority
youths with same-sex attractions often grow up with a
sense that nobody else shares their experiences; these factors can
substantially influence the timing and context of sexual-identity development.
98
The underlying reasons for the stigmatization of same-sex sexuality
vary considerably across different ethnic groups, with different
implications for young people’s developmental experiences. For example,
Latino, African-American, Asian-Pacific Islander, and South
Asian communities typically place considerable emphasis on family
ties, and same-sex sexuality is often construed as a violation and betrayal
of familial cohesion and loyalty.99
In ethnic groups that have sharply demarcated gender roles,
same-sex sexuality often carries the additional stigma of genderrole
deviation.100 For example, many Latino communities expect
adolescent males to display the exaggerated masculine characteristics
of “machismo” (courage, aggressiveness, power, and invulnerability)
in order to gain status as mature, appropriately behaving
Latino men. Adolescent females must display appropriate
“etiqueta” (patience, nurturance, passivity, and subservience) to
48 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
gain status as mature, appropriately behaving Latino women. Because
these cultures typically construe same-sex sexuality as gender
nonconformity, adolescents who pursue same-sex sexuality are
viewed by their communities as having fundamentally failed as men
or women.
Same-sex sexuality among African Americans is often associated
with long-standing cultural stereotypes of African Americans as
hypersexual and morally bankrupt. As a result, sexual minorities
often feel pressured to hide their same-sex sexuality in order present
an image of normalcy to larger Anglo society.101 These pressures are
particularly difficult for young people, who may view their samesex
desires as signs of sickness or moral failings.
For all these reasons, ethnic-minority youths may interpret and
express their same-sex sexuality very differently from Anglo youths.
For example, some might pursue exclusively sexual same-sex behavior
with strangers to avoid thinking of themselves as gay, while
maintaining their most important romantic ties to women. Others
might identify as lesbian or gay and regularly pursue same-sex behavior
but resist larger participation in gay culture, choosing to emphasize
the cultural component of their identity in order to maintain
their strong cultural ties.102
Despite all these sources of variability, the most important of
all is gender. In fact, the past quarter-century of research on this
topic suggests that very few features of sexual-minority development
are not differentiated by gender. For example, whereas many
gay men recall childhoods characterized by gender-atypicality, feelings
of “differentness,” and early same-sex attractions, fewer lesbian/
bisexual women recall such experiences. Women also show
greater variability than men in the age at which they first become
aware of same-sex attractions, first experience same-sex fantasies,
first consciously question their sexuality, first pursue same-sex sexual
contact, and first identify as lesbian or bisexual.103
Women also grant a larger role to emotional versus sexual fac-
Gender Differences in Same-Sex Sexuality • 49
tors in the development of their same-sex attractions. Many women
report feeling emotionally attracted to other women before being
physically attracted to them.104 This supports the finding that
women generally place less emphasis on the sexual component of
their lesbian or bisexual identification, both during and after the
questioning process, and more on ideological factors, reference
groups, and a rejection of or commitment to particular roles.105
Most important in terms of sexual fluidity, women show more
discontinuous experiences of same-sex sexuality than do men. In
other words, they report more changes in sexual attractions and behaviors
over time and in different situations. Women are also more
likely than men to report sexual behaviors or attractions that are inconsistent
with their identity (for example, other-sex behavior in
self-identified lesbians and same-sex behavior in self-identified heterosexuals)
and to grant a role to choice and circumstance.106
There has been considerable debate over the years on what
causes these differences between women and men. Traditional
essentialist perspectives, which hold that sexual orientation is an
early-developing and fixed trait, offer only two possible characterizations
of sexual-minority women who report sharply discontinuous
experiences of sexual attraction to men and women: either they
were always lesbian/bisexual or they were never lesbian/bisexual.107
According to the essentialists, experiences of discontinuity signal
“false consciousness,” a misperception of one’s authentic attractions
and orientation. Many commentators, for example, have offered
this interpretation for Anne Heche’s transition to lesbianism
and back to heterosexuality; in other words, if she went back to
men so easily after breaking up with Ellen DeGeneres, she obviously
was not really a lesbian.
According to this perspective, women’s variable and discontinuous
experiences of same-sex sexuality might reflect the fact that
they are more likely than men to show “false consciousness” about
same-sex sexuality, perhaps because cultural suppression of female
50 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
sexuality has hampered women’s awareness of their own desires.
This would seem to suggest that if researchers could “weed out”
women with false consciousness and restrict their research samples
to “real” lesbians, then perhaps we would not see such variability
and discontinuity. But how exactly would this be done? Women’s
own self-reports might not provide reliable data: we could argue
that even women who strongly perceive their sexuality as essential
and fixed are simply reflecting the essentialism pervading both
popular and scientific accounts of sexual orientation. Alternatively,
those who experience their sexuality as more variable, emotionally
based, or situationally influenced might arguably do so because
they have not been socialized to view their sexuality as an essential,
driving force the way men typically are.108
Another problem complicating our understanding of women’s
changing sexuality is that discontinuities in their sexual experiences
and feelings over time are always assessed retrospectively. In other
words, women are asked to think back to earlier feelings and relationships
and explain how they arrived at their current sexual identity.
This method introduces significant potential bias, since most
individuals are highly motivated to tell autobiographical stories—
especially about sexuality—that suggest a consistent, stable, “core”
self.109 Thus individuals subtlely and sometimes unconsciously revise
descriptions of previous attractions and behaviors to conform
to their current understanding of themselves. A woman who now
identifies as lesbian might look back on previous, pleasurable relationships
with men and conclude that she was in denial about her
lesbianism. Similarly, a woman who currently sees herself as heterosexual
might reflect on previous attractions to women and conclude
that she was confused or simply going through a phase.
This differentiation between “authentic” and “inauthentic” experiences
of sexuality has a long history in the scientific and popular
literature on sexual orientation, and it continues to spark heated
debate among sexual minorities themselves.110 Given the greater
Gender Differences in Same-Sex Sexuality • 51
discontinuity and variability in women’s same-sex sexuality, these
debates are particularly salient within the lesbian/bisexual community.
They show how deeply scientists and laypeople alike have absorbed
the assumption that “real” same-sex orientations always
emerge early, produce consistent patterns of attraction and behavior,
and stay the same over time and in different situations. This assumption
is not entirely unreasonable given that it aptly characterizes
the experiences of many gay/bisexual men.
Yet why should they be the norm? Perhaps the primary reason
that women’s developmental pathways appear so different and
deviant, prompting us to develop convoluted explanations about
misperceived, misremembered, and misunderstood experiences, is
that we keep comparing them to the experiences of men. What if
the very nature of female same-sex sexuality is fundamentally different?
The Next Step
This is exactly what I am suggesting. As the research has shown,
women’s sexuality is fundamentally more fluid than men’s, permitting
greater variability in its development and expression over the
life course. We have just gone about studying it all wrong. We have
been focusing on openly identified lesbian and bisexual women
when we should be studying any woman with same-sex attractions
or experiences. We have been ignoring “quirky” phenomena such
as periodic other-sex attractions among lesbians when we should
actually be paying close attention to such experiences. Perhaps most
important, we have been relying on isolated snapshots of sexual
feelings and behaviors at single moments in time when we should
actually be tracking, over time, how women’s feelings and experiences
shift across different situations, relationships, environments,
and developmental periods.
If we really want sex-specific models of female sexuality, we need
52 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
detailed, longitudinal data on the multifaceted expression of samesex
and other-sex sexuality over long stretches of women’s development.
When I first entered the field of sexuality research in the
early 1990s, no such information existed. So I decided to collect
it myself.
Gender Differences in Same-Sex Sexuality • 53
C H A P T E R 3
Sexual Fluidity in Action
When I began my longitudinal study on female sexuality, I was not
looking for anything like sexual fluidity; I simply intended to study
variability in women’s sexual pathways. But my results showed that
something more was going on than just variability. Over time, I
came to see that most of what I thought I knew about female sexuality
was wrong.
I undertook this project to answer several key questions sparked
by the existing research: How much stability and continuity was
there in female same-sex sexuality over time? Could we predict its
long-term course from childhood and adolescent experiences? Was
there any truth to the distinction between “born” lesbians (that is,
“real” lesbians) and “political” lesbians (in other words, “fake”
lesbians)? What could we say about the development of bisexual
women, given that nearly all the previous research examined only
lesbians?
In setting out to answer these questions, I first attended carefully
to the handful of studies that had tried to examine same-sex sexuality
over time.1 Each had notable limitations that I hoped to correct
in my own work. For example, none of them involved more than
one follow-up assessment, and this follow-up took place after a relatively
short period of time, typically around two years. I knew that
if I really wanted to capture long-term patterns of sexual develop-
ment, I needed to assess individuals repeatedly over much longer
stretches of time.
Another shortcoming of the previous studies was that they focused
only on adults who had self-identified as gay/lesbian/bisexual
back in the 1970s and 1980s. That era was characterized by much
less openness and visibility when it came to same-sex sexuality. As a
result, we could never rule out the possibility that variability in sexuality
was due to cultural repression and the fact that some women
were not exposed to lesbianism or bisexuality until late adulthood.
For this reason, I felt it was important to examine the sexual pathways
of young women who were coming out now. These women
had grown up with much greater exposure to ideas about samesex
sexuality than had previous generations. Thus they might be
less likely to experience discontinuities in their sexual development
owing to repression and lack of knowledge. I also wanted to include
bisexual women and those who declined to identify themselves
as sexual minorities, since such women had been drastically
underrepresented in previous research.
Finally, I knew that previous studies had relied primarily on numerical
measures of sexuality, such as Kinsey ratings of attractions
and behaviors. Yet I wanted to understand the reasons behind sexual
variability and to probe women’s experiences and interpretations
of their sexuality. The only way to gather such information
was to conduct in-depth interviews, during which women could be
prompted, with the assurance of confidentiality, to reflect on and
reveal such deeply personal information.
I set out with the goal of conducting detailed one-on-one interviews
with as large a group of young sexual-minority women as I
could find, then reinterviewing them regularly over as many years
as possible.
Although I felt strongly about giving voice to women who had
been underrepresented in previous research samples, such as bisexuals
and those who did not openly claim lesbian/bisexual labels, I
Sexual Fluidity in Action • 55
was not sure how to find them. I had no research funding, so I was
unable to place newspaper advertisements. The lack of funding also
meant that I could not offer women financial compensation for
their time (a standard practice for interview studies). I simply hoped
that women would be motivated to participate in a study that took
their unique experiences seriously.
I opted for a strategy of face-to-face recruitment across as wide a
variety of settings as possible. I bought a used car and began taking
road trips each weekend to a number of large urban cities and small
rural towns in the large eastern state where I was attending graduate
school. I visited lesbian/gay/bisexual community events (such as
picnics and parades), lesbian/gay/bisexual youth groups, student
groups at various colleges, and also college courses on gender and
sexuality (such courses often attract individuals who are questioning
their sexuality, but who might not identify as sexual minorities).
In each setting, I approached individual women or made general
announcements describing my research. I stressed that all women
between the ages of sixteen and twenty-three who had same-sex attractions
were eligible to participate, even if they did not identify as
lesbian or bisexual. I have been careful to check for differences between
women who were recruited from different settings (say, the
youth groups versus the college courses), or between women who
had different economic and political backgrounds. I have found no
such differences.
The sampling strategy drew a wide range of women with different
backgrounds and identities. Of the eighty-nine participants, 43
percent identified as lesbian, 30 percent identified as bisexual, and
27 percent did not claim a sexual-minority identity (though they
considered themselves nonheterosexual). Their average age at the
first interview was twenty, and they reported having first questioned
their sexuality at an average age of sixteen. As with most
sexual-minority research samples, the majority of participants (85
percent) were white. Five percent were African American, 9 percent
56 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
were Latina, and 1 percent were Asian American. The sample was
also largely middle class; three-fourths of the participants came
from families in which at least one parent had completed college,
and nearly two-thirds came from families in which at least one parent
had a professional or technical occupation. By the ten-year
point, more than 90 percent of respondents had completed college,
and more than half had earned either a graduate or a professional
degree. At that point, approximately 60 percent considered themselves
middle or upper middle class. The majority came from intact
families, with only about one-fourth growing up with divorced parents.
About one-half described their family as politically liberal,
one-third as conservative, and less than one-fifth as moderate. On
average, respondents were open about their sexuality to more than
75 percent of their immediate family members, about half of their
work colleagues, and more than 85 percent of their friends. Approximately
40 percent felt that their family disapproved of their
sexuality. Nearly half reported having experienced stigmatization,
harassment, and fear of victimization because of their sexuality,
and 20 percent had actually experienced antigay violence.
Despite my best efforts, this sample cannot be considered fully
representative of young sexual-minority women. Although I believe
that the respondents have given voice to basic aspects of female sexuality
that apply to women more generally, we need additional research
to clarify just how typical their experiences are. In particular,
we lack a full understanding of how sexual fluidity might manifest
itself differently among women who have grown up with vastly different
circumstances, in different geographic regions, from different
social classes, and with different ethnic and cultural backgrounds.
These are key directions for future study.
Another critical question is whether any of my findings apply to
strictly heterosexual women as opposed to bisexually leaning heterosexual
women who have had direct experience with same-sex relationships.
If sexual fluidity is a property of female sexuality in
Sexual Fluidity in Action • 57
general, how does it manifest itself in these women? What would
the average heterosexual woman say—or think—if asked to reflect
deeply on whether she could ever see herself with another woman? I
began to consider this question more and more as I wrapped up the
very first round of interviews in 1995. In the end, I decided to interview
an additional eleven heterosexual women whom I recruited
from a college course on sexuality. Because of the course they were
taking (which addressed issues of same-sex sexuality), these women
had already been prompted to think critically about notions of sexual
identity, and I was curious to see how they viewed their own capacity
for same-sex versus other-sex sexuality.
Of course, the very fact that these women were willing to sit
down and talk to me about why they considered themselves heterosexual,
and whether that might ever change, makes them unrepresentative
of the average heterosexual woman! Most heterosexual
women never even think about their sexual identity; the presumption
of universal heterosexuality is so strong that they never have
to question it. One heterosexual respondent likened sexuality to
ethnicity: she noted that because she was white, she never thought
of herself as having an ethnic identity—that was something that
seemed relevant only to ethnic minorities. Similarly, she observed, if
you are heterosexual then you grow up never thinking about your
sexual identity; only nonheterosexuals are forced to consciously
analyze their “differentness” from mainstream norms and to come
up with a new sexual identity. This woman, like all of the heterosexual
respondents, became aware of these issues when she took a
college course that critiqued cultural assumptions about sex, gender,
and sexuality. As a result, these women are more willing and
able to reflect on the meaning of “heterosexuality,” and to imagine
alternatives to it, than the average heterosexual woman. So though
I periodically discuss their thoughts and experiences in order to
put my findings in a slightly broader context, I do not consider
these thoughts and experiences representative of heterosexual
58 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
women more generally. In truth, they raise more questions than
they answer about how sexual fluidity operates in heterosexual
women, and I hope to tackle that question in future research. For
now, note that whenever I refer to “the participants” or “the respondents”
of my study throughout this book, I am generally referring
to the sexual-minority respondents. Whenever I shift to discussing
the heterosexual comparison group, I explicitly say so.
I interviewed each woman five times over the past ten years (approximately
once every two years). The first interview took place
in person, and all subsequent interviews were conducted over the
phone. As in all longitudinal research, I lost contact with some of
the original participants, so that the final 2005 sample contains seventy-
nine of the original eighty-nine sexual-minority women and
ten of the original eleven heterosexual women. Only one respondent
declined to participate in a follow-up interview after being recontacted.
At each assessment, the interview questions and study procedure
were reviewed and approved by local institutional review boards
charged with protecting the rights of research participants. All participants
underwent a standard informed-consent procedure before
each interview, during which they were told that their responses
were confidential, that they had the right to refrain from answering
any of the interview questions, and that they could stop participating
in the study at any time. At the close of each interview, women
were given the opportunity to revise their answers to any of the
questions or to add additional remarks.
The initial interviews in 1995 lasted between 1 and 1.5 hours and
covered a wide range of issues, including the process by which
women first questioned their sexuality; early memories of sexual
feelings and behaviors; current and prior patterns of attractions,
friendships, and romantic relationships; the women’s interpretation
of their current identity; and expectations for the future. I asked the
women directly whether they felt they were born with their sexual-
Sexual Fluidity in Action • 59
ity, whether choice played any role, whether they felt their sexuality
changed over time, and whether they felt they had been influenced
by various environmental factors.2 Owing to the sensitivity of the
subject matter, I did not tape-record that first interview; instead I
took detailed notes and recorded quotations by hand, which I typed
up immediately afterward. During the second interview, I typed
verbatim transcriptions while the interviews were taking place. All
subsequent interviews have been tape-recorded and transcribed.
Throughout this book, I present quotations from these transcriptions.
To protect the women’s privacy, I leave out all identifying information
and use pseudonyms.
To provide a numerical representation of same-sex attractions, I
asked women at each interview to estimate the percentage of their
day-to-day attractions that were directed toward women versus
men, so that 0 percent would represent exclusively other-sex attractions,
50 percent would represent equal attractions to men and
women, and 100 percent would represent exclusively same-sex attractions.
I asked them to provide separate estimates for physicalsexual
attractions versus emotional-romantic attractions. Thus this
“percentage” measure yields a rough estimate of the relative frequency
of a woman’s same-sex versus other-sex attractions, similar
to the Kinsey Scale described in the last chapter. The advantage
of the measure I used is that it permits finer-grained assessments,
whereas the Kinsey Scale offers only 7 possible categories (represented
by the numbers 0 through 6).3
To assess sexual behavior, I asked participants at each interview
to report the total number of men and women with whom they had
had sexual contact (defined as any sexually motivated intimate contact
more substantive than kissing). With this information, I was
able to calculate the exact percentages of same-sex and other-sex
contact that women had pursued between successive interviews (in
other words, between 1995 and 1997, 1997 and 2000, 2000 and
2003, and 2003 and 2005). As with women’s attractions, 100 per-
60 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
cent represents exclusive same-sex behavior and 0 percent represents
exclusive other-sex behavior. I also asked about the number of
romantic relationships they experienced with men and women, and
about the gender of their current romantic partner, if they had one.
The Long-Term Course of Sexual-Identity Development
To address the primary question of the study—the degree of continuity
and stability in female same-sex sexuality over time—I began
by focusing on the long-term course of women’s sexual-identity development.
Recall that sexual-identity development refers to the sequence
of stages by which sexual minorities are thought to come to
acknowledge their same-sex sexuality. The process usually begins
with gradual awareness of same-sex attractions and subsequent
questioning of one’s sexuality. It is supposed to end—sometimes
months later, sometimes years later—with the adoption of a lesbian/
gay/bisexual identity. Once this occurs, no further change is
anticipated.
Some studies suggested, though, that women’s identity development
might not be so straightforward. For example, in the early
1990s, the sociologist Paula Rust found that among a sample of
400 sexual-minority women, 75 percent of the bisexual respondents
reported that they used to consider themselves lesbian, and
more than 40 percent of the lesbian respondents reported that they
used to consider themselves bisexual.4 This was exactly the sort of
variability in female sexuality that I found intriguing, but it was
hard to know how to interpret it.
Historically, researchers have viewed “switching” from a bisexual
to a lesbian identity as just another part of the coming-out process.
They have assumed that some individuals adopt “bisexual”
as a transitional identity because they have not yet accepted their
lesbianism. They have attributed switches in the opposite direction—
from lesbian to bisexual—to the fact that bisexuality is still
Sexual Fluidity in Action • 61
viewed with skepticism by both mainstream society and the lesbiangay
community.5 For example, many lesbian/gay organizations and
publications do not even include the word “bisexual” in their titles.
Consequently, when first coming out, some individuals with attractions
to both sexes might not realize that identifying as bisexual is
even an option; others might fear the widespread prejudice against
bisexuals that still persists in some segments of the gay and lesbian
community.6 Such individuals might initially adopt lesbian/gay
identities until they discover the concept of bisexuality or find communities
more supportive of bisexuality.
If these are the major reasons that women have historically
switched between bisexual and lesbian identities, then we would
expect fewer of these changes among young women today. After
all, women now have access to far more information about samesex
sexuality, including bisexuality, than have women in previous
generations. Straightforward discussions of bisexuality as a legitimate
sexual identity can be found in mainstream publications like
Newsweek and the New York Times, and numerous television dramas
and reality shows feature bisexual characters.7 But does this
make it easier for young women to accurately match their sexual
orientation to an appropriate identity label, eliminating the need
for future changes and adjustments?
The answer, my study revealed, is not quite. Already at the first
interview, about one-half of the lesbian women reported initially
coming out as bisexual, and about one-third of the bisexual women
reported initially coming out as lesbian. Thus the greater visibility
of same-sex sexuality in general, and bisexuality in particular, had
not necessarily made it easier for women to settle on the right identity
from the very beginning. I was also struck, at that first interview,
by the amount of self-reflection involved in women’s selection
of that initial identity. Respondents typically described having carefully
thought about the frequency and intensity of their sexual and
62 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
emotional feelings for women versus men, their satisfaction with
different relationship partners, and their desires for the future.
Given how thoughtfully the respondents appeared to have selected
their identities, I was surprised to find that two years later, an
additional one-third of them had changed identities! Most of the
women who switched went from the “unlabeled” category to a lesbian
or bisexual label, a change that was consistent with traditional
coming-out models. Yet other women had also switched from lesbian
and bisexual identities, despite the fact that they were no
longer in the beginning stages of the coming-out process. Surely this
could no longer be transitional, could it?
The most unexpected finding was that five women actually gave
up their lesbian or bisexual labels in favor of unlabeled identities,
and an additional five women started calling themselves heterosexual!
Yet every single one of them continued to acknowledge attractions
to women. The women who started calling themselves
heterosexual typically reported that their same-sex attractions simply
were not strong or frequent enough to justify identifying as
lesbian or bisexual. They were generally more interested in men
and expected to end up with men down the line. As one woman
noted:
I don’t like to label, but if I had to choose, it would be heterosexual. I
just realized that the chances are that in my lifetime, I probably
won’t ever be with a woman. I don’t think there was any incident
that made me realize that, maybe it was just the people I hung out
with before, and the fact that now everything feels more set. Things
seem more definite in my life right now. My boyfriend knows I have
“tendencies” toward women, but he sees that possibility for himself
too, and so we both acknowledge that there are no boundaries. You
can be with men, you can be with women, but we’re together and so
for the time being, I’m straight. I can acknowledge the attractions
Sexual Fluidity in Action • 63
and not feel I have to act on them. (twenty-year-old heterosexual,
previously unlabeled)
The group of women who switched to unlabeled identities were
more diverse. Some of these women were lesbians who had become
unexpectedly involved with male partners and felt that neither “lesbian”
nor “bisexual” accurately represented their own personal experiences;
others were women with nonexclusive attractions who
had begun to doubt the meaning and importance of any sexualidentity
categories.
Switching to unlabeled or heterosexual identities completely
contradicts standard identity models, in which everyone is supposed
to move inexorably toward lesbian/gay/bisexual identification.
Perhaps, I speculated, the process of identity development was
simply a lot slower than researchers have assumed. After all, the respondents
in my study were still fairly young (between eighteen and
twenty-four), so maybe their identifications would stabilize from
this point on.
I was wrong. Between the second and third interviews, another
25 percent of women switched identities. As before, there were
changes in all directions. Three lesbians switched to bisexual; one
bisexual and one unlabeled woman switched to lesbian; three lesbian
and three bisexual women switched to unlabeled; six bisexuals
now identified as heterosexual; and three of the women who had
adopted heterosexual labels at the previous interview changed their
minds and now considered themselves nonheterosexual but unlabeled.
The next two assessments brought more of the same: about onethird
of women changed identities between the third and fourth
interviews, and another one-third changed identities between the
fourth and fifth interviews. Clearly, there was more going on here
than just slow development—after all, the respondents were now
ten years out from the first interview. Moreover, it was not the same
64 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
subset of women changing each time: though some women changed
their identity more than once over the ten-year period, most of the
changes were one-time-only transitions. By 2005, more than twothirds
of the women in my sample had changed their identity labels
at least once after the first interview. The women who kept the same
identity for the whole ten years proved to be the smallest and most
atypical group!
Reasons for Identity Change
What motivates these changes? Were some women more likely to
change than others? I had my own ideas about the answers to these
questions, but they turned out to be wrong. The real answers were
far more interesting.
My first hunch was that women’s attractions were changing as
well, in which case study participants might be switching identities
to correspond with their “new” orientation. Chapter 5 addresses
the thorny question of change in sexual attractions in much greater
detail, so here I provide only a rough picture of the results. Basically,
though women’s self-reported same-sex attractions did fluctuate
from assessment to assessment, sometimes by as much as
20 percentage points, the women almost always stayed within the
same general category of lesbian, bisexual, or heterosexual. So
though women’s specific degrees of same-sex attraction were changing,
their overall orientations were not. This finding sent me back to
the drawing board in terms of explaining why women changed
identities.
I then considered whether younger women might be more likely
to change identities than older women, given that late adolescence
and young adulthood are often periods of great transition. But I
found no association between a woman’s age and her likelihood
of identity change. I then speculated that women who had been
out for shorter periods of time might be more likely to change
Sexual Fluidity in Action • 65
their identities, because they might still be working through the
coming-out process. I calculated the exact number of years that
each woman had considered herself nonheterosexual, and tested
whether this number was smaller among women who had changed
their identities. It was not. Furthermore, the age at which women
reported first experiencing same-sex attractions and the age at
which they first questioned their sexuality were also unrelated to
identity change: women who had their first same-sex attractions at
the age of nine were just as likely to change their identities as
women who had their first same-sex attractions at age twenty.
What about women’s actual relationship histories? Perhaps identity
change was motivated by specific experiences with female and
male partners. I examined the ratio of same-sex to other-sex relationships
that women pursued between successive interviews (both
short-term sexual liaisons and longer-term romantic relationships)
and whether women had a romantic partner at the time of their
identity change. Here the findings were more promising. At any
given interview, women who were currently involved with a man
were more likely than those currently involved with women and
those unattached to report changing their identity since the preceding
interview. Similarly, at each interview, women who changed
identities reported a larger percentage of sexual and romantic relationships
with men since the last interview (around 60 percent)
than did women who kept the same identity (around 35 percent).
Did this mean that women were changing their identities specifically
to accommodate attractions and relationships with men?
If so, I reasoned, then certain patterns of change should be more
common than others. Specifically, women should be switching to
identities that accommodated other-sex attractions, for example,
going from lesbian to bisexual instead of vice versa. Sure enough,
this was the case. Of all the identity changes undertaken over the
course of the study, more than 80 percent accommodated attractions
to and relationships with men (that is, switching to a bisexual
66 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
or an unlabeled identity, which took place more than two-thirds
of the time, or switching to a heterosexual label, which took place
16 percent of the time). Thus when women undertook identity
changes, they typically did so in a way that broadened rather than
narrowed their potential range of attractions and relationships. I
was struck by the fact that this pattern corresponded directly to observations
made back in the 1960s, in which women’s sexual experiences
were viewed as “broadening” as they got older, whereas
men’s tended to become narrow and more specialized.8
Moreover, I found that this same broadening characterized women’s
sexual and romantic relationships. This was especially true
for the women who identified as lesbian in 1995. At the beginning
of the study, these women reported that 90 percent of their
sexual contact was pursued with women, but this figure dropped to
74 percent at the ten-year point. Those with the largest changes in
behavior were the ones who changed their identities: on average,
women who stopped identifying as lesbian reported that their
same-sex behavior dropped by about 40 percent over the course of
the study, whereas women who stayed lesbian-identified the entire
time showed no drop in same-sex behavior at all (averaging 92 percent
same-sex sexual contact throughout the study).
I found significant shifts toward more nonexclusive sexual behavior
in all the other groups as well. Women who identified as
unlabeled or bisexual in 1995 showed an average drop of 16 percent
in their same-sex sexual contact. The largest changes took
place among the women who reidentified as heterosexual by 2005:
more than one-third of their sexual partners were women at the beginning
of the study, but by 2005 they were sexually active only
with men. In contrast, women who were unlabeled or bisexual in
2005 had begun the study pursuing around 55 percent of their sexual
contacts with women, but this figure dropped to 35 percent in
2005.
It became clear that the sample could be divided into two groups:
Sexual Fluidity in Action • 67
(1) lesbians who had been exclusively attracted to and involved
with women throughout the study, and who were least likely to
change their identities; and (2) everyone else. The other participants
reported consistently nonexclusive attractions, increasing othersex
behavior, and were most likely to change their identities.
Clearly, the women who were changing identities were not undergoing
changes in their orientations. They had been attracted to both
women and men all along.
The Importance of Nonexclusivity
The association between nonexclusivity (attractions to both sexes)
and identity change underscores how much researchers have been
missing by failing to include bisexual women in previous studies of
identity development. I address the issue of nonexclusivity and bisexuality
in greater detail in the next chapter, but several points
bear mentioning here, in the context of identity change. Specifically,
women who are drawn to both sexes face a more complex set of
issues when adopting an identity label than women with exclusive
same-sex attractions and relationships. In order to settle on
the “right” identity, women with nonexclusive attractions have
to go beyond just acknowledging their same-sex attractions—they
must consider exactly how strongly they lean toward women versus
men; whether sexual and emotional feelings are equally important;
whether behavior trumps fantasy or vice versa; and whether social
networks and ideological beliefs should play a role in their selfidentification.
9
Consider the example of Ellen. Now thirty-three years old and
heterosexually identified, she reflects back on the single same-sex
relationship that she had, at the age of twenty: “When I reached
this more intimate level with this one particular woman, I knew I
was still attracted to men, so I was sort of forced to really question,
Is this sort of the pattern that I want to follow through my life, or is
68 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
this just going to be a bisexual type of thing, or am I more comfortable
with men or women, or . . . what?” Other women who experienced
nonexclusive attractions made different choices. Amy, for example,
is a bisexual woman who initially identified as lesbian; in
recalling her initial coming out, she noted that though she always
experienced periodic sexual attractions to men, her substantive
emotional bonds were formed with women. Because she felt that
these emotional bonds were more important than sporadic sexual
desires, she was initially most comfortable with the label of lesbian.
Yet as the years went by, she met a number of men to whom she
bonded strongly on an emotional level. She realized that she could
not completely rule out the possibility of falling in love with a
man. She therefore switched to a bisexual label in her late twenties
despite feeling that she might never actually act on her feelings
for men.
Carol, age twenty-seven, reported similar feelings but reached a
different conclusion. Instead of switching to a bisexual identification,
she simply adopted a broader, more flexible understanding of
lesbianism:
I would say that the way that I define lesbian is probably the same,
but I have become more flexible. I think I have become more comfortable
in looking at it as a continuum instead of discrete categories.
Partly from meeting more people and talking with them about their
preferences, identities, how they define things and just being more
exposed. Also realizing that all of my life I have been attracted to
both men and women and coming to a comfortable place calling myself
a lesbian in spite of that.
Some women maintained a lesbian label despite attractions to both
sexes because they were dismayed by the negative stereotypes that
both heterosexuals and lesbians harbor about bisexuals. As one
twenty-five-year-old unlabeled woman remarked about her transition
from identifying as bisexual to unlabeled, “I feel sort of un-
Sexual Fluidity in Action • 69
comfortable calling myself bisexual because if I’m talking to a guy,
it’s the usual thing: ‘Oh, so do you do this and that and the other
thing?’ And if I’m talking to a gay woman, then she’s like, ‘Oh,
Really. I can’t trust you.’” Another respondent noted, “A lot of people
I talk to say, ‘Well, you know, bisexuality is just one step up
from one or the other, so you’re not actually bisexual, you’re actually
on your way to becoming either straight or gay.’”
Other women with nonexclusive attractions would routinely
change their identity labels in accordance with their current romantic
partner or social network. If they were seriously involved with a
woman, they identified as lesbian. If they were seriously involved
with a man, they identified as bisexual or heterosexual, all the while
acknowledging that they remained attracted to both sexes. “At this
point in my life,” a twenty-five-year-old bisexual woman explained,
“I’m starting to think about a long-term, permanent partner, so I
think if I met somebody and made that kind of lifetime commitment,
then I would also be committing to that particular sexuality.
But it could go either way, it could be a man or woman.”
My findings suggest that for women with nonexclusive attractions,
fixed identities may never completely succeed in representing
the complicated, situation-specific, and sometimes relationship-specific
nature of their sexual self-concepts. Perhaps for these women,
adopting a flexible, changeable identity is the most mature, adaptive
way of understanding their sexuality, as Paula Rust has suggested
in her own research on women’s diverse identity pathways.10
In such cases, even a bisexual identity may not capture the complexity
of their desires.
Do Different Types Have Different Histories?
The findings presented above raise a broader question about
whether there are fundamentally different “types” of same-sex sexuality,
with different origins and outcomes. This notion has a long
70 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
history in the research literature on sexual orientation, and it has
generated many studies aimed at testing whether the kind of sexualminority
individual you are is related to how you got that way.
Most of the research on this question has focused on sexual-identity
“precursors” and “milestones,” such as the existence of childhood
gender atypicality, the timing and sequencing of same-sex and
other-sex attractions and sexual contact, the timing of first sexual
questioning, and the factors that first prompted that questioning.11
The basic idea behind these studies is that early-developing
sexual minorities, whose same-sex sexuality began to emerge at a
young age in the form of same-sex attractions or gender atypicality,
might be more “essentially,” “biologically,” or “authentically” gay
than individuals who had unremarkable childhoods and whose
same-sex sexuality emerged much later in response to situational
factors such as meeting lesbian/gay/bisexual people or becoming
familiar with lesbian/gay/bisexual issues (through college courses,
media exposure, or political involvement).
This distinction between more and less authentic or essential
forms of same-sex sexuality has emerged repeatedly in the research
literature under different guises: real versus spurious homosexuality,
constitutional versus opportunistic homosexuality, and born
versus elective lesbians.12 Individuals with essential same-sex orientations
are presumed to become aware of their same-sex sexuality
earlier because of the biological basis of these orientations. This
view rests on two false assumptions: that biologically based traits
reveal themselves earlier rather than later (as a counterexample,
consider schizophrenia, which typically does not become expressed
until late adolescence), and that situational factors have more influence
on later-developing feelings and behaviors than on earlierdeveloping
feelings and behaviors (many developmentalists would
argue that, to the contrary, children are much more malleable than
adults).
Researchers have traditionally assigned bisexuality to the “less
Sexual Fluidity in Action • 71
essential” category. For example, in an early and influential psychological
investigation of same-sex sexuality, the authors claimed outright
that bisexual orientations were “much less strongly tied to
pre-adult sexual feelings. . . . Exclusive homosexuality tends to
emerge from a deep-seated predisposition, while bisexuality is more
subject to influence by social and sexual learning.”13 Some members
of the lesbian community have always been skeptical about the authenticity
of bisexuality and critical of bisexuals for “choosing” to
experiment with women despite eventually returning to heterosexuality.
14
None of these presumptions about different types of same-sex
sexuality is supported empirically. For example, though some early
studies seemed to suggest that bisexually identified women were less
likely than lesbians to report experiences like early “tomboyism,” or
that they experienced their first same-sex attractions at later ages,
later studies failed to confirm these findings.15 No published research
has tested whether the context of a person’s first sexual questioning
(for example, having same-sex fantasies versus reading
about lesbians in a women’s studies class) is related to identification
as lesbian as opposed to bisexual. Given that no studies have followed
sexual-minority individuals over long stretches of time, there
has been no systematic test of whether certain patterns of early versus
late milestones predict certain long-term patterns of same-sex
sexuality.
So do they? In my study I examined the following potential developmental
predictors: recollections of early gender-atypical behavior
or feelings of being different from the other girls; age of first samesex
attractions; age of first same-sex sexual contact; age of first sexual
questioning; and the context of first questioning (through distinctly
sexual routes, such as same-sex fantasies or attractions, or
through situational routes such as taking classes on sexuality, meeting
sexual-minority individuals, and so on).
In brief, none of these developmental variables was shown to
72 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
predict anything about women’s later experiences. They failed to
predict whether women identified as lesbian, bisexual, or unlabeled
at any of the five assessments; they failed to predict the degree of a
woman’s same-sex attractions across the five assessments; they
failed to predict whether women changed or kept their identity labels
over time; and they failed to predict whether women considered
their sexuality something they were born with, something that
was influenced by their environment, something that they chose, or
something that might change in the future.
Although we might learn something by dividing sexual-minority
women into subtypes on the basis of how they currently experience
and think about their sexuality (exclusive versus nonexclusive, stable
versus fluid, more or less environmentally influenced), none of
these distinctions appears to be related to how women’s same-sex
sexuality first developed. Some of the women who were most exclusively
and consistently attracted to women over the ten years of the
study had been “late bloomers” with no awareness of same-sex attraction
until they took a class on sexuality or joined a political organization
at age twenty; some of the women with nonexclusive attractions
who changed identities multiple times had been tomboys
who recalled experiencing their first same-sex sexual fantasies before
they even reached puberty.
Thus the widespread notion that a woman’s sexual milestones
provide clues about the long-term expression of her sexuality appears
misguided. In the end, we simply do not know why one
woman’s same-sex sexuality develops early and another’s much later,
or why it is sometimes triggered by private experiences of sexual attraction
and other times by environmental or situational factors.
But it certainly seems inappropriate to pronounce certain women’s
experiences of same-sex sexuality less “authentic” simply because
they run counter to societal stereotypes.
Notably, other researchers are beginning to reach the same conclusions.
Some have argued that instead of distinguishing between
Sexual Fluidity in Action • 73
essential and situational forms of same-sex sexuality, we need to acknowledge
that all complex behaviors are generated by a range of
essential, biologically determined propensities interacting with a
range of situational and environmental factors.16 Given these interactions,
we may never accurately predict the future course of a
woman’s sexuality on the basis of her current or prior experiences.
Women themselves reported an increasing awareness of this fact.
Some respondents noted that though they had begun the study convinced
that they understood their sexuality, they gradually realized
that they did not know as much as they thought, and that they
could not necessarily predict how they might feel in the future
about certain people or relationships. As one woman said, “I’ve
been wrong about so many things about it in the past, I’ve no idea
what to say about the future.” Some women dealt with this uncertainty
by changing their identity labels to conform with their experiences;
others adopted flexible definitions of their current identity
that could accommodate unexpected changes. Yet one of the most
fascinating findings of the study was the fact that many women
dealt with the perceived fluidity and unpredictability of their sexuality
by casting off all identity labels.
Becoming Unlabeled
We might expect women who wanted to acknowledge the potential
for unexpected patterns of attraction and behavior with both
women and men to simply adopt bisexual identities. This was not
the case. Although approximately one-third of identity changes involved
the adoption of a bisexual label, a slightly larger number
involved the eschewal of lesbian or bisexual labels altogether in favor
of an “unlabeled” identity. Moreover, if we include the women
who considered themselves unlabeled at the very beginning of the
study, then about two-thirds of women in the sample have consid-
74 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
ered themselves unlabeled for some period of time in the past ten
years. The unlabeled category is thus the single most popular identity
in the study! Such a finding is particularly striking given that, as
noted, unlabeled women have been systematically excluded from
all previous research on sexual orientation. As with the exclusion of
bisexuals, it now appears that this omission may have seriously distorted
our current understanding of women’s experiences.
But what exactly does it mean to be unlabeled? Traditional coming-
out models would characterize the adoption of such an identity
as a sign of internalized homophobia or repression, for these
models assume that healthy sexual-identity development always
concludes with the adoption of a lesbian, gay, or bisexual label.17
Yet when I asked women to explain their reasons for “unlabeling,”
I found something quite different. None of them denied or discounted
their same-sex attractions, and most remained completely
open about their same-sex sexuality to friends, family members,
and coworkers. For them, switching to an unlabeled identity did
not constitute a return to the closet.
Instead, women explained that they gave up identity labels because
they realized that their sexuality did not fit an existing label,
and they were increasingly skeptical about the rigid and arbitrary
nature of any sexual categorization.
Why did so many women feel that neither lesbian nor bisexual
labels fit their experiences? As with identity change in general, nonexclusive
attractions played an important role in respondents’ decision
to forgo labels. Women who gave up their identity labels described
their sexual attractions (averaged over the ten years) as
about 60 percent directed to women, compared with 78 percent
among women who had never been unlabeled. So why not simply
identify as bisexual? Some unlabeled women felt that the bisexual
label implied a greater degree of interest in men than they actually
felt. Most of these women had switched to unlabeled identities
Sexual Fluidity in Action • 75
from lesbian identities, often after realizing that though they were
predominantly interested in women, they could not rule out periodic
attractions to—or even involvement with—men:
I’ve been in a committed relationship for almost seven years, and I’ve
never thought about anyone else. But I think I’m more comfortable
now with the idea that I could be attracted to a man, and that’s
OK. . . . It’s OK for it to be a little bit fluid. (age twenty-eight,
lesbian)
I think these days I’m much more comfortable just allowing myself
to feel whatever I feel. Growing up, there was society around me telling
me to date boys, or whatever, and then I came out as a lesbian
and there was an equal pressure to date women. Now I am mainly
going through life and seeing who I meet, and I’m much less panicked
about the whole thing. Whatever I feel is all right, you know?
(age twenty, unlabeled)
Every time I feel comfortable with a label, something happens that
makes me think that that’s not an appropriate label. . . . I guess I
went through a period where I thought I should probably label myself
as lesbian and live according to that. Then I fell radically in love
with a man. . . . I think labeling my sexuality is dangerous and I
should just experience it. (age twenty-seven, bisexual)
In these cases, the adoption of an unlabeled identity was a compromise
between the poor fit of both the lesbian label (which presumes
exclusive same-sex attractions and behavior) and the bisexual label
(which presumes a significant degree of sexual interest in both men
and women).
Another commonly cited reason for the poor fit of existing labels
was discrepancy between physical and emotional attractions. At
first glance, the notion of such discrepancies might seem strange—
aren’t emotional and physical attractions two sides of the same
76 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
coin? This view is certainly the most popular, but it is inaccurate.
Although most of the women I interviewed felt that their sexual
attractions paralleled their emotional attachments, this was not always
the case. In fact, women reported that on average, the percentage
of physical same-sex attractions they experienced differed
from their emotional same-sex attractions by about 15 percentage
points in either direction (in other words, some women were more
emotionally than physically drawn to women, whereas others were
more physically than emotionally drawn). A small number of
women reported discrepancies of up to 40 percentage points.
Like women with nonexclusive attractions, women with significant
gaps between their emotional and physical feelings often
faced challenges in selecting a comfortable identity label. They had
to decide whether their sexual identity was better categorized by
patterns of “love” or patterns of “lust,” and they had to forecast
what sort of relationships they might desire in the future. Many
of these women found it difficult to make these determinations.
Sue, for example, felt that her attractions were riddled with
contradictions: “I prefer to make out with men, but the idea of having
sex with a man utterly repulses me. I would, however, like to
marry a woman, and that’s who I want to make a long-term commitment
to.”
Other women worried that no single resolution would ever emerge.
As Jen noted, “Sometimes I worry that I will never settle down with
anyone, because the way I feel about guys is mainly sexual, and the
way I feel about women is mainly emotional. So I’m always going
between the two, and I don’t know what to call that, you know?”
Her confusion is understandable. After all, conventional models of
sexual identity typically presume that sexual and emotional attractions
always match, and so decisions about lesbian versus bisexual
identities are simply about degrees of attraction. Yet many women
had a hard time weighing the different types of attractions they felt
Sexual Fluidity in Action • 77
for women and men and deciding which best captured their sexual
identity:
I feel that I am mostly drawn to women, but it is certainly possible
that I could be drawn to a man again. But I wouldn’t identify as bisexual
mainly because I haven’t felt the kind of attractions to a man
that would make me really want to be in a relationship with him, the
way I have felt with women for the past six years. So I guess technically
I would consider myself bisexual, but that gives more weight to
the male end than I really want. (age twenty-four, unlabeled)
Because traditional models of sexuality make no provision for discrepancies
between physical and emotional feelings, women experiencing
these gaps often conclude that no existing identity labels adequately
represent their unique experiences.
Notably, many of the women in the heterosexual comparison
group also experienced disparities between their physical and emotional
attractions. Every single one of these women reported having
a current or past pattern of emotionally intense bonds to female
friends. In some cases they described these friendships as bordering
on romantic or physical intimacy. For many of these women,
their capacities for same-sex emotional affection and their predominant
other-sex physical desires motivated them to volunteer for my
study. Many reported a long-standing curiosity about just what
their same-sex friendships meant, given that they were certain of
their heterosexuality:
I have always had really strong emotional bonds to women, but I
never really felt funny about it because our society sort of expects
strong emotional bonds between women, so I never thought that I
shouldn’t pursue that. I’m rarely physically attracted to a woman,
but sometimes I have this strong urge to get to know a woman
better. . . . I’m so much more emotionally drawn to women than
men that for a while I worried that I would never get close to a man,
78 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
and I was actually surprised that I ended up connecting with a man
as strongly as I did with my current boyfriend. (age twenty, heterosexual)
This lesbian relative said to me, “Come on, you have all these really
close women friends, haven’t you ever thought about it? I said no,
but I did spend some time thinking about it. But I finally decided that
I wasn’t lesbian or bisexual, because although I love my friends so
much, I really just don’t have sexual feelings for them. I know people
that define themselves as lesbian based only on their emotional feelings,
but I think you really need that sexual element to be a lesbian.
(age nineteen, heterosexual)
At the end of my sophomore year I started to think things like, “Am
I heterosexual or not? Why do I do certain things? Whom am I physically
attracted to, whom have I been attracted to in the past? . . . Especially,
I thought of the feelings of jealousness and possessiveness I
sometimes have for my female friends. But in the end, I decided that
because I’m physically attracted to men, I’m not gay. (age twentyfive,
heterosexual)
Thus fluidity appears to manifest itself similarly in both heterosexual
and sexual-minority respondents, the primary difference being
that heterosexual women take the gap between their physical
and emotional attractions more seriously than do sexual-minority
women: in their estimation, if their attractions to women are exclusively
emotional, then they are probably not gay.
For some of the sexual-minority women who gave up their identity
labels, unlabeling was part of a larger process of questioning or
rejecting the very notion of sexual categorization, often directly in
response to a greater awareness of sexual fluidity. These women
typically reported that over the years, they had increasingly come to
realize that they had no idea what sort of attractions and relationships
they might desire in the future. Accordingly, the only way to
Sexual Fluidity in Action • 79
make sufficient space for the full range of future possibilities was to
set labels aside and leave themselves open to different experiences:
The reason why I haven’t labeled myself is because I feel like I’m putting
myself in a box. I don’t want to close off any possibilities. I’m
with a woman now, but I’m not sure about what will happen in the
future, and that’s okay. (age twenty-six, unlabeled)
I guess because I feel that you just never know how someone will affect
you, and I just never know who my soul mate is going to be. (age
twenty-four, unlabeled)
I think [labeling as a lesbian before] was right for me at that time,
but I feel like it hasn’t answered all my questions . . . I haven’t found
my true life partner so far, so I guess . . . I just don’t want to be so
specific. I just kind of want to be open to life now. (age twenty-seven,
unlabeled)
Others described a more radical questioning of sexual categories
and indicated that dividing up sexuality according to “gender pairings”
(that is, same-sex, other-sex) had little to do with the way
they experienced different types of relationships:
I don’t really think that labels adequately or accurately describe anybody.
I think you can be with a man your whole life and still be a lesbian,
and I think you can be with a man and a woman, back and
forth, and still not be bisexual. (age twenty-five, unlabeled)
I hate boxes. Hate them, hate them. And I hate this whole dichotomy
paradigm that our society tends to revolve around. It’s black, it’s
white, it’s male, it’s female, it’s straight, it’s gay, whatever. None of
those fits. (age twenty-four, unlabeled)
When I’m with a woman, I’m not really a lesbian, and when I’m with
a man, I’m not really straight. Maybe if I spent ten years with a
woman it would change the way I thought, and I would call myself a
80 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
lesbian. I think your definition changes based on your experiences.
(age twenty-two, bisexual)
Six years later, this same woman noted:
I date both men and women, but I don’t like the word “bisexual,”
because I think it implies polarity. I guess I started thinking about
this around 4 1/2 years ago, when I was involved in a long-term
committed relationship with a man, but a queer man. And it made
me redefine things, because I didn’t believe that a queer man and a
queer woman together in a relationship like ours was conventionally
heterosexual. (age twenty-eight, bisexual)
Other women rejected the implication that once they adopted a sexual-
identity label, it was a statement about their “essential nature.”
As one unlabeled woman protested, “I just feel like I have no idea
what my sexuality would ‘naturally’ be. I have no idea how much is
constructed by me at this point, and been constructed by how I’ve
lived. . . . It makes me uncomfortable calling myself anything . . . I
would rather just not have to name it at all. I shouldn’t have to
think about it” (age twenty-seven, unlabeled).
Many women indicated that it took them a number of years and
considerable self-reflection to reach these conclusions. These respondents
began the study with more stringent notions about sexual
categorization. As one woman mentioned at her ten-year interview,
“I think I’m comfortable with the idea that I could be
attracted to a man, and that’s OK. I think that’s something that I
never would have thought when I was, say, eighteen or twenty”
(age twenty-eight, lesbian).
Interestingly, sexual-minority teenagers today appear to be reaching
the same conclusions at earlier ages. Recent studies have found
that many such youths describe themselves as “questioning” rather
than as lesbian, gay, or bisexual.18 Some of these young people are,
in fact, actively engaged in the process of figuring out the sexual-
Sexual Fluidity in Action • 81
identity label that best suits them. Others embrace the “questioning”
label in order to explicitly reject society’s classification of sexuality
into fixed heterosexual, bisexual, and homosexual categories,
and to signal their openness to discovering ever-changing possibilities
in their sexual attractions and behaviors. This attitude toward
questioning is exemplified by Ann, who thought she might never be
completely certain about her sexuality; nor did she necessarily want
to: “For those of us who question, your whole life becomes a question.
Do you then reach some level of understanding, and then it’s
static? I don’t think so” (age twenty-two, unlabeled).
Many respondents came to view sexual-identity labels not as
expressions of essential sexuality but as social, cultural, and cognitive
“creations” that served different functions in different environments.
Women who adopt unlabeled identities are not repressed or
self-loathing; to the contrary, many of them have a more nuanced
perspective on sexuality than those who unquestioningly treat “lesbian,”
“bisexual,” and “heterosexual” as fixed and essential sexual
types.
Putting It All Together
So what does all this mean? If we step back to look at the big picture,
four findings stand out as particularly important. Each of
these findings contradicts existing models of sexuality, and yet they
emerged so strongly and consistently across the ten years of this
study that they demand explanation.
Change in sexual identity. Traditionally, sexual-identity development
has been considered a straightforward process with a clear
outcome: identification as lesbian/gay/bisexual. The results of my
study directly contradict this view. Over the ten years of the study,
the majority of women repeatedly changed their sexual identity.
82 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
The rate of these transitions did not decline over time, so it seems
likely that they will continue in the future.
Lack of closure. According to traditional models of sexual-identity
formation, the years after coming out bring increased certainty and
stability in sexual identity. Yet the women in my study became increasingly
willing to acknowledge the potential for future change in
their attractions and relationships. Many of them gave up identity
labels altogether because they felt that no single label could encompass
the complexity of their feelings and experiences, and because
they did not want to close off future possibilities.
The prevalence of nonexclusivity. Lesbians, with their presumably
exclusive same-sex attractions, have always been considered prototypical
sexual minorities. Bisexuals, in contrast, have fit no neat categories
and thus have been viewed with skepticism. Yet the results
of this study suggest that nonexclusive attractions are the norm
rather than the exception, and they are consistent with findings
from large-scale representative surveys. Over time, the majority of
women in the study—including lesbians—acknowledged the possibility
that they might experience attractions to or relationships with
both sexes. Moreover, they underwent identity changes (such as
adopting bisexual or unlabeled identities) specifically to accommodate
such possibilities.
Early experiences do not predict later ones. Researchers studying
the development of sexual orientation have typically assessed early
indicators and milestones of same-sex sexuality—such as genderatypical
behavior and early-appearing same-sex attractions—on the
assumption that these factors predict the subsequent expression of
sexual orientation. Specifically, women whose same-sex sexuality
emerges early have been considered more “essentially gay” than
Sexual Fluidity in Action • 83
those whose same-sex sexuality emerges later in life or is triggered
by situational factors. My findings do not support this distinction.
In my study indicators and milestones predicted nothing about women’s
eventual development, nor did the types of factors that initially
caused women to question their sexuality.
The task now is to develop a new model of female sexuality that
successfully explains the fascinating twists and turns the respondents
experienced. If the traditional model of sexual orientation is
inaccurate, then what is the alternative? A revised model has to balance
the fact that women do appear to possess relatively stable
overall patterns of sexual attraction with the fact that they nonetheless
show variability in feelings and experiences over time and
across situations. A model positing female sexual fluidity is the best
solution.
Sexual Fluidity
My understanding of female sexual fluidity includes four elements:
1. Women do, in fact, have a general sexual orientation: most are
predominantly attracted to men; some are attracted to both
sexes; and some are mainly attracted to women. As noted,
there are many possible causes of these orientations, and they
might unfold at various points in development.
2. In addition to their sexual orientation, women also possess a
capacity for fluidity. Think of this as a sensitivity to situations
and relationships that might facilitate erotic feelings. An example
might be an intense emotional relationship (with either a
man or a woman) or exposure to environments that provide
positive experiences with same-sex relationships. Fluidity can
trigger either same-sex or other-sex attractions.
3. The sexual attractions triggered by fluidity may be temporary
or long-lasting, depending on how consistently a woman en-
84 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
counters the facilitating factors. For example, a heterosexual
woman who becomes unexpectedly involved with a close samesex
friend might experience her newfound same-sex attractions
as long-lasting if the relationship develops into a stable, longterm
bond. Alternatively, the attractions might disappear altogether
if the relationship dissolves. The key point is that the
attractions triggered by fluidity do not alter a woman’s basic
orientation, though they might function like an orientation in
terms of consistency.
4. Not all women are equally fluid. Just as women have different
orientations, they have different degrees of sensitivity to the situational
and interpersonal factors that trigger fluidity. As a result,
though two women may be exposed to the same set of potential
“triggers,” one will experience the development of
unexpected same-sex attractions whereas the other may not.
In Chapter 7 I provide much more detail about this model and
how it operates. For now, I want to focus on the phenomenology of
fluidity. Specifically, how does this model provide a coherent explanation
for the main findings of my study? Let’s take the findings one
by one.
Change in sexual identity. Traditional models of sexual-identity
development suggest that the process involves acknowledging and
accepting your same-sex sexuality (heterosexuals, of course, never
really have to go through this process, since heterosexuality is universally
assumed). Once you discover, accept, and openly claim
your true sexual orientation, the process is finished. But if women’s
fluidity makes it possible for them to experience unexpected attractions
under certain circumstances, imagine how this fact might
complicate the identity-development process. You might generally
feel that you are oriented toward women, but if sexual fluidity facilitates
periodic attractions to your male best friend, you might find it
Sexual Fluidity in Action • 85
uncomfortable—either personally or socially—to maintain a lesbian
label. This dilemma is exactly what many of the lesbians in my
study described.
Alternatively, consider the women who eventually re-identified as
heterosexual. Many of them reported gradually realizing that they
were, in fact, generally oriented toward men, even though their
same-sex attractions and relationships had been powerful and genuine.
I would argue that their same-sex experiences were made possible
by sexual fluidity—they were neither “phases” nor “choices”
but authentic desires facilitated by the availability of the right person
in the right situation. This would explain why such women feel
fairly certain of their overall heterosexuality despite acknowledging
the power and pleasure of their prior same-sex experiences and remaining
open to the possibility of such experiences in the future. As
one woman explained, “Your core sexuality probably stays the
same, but if the moment that you’re living in is strong enough for
you, then that’s your sexuality at that moment” (age twenty-six, bisexual).
Lack of closure. Sexual fluidity also provides an apt explanation
for the fact that many women became increasingly reluctant to
make definitive predictions about their sexuality as the years went
by and increasingly ambivalent about fixed identity labels. We might
expect that with the passage of time women would come to understand
their own capacity for fluidity, casting doubt on the relevance
of fixed identity labels and the very notion of fixed sexual selves.
This is consistent with the fact that many women independently
mentioned the notion of fluid sexuality when asked to explain their
ambivalence about labeling:
I feel like for a great majority of people, sexuality is very fluid. I
think that there are definitely people who are just one way, like either
lesbian or straight. It’s like a curve, there are some people who flow
86 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
on the ends, but most people flow in the middle. (age twenty-two,
lesbian)
I hate labels; I think they’re stupid. Well, they’re not stupid, they’re
limiting, and I think that especially around sexuality things are really
much too fluid to try to place a concrete label on it. (age twenty-five,
bisexual)
Historically, ambivalence about labeling one’s sexuality has been
treated as a sign of maladjustment, confusion, or inauthenticity.
Researchers have traditionally eliminated “unlabeled” respondents
from research samples, unsure whether they were repressed lesbians
or “dabbling,” misguided heterosexuals. We now know that it is
our rigid categories that are misguided, not these women. Women
who wrestle with sexual-identity labels give voice to an important
consequence of sexual fluidity that deserves more systematic study.
Along the same lines, sexual fluidity requires us to rethink the
very notion of identity. Instead of assuming that sexual identities
represent enduring sexual “truths,” it may be more productive to
think of identity as “the choice of a particular perspective from
which to make sense of one’s sexual feelings and behaviors.”19 This
definition allows for multiple, culture-bound, context-specific solutions
to the ever-present “problem” posed by same-sex attractions
and behaviors. It also allows for the fact that the same solution
might not be equally appropriate for all individuals. Whereas one
person might avoid labeling his or her sexual identity solely to
avoid social rejection, another might do so as an affirmation of sexual
fluidity; yet another might do so because Western sexual-identity
labels have little meaning in that person’s cultural tradition.
These strategies might be beneficial for some women and less so for
others, but we need to examine them on a case-by-case basis.
The prevalence of nonexclusivity. As noted, most women in the
study acknowledged nonexclusive attractions, but the way they ex-
Sexual Fluidity in Action • 87
perienced those attractions was not the same. Some respondents
reported desires that were consistent with a bisexual orientation
producing regular attractions to both sexes in varying degrees. But
other women described nonexclusive attractions more in terms of
potential or capacity. In other words, they reported being generally
oriented toward one sex on a day-to-day basis, but they acknowledged
that once in a while they encountered individuals who
sparked unexpected desires. This is perfectly consistent with the
notion that women possess generalized orientations in concert
with a capacity for fluidity, and it suggests that the nonexclusivity
brought about by sexual fluidity is not quite the same as a bisexual
orientation.
Early experiences do not predict later ones. Researchers have assumed
that women whose same-sex sexuality develops late in life or
proves sensitive to situational factors are not quite as “authentically”
or “essentially” gay as women who describe their same-sex
sexuality as early-developing and impervious to situational influences.
They assume that women whose same-sex sexuality is first
triggered by situational factors will eventually abandon it for the
safety of heterosexuality. This expectation has spawned colloquial
terms such as “LUG”—lesbian until graduation—in reference to
women who identify as lesbian only in the accepting, progressive
environment of college.20
Yet the existence of sexual fluidity would mean that all women
are sensitive to interpersonal and situational influences on their sexuality,
albeit to differing degrees. Accordingly, we should not expect
women who first questioned their sexuality because of situational
or interpersonal factors to be significantly different from women
who questioned their sexuality without such triggers. Furthermore,
because situational influences interact with dispositional factors,
potentially “speeding up” or “slowing down” the expression of
various traits, we should not expect the timing of a woman’s early
88 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
attractions or sexual questioning necessarily to predict the eventual
course of her attractions, behavior, and identification over time.
Rather, the distinction between women whose sexual questioning is
triggered late as opposed to early, or by sexual fantasies as opposed
to feminist theory courses, might simply depend on a woman’s specific
degree of fluidity combined with the availability of the right
triggers at the right time.
The need for appropriate triggers provides a potential explanation
for the fact that over time, the majority of women in the study
pursued increasing rates of other-sex sexual contact. Even lesbians
who were nearly exclusively attracted to women pursued periodic
other-sex sexual contact as the years went by. Such patterns might
be attributable to corresponding changes in women’s environments.
As they left college and joined the working world, nearly all the
women reported that they were moving into environments that
were less populated with fellow sexual-minority women and more
populated with male friends and colleagues. As one thirty-yearold
lesbian said, “I just meet far more men on a day-to-day basis
than I ever did in college.” Another lesbian, who had attended
an all-women’s college, remarked at age twenty-seven, “I moved
back into the co-ed world.” It makes sense that as these women became
exposed to more men, dramatically increasing the situational
triggers and opportunities for other-sex attractions and relationships,
fluidity would shift their feelings and behaviors in the same
direction.
One of the most important reasons for integrating the notion of
sexual fluidity into our understanding of female sexuality is that we
might then provide young women themselves with more accurate
information about these issues. Many of the women in this study
expressed embarrassment when explaining changes in their sexual
feelings, relationships, or identities because they had internalized
Sexual Fluidity in Action • 89
the prevailing cultural message that such experiences were highly
atypical. As one twenty-year-old told me before recounting her
complex sexual history, “I’m not sure I’m a very good example of a
lesbian, and I don’t want to mess up your study or anything, so it’s
okay if you don’t want to interview me after all.”
Little did she know how common her experiences were! Psychologists,
clinicians, and policy makers are increasingly designing educational
programming for schools and social service agencies aimed
at dispelling myths about sexual orientation and providing support
to sexual minorities as they embark on the identity-development
process. For women to benefit from these efforts, the science behind
these messages should speak to the full range of women’s actual experiences
and not just presume—as has long been the case—that
women simply undergo “female versions” of the types of experiences
that have been documented among males.
My aim is to place sexual fluidity in its proper place at the center
rather than on the margins of our understanding of female sexuality
and its development over the life course. Toward this end, the
next three chapters provide detailed investigations of the three
primary manifestations of sexual fluidity: nonexclusivity in attractions,
changes in attractions, and the capacity to become attracted
to “the person and not the gender.” For each phenomenon, I use
case studies from my longitudinal research to convey how fluidity is
experienced and interpreted by women themselves.
90 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
C H A P T E R 4
Nonexclusive Attractions and Behaviors
Which, if any, of these women from my study would you consider
bisexual?
Abigail has been attracted to both sexes ever since she was a child.
Her old high school friends like to remind her that she used to come
back from movies talking about both the cutest guy and the cutest
girl. She covered her bedroom wall with pictures of beautiful female
models and also male bodybuilders. She now pursues casual sex with
men and sometimes watches gay male pornography, but she has only
fallen in love and formed meaningful relationships with women.
Monica admits that she sometimes thinks the only reason she is ever
attracted to men is that she has been socialized to find them attractive.
But other times, she feels that those attractions are authentic.
Her emotional bonds with women are more intense and satisfying,
but she has never been involved with a woman. Her friends convinced
her that because she gets involved only with men, she cannot
legitimately consider herself bisexual. They urged her to “come out
as heterosexual.” She is now happily married to a man who considers
her to be “100 percent straight—end of story.” Her husband is
not aware that she is still attracted to women and fantasizes about
them several times a week.
Suzanne has been preoccupied with women’s bodies since high
school, when she was heavily involved with classical dance and used
to admire her fellow dancers’ bodies. She has always formed “borderline”
intense attachments to her female friends, and after becoming
familiar with lesbian/gay/bisexual issues and individuals in
college, she became intrigued by the possibility of having a sexual relationship
with a woman. It never happened. She says that for reasons
she still does not fully understand, her aesthetic appreciation of
women and her intense bonds with them never quite cross over into
sexual desire.
Gwen, who is now married to a man, never considered herself a very
sexual person. When she was nineteen, she became unexpectedly romantically
and sexually involved with a close female friend, and they
carried on an intense affair for more than a year. She thinks that
most women probably have some degree of attraction for women,
whether or not they acknowledge or act on it. But Gwen thinks it is
unlikely that she will ever again be involved with a woman. Most of
her attractions are focused on her husband these days. When she
does find herself drawn to a woman, the desire is not nearly as intense
as her feelings for her husband. Nonetheless, she still has more
sexual fantasies about women than about men.
Ann’s job requires her to maintain multiple residences in different
cities: she currently divides her time between one European city and
two large American cities. She has different lovers in each location,
some male and some female. Each of her partners is aware of the
others, and they are all comfortable with the situation. Ann used
to have a primary male partner to whom she was more intensely
bonded and with whom she expected to maintain a long-term committed
relationship, but they broke up. She feels that she will probably
always need both men and women in her life, and she hopes to
find another long-term primary relationship, with either a man or a
woman.
92 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
Ellen came out as a lesbian in high school and can remember being
strongly attracted to women from an early age. Nonetheless, she can
still imagine falling in love with a man. In her view, you fall in love
with whomever you happen to fall in love with. She cannot see herself
ever having sex with a man, but she is open to the possibility.
Nicole had her first full-fledged romantic and sexual relationship
with her female best friend when she was fifteen. The affair distressed
her parents, who sent her off to therapy. The therapist reassured
Nicole that there was nothing unhealthy about her relationship.
She told her that it was impossible to determine what the
relationship meant for her sexual identity: maybe she would conclude
that she was lesbian or bisexual, maybe not. Nicole found the
therapist’s open-minded attitude reassuring. She continued the love
affair for another year. Toward the end of high school she became involved
with a man with whom she stayed through her college years.
But she also remained active in her college’s lesbian/gay/bisexual
community. She eventually married her college boyfriend and is very
happy with him. She does not have any specific label for her sexuality,
though she is still attracted to women.
Diedre has never understood sexual categorization. She explains that
she becomes attracted to a person’s soul, and does not consider their
biological sex. She has had satisfying relationships with both men
and women and has no idea who she might settle down with in the
future. She has trouble relating to the concept of bisexuality because
it emphasizes the existence of two genders, which she finds irrelevant
to her own sexuality.
Pinpointing Bisexuality
The diversity of these examples is perplexing. Are all these women
bisexual? Are some of them? Sex researchers have not devised any
guidelines for making such determinations. The simple truth is that
Nonexclusive Attractions and Behaviors • 93
academics have found it just as difficult as everyone else to define
the hotly debated, frequently stereotyped, much-maligned notion of
bisexuality. No single definition seems to capture adequately all the
experiences listed above, and yet every single one of these women
experiences the hallmark of bisexuality: attractions to both men
and women.
But what exactly do we mean by “attractions”? Do they have to
be sexual attractions, or do romantic feelings count? How many
different men and women do you need to find attractive to qualify
as bisexual? Is one single crush enough? Does it have to be current,
or does a single attraction in high school (or elementary school, or
college, or the military, or that yoga retreat you attended two years
ago) count too? Do the feelings have to be long-lasting? What
about a single erotic dream, a tipsy kiss, or several nights of deep
conversation and intense fireside flirting during a camping trip?
What is the role of sexual behavior? Is a person’s bisexuality more
authentic if she actually acts on her attractions? What about fantasies?
Are they more or less defining than attractions? Does considering
the prospect of same-sex relationships make a person bisexual
or just open-minded?
No wonder there is so much confusion about bisexuality—even
researchers who have been studying the topic for decades disagree
on the answers to these questions.1 Some see bisexuality as a
straightforward sexual responsiveness to both sexes; others view it
as the potential for such responsiveness. Some view bisexuality as a
form of “gender-free” sexuality in which the femininity or masculinity
of a partner is irrelevant. Others see it as a heightened appreciation
for both masculinity and femininity. Still others view bisexuality
as humans’ basic sexual nature, before socialization molds us
toward one gender or the other. Others believe that there is no such
thing as bisexuality, and that all individuals are basically oriented
toward men versus women, regardless of what they might like to
believe or how they might have experimented over time. Then there
94 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
are the long-standing stereotypes that have proliferated in both the
lesbian-gay community and mainstream society, portraying bisexuals
as promiscuous, incapable of commitment, closeted, cowardly,
repressed, flighty, indecisive, oversexed, and mentally unstable.2
Despite the persistent confusion about bisexuality, it has gained
visibility and research attention over the past ten to fifteen years.3
Especially among the youngest generation of sexual minorities, bisexuality
is increasingly popular as both a sexual identity label and
an overarching philosophy promoting open, flexible understandings
of sexuality instead of rigid homosexual and heterosexual categories.
4 It was once difficult to find the word “bisexual” in the titles
of academic articles or lesbian-gay organizations and publications,
but now it is generally considered politically incorrect not to include
the word. Mainstream magazines and newspapers have featured
cover stories on bisexuality, and there is even a social science
journal devoted exclusively to the topic.
In the academic realm these changes are partly a result of the increased
attention that has been paid to female same-sex sexuality
over the past decade. As the research has increasingly documented,
women are more likely than men to have bisexual identities, attractions,
and behaviors. Thus it has become clear that we cannot hope
to fully understand female sexuality without a more thoroughgoing
understanding of bisexuality. In fact, we might argue that the gaps
in our scientific understanding of bisexuality stem not only from society’s
preoccupation with rigid sexual categories but also from the
fact that the prevailing models of sexual orientation have been
based on the experiences of men.
We have a long way to go in filling these gaps. Despite the increased
awareness of bisexuality, it remains poorly understood, largely
because it has so many different manifestations. There is no typical
form of bisexuality—all the dueling conceptualizations are “true”
to some extent, for some individuals. For this reason, I prefer the
term “nonexclusivity” to “bisexuality” because it is general enough
Nonexclusive Attractions and Behaviors • 95
to capture a wide range of experiences, and because it does not
come with the same historical and cultural baggage attached to the
word “bisexual.” I still use “bisexual” to denote bisexually identified
individuals and “bisexuality” to denote a consistent pattern (or
“orientation”) of nonexclusive attractions, but I generally prefer
“nonexclusivity” because it makes no presumptions about the relative
balance of one’s same-sex and other-sex attractions.
By speaking of nonexclusivity, I intentionally sidestep questions
about what bisexuality “really” is, who “has” it, and whether some
types are more authentic or intrinsic than others. My goal, instead,
is to describe and understand the phenomenon of nonexclusivity in
all its forms, and to explore their implications for female sexual
fluidity. The downside to using the term “nonexclusivity” is that
some people might associate it with infidelity, since the term “exclusive”
is often used to refer to monogamous relationships. Let me reiterate
that this is not the usage I intend. Even in the context of sexual
behavior, I use “nonexclusive” simply to describe a woman who
has pursued sexual behavior with both women and men over the
course of her own sexual history, not at the same moment in time. I
have been troubled enough by potential misinterpretations of the
term “nonexclusivity” to have spent a good deal of time searching
for alternatives, but to no avail. So I continue to use this term.
In this chapter I briefly review what scientists know and do not
know about bisexuality and nonexclusivity. I then turn to findings
from my longitudinal study to explore how women’s diverse experiences
of nonexclusivity have played out over a ten-year period. Recall
that many of the stereotypes and unanswered questions about
nonexclusivity concern its long-term stability. Is bisexuality a transitional
phase or a permanent sexual orientation? Do most bisexual
women eventually revert to their “true” lesbian or heterosexual natures?
Until now, researchers have never followed sexual-minority
individuals for long enough periods of time to find out. Now, however,
we can begin to address this question.
96 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
Definitions and Populations
In the past, scientists and laypeople alike assumed that individuals
with exclusive same-sex attractions were the most common types
of sexual minorities. In contrast, individuals with nonexclusive patterns
of desire were routinely overlooked. Men and women who
openly claimed bisexual identities have also been excluded from
lesbian-gay social and political organizations because their “real”
identities were matters of suspicion. This was particularly true
within the burgeoning lesbian-feminist communities of the 1970s,
in which bisexually identified (or bisexually behaving) women were
often distrusted because of their supposed access to heterosexual
privilege.5
Even now, scientific studies of sexual minorities routinely exclude
bisexual individuals, often for practical reasons. In many research
samples, there are too few openly identified bisexuals to group together
and analyze as a separate category. At the same time, grouping
them with either lesbians or heterosexuals obscures the findings.
6 What if some of the bisexuals are really closeted lesbians and
others are confused heterosexuals? The only way to avoid these
problems is to restrict research samples to clear-cut lesbians and gay
men, setting the bisexuals aside. After all, they are just flukes, right?
Wrong. A groundbreaking, nationally representative study of
sexuality among American adults conducted by the sociologist Edward
Laumann and his colleagues found that among both women
and men (but especially women), more individuals reported experiencing
attractions for both sexes than attractions exclusively for the
same sex.7 Moreover, this finding has been replicated in a number
of other nationally representative studies of American adolescents
and adults.8
The gender differences are even more interesting: in the survey by
Laumann’s group, slightly more than 6 percent of American men
and 4 percent of American women reported some degree of attrac-
Nonexclusive Attractions and Behaviors • 97
tion to the same sex. Yet these groups of men and women proved to
be notably different from each other. Among men, about the same
percentage reported being attracted mainly to women as reported
being attracted only to men. Combined, these two groups account
for about 40 percent of men with same-sex attractions. In contrast,
only 10 percent of men with same-sex attractions were attracted
to both sexes and 11 percent were attracted mostly to the same-sex.
If we plot out these percentages, we get a big letter “U,” with
“spikes” at the two extremes representing the large numbers of men
with exclusive same-sex or other-sex attractions, and a big drop in
the middle representing nonexclusivity.
Women could not look more different. The largest group of women
with same-sex attractions turned out to be the group with
predominantly—but not exclusively—other-sex attractions. More
than 60 percent of women with same-sex attractions fell into this
category, meaning that the most common type of sexual-minority
woman is someone whose attractions “look” heterosexual (some
researchers have referred to these women as “Kinsey 1s,” since a
Kinsey score of 0 would represent exclusive heterosexuality). As
we examine groups of women with progressively more exclusive
same-sex attractions, the numbers get smaller and smaller. Altogether,
20 percent of women with same-sex attractions reported
being attracted to both sexes, 14 percent reported being mostly attracted
to the same sex, and only 7 percent reported being exclusively
attracted to the same sex. So whereas four times as many men
were attracted only to the same sex as were attracted to both sexes,
among women this pattern was basically reversed.
Could this stark gender difference stem from the study’s selfreport
methodology? After all, maybe women are less comfortable
admitting to exclusive same-sex attractions than to nonexclusive
attractions, even on an unconscious level. As many feminist scholars
have pointed out, women’s sexual involvement with men—or
lack thereof—has always had stark social and political implica-
98 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
tions. Back in 1980, Adrienne Rich coined the term “compulsory
heterosexuality” to identify the invisible, pervasive system of social
control that has historically granted privileges to women (such as
social status and economic security) on the basis of their sexual
availability to men.9 Hence, though both sexes are stigmatized for
same-sex sexuality, total withdrawal from the institution of heterosexuality
is socially “dangerous” for women in particular. As a
result, we might argue that women with exclusive same-sex attractions
are unconsciously motivated to claim that they are still attracted
to men as well. The only way to rule out this possibility is to
somehow “get inside” men’s and women’s heads so that we can assess
their desires without requiring them to report their feelings
openly.
One way to do this is to examine individuals’ physiological experiences
of sexual arousal along with their psychological experiences.
This is a valuable strategy not because the body provides a
“truer” measure of desire but because physiological responses are
more difficult for the average person to control consciously. A team
of researchers headed by J. Michael Bailey at Northwestern University
has conducted a series of studies on gender differences in men’s
and women’s genital responses to same-sex and other-sex erotic
stimuli. In men, this involves placing a sensitive elastic strip around
the penis which measures the degree of penile erection. In women, it
involves inserting a small, tampon-sized device inside the vagina to
measure the degree of increased blood flow to the vaginal walls
(this measurement is a classic indicator of female sexual arousal
and is directly analogous to the male measure because erections are
caused and sustained by increased blood flow). In one study led by
the psychologist Meredith Chivers, the Northwestern team measured
the physiological and self-reported arousal of four different
groups: gay men, straight men, lesbian women, and heterosexual
women.10 Each individual was placed alone in a private room and
hooked up to the measurement equipment. They then viewed vid-
Nonexclusive Attractions and Behaviors • 99
eos of women having sex with women, men having sex with men,
men having sex with women, and some neutral videos of landscapes,
as a control condition.
The results were startling. Both gay and heterosexual men responded
mostly as we might expect: gay men were most physiologically
and subjectively aroused by the male-male videos, whereas
heterosexual men were most physiologically and subjectively
aroused by the female-female videos. Women, however, showed a
completely different pattern. There was much lower correspondence
between women’s genital responses and their self-reported
ratings of arousal, a finding that has emerged in other, similar studies.
11 But more important, on average women had roughly equivalent
genital responses to the different sexual videos. So whereas
gay men did not tend to develop erections in response to the femalefemale
video, and heterosexual men did not tend to develop erections
in response to the male-male video, most lesbian and heterosexual
women became physiologically aroused in response to all the
videos. Importantly, this was not equally true for every woman.
Some lesbians showed substantially more arousal to the femalefemale
videos and some heterosexual women showed substantially
more arousal to the male-male videos. But on average, women’s responses
were “nonspecific,” in the authors’ words. Women’s selfreported
arousal, however, was more in line with their selfdescribed
identities: lesbians reported the greatest arousal to the
female-female video, and heterosexual women reported the greatest
arousal to the female-male video. Notably, similar findings were
found in a separate study of female sexual response by a different
researcher, supporting the validity of the effect.12
The Northwestern team then conducted an additional study that
contrasted the sexual-arousal patterns of self-identified heterosexual
and gay men with self-identified bisexual men.13 They found
that though self-identified bisexual men reported sexual attractions
to both women and men, they tended to become physiologically
100 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
aroused by either one sex or the other. So though the men felt that
their attractions were bisexual in nature, their bodies responded as
if they were either gay or heterosexual. The researchers have concluded
from this provocative series of studies that there appears
to be a fundamental sex difference in the nature of sexual arousal,
with men’s arousal more “category-specific” than women’s. In
other words, men tend to respond physiologically to categories of
individuals—males versus females. Women, however, do not appear
to be sensitive to these categories. Although they may subjectively
prefer one sex over the other, their bodies respond to both.
In interpreting these findings, it is important to remember that
physiological arousal is not necessarily more accurate than subjective
arousal.We do not fully understand the link between these two
types of sexual arousal, so discrepancies between them are difficult
to interpret. I revisit this issue in more detail below.
The psychologist Richard Lippa has provided further confirmation
of this basic gender difference by examining the role of sex
drive.14 Lippa studied how “classic drive theory” applied to human
sexuality. According to this theory, high levels of sex drive should
increase individuals’ desires for the types of sexual partners they
usually desire, instead of increasing their desires for sex with just
anyone. In terms of sexual orientation, this would mean that gay
men with high sex drives should be particularly interested in sex
with men, but their high sex drives should have no effect on their
interest in sex with women. Correspondingly, heterosexual men
with high sex drives should be particularly interested in sex with
women, but their high sex drives should have no effect on their interest
in sex with men.
Lippa examined this theory in a series of studies investigating associations
between the sex drives of gay, lesbian, and heterosexual
individuals and their interest in female and male partners. His findings
paralleled those of the Northwestern team. Specifically, high
levels of sex drive in men were associated with higher levels of sex-
Nonexclusive Attractions and Behaviors • 101
ual interest in one’s “preferred” gender (men for gay men, and
women for heterosexual men). But for most women (with the exception
of the lesbian subsample in one of his studies), high sex
drive was associated with increased sexual attraction to both men
and women. Like the Northwestern team, Lippa believes that his
results suggest a fundamental difference between the way sexuality
and sexual orientation are organized for women versus men.
But what do all these findings imply at the level of day-to-day experience?
Especially perplexing, of course, is the fact that women’s
fairly broad physical responses to same-sex and other-sex stimuli
differed from their subjective responses. Are women intentionally
misrepresenting their desires? This is possible, but it seems unlikely
in the context of these studies given that the women knew their genital
responses were being monitored. A heterosexual woman might
want to hide the fact that she was becoming aroused by the samesex
video, but she would know that the researchers would be able
to tell by examining her genital responses.
It seems more plausible that the discrepancies between women’s
genital responses and their subjective feelings of desire are real:
sometimes women are physically aroused without knowing it, and
sometimes their subjective feelings of desire are not matched by
genital arousal. Notably, similar discrepancies have occurred in
other psychophysiological research. For example, many studies of
stress reactivity have found that though individuals report feeling
stressed in response to laboratory stressors, they show no physiological
arousal; others show physiological arousal in the absence
of self-reported stress.15 In this case, however, women’s responses
were generally more discrepant than men’s. Why? One possibility
is that society’s ever-present double standard for female and male
sexuality (boys who have strong sexual desires are normal, while
girls with this profile are sluts) leads adolescent girls to ignore their
own experiences of arousal, so that they have few opportunities to
“match up” their psychological and physiological experiences of
102 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
desire.16 This might be exacerbated by the fact that young boys are
more likely than young girls to explore their own bodies and engage
in sex play.17 By the time they reach adulthood, these factors may
coalesce to produce notable gaps between women’s psychological
and physiological experiences of arousal.
We are implicitly assuming, of course, that these experiences are
supposed to match up, but perhaps we are wrong about that as
well. Just as you might be attracted to different people for different
reasons (one person is physically beautiful, another is warm and
funny, another is complex and mysterious), maybe diverse types of
desire become activated in different circumstances. Sometimes they
might correspond, sometimes not. We do know that the overall degree
of correspondence is far greater among men. Perhaps, then,
discrepancies between psychological and physiological arousal represent
yet another manifestation of women’s distinctive capacity for
fluidity. In other words, perhaps fluidity allows women to experience
situation-specific sexual arousal that diverges not only from
their overall orientation but also from their concurrent psychological
experience as well. This might help to account for cases in which
women go for years without any awareness of same-sex attractions
at all, and then abruptly develop such attractions in the context of
a specific same-sex relationship.18 Maybe such women always possessed
a fluid capacity for such arousal (in other words, if they
enrolled in Chivers’s study they would have had a robust genital response
to the same-sex stimuli), but they required direct involvement
in an intimate same-sex relationship to transform that physiological
capacity into a conscious experience of attraction.
If this is the case, then many women might be far more fluid than
they realize. Most likely the participants in Chivers’s study would
never have expected their genital responses to be as broad as they
turned out to be. But do such responses matter if they are outside a
person’s conscious experience? This question, of course, harks back
to the debates about who “counts” as bisexual. If your physiologi-
Nonexclusive Attractions and Behaviors • 103
cal pattern of arousal is nonexclusive (in other words, you would
respond genitally to both men and women in Chivers’s study), but
your subjective desires are clearly categorical, then are you lesbian
or bisexual? Is the physiological measure a better index of your underlying
orientation, or does it simply assess a capacity that remains
meaningless unless it is integrated with conscious experience?
After all, consider your own feelings of desire. When you
meet someone and think, “Wow, that person is attractive,” where
exactly is that response coming from? Are you aware of your own
physical arousal at that moment, or are you responding psychologically?
What if you found out that though you think Chris is more
desirable than Pat, your body responded more strongly to Pat than
to Chris. Would that change your decision about whom to approach?
If Chris and Pat were of different genders, would you then
change your sexual-identity label?
In truth, we know so little about the phenomenology of desire
and the specific connection between its physical and psychological
components that it makes no sense to pronounce some forms of
arousal more authentic than others or better indicators of a person’s
“true” orientation. The complex nature of the existing data
should serve as a potent reminder of just how complex attractions
are. When we toss around simplistic definitions of homosexuality
and bisexuality—“attracted to the same sex, attracted to both
sexes”—we imply that “attraction” and “desire” are straightforward
phenomena and that all we need to do is figure out who is attracted
to whom.
The situation is much more complicated than that. One way to
break down this complexity is to look closely at the real-life, dayto-
day, year-by-year experiences of the women in my study. Virtually
all of them—even the lesbians—have been attracted to both
men and women to some degree, at some point in time. Yet they differ
dramatically with regard to how they experienced same-sex and
other-sex attractions (physical versus emotional, immediate versus
104 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
gradual, intense versus weak, and so on) and in how they interpreted
them. Exploring the diversity of their experiences helps to reveal
the multifaceted nature of nonexclusivity. Furthermore, tracking
different women over time allows us to explore questions that
researchers have never before been able to address: How stable are
nonexclusive attractions over the long term? Is bisexuality a phase
or an orientation? Do most women eventually gravitate toward one
gender, or are women with nonexclusive attractions consistently
compelled to seek relationships with both sexes? My respondents’
experiences speak directly to these controversial issues.
Nonexclusivity over Time
The best place to begin is with women’s identity labels. What distinguishes
women who identify as bisexual or unlabeled from women
who identify as lesbian? Is the difference between these groups a
matter of degree or a matter of kind?
As noted, when I began my study nearly 60 percent of the participants
considered themselves either bisexual or unlabeled. At the
time I was unsure how to categorize or interpret the unlabeled
women, so I compared them with the lesbian and bisexual women
on a number of measures to see whether they resembled either
group. I found that their reported percentages of same-sex attractions
closely mirrored those of the bisexually identified women. In
other words, “unlabeled” seemed to function as an alternative way
to represent an individual’s capacity for nonexclusive attractions.
Recall, as well, that among the two-thirds of women who changed
their identities over the ten years of the study, most undertook
changes that accommodated a broadening of their attractions rather
than increased exclusivity. Specifically, women were more likely to
switch to unlabeled and bisexual identities than to heterosexual
or lesbian identities over the ten years of the study. In fact, by
2005 fully 80 percent of the sample had identified as bisexual or
Nonexclusive Attractions and Behaviors • 105
unlabeled for at least some period of time. But were they doing so
for the same reasons? Did they interpret the label “bisexual” in
the same way? Exactly what range of attractions did the respondents
consider to be consistent with a bisexual versus a lesbian
label? They obviously thought that a woman did not need to be
exclusively attracted to women to identify as lesbian. Across the
ten years of the study, only three women reported that they were
100 percent attracted to women at each assessment, and only seventeen
women reported 100 percent same-sex attractions at any assessment.
This means that only one-third of the women who ever
adopted a lesbian label reported consistently exclusive same-sex attractions,
showing that most women thought it was acceptable for
lesbians to experience periodic attractions to men.
But this was the case only if most of their attractions were directed
toward women. The majority of women who consistently
identified as lesbian reported experiencing between 90 and 95 percent
of their attractions for women. In contrast, the majority of
women who identified as bisexual at each assessment reported that
between 40 and 60 percent of their attractions were for women.
Unlabeled women showed a wider range of same-sex attractions,
between 30 and 80 percent, but most unlabeled women fell in the
same range as the bisexuals.
Remember that these percentages represent relative ratios of attraction,
that is, how often a woman is attracted to women versus
men on a day-to-day basis. Because there are other ways to compare
attractions to women versus men, at the ten-year point I asked
women a broader range of questions about their attractions, such
as the intensity of their attractions and how many different women
and men they generally found themselves drawn to. After all, someone
might report being 100 percent attracted to women simply
because her attractions were directed to her current partner. That
situation seems quite different from a case in which a woman is attracted
to a wide range of different women from day to day.
106 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
Using labels from 2005, when I asked the question, the majority
of self-identified lesbians rated the intensity of their attractions to
women as approximately 7.5 on a scale of 1 to 8. The average rating
for bisexually identified women, in contrast, was around 6, and
for unlabeled women it was less than 5 (which puts them slightly
below the midpoint of the scale). As for attractions to men, selfidentified
lesbians rated the intensity of those attractions at around
2 (the second lowest scale point), bisexuals as slightly over 6, and
unlabeled women as a little over 5.
On average, bisexual and unlabeled women reported that attractions
for men and women were about equal in intensity. But these
figures are group averages—what about individual women? If some
bisexual women feel that their same-sex attractions are more intense
and others feel that their other-sex attractions are more intense,
those differences would cancel each other out once we took
the group average. So I took each woman’s ratings and subtracted
her intensity rating for men from her intensity rating for women. If
the ratings were identical (meaning her same-sex and other-sex attractions
were equally intense), this would yield a score of 0. If her
attractions to women were more intense than her attractions to
men, this would yield a positive number; if her attractions to men
were more intense, this would yield a negative number.
The average among the bisexually identified women was -.6,
meaning that on average, bisexual women tended to give very similar
ratings of intensity to men and women, differing by less than
one point on the 1 to 8 scale, with men receiving slightly higher ratings.
Yet there was quite a bit of variability, and in fact one-third of
bisexual women rated their attractions to women as more intense
than their attractions to men. Interestingly, if we compare bisexual
women’s ratings of intensity with their reports of the frequency of
same-sex versus other-sex attractions (the now-familiar 0 percent to
100 percent figure), an unexpected picture emerges. The subset of
bisexual women who had more intense attractions to women also
Nonexclusive Attractions and Behaviors • 107
had more frequent attractions to women, which seems to make
sense. A similar pattern was found among the bisexual women who
had more intense attractions to men. Most of these women were
also more frequently attracted to men. Yet about one-third of these
women were more frequently attracted to women. In other words,
on a day-to-day basis, they were more often drawn to women than
to men, but when they did become attracted to a man, the feelings
were more intense. Perhaps this explains another interesting
fact about this group: despite reporting that they were more frequently
attracted to women, they tended to have more sexual contact
with men!
What about the number of different women and men the respondents
found attractive? Over the preceding six months, lesbians
reported having been strongly attracted to about three different
women and only one man. Bisexuals reported becoming attracted
to an average of four different women and two men. These numbers
are not very different from those reported by the lesbians, and
they again underscore the fact that bisexuals tended to be more frequently
attracted to women than to men, even if the attractions
themselves were not always maximally intense.
When asked why they were more frequently attracted to women,
bisexually identified women often indicated that women were more
likely than men to have the characteristics they found desirable,
such as political consciousness, sensitivity, empathy, or sheer aesthetic
beauty:
I find that it’s a lot easier to bond with women, and there’s also
something really deeply satisfying, there’s an understanding that exists
with women that doesn’t automatically exist with men. . . . I was
recently getting out of this last relationship with a man, and I remember
thinking, “Why do men lack that understanding and intuition
that women seem to have naturally?” (age twenty-five)
I can’t generalize to all guys, but it’s very hard to find guys that have
the political feminist background that I need to deal with someone.
108 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
They have this cluelessness about women’s issues, and cluelessness
about the way society is structured around misogyny. (age twentytwo)
Other participants noted that women were generally better lovers
than men, and that being with women had raised their standards
for sexual satisfaction:
I don’t put up with as much anymore, you know. I guess in terms of
actually being sexual with men I expect them to take the time to really
please me, and to do what I need because I know what that is
now, and I can communicate that, and if they don’t listen it’s their
problem. (age twenty-six)
Yet despite some of these female advantages, several bisexually
identified women found that men continued to draw their erotic attention:
I think before, I underestimated the power of male sexuality, you
know, traditional sexuality within this culture, that idea of male sexual
power. I underestimated its pull for me. It’s really hard being
someone who’s a feminist and acknowledging that. (age twenty)
Of course, whether such feelings eventually motivated women to
participate in same-sex versus other-sex sexual behavior is a different
issue. It is no surprise that bisexually identified women sought
sexual contact with men as well as women over the ten years of the
study. However, the number of lesbian-identified women who also
sought sexual contact with men was unexpected.
Most people assume that women who come out as lesbian never
again have sexual contact with men. Yet this was not the norm.
Rather, about 60 percent of the women who identified as lesbian at
the initial 1995 interview had some sort of sexual contact with men
(from “fooling around” to sexual intercourse) during the next ten
years, and more than 40 percent did so within two years of that first
interview. Some of these women eventually changed their identity
Nonexclusive Attractions and Behaviors • 109
to bisexual or unlabeled, often in direct response to these experiences.
But even among lesbians who remained lesbian-identified for
the entire ten years of the study, more than 50 percent had some
form of sexual contact with a man by 2005.
This finding is not unprecedented, but these figures are larger
than those reported in previous research. This might be due to the
fact that previous studies never followed lesbians over such long
stretches of time. For example, Paula Rust’s survey of more than
300 adult lesbians found that over 40 percent of them had participated
in other-sex relationships since identifying as lesbian.19 A
large survey of African-American lesbians conducted in the 1980s
found that 12 percent of lesbian respondents had had heterosexual
intercourse in the previous year, and a public health survey conducted
in San Francisco in the early 1990s found that one-fourth of
self-identified lesbians had had sexual contact with a man in the
previous three years.20
Historically, lesbian participation in other-sex sexual behavior
has been attributed to the pressure that women have faced to engage
in traditional marriage and family arrangements at the expense
of their own sexual gratification.21 Another potential explanation
is that the pervasive stigmatization of same-sex sexuality
might lead some lesbians to consider returning to the safety of
heterosexual relationships and identities. This might explain Paula
Rust’s finding that women who had come out as lesbian in the relatively
repressive 1970s were more likely to engage in subsequent
other-sex behavior than were women who came out in the more tolerant
1980s or 1990s. It is also possible, though, that some of the
women who came out as lesbian in the 1970s had always been
aware that they were attracted to both men and women but did not
know that the category “bisexual” even existed as an option.22
Back then, if you were attracted to women at all, you were a lesbian.
Yet cultural pressure does not appear to be a sufficient explana-
110 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
tion for the other-sex behavior of the lesbians in my sample. For
one thing, they were all immersed in environments that offered substantially
greater tolerance for same-sex sexuality, and less pressure
to marry, than did previous generations. This should lead to lower
rates of other-sex sexual behavior among self-identified lesbians,
not greater rates. Furthermore, if lesbians were pursuing othersex
behavior as a result of social pressure or fears of stigmatization,
then we would expect the highest rates of other-sex behavior
among the lesbians who reported the most disapproval from family
and friends and the greatest stigmatization and harassment. But
this was not the case at all. Lesbians with accepting families and
tolerant communities had the same rates of sexual contact with
men as did lesbians with disapproving families and intolerant communities.
The only thing that did predict a lesbian’s other-sex sexual behavior
over the ten years of the study was—sensibly enough—her selfreported
attractions to men back in 1995. All but one of the lesbians
who reported in the beginning of the study that at least 10
percent of their attractions were directed to men acted on those attractions
at some point in the future. Hence, periodic other-sex behavior
among self-identified lesbians appears to be a straightforward
outgrowth of periodic other-sex attractions. And given that
most lesbians report at least some other-sex attractions, Rust concludes,
“the question is . . . not whether self-identified lesbians will
ever again find themselves heterosexually involved, but how they
will react to heterosexual involvement.”23
So how did they react? Did sexual contact with men prompt
lesbians to migrate to bisexual and unlabeled identities? Not always—
lesbians’ responses to other-sex sexual contact depended on
whether they pursued such contact casually, for sexual release, or
whether it took place within a significant love affair. Of course, the
notion of lesbians’ seeking sexual release with men might seem surprising.
If they are more attracted to women, then wouldn’t same-
Nonexclusive Attractions and Behaviors • 111
sex contact be more gratifying? The trouble, according to many lesbians,
is that it is hard to find women who are interested in casual
sex. Because men are generally more comfortable pursuing uncommitted
sex, and because well-defined social scripts make it easy to
progress quickly from male-female friendship to sexual activity,
many lesbians found that it was just easier to have casual sex with
men than with women. As one lesbian remarked, “I can’t say that I
have any strong attractions for men at all, but men are just a lot easier
to obtain than women are” (age twenty-three). Other lesbians
said that they could not engage in casual, purely sexual relationships
with women because they would not be able to separate out
their emotions:
It’s not that I’m completely uninterested in sex with men, but I generally
don’t feel any sort of emotional bond with them. So if it happens,
it’s purely sex and that’s it. Which I’m absolutely incapable of
doing with a woman. (age twenty-three)
I could never dissociate emotion and sex with a woman, but I could
very easily dissociate that with a man. . . . With women I’m looking
for a relationship and something meaningful and, you know, potentially
being this person’s girlfriend, or whatever. Whereas, honestly,
in guys, I’m just kind of looking to have a little fun sometimes. (same
woman six years later, age twenty-nine)
Maybe every couple of years I find myself attracted to a guy enough
to kiss someone, but I don’t feel that I would ever be in relationship
with a guy. I don’t emotionally feel like I can be with a guy. (age
twenty-six)
I’ve had physical relations with men, but no other types of relationships.
Just random, stupid things, no emotional ties. But I feel that
when I meet a woman, it’s going to be forever, but with a man, I
know that it’s not going to be long-term. (age twenty-three)
112 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
In general, lesbians did not think that such encounters were
inconsistent with their lesbian identification. As one woman remarked
when describing her sporadic sexual involvement with a
good male friend, “I don’t feel like anybody is going to take my ‘lesbian
license’ away or anything.” This woman, like many other
lesbian-identified respondents, felt that the most important component
of their lesbian identity was their emotional connection with
women:
I guess I don’t entirely think sexuality, even though it has the word
“sex” in it, is all about sexuality. I don’t entirely conceptualize it as
“who I want to have sex with.” It’s who I love, and who I’m attracted
to. I think the physical and the sexual stuff yes, definitely
plays a role, but I think that the emotional and mental attraction for
me personally is so much more important, and that’s what I primarily
have with women. (age twenty-three)
I would say a large portion of choosing a lesbian identity relates
more to the emotional connection. . . . I’ve had sexual interactions
with both men and women, but I don’t really feel that “bisexual” is
accurate—well, it’s an accurate behavioral label, but I don’t feel like
it’s an accurate reflection of how I actually feel. I feel much more
fulfilled and connected and intimate with women. So I feel that “lesbian”
is probably a better term for it. (age twenty-nine)
Given the emphasis that so many lesbians placed on the emotional
component of their sexual identity, those who fell in love
with a man found it far more difficult to continue identifying as
lesbian. In fact, all of the women who identified as lesbian in 1995
and went on to develop full-blown romantic relationships with
men (which amounted to a surprisingly high 30 percent of the lesbian
group) eventually switched to bisexual or unlabeled identities.
Most notably, they changed their labels even if they felt that their
true orientation was still lesbian. But how could they possibly think
Nonexclusive Attractions and Behaviors • 113
that? If they were emotionally and physically satisfied by a man,
didn’t this prove that they weren’t lesbian?
The answer is no if the man was an exception. And this was exactly
how many lesbians understood their unexpected other-sex
love affairs—as flukes. In the words of one woman, “I don’t really
feel like I’m bisexual, because all of my other attractions are for
women, and I feel like he is sort of an exception” (age twenty-five).
Many of these women were rejected and stigmatized by their own
lesbian communities when they embarked on these unexpected relationships,
a phenomenon that has been described at length in
memoirs by other high-profile lesbians who fell in love with men,
such as the activist and author Jan Clausen and the singer Holly
Near.24
Interestingly, not one of the lesbians who experienced an abrupt,
unexpected transition disavowed any of her previous feelings, relationships,
or identities, or characterized them as false or misguided.
Rather, they all acknowledged the inconvenient reality that sometimes
it was impossible to tell what would unfold in the future.
Even if you were attracted to men only 5 percent of the time, if that
5 percent happened to include the one, that relationship might become
100 percent of your future. In Chapters 6 and 7 I revisit such
cases in more detail to explore how and why they occur.
Given that so many of our preconceived notions about bisexuality
are inaccurate, it is useful to re-examine some of the most common
stereotypes. The three most prevalent misconceptions are that
(1) bisexual people are inherently promiscuous, and hence incapable
of monogamous commitment to one partner; (1) they are really
just repressed lesbians; or (2) they are really just confused or “curious”
heterosexuals. Having tracked the sexual and romantic relationships
of bisexual and unlabeled women for ten years, does my
study support any of these characteristics?
The stereotype about promiscuity and nonmonogamy appears
soundly refuted by my data. By 2005, the majority of all women
114 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
in my study were involved in committed monogamous relationships,
and women with nonexclusive attractions were no different
in this regard. Among women who had ever identified as bisexual
or unlabeled during the ten years of the study, more than 80 percent
were involved in a committed monogamous relationship by 2005,
and of these, 60 percent had lasted for at least four years. So much
for the notion that bisexual attractions are incompatible with commitment!
Two out of three of these committed monogamous relationships
were with men, and of these, half resulted in marriage.
Interestingly, the negative stereotypes about bisexuality and promiscuity
had seeped into women’s own homes: a number of bisexual
women reported having to reassure their husbands that just because
they were attracted to women did not mean that they needed
to act on those feelings. As one bisexual woman put it, “I can
choose between a red car and a black car, but I’ve only got a one-car
garage!”
What about the notion that bisexuals are repressed lesbians or
curious/experimenting heterosexuals? Notably, over the ten years
of the study not a single woman reinterpreted her previous identity
in this fashion. Even the bisexual and unlabeled women who eventually
switched to lesbian labels still described themselves as “technically”
bisexual and simply indicated that the predominance of
their same-sex attractions was more consistent with a lesbian than a
bisexual label.
Thus the “repressed lesbian” and “confused heterosexual” stereotypes
also appear to be false. At the same time, we can see how
such stereotypes arose, given that women’s relationship patterns became
more “lesbian-like” or “heterosexual-like” as the years went
by and they began to settle down into stable, long-term relationships.
A bisexual woman who marries a man certainly resembles a
garden-variety heterosexual, and a bisexual woman who settles
down with a woman seems like the average lesbian.
The gradual trend toward “specialization” among bisexual and
Nonexclusive Attractions and Behaviors • 115
unlabeled women is most evident in the women’s ratios of same-sex
to other-sex sexual behavior. Here, the most surprising finding was
that bisexual and unlabeled women pursued progressively more
sexual contact with men than with women over the ten years of the
study. About 57 percent of bisexual-unlabeled women reported increases
in their other-sex sexual contact as time went by, whereas
only about one-third reported decreases (the rest showed no consistent
pattern of change). The same trends emerged in women’s romantic
attachments: those who gravitated toward more sexual contact
with women also pursued more romantic ties with women,
whereas those who gravitated toward more sexual contact with
men also pursued more romantic ties with men. About one-fourth
of the bisexual-unlabeled women switched to either lesbian or heterosexual
identities in line with their behavioral changes, but most
felt that their bisexual or unlabeled identities still did a good job of
describing their overall sexual profile.
But could we have predicted which bisexual and unlabeled
women would eventually gravitate toward women as opposed to
men? At first I thought that their 1995 self-reported percentages
of same-sex versus other-sex attractions might have foreshadowed
their futures, since this had been true of the lesbians. But this did
not turn out to be the case for bisexual and unlabeled women. Two
bisexual women with the exact same degree of same-sex attractions
in 1995 often made very different choices ten years later: whereas
one would have settled with a woman, the other would have ended
up with a man.
Interestingly, this “prediction failure” was true only for women’s
1995 reports. The percentage of same-sex attractions that bisexual
and unlabeled women claimed in 1997, 2000, 2003, and 2005 did
correlate with their eventual degree of same-sex behavior, such that
women who reported more frequent same-sex attractions pursued
progressively more sexual contact with women, and those with
more frequent other-sex attractions pursued progressively more
116 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
sexual contact with men. Most likely, later reports did a better job
of predicting women’s eventual behavior than did earlier reports
because attractions and behavior are known to influence and reinforce
each other.25 Women’s sexual fluidity is likely to enhance this
process: a woman who is attracted to both women and men but
becomes involved in a satisfying same-sex relationship is likely to
find that this experience enhances the frequency and intensity of
her same-sex attractions, while it probably also draws her attention
away from other-sex attractions and opportunities. This might motivate
her to seek progressively more same-sex relationships in the
future, and over time this tendency might solidify into a stable
pattern.
As for the fact that more bisexual and unlabeled women gravitated
toward men than toward women, social factors also proved
important. Specifically, women repeatedly mentioned two factors
that influenced them to seek male partners: (1) the composition of
their social networks, in terms of both the number of women versus
men and the number of lesbian/gay/bisexual versus heterosexual
friends, and (2) the relative ease and social acceptability of pursuing
other-sex versus same-sex relationships.
Many women found, for example, that as they moved from college
into the working world or changed cities for career purposes,
they sometimes ended up with fewer lesbian/gay/bisexual friends
than they had before. At the same time, many women found that
their jobs put them in much greater day-to-day contact with men
than had been the case before. As one bisexual woman noted, “These
days, probably 90 percent of the people that I see every day are
men, so in terms of meeting somebody and having them also be interested
in you, that’s just more likely now to be a guy. I’ve just encountered
way less bisexual and gay women. That’s probably why
my last few relationships have been with guys.”
This was true even for women who had started out strongly
attracted to women. Willa provides a salient example. She had
Nonexclusive Attractions and Behaviors • 117
identified as bisexual since high school, when she had been extremely
active in raising awareness about lesbian/gay/bisexual issues.
Willa’s coming-out story was among the most dramatic in the
entire sample: she had been vaguely aware of same-sex attractions
since around age fourteen, and by the time she was sixteen they
were fairly consistent. Yet she was still trying to push them out of
her mind. One day while standing in line in the high school cafeteria,
she noticed an extremely attractive girl. She was so immediately
and strongly drawn to the girl that her legs started to tremble and
become weak. Her knees abruptly locked and she fell down on the
floor, lunch tray flying. She recalls thinking to herself at that point,
“Okay, I don’t think I can deny this any longer.”
During her college years, she was very involved in the lesbian/
gay/bisexual community. But after she graduated, she found herself
“hanging around more men than women, more than I’m used to,”
and she became involved in a serious relationship with a man. Their
relationship went on and off for the next couple of years, and over
time she simply found that though she was still open to becoming
involved with an attractive woman, that possibility became less and
less likely. She found herself fantasizing less often about women
and seeking out fewer opportunities to date female partners. By the
fourth interview, she had gotten back together with her longtime
boyfriend, and by the fifth interview they were happily married.
Another factor that influenced some women’s decision making
was the prospect of having children. As they grew older, some participants
began thinking about having a family, and they were forced
to ask themselves whether they wanted to take such a step with a
man or a woman. Rita provides an example of the type of decision
making that some bisexually identified women went through:
I really like the idea of being able to have a kid that’s both part of me
and part of the person that I love, and to see that come to fruition
and turn into a whole new person. . . . If I broke up with Bob and I
118 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
met a woman and fell madly in love, then yeah, I would live with her,
adopt a kid, but I just see it more easily, you know what I mean,
when I look to the future I see myself more easily falling into a relationship
with a guy. But it’s funny because I do still think of myself as
bisexual, so I guess I’m leaning more toward men these days due to
more practical reasons, societal reasons. (age thirty)
Many bisexual and unlabeled women felt that as long as they had
some degree of choice over whether to have children with a man or
a woman, it made sense to take the “easier” path for the sake of the
children. Nonetheless, women with this view were often ambivalent
about it. This was especially true for those who found their relationships
with women to be more emotionally gratifying than their
relationships with men. For such women, the flexibility made possible
by their nonexclusive attractions could sometimes be a heavy
responsibility, because it prompted them to actively and repeatedly
question not only their attractions but also their own susceptibility
to traditional expectations about marriage and family life. Many
bisexual women found that as they moved through different life
stages and made different decisions about career and family, the
conventional ideal of a husband and kids continued to hold sway
for them, no matter how much they were aware of its restrictiveness.
Judith provides a compelling example of how some bisexual and
unlabeled women struggled with conflicting desires for a conventional
life and the satisfaction of same-sex attractions and relationships.
Judith
When I knocked on Judith’s dorm-room door to interview her,
the person who peeked around the door to greet me was not Judith
but—to my surprise—her wide-eyed, curly-haired three-year-old son.
Nonexclusive Attractions and Behaviors • 119
Judith had given birth to him when she was seventeen. The father
had never been in the picture, and Judith was somehow managing a
full college course load as a single mother.
If she found the challenge stressful, she certainly did not show it.
Judith possessed an unusual combination of warmth and exuberance,
such that being around her was both comforting and uplifting.
Her deep affection for her son and his adoration for her were
compelling. As we spoke, he alternately clambered around her legs,
wandered over to see what I was writing, and busied himself with
his toys. Judith’s gentle, freckled face was almost always smiling,
even when she discussed difficult experiences and decisions.
Judith had first started questioning her sexuality in an abstract
way when she was twelve years old and her parents enrolled her in
a progressive school that offered an extensive program on racism
and prejudice. She remembers realizing at some point that if everyone
was supposed to love everyone else regardless of ethnicity, social
class, and so on, then why should gender matter? She excitedly
told her close friends about this realization, and their response was,
“Duh, that’s called bisexuality.”
By the time she was fourteen she was aware of clear-cut attractions
for women, and some of her older lesbian/gay/bisexual friends
gave her pamphlets about coming out. She did not even look at
them until she was eighteen, at which point her on-and-off sexual
questioning had started up again in full force. By that point she had
given birth to her son and was no longer involved with the father. It
was the summer before she was supposed to leave for college, and
she finally pulled out the dusty “coming-out” pamphlets that her
friends had given her four years earlier. She quickly ruled out the
possibility that she was a lesbian, since she was undoubtedly attracted
to men. The notion of bisexuality immediately made sense,
and she started attending meetings at the local lesbian/gay/bisexual
center “to see if they were human!” By the time she entered college
in the fall, she had started identifying as bisexual and immediately
120 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
joined the campus lesbian/gay/bisexual group. Six months later, she
was thrilled to have her first relationship with a woman.
Although Judith never went through the self-hatred that characterizes
so many lesbian/gay/bisexual youth, by the time of our first
interview she was deeply uncertain about what sorts of relationships
she wanted and expected to have in the future. She tended to
form strong and satisfying emotional bonds with women, but she
had “a gut feeling” that she would end up with a man: “I know I’ll
still be attracted to women, even if I married a guy, but I don’t really
want to start a relationship with a woman right now because that’s
not where I see myself going. I just wish I felt more of an emotional
attraction for men.”
Over the next eight years, Judith vacillated between her persistent
attractions to women and her motivation to find “the right
guy” to settle down with, someone with whom she could have the
same sort of strong emotional connection that she tended to form
with women. At times she tried to focus on finding a potential male
partner, and at other times she relaxed and allowed herself to enjoy
her attractions and relationships with women. At one point, when
she was in a male-focused stage, she recalls having sex with her
boyfriend and actually becoming jealous of his enjoyment of her
body. She thought to herself, “Damn! I remember how great it is to
be with a woman! I want to have that, too!”
Throughout this time, Judith remained self-conscious about the
degree to which her motivation to settle down with a man was exactly
what conventional heterosexual society would expect her to
do. Even though she felt that her own motives had more to do with
her personal situation than with social acceptability, she noted that
she did not generally discuss these issues with other people. She did
not want to be judged; nor did she want people to draw the wrong
conclusions about bisexuality based on her experience. As she said,
“It’s my own individual process I’m going through. I don’t talk
about it much, because I don’t want straight people to think that all
Nonexclusive Attractions and Behaviors • 121
bisexuals will ‘grow out of it’ or that they will eventually want to
marry a man.”
The big question with which she continued to struggle, however,
was whether her motivation to get married would lead her to “settle”
for a heterosexual relationship that was not as emotionally satisfying
as she wanted. Moreover, as she began to contemplate the
possibility of having additional children, she became aware that
there might be something special and satisfying about raising a
child with another woman. Although Judith struggled with these
conflicts, she retained a sense of humor about them:
I joke with my friends that, you know, men don’t live as long as
women, and so maybe I can have a good, long, wonderful, committed,
deep, enriching, long-lasting marriage, and then it would be
nice if he could just pass away early, and then I can spend the rest of
my days with a woman! My friends are like, “What did you just
say?” And I say, no, no, it’s not that I want him to die, this hypothetical
guy, it would just be convenient, you know, so I could experience
a long-term relationship with a man and I can also experience a
long-term relationship with a woman. . . . I have great curiosity,
what it would be like to raise a child with another woman. But I also
know that life would be so much easier to just go ahead and have
kids with a guy. . . . So given the option to go one way, I would probably
do that.
At the ten-year point, Judith felt that she was still leaving her options
open for the future; she still wanted to find “the right guy”
and settle down, but she was also extremely satisfied with her career
and with how much she had grown as a parent. Although she
was wistful about eventually having to choose one gender over the
other, she felt that the ongoing “push and pull” of her attractions
to—and distinct appreciation of—men versus women was a satisfying
and important part of her. She likened it to the enjoyment that
she got from ballroom dancing, and specifically from alternating
122 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
between being the leader and being the follower: “I feel like my sexuality
is sort of a subset of my mental perspective, which is, you
know, like my dancing, and feeling satisfied and enriched by both
leading and following, and so then my sexuality is a subset of that,
being attracted to both men and women. It’s a perspective that’s
kind of over my whole life. . . . I just always enjoy knowing that my
brain and my body work that way.”
How Does Gender Matter?
Judith’s appreciation of her capacity for attractions to both women
and men raises interesting questions about the specific role that gender
plays in nonexclusive attractions. Judith’s remarks consistently
demonstrated a keen awareness of the distinct characteristics of
women versus men, physically, emotionally, and psychologically,
and her own distinct way of responding to these gender-linked
characteristics.
Similarly, numerous bisexual women in my study noted that when
it came to men and women, their attractions were sparked by different
physical and psychological characteristics. Eleanor, for example,
liked “athletic, stocky” women but “tall, gentle” men. Suzanne
said that she noticed the way women dressed but the way
men acted.
Other women found the same basic traits attractive in both men
and women but felt that these traits were substantially more common
in one gender than in the other. Chris, for example, remarked
that she had always had trouble with the idea that “gender didn’t
matter”: “I mean come on, everyone is attracted to some traits
more than others, and those traits just aren’t equally distributed in
women and men. If you like really emotionally sensitive people,
well then you’re just going to find that more often in women than
men, so gender does matter” (age twenty-two, bisexual).
Because of such differences, some women found that their overall
Nonexclusive Attractions and Behaviors • 123
patterns of desire tended to alternate between men and women. As
one unlabeled woman remarked, “Some days I wake up and I really
want a man’s touch. . . . Other days I wake up and I really want
a woman’s touch” (age twenty). Another respondent noted, “I need
women and I need men, both physically and emotionally. But I
need them in different degrees and in different levels depending on
where I am in my life” (age twenty-eight, bisexual). Some respondents
noted that this need was manifested in relationship patterns:
“I don’t plan it that way, but it seems that whenever I get out of a
relationship with a woman, I want to be with a man, and when I get
out of a relationship with a man, then I want to be with a woman”
(age twenty-six, bisexual). For some women, being with one gender
tended to heighten their appreciation of the distinct characteristics
of the other. The hardness of a man’s muscles made them appreciate
the softness of a woman’s breasts and belly; women’s smaller size
made them appreciate a man’s height.
Other bisexuals emphasized that the erotic and emotional
dynamics they experienced with women were altogether different
from those they experienced with men:
I think I’ve become more of an essentialist as I’ve gotten older. My
bisexuality before was “love knows no barriers, love is genderless,”
but I think now I’m aware of fundamental differences between men
and women, a lot of it being reinforced by socialization, but a lot of
it being fundamental, and I’m not sure I felt that way before. (age
twenty-two)
Another woman noted:
I don’t like to view people first as their gender, but that’s definitely a
big factor, and I don’t want a gender-free world. I believe in differences
between men and women much more than I used to. I used to
believe they were pretty much the same, you know, blah blah blah,
but now I totally see the differences and believe that they are based
on energetics, your basic spirit, as well as society, or how your en-
124 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
ergy interacts with your body, I don’t know. . . . And though I’m
pretty much fifty-fifty attracted to both, I have to say that my physical
attraction for women, for women’s bodies, is much stronger than
for men’s. (age twenty-six)
This experience, of course, diverges sharply from that of women
who claimed that the defining attribute of their sexuality was that
they were completely inattentive to a partner’s gender, and that
their attractions to a particular man or woman were based on everything
except gender: personality, chemistry, intellectual rapport,
and so on. (I discuss this phenomenon in detail in Chapter 6.) Interestingly,
this stark difference—between women whose nonexclusive
attractions involve a heightened appreciation of each gender
and women whose nonexclusive attractions disregard gender altogether—
is reflected in many of the long-standing academic debates
about whether bisexuality threatens or reinforces categorical models
of sexuality.26
For example, many theorists have argued that an understanding
of bisexuality as an independent orientation between heterosexuality
and homosexuality, involving attractions to both sexes instead
of just one, does not deviate much from conventional models of
sexuality—it is just a matter of having an extra category. But an understanding
of bisexuality as a form of “gender-free” eroticism is
noticeably different because it challenges the traditional privileging
of gender that is inherent in conventional models of sexual orientation.
After all, if bisexuals do not attend to the gender of their partner,
then the very distinction between “same-sex” and “other-sex”
attractions no longer makes sense.We might just as well distinguish
between attractions to older versus younger partners, or to extroverts
versus introverts, or to artists versus intellectuals. Conventional
models of sexuality have taken for granted that gender is the
only category that matters; gender-free forms of bisexuality force us
to question whether this is so.27
It makes no sense to argue that one of these conceptualizations
Nonexclusive Attractions and Behaviors • 125
of bisexuality is more accurate than the other; both exist at the level
of women’s subjective experiences, and we simply do not know
whether these patterns have different causes or long-term implications.
The important point is to put the question of gender on the
table, to treat its influence on desire as a scientific question rather
than as a given. Until now, sex researchers have not devoted much
attention to figuring out exactly how gender structures individuals’
experiences of desire and what exactly we respond to when we become
aroused by a man versus a woman. I address these questions
in more detail in Chapter 6, when I describe the experiences of
women who claim that they become attracted to “the person, not
the gender.”
But we need to address a more basic question first, one that underlies
all the complexity, ambiguity, variability, and nonexclusivity
in women’s attractions that we have seen so far. What exactly do we
mean by “sexual attraction”?
So Just What Is an Attraction, Anyway?
The problem with trying to define sexual attraction is that researchers
know very little about how individuals experience sexual feelings.
Although we take pains to assess how often people experience
same-sex versus other-sex attractions, the relative balance between
them, the age at which they first emerged, and so on, we rarely stop
to ask what a particular respondent means by the word “attraction”
and what sorts of subjective thoughts and feelings are bundled
together in this experience.28 Instead, we presume that everyone
defines and experiences sexual attraction in the same way.
This seems as naive as Potter Stewart’s famous 1964 assertion that
though he could not specifically define pornography, “I know it
when I see it.”29 Sexuality researchers seem to have assumed that,
analogously, we all “know” same-sex and other-sex attractions when
we feel them, so one person’s report of same-sex attractions is
126 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
equivalent to another’s. This thinking reflects an implicit biological
bias: if we assume that experiences of sexual attraction are
wholly biologically determined, then they should be roughly equivalent
from person to person, governed by the same species-wide
neurobiological and hormonal events.
But human sexuality is substantially more complicated than that.
Although experiences of desire and attraction have biological underpinnings,
they are nonetheless powerfully shaped by social, cultural,
and interpersonal contexts. As Edward Laumann and Jenna
Mahay pointed out, “We must all learn what to regard or understand
as being sexual or nonsexual.”30 I would argue that this learning
process also takes place at the level of subjective experience. In
other words, culture and society teach us not only what “sexual”
means but also what it feels like, and these determinations vary
widely as a function of social and cultural norms, expectations, and
socialization practices.
Sure enough, once I began prompting the respondents in my
study to describe their experiences of “attraction,” I was met with a
diverse range of responses that seemed utterly incomparable to one
another. Women’s descriptions ranged from specifically genital sensations
(tightness in my groin; wetness) to full-body physical sensations
(warm feeling all over; high energy, fluttery feeling in my
belly; a sort of chemical connection) to psychological states (liking
to look at the person’s face or body; longing for nearness; not caring
about the person’s personality; wanting to have sex). Are these
really the same thing? No wonder the Northwestern team found
consistent discrepancies between individuals’ subjective reports of
arousal and their physiological responses—“desire,” “arousal,”
and “attraction” have a wide range of possible cognitive, emotional,
and physical manifestations, and different women likely focus
on different aspects.
Which are the most important? Nobody seems to know. In my
study respondents often expressed doubt about what “counted”
Nonexclusive Attractions and Behaviors • 127
as an attraction, especially when they experienced differences between
their same-sex and other-sex attractions. Attractions to one
gender were often described as more or less “automatic,” “clear,”
“all-encompassing,” “cognitive,” “fleeting,” “intimidating,” “motivating,”
“intimate,” “lasting,” “powerful,” “emotional,” “pleasurable,”
“heartfelt,” and “electrifying.” Many women drew distinctions
between same-sex and other-sex attractions that
specifically centered on emotional as opposed to physical aspects of
attraction. Amy, for example, indicated that her attractions to men
were “gut-level, immediate, physical responses,” whereas her attractions
to women were slower to develop, more emotional in
nature, and more dependent on the specific quality of her relationship
with the woman in question. Other women drew exactly the
same sort of distinction in reverse, so that attractions to women
were more “gut-level” and immediate. Overall, however, the majority
of respondents attributed “gut level” reactions to men and
“emotional” reactions to women.
Some women noticed differences between what they wanted to
do in response to same-sex and other-sex attractions. Beth, for example,
noticed that when she was strongly attracted to a woman,
she felt sexually charged and wanted to pursue the woman in question.
But when she was drawn to a man, the feeling was less urgent
and dissipated on its own fairly quickly. As with the physical-emotional
distinction noted above, some women described a very similar
pattern but in reverse, such that attractions to men were experienced
as more sexually motivating than attractions to women.
Numerous women confessed that they sometimes questioned the
authenticity of their attractions to women or men, suspecting that
they might be distorted by cultural conditioning, social pressure,
aesthetics, or emotional attachment. Cara, for example, remarked:
I have always noticed women more than men, but my attractions to
women confuse me because I don’t know whether they are physical
128 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
or emotional. I can easily look at a guy and think, “He’s good-looking
. . . I’mattracted to him . . .” but I can’t do the same with women.
What really makes me question, with women, is that I always have
these intense relationships with my female friends, and emotionally
it feels like we’re dating. But I don’t know if that’s the same as an attraction—
I don’t know, sometimes I feel like I don’t have any attractions
at all! (age twenty, unlabeled)
Other women expressed similar doubts about the authenticity of
their attractions to men: “Most of my relationships with men have
evolved out of really good friendships, so I already had an emotional
bond with them, and that made it hard for me to tell if I was
really physically attracted to them, or whether I simply had strong
emotional feelings for them.” Some women were unsure of the true
nature of their feelings for men because they were aware of the fact
that they had been socialized to eroticize men: “It’s like there’s this
track for men, and it’s just easier to get on that track. But because of
society, there is no track for my feelings for women” (age nineteen,
bisexual). Another woman asked, “Am I attracted to a particular
man because he’s great, or because society has just conditioned me
to be turned on by men?” (age twenty, unlabeled).
Many women also brought up social conditioning when they analyzed
their appreciation for female beauty. Numerous participants
reported that when they first became aware of their attractions for
women, they initially had difficulty distinguishing between simply
finding a woman attractive and being attracted to her. As one
woman remarked, “My best friend happens to be really beautiful,
although I don’t know if I’d say that I’m sexually attracted to her
. . . I’m not sure how to classify my feelings for her. I know that I
think she’s beautiful, and so I feel like I definitely have physical feelings
for her, but they’re not as strong as the sexual feelings I’ve had
for some guys.” Others mentioned that they had become so accustomed
to analyzing and envying women’s faces and bodies in maga-
Nonexclusive Attractions and Behaviors • 129
zines, television shows, and films that they could no longer be sure
why they enjoyed looking at images of attractive women. Some articulated
an awareness that such images had been designed to appeal
to men and to show women how to attract male attention
(usually by buying a certain product). After years of chronic exposure,
some women found it difficult to disentangle their own attractions
from their conditioned desire to be attractive. As one eighteen-
year-old bisexual woman recounted, “I don’t know if I want
her, or if I want to be her.” Similarly, a thirty-year-old heterosexual
woman remarked, “It’s hard to separate when I’m looking at someone
and thinking, gosh, I wish I had that butt, and kind of also
looking, you know, like that’s a nice butt. So, I’m sort of . . . I think
I have a little of both going on.”
These snapshots just hint at the complexity surrounding the issue
of sexual attraction. Despite all the attention that sex researchers
have devoted to understanding sexual orientation, we do not yet
have good theories about how and why different attractions feel
the way they do, and why some are more motivating than others.
Although there have been some attempts to explain how individuals
develop their own idiosyncratic patterns of desire, including
the psychologist John Money’s notion of “lovemaps,” such models
tend to be fairly deterministic and may not appropriately account
for the sorts of evolving changes that female sexual fluidity makes
possible.31 We also need more specific attention to the role of gender
in individuals’ subjective experiences of attraction (a question I
revisit in Chapter 6). This is a particularly important issue when it
comes to understanding the diverse forms of nonexclusivity that I
have described above, and a key direction for future research. After
all, if some bisexual women experience attractions to men as automatic
genital responses and attractions to women as emotional attachments,
whereas others show exactly the opposite pattern, isn’t
this potentially as important as knowing the relative frequency of
their same-sex versus other-sex attractions?
130 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
Subtypes of Nonexclusivity?
This brings me to my final point: Are the diverse experiences documented
above simply random, reflecting the fact that nonexclusive
attractions can be pushed and pulled in virtually any direction by
circumstantial, personal, or situational factors? Or are there systematic
patterns at work? This question has a long history in the
sexuality literature. Numerous sociologists and psychologists have
differentiated between bisexual “types” with different degrees of
same-sex and other-sex attraction and behavior, different degrees of
personal masculinity and femininity, different preferences for social
contact with men versus women, different triggers for their sexual
feelings, different contexts in which nonexclusive behavior might
be expressed, and so on.32 Notably, no single overarching typology
has ever won out, but certain distinctions do seem consistently relevant.
For example, studies have consistently found that, as with the
women in my sample, some bisexually identified individuals describe
their attractions as gender-neutral, whereas others are highly
responsive to gendered traits in both men and women.33 Moreover,
there appears to be a distinction between women with consistent attractions
to both sexes and women with a “bisexual potential” that
might never be expressed unless triggered by the right person or opportunity.
34 “Bisexual” is an appropriate label for women with consistent
nonexclusive attractions, but perhaps not for women who
simply feel that they have a capacity for bisexuality.
Consider, for example, that the random, representative survey of
American adults conducted by Laumann and his colleagues found
that a greater percentage of American women (5.6 percent) reported
“finding the idea of same-sex contact appealing” than reported
currently experiencing same-sex attractions (4.4 percent).
Among men this was not the case: more men reported being attracted
to the same sex (6.2 percent) than found the idea of same-
Nonexclusive Attractions and Behaviors • 131
sex contact appealing (4.5 percent). We might characterize women
who lack current same-sex attractions but do find the idea of samesex
sexuality appealing as those who possess a potential for nonexclusive
attractions. Outside the context of an actual opportunity,
they might not consciously experience same-sex desire, but they
have a sort of “readiness” for it.
Interestingly, this was true of some of the women in my heterosexual
comparison group. None of the women had any childhood
or adolescence experiences of same-sex desire, but the strength of
their current emotional attachments to women made them open to
the idea of same-sex relationships:
I have talked with friends about the fact that two women can often
know each other and understand each other so much better than a
man and woman can, because there is that empathy. So in that sense,
it’s not out of the realm of all possibility that I could want to be involved
with a woman. I don’t anticipate that I would ever identify as
a lesbian, but I guess I’m open to the possibility of being with a
woman. (age twenty-two)
The only thing that ever makes me really think about it is the fact
that I form such close friendships with women. It’s like they’re more
than friends, but they’re not sexually charged. It’s like there’s this
nebulous level between friendship and intimacy. But I’m only sexually
attracted to men, and I don’t really see myself straying from
that. . . . With one of my friends, we have had talks about how we
could, if we wanted to, take our relationship further. But it was
enough to just be aware of that potential, to acknowledge that we
were that important to each other. We didn’t need to go further. On
some level, I think everybody has the potential to love both women
and men. (age thirty)
Generally I’m totally certain about being heterosexual, but there are
women that I have met that I find so incredible that I’m not sure if I
132 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
find them attractive because I find them incredible or if I find them
attractive and incredible. I think I have always found women attractive,
but not necessarily in a sexual way. (age twenty-three)
Although these women do not appear to be bisexual, their “version”
of heterosexuality is flexible and fluid. Even though none of
them anticipated seeking same-sex relationships in the future, they
were nonetheless honest with themselves about their own capacity
to enjoy such relationships, especially in the context of an existing
emotional attachment.
Two of the women acted on this potential, but with casual acquaintances
rather than close friends. One of them ended up “making
out” with a female coworker during a business trip; another actually
went so far as to have sex with several women. Both of them
found the experience enjoyable, but neither found it compelling
enough to make her consider identifying as bisexual. In fact, the
second woman specifically chose not to identify as bisexual because
she knew that she was fundamentally drawn to men, and she did
not want to inadvertently contribute to negative stereotypes portraying
bisexuals as “curious” heterosexuals. Her sensitivity regarding
these issues—and her openness to same-sex contact—was
heightened by the fact that her sister was bisexual:
I’ve spent a lot of time with gay friends, largely through my sister,
and at a party one night, I just ended up sleeping with this woman. It
wasn’t all that great, but I didn’t know if that was because I didn’t
like women, or if I wasn’t really into this particular woman. So I
ended up trying it again. Of course, my gay friends keep wanting me
to come out as bisexual, but actually I think my experiences with
women clarified for me that I’m actually heterosexual. And I didn’t
want to make a mockery of the bisexual label by claiming it just because
I’ve been with a woman. I didn’t want to be one of those
women who just calls herself bisexual in college. (age twenty-five)
Nonexclusive Attractions and Behaviors • 133
Are these women more fluid than other heterosexual women, or
are they simply more willing to openly acknowledge their fluidity?
This question has long preoccupied research on bisexuality: Does
everybody possess some potential for nonexclusive attractions, regardless
of whether they acknowledge that fact, or do only a
subset of people? Freud certainly believed in a universal human
“ambisexuality” that is molded by culture and experience into homosexuality
or heterosexuality, and other theorists have adopted
and expanded these views over the years.35 The studies I reviewed at
the beginning of this chapter, of course, suggest that women are
particularly likely to possess a flexible erotic potential, a view supported
by the results of my study.36
This erotic potential, heightened among women, is what I have
been describing as female sexual fluidity. By now, it should be clear
that though the concept of fluidity overlaps with the phenomenon
of bisexuality (since fluidity, by definition, makes nonexclusive attractions
possible), they are not the same things. Whereas bisexuality
can be conceived as a consistent pattern of erotic responses to
both sexes, manifested in clear-cut sexual attractions to men and
women (albeit not necessarily to the same degrees), possessing a potential
for nonexclusive attractions (or, as we have seen, finding the
“idea” of same-sex contact appealing even if you currently have no
same-sex desires) is clearly different.
The women in my study intuitively grasped this distinction. Although
the vast majority showed growing understanding and appreciation
for sexual fluidity as the years went by, and increasingly
used terms such as “fluid,” “flexible,” and “plastic” to describe
their sexual feelings and explain their multiple sexual transitions,
they did not interpret this fluidity as universal bisexuality. I asked
them outright to indicate whether they agreed or disagreed with the
statements, “Deep down, most heterosexual women are probably
bisexual,” and “Deep down, most lesbians are probably bisexual.”
Nearly 60 percent disagreed with the characterization of heterosex-
134 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
uals as bisexual, and nearly 70 percent disagreed that most lesbians
were actually bisexual. Overall, women endorsed a notion of fluid
potential but did not endorse a notion of universal bisexuality. Perhaps
this is why so many women responded to changes in their sexual
trajectories by identifying as “unlabeled” instead of “bisexual.”
Deviations from their usual sexual patterns were not interpreted as
evidence for a “true,” underlying bisexual orientation. Rather, they
were interpreted as evidence that one’s orientation did not provide
the last word on one’s lifetime experiences of love and desire. Because
of sexual fluidity, unexpected transformations remained everpresent
possibilities. In the following chapters I explore two such
transformations in depth: changes in patterns of attraction over
time and attractions that develop specifically for single individuals.
One of the reasons bisexuality continues to be a topic of such
heated debate is that there is no uniform experience of nonexclusivity.
Doubtless ten and twenty years from now, scientists and
laypeople alike will continue to argue about the fact that some bisexuals
seem to be “really” gay, whereas others seem to be “really”
straight; that some are strongly attracted to both genders, and others
are inattentive to gender altogether; that some experience their
bisexuality as a distinct orientation, and others as the lack of an orientation;
that some experience it only in the realm of emotional
feelings, and others only in the realm of sexual feelings; that some
experience nonexclusive attractions all the time, and others only
under certain circumstances. There is no point in trying to figure
out which one of these characterizations represents true bisexuality—
they are all true. Each type represents a legitimate manifestation
of nonexclusive attractions that requires our attention. No single
definition of bisexuality could ever cover them all.
Furthermore, these different types of nonexclusivity probably
have notably different causes, different rates of prevalence, differ-
Nonexclusive Attractions and Behaviors • 135
ent developmental trajectories, different cultural meanings, and different
long-term implications for an individual’s desires, relationships,
behavior, and self-understanding. Take another look at the
excerpts with which I began this chapter, drawn directly from
the women in my study. Many of these women would have a difficult
time relating to the experiences of the others, and yet each
represents a real and important “slice” of the total phenomenon of
nonexclusivity. Our goal should be to develop models of female
sexuality capable of understanding all these diverse experiences. A
greater scientific and social understanding of female sexual fluidity
is critical to this goal. Now that so many studies, using different
methods and subject populations, have definitively documented the
centrality of nonexclusive attractions for women, it would be irresponsible
for scientists not to place this phenomenon at the top of
our research priorities.
136 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
C H A P T E R 5
Change in Sexual Attractions
Perhaps no topic in sexuality research is as controversial as the
question of change in sexual orientation. Regardless of how individuals
come to think of themselves as lesbian/gay/bisexual, can
they “switch back”? Can a heterosexual person “turn” gay, even
well into adulthood?
These questions are often raised in the context of debates about
whether sexual orientation is a fixed trait (in which case, presumably,
it should not be changeable) or a lifestyle choice (in which
case, presumably, it should). Unfortunately, these debates are more
frequently taken up in a political context than in a scientific one.
Antigay activists have historically maintained that same-sex sexuality
is a lifestyle choice that should be discouraged, deemed illegitimate,
and even punished by the culture at large. In other words, if
lesbian/gay/bisexual people do not have to be gay but are simply
choosing a path of decadence and deviance, then the government
should have no obligation to protect their civil rights or honor their
relationships; to the contrary, the state should actively condemn
same-sex sexuality and deny it legal and social recognition in order
to discourage others from following that path.1
Not surprisingly, advocates for gay/lesbian/bisexual rights see
things differently. They counter that sexual orientation is not a matter
of choice but an inborn trait that is as much beyond an individ-
ual’s control as skin or eye color.2 Accordingly, since gay/lesbian/
bisexual individuals cannot choose to be heterosexual, it is unethical
to discriminate against them and to deny legal recognition to
same-sex relationships.
Many activists and researchers, myself included, have expressed
ambivalence about linking debates over social and legal recognition
with debates over “choice” and “change.” After all, plenty of inborn
traits are viewed as highly undesirable, so why should the notion
of sexual orientation as a biological trait make it more socially
acceptable? After all, the common view of race and ethnicity as inborn
traits certainly has not eroded racism or necessarily promoted
racial harmony.3 Perhaps instead of arguing that gay/lesbian/bisexual
individuals deserve civil rights because they are powerless to
change their behavior, we should affirm the fundamental rights of
all people to determine their own emotional and sexual lives.4
Debates about choice and change also have implications for advocates
of “reparative therapy,” who claim that people with samesex
attractions can eliminate deviant desires through a series of
therapy sessions.5 Both the American Psychological Association (APA)
and the American Psychiatric Association maintain that same-sex
sexuality is normal and natural, and on this basis they view reparative
therapy as unethical and inappropriate.6 Moreover, it just does
not seem to work. Researchers have consistently found that individuals
who have undergone reparative therapy—even those who are
happy with the overall outcomes—continue to experience same-sex
attractions, though they might develop useful strategies for distracting
themselves from unwanted desires or enhancing the emotional
quality of their heterosexual marriages despite such attractions.7
Yet despite the fact that these therapies do not appear to alter individuals’
underlying same-sex sexuality, practitioners still market
them to potential clients as if they do. This practice violates APA
guidelines, which mandate truth in advertising: clinicians are not
supposed to promise therapeutic outcomes they cannot deliver.8
138 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
Reparative therapists also routinely misrepresent the risks associated
with such therapy (such as increased distress and shame) and
its controversial techniques (which sometimes include “aversion”
therapies that incorporate electric shocks or the administration of
medications to induce nausea). The most fundamental breach of
APA ethics, of course, concerns the fact that same-sex sexuality is
neither a mental disorder nor an indicator of one, and consequently
it is unethical to attempt to eliminate it.9
Against this backdrop, scientific data on longitudinal change
in same-sex attractions are potentially explosive and ripe for misinterpretation.
To avoid this possibility, I want to clarify some key
terms from the start. First, consider the controversial question of
“choice.” Many people inappropriately equate change with choice
when thinking about sexual orientation. In other words, they assume
that if sexual orientation is an inborn trait, it must be rigidly
fixed and impervious to conscious control. Conversely, if sexual attractions
show any variability at all, then orientation must be not
an inborn trait but a consciously chosen lifestyle.
These assumptions are illogical, unscientific, and just plain
wrong. Change, choice, and control are three totally separate phenomena.
Individuals undergo plenty of drastic psychological
changes that they did not choose and over which they have little
control. Consider puberty: Who would choose the perplexing, confusing,
sometimes overwhelming changes in sexual feelings that
come with that stage of development? Can they be stopped? What
about the notable decline in sexual attraction that often happens in
a failing marriage? Most individuals feel powerless to rekindle their
former passions (or to extinguish attractions for a new and more
desirable partner). And what about the well-documented declines
in sex drive that often accompany late life; are those chosen?
Researchers have documented considerable variability in aspects
of sexuality other than sexual orientation, yet no one ever claims
that these changes are chosen.10 We speak in commonsense terms
Change in Sexual Attractions • 139
about moments of sexual reawakening, discovery, or decline, during
which individuals begin desiring different amounts or forms of
sexual release from day to day, month to month, or year to year. Yet
in the context of same-sex sexuality, we presume that perfect stability
and consistency should be the norm. This is simply a cultural
bias with no scientific support.
The confusion is understandable, given how little scientists know
about when and why sexual desires change. In recent years, researchers
have begun to show more interest in this topic, mainly
because of the growing attention paid to sexual dysfunction. Ed
Laumann’s large-scale, random survey of American adults generated
controversy because it found that nearly 30 percent of American
women reported low or nonexistent sexual desires.11 With such
a large potential market, pharmaceutical companies have been feverishly
searching for effective treatments to change—in this case
simply increase—women’s desires. Yet the more we learn about
women’s desires, the more obvious it becomes that they involve
complex interplays among biological, environmental, psychological,
and interpersonal factors.12 Relationship context appears to be
particularly important to women, so much so that some clinicians
have suggested reframing the term “low sexual desire” as a “desire
discrepancy” between partners. After all, maybe a woman’s sex
drive seems low only when her partner wants sex more often than
she does. If that is the case, who has the problem? Clearly, there is
no simple reason that one woman might have stronger and more
frequent desires than another, or why one woman might experience
a decline in the intensity of her desires over time while another
might experience a resurgence.
We do have substantial evidence, however, for three important
points about desire. First, variability in sexual desire is both
hormonally and situationally driven, such that variation in androgens
and estrogens as well as in cultural norms and social environments
must be taken into account.13 Second, individuals are often
140 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
completely unaware of the full range of their sexual desires. As indicated
in the previous chapter, people’s physiological responses to
same-sex and other-sex erotica do not always agree with their subjective
responses.14 Such findings make it tricky to assess change in
sexual predispositions. Which dimension should we assess? Mind
or body? And how would researchers ever know whether an individual’s
desires actually changed or whether our relatively crude
methods tapped into a different type of desire, one that might have
had a different pattern all along?
Finally, as I have repeatedly emphasized, women’s sexual desires
show more variability than do men’s, both over time and across
situations. Roy Baumeister published an exhaustive review of all
the published data on this topic.15 Notably, most of these data
focused on aspects of desire other than the gender of one’s preferred
partner. Collectively, the results conclusively demonstrated
that women show greater variability than men in a wide range of
sexual phenomena, including desired frequency of sex, desired sexual
acts, preferred contexts for sexual behavior, types and frequency
of fantasy, and judgments of desirable partner characteristics.
Thus, though everyone is capable of some sexual variability,
given the intrinsic flexibility of our sexual-response system, some
individuals are clearly more variable than others, and women are
disproportionately represented in that group.16
Extensive evidence also points to greater variability in female
same-sex sexuality than in male same-sex sexuality. How much of
this evidence specifically speaks to the possibility of actual change?
Some of the relevant data come from research on how women
first became aware of their same-sex attractions. As noted in Chapter
2, traditional sexual-identity models suggest that sexual-minority
individuals usually begin experiencing same-sex attractions at
an early age, even if they subsequently try to repress or deny them.
But over the years, numerous researchers have documented cases in
which women report no awareness of same-sex attractions until
Change in Sexual Attractions • 141
mid- to late adulthood.17 The easy explanation, of course, is that
these women always had same-sex attractions, but they remained
dormant because of cultural stigmatization.18
Over the years, however, studies of such late-life transitions have
suggested that this “dormancy” or “latency” model might be overly
simplistic. The psychologist Sophie Freud Loewenstein, Sigmund
Freud’s granddaughter, studied the other-sex and same-sex “passions”
of more than seven hundred adult women. Some of these
women described novel and unprecedented same-sex passions that
developed late in life, and which they interpreted as true shifts in
their erotic desires. Loewenstein knew that these women might
make such claims in order to maintain a façade of heterosexuality,
but after carefully examining their cases, she concluded that they
might be right, and that they might in fact be undergoing “a genuine
shift in love object orientation. . . . Some respondents were bona
fide heterosexual women who switched in midlife to a lesbian orientation.”
19 Similarly, the British psychologists Celia Kitzinger and
Sue Wilkinson interviewed eighty adult lesbians whose first sexual
questioning took place in adulthood rather than in adolescence.
More than two-thirds of these women had been previously married.
The average age of their first same-sex experience was eighteen,
and the average age of their first lesbian identification was thirtyfour.
Although some women said that they suppressed their lesbianism
for many years, others experienced the transition to same-sex
sexuality as a sudden transformation which they described in terms
of “rebirth,” a “quantum leap,” a “conversion experience,” or
“emerging from a chrysalis.”20
The psychologist Carla Golden has written persuasively about
women’s potential for erotic change. She became interested in this
phenomenon when she was on the faculty at an all-women’s college.
She noted that many of the women who enrolled in her
courses on feminism and sexuality seemed to be undergoing profound
changes, not only in how they thought about sexuality, but in
142 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
their actual sexual feelings. She began interviewing a wide range of
women—lesbian, bisexual, and heterosexual. After more than one
hundred interviews, she concluded that actual change sometimes
does occur.21 Although a subset of the “late-blooming” lesbianbisexual
women whom Golden interviewed described their heterosexual
pasts in terms of repression and falsehood, another subset
maintained that though they had, in fact, been “truly” heterosexual
in the past, they were just as “truly” bisexual or lesbian now. Yet
importantly, these women did not feel that they chose these transitions;
rather, they typically described the onset of their same-sex desires
as strong, spontaneous, and surprising. This finding underscores
the point I made earlier: although mainstream society tends
to confuse change with choice, they are completely different experiences.
Of course, all the studies mentioned here were retrospective.Women
reflected backward on how they identified and felt in the past.
This approach has plenty of problems, especially when investigating
something like change in attractions, in which individuals might
be strongly motivated to reinterpret their pasts. That makes the longitudinal
design of my study particularly informative. Regardless of
what women thought about themselves and their attractions back
in 1995, and how they might like to think of themselves now, ten
years later, how much change actually took place during this time?
Conceptualizing Change
Women in my study did report changes in their attractions, but
rarely to a degree that pushed them into a different category of sexual
orientation. Let’s examine this finding in detail to see how those
changes were experienced, what triggered them, and whether they
had long-term effects on women’s identities.
To begin, we need to consider the different ways that change can
be measured. One straightforward approach is simply to compare
Change in Sexual Attractions • 143
women’s self-reported percentages of same-sex attractions in 2005
to their self-reported percentages in 1995. We can do this by subtracting
1995 percentages from 2005 percentages. A difference of
zero indicates no change; positive-difference scores indicate that
same-sex attractions have increased; negative-difference scores
indicate that same-sex attractions have decreased. If we compute
each woman’s difference score and then take the average across all
women, we get -5, meaning that women’s same-sex attractions declined
by an average of 5 percentage points. But this is not a very
meaningful result: since we averaged all the individual difference
scores together, positive scores and negative scores tend to cancel
each other out. If same-sex attractions increased by 40 percentage
points in half of the sample but declined by 40 points in the other
half, the average difference score would be zero, and we would
(wrongly!) conclude that no change occurred.
The solution is to look at the absolute size of changes; that is, the
magnitude of each change regardless of whether it was “toward”
men or “toward” women. That would give us an estimate of just
how much change took place overall. But here we face another hurdle
in interpreting the magnitude of change: What counts as a big
change versus a trivial one? If a woman goes from 60 percent samesex
attractions to 65 percent, is that change really meaningful, or
does it simply reflect “wiggle room” in her own self-perceptions
(what statisticians call measurement error)? After all, when women
are reporting these percentages, they are not actually counting up
each and every attraction they have experienced in the past year
and calculating exact percentages. They are providing rough estimates,
and so a bit of error is to be expected.
One way to get a sense of what constitutes big versus small
change is to look at prior studies that have used analogous measures
of same-sex attraction. Several earlier studies have examined
short-term changes in individuals’ ratings on the Kinsey Scale (the
0–6 scale that represents, like my 0–100 percent scale, the ratio of a
144 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
person’s same-sex attractions to his or her other-sex attractions).
Many of these studies have considered any change in rating (that
is, moving up or down by at least 1 point on the Kinsey Scale) large
enough to merit attention. It turns out that changes of this sort
are fairly common. One group of researchers collected Kinsey ratings
five years apart from about fifty bisexual men and women
living in San Francisco in the 1980s.22 They found that two-thirds
of participants gave different ratings at the two assessments. In
another study of bisexual men recruited through community activities
and print advertising, approximately 50 percent of respondents
changed their rating of sexual attractions over a one-year period.23
A study that averaged women’s Kinsey ratings of sexual attraction,
fantasy, behavior, and self-identification found that over an eighteen-
month period, about 20 percent of women changed Kinsey
categories.24
We can easily compare my ten-year findings to these prior studies
by dividing my 0 to 100 percent measure into sections representing
the 7 Kinsey categories (0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, and 6), such that a change of
1 Kinsey point is equivalent to about 15 percentage points. So how
many women experienced a shift of that magnitude, in either direction,
over the course of the study?
Prevalence of Change over a Ten-Year Period
Altogether, a little less than half the women reported changes in
their attractions equal to 1 Kinsey Scale point from 1995 to 2005.
This puts my findings in the same general range as prior studies,
even though I observed women for much longer periods of time. As
for larger shifts—those equivalent to 2 Kinsey Scale ratings—about
one-fourth of the women reported such changes. Yet it is more interesting
to look at the direction of change: of the women who underwent
changes of at least 1 Kinsey point in magnitude, twice as
many had become more attracted to men as had become more at-
Change in Sexual Attractions • 145
tracted to women. This finding parallels what we saw with sexualidentity
transitions, in which more women undertook identity
changes that accommodated attractions and relationships with men
(that is, switching to bisexual, unlabeled, or heterosexual labels)
than switched to lesbian labels.
So how should we interpret these shifts? Are any of them substantial
enough to represent change in a woman’s overall sexual orientation?
Does the trend toward nonexclusivity indicate that a sizeable
proportion of lesbian women will become bisexual over time,
or that all women are really bisexual? As with interpreting changes
in sexual identity, it is helpful to examine which women are changing
the most. If we examine correlations between women’s initial
percentages of same-sex attraction (in 1995) and the size of their
subsequent changes, we find a strikingly consistent pattern: the
more same-sex attractions a woman reported in 1995 (and, in fact,
throughout the rest of the study as well), the less her attractions
changed over time, in either direction. Thus women who reported
predominant or near-exclusive attractions to women in 1995
tended to remain pretty much the same. The women with more
nonexclusive attractions—those who identified as bisexual or
unlabeled—underwent the most sizeable shifts.
The consistent differences that emerged between the lesbians
and the nonlesbians are particularly interesting. They suggest that
though most lesbians experience some degree of attractions to
men—only three women reported 100 percent same-sex attractions
at every interview—these data are not consistent with the notion
that all women are bisexual. The degree of lesbians’ same-sex attractions
and their stability over time render them meaningfully distinct
from the bisexual and unlabeled women, even if this distinction
is one of degree rather than of kind.
If we use these changes in attractions to make inferences about
changes in sexual orientation, we must conclude that there is not
much evidence for change in orientation. The small shifts experi-
146 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
enced by lesbians nonetheless kept them in the lesbian range, and
even the sizeable shifts experienced by unlabeled and bisexual
women kept them in the bisexual range: they almost never jumped
to near-exclusive same-sex attractions or plummeted down to nearexclusive
other-sex attractions. Note, in particular, that the women
who had reidentified as heterosexual by 2005 did not undergo
much change either: they had always reported less frequent samesex
attractions than the rest of the sample; they simply came to label
and interpret these feelings differently over time.
Thus the most accurate conclusion is that though women’s sexual
orientations are fairly stable, they nonetheless accommodate an increasingly
broad range of attractions as time goes by. This raises the
larger question of whether changes in identity and attraction tended
to correspond: Were women who reported greater changes in their
attractions more likely to switch their identity labels? The answer
is no. Women who reported changes in their attractions of 1 or
more Kinsey points were not disproportionately likely to change
their identity labels. Yet this does not mean that changes in attractions
and identity were totally unrelated; rather, it appears that
the direction of change in attractions proved significant. Women
who reported large changes toward men were more likely to switch
identities than those with large changes toward women. This is
consistent with the fact that most of the post–coming-out identity
changes I observed accommodated greater nonexclusivity (for example,
switching from lesbian to bisexual or unlabeled identities,
rather than vice versa).
Another interesting factor to consider is the specific ratio of women’s
same-sex to other-sex attractions. Some previous studies have
suggested that sexual-minority women follow an implicit 75 percent
boundary when identifying as lesbian versus bisexual. In other
words, those who experience at least 75 percent of their attractions
for women tend to identify as lesbian, whereas those who experience
less than 75 percent of their attractions for women tend to
Change in Sexual Attractions • 147
identify as bisexual. There is no stated “rule” about such matters;
people just seem to follow this norm without being consciously
aware of it. Accordingly, we might expect women whose attractions
cross this implicit 75 percent boundary to be disproportionately
likely to change their identity label. In fact, this is the case. When
we examine women’s successive reports of same-sex attractions (for
example, from 1995 to 1997, from 1997 to 2000, and so on), we
see that women’s attractions crossed over (or under) this 75 percent
boundary about one-fifth of the time. In the majority of these cases,
women also changed their identity label.
Karen provides a vivid example of such an experience.
Karen
Karen contradicted all the popular stereotypes about lesbians: although
she wore very little makeup, she had slight, feminine features
framed by soft blond hair that curled in naturally at her shoulders.
Her bangs made her look even younger than her nineteen
years. At our first interview she wore a pastel sweater and neatly
fitting jeans. As we spoke, her hands were gently folded on the table
in front of her, the very model of feminine propriety.
Yet this conventional appearance masked a forthright, assertive
woman who was bursting with excitement about recently coming
out as a lesbian and beginning her first same-sex love affair. Karen
had first begun to think about sexuality issues during her junior
year of high school, when she became involved in AIDS activism
and educational programs designed to combat homophobia. She
met an older lesbian activist who inspired her and who spoke candidly
about what it was like to live openly as a lesbian. Karen had
never met a lesbian before, and she described the experience as enlightening.
At that time, however, she still considered herself completely
heterosexual.
Once she got to college she found herself becoming attracted to
148 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
women, and she met many more openly identified lesbians. Fairly
quickly, she became close friends with her current girlfriend, and
their relationship blossomed into a love affair. At the time of our interview,
they had been together for nine months. Some of Karen’s
friends thought that her transition to lesbianism was unusually
abrupt. They asked her, “How can you possibly know for sure so
soon?” Even her current girlfriend, who had been an openly identified
lesbian when she met Karen, wondered whether Karen could
really be certain of her lesbian orientation.
Karen acknowledged that she sometimes felt “odd” because of
her rapid transition. Whereas many of her lesbian friends recalled
years of private questioning and self-doubt, Karen had none of
that. Nonetheless, she felt 100 percent certain of her lesbianism.
The relationships she had with men in high school were both physically
and emotionally unsatisfying, whereas she was completely enthralled
with her current girlfriend. Although she still felt that she
could develop emotional bonds with some men and appreciate “the
beauty of some male bodies,” she had no desire to act on those feelings.
As far as she was concerned, women were it. When she talked
about her current girlfriend, she beamed.
This is not to say that her transition was effortless; some of her
high school friends flatly rejected her when she came out to them,
and others made no effort to hide their disapproval. But she responded
to these experiences by developing a stronger network of
college friends who either accepted or shared her sexuality. Over
the next few years, as she became involved with a number of different
women and became more politically and socially aware, she
grew even more certain of her sexuality.
By the time of the third interview, however, things had changed.
Karen was now twenty-five years old and out of college. She had recently
ended a two-year relationship with a woman. As the relationship
wound down, she found herself reflecting on her attractions
more generally, and she realized that she was more open to the
Change in Sexual Attractions • 149
possibility of men than she had previously thought. As she explained:
“It wasn’t so much that I found myself attracted to men,
but it really just started to open me to thinking of people as individuals
and not so much according to their gender.” Soon this openness
went from theory to reality: “I became close friends with a
man I played soccer with. . . . I think I was really strongly attracted
to his personality. Physically, I was attracted, but it wasn’t sexual. I
just knew that he was good and fun and I guess we became really
close friends, and the attraction developed later on. Now he’s my
partner. It was startling in some sense. I hadn’t been in a relationship,
or even sexually attracted to a man in five years. But it felt
right.”
Some of her lesbian friends did not see it that way. Karen encountered
the same kind of rejection from them as she had encountered
from her heterosexual friends back when she first came out as lesbian:
Overall, people have been supportive, but I’ve definitely seen some
nastiness because of it. One lesbian I know, she said that it was just a
phase, that I was misguided, that she didn’t want him in her house. It
made me angry, it made me cry, it made me question—I mean, these
were the same types of things I heard from straight people when I
first came out about having relationships with women.
Although Karen now strongly felt that she was attracted to both
men and women, she did not feel comfortable identifying as bisexual;
she was still most comfortable thinking of herself as a lesbian:
“I don’t want to say, well, because I’m with a man, I’m bisexual
now. I think in the very basic definition, it comes down to, okay,
I’ve been with this amount of women, this amount of men, and I’m
with a man now, and I’m still attracted to women, it’s still completely
open. So what it comes down to for me is that lesbianism is
still where I am most closely aligned.” When asked what type of relationship
she would seek if the current one ended, she was uncer-
150 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
tain: “Overall, my attractions to women haven’t changed, and it’s
more like my attractions to him have, but it’s still not like this has
just opened up a whole other world, or that I’m now just as attracted
to men as to women, because I’m not.”
At our eight-year follow-up interview, Karen reported that after
three and a half years together, she and her boyfriend had gotten
engaged. Interestingly, not only does her fiancé know everything
about her lesbian past, but he, too, is attracted to both women and
men. They have talked openly about the fact that though they are
making a monogamous commitment to each other, they will probably
always experience bisexual attractions.
But Karen still felt that the kinds of attractions she had for women
were different, and generally more intense, than the attractions
she had for men. In particular, she felt that she had “emotional,
spiritual connections” with women, characterized by feelings of
trust and comfort, which she had never quite experienced with men
other than her fiancé. But she no longer identified as lesbian, and in
fact no longer identified as anything. Over the years, she had become
very skeptical of identity labels:
Yeah, I’m just so sick of the homo, hetero, bi thing. I’m really sick of
those sort of three categories that we have. I just think there’s so
many points along the continuum and I don’t really think we have
enough words for it all, even for gender. . . . And you know in my experience
I have known a lot of women who have dated both genders
and have even ended up marrying men. So in my experience there
have been a lot of other women that have done the same thing that I
did, or had similar experiences to mine.
At the ten-year interview, Karen was happily married but ambivalent
about the fact that it was so easy for friends, family members,
and colleagues to “erase” her lesbian past. To compensate, she had
started openly identifying as bisexual—a label that she had previously
resisted—in order to communicate that she was still attracted
Change in Sexual Attractions • 151
to women and expected that she always would be. She reported
finding subtle ways to mention her previous same-sex relationships
in order to keep people from assuming that she was just “totally
heterosexual.”
In making sense of Karen’s experiences, it is interesting to look
closely at how she described her overall pattern of sexual and emotional
attractions while she was going through these unexpected
transitions. At the first interview, when she had just come out, she
reported that 90 percent of her physical attractions and 95 percent
of her emotional attractions were directed toward women. At the
second interview, her emotional attractions had increased to 99
percent and her physical attractions to 95 percent. At the third interview,
when she had become involved with her husband, her emotional
attractions were still high—now 97 percent—but her physical
attractions had dropped to 75 percent. She was clearly still more
attracted to women than to men, but not as predominantly as before.
This trend continued over the next two interviews, and by
2005 she reported that 75 percent of her emotional attractions and
50 percent of her physical attractions were directed toward women.
And not all her other-sex attractions were directed toward her husband.
When I asked her how many different men and women she
was typically attracted to in the average month, she said about
three men and three women. Yet the intensity of her attraction to
her husband was stronger than her attractions to other women.
Thus Karen provides one of the few examples in my study of
women whose changes took them across the conventional lesbian/
bisexual divide. Yet notably, even as she became increasingly committed
to her husband, she continued to profess uncertainty about
what might have happened if she had not met him. She continued to
describe him as “unusual” compared with other men. In addition to
being bisexual, he had a “feminine energy” and a way of connecting
with other people that she generally found more typical of
women than of men.
So would Karen have stayed firmly lesbian-identified if she had
152 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
never met this particular man, and if she had settled down with a
woman? Possibly. Her experiences demonstrate the importance of
individual relationships in triggering women’s fluidity. Perhaps she
would always have had some “openness” to men, but it might have
remained inconsequential—to her identity and her overall experience
of her sexuality—if she never met anyone to activate it. This
fact was further reflected in her own understanding of her sexuality
as being both something that she was born with and something that
was strongly influenced by the environment. She thought that environmental
circumstances had changed the types of people she encountered,
thus triggering different feelings, but she was certain
that she had little control over the feelings themselves: “I just don’t
think attraction is something that we can control. I mean, maybe
people can control whether or not they want to be in a relationship,
and maybe some people know an attraction is happening but they
choose not to pursue it, because they know it’s not acceptable, but I
don’t think we choose who we’re attracted to.”
Was It a Phase? Reidentifying as Heterosexual
Just as Karen shifted from considering herself lesbian to considering
herself unlabeled, some bisexual women experience such significant
shifts toward men that they reidentify as heterosexual. Altogether,
17 percent of women in my sample readopted heterosexual labels at
some point during the study. Some of them subsequently went back
to bisexual or unlabeled identities, so that in 2005 only 9 percent of
the women called themselves heterosexual. Such cases bring up a
fascinating but controversial set of questions: Do these examples
prove that lesbianism or bisexuality is sometimes just a phase, and
that some individuals are actually wrong when they proudly come
out? Or do they suggest that the cultural stigmatization of same-sex
sexuality is strong enough to lure women back into the closet at any
time, even after years of open lesbian or bisexual identification?
A closer look at the women who readopted heterosexual labels
Change in Sexual Attractions • 153
shows that both of these characterizations are inaccurate. All of
these women had been very comfortable discussing their same-sex
attractions and did not report any ongoing concerns with social
stigma—thus the notion that they were going back into the closet
seems misplaced. So does the notion of a phase: all the women continued
to report some degree of erotic interest in women, and only
one participant characterized her previous bisexuality as a “curious
phase.”
So what, then, explains their transitions? Two patterns seemed to
emerge, and both reflect the ambiguity that sexual fluidity introduces
to our understanding of sexual orientation. The first pattern
concerned women who were certain of their attractions to other
women but decided to identify as heterosexual because they had
settled down with men and expected men to remain the focus of
their future attractions and experiences. Paula provides an example
of this pattern. From the very first interview, she was certain of her
bisexual attractions, but she stopped seeing this pattern as highly
relevant to her sexual identity when she became engaged to a
man, about midway through the study. Her attractions had always
leaned more toward men than toward women, and so at that point
she felt it made sense to consider herself heterosexual rather than
bisexual. As she said, “My attractions are always focused on the
person that I’m currently involved with anyway, and right now
that’s just him.” By the eight-year follow-up interview, she had
come to see the entire labeling process as having more relevance
for individuals’ relationships than for their independent identities:
“I do still have an attraction to women. But it’s hard to label myself
other than in a relationship. So I guess I see my sexuality as centered
around my relationship itself and not about outside factors as
much as I used to. I still find my strongest emotional attractions to
women—well, maybe that’s not true anymore, it’s really split down
the middle . . . with my husband, it was just the right place, right
time. I’m in a relationship with a man because of who he is and not
because he’s a man.”
154 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
The second group of reidentified heterosexuals had always been
predominantly interested in men, and had actually expressed consistent
doubts over the years about whether the quality or degree
of their same-sex attractions was “enough” to suggest that they
were bisexual. For this reason, many of them had initially been
unlabeled. Eleanor provides a fascinating example of this pattern.
Eleanor
At the very first interview, Eleanor described herself as “questioning,”
but unlike some of the other questioning women I had interviewed,
who came across as relatively quiet and internally focused,
Eleanor had an outgoing, vivacious demeanor. She had a broad, engaging
smile and a self-deprecating sense of humor.
I could tell that Eleanor would be a little different from the other
respondents when she flatly refused to characterize her same-sex attractions
on my 0–100 percent scale. She threw up her hands and
exclaimed, “I can’t make any sense of that at all! There are too
many variables involved when I’m attracted to someone, so there’s
no way for me to divide it up that way.” Eleanor was twenty years
old and had first begun to question her sexuality about a year earlier,
when her boyfriend told her that he was bisexual. She had been
aware of sporadic same-sex attractions since the age of thirteen,
and, in her words, “they scared the hell out of me.” Yet the quality
of her attractions had always confused her. As she described it,
most of her “gut level,” immediate sexual urges were in response to
men, but she found women much more aesthetically and emotionally
desirable:
I prefer to make out with men, but the idea of having sex with a man
utterly repulses me. I would, however, like to marry a woman, and
that’s who I want to make a long-term commitment to. . . . When
people ask me if I’m straight and I say yes, I know I’m being dishonest,
and I can’t tolerate that dishonesty. But if somebody asked me if I
Change in Sexual Attractions • 155
was a lesbian, I’d also feel dishonest saying yes. I guess I might be bisexual.
I’m annoyed by the uncertainty. I know I’m not straight, it’s
just a matter of defining my not-straightness. . . . You could probably
extrapolate straightness, lesbianism, and bisexuality, all from me.
Eleanor felt that she “failed the lesbian authenticity test” because
her feelings for women were more emotional and aesthetic than
sexual. But she wondered if that was just a result of cultural conditioning.
As she stated, “Maybe the pathway from liking someone as
a friend to being sexually attracted to them just isn’t as well worn
for women as it is for men. . . . I don’t know. My idea is for my emotional
and physical attractions to match. Right now they don’t.”
By the second interview Eleanor had settled on the compromise
of a bisexual identification, despite the fact that her feelings for
women remained relatively ambiguous. She was eager for more certainty
about her sexuality, but she resisted the common approach of
looking to her childhood for clues:
I still go through this whole explanation when I tell people I’m bisexual,
because the truth is that my attraction to women isn’t really all
that sexual. It’s more aesthetic. Women are just so much better looking
than men. I guess I find women magnetic. That’s not quite the
same as a sexual attraction. . . . Last time I thought things would resolve
themselves. I expected that over time I’d either feel clear sexual
attractions and I’d identify as bisexual or I wouldn’t feel them at all
and I’d identify as heterosexual. But now I realize that won’t happen—
I still feel the same, and I’ve accepted that. . . . I was an insane
little tomboy, looking back. I climbed trees and stuff. But I don’t
think that has anything to do with it. I think mostly I didn’t care
what others thought. I know a lot of women who come out and then
they go back and reconstruct their whole childhood, but I really
don’t think that being a tomboy had much to do with it.
At the third interview, at age twenty-five, Eleanor finally reconciled
with the fact that her emotional and aesthetic appreciation for
156 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
women did not really qualify as sexual attraction. Yet contrary to
the notion that this might just be a rationalization for not identifying
as lesbian or bisexual, Eleanor actually expressed great disappointment
that she was not gay:
I’ve kind of straightened out! I still call myself bisexual but I’m
on the edge of heterosexual, which I’m not pleased about. I mean,
straight culture—yuck, bad! I never really wanted to be heterosexual
but I don’t have much choice in the matter. . . . It was this gradual realization
that, in fact, as a rule, I wasn’t all that sexually interested in
other women anymore. I would date other women, but it would
never be serious because I wasn’t all that sexually attracted. And I’m
thinking, well, if it’s a sexual-orientation thing, isn’t actual sexual
attraction sort of one of the things that theoretically goes along
with that? . . . I feel self-conscious because I still identify as bisexual,
but I’m aware that my identity and my actual orientation don’t
really match anymore, so that’s highly disconcerting. I think sexuality
definitely changes, because it’s not that I’m just more aware of the
straight parts of me, I’ve actually become more straight, but I don’t
have any idea what causes those changes.
Eleanor reported the same basic perspective at the eight-year and
ten-year follow-up interviews, when she characterized herself as
“reluctantly heterosexual.” At the ten-year point, now thirty years
old, she noted, “I’m living proof that sexual identity is not something
that you pick, because I never actually wanted to be straight!”
Her experience shows that sexual fluidity can make it possible for a
heterosexual woman to develop an erotic appreciation for other
women that might periodically spill over into desire, but her basic
pattern of attraction is unlikely to change completely, no matter
how much she might wish that it would.
Eleanor did, by the way, eventually relent to characterizing her
same-sex attractions along my 0–100 percent scale. At the second
interview, when she considered herself bisexual, she described herself
as 65 percent physically and emotionally attracted to women.
Change in Sexual Attractions • 157
At the third interview, by which point she had reconciled herself to
the fact that her attractions to women were not really sexual, she
reported experiencing 15 percent of her emotional attractions for
women, but only 5 percent of her physical attractions for women.
Her rating of physical attractions stayed around that level for the
next two assessments, but her percentage of emotional attractions
to women actually shot up to 70 percent at the ten-year assessment,
exemplifying the long-standing discrepancy between her physical
and emotional attractions.
In retrospect, Eleanor felt that the intensity of her emotional
attractions, and the sometimes confusing boundary between physical
and emotional feelings, had led her to question her sexuality
from the very beginning. As we will see in Chapter 7, overlap between
emotional and physical feelings is a key component of sexual
fluidity that can lead many women to experience sporadic, ambiguous
attractions that run counter to their overall sexual orientation.
Sheila
Sheila provides a compelling example of a woman who initially
shifted toward the other sex and reidentified as heterosexual, but
then shifted back toward a same-sex orientation. Sheila was a confident,
sixteen-year-old African-American girl with an unusual
coming-out story. She first began to question her sexuality at the
age of fifteen, when she gradually became attracted to a friend of
hers. Her feelings neither alarmed nor worried her. She was already
familiar with lesbian/gay/bisexual individuals because her parents
were actively involved in progressive politics and had numerous lesbian/
gay/bisexual friends. Sheila does not recall any big revelation
about her sexuality, just a slow realization that “this was a piece of
me.” She soon announced to her parents that she was bisexual, and
their (unbelievable!) response was to jump up, hug her, and congratulate
her. Sheila’s mother even drove her to our first interview
and patiently waited outside in the car during our ninety-minute
158 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
conversation. Perhaps as a result of this unwavering support, Sheila
seemed wise beyond her years, able to analyze and articulate her
feelings with surprising forthrightness and insight.
At the first interview, Sheila felt fairly equally drawn to both men
and women and described her emotional and physical attractions
as split down the middle, 50–50. Yet by the second interview, she
had become more interested in women and described her physical
attractions as 75 percent same-sex (her emotional attractions remained
50–50). When I asked her to explain what exactly had
changed, she said that she had become involved in a substantial
same-sex relationship. In her opinion, “when you’re involved with
someone, that has a big effect on what types of attractions you feel.”
Yet for Sheila, the effect of becoming involved with someone
could clearly operate in both directions. By the third interview, at
age twenty-one, she had become seriously involved with a man, and
he had just asked her to marry him. She had said yes, and she currently
considered herself heterosexual. At that point, she reported
that her same-sex physical attractions had dropped to around 20
percent, and her emotional attractions had pretty much flatlined,
since all her emotional feelings were now focused on her fiancé.
When I remarked on the abruptness of her transition, she noted
that it probably had something to do with the way her relationship
with her last girlfriend had ended. Sheila had been deeply in love,
but they broke up when the woman moved to a different city. Sheila
was heartbroken and said that the experience “took the fight out
of me.” At that point, she simply stopped seeking out other girlfriends,
since no one could compare to her former lover. Eventually
she started to wonder, “Maybe I’m not as gay as I think I am,” and
she started focusing more on men. But even though she was now
engaged to be married, she was still open to the possibility of becoming
involved with women in the future; she added that even
her boyfriend found the idea appealing! As she put it, “If it comes
to me, it comes to me. I stopped trying to reinvent or reidentify
myself.”
Change in Sexual Attractions • 159
Two years later, things had changed yet again, and she was back
to considering herself bisexual. The relationship with her fiancé had
not worked out, and she had called off the engagement. Since that
time, she had been dating both men and women but had not had
any other long-term relationships. She still remained open to both
men and women, and her physical and emotional attractions to
women were back around where they used to be—about 40 percent
of her physical attractions and 60 percent of her emotional attractions.
In general, though, Sheila felt that she was more drawn to an
individual’s personality than to his or her gender.
This might explain why in 2005, at age twenty-six, Sheila’s attractions
had shifted even more toward women. As she got older,
she found herself less and less tolerant of what she perceived as immaturity
on the part of many of the men she met (as she noted,
“They have to be smart enough to hold a conversation with me!”),
and she had generally found it easier to meet attractive women. But
she still considered herself open to both sexes. She felt that the most
satisfying thing about her sexuality was that she could “walk into a
room anywhere and find someone that I could possibly in some way
have a relationship with.”
Sheila provides an example of the degree to which the simple
availability of different partners can shape the way a woman sees
the direction of her sexual and emotional interests. Another compelling
aspect of Sheila’s story is the fact that her parents’ unwavering
support of her bisexuality did not appear to push her in any particular
direction. Rather, it allowed her to explore and analyze her
own desires, and to conclude confidently that she could ultimately
have whatever type of relationship she wanted.
The Nature of Change
In considering these diverse examples, what kinds of conclusions
can we draw about changes in sexual attraction and, more broadly,
in orientation itself? One important conclusion is that though
160 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
women do, in fact, experience transformations in their sexual feelings,
often brought about by specific relationships, these changes do
not appear to involve large-scale “switches” in their overall sexual
orientation. Rather, their sexual and emotional attractions typically
fluctuate only within a general range. This may mean that the overall
range of a person’s potential attractions is set by her orientation,
but her degree of fluidity determines exactly where she will end up
within that range.
In other words, it is altogether false to assume that if a woman’s
sexual orientation is an essential trait, then her sexual attractions
must be fundamentally rigid. Sexual orientation can have an inborn
basis and yet still permit variation in desire over time. The amount
of variation a woman experiences is determined by two factors: (1)
her specific degree of fluidity, which varies from woman to woman,
and (2) her exposure to the types of environmental, situational,
and interpersonal factors that might trigger her fluidity. This provides
an apt explanation for the variability observed in my study.
Although all the respondents underwent significant changes in their
social and geographic environments, living situations, intimate relationships,
and jobs over the ten years of the study, some women’s
attractions remained relatively stable throughout these transitions
(for example, those of the committed lesbians), whereas other
women’s attractions fluctuated, to some degree, with each and every
assessment.
For such women, the simple number of men and women they
encountered on a day-to-day basis was often an important factor
in driving such fluctuations. As one bisexually identified woman
said, “My attractions are very dependent upon who I’m coming
into contact with. Two years ago I had more men in my life, and
now it’s more women. I’m involved with a woman now, and that
influences me. Last time I was with a guy, and that influenced
me.” One lesbian who had come out in her women’s-only college
noted that her attractions to men increased immediately after she
graduated:
Change in Sexual Attractions • 161
After I graduated I was surprised to find myself attracted to guys.
And I thought, “You know, I can’t ignore this,” and it wasn’t primarily
one guy, but guys in general. And initially I still identified as lesbian
and I thought this was just an exception to the rule. After that, I
think I saw the futility in labeling because it can really restrict your
boundaries and make people assume things that may or may not be
true about you. . . . I mean, it wasn’t a phase at all, being a lesbian,
and I still feel mainly toward women, but in some ways I’m less rigid
with regard to my claims to lesbianism. Society is heading more
toward seeing sexuality as fluid, and I go along with that. I mean,
my attractions have changed—I used to feel nothing for men. (age
twenty-two, unlabeled)
Lena provides another salient example. When I first interviewed
her, she had just begun to question her sexuality. She had close
friendships with both women and men, and she had difficulty determining
whether she was more strongly drawn to one than the other.
Over the next two assessments, her peer group had become more
female-dominated, and she felt that her attractions to women had
become more numerous, whereas her attractions to men had diminished.
She also became involved in a substantive relationship with
a woman, which further intensified her same-sex attractions. But
then she entered business school and broke up with her longtime
girlfriend. Suddenly, her attractions shifted, and she started dating
men again:
I feel like I’m much more aware of men around me than I have been
before, and I think a lot of that has to do with, you know, being in
business school, I’m surrounded by many more men than I have been
in the past, and so I think some of that contributes, so I guess I’m still
. . . I would say I’m still just as aware of the women around me as I
was before; that hasn’t diminished, but I’m much more aware of the
men around me than I have been before. (age twenty-four, bisexual)
162 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
Yet several years after Lena graduated from business school, her attractions
changed yet again. Her social network now included a
substantial number of women. She had also become involved with
the woman of her dreams, and they were currently planning a commitment
ceremony. Did Lena’s orientation change? No, but her opportunities
and environment certainly did. Her physical attractions
to women hovered fairly consistently around 70 percent, except for
her time in business school, during which they dropped to 55 percent.
Thus Lena provides a good example of how sexual fluidity can
permit temporary changes in a person’s attractions without necessarily
affecting her overall orientation.
Jennifer, an openly identified bisexual, eloquently summarized
her own view of how immediate environment can change a person’s
experience of his or her essential sexuality:
Here’s the thing about the nature versus nurture thing. I definitely
believe that there’s some inherent thing that I was born with that
makes me bisexual. But the thing is that my whole sexuality is way
bigger than just being bisexual. Everything that’s influenced it, and
how I’ve come to understand it, and the fact that I ever came to understand
it, all of that is an environmental thing. I don’t think that
any environment would have changed the fact that I’m bisexual, but
I do think that various different environments could change the way
I came to realize it, and that I ever came to realize it at all, and how I
ever chose to experience and express it. (age twenty-nine)
Awareness and the Question of Choice
What about cases in which women experience change, not in their
environments, but in their awareness of different erotic possibilities?
In my study such changes in awareness proved to be recurrent
themes in women’s sexual development. Across the entire sample,
nearly half the women said that their initial sexual questioning was
Change in Sexual Attractions • 163
triggered not by straightforward, free-floating experiences of samesex
attraction but by exposure to or contact with lesbian/gay/bisexual
ideas or individuals (for example, meeting lesbian/gay/bisexual
friends, taking a class that covered sexual-minority issues, or seeing
these issues discussed on television or in books), which triggered
subsequent self-reflection and, eventually, awareness and experience
of same-sex attractions.
Because such experiences involved so much thought and reflection,
some people might interpret them as examples of women
choosing their sexual orientation. But this is not consistent with
women’s own reports. Rather, they describe a complicated dynamic
in which a cognitive “openness” leads to a larger psychological and
physical “openness” to unexpected feelings and experiences.
Thinking about same-sex sexuality did not change people’s attractions,
but cognitive openness did appear to create a space for
fluidity to operate:
I wouldn’t say [my attractions] changed so much as they flowered,
that I feel more comfortable with my attraction to women, so that I
have had more real relationships with women, so I can let myself go
more freely sexually and notice my attractions more readily. . . . I’m
more free letting them happen. (age twenty-six, bisexual)
I don’t know if my attractions ever really changed. In some sense, it’s
like I’m constantly changing, constantly evolving, constantly bending
and flexing. But is that me finding more dimensions myself, or is
that me actually changing? I think I see it as becoming more aware,
and recognizing more. . . . I feel like it is somewhat biological and
somewhat environmental, but I don’t think the environment has that
much strength. (age twenty-seven, bisexual)
Other women, however, questioned the distinction between having
an attraction and being aware of it. After all, what does it mean
to have an attraction that you are not aware of? Does it even count
164 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
as an attraction? If an experience of sexual attraction is partially
constituted by a person’s awareness of it, then changes in awareness
are changes in sexuality:
For me the awareness is part of the experience of feeling the attraction.
. . . The moment I say that I’m aware of being attracted to
women, the more I start to notice myself being more attracted to
women. (age twenty-five, unlabeled)
I think they go hand-in-hand. If your sexuality changes over time,
then you become aware of it, but also as you become more aware of
yourself as a sexual being, then maybe your perception of your sexuality
changes. (age twenty-three, bisexual)
In many ways, the notion of awareness exemplifies why fluidity is
such an apt metaphor for women’s sexuality. Fluidity successfully
conveys the capacity of women’s sexuality to fill an available space
the way a body of water takes the form of its immediate boundaries.
Sometimes the available space is created by a particular environment,
opportunity, or relationship, but sometimes it is created
by the process of self-reflection. Either way, when the attractions
develop, they may be experienced as an expansion and a blossoming
rather than as a discovery of something that was always there
but just repressed.
The phenomenon of sexual fluidity also provides a different understanding
of the question of choice. Overall, most women felt
that though they could not choose their attractions, they could certainly
choose whether or not to act on them:
I think that when the idea of being with women was available to me
as an option, as a real option, I chose to see it as a valid one, and I
chose to actively ignore what I’d always been trained to think, and to
really open my mind and say yes, in spite of the fact that you know, I
had always been surrounded by friends and family that weren’t nec-
Change in Sexual Attractions • 165
essarily open to that. So in that sense, I think that I sort of chose it.
(age twenty-seven, unlabeled)
Well, there’s just a difference between feeling and acting. Anyone can
control how they act, but how they feel, I don’t think that’s something
that you can ever change. (age twenty-four, bisexual)
I feel like I have the choice of whether or not to act on it, because being
bisexual, I could’ve just ignored my attraction for women. But I
mean the fantasies would not have stopped. So you know, the attraction
always would have been there. (age twenty-eight, bisexual)
Well, I guess because of how comfortable I’ve been able to feel about
my sexuality, being with a woman feels comfortable for me because
I’ve been accepted in that way. But I guess I can also see how if things
were different, and I felt that I couldn’t for some reason be comfortable
with a woman, then it is certainly possible that I could be with a
man. So, I don’t know, I do feel like I’ve been able to make a choice
for myself, even though these feelings are here anyway. (age twentysix,
unlabeled)
Interestingly, some women noted that the question of choice had
different ramifications for bisexual women—who could, in theory,
be happy with either men or women—than for lesbian women, who
only wanted to be with women:
Certainly there are bisexual people who experience it like a choice,
and I don’t want to dismiss that, I don’t want to dismiss bisexuality,
but I would say for me, I would say it felt less like a choice, or at least
the stakes of the choice seem pretty awful for me. It’s like, I could
be a lesbian or I could be an alcoholic. So, you know, those are
both choices. But obviously one is a much more happy choice. (age
twenty-nine, lesbian)
Other study participants had a strong sense that all women had
some capacity for fluidity, and that they could choose to open themselves
up to it or not:
166 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
When my heterosexual female friends say, “Oh, I wish I could be a
lesbian, it’s so much easier, but I just love men so much,” I’m like,
“That’s bull, you could have sex with women and enjoy it, I could
have sex with men and enjoy it, but you choose not to because of the
way you see yourself in society.” I think people place restrictions on
themselves and they think, “Oh, I could never think that way,” because
they don’t want to identify as that. (age twenty-one, lesbian)
I think that most people have it in them to be attracted to both men
and women, and I think people choose whether or not to admit that,
explore it, or give in to those feelings. I think some people are more
on the side of being gay and some people are more on the side of being
straight, but it’s my belief that it’s very rare that somebody is
completely gay or completely straight, although I think that exists
also. But I think it’s a choice to follow through with it, and I think
everyone has that choice. (age twenty-six, unlabeled)
These diverse responses suggest that there is no single answer to
the question of how choice affects women’s experiences of their
same-sex sexuality, and especially changes in their sexual feelings
over time. Some women feel that no matter what they choose to do,
how they identify, or how they think about themselves, their attractions
remain unchanged.Women who acknowledge a strong capacity
for fluidity, and who have had the opportunity to observe their
own attractions ebb and flow over time, appear more open to the
question of choice. Yet even for them, choice is limited to the conscious
decision about which attractions and opportunities to focus
on and allow to flourish. As one woman put it, choice was the willingness
to pursue one’s attractions.
The Role of Relationships
Several women in my study experienced more dramatic changes in
sexual attractions. Recall Karen, who went from near exclusive lesbianism
to a happy heterosexual marriage (albeit to a bisexually
Change in Sexual Attractions • 167
identified man). Several bisexual women reported similarly dramatic
changes in the opposite direction. Some became committed
to women and lived as lesbians despite continuing to acknowledge
attractions to men. Given that I have argued that sexual orientation
itself does not generally undergo large-scale changes, how can
we interpret the small number of cases in which it seems to do
just that?
The context of these transformations provides the key: whenever
these dramatic changes occurred, they were always precipitated
by specific intimate relationships.Women’s attractions did not
fluctuate broadly without a powerful reason, and that reason was
typically an unexpected love affair. This pattern became so reliable
that whenever a woman reported that her percentage of same-sex
attractions had changed by at least 20 percent from the previous
interview, I began waiting for the magic phrase: “Well, then I met
X. . . .”
These women (whom I describe more fully in the next chapter)
do not represent cases of complete change in orientation. Rather,
they represent a subset of women whose day-to-day erotic feelings
are—at their core—as strongly shaped by their current partner as
by their underlying predisposition.
In all the variability I observed in my study, one additional phenomenon
has important implications for some of the political debates
over choice and change in sexuality. Whereas many women felt that
they could make active choices to allow certain attractions to flourish—
whether same-sex attractions among predominantly heterosexual
women or other-sex attractions among predominantly lesbian
women—not a single woman reported being able to extinguish
certain attractions by turning attention away from them.
This finding is consistent with the large-scale trend toward nonexclusivity.
In short, women found it easier to add certain attrac-
168 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
tions to their repertoire than to eliminate them. Similar findings
have emerged in studies of adult sexual minorities, in which some
men and women report experiencing their capacity for bisexuality
as something that developed as an adjunct to their existing orientation.
25
Perhaps this is why women did not view changes in their sexuality
as indicative of phases. The notion of a phase implies something
that is temporary—for example, an attraction that suddenly
springs out of nowhere, only to disappear just as quickly. Yet for
the women in my study, even transient experiences of same-sex sexuality
had long-term repercussions. As one currently heterosexual
women stated, “You never know about the future. If it happened
once, it could happen again.” This, of course, does not bode well
for advocates of reparative therapy. To the extent that therapists
seek to eliminate attractions, they may be doomed to failure, and
this likelihood is certainly consistent with the research findings on
such therapies.
This is not to say that reparative therapy cannot teach individuals
to distract themselves from unwanted feelings through cognitivebehavioral
strategies such as “thought stopping,” avoidance of situations
that trigger same-sex attractions, and mobilization of social
support. Such techniques can alter a person’s subjective desires, just
as attending Weight Watchers meetings and keeping “forbidden”
foods out of the house can reduce a dieter’s cravings for salty, fatty,
calorie-dense foods. Furthermore, any reader of Shakespeare or
Jane Austen will recognize that these cognitive and behavioral techniques
have been used for hundreds of years by individuals who
had the misfortune of becoming attracted to partners of the right
sex but the wrong family, social class, or nation. But these techniques
do not appear to alter the basic existence of those inconvenient
attractions (a point on which both Shakespeare’s and Austen’s
success depends).
In the final analysis, perhaps the most important characteristic
Change in Sexual Attractions • 169
of human sexual nature, and one that probably applies to men as
well as to women, is its capacity for expansion, for broadening an
individual’s opportunities for joy and pleasure over the life course
instead of cutting them off. Female sexual fluidity heightens this basic
capacity, facilitating the development of unexpected, situationspecific
desires that might not change a woman’s overall sexual
disposition, but just might change her life. In open, accepting environments,
fluidity can create unprecedented opportunities for selfdiscovery
and reflection. Not a single one of the women in my sample,
not even those who have reidentified as heterosexual or made
commitments to male partners, regrets her same-sex experiences.
To the contrary, the vast majority were grateful for having had the
opportunity to reflect deeply on their emotional and physical desires
and to explore their own capacity for intimacy. Whether society
chooses to support or punish such opportunities, of course, is
up to us.
170 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
C H A P T E R 6
Attractions to
“the Person, Not the Gender”
Imagine your ideal sexual partner, someone who possesses all the
qualities you find arousing. Now take out a piece of paper and list
these qualities, in no particular order. Your list probably contains a
mix of different attributes, some of them physical (tall, husky voice,
muscular chest), some personality-based (funny, confident, seductive),
and some interpersonal (understanding, supportive, loving).
Most of the physical items on your list are probably genderlinked,
meaning that they apply only to one gender. For example,
large breasts are considered desirable only in women, whereas
large muscular arms are usually considered desirable only in men.
Of course, some physical traits are considered desirable in both
genders, such as a fit body or a “pretty” face (think Leonardo
DiCaprio).
Now consider the items on your list that focus on personality or
emotional qualities. Are they gender-linked? Probably not. Characteristics
like “funny,” “kind,” or “respectful” are gender-neutral; in
other words, they could apply to men or women. The main point is
that when we find someone sexually desirable, we are responding to
a mix of gender-linked and gender-neutral traits.
Nonetheless, most people think that gender is the key starting
point. In fact, the very notion of sexual orientation presumes that
gender plays a fundamental role in determining whether we can be-
come sexually attracted to someone. Numerous studies have tried
to identify universal, cross-cultural differences between the features
that spark men’s versus women’s sexual attractions.1 The rationale
underlying this research is that men and women may be genetically
“wired” to find different traits attractive. Yet such studies have consistently
found that both men and women place as much weight on
gender-neutral traits such as intelligence and kindness as on genderspecific
traits.2
Still, most researchers would argue that if another person is the
wrong gender for your sexual orientation, then gender-neutral traits
like “funny” might inspire liking but not sexual attraction. Consider
the gender-neutral traits on your own list. If you are sexually
oriented to women (that is, you are a heterosexual man or a lesbian
woman), what happens when you imagine a man with these characteristics?
Or if you are oriented to men (in other words, you are a
heterosexual woman or a gay man), what happens when you imagine
a woman with these traits? Would you find that person sexually
attractive, despite the fact that he or she is the wrong gender for
you? Perhaps you can appreciate the person’s attractiveness (and
maybe you would try to set him or her up with one of your single
friends), but you are not likely to feel attracted yourself.
Some people claim that they can respond erotically to anyone
with a desirable personality or with whom they have a strong personal
connection, regardless of that person’s gender. They typically
describe being attracted to “the person, not the gender.” I refer
to such cases as person-based attractions. Person-based attractions
challenge many assumptions underlying traditional models of sexual
orientation, such as the notion that gender always matters when
it comes to sexual desire. They are also critical to understanding female
sexual fluidity, since such attractions are necessarily flexible.
Yet they have received almost no systematic attention in previous
research.
In this chapter I describe two cases in which a woman’s person-
172 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
based attractions radically changed her understanding of her sexuality,
and one case in which a woman’s flexibility regarding the gender
of her partners actually led her to question her own gender
identity. These women’s experiences, and the broader phenomenon
of person-based attractions, raise questions about the role of gender
in structuring our basic experiences of desire.
What Does It Mean to Be Attracted to the Person,
Not the Gender?
Although the notion of person-based attractions might be unfamiliar
to most people, scattered accounts of this phenomenon have appeared
in scientific and popular writings on sexual orientation.3 In
the late 1970s, Philip Blumstein and Pepper Schwartz pointed out
that traditional models of homosexuality failed to account for individuals
“whose fundamental sexual desire seems to be produced
within the context of a relationship, rather than by an abstract preference
for women or men.”4 They identified person-based attractions
as a mainly female phenomenon, and noted that male-based
models of sexuality, with their emphasis on physical acts and physical
characteristics, had overlooked the fact that “women’s sexuality
is organized by other than physical cues. For modern Western
women, the recognition of love or admiration for the pleasure in
companionship or deep friendship most often leads to erotic attraction
and response.”5
In the 1980s, a group of researchers studying bisexuality in San
Francisco interviewed numerous men and women with personbased
attractions.6 They described these individuals as possessing
an “open gender schema,” meaning that they had disconnected
gender from sexual desire. As a result, they could respond sexually
to a broad range of traits and characteristics, regardless of gender.
Interestingly, these researchers found that men with open gender
schemas were typically heterosexually identified individuals who
Attractions to “the Person, Not the Gender” • 173
sought periodic same-sex contact for purposes of sexual release. In
women, by contrast, open gender schemas almost always entailed
falling in love with a particular person, a finding that was consistent
with virtually all other accounts of this phenomenon.
This was also the case for the respondents in my own study. As
one woman remarked, “Deep down, it’s just a matter of who I meet
and fall in love with, and it’s not their body, it’s something behind
the eyes, an emotional honesty, it’s a form of kindness, a strength,
an aura, the vibe that folks give off.” Others emphasized the distinction
between a person’s “inside”—emotions, intellect, and personality—
and the “outside,” or physical, gendered body. As one
woman said, “I’m attracted to a person’s soul, and the packaging is
incidental.” Others noted that they had trouble becoming physically
attracted to someone before they got to know that person inside.
As one woman described:
My feelings of physical attraction are always influenced by the interpersonal
fit, you know, the connection between me and another person,
and are we able to relate, are the same things important to us;
does someone provide me with a lot of care and support, do they
know what I need when . . . when I’m happy or when I’m upset and
vice versa, do we laugh about the same sort of things, do we connect
intellectually. . . . When I feel a connection on many of those, I tend
to become more attracted to someone, regardless of their sex.
This sentiment was echoed by another respondent, who noted,
“My attractions to people always happen after talking to them and
getting to know them. I’m attracted to who a person is, and the
physicality of it, like their appearance, and their physical sex, really
doesn’t mean much of anything.” This is particularly interesting because
it is the exact reverse of how we assume that the majority of
intimate relationships develop. Most people believe that a relationship
starts out with physical attraction and then deepens into a
more significant emotional, intellectual, or spiritual bond.
174 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
How Common Is This Experience?
How widespread are person-based attractions? It is impossible to
know for sure because they have never been systematically studied.
Whenever they have turned up in the scientific literature, they have
been treated as anomalies. In my own research, I attempted to estimate
the prevalence of person-based attractions by asking each
woman to rate, on a scale of 1 to 5, her agreement with the statement,
“I’m the kind of person who becomes physically attracted to
the person rather than their gender.” I should point out that I added
this question to my interview only in the last few years of the study.
When I first started out, it never occurred to me to ask such a thing.
But over the years, so many women spontaneously described person-
based attractions that I realized I had to collect more information
about them.
Overall, about one-fourth of the women reported the strongest
possible agreement (that is, a rating of 5 on the 1-to-5 scale) with
this statement. An additional one-fourth reported that they somewhat
agreed (a rating of 4). Thus, fully half of the sample has had
some experience with person-based attractions. So much for the
phenomenon being an anomaly! Of course, we must consider the
motives that women might have for describing their attractions
as person-based. Perhaps some of them are trying to distance themselves
from the stigma associated with same-sex sexuality. As one of
the lesbian respondents in my study noted, “I’ve had some friends
that are now with men. They say that before, they weren’t really
lesbians, they’d just fallen in love with the particular person,
who happened to be a woman. I don’t know, I just think they’re
scared.”
This might be the case for some women, especially those living in
particularly restrictive environments, or whose cultural or socioeconomic
backgrounds make it dangerous for them to claim a lesbian
or bisexual identity. Yet this does not appear to explain per-
Attractions to “the Person, Not the Gender” • 175
son-based attractions in my sample. Among the women who most
strongly agreed that they were attracted to the person and not the
gender, more than half were “out” to all their immediate family
members and two-thirds were out to at least 90 percent of their
friends. So claiming person-based attractions did not appear to be a
strategy for denying their same-sex sexuality. Moreover, claiming
person-based attractions was unrelated to a woman’s current or
childhood socioeconomic status, her educational level, or whether
she had been raised in a religious household.
Another possibility is simply misperception. Some lesbian, gay,
and bisexual individuals report that though they initially thought
their same-sex attractions were restricted to one or two special
people, they eventually realized that this was not so.7 It is difficult
to interpret such accounts because they come from the most selfselected
samples possible: openly identified lesbian/gay/bisexual
individuals who are thinking back on their previous experiences.
What happens when we take women with person-based attractions
and follow them forward? Do any of them eventually reject
this notion and admit that they were always intrinsically oriented to
women (or, alternatively, that they were never attracted to women
at all)? And what about person-based attractions to men?
Two cases shed some light on these questions.
Sarah
Sarah was a white, middle-class eighteen-year-old with shoulderlength
blond hair, a slight build, and a soft, halting voice. When she
sat down for our first interview, she was visibly nervous. I began the
interview, as usual, with the standard questions about how she currently
thought about her sexual identity. After a long pause, she replied
that she did not know. I proceeded to ask how she had first begun
to question her sexuality. At that point, she took a deep breath
and began her story:
176 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
Just last week I sort of became involved with my best friend, who I’m
currently living with, and who I’ve known since I was twelve. We’ve
always been really affectionate, but last Tuesday it just sort of . . .
kept going. I stopped it at first—I was sort of freaked out. Finally we
just let it happen. I don’t know what we’re doing—are we dating?
We haven’t even told anyone. Right now I only have these feelings
for her, and I don’t know if that’ll change. I don’t know if I’m a lesbian.
I just know I want to be with her forever.
As the interview continued, I tried to understand the nature of
this experience. Sarah seemed relieved to be talking about it openly.
She and her friend were keeping the relationship secret, and in fact
they would continue to do so for the duration of the study. I remain
the only person besides the two of them who knows what actually
happened—even Sarah’s current husband has no idea that the “best
friend” they periodically see for dinner was sexually involved with
his wife.
According to Sarah, she and her friend (whom I will call Nadine)
had always enjoyed an intense and exclusive friendship. When I
asked Sarah how the friendship had evolved into a sexual relationship,
she was not sure. She described the experience as an “overflow”
of intimacy from the mental to the physical domain, but she
did not know what triggered it. “Maybe it’s the fact that we’re
roommates, and so we are spending so much time together right
now,” she guessed. Apparently the two women had spent considerable
time discussing their feelings, trying to determine if they were
doing the right thing and if physical attraction had been part of
their relationship all along.
Both Sarah and Nadine found their relationship as physically and
emotionally satisfying as any of their previous heterosexual relationships.
Yet they were confused by the fact that neither of them
was ever sexually attracted to any other women. As far as they
knew, this was impossible. If they were really lesbian or bisexual,
Attractions to “the Person, Not the Gender” • 177
shouldn’t they now be aware of long-suppressed attractions for
women in general? They found themselves scrutinizing women on
the street, asking each other, “What about her? Do you think you’re
attracted to her?” It did not make sense that they had these feelings
only for each other. As we ended the interview, Sarah looked at me
and asked, “Are we normal?”
I reassured her that this experience was not uncommon, but I was
just as stumped as she was. According to the existing research on
sexual orientation, people did not generally experience “just one”
or “just a few” same-sex attractions. Heterosexuals might experiment
with same-sex sexuality or settle for same-sex partners in
atypical settings such as prisons, but they were thought to find such
encounters unsatisfying compared with heterosexual relationships.
Yet Sarah and Nadine were delighted with each other. The only
other interpretation, according to conventional understandings of
sexual orientation, was that despite their attempts at self-reflection
and self-analysis, they were repressing their true lesbianism or bisexuality.
The only test, I concluded, was time. If Sarah were really lesbian
or bisexual, then by the two-year follow-up interview she would
probably have realized that her feelings were not restricted to
Nadine, and she probably would have become aware of being attracted
to women in general. Conversely, if she were really heterosexual,
then by the two-year follow-up she would probably have realized
that the relationship had not, in fact, been fundamentally
satisfying, and that she had been confusing her emotional connection
to Nadine with sexual feelings.
So which was it? Neither. Sarah’s two-year follow-up proved that
neither of those simplistic interpretations (that she was always attracted
to women or had never really been attracted to women) was
quite right. Her story’s complexity speaks for itself:
Well, we both decided that it didn’t feel like it was the right thing. It
lasted about a year and a half. Neither one of us really identified as
178 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
anything during that time, and we didn’t tell anybody what was going
on. It felt totally different than relationships with men, so close,
and I was so happy with the relationship, but it just didn’t feel right
for some reason. . . . I never developed those sorts of feelings for
other women, and that made me think that my feelings were about
her, and not a big part of me. The same is true for her—she doesn’t
have those feelings for anybody else. . . . But she was ready to be
open about the relationship anyway, and I wasn’t.
Sarah’s reluctance to openly identify as lesbian or bisexual is understandable.
Given that she was attracted only to Nadine, taking on
the stigma of a lesbian or bisexual identity must have felt like a
huge risk. After all, what if this was the only same-sex relationship
she ever had? Nadine, though, had grown frustrated with the secrecy.
Eventually they decided it would be better for their friendship
if they ended their sexual relationship. Yet their emotional bond remained
intense. At the time of the two-year follow-up interview
they were still living together, and in fact Sarah said that they were
trying to work out the best way to maintain a primary, lifelong
commitment to each other, something deeper and more serious than
the average best friendship.
I was moved by the strength of their connection, the struggles
they had undergone to understand their feelings, and their determination
to maintain their unusual emotional bond. Sarah and Nadine
embarked on this journey without any cultural landmarks to
help them. Not only were there no terms to describe their sexual
identities (heterosexual seemed as inappropriate as lesbian), but
once they “broke up,” there were also no words to describe their
changed status: more than friends but no longer lovers. Yet they
managed to maintain their powerful relationship over the ensuing
years. By the ten-year point, enough time had passed that there was
no trace of awkwardness between them. Sometimes they talked
about their affair, but not often. It remained a sweet, secret part of
their shared history. By 2005 Sarah had married, and she doubted
Attractions to “the Person, Not the Gender” • 179
that she would ever experience or act on same-sex attractions
again. Nonetheless, she and Nadine had no regrets.
Megan
Megan’s history provides a noteworthy contrast to Sarah’s. Like Sarah,
Megan is currently married to a man, yet her person-based attractions
took her on a very different journey to this outcome.
When I first interviewed Megan, she was twenty years old and had
been strongly identified as lesbian for more than two years. She was
a fair-skinned, middle-class woman with a round, freckled face and
a surprisingly high-pitched voice that contrasted with her androgynous
dress and short-cropped hair.
Growing up, Megan had always developed very close female
friendships. She and one friend in particular spent so much time
together and were so physically affectionate that many of their
classmates spread rumors that they were lesbians. Megan and her
friend laughed off the notion as ridiculous. As Megan got older, she
noticed that she was never very interested in the boys she was dating.
After becoming sexually active, she remembered wondering,
“What’s the big deal about this?” She finally began to question her
sexual identity in college, when her attractions to women became
strong and unmistakable. By the time of the first interview, she felt
totally certain and comfortable with her lesbian identity. When
asked whether she thought it might ever change, she answered,
“No. I mean, I just really like women so much more than men, both
physically and emotionally. It has been more of what I have always
wanted and hoped for. I have more of an emotional bond with
women; it’s more satisfying sexually as well.”
But at the next interview, two years later, her life had taken an
abrupt turn. She had started graduate school, where she became
close friends with a man. Soon their emotional connection evolved
into a physical relationship. As Megan described it:
180 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
I was pretty surprised . . . I didn’t think we’d end up dating, we’d
talked about it a bit when we were becoming really emotionally
close . . . and then we ended up together. I guess I’m still more inclined
to date women. He’s really the only man I have any attractions
for. And I don’t really have any women in my life that I’m emotionally
close to. So I’m not sure how to think of my sexual identity right
now. . . . Everything is more uncertain now. I guess I’d have to say I
was bisexual, but I’ve never really felt that bisexual is a label that I
really want. But I can’t say I’m a lesbian dating a man. People just
don’t accept that, even though that’s sort of what I feel like. . . . My
feelings about women haven’t really changed, it’s just that I’m more
open and accepting about my feelings for men, or at least to this
man—I’m definitely more attracted to him than I’ve been to men before.
. . . After we started dating, I had sort of a last fling, or incident,
with my ex-girlfriend. . . . I think I was trying to figure out if I could
really be attracted to him like I had been to her. And I guess I found
out that it doesn’t matter, you know, the sort of biological effects of
the person, and their gender. It’s more who they are and whether I’m
attracted to them as a person.
Megan and her boyfriend were still together at the five-year follow-
up interview, and she continued to express uncertainty about
the most appropriate label for her sexual identity. As she said,
“Well, I guess I’m in a heterosexual relationship, that’s about as
far as I go. I guess what happens in the future depends on what
would happen with the relationship, because I don’t intend to leave
the relationship to change my identity, but if the relationship
were to end, I’m not really sure what would happen.” She continued
to feel that her sexual attractions to women were largely unchanged,
and in fact she admitted that her current relationship
was more satisfying emotionally than physically. This led her to
question periodically how important the physical versus emotional
aspects were, and whether she might eventually want to end the re-
Attractions to “the Person, Not the Gender” • 181
lationship just to see if she might be more physically satisfied with
someone else.
Two years later, they got married. In Megan’s opinion, this transition
“closed the door” on the issue of women, though she still regularly
found herself “looking at hot women on the street.” She continued
to consider herself unlabeled, and she emphasized that for
her, love revolved around the person as opposed to his or her biological
sex. Furthermore, she was finding that as time went on, sex
was less of a focus in her relationship with her husband; it was the
emotional intensity of the bond that provided its foundation. She
said she did not know whether she felt this way because he was a
man, or whether it was just something that happens in long-term
relationships.
Although Megan was happy, she admitted to feeling wistful about
losing “the other side of my identity.” She and her husband were
living in an area without a strong lesbian community, and she felt
that once people found out she was married, they just assumed
she was heterosexual. Over time, this prompted her to discuss her
same-sex attractions more openly, even though she knew she would
probably never act on them again. By the ten-year point, she had
switched from unlabeled to bisexual, claiming that the bisexual label
“really sort of encompasses my history, and my current feelings
toward people I’m attracted to. I think I just got more used to being
in this relationship with a man and saying that I’m also attracted to
women. But it’s still surprising to me that the person I ended up
marrying isn’t the sort of person that I think I ever would have described
as my ideal partner, physically, and in terms of physical attraction.
I just never would have thought it would be this person.”
Thus, whereas Sarah’s person-based attraction diverted her only
temporarily from an otherwise heterosexual pathway, Megan’s person-
based attraction turned her whole life upside down, to her own
surprise and the surprise of her friends and family. These two cases
demonstrate the power of person-based attractions. Even when
182 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
they do not change an individual’s underlying sexual orientation,
they can completely change her identity and her life path.
Characteristics of Person-Based Attractions
Sarah and Megan might be considered extreme cases of personbased
attractions because each of them became attracted to someone
who was the wrong gender for her sexual orientation. Yet their
experiences highlight a number of core themes that emerged in the
reports of other women with this pattern of desire: nonexclusivity
and change in attractions, links between emotional and physical
feelings, and reluctance to label their sexual identity.
As we saw in Chapter 4, some bisexual-identified women (and
some researchers) view bisexuality as a gender-neutral form of desire
that is based on individual people rather than on gender categories.
Does this mean that person-based attractions are simply bisexual
attractions? Certainly, most of the women in my sample with
person-based attractions fell squarely into a bisexual range, typically
reporting that between 40 percent and 70 percent of their dayto-
day physical attractions were directed toward women. Yet it is a
mistake to equate person-based attractions with bisexuality. After
all, not all bisexuals experience their attractions as gender-neutral.
For some women with nonexclusive attractions, gender-linked
characteristics play an important role in triggering their desires,
even though they respond to both female-specific and male-specific
traits. So the most accurate conclusion is that though all women
with person-based attractions appear to have a capacity for nonexclusive
attractions (by definition), not all women with nonexclusive
attractions experience person-based desires.
Recall that when I asked respondents to describe the percentage
of their day-to-day attractions that were directed to women, I
asked them to separately estimate their physical and emotional attractions.
These estimates did not always agree, especially among
Attractions to “the Person, Not the Gender” • 183
women with person-based attractions. But women with personbased
attractions showed a greater connection between their physical
and emotional attractions from interview to interview than was
observed among the other women. When one type of attraction
went up or down, the other did as well. Of course, this does not reveal
which type changed first—were emotional attractions “leading”
physical attractions, or vice versa? Nonetheless, the tight linkage
between these women’s physical and emotional feelings fits
with their own descriptions.
This connection was confirmed by the fact that virtually all
the women with person-based attractions agreed strongly with the
statement, “When I’m really emotionally bonded to someone, I
find myself becoming physically attracted to them.” Overall, more
women strongly agreed with this statement (one-third of the sample)
than with the statement about being attracted to the person
and not the gender (one-fourth of the sample). Thus, not all women
whose emotional feelings influence their physical feelings think of
themselves as having person-based desires. Rather, the latter group
seems to be a subset of the former.
Consider the experience of Amy, a bisexual woman who does
not think of herself as being attracted to the person, not the gender,
but who does tend to become physically attracted to people with
whom she has emotionally bonded: “There’s this one woman at
work, and she weighs 400 pounds, and in my sense of attractiveness,
well . . . you know, it just wasn’t there. When I first met her, I
wasn’t, like, wanting to grab her and take her into another room.
But this woman is just amazing, she rocks, and now we’re really, really
close emotionally, so now I’m actually attracted to her. She’s
just wonderful but I had to get to know her.” Thus it seems that a
capacity to become physically attracted on the basis of emotional
feelings is a necessary—but not sufficient—condition for having
predominantly person-based attractions.
Given that there is no label to represent these gender-neutral, per-
184 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
son-based attractions, how do women who experience them identify
themselves? It should not be surprising that women with person-
based attractions often considered themselves unlabeled. As
one woman said, “I don’t even identify as a bisexual, just because
my definition of bisexuality is one who maybe craves both men and
women . . . whereas with me I’m all about one person. I’ve gotten to
the point now in my life where it’s not even like a sexual or gender
identification; I’m attracted to certain things about a . . . whole person,
and if and when I find that, their sex doesn’t really matter that
much for me anymore.” Another woman noted, “I still don’t label
my identity, because I’m not really attracted to either sex until I get
to know the person, and there’s no label that reflects that. I bet you
probably hear that a lot.”
She was right: I did. Some women had noticed that their attractions
varied simply as a function of whom they happened to be
around and whom they happened to connect with. As one woman
noted, “I tend to get along with only 1 percent of the guys that I
meet, and I get along with way more women. So it’s much more
likely that among the people that I meet, I end up being attracted
to women, but it could totally change, I could imagine some day
some guy delivers my pizza and he’s like the perfect person for me.
What are you going to do? I wouldn’t send him away.” This openness
was also evident in a woman who had initially identified as a
lesbian while attending an all-female college. Once she graduated
and started developing more friendships with men, she began to experience
more other-sex attractions:
I found myself, not necessarily only attracted to both sexes, but also
slightly more open-minded to the notion that maybe . . . maybe I can
find something in just a person, that I don’t necessarily have to be attracted
to one sex versus the other. . . . Currently I’m in a long-term
relationship with a man that I find very, very, very enjoyable and fulfilling,
so it’s hard for me to identify, so therefore I prefer to not iden-
Attractions to “the Person, Not the Gender” • 185
tify or just kind of joke about it and say, “I’m not bisexual or homosexual,
I’m just sexual.”
Given these complexities, we can see why nearly 70 percent of
the women with person-based attractions considered themselves
unlabeled at some point during the ten years of the study (compared
with about one-third of the other women). By 2005, more
than half of the women with person-based attractions were currently
identifying as bisexual, and more than one-third were unlabeled.
Recall that these two groups have been systematically
excluded from prior research on same-sex sexuality. This may
be why researchers understand so little about the phenomenon of
person-based attractions, despite the fact that women with such
attractions have turned up in studies of same-sex sexuality for
decades.8 These women have probably always existed, and they
might account for some of the notable contemporary cases (such as
Anne Heche and Julie Cypher) in which women who have led otherwise
heterosexual lives abruptly develop erotic ties to specific female
partners. Their experiences deserve close attention, because
they have important implications for how we understand sexual
orientation.
A Different Type of Orientation?
How might we rethink sexual orientation in light of person-based
attractions? I can imagine two possibilities. One is that the capacity
for person-based attractions might actually be an independent form
of sexual orientation.9 In other words, whereas the present categories
of heterosexual, lesbian/gay, and bisexual presume that gender
is important to everyone, and that the key differences simply concern
which gender a person desires, perhaps there is a fourth category
of individuals for whom gender is irrelevant.
Such individuals would necessarily possess the capacity for at-
186 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
tractions to either gender, though this does not necessarily mean
that they would think of themselves as bisexual. Rather, like some
of the women in my study, they might adopt alternative labels such
as “queer,” a term that is increasingly used to signify a form of sexuality
that resists rigid categorization.10 As one woman noted, “I
used to identify as bisexual, and I wasn’t sure whether or not I
wanted to be with men or women. Now I feel like my sexuality is
more fluid, and I call myself queer because it includes all genders.
It’s a better term; it pretty much conveys the fact that I’m not attracted
to a man or woman based on their gender, but who they
are.”
Many women with person-based attractions reported that this
was a longstanding pattern for them, which often first manifested
itself in early adolescence as a persistent ambiguity between love
and friendship. Their experiences support the notion of a genderneutral
orientation. As one woman noted, “I have a really blurry
line between friendships and crushes—I always tend to like people
and not distinguish whether I like them as a friend or more than a
friend.” As we will see in the next chapter, many people develop
passionate attachments to childhood friends that appear to disregard
gender. As we grow older, we typically come to distinguish between
liking somebody “as a friend” and liking that person as a potential
lover. Perhaps part of the uniqueness of having person-based
attractions is not just that you are insensitive to gender as a basis
for attraction, but also that you have more fluid boundaries between
love and friendship.
This raises the inevitable question of how the rest of us come to
acquire and internalize such distinctions. The psychologist Laura
Brown, reflecting on the tendency for many women to develop
passionate relationships with other women, has remarked that instead
of asking why certain women eroticize these bonds and become
lesbians, perhaps we should ask why other women don’t.11
How do we begin to draw boundaries around certain types of
Attractions to “the Person, Not the Gender” • 187
emotional intimacy? Developmental timing may play a role. Since
Kinsey, many researchers have argued that not until late adolescence
do we fully integrate a sense of gender into our sexual desires.
12 As John Gagnon argued, “It is quite clear that during the
ages of 12 to 17 the gender aspects of the ‘who’ in the sexual scripts
that are being formed are not fixed. . . . A deeper complication
is that it is not obvious whether it is the gender aspects of the ‘who’
that have provoked the nascent desire or even if the desire is linked
to a ‘who’ at all.”13 Perhaps, then, an orientation toward personbased
attractions represents a deeper form of this gender-neutrality,
in which our sexual scripts remain fundamentally open with regard
to the sex of the person to whom we are attracted.
Another possibility is that a capacity for person-based attractions
is not a fourth form of sexual orientation but rather an independent
characteristic that all individuals possess, in greater or lesser degrees.
To understand how this might work, consider sex drive as an
analogy. Among heterosexual and lesbian/gay/bisexual individuals,
there are those with strong sex drives and those with weaker sex
drives. Having a strong or a weak sex drive is not a separate type of
orientation; nor does it reveal anything about a person’s orientation—
it is simply an additional source of variation among people.
Perhaps the capacity for person-based attractions operates in the
same way. In other words, maybe there are different types of heterosexual,
bisexual, and lesbian/gay individuals—some for whom
gender is extremely important, and some for whom it is not. So, for
example, a lesbian woman like Megan might generally be attracted
only to women, but her person-based attractions might periodically
trigger attractions to men. Other lesbians might not possess such a
capacity, in which case even their closest, most wonderful male
friends would do nothing for them sexually.
This last scenario was described by a number of the lesbians in
my study; in fact, some women reported that it was their lack of
sexual attraction to their best male friends that helped convince
188 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
them that they were lesbians! This was true of Lori, who reported,
“My best friend in high school was a guy. He was perfect for me in
every way. I totally loved him, and we ended up dating for a couple
of years. But when I was around sixteen I had this total realization
that I really wasn’t attracted to him, no matter how much I loved
him. But he was so great, and so I really really tried to be attracted
to him, but I just couldn’t do it. He was actually the one who told
me that I might be a lesbian.”
We can imagine the same distinction among heterosexual
women. Sarah, described earlier, would represent a heterosexual
woman with a tendency to form person-based attractions. For
such women, the development of a robust emotional bond to a female
friend can spark unexpected feelings of physical desire that are
specific to that friend. Other heterosexual women might never have
such an experience, no matter how deep their same-sex friendships.
For example, one respondent who initially identified as unlabeled
but eventually reidentified as heterosexual realized over time that
even though she felt extremely close emotionally to her female friends,
she would never experience the same sort of desire for them that she
experienced for men:
I used to think that you fell in love with the person, and then you
would be sexually attracted. I always thought that I could be with
women because I did find women attractive, and it seems like I love
some of my female friends so much, but now I realize there’s something
there that I don’t understand that makes it so that the friends I
become sexually attracted to happen to be men, and I don’t know
why that is, and why it’s not true with my best female friends.
Of the two possibilities I have outlined—person-based attractions
as a fourth orientation or as an additional aspect of sexual
variability—which seems most likely? We simply do not have
enough information to make definitive conclusions at the present
time, but my data suggest evidence for both views. Consider the
Attractions to “the Person, Not the Gender” • 189
following: if a capacity for person-based attractions were an additional
aspect of sexual variability that could exist among all
women, then we should find women with this capacity sprinkled
throughout my entire sample—some in the lesbian group, some in
the bisexual group, some in the unlabeled group, and some in the
heterosexual group.
But this is not the case. I was surprised to find that none of the
women who identified as lesbian at the ten-year point strongly felt
that they were attracted to the person and not the gender. Although
some women who wholeheartedly agreed with this statement had
identified as lesbian in the past, all those women had switched to bisexual
or unlabeled identities by 2005. So a capacity for personbased
attractions does not appear to be totally independent of the
degree of a person’s same-sex attractions. Instead, it seems to apply
only to women with fairly nonexclusive patterns of attraction.
With that in mind, what about the comparison group of openminded
heterosexuals? Did they experience this capacity as well?
About half said that they did, and half said that they did not (accordingly,
they had an average rating of 3.4 on the 1–5 scale rating
the degree to which they became attracted to the person rather than
to the gender—right about at the midpoint). One of the heterosexual
women who strongly endorsed the idea of being attracted to the
person and not the gender described her female friendships as unusually
close though not explicitly sexual:
The only uncertainty that I have ever felt about my sexual identity
is when I think about some of the close friendships that I have had
with women. It’s like we are more than just friends, but they’re not
sexual. It’s like there’s this nebulous level between friendship and intimacy.
. . . Normally it’s not something that I talk about, but there is
one friend where we have talked about it, we both know we are heterosexual,
but it’s like we are both aware that the potential for more
intimacy is there, and acknowledging that we are that close to one
190 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
another is all that’s important, we don’t need to go further. We’ve
never really talked about the actual possibility of being sexual with
each other. We talk about it on a more abstract level, like, “Everybody
has the potential to love women and men,” and “Look at
that woman, if I was going to be a lesbian, I would want to go out
with her.”
Another heterosexual respondent similarly emphasized that her only
potential for same-sex eroticism was in her close friendships. At the
first interview, though, she was aware of a clear distinction between
physical and emotional intimacy: “I have always had really strong
emotional bonds to women, but I have never felt funny about it because
society expects strong emotional bonds between women, so I
never thought that I shouldn’t pursue such strong emotional relationships.
I’m rarely physically attracted to women, although sometimes
when I meet a really great woman it’s like I have a strong urge
to get to know her better.” Yet as the years went by, she was more
willing to consider actual same-sex intimacy, and she became more
aware of actual fantasies and attractions to women:
I guess when I first started thinking of sexual orientation in more political,
or social political terms, I started questioning, “Could I be attracted
to women?” And at that point, it was a very intellectual,
“Yes, I could.” I had fantasized about it, but I’ve never really wanted
to or had the urge to. I’ve never met anyone that I would do that
with. Now, it’s a little different, I can picture myself, I can see myself
exploring that with some of my female friends. You know, I can see
myself spooning with them, or sleeping nonsexually with them. So, I
guess it could veer into something more sexual, but I haven’t allowed
myself to go that far. It would be more an expression of love towards
the women that are in my life.
By the 2005 interview she was happily married, and for that reason
she found herself “cutting off” potential attractions to both women
Attractions to “the Person, Not the Gender” • 191
and men other than her husband because, as she reasoned, “why
look if you can’t touch?” Nonetheless, at this point she was even
more certain about her own potential for same-sex intimacy: “If at
any time in the future my marital status ever changes, I can see myself
not with another man but with another woman. Whether it’s
living together, sexual or nonsexual. I can imagine I would find another
woman more compatible, or have some sort of chemistry and
then we would have a long-term relationship.”
Some heterosexual women echoed this sentiment but said that
they were unlikely to pursue same-sex attractions because of the social
stigma attached to them:
I am very much a believer in the continuum . . . and on the whole I
think that women are more, I guess, open to being curious about
both sexes and about having relationships with both sexes. But it is
certainly easier to follow the path of least resistance, at least as far as
social norms go, which for the moment is heterosexuality. But you
know, as I’m getting older and still not meeting people that I want to
be with, it seems even sillier to only consider men when I bond more
easily with women.
The fact that some of the heterosexual respondents so strongly
endorsed the notion of same-sex person-based attractions despite
being mainly attracted to men supports the notion that a capacity
for person-based attractions is a separate form of sexual orientation,
perhaps a variant of bisexuality. Yet this characterization
does not quite tell the whole story, either. If a capacity for personbased
attractions were truly a separate orientation, then we might
expect individuals to either have it or not. But it is not quite this
clear-cut—women had a wide range of responses to the question
about being attracted to the person and not the gender. Although
some gave it a 5 on the 1–5 scale ranging from total disagreement to
total agreement, some gave it a 4, others a 3, and so on. In other
words, some women experience person-based attractions to some
192 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
degree, some of the time, for reasons that are not clear. As noted in
Chapter 4, it is difficult to interpret such variation without knowing
more about how gender gets “coded” into our experiences of desire
to begin with, and which aspects of gender are most important.
How Far Does Fluidity Go?
The gaps in our knowledge about the specific links between gender
and desire raise a broader and even more perplexing question: If
you are someone who responds to the person and not his or her
gender, then where does your own gender fit in? In other words,
does fluidity in sexual desire ever extend to fluidity in gender identity?
Gender identity is defined as an individual’s internal psychological
experience of being male or female, regardless of how masculine
or feminine he or she might appear to other people. The association
between sexual orientation and gender identity is a complex and
controversial one.14 As noted earlier, historical understandings of
homosexuality assumed that it was a disorder of “gender inversion,”
as if the only way a man could desire another man was if he
thought or felt like a woman (and vice versa for women desiring
other women). We now know that this is not the case; lesbian/gay/
bisexual individuals generally have completely normal gender identities,
even if some are gender atypical in dress, behavior, or appearance.
In other words, the average “butch lesbian” might have extremely
short hair and a very masculine mode of dress, but she will
still express certainty about her status as a woman. Individuals
whose gender identities are discordant with their biological sex—
that is, women who feel that they are really male, or men who feel
that they are really female—are transsexuals, not homosexuals. In
recent years, the broader term “transgender” has been increasingly
used to denote the total spectrum of individuals who experience
their gender identity as somewhat fluid, or who experience various
Attractions to “the Person, Not the Gender” • 193
degrees of discordance between their gender identities and their
physical bodies.15
When I began this project, I was not expecting to deal with issues
of gender identity. I was familiar with the research showing that
though some gay and bisexual men are (or were as children) more
gender-atypical in dress, behavior, and appearance than heterosexual
men, this is less often the case for lesbian and bisexual women.16
Few of my respondents spontaneously discussed issues related to
gender identity, though over time some women did note changes in
the degree of femininity and masculinity that they found attractive
in potential partners.
Imagine my surprise in the summer of 2000, then, when I discovered
that the reason I had been having so much difficulty tracking
down one of my respondents was that she had changed her
name from Cynthia to Mark. “Oh goodness,” I remember thinking.
“This is going to be some interview.” In all, four study participants
started identifying as transgendered over the next few years.
They have all been patient with my questions and have forthrightly
shared with me their complex, fascinating journeys. I present two
of their stories below. Each raises questions about the role of
fluidity in sexual identity, sexual desire, and gender itself.
Cynthia
Cynthia was a perfect example of the early-developing lesbian prototype.
She was a tomboy growing up and very much enjoyed boys’
company and games. Her working-class family tried to get her to
dress and act more feminine, to no avail. At age twelve, she developed
a strong crush on one of her female classmates. She did not
spend a lot of time analyzing or reflecting on it; she simply did the
only thing that seemed reasonable: she wrote the girl a love poem.
She sent it to her anonymously, but soon everyone at school found
out who wrote it. For the next year and a half, Cynthia was mercilessly
taunted and ostracized. The other kids ganged up on her, sent
194 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
her hate mail, and defaced her locker (this was how she first encountered
the word “lesbian,” which she had to look up in the dictionary).
Eventually she became good friends with a group of other
“misfits,” most of them boys, and things settled down. She came
out as bisexual at fourteen and then as lesbian at fifteen, when she
began a romance with her best female friend. By the time I met her,
it was clear that she had managed to flourish in the face of adversity.
She was enrolled in an all-women’s college, had a vibrant network
of supportive lesbian friends, and was a confident activist. She
was warm, forthright, and happily in love with her current girlfriend.
Several years later, they married, though their union had no
legal standing. Life was going well—Cynthia had a stable job in the
computer field, and her wife was in graduate school.
That’s when things got tricky. Almost all of Cynthia’s colleagues
at work were men, and the working environment was pretty macho.
Women did not garner any respect, and Cynthia (who since
her elementary and high school days was accustomed to spending a
lot of time with males) found herself adopting an increasingly masculine
“stance” in her interactions at work. She soon found that she
was largely relating to her colleagues as a man, which perplexed
her. She started doing research on transgender issues and began
considering taking on a male gender identity. Her wife, already
stressed out with her graduate studies, was against it. “I’m a lesbian,”
she told Cynthia. “I want to be with a woman, not a man.”
By this point they were already growing apart, and Cynthia’s questioning
of her gender identity only made matters worse. Eventually
she made her decision. Although she did not take any hormones or
otherwise alter her body, Cynthia began dressing and presenting
herself as male much of the time, and she changed her name to
Mark. Her wife left her.
This was the point at which I interviewed her—I say “her” because
at the time Mark was not consistently identifying as male or
female, and instead was comfortable with a more ambiguous gender
identity. I asked her to try to describe the changes that she had
Attractions to “the Person, Not the Gender” • 195
experienced in her sense of self, and whether they affected her sexual
desires:
I guess right now my gender identity would be masculine. My biological—
whatever—is female. I can’t even tackle the pronoun thing
because it’s too confusing. I find that “none of the above” is pretty
much how I tend to label myself. And my sexual orientation is bisexual.
. . . After I got divorced I started dating lots of people of both
genders. It was an eye-opening experience for myself because for so
long I pretty much lived in lesbian space. And so now here I am in
this very fluid gender space, and my sexuality kind of went the same
way. I was surprised to find that I started looking at men again. It
was odd; guys would flirt with me and I would be like, “Hey, I don’t
mind that. That doesn’t turn me off or make me angry or whatever.”
Because it used to really annoy me, and it doesn’t anymore. I’ve
dated gay men, bisexual men, heterosexual men. Most of them tend
to be, well, very open-minded.
Mark was forthright about the fact that she was still actively questioning
her gender identity. Her colleagues at work knew that she
was biologically female, but they also knew that she now identified
as Mark. I asked whether she expected to identify as male fulltime
in the future, and she replied, “You know, I really just don’t
know.”
Two years later, at the age of twenty-six, Mark was fully identified
as male. He thought about experimenting with testosterone
and getting a double mastectomy, but he did not have enough
money at the time. He had, however, met and fallen in love with a
wonderful woman. She had previously identified as heterosexual
but accepted Mark’s liminal status, and the two planned to marry. I
asked Mark if anything about his sexual attractions had continued
to change. He remarked that he continued to be unusually attracted
to gay men, though virtually 100 percent of his current attractions
were directed toward his fiancée. Another change he noticed con-
196 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
cerned the gender dynamic between him and his girlfriend, which
was more fluid and flexible than he had experienced in the past:
In general it’s a pretty heterosexual dynamic between myself and my
fiancée, you know, me being the guy, her being the woman, but there
are many times when it changes, you know, and all of a sudden she’s
the solid, steady, more masculine partner and I’m the one that’s hysterical
and stereotypically feminine, and sometimes we’re just like
two children together with no gender, you know, just giggling, and
being silly, and having a good time with each other, and it’s like
there’s no awareness of gender at all. It’s just—this is a person.
At the ten-year follow-up interview, Mark and his fiancée (who
now identified as bisexual) were happily married, and Mark felt
that “queer” was probably the best overall representation of his
complicated gender and sexual identity. He continued to find himself
attracted to gay men, and in fact the more settled and secure he
became with his male gender identity, the more he noticed such attractions.
But he did not plan to act on them, since he was committed
to his new wife. Mark seemed truly at peace. Even his family, after
much reflection, had come to accept his choices. His journey had
been unbearable at times, but he was very happy now:
Well, growing up I really believed that because I was gay, I was
doomed to an unhappy, painful existence, and I would die alone and
unloved and in pain. And today I really don’t believe that at all. I
fully and wholly believe that I have a God that loves me and wants
me to be happy, and that I was made just the right way, and that
there’s a purpose for me to be this way, and I just have to figure out
why, and go from there.
Lori
Lori represents a very different but equally compelling case. Unlike
Cynthia, who had been strongly identified as lesbian for many
Attractions to “the Person, Not the Gender” • 197
years, Lori considered herself bisexual, and she could remember
being attracted to both men and women from a very early age.
She even remembers having a collage on her bedroom wall with
pictures of attractive female and male body parts! She first started
identifying as bisexual in college, when she actively dated both
men and women, though her most substantive emotional ties were
formed with women.
In college Lori started reading about transgender issues and meeting
transsexual people. As a result, she began thinking more about
her own sense of gender. She had always been fairly “butch” in appearance
and demeanor, but now she started to imagine pushing the
boundaries of her own gender expression. The transgender literature
gave her concrete ways of thinking about some of the genderidentity
issues she had been quietly wrestling with for years. By the
time of our third interview, when she was twenty-seven years old,
she had started identifying as transgendered. For her, an important
part of this identification was a rejection of the notion of “two and
only two” genders:
I still identify as bisexual, but it’s been interesting because I also identify
as transgendered. So it’s kind of tricky: if people just generally
don’t have much of a sense of trans, then I just say bisexual, but since
bisexual relies on two genders, and I don’t really believe in that anymore,
it makes it very problematic. I mean, yeah, for the sake of the
whole homosexual-heterosexual-bisexual-whatever scale, it’s bisexual,
in my mind. But in a sense of believing in two genders and the
whole box theory of categorization of gender, that just doesn’t really
fly for me anymore.
Unlike Cynthia, who found that her sexual attractions became
more fluid once she adopted a more fluid gender identity, Lori
had already started out with fairly fluid sexual attractions, and this
did not change when she began to identify as transgendered. By
198 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
the fourth interview, when she was twenty-nine years old, she had
started to think of herself as “pansexual”:
For me pansexual is looking past the two genders. I don’t know if
it originated from the trans community, but that’s where I think a
good portion of it is. . . . I mean, if I’m trans and I’m dating someone,
what does that make me? Or what if I’m dating someone who
is trans and doesn’t identify as male or female? What is my sexual
orientation? So I think it’s more about saying it doesn’t really make
a difference what their gender is; it’s more about who you’re attracted
to.
At this point, Lori had had a double mastectomy and was taking
testosterone, so her outward appearance was convincingly male.
Yet she insisted on keeping her female-typical name and, unlike
Mark, did not identify as male on a day-to-day basis. For her, this
choice was consistent with her fundamentally fluid sense of gender,
though it was a constant source of confusion for the people
around her:
People have a really hard time with categorizing me because I don’t
categorize as male or female. I don’t want to be a guy, I certainly
don’t want to be seen as a heterosexual white man in our society because
there are all these implications with that. And you know, I like
my name, my mom gave it to me, it means a lot to me, everything
I’ve done was under that name, my degrees, my transcripts, and I’ve
seen what guys go through when they change their name, their identities,
and I really have no desire for that at this point in my life. And
so I identify as gender queer and people just get really crazed about it
because they feel this need to constantly see things in two boxes, and
if you switch the boxes, then you can be a boy who wants to be a girl
or a girl who wants to be a boy, but you can’t ever be outside the
boxes or change the boxes constantly or anything like that. But I
kind of blur or fall outside of those gender dichotomies.
Attractions to “the Person, Not the Gender” • 199
Although Lori had not initially noticed any major changes in her
attractions when she first started to identify as transgendered, after
she started taking testosterone she found herself more attracted to
men than before. She attributed this to the fact that she was living
in a neighborhood with a lot of attractive gay men and not very
many women. Overall, she continued to find that her most intense,
passionate connections were formed with women: “I’ve never fallen
in love with a guy. It doesn’t make me weak in the knees, it doesn’t
take my breath away. So, if I’m looking for some fun, then my actions
are very strong towards boys. But if that’s not what I’m looking
for in that instant and it’s between a girl and a boy, then I’ll always
pick the girl over the boy. It’s not like an even choice. It’s like,
‘Do I want a gourmet meal, or do I want a sundae?’”
At the ten-year interview, Lori had developed a satisfying, stable
relationship with a female partner, and she was considering going
off the testosterone in the future so that they could have children.
That’s right—Lori wanted to bear them. She was fully aware
that the notion of a “trans guy who actually wants to give birth”
might be startling for some, but children had always been important
to her, and as she was getting older they were becoming more
of a priority. Her biggest hurdle, however, remained her family. Her
mother, surprisingly, had no idea about Lori’s transition. The last
time she saw her daughter was at a family wedding, and Lori had
worn “female drag” to avoid upsetting anyone. She shaved the
beard she had grown, wore a dress and make-up, and did her best
not to rock the boat. She knew she could not do that again, but she
was deeply worried about how her mother and her extended family
would react:
I haven’t seen my family since that wedding, and I don’t know where
I stand, which is a very uncomfortable place to be, to not be connected
physically to your family, not see them, not be able to talk to
them, not to be real with them. And then know that your Mom without
a doubt is going to have a very horrific time with this, and maybe
200 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
many of your family members will, and my fear is that my grandma
is going to pass away in the next couple of years, and I’m going to be
stuck. Because I can’t imagine not going to the funeral, and I can’t be
a girl. I physically can’t do it. I just can’t pull it off. So I’m trying
to get my stuff together, tell my Mom, and she can have her little
heart attack over it for a couple years before . . . God forbid, my
grandma dies. So, that’s where, I mean, that’s really the biggest concern.
I have no concern with lovers, bodies, jobs, and none of that,
just my family.
Lori articulates the dilemma that fluidity—with respect to both
gender and sexuality—raises for all people, female, male, and otherwise.
Namely, how do you live a noncategorical life in a rigidly
categorical world? As Lori stated, no matter how much you might
resist putting your identity and your desires into neat and tidy
boxes, society still wants you to do so. It is more acceptable to be a
man trapped in the body of a woman than to be neither male nor female,
neither gay nor straight. Transgendered people shine a spotlight
on our culture’s ongoing, slavish adherence to rigid sexual and
gender categories. People like Lori and Mark, who challenge those
categories every time they step outside the front door, pay a dear
price for their insistence on a different path and a different truth.
But they would have it no other way. When I asked Lori what was
the most satisfying thing about her life right now, she said without
hesitation, “I’m becoming myself.”
For Lori and other women with person-based attractions, the process
of “becoming” is deeply connected to their experiences in intimate
relationships. Their questions about orientation and identity
are not about isolated selves; rather, they concern feelings for and
relationships with other people. In the next chapter we will see why
this is the case.
Attractions to “the Person, Not the Gender” • 201
C H A P T E R 7
How Does Fluidity Work?
If female sexual desires are, in fact, sensitive to situation and context,
how exactly does this work? What psychological or biological
processes are involved? What role does romantic love play, given
that fluidity is often triggered by strong emotional bonds? And why
is fluidity more characteristic of women than of men? Too little research
has been conducted on this topic to yield definitive answers.
But I do have my own hypotheses about the “how” and “why” of
sexual fluidity.
Specifically, my research suggests that female sexual fluidity is
made possible by three interrelated phenomena. The first involves
the distinction between two different types of sexual desire, which
scientists call proceptivity and arousability. Despite the technicalsounding
terms, the basic ideas are easy to grasp. Proceptivity refers
to what we might call “lust” or “libido.” It is a relatively automatic,
intense, hormone-driven form of sexual motivation.
Arousability, in contrast, refers to a person’s capacity to become
aroused once certain triggers, cues, or situations are encountered. I
will argue that sexual orientation is only “coded” into proceptivity,
whereas arousability is an intrinsically more flexible system. I will
also show that arousability has a greater day-to-day influence on female
sexual desire than on male sexual desire, for reasons having to
do with women’s hormonal cycles. When considered together, these
factors suggest that women’s day-to-day sexual desires should be
more flexible and fluid than men’s.
The second phenomenon involved in female sexual fluidity is the
“unorientation” of romantic love. Although we commonly assume
that sexual orientation directs people’s romantic feelings along the
same lines as their sexual desires, this is not the case. Rather, what
we know about the evolutionary origins and neurobiological mechanisms
of romantic love suggests that it (1) functions independent
of sexual desire, with different biological underpinnings; (2) can develop
even in the absence of sexual desire; and (3) does not have an
“orientation” in the same way that sexuality does. As a result of
these features, we can fall in love with someone without being attracted
to him or her, even if that person is the wrong gender for our
sexual orientation.
The third phenomenon involved in female sexual fluidity is the
connection between romantic love and sexual desire. This connection
makes it possible to start out with strong platonic (that is,
nonsexual) feelings of love for another person, and sometimes develop
new and unexpected sexual desires for that person as a result.
This occurs because love and desire, despite being separate
processes, nonetheless have strong cultural, psychological, and
neurobiological links between them. One experience can facilitate
the other. We are all aware that sexual desire can develop into romantic
love, but the opposite can also occur: romantic love can lead
to sexual desire.
Given this two-way connection between love and desire, we can
develop sexual desire for a person of the “wrong gender,” just as we
can fall in love with someone of the wrong gender. Such atypical desires
might be restricted to one special relationship. This type of experience
may be more common among women than among men because
there is substantial evidence that the cultural, biological, and
psychological pathways leading from love to desire are more robust
among women.
How Does Fluidity Work? • 203
Taken together, these three phenomena provide a possible explanation
for the fascinating twists and turns experienced by the
women in my sample over the past ten years: the changes they have
undergone in their sexual thoughts and feelings across different environments,
situations, and life stages; the sensitivity of their sexual
desires to specific relationships; their ability to fall in love with “the
person and not the gender”; the diversity and ambiguity in their
self-reported experiences of sexual desire; and the fact that lesbians
sometimes have one-time-only affairs with men while heterosexual
women sometimes have one-time-only affairs with women. In this
chapter, I review each of these building blocks of fluidity, explain
how they operate, and discuss their implications for our understanding
of female sexuality.
Sexual Desire: Two Types Are Better Than One
Most people would probably concur with the definition of sexual
desire put forth by the psychologists Pamela Regan and Ellen
Berscheid: “an interest in sexual objects or activities or a wish,
need, or drive to seek out sexual objects or to engage in sexual
activities.”1 Yet this seemingly straightforward definition actually
lumps together two experiences that are not quite the same: an interest
in sexual objects and activity and a drive to seek out sexual
objects and activity.
This distinction plays an important role in our understanding of
the sexual behavior of nonhuman primates and has been studied
extensively in that context.2 Yet it also applies to humans.3 Primate
researchers have called these two different types of sexual desire
proceptivity and receptivity (or arousability). Proceptivity, or lust,
can emerge spontaneously across a variety of environments and so
can be thought of as situation independent. A straightforward example
of proceptive desire would be a general feeling of “horniness”
that might emerge for no particular reason. The defining
characteristic of proceptive desire is that it is highly motivating and
204 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
often prompts individuals to seek sexual gratification. Arousability
is quite different. It represents a person’s capacity to become interested
in sex as a result of encountering certain situations or stimuli
(such as the sexual advances of an attractive partner), even if the individual
did not initially feel sexually motivated. The defining characteristic
of arousability is that it is triggered by external cues or situations.
As such, it can be thought of as situation-dependent.
The distinction between proceptivity and arousability was initially
made to represent the different types of sexual behaviors that
female mammals pursue during fertile versus infertile periods of
their menstrual cycles.4 Many mammalian species pursue sexual behavior
only when the female is ovulating and therefore capable of
conceiving. In other species, females might respond to a male’s sexual
advances at any point in their menstrual cycle, though they are
not likely to initiate sex unless they are ovulating. To represent this
distinction, researchers used the label “proceptivity” whenever a female
initiated sexual activity and “receptivity” whenever she responded
to sexual advances.
Nearly everything we know about proceptivity and arousability
is based on studies of animal behavior. Because we cannot ask animals
about their subjective sexual feelings, different types of observable
sexual behaviors (or signs of arousal, such as erections) are
treated as markers of different sexual states. Hence, animal
researchers generally talk not about proceptive desire but rather
about proceptive behaviors such as following a potential sexual
partner, displaying one’s genitals to the potential partner, and directly
attempting to mate with him or her. Behavioral markers of
arousability typically include participating in sexual activity once it
is initiated by a partner.
The link between sexual desire and sexual behavior is obviously
less direct for humans. Unlike monkeys or rodents, humans often
initiate sex when they do not really want it, or refrain from initiating
sex even when they do want it. Thus in the human context,
it makes more sense to speak about proceptivity and arousability
How Does Fluidity Work? • 205
with respect to desires rather than to observable behaviors. Furthermore,
in humans the distinction between proceptivity and
arousability is relevant for both females and males. Because of the
significant role of social and cultural factors in structuring human
sexual desires, the notion that internally motivated sexual desires
are different from those that are triggered externally by a person,
stimulus, or situation applies to both men and women. It also bears
noting that proceptivity and arousability are not mutually exclusive.
In other words, we can experience them at the same time, to
different degrees. In fact, any particular instance of sexual desire
probably involves some degree of each. A sudden, automatic feeling
of lust might be primarily driven by proceptivity, whereas a gradual
increase in sexual arousal while watching a romantic movie might
be primarily driven by arousability. Most experiences fall somewhere
between these two extremes.
One of the most important things to understand about
proceptivity and arousability is that they are governed by different
mechanisms. Proceptivity is driven by sex hormones: androgens
in men (most famously, testosterone) and both androgens and estrogen
in women.5 Most people are familiar with the notion that
testosterone facilitates sexual desire, and numerous studies have
found that when men or women are given testosterone, they show
corresponding increases in sex drive, though the results are much
more consistent for men.6 With all the focus on testosterone, the
role of estrogen in facilitating female sexual desire receives less attention.
Yet studies in which women keep daily diaries of their sexual
feelings and behaviors, accompanied by daily blood samples,
show that changes in estrogen levels over the course of the menstrual
cycle are associated with changes in sexual motivation. When
estrogen levels are highest, around ovulation, women report stronger
desires for sex.7
In contrast, variability in arousability is not related to either estrogen
or testosterone. Administering either of these sex hormones
to men or women does not increase their ability to become aroused
206 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
when presented with sexual stimuli.8 In fact, even men who have
had their testicles removed, and therefore have the lowest possible
levels of testosterone, can still become aroused when presented with
erotic stimuli. Notably, however, such men lack proceptive desire:
they do not report spontaneous sexual urges nor seek out sexual
stimuli or activity.9
If arousability is not dependent on sex hormones, then what does
it depend on? Because of its situation-specific nature, we can think
about arousability as being driven by an individual’s exposure to
the right sexual cues. These could be almost anything—different
images, environments, smells, or ideas—and they will vary not only
from culture to culture but from individual to individual, as a function
of someone’s particular pattern of sexual experiences, expectations,
memories, and attitudes.
Cues for arousability might also include interpersonal experiences
and emotions. As discussed, the process of forming an intense
emotional bond with another person can spark feelings of
sexual desire, even for individuals who would not otherwise be considered
appropriate sexual partners. This is a perfect example of
arousability in action because most women in these cases did not
initially experience strong, spontaneous (that is, proceptive) sexual
urges for these individuals.
Because arousability is situation-dependent, some people will experience
it more than others, simply because they encounter more
day-to-day sexual cues than other people. Similarly, changes in a
person’s environment or relationships can bring about changes in
sexual cues, and hence changes in arousability. Some individuals are
especially reactive to sexual cues, perhaps because of differences in
their sexual norms or attitudes, different degrees of comfort and selfacceptance
regarding sexuality, or different levels of sexual experience.
Now that we have a clear picture of the different causes of
proceptivity and arousability, we are in a position to understand
How Does Fluidity Work? • 207
some important gender differences in these two types of desire.
Proceptivity is driven by sex hormones—androgens for men and
both androgens and estrogen for women. Adult women, of course,
have dramatic changes in their estrogen levels over the course of a
month, owing to their menstrual cycles. Estrogen levels are highest
the few days around ovulation and notably lower the rest of the
month. Men, in contrast, have constant, high levels of androgens.
Consider what this means for day-to-day experiences of proceptivity:
men’s proceptive desires (that is, their situation-independent
sexual urges) should be fairly constant. But women’s proceptive
desires should peak around the time of ovulation and then
decrease the rest of the month. This is just what studies have shown.
It is also consistent with research showing that though women and
men are equally capable of intense sexual desire, women report
fewer day-to-day sexual urges than do men, as well as fewer sexual
fantasies and less motivation to seek or initiate sexual activity.10
Some researchers have interpreted these findings to indicate that
women have fundamentally weaker sex drives than men, but others
have cautioned that it is more accurate to characterize women’s sex
drives as fundamentally periodic—that is, characterized by regular
highs and lows.11 After all, studies have shown that when women
do experience strong urges for sex, the intensity of those urges is as
strong as those of men.12 Yet because these peak levels are not constant,
men’s sexual motivation frequently exceeds women’s on a
day-to-day level.
Women also face considerable social pressure to deny or dismiss
their sexual urges, especially urges to initiate sexual activity (since
that is the role that most cultures grant to men). Many women
receive strong messages, beginning at an early age, that men are
more sexual than women, and that it is unusual or inappropriate
for women to experience intense sexual desires. Over time, such
messages can significantly dampen women’s experiences of both
proceptivity and arousability.13
Yet the most important point about the cyclical nature of female
208 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
proceptivity is how it determines the relative role of proceptivity
and arousability in women’s day-to-day sexual desires. Consider
the following: if female proceptivity peaks for only a few days per
month, then during the rest of the time, a woman’s sexual desires
will be driven primarily by arousability and therefore will be dependent
on her exposure to various situational cues. These cues should
have comparatively less influence on men’s day-to-day sexual desires
because men have such consistent levels of hormonally driven
proceptivity. This is not to say that men’s sexuality is not influenced
by situational factors and cues—it most certainly is! Yet the balance
of influences is different for men versus women in that situational
factors play a bigger role for women.
This difference has been confirmed in scores of studies looking at
different aspects of female and male sexual thoughts and behaviors.
14 It is also consistent with lay people’s commonsense notions
about differences between female and male sexuality. For example,
Regan and Berscheid asked a group of college students what they
thought caused female and male sexual desire. Approximately twothirds
of respondents (both women and men) thought that male
sexual desire was caused by internal, automatic processes such as
“physical need” or “maleness.” Only about 15 percent listed interpersonal
or environmental factors as important causes of male sexual
desire. The proportions were almost completely reversed when
it came to female sexual desire: approximately two-thirds of respondents
listed interpersonal or environmental factors as causes of
female sexual desire, and only one-third listed internal, automatic
processes. These findings are exactly what we would expect if, in
fact, women’s day-to-day desires are more consistently influenced
by arousability than is the case for men.
Implications for Same-Sex Desire
Now we are ready to consider how all these factors might help explain
female sexual fluidity. Let us start with the different evolu-
How Does Fluidity Work? • 209
tionary functions of proceptivity versus arousability. The evolutionary
function of proceptivity is fairly straightforward: it facilitates
sexual reproduction by motivating sexual activity. For women, it
makes perfect sense for proceptivity to peak during ovulation because
this ensures that sexual activity will likely result in conception.
For the same reasons, it also makes sense for proceptivity to be
intrinsically targeted toward other-sex partners, to ensure that these
desires result not simply in sexual activity but in reproductive sexual
activity. In this model, homosexual and bisexual orientations
represent (at least in some cases) intrinsic deviations from this program.
But what about arousability? Is it also intrinsically oriented? In
all likelihood, no. As long as our ancestors’ proceptive desires were
directed toward reproductive (that is, other-sex) partners, there
would be little adaptive benefit to orienting arousability as well. After
all, the cues for arousability that our ancestors most frequently
encountered were undoubtedly other-sex cues, given that humans
in preindustrial societies were typically steered toward other-sex relationships
very soon after sexual maturation.15 Accordingly, there
would be little need for arousability to be “gender targeted” in the
same manner as proceptivity.
If this is the case, then it is reasonable to expect that sexual orientation
may be programmed only into proceptivity. Arousability, in
contrast, should be more open to a wide range of cultural, situational,
and interpersonal cues. This means, of course, that an individual
does not need to possess a same-sex orientation to experience
same-sex arousability. With the right set of circumstances and
triggers, people who might never otherwise seek out same-sex activity
could nonetheless find themselves aroused by it.
This is certainly consistent with extensive anthropological data
indicating that in many cultures, it is considered normal for heterosexual
individuals to periodically pursue same-sex sexual activity in
specific social situations or developmental periods.16 Importantly,
210 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
these behaviors have no discernible long-term effects on the individuals’
sexual identities or orientations. In our own culture, a relevant
analogy might be same-sex activity pursued by individuals who are
temporarily living in sex-segregated environments. Research suggests
that many people in these circumstances temporarily engage
in same-sex activity but return to other-sex activity as soon as their
sex segregation ends. This phenomenon has been called “facultative”
or “opportunistic” same-sex sexuality, and it has been
observed in correctional institutions, military environments, and
boarding schools.17
Thus the correct response to the longstanding question, “Is homosexuality
genetic or environmental?” is not “yes” or “no” but
rather, “Which kind?” Whereas consistent desires to seek out and
initiate same-sex activity probably stem, at least in part, from an
alteration in the intrinsic gender coding of proceptive desires, samesex
arousability needs no such programming, and depends instead
on environmental and situational factors. This does not mean that
sexual-minority individuals can be neatly divided into two groups:
those with (biologically based) same-sex proceptivity and those
with (environmentally based) same-sex arousability. Rather, different
combinations of these two factors probably come into play for
different people. This is exactly what researchers investigating the
potential biological underpinnings of same-sex sexuality have increasingly
concluded: both biological and environmental factors
operate together to shape same-sex sexuality.
Yet there is one thing we can conclude for certain: more women
than men should have arousability that triggers desires, behaviors,
and relationships that “contradict” the gender coding of their
proceptive desires. If the majority of women’s day-to-day desires
are governed by arousability, and if arousability is a “gender-neutral”
system, then in certain circumstances heterosexual women
should be capable of experiencing same-sex desires and lesbian
women should be capable of experiencing other-sex desires. Men,
How Does Fluidity Work? • 211
in contrast, should be less likely to have such “cross-orientation”
desires, since their gender-neutral arousability has a less predominant
influence on their day-to-day sexual feelings.
If this scenario is true, then we should expect to observe a number
of additional differences between male and female same-sex
sexuality. In particular, women should be more likely than men to
report nonexclusive attractions, since such attractions probably result
from combinations of gender-coded proceptivity and genderneutral
arousability.18 We would also expect more women than
men to report that chance, circumstance, and specific intimate relationships
influenced their same-sex desires; more women than men
to report abrupt disjunctures in their desires and behaviors as a result
of changes in their environments and relationships; and more
women than men to report that their same-sex desires are linked to
a specific individual—one of the most potent and common cues for
same-sex arousability.
It should be obvious by now that this is exactly what has been
found in extensive research on female sexuality conducted by myself
and many others. Traditionally, such phenomena have been dismissed
as inexplicable or exceptional. They have been attributed to
the longstanding social and cultural repression of female sexuality,
which likely blunts women’s awareness of their desires. These repressive
influences certainly exist, but they do not rule out the possibility
that female sexuality is also more situation-dependent than
men’s.
Rethinking Sexual Categories
This perspective offers new ways to think about different subtypes
of same-sex sexuality. Until now, the only subtype that has received
substantial attention is bisexuality, as if the single most interesting
and important characteristic of same-sex desire is whether it is
exclusive or nonexclusive. What if, instead, we focused on whether
212 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
an individual’s same-sex desires were generally driven more by
proceptivity than by arousability? I say “generally” because any
single experience of desire has its own mix of proceptivity and
arousability, and this mix might change across different times and
situations. For example, during ovulation a woman’s desires might
have more of a proceptive component than during other times of
the month. Yet it makes sense that for some women, same-sex desires
involve some proceptive element, whereas for other women,
same-sex desires usually involve arousability alone.
Both same-sex proceptivity and same-sex arousability vary from
low to high: variations in proceptivity represent different sexual
orientations, whereas variations in same-sex arousability stem from
differences in environmental factors, specific relationships, cultural
norms, and so on. By considering different combinations of samesex
proceptivity and same-sex arousability, we have a new way to
understand diverse manifestations of sexuality. For example, imagine
that someone with high same-sex proceptivity (for example, a
lesbian) is immersed in a restrictive environment that offers few opportunities
for same-sex arousability. She might not become aware
of—or act on—her predisposition for same-sex attractions unless
she moves to a more permissive environment. In contrast, imagine
that someone with low same-sex proceptivity (for example, a heterosexual)
happens to live in an environment with heightened opportunities
for same-sex arousability, or becomes involved in an
emotionally intimate relationship that gives rise to this arousability.
She might experience only same-sex desire in such contexts. This
would explain the experiences of women who fall in love with “just
one person”; those who first begin to experience same-sex attractions
after meeting or reading about lesbian/gay/bisexual individuals;
those who claim that they fall in love with “the person, not the
gender”; and those who describe their same-sex attractions as predominantly
emotional.
Considering different combinations of proceptivity and arous-
How Does Fluidity Work? • 213
ability also helps to explain why the evidence for biological contributions
to same-sex sexuality is stronger for men than for women.
If there are a larger number of women than men whose same-sex
sexuality is more attributable to situation-dependant arousability
than to biologically based proceptivity, then these gender differences
regarding the biological evidence make perfect sense. Consider,
for example, the genetic data. The sexuality of women with
low same-sex proceptivity but high same-sex arousability should
have a minimal or nonexistent genetic component. If genetic researchers
inadvertently include such women in their samples, then
estimates of heritability will be dampened, since only same-sex
proceptivity should have a genetic component.
Note that heterosexuals with high same-sex arousability have
historically been portrayed as suffering from “false consciousness”
concerning their true desires, on the assumption that situationdependent
same-sex desires are somehow less authentic than
situation-independent desires.19 Yet according to this logic, any individual
who needs a certain combination of situational cues to facilitate
sexual desire (specific music, a particular partner, certain
clothing, a conducive mindset, a long “warm-up” period) is not experiencing
authentic desire. This is clearly not the case, and no sex
researcher has ever suggested that the only authentic type of sexual
desire is automatic, spontaneous, uncontrollable lust. Furthermore,
through repeated experience, positive reinforcement, and selective
attention, some people’s situation-dependent same-sex desires
might eventually show as much stability and resistance to conscious
control as same-sex proceptivity.20 Thus distinctions among individuals
regarding the contexts in which they most often experience
same-sex desires do not necessarily predict past or future desires,
behaviors, and identifications.
Once we abandon the notion that people must fall into neat
categories when it comes to sexual desire and orientation, we might
imagine hundreds of different subcategories representing different
214 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
mixes of same-sex proceptivity and same-sex arousability. Importantly,
individuals with predominantly heterosexual orientations
but extremely high same-sex arousability are probably pretty
rare, because very few social environments would be expected to
provide so much access and positive reinforcement of same-sex cues
as to completely override an otherwise heterosexual orientation.
Rather, such environments are probably more influential on individuals
whose proceptive desires already lean in a same-sex direction,
even if only slightly.
This raises another important point, which is that nonexclusive
attractions can occur among many different types of people, for
a variety of reasons. Some women might have intrinsically nonexclusive
desires but never become aware of these desires because
they are immersed in restrictive environments that stigmatize samesex
sexuality. Other women might be primarily lesbian but possess
just enough other-sex arousability to generate consistently nonexclusive
attractions. The fact that there are so many different types
and sources of nonexclusivity might help to explain why researchers
and laypeople continue to debate the very existence of nonexclusivity.
Yet one thing we can conclude for certain is that the
relatively greater role of arousability in women’s day-do-day desires
should create more opportunities for women to experience nonexclusive
desires than for men to experience them. And this, of course,
is exactly what researchers have found.
What about Love?
Throughout this book, the link—sometimes the missing link—
between romantic love and sexual desire has come up repeatedly.
Some of the women in my study reported that feelings of love triggered
their first, or only, feelings of same-sex attraction. Other
women lamented that sometimes their emotional and physical feelings
did not match. What should we make of these reports? How
How Does Fluidity Work? • 215
do love and desire function together to shape female sexuality? This
question has been an undercurrent of this entire book, and we are
now in a position to address it head on.
Everyone agrees that though romantic love and sexual desire are
not the same thing, they are somehow related. Many people assume
that sexual orientation governs both sexual desire and romantic
feelings. Accordingly, when researchers administer the 7-point
Kinsey Scale to assess the degree to which individuals are oriented
toward people of the other sex versus people of the same sex, one of
the dimensions they typically assess is “romantic affection.”21 It is
expected that if you are predisposed to experience sexual desires for
same-sex partners, then you are also predisposed to fall in love with
same-sex partners. And, in fact, the majority of heterosexual individuals
do tend to fall in love with other-sex partners, whereas the
majority of lesbian and bisexual individuals fall in love with samesex
partners.
But not always, and the exceptions are instructive. Although we
might imagine that feelings of love and desire are closely related,
they are actually governed by independent brain systems with different
functions and neurobiological bases. This has profound implications
for sexual orientation and sexual fluidity.
First, though, let us back up and define “romantic love.” This
term is typically used to describe powerful feelings of emotional
infatuation and attachment between romantic partners. Yet this
definition is a bit too general: most researchers acknowledge a difference
between the earliest stage of love, sometimes called passionate
love, infatuation, or “limerence,” and the later-developing,
deeper stage of long-term love, called companionate love, attachment,
or “pairbonding.”22 Passionate love appears to be a temporary
state of heightened interest and preoccupation with a specific
or potential partner. Individuals experiencing passionate love typically
report strong desires for closeness and physical contact with
the love object, frequent and intrusive thoughts about him or her,
intense resistance to separation, and extreme excitement and eu-
216 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
phoria when receiving his or her affection and attention. This intense
state typically characterizes the first one to two years of a new
relationship, after which it gradually transforms into companionate
love. Companionate love is also characterized by desires for closeness
to the partner and resistance to separation, but it does not have
the same intensity and urgency as passionate love. Instead, this
stage of love is characterized by feelings of security, care, and comfort.
Sexual desire is highly relevant to the distinction between passionate
and companionate love. After all, most people can easily
imagine (or have experienced firsthand!) long-term companionate
relationships in which sexual desire has gradually waned; yet it
might be more difficult to imagine experiencing the early, passionate
stage of frenzied infatuation without sexual desire. Does this
ever actually occur?
In fact, it does. In her exhaustive study of infatuation, the psychologist
Dorothy Tennov found that 61 percent of women and 35
percent of men reported experiencing infatuation without feeling
any need for sex.23 Even stronger evidence is provided by a study
that investigated experiences of infatuation among more than two
hundred youths between the ages of four and eighteen.24 The researchers
reasoned that if sexual desire were a necessary component
of infatuation, then prepubertal children should have the weakest
reports of infatuation and postpubertal adolescents should have the
strongest. Why? Because the hormonal changes of puberty increase
the frequency and intensity of sexual desires.25 So the researchers
had the respondents fill out a “Passionate Love Scale,” which asked
them to think about a boyfriend or girlfriend for whom they had intense
feelings. They had to rate their agreement with statements
such as “I am always thinking about X,” or “When X hugs me my
body feels warm all over.” Each respondent ended up with a passionate
love score representing the intensity of his or her infatuation.
The researchers then tested whether these scores were higher
among young people with more advanced pubertal maturation.
They were not: youths of all ages were capable of maximally in-
How Does Fluidity Work? • 217
tense infatuations, regardless of their degree of pubertal maturation.
Some of the strongest experiences of infatuation were reported
by younger children, and some of the weakest were reported by
older children. Although the authors cautioned that their results
could not reveal whether the subjective experience of infatuation
was really the same for seven-year-olds as for eighteen-year-olds,
their findings nonetheless show that sexual desire is not the driving
force behind infatuation.
This finding is consistent with a growing body of research showing
that the basic brain systems underlying love and desire are
fundamentally different. As noted, sexual desire is strongly influenced
by levels of androgens and estrogens, and the study described
above shows that these hormones do not influence passionate love.
Rather, love has a “brain circuitry” entirely different from that of
sexual desire, involving neurochemicals such as dopamine,
corticosterone, nerve growth factor, oxytocin, and vasopressin,
which are related to experiences of reward, pleasure, and security.26
The neurochemical oxytocin is of particular interest and will be discussed
in more detail below.
In recent years, researchers have also devoted increasing attention
to mapping the neurobiological “signatures” of love and desire
using brain-imaging techniques such as functional magnetic resonance
imaging (fMRI). This technique maps blood flow in the brain
in order to pinpoint regions of the brain that are active during different
types of thoughts and experiences. One preliminary study
used this method to examine the brain activity of heterosexual individuals
who reported being “truly, deeply, and madly in love.”
The study measured brain activity under two conditions: when the
subjects were viewing pictures of their beloved and when they were
viewing pictures of other-sex friends.27 Compared with viewing
friends, viewing pictures of loved ones was associated with heightened
activation in the middle insula and the anterior cingulate cortex.
These regions are associated with positive emotion, attention
218 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
to one’s own emotional states, attention to the emotional states of
social partners, and even opioid-induced euphoria! This study also
found that viewing pictures of loved ones was associated with deactivation
in the posterior cingulate gyrus, the amygdala, and the
right prefrontal, parietal, and middle temporal cortices—the regions
of the brain associated with sadness, fear, aggression, and depression.
A more recent fMRI study conducted by a team of researchers
led by the psychologist Art Aron and the anthropologist Helen
Fisher focused specifically on individuals who were in the earliest
stage of passionate love.28 This study found that when viewing a
photograph of a loved one, individuals showed specific activation
in the right ventral tegmental area, the dorsal caudate body, and
the caudate tail. Consistent with the neurochemical findings noted
above, these dopamine-rich brain regions play major roles in reward
and motivation. The caudate, for example, plays an important
role in detecting and anticipating rewards, mentally representing
goals, and integrating sensory information in order to prepare
for action. Thus, love-related activation in this region is consistent
with the widespread view that romantic love is a strong motivational
force. Notably, both of these studies found that the brain regions
showing love-specific activation do not overlap with regions
that have been shown to be associated with sexual arousal.29
Additional evidence for the independence of love and desire
comes from the fact that heterosexuals form powerful, nonsexual
infatuations with same-sex friends. Anthropologists and historians
have collected many accounts of these unusually intense friendships,
which contain all the feelings typically associated with romantic
infatuation, such as extreme preoccupation, inseparability,
impassioned expressions of devotion and commitment, and heightened
physical affection.30 These bonds are common enough that
they have inspired their own unique terms in different cultures
and historical periods, such as “romantic friendships,” “smashes,”
How Does Fluidity Work? • 219
“Tom-Dee relationships,” “camaradia,” and “mummy-baby friendships.”
Importantly, such relationships have been observed among
men as well as among women. The anthropologist Walter Williams
documented similarly intense but nonsexual bonds between North
American Indian men, and noted that early Western explorers were
surprised by how these men seemed to “fall in love” with one another.
31 Similarly passionate friendships have also been documented
between young Bangwa men in Cameroon, Melanesia, Samoa, the
Polynesian islands, and Guatemala.32 According to these accounts,
such relationships involve “affection of an extreme kind which . . .
resembles more the passion of heterosexual lovers than the calm
friendship of equals.”33
It is tempting for modern Western observers to conclude that
these relationships were not, in fact, platonic friendships but rather
repressed and subverted sexual liaisons. Note, for example, the
continuing debate over whether Eleanor Roosevelt and Lorena
Hickok, who exchanged intensely affectionate and emotional letters,
were “really” lovers or just very close friends who were passionately
attached to each other.34 Consider, for example, this quotation
from one of Roosevelt’s letters to Hickok: “Hick darling, all
day I’ve thought of you and another birthday [when] I will be with
you, and yet to-night you sounded so far away and formal, oh! I
want to put my arms around you, I ache to hold you close. . . . [Today
I] took a party to the concert. There I thought only of you and
wanted you even more than I do as a rule.”35 Does Roosevelt’s
“ache” to hold and embrace Hickok signal sexual desire? Or are we
making an inappropriate assumption that passionate attachments
are necessarily erotic?
Similarly, the public has long wondered about the true nature of
Oprah Winfrey’s friendship with Gayle King. Commenting on the
never-ending rumors that the two are lovers, Oprah reflected, “I understand
why people think we’re gay. There isn’t a definition in our
culture for this kind of bond between women. So I get why people
220 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
have to label it—how can you be this close without it being sexual?”
Gayle concurred, then added, “But that said, I have to admit,
if Oprah were a man, I would marry her!”36
Oprah is (as always!) absolutely right. Whereas other cultures
have created words and categories to represent such powerful
friendships, ours has not, and so the only way we seem able to
make sense of these emotional connections is to assume that they
are infused with secret sexual ardor. This suspicion reflects the
widespread assumption that infatuation and sexual desire are cut
from the same cloth.37 Yet those who study passionate friendships
throughout history have emphasized that though some of these relationships
may have involved sexual attraction or activity, most
did not, and a sexual component was rarely even suspected in the
cultures and historical periods during which such bonds have been
most prevalent.38
For example, in nineteenth-century America, passionate attachments
between women (like that between Roosevelt and Hickok)
were actually considered healthy outlets for adolescent intimacy because
they were nonsexual.39 The diaries of young girls during this
period frequently contained fervent proclamations of love and devotion
for female friends, and such relationships were considered
safe and age-appropriate forms of “rehearsal” for later marital intimacy.
40 They were particularly prevalent at the women’s colleges
that dotted New England at this time: one nineteenth-century
schoolmistress described them as “an extraordinary habit which
they have of falling violently in love with each other, and suffering
all the pangs of unrequited attachment, desperate jealousy etc. etc.,
with as much energy as if one of them were a man. . . . If the ‘smash’
is mutual, they monopolize each other and ‘spoon’ continually, and
sleep together and lie awake all night talking instead of going to
sleep.”41
Yet as women’s changing roles began to threaten the prevailing
social order, these relationships began to invite suspicion. The his-
How Does Fluidity Work? • 221
torian Lillian Faderman pinpoints 1920 as a critical moment, after
which we no longer find a public discourse on women’s romantic
friendships; instead, discussion turns to the problem of lesbianism
(brought to light by the publication in 1928 of Radclyffe Hall’s lesbian
novel, The Well of Loneliness). As a result, “women who
could not accept the stigmatizing label of ‘lesbian’ had to deny
themselves the possibility of intense same-sex emotional involvement
that females had enjoyed for centuries. If only lesbians loved
other women, and they themselves were not lesbians, then they had
to repress an intense feeling they might experience for another female.”
42 Not much has changed: ironically, the dramatic and beneficial
increases in societal awareness of lesbianism and bisexuality
have unfortunately created a situation where heterosexual women
may avoid “too much” intimacy with female friends, lest they be
mistaken for lesbians.43
Although Western culture still lacks a defined category for platonic
same-sex infatuations, they continue to occur and have been
most frequently documented between women.44 If such relationships
were simply repressed lesbian affairs, then we would expect
women in the most permissive and gay-positive environments (such
as liberal-minded universities with active sexual-minority and
feminist communities) to freely admit that these relationships were
driven by sexual desire. Yet they do not.45 In fact, friendship researchers
have increasingly acknowledged that ties between women
are often as intense as new love affairs, such that heterosexual
women often describe the beginning of a same-sex best friendship
in terms of “excitement, heightened energies, frequent thought about
the other, invigorated self-regard—in short, in terms of the ardent
sensibilities of romantic love.”46 In one study of older German women,
numerous respondents (none of whom described themselves
as being sexually attracted to women) spoke of adolescent same-sex
friendships akin to smashes, typically involving kissing, cuddling,
dancing together, or sleeping in the same bed. One woman re-
222 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
marked, “My first love was a girl. . . . It was wonderful,” despite
noting that she found the notion of same-sex sexual relationships
disgusting and unnatural.47 The psychologist Olivia Espin cites anecdotal
examples of single aunts in Latin American communities
“whose ‘intimate’ women friends were always invited to family
gatherings. . . . I can assert with reasonable assurance that they
were never sexual with each other. . . . Yet they saw each other every
day and also spent endless hours talking to each other.”48 Even
the New York Times recently discussed the widespread phenomenon
of the “girl crush,” concluding that it was not an indicator of
same-sex sexual desire.49
What about men? As noted above, data indicate that men are
also capable of forming intense, nonsexual friendships. But do they
continue to do so? Probably not with as much frequency as women,
since our culture has more restrictive expectations surrounding
male-male than female-female friendships.50 Specifically, society’s
view of heterosexual masculinity forbids open displays of affection
between men, while permitting them between women. As a result,
highly intimate and affectionate same-sex friendships are more
likely to create suspicion of homosexuality when they occur between
men than when they occur between women.51
The Unorientation of Love
Even those who grant that sexual desire is not a necessary component
of romantic love might still suspect that sexual orientation directs
romantic love. In other words, perhaps we possess sexual orientations
and matching affectional or “bonding” orientations. This
might make evolutionary sense because it would ensure that individuals
formed intense emotional bonds with partners with whom
they were having children. These bonds might then enhance reproductive
success by keeping partners together and thereby giving
children two parents instead of one.52
How Does Fluidity Work? • 223
But there is one problem with this idea: it assumes that the basic
psychological mechanisms underlying romantic love evolved specifically
for the purpose of bonding reproductive mates together,
and this does not appear to be the case. Rather, numerous psychologists,
anthropologists, ethologists, and evolutionary biologists have
argued that the emotions associated with reproductive pairbonding
(in our commonsense terms, the emotions of romantic love) originally
evolved, not in the context of mating, but in the context of
infant-caregiver attachment, a biologically based bonding program
that evolved to ensure that highly vulnerable mammalian infants
stayed close to their caregivers to improve their odds of survival.53
Animal researchers had long noted that mammalian infant-caregiver
attachment and adult pairbonding were characterized by the
same core behaviors and neurobiological mechanisms. On the basis
of such evidence, the psychologists Cindy Hazan and Philip Shaver
argued in the late 1980s that human romantic love was actually an
adult version of infant-caregiver attachment.54 It is safe to say that
this argument revolutionized research on adult love and is now a
tenet of this field of study.
The implications of this observation for the study of sexual orientation,
however, have largely gone unappreciated. In order to make
them clear, we need to review infant-caregiver attachment and its
link to adult love.
The psychoanalyst John Bowlby developed his influential theory
of attachment to explain his observation that children required a secure,
enduring bond with a specific caregiver in order to develop
normally.55 He argued that infant-caregiver attachment is an emotion-
driven mammalian motivational system that evolved to ensure
that infants stayed in close proximity to their caregivers during the
first few years of life. This system was critical to survival because
relative to other species, mammalian infants—especially those of
primates and humans—are born in an extremely vulnerable state,
unable to feed or care for themselves. Human infants, for example,
224 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
cannot even move around independently in order to flee from danger.
Accordingly, their only chance for survival is to have intensive
parental care. This is where attachment comes in. The system operates
on the basis of emotional signals. When infants are separated
from their caregivers, they experience distress and signal the caregiver
for attention by crying or reaching out. Once the caregiver is
sufficiently close, the infant feels calmed.
Although attachment is a biologically based, somewhat automatic
process, Bowlby observed that it is not instantaneous. Rather,
it takes approximately six months of regular contact for infants to
attach fully to their caregivers.56 During this period, the infant displays
an increasingly intense fixation on the caregiver and greater
and greater distress upon being separated from that person. The infant
starts to selectively prefer the caregiver over all others as a
source of comfort and security and seeks regular physical contact
with him or her. These basic features have been observed not only
in humans but across a wide variety of mammalian and primate
species.57
Take another look at those signs of attachment—intense fixation,
separation distress, extensive physical contact—do they seem familiar?
If we look back to the classic characteristics of passionate love
described earlier, we find the exact same set of features. It was on
the basis of such similarities that Hazan and Shaver first proposed
that adult romantic love and infant-caregiver attachment are governed
by the same basic psychological system. But why should this
be so? Evolutionary theorists have argued that natural selection is
a stingy process: it does not tend to create new structures and mechanisms
if perfectly good ones are already available.58 In the case
of pairbonding, the basic “problem” to be solved—motivating two
individuals to stay together—is really no different from the “problem”
that was solved with the attachment system. So the psychological
process of attachment was gradually adapted to this new context.
59 In technical terms, this means that adult pairbonding is an
How Does Fluidity Work? • 225
“exaptation”—a system that originally evolved for one reason but
came to serve another.60
Some of the strongest evidence for the view that adult pairbonding
and infant-caregiver attachment are governed by the same
psychological program comes from neurobiological research, most
of it conducted on animals. This research shows that the related
neuropeptides oxytocin and vasopressin play critical roles. These
two neuropeptides are chemically quite similar; their genes appear
on the same chromosome and appear to have evolved from a common
“ancestor” gene.61 Here I focus on oxytocin because it plays a
more functionally important role for females whereas vasopressin
appears more relevant for males.62 Oxytocin is a neuropeptide hormone
unique to mammals. It is synthesized in the hypothalamus
and released into the bloodstream through the pituitary gland.
Oxytocin is best known for stimulating the contractions of labor
and facilitating milk let-down in nursing mothers, but it is also involved
in multiple aspects of attachment and bonding in mammals.
Studies of animals (typically rats and prairie voles) have identified
direct effects of oxytocin on maternal feeding behavior, maternalinfant
bonding, and kin recognition.63 Importantly, some of these
effects may operate through oxytocin’s role in regulating the release
of other important neurochemicals, such as noradrenaline, dopamine,
prolactin, and opiates, which are also involved in affiliative
behavior.64 Oxytocin also facilitates the formation of preferences
for certain places and social partners, as well as the soothing, stressalleviating
effects that occur when animals maintain contact with
their preferred partners.65 Oxytocin has well-documented antistress
effects.66 In addition, some studies have suggested that it may be responsible
for the fact that socially supportive relationships—particularly
family and marital relationships—protect people from the
negative effects of stress and promote both physical and mental
well-being.67
Researchers now believe that oxytocin plays a key role in the
psychobiological process through which mammals form stable, in-
226 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
trinsically rewarding bonds to specific social partners, most importantly
the mother. Researchers have actually been able to facilitate
infant-caregiver attachment in animals by administering oxytocin
directly into their brains, and to prevent bond formation by administering
chemicals that block the effects of oxytocin.68 Physical contact
and closeness may be important for these bonding processes.
Oxytocin release in rats is facilitated by closeness and touch, and
may be responsible for the comforting effects typically associated
with such contact.69 On the basis of these findings, researchers have
suggested that as we develop a bond with another person, we pursue
increasing closeness and contact with him or her. This triggers
oxytocin release, and over time, we come to associate the other person
with the soothing, rewarding effects of oxytocin.70
If romantic love is an adult version of infant-caregiver attachment,
then does oxytocin also facilitate adult reproductive pairbonding?
In fact, it does. Much of the research in this area has
focused on the prairie vole, a rodent that looks like a guinea pig and
is distinguished by the fact that it is one of the few rodent species
to form enduring pairbonds. Just as we saw with infant-caregiver
attachment, infusing oxytocin into the brain of a prairie vole can
speed up the bonding process with a new reproductive partner,
whereas blocking the actions of oxytocin in the brain can prevent
pairbonding.71 Moreover, as with infant-caregiver relationships,
physical contact facilitates bonding by triggering oxytocin release.
On the basis of such findings, researchers have concluded that
adult pairbonding and infant-caregiver attachment are governed by
the same evolved psychological “program” and driven by the same
neurobiological pathways. This fact also helps to explain the independence
between love and desire. After all, sexual desire is obviously
not necessary for infant-caregiver attachment. Since romantic
bonding and infant-caregiver bonding are governed by the same
biological mechanisms, it is not necessary for romantic bonding
either.
Before moving on, it bears repeating that most of what we know
How Does Fluidity Work? • 227
about oxytocin’s role in bonding is based on animal research. Although
studies increasingly indicate that oxytocin has similar functions
in humans, the relevant processes are probably not exactly
the same.72 As yet we have no direct evidence to suggest that pairbonding
in voles and humans shares the same underlying physiological
mechanisms.73 We are only beginning to understand the full
range of emotional and physical phenomena (other than nursing
and labor) associated with oxytocin release in humans, and the consequences
for subjective feelings.74 Future research on such questions
is critical for charting the basic nature and functioning of love
versus desire. Also, a number of other brain chemicals including serotonin,
dopamine, prolactin, vasopressin, and norepinephrine influence
mammalian social behavior and deserve more attention for
their potential role in mammalian bonding.75
Perhaps the most important implication of the correspondence
between infant-caregiver attachment and adult romantic love
concerns questions of “orientation.” Earlier, I mentioned that
“affectional orientations” might exist to steer adults into pairbond
relationships with potential reproductive partners, thereby enhancing
the survival of their offspring. But how would such orientations
become part of the pairbonding system? If the neurobiological
mechanisms underlying adult romantic love are the same as those
that underlie infant-caregiver attachment, then affectional orientations—
if they exist—must have evolved in the context of infantcaregiver
attachment.
Yet obviously, such orientations make no sense in that context.
Infants do not become selectively attached to other-sex versus
same-sex caregivers, and it would be maladaptive if they did.
Rather, the cues that trigger attachment formation in infants are
the caregiver’s familiarity and responsiveness. Notably, these cues
also trigger the development of close bonds to both friends and romantic
partners.76 So when it comes down to it, there is really no
plausible evolutionary basis for other-sex or same-sex orientations
228 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
to be coded into the basic psychological and biological processes of
pairbonding.
This means that though individuals might report stable tendencies
to fall in love with one gender or the other, such tendencies
have no intrinsic basis. But how then do we explain the fact that
most lesbian and gay individuals do, in fact, consistently fall in love
with same-sex partners, whereas most heterosexual individuals fall
in love with other-sex partners? Part of the reason is probably cultural.
Society expects romantic love and sexual desire to be linked,
and we grow up internalizing those expectations. Yet another piece
of the puzzle might be physical proximity and contact. Physical
closeness and contact facilitate attachment formation, not only between
infants and caregivers but also between adult reproductive
partners. In our culture, children have plenty of this closeness and
contact with their parents, but adults typically have this sort of
physical intimacy only with potential or actual sexual partners.
Thus the average friendship—no matter how emotionally close—is
unlikely to develop the intensity of full-fledged romantic love in the
absence of such regular physical affection.
Accordingly, perhaps one of the factors that transforms a close
friendship into a passionate affair as in the historical and crosscultural
examples I discussed earlier, is heightened physical closeness
and contact. In fact, evidence suggests that this might be the
case. Descriptions of passionate same-sex friendships across different
cultures and historical periods frequently make reference to
partners’ “inseparability” and their physical displays of affection.77
This might also explain why passionate same-sex friendships are
particularly likely to develop in sex-segregated environments like
boarding schools.78 Such environments heighten the opportunities
for same-sex friends to develop “inseparable,” physically affectionate
bonds. They also restrict individuals’ contact with people of
the other sex, whose sexual desirability (at least to heterosexuals)
might draw attention and energy away from same-sex friends. Sup-
How Does Fluidity Work? • 229
porting this view, one respondent in an interview study noted that
the same-sex “crushes” that she and her girlfriends routinely developed
“stopped when we started noticing the boys.”79
If extensive physical contact does, in fact, play such an important
role in bond formation—strong enough to trigger the formation of
same-sex romantic attachment among otherwise heterosexual individuals—
then we might expect to see an analogous phenomenon in
animals. Sure enough, we do. Although only a small number of
studies speak directly to this question, they all indicate that nonsexual,
same-sex pairbonds are observed in (presumably heterosexual)
mammals, though such bonds are not generally as exclusive or
enduring as typical heterosexual pairbonds.
Notable examples include “female-bonded” primate species in
which bonds between females are of great importance for communal
infant care.80 Female-female bonds in such systems provide
security and protection, and they are characterized by the same
physical contact and closeness that characterize male-female pairbonds.
81 Although the psychobiological mechanisms underlying
female-female bonds in such species have not been studied
extensively, researchers have once again pinpointed oxytocin as
playing a potentially pivotal role.82 One striking piece of evidence
for this point comes from a study that specifically examined samesex
pairbonding in prairie voles.83 The researchers found that they
could initiate bond formation between two female voles simply by
having them live together. However, later introduction of a male
prairie vole tended to disrupt these female-female pairbonds, bringing
to mind the aforementioned observation that some young
women stop developing same-sex infatuations once they start “noticing
the boys.” Interestingly, a subsequent study detected gender
differences in voles’ propensities to form same-sex pairbonds.
Specifically, female voles formed same-sex pairbonds more quickly
than did males, and the females’ preferences for their same-sex
partners were more robust over time. The authors hypothesized
230 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
that this may reflect the fact that female-female affiliative bonding
is more important for female than male survival and reproductive
success.84
These studies strongly suggest that the basic mechanisms underlying
pairbonding are not oriented according to the same-sex/othersex
status of one’s partner. Thus instead of thinking about love as
being “oriented,” we might instead conclude that though we are
born with complex neurobiological circuitry that prepares us to
form emotional bonds, this program is fundamentally flexible when
it comes to the target of bond formation, and it is ready to adjust to
whatever the environment affords.85
Getting from Love to Desire
Until now I have emphasized the distinctions between love and desire.
But a recurring theme throughout this book has been the tendency
for some women to begin experiencing same-sex attractions
as a direct result of falling in love with a same-sex friend. How can
we understand this process, given what we now understand about
the “unorientation” of love and its independence from sexual desire?
Certainly, though love and desire are separate systems, individuals
undeniably perceive and experience powerful links between
them. These links are sustained by psychological, cultural, and biological
processes. For example, adolescents may come to associate
love with desire as they become increasingly likely to pursue intimate
and affectionate relationships with romantic partners rather
than with platonic friends. Cultural norms and practices may further
reinforce such associations. Finally, neurobiological pathways
may play an additional role, as I will discuss further below.
Yet interestingly, though most laypeople and scientists readily acknowledge
that there are active pathways between love and desire,
they typically presume that these pathways run in one direction
only: from sexual desire to love, but not the other way around. But
How Does Fluidity Work? • 231
there is actually no basis for this presumption. In fact, we have
every reason to believe that the cultural, psychological, and biobehavioral
pathways linking love and desire are bidirectional, such
that individuals can “get to” sexual desire from love, just as they
“get to” love from desire. If so, then it makes sense that when individuals
form unexpected attachments to people who are the wrong
gender for their sexual orientation, they might also end up developing
sexual desires for these individuals. Because these “cross-orientation”
desires should be dependent on the emotional and biological
processes of attachment formation, they should be specific to
the relationship in question. This is, of course, exactly what so
many women have described, in my own study as well as in many
others. It certainly fits with the notion of being attracted to the
person and not the gender. The feeling of becoming attracted to
“the person” may, in fact, be the psychological experience of attachment
formation, with its associated experiences of preoccupation,
fixation, separation distress, possessiveness, and so on.
But how exactly might those feelings lead to actual sexual desire?
Yet again, oxytocin might play a key role. In addition to its role in
attachment, oxytocin also appears to influence sexual arousability
and satisfaction.86 Thus attachment-related increases in oxytocin
levels, experienced in the context of an intense emotional bond,
might trigger associations to oxytocin-related sexual arousability.
This might be more likely among women than among men, for both
cultural and biological reasons. On a cultural level, keep in mind
that many societies actively constrain women’s sexual activity to
marital ties or socialize women to believe that sexual activity is
acceptable only when pursued within a committed, long-term,
affectional relationship.87 Furthermore, many women do, in fact,
have their first sexual experiences in the context of heterosexual
dating relationships (whereas many young boys have their first sexual
experiences in the context of solitary masturbation).88 Altogether,
these factors should serve to strengthen the psychological
232 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
associations that women develop between love and desire. It is
not surprising, then, that many sexual-minority women report that
their first experience of same-sex attractions occurred in the context
of an emotional attachment.
On a biological level, animal research demonstrates that
oxytocin’s effects on attachment and sexual behavior are estrogendependent
and therefore highly gender-specific, suggesting potential
biologically based differences in the pathways from love to desire.89
For example, research on rats has detected more extensive oxytocin
circuits in female brains than in male brains, perhaps to facilitate
oxytocin-dependent mothering behavior, and some oxytocin receptors
have been found to differ between male and female animals.90
We do not yet know if the same is true for humans, but if so, it is
possible that in addition to the strong cultural and psychological associations
that women develop between love and desire, they might
have particularly robust neurobiological connections between these
experiences as well. Altogether, this may render the pathways between
these experiences more pronounced among women than
among men.
Thus maybe the fact that women tend to place more emphasis
than men on the relationship aspect of sexuality, and the fact that
women often fall in love with one specific person and develop novel
sexual desires for that person, are both connected to oxytocin’s
joint, gender-specific role in sexual arousability and attachment. I
do not mean to discount the influence of culture and socialization
on sexual feelings. They obviously play critical roles and have been
widely and comprehensively documented by psychologists and anthropologists.
91 I simply argue that these effects might actually be
amplified by gender-specific biological processes.92 Keep in mind,
for example, that women generally have greater cultural permission
to develop intense, affectionate bonds with same-sex friends than is
the case for men. This, too, might make women more likely than
men to develop attachment-based sexual desires.
How Does Fluidity Work? • 233
Consider, finally, the gender differences discussed at the beginning
of this chapter regarding proceptivity and arousability. An “attachment-
based” sexual desire would certainly qualify as an
example of arousability rather than proceptivity. So not only might
gender-specific oxytocin pathways make it likely for women to develop
novel sexual desires on the basis of forming strong emotional
bonds, but the role of arousability in women’s overall sexual feelings
might make them more reactive to such novel desires.
At this point in time, sex researchers have not yet directly studied
the mechanisms that potentially underlie sexual fluidity. This is
partly due to the fact that female sexual fluidity has only recently
been widely acknowledged as a real phenomenon. Although I hope
to have demonstrated that there is considerable evidence for a number
of psychological and biological processes through which female
sexual fluidity might operate, we cannot make firm conclusions
about such processes without additional research. This is especially
true given that so much of the existing research on the biological
underpinnings of attachment is based on animals.We need to determine
the true extent to which the research findings that I have mentioned
apply to humans.
Yet undoubtedly, there is no longer any excuse for dismissing female
sexual fluidity as an anomaly attributable to women’s repression,
disingenuousness, confusion, or immaturity. After all, uncovering
the psychological and biological processes that potentially
underlie female sexual fluidity has the potential to radically reshape
our understanding of the basic workings of sex, love, and sexual
orientation. That alone makes it worth pursuing.
234 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
C H A P T E R 8
Implications of
Female Sexual Fluidity
As a society we have made tremendous strides in fostering tolerance
and acceptance of sexual diversity. It was approximately forty years
ago that the Stonewall riots in New York City launched the modern
gay rights movement; at that time, the stigma attached to same-sex
sexuality and the denial of legal protections for same-sex relationships
were taken for granted.1 Growing up, a typical teenager encountered
no information about same-sex sexuality in the mainstream
media, in school textbooks, or in newspapers, and people
with same-sex attractions often suffered years of intense shame,
feeling that they were the only ones with such deviant and depraved
feelings.2
Now, of course, things are radically different. Attitudes toward
same-sex sexuality have improved dramatically over the past decade.
3 Although legal recognition of same-sex marriage has had a
rocky road, with a number of states granting such recognition while
Congress seeks federal laws to deny it, in general legal protections
for lesbian/gay/bisexual individuals and their relationships have increased.
4 The same is true of public visibility. Sexual minorities
populate television shows, movies, magazines, and books. Teenagers
can readily find unbiased information that treats same-sex
orientations as normal variations of human sexuality rather than as
illness or spiritual failings.
Yet much of this information—positive and well intentioned as it
is—still conveys an overly rigid model of same-sex sexuality that
does not represent the true diversity of this phenomenon, especially
in women. In textbooks and the popular media alike, sexual orientation
is typically portrayed as developing early in life, though we
know that for many women, it can emerge in mid- to late adulthood.
It is described as strictly biological, and yet we know that environmental
and interpersonal factors interact with biological influences.
It is assumed to be rigidly fixed over the life course, and yet
we know that women’s sexual feelings can change either abruptly
or gradually over time. It is viewed as governing both sexual and
emotional feelings, though we know that some women experience
significant differences in feelings of romantic passion, emotional intimacy,
and sexual desire.
My voice is one of many calling for an expanded understanding
of same-sex sexuality—and especially female sexuality—that
better represents its diversity.5 For decades scientists have questioned
the rigid, categorical models of sexual orientation that continue
to dominate both lay and scientific opinion. Yet the old models
die hard. Why?
Perhaps we are reluctant to accept the notion of sexual fluidity
because of the social and scientific implications of the phenomenon.
Shifting away from sexual determinism and toward a more flexible
understanding of sexuality, in which same-sex attractions might be
possible for any woman, entails notable changes in the way we
think about sexuality. Some people will embrace such changes because
they involve more expansive understandings of all individuals’
sexual possibilities. Others will reject them out of fear that they
might trigger a conservative backlash against lesbian/gay/bisexual
individuals and jeopardize hard-won progress toward social acceptance.
The key, I think, is in communicating exactly what sexual fluidity
does and does not mean and heading off misconceptions before
236 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
they have a chance to develop. Toward that end, in this chapter I directly
address the implications of female sexual fluidity for our scientific
models of sexuality as well as its current social and political
meanings. I begin by suggesting a new framework for studying
same-sex sexuality. This framework does a better job of representing
and explaining variability not only in female sexuality but in
human sexuality more generally. I then tackle some of the most
common, controversial, and pressing questions regarding the notion
of sexual fluidity: What does it mean with respect to the issue
of “choosing” one’s sexuality or seeking to change it? Is sexual
fluidity a dangerous idea, given antigay efforts to portray same-sex
sexuality as an immoral lifestyle instead of a basic human characteristic?
A Dynamical Systems Approach to Sexuality
Sexual fluidity does not imply that the long-term course of a woman’s
sexuality is random, unpredictable, and scientifically unexplainable.
Indeed, though traditional models of sexuality fail to
describe women’s experiences over time, they are not completely
useless. Rather, we require an altogether new type of model, one
that systematically explains both stability and variability in sexuality;
places equal emphasis on intrinsic orientations and the capacity
for fluidity; emphasizes the ongoing interactions between women
and the diverse contexts within which sexuality is expressed; makes
sense of the complex links between love and desire; takes seriously
the capacity for novel forms of sexual and emotional experience
that emerge unexpectedly over the life course; and makes no assumptions
about authentic sexual types or normal developmental
pathways.
This might sound like a tall order, but the framework for such a
model already exists. It is called dynamical systems theory, and it is
changing the way researchers conceptualize a wide range of human
Implications of Female Sexual Fluidity • 237
phenomena, from infant motor development to adult personality.
Dynamical systems models explain how complex phenomena (such
as cognition, language, gender identity, or, in this case, samesex
sexuality) emerge, stabilize, change, and restabilize over time,
through individuals’ ongoing interactions with their changing environments.
Dynamical systems theory is ideally suited to representing
female sexual fluidity because its primary focus is change.
Whereas traditional models of sexuality have implicitly assumed
that an individual’s sexuality is set during adolescence and then remains
fixed, a dynamical systems approach expects change to occur.
In fact, it places processes of change at the center of our analyses
instead of at the margins.
Dynamical systems models were originally developed by mathematicians
and physicists to explain physical phenomena whose
states varied over time, for example, swinging pendulums or cloud
formations in the atmosphere. They analyze the multiple factors
that determine the state of the system, to predict its pattern of
change over time, which otherwise might seem random, arbitrary,
and abrupt. In the late 1980s, a number of forward-thinking psychologists
observed that the development of many complex human
phenomena during infancy and childhood—such as language and
motor skills—resembled dynamical systems. Specifically, they were
characterized by periodic, abrupt, unpredictable spurts in skills and
behaviors, contrary to classic developmental models of gradual,
step-by-step growth “programmed” by genetic factors.6
The psychologists began applying dynamical systems models to
these complex patterns of development. They were able to show
that such patterns arose as a direct result of interactions among “internal”
elements (such as genes, skills, thoughts, and feelings) and
“external” elements (such as relationships, experiences, and cultural
norms). Some dynamical systems theorists go further to argue
that because of these complex interactions, it is meaningless to
differentiate between biological and environmental-cultural-social
238 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
processes.7 Dynamical systems approaches have since been applied
to a wide range of psychological and social phenomena, amounting
to a quiet revolution transforming multiple branches of social science.
Thus far such models have been used to describe perception,
emotion, language, children’s play behavior, personality, coping,
cognition, organizational decision-making, and even antisocial behavior.
8
The feminist biologist Anne Fausto-Sterling has made a case for
applying this approach to the study of gender development.9 I
would argue that it is also particularly well suited to helping us understand
the development and expression of same-sex sexuality.
After all, sexual feelings and behaviors are structured by complex
interactions among individual and contextual factors, including
genes, hormones, maturational state, personality traits, situational
factors, interpersonal influences, and cultural norms.10 Furthermore,
research on same-sex sexuality among women has detected
precisely the forms of variability that are classic hallmarks of dynamical
systems: abrupt transitions in attractions, identity, and behavior
over time; the sudden emergence of novel patterns of attraction
and behavior; extreme sensitivity to fluctuations in situations,
environments, or close relationships; and the fact that early milestones
often fail to predict later outcomes.
In other words, the forms of variability in female same-sex sexuality
that have historically been brushed aside as atypical and unexplainable
are exactly the types of variability that dynamical systems
models were developed to explain. Below I outline some of the
characteristics that make this approach so flexible.
Scientific models that emphasize person-environment interactions
instead of biological determinism are certainly nothing new, and
they are becoming increasingly dominant within developmental
psychology.11 Yet even sex researchers who acknowledge that early-
Implications of Female Sexual Fluidity • 239
developing biological factors such as genes or perinatal hormones
have only partial influences on adult sexuality insist on identifying
just how much influence they have compared with environmental
factors: Is it 30 percent, 50 percent, or 80 percent? This approach,
unfortunately, is ultimately just as reductionistic as genetic determinism.
It presumes that biological influences can always be neatly
disentangled from contextual factors and analyzed on their own.
Dynamical systems models reject this idea, emphasizing instead
that a person’s initial traits and subsequent environments are in
constant, mutually influential interaction with one another, and
that they come to progressively influence one another over time.12
As a result, you enter into each person-context interaction a slightly
different person from the one you were at the last interaction. All
your experiences are fundamentally shaped by what preceded them
and set the stage for what follows. As the psychologist Esther
Thelen summarized with respect to child development,
How a child behaves depends not only on the immediate current situation
but also on his or her continuous short and longer-term history
of acting, the social situation, and the biological constraints he
or she was born with. Every action has within it the traces of previous
behavior. The child’s behavior, in turn, sculpts his or her environment,
creating new opportunities and constraints.13
Thus whereas classical approaches to development typically take
complex behaviors and break them down into different components
(for example, genes, hormones, nutrition, parental warmth,
and peer pressure), dynamical systems approaches emphasize the
transformational interrelationships among components. According
to this perspective, trying to identify the specific percentage of
genetic versus environmental determinants of any complex phenomenon—
such as same-sex sexuality—is as futile as trying to pull
apart a chocolate cake into the flour, sugar, eggs, and butter that
went into it.
240 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
Dynamical systems theories are particularly valuable when it
comes to nonlinear or discontinuous variability—in other words,
abrupt and seemingly inexplicable changes in thought and behavior.
Most psychological models focus on consistent patterns of
thought and behavior: the tendencies for anxious people to worry,
for achievement-minded individuals to succeed, for outgoing people
to make friends. Yet when someone departs from his or her
regular pattern (for example, taking a sudden career detour or
abruptly changing political philosophies), these models can only ascribe
such change to random error or “noise.” Oh well, we say. We
can’t predict everything.
This is exactly how discontinuities in female sexuality have been
treated. Yet from a dynamical systems perspective, such unexpected
variability is not “noise” or “random error.” Rather, the potential
for such variability is a fundamental characteristic of the system,
and the goal is to specify when and how it is most likely to occur.
This means that we need to change the whole way we approach female
same-sex sexuality. Instead of asking, “What makes some
women lesbians?” we need to ask, “What factors create both stability
and change in women’s same-sex and other-sex sexuality?”
Because the long-range development of a dynamic system is continuously
tweaked by ongoing experiences and interactions, it is
impossible to definitively predict its final endpoint. Similarly, its development
cannot be traced back to any single cause. Rather, multiple
factors could have given rise to the system’s present pattern,
and multiple endpoints are always possible. The technical terms
for these two related concepts are equifinality and multifinality.
Equifinality means that two individuals can reach the same outcome
through different routes, whereas multifinality means that
two individuals with the same initial starting point might end up on
completely different pathways.
This is precisely the case with respect to female same-sex sexuality:
three different women might have similar patterns of same-sex
Implications of Female Sexual Fluidity • 241
attraction, fantasy, and behavior, and yet one might have been influenced
by genetics, another by perinatal hormones, and another
by altogether different factors. Consider identical twins: they share
100 percent of their genes and often have similar environments. Yet
as reviewed in Chapter 2, they end up with the same sexual orientation
only about 30 percent of the time. If same-sex sexuality were
programmed by a straightforward genetic blueprint, this would
be impossible. A dynamical systems perspective suggests that this
sort of variability is an inevitable result of the fact that despite
their identical genes, twins embark on distinct pathways, shaped by
their own unique histories of relationships, experiences, feelings,
cognitions, and situations.
Throughout my research I noticed the spontaneous development
of “uncharacteristic” or cross-orientation attractions, often as the
result of a close emotional bond. These experiences are virtually impossible
to explain from a traditional developmental perspective,
which contends that same-sex attractions (as well as other-sex attractions)
must have existed all along, deep within the individual. If
same-sex orientation is established by infancy, then new attractions
cannot develop in adulthood.
A dynamical systems approach challenges this view, suggesting
that development is never truly complete, and hence additional
transformations are always possible, whether at age sixteen or age
sixty. Such transformation is called emergence. This term refers to
the coming-into-being of novel behaviors or experiences as a result
of dynamic interactions between people and their environments.
The notion of emergence stands in direct contrast to deterministic
models of development, which presume that complex behaviors unfold
during childhood according to a rigid, preset program.
As noted, deterministic models have dominated prior research on
same-sex sexuality, and yet the increasing evidence for variability in
the timing of key developmental milestones and abrupt discontinuities
in experience directly challenges this view. The notion of emer-
242 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
gence helps to explain these phenomena because it suggests that
various events and experiences have the potential to “reorganize” a
woman’s sexual thoughts and feelings, sometimes producing altogether
new desires.
This certainly helps to explain cases in which women fall in love
with one specific person and experience new and unexpected desires
as a result. The suddenness of such transitions is exactly what
has led researchers and laypeople to doubt their authenticity. After
all, sexual desires cannot come out of nowhere, right? They must
have existed all along. Yet from a dynamical systems perspective,
it makes perfect sense that a powerful experience such as falling
in love could trigger an abrupt and massive reorganization of a
woman’s sexuality. So whereas proponents of traditional, deterministic
models of sexuality have been skeptical when women report
that an emotional attachment suddenly developed into sexual desire,
a dynamical systems approach would treat this experience as a
classic example of emergence.
Because emergence can take place at any point in the life course,
dynamical systems theory would maintain that we can never
definitively identify the end state of a woman’s sexuality. Yet this
does not mean that all forms of sexuality are equally likely for every
single woman. Rather, they depend upon a woman’s particular
combination of inborn traits (including biological predispositions),
environments, experiences, and relationships. Hence, though we
might never be able to predict whom a thirteen-year-old girl or a
thirty-five-year-old woman will find desirable at fifty, we can understand
how changes in certain areas—intimate relationships, social
norms, family conflict—might make some pathways more likely
than others. I have argued that one of the factors we need to consider
is a woman’s specific degree of sexual fluidity. Not all women
will have the same capacity to experience emergent sexual desires as
a result of falling in love. Two heterosexual women might each
have a same-sex passionate friendship in high school, yet one of
Implications of Female Sexual Fluidity • 243
them will eventually develop sexual attractions for her friend
whereas the other will not.
It might seem from the discussion so far that dynamical systems
always produce increasing variability over time. Yet this is not
the case. One particularly important contribution of the dynamical
systems approach is its capacity to reconcile both stability and
change by distinguishing between short-term variability and longterm
regularity. Specifically, the diverse contexts faced by a particular
woman might produce considerable change in her thoughts and
feelings during a particular period of time (for example, the changes
in same-sex attractions and behaviors described in Chapter 5).
Over the long term, however, a variety of constraining influences
ranging from genes to cultural norms to simple habits will channel
her into a relatively stable pattern.14 Thus despite abrupt bursts of
variability at particular moments in time, individuals tend toward
consistency and regularity over the long term. This is why the existence
of sexual fluidity does not mean that women’s sexuality is utterly
random and unpredictable.
In fact, this combination of short-term variability and long-term
regularity provides a way to interpret one of the notable findings
of my longitudinal study—the fact that though two-thirds of the
participants underwent at least one “post–coming-out” identity
change, their self-reported sexual attractions generally stayed in
the same range throughout the study. Although they might report
changes in their attractions of 10–15 percentage points in one direction
or the other, women with predominant or near-exclusive
same-sex attractions in 1995 tended to report predominant or nearexclusive
same-sex attractions in 2005. Women with attractions in
a bisexual range in 1995 tended to show the same pattern in 2005.
Thus women showed long-term regularity in their overall heterosexual,
bisexual, or lesbian pattern of feelings and behavior, but
they demonstrated substantial variability around those prototypical
patterns at any one assessment. According to a traditional deter-
244 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
ministic model of sexual orientation, such variability represents
“falsehood”—denying or hiding one’s true identity. From a dynamical
systems perspective, this variability is perfectly understandable,
since “true,” enduring patterns of thought and behavior never rule
out short-term fluctuations. Women themselves seemed to become
increasingly aware of this fact over time—as one thirty-three-yearold
lesbian said at the ten-year follow-up interview, “It doesn’t
freak me out anymore. I know that I can totally be a lesbian and
still have the occasional attraction to a man.”
It bears noting that though my discussion of dynamical systems
theory has remained fairly general, applications of dynamical systems
models usually involve fairly technical mathematical models
of nonlinear change and development.15 You will not be seeing any
such equations here—my goal is to set forth dynamical systems
theory not as the final answer to female sexuality but as an investigative
approach that treats processes of change as fundamentally
important. Hence, perhaps the most important contribution of a
dynamical systems approach would be to alter how researchers
think about and conduct research on sexual development, and what
types of data are considered most relevant. It is no longer sufficient
to collect isolated snapshots of sexuality at a single moment in time.
If sexual development does, in fact, emerge and transform over
time, we must observe these changes as they occur. This new perspective
would contribute not only to our understanding of female
sexual fluidity but also to sexuality more generally. Perhaps our first
priority, then, should be to study sexual-minority men over as long
a period of time, and in as much detail, as I have followed women.
With such goals in mind for the future, what about the present? If
female sexuality really is fluid and our existing models of sexual
orientation profoundly shortsighted, then what does this mean for
the way society currently views and treats lesbian/gay/bisexual individuals?
Might the notion of sexual fluidity introduce dangerous,
poorly thought-out assumptions regarding choice and change that
Implications of Female Sexual Fluidity • 245
could jeopardize efforts to secure civil rights and social acceptance
for sexual minorities? This controversial topic has been a continuing
source of concern to me as I have studied sexual fluidity over the
years. Hence, I conclude my discussion of sexual fluidity by dismantling
some of the most common misinterpretations of this phenomenon,
in the hope of clearing a path for more forward-thinking approaches
to sexuality.
The Politics of Fluidity
Many advocates for lesbian/gay/bisexual rights have argued that
sexual orientation is akin to ethnicity—a basic, stable trait that people
are born with and over which they have no control. The logic
goes something like this: If it is impossible—and perhaps even
harmful—for sexual minorities to repress their same-sex desires
and live duplicitous “heterosexual” lives, then society must accommodate
their experiences and relationships. Lesbian/gay/bisexual
individuals would then deserve systematic protection from discrimination,
harassment, and victimization, as well as legal recognition
of their intimate relationships. The antigay counter-argument is
that sexual orientation is nothing like ethnicity, but rather a depraved
lifestyle choice unworthy of legal protection or validation.
After all, if someone chooses a spiritually bereft life of stigma and
discrimination, then why should the government intervene? That
person should simply make a different choice.
So the familiar battle lines are drawn: fixed = biological = deserving
of acceptance and protection, whereas variable = chosen =
fair game for stigma and discrimination. It does not seem to matter
that the crude equations of “fixed = biological” and “variable =
chosen” are scientifically false. This particular version of “Sexual
Orientation for Dummies” continues to hold sway over popular
opinion, falsely conveying the impression that debates about the legal
status of lesbian/gay/bisexual individuals are scientific rather
than political matters. In this distorted framework, the notion of
246 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
sexual fluidity is unavoidably controversial. If sexuality is fluid,
then the analogy to ethnicity breaks down and sexual minorities are
launched into the treacherous “variable/chosen” side of the equation,
where there is no need for civil rights protections. If you made
this choice, you can unmake it.
Such arguments have resulted in the persistent denunciation of
sexual minorities and their families. Conservative organizations such
as Focus on the Family and Concerned Women for America have
placed a high priority on blocking legal recognition of same-sex
relationships and preventing same-sex couples from becoming parents.
Sadly, their outreach efforts have succeeded in influencing
some Americans’ attitudes on these issues. A recent poll by the Pew
Research Center found that more than 50 percent of Americans
oppose same-sex marriage, and nearly as many oppose same-sex
adoptions.16 This is despite the many studies showing that the children
of same-sex couples are no different from the children of
heterosexual couples when it comes to gender roles, psychological
adjustment, play behavior, social development, personality, or general
well-being.17 Thus while the overall visibility of lesbian/gay/
bisexual issues suggests increasing acceptance of same-sex sexuality,
there remains a deep reservoir of antigay sentiment in America
that has stark legal implications.
It also has implications for basic health and safety. According to
the FBI, approximately one-sixth of documented hate crimes are
targeted at sexual minorities, and thousands of children each year
are subjected to antigay harassment in elementary school, middle
school, and high school.18 Compared with their heterosexual counterparts,
sexual-minority teenagers are more likely to be threatened
or assaulted with weapons at school, more likely to have their property
stolen or damaged, and (not surprisingly) less likely to feel safe
at school.
In such a climate, perhaps it is too dangerous to introduce the notion
of sexual fluidity. Couldn’t it be misused by antigay activists?
Actually, it already has. I will never forget the day that a col-
Implications of Female Sexual Fluidity • 247
league told me that my research had been favorably cited on the
website for the Concerned Women for America, a conservative organization
opposed to civil rights for lesbian/gay/bisexual individuals.
Sure enough, I found one of my publications cited in an online
article entitled “Born or Bred? Science Does Not Support the Claim
That Homosexuality Is Genetic.”19 The article argued that Americans
“have been pummeled with the idea that people are ‘born
gay,’” leading sexual minorities to “mistakenly believe they have no
chance themselves for change.” The author went on to charge that
the “born gay” argument hampers efforts to protect young people
from dangerous “homosexual influences,” most notably seduction
into the gay lifestyle.
Adding to my dismay, I soon found that my work had also been
cited on the website for NARTH, the National Association for
Research and Therapy of Homosexuality, a group that advocates
reparative therapy aimed at eliminating homosexuality and reestablishing
heterosexual desires.20 This article maintained that “the
essentialist argument that homosexuality is biologically determined,
and is therefore not amenable to change, continues to find
little support in science.” My work was referenced in support of
this false claim.
Oh no, here we go, I thought to myself. From the very beginning,
I knew that my research on female sexual fluidity could—and probably
would—be misinterpreted and misappropriated by antigay activists.
Accordingly, over the years I have taken pains to point out,
in my published work and in public presentations, that experiencing
one’s sexuality as fluid and variable is not the same thing as
choosing a particular lifestyle. Recall that my respondents typically
felt that they had no control over their own sexual changes over the
years and could neither predict nor control them. But of course
such subtleties are overlooked by antigay activists bent on undermining
lesbian/gay/bisexual rights.
This dilemma still wakes me up at night, and I do not know how
248 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
to resolve it. Over the years many of my colleagues (usually those
who do not study controversial topics!) have advised me not to
worry about such matters. Your job is to do the science, they tell
me. What happens then is beyond your control, so let it go. I respect
that position, but I cannot abide it. Perhaps in an ideal world,
I would be able to pursue my scientific work on sexual fluidity without
a thought to its social implications, but this is simply not the
case: the political consequences of misunderstanding fluidity are
too significant to ignore. So I remain determined to challenge these
misunderstandings and to advance a thoughtful, scientifically
grounded consideration of fluidity’s social and political implications.
Does Fluidity Mean That People Choose Their Sexuality?
The question of choice comes up almost every time I present my research
findings. It is certainly a reasonable inquiry—after all, we are
accustomed to thinking about the capacity for change as a matter of
control and influence. But when it comes to sexuality, it does not
work this way. The experiences of the women I have followed over
the past ten years consistently demonstrate that sexual fluidity does
not mean that women simply choose to feel same-sex attractions,
that they can undo same-sex attractions with enough time and effort,
or that any single experience can seduce someone into a lifetime
of same-sex sexuality. Rather, sexual fluidity appears to be
constrained by a complex array of intrinsic and extrinsic factors,
many of which we have yet to discover. Variability typically occurs
only within a certain range, and it appears unrelated to any conscious
attempts to control it.
At the same time, this does not mean that we are randomly
pushed to and fro, with no agency whatsoever. To the contrary, we
make hundreds of decisions every day that indirectly influence our
sexual and emotional experiences. One decision—for example, be-
Implications of Female Sexual Fluidity • 249
coming roommates with your best friend during a particular time
of your life—might shift your life path in directions that could
lead to the emergence of novel, unexpected desires. Yet this does
not mean that such an outcome was strategic, conscious, or
“undoable.” Consider, for example, dynamic systems other than
sexuality. When one baby starts crawling three months earlier than
another, do we conclude that they made different choices about getting
across the room? Does an adolescent who suddenly “gets” trigonometry
choose this insight? As for the question of change, how
might we induce an infant to “unlearn” crawling, or make the adolescent
forget his or her new insight and perceive trigonometry as a
set of unrelated, unorganized, unfamiliar concepts and symbols?
These notions are obviously implausible, as they should be in the
domain of sexuality. Sexual and emotional feelings—like all complex
patterns of human experience—develop as the result of dynamic
interchanges among innate, environmental, and cultural factors.
It would be impossible to identify the specific moment at
which unorganized impulses become stabilized into regular tendencies,
or to pinpoint which particular factor (a gene? a hormone? a
book? a kiss?) played the pivotal role. We might be able to change
some of the input—for example, we might decide not to associate
with certain people, not to read certain material, or not to permit
ourselves to think certain thoughts—but such crude modifications
could not “unorganize” a pattern of experience that became organized
through a long, untraceable chain of psychological, biological,
and cultural processes. Even if we tried to tweak as many of
these elements as possible, how would we know which were the
right ones, especially given that the particular mix might be different
from person to person?
Consider the experiences of my study participants, who perceived
little control over their own changes. Kerri was one of the
women who described herself as attracted to the person and not the
gender. After a period of sexual questioning in her early twenties,
250 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
she eventually found that her sexual attractions consistently crystallized
around men, despite her notable distaste for heterosexual culture.
As she concluded, “I was never interested in being straight,
but unfortunately I didn’t actually get to pick.” Other women,
when asked about the issue of choice, spoke of choosing how to
think about or act on their feelings rather than choosing the feelings
themselves. Sexual fluidity may have given them a wider range of
possibilities:
For me it goes back to the choice of the kind of experiences that you
allow yourself to have. If you meet someone that you connect with,
you choose whether you want to express that part of yourself. But I
don’t know how you could choose it arbitrarily. I think it has to be
something that you feel. (age twenty-five, unlabeled)
For me sexuality encompasses how you choose to act on certain
things, and it seems to me that there is quite a bit of choice in that.
But I think that at least my experience has been that even a change in
sexual identity among people that I know has come as a surprise and
hasn’t come as something they felt they were choosing. (age twentynine,
unlabeled)
I’ve kind of been surprised at how intense [the attraction to women]
is. I mean, when it’s happening. Whoa, how can you see? Or, I don’t
know . . . every now and then, I’ll sit down and talk with one of my
friends, and be like, “I don’t understand . . . it’s got to be biological,
because I don’t have any control over this!” It’s so strong, and then it
just reminds me, “Wow! I’m so gay!” (age thirty, lesbian)
Keep in mind the principles of dynamical systems theory outlined
above: all of our experiences and interactions have a cumulative effect,
so that the particular set of factors influencing our same-sex
and other-sex desires are different today than they were ten years
ago, and will be different tomorrow. Consequently, it is impossible
to return to a previous state. This is consistent with respondents’
Implications of Female Sexual Fluidity • 251
patterns of change over the ten years of my study—the tendency
was toward expansion rather than contraction, toward adding attractions
and behaviors rather than eliminating them, even if the
likelihood of acting on such attractions was minimal.
The overall tendency toward expansion in attractions concords
with the fact that reparative therapy—also known as “conversion”
or “reorientation” therapy—has been reliably unsuccessful in eliminating
same-sex attractions, though it has been able to teach people
cognitive skills and strategies for disattending to these attractions.21
Does sexual fluidity imply that some people will be able to make
such modifications more easily than others? After all, if fluid individuals
are more sensitive to contextual factors, they might respond
more readily to attempts to channel their attractions in one direction
rather than another. This is certainly possible, and actually
some data on gender differences in “successful” responses to reparative
therapy support this possibility.22 Yet in general, we need to
treat reparative therapy success stories with a good deal of skepticism,
since they generally do not support the notion that individuals’
underlying sexual predispositions have been altered. As the psychologist
Lee Beckstead observed from his interviews with clients of
reparative therapy:
[They] reported that, at the end of therapy, they could still be
aroused erotically by the body shape of same-sex individuals. . . .
Participants reported that therapy helped them change their thinking
about and expression of homosexuality and sexuality but not their
actual sexual orientation. As well, even those participants who reported
having an increase in heterosexual attraction described those
attractions as oriented only to their spouse and different from their
homosexual arousal.23
Similar qualifications apply when interpreting the experiences of
the many women in my study who had their first—and sometimes
only—same-sex attractions in the context of an emotionally intense
252 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
bond to one specific woman. As discussed, traditional understandings
of sexual orientation allow only two possible interpretations of
such experiences: either the women had same-sex attractions all
along but had repressed them, or they did not really have them
now; they were simply misinterpreting their feelings. Both these
conclusions are wrong. As we now know, it is possible for specific
relationships to spark the emergence of authentic—and authentically
novel—sexual attractions that might contradict a person’s sexual
orientation.
Does this mean that it is possible to seduce someone into samesex
sexuality by drawing them into an intense emotional bond? The
word seduce, of course, implies that one person is intentionally
luring the other, which certainly does not characterize the cases I
observed. In fact, it was the mutual trust, intimacy, vulnerability,
and devotion that women experienced in their intimate friendships
that appeared to give rise to their unique intensity, and to trigger
each woman’s sexual fluidity. It is hard to imagine that such a transition
could be actively engineered. Moreover, the experiences of
the women in my study suggest that relationship-based attractions
tend to dissipate if the relationship itself dissipates, showing that
fluidity always operates within constraints. Thus the notion of seducing
another person into a long-term change in sexual orientation
is unlikely.
In short, fluidity does not imply that individuals can mold either
their sexuality or someone else’s into a pattern of their choosing.
Variability does not equal choice any more than stability equals genetics.
As we have seen, the nature of same-sex sexuality is far more
complicated: wholly biological and wholly cultural, 100 percent genetic
and 100 percent environmental, stable over the long term and
variable over the short term. The more we learn about the complexities
of same-sex and other-sex sexuality, the more ridiculous it
seems that we could ever imagine possessing the power to turn on
or off any of our desires like a faucet.
Implications of Female Sexual Fluidity • 253
What Would Change if Our Models of Sexuality Changed?
Beyond the issue of change and choice, other implications of sexual
fluidity bear noting. In particular, we must acknowledge that one of
the reasons for the persistence of our current, overly categorical
model of sexual orientation is that it is more than just a scientific
model. Indeed, it functions as a larger worldview about sexuality
that serves the interests of heterosexually identified individuals by
reassuring them of their permanent heterosexual status.
After all, if there are rigid and permanent boundaries between
heterosexuals and sexual-minority individuals, then anyone who is
fairly certain of his or her current heterosexual status now can be
reassured that he or she will never be part of that strange and unsettling
“homosexual” group. Such clear divisions allow mainstream
society to treat the basic social and political issues of sexual-minority
individuals as “special interests” that affect only a small number
of people and have no broader implications for questions of privacy,
family, and human dignity.
But to acknowledge that sexuality is fluid means to acknowledge
that no matter how certain you feel about your sexuality at the moment,
you might have an experience tomorrow or ten years from
now that will place you squarely in sexual-minority territory. This,
of course, is not exactly welcome information. I remember once
speaking about my research at a meeting of parents and high school
teachers who were serious about creating a supportive and accepting
environment for lesbian/gay/bisexual students. After my presentation,
one of the teachers asked me, “At what age can we be pretty
sure that if a student is really lesbian/gay/bisexual, it would have
shown up by that point?” Her question was well-meaning—who
can blame parents or teachers for wanting to have a certain “cutoff”
to guide them in making sense of adolescents’ complex feelings
and relationships? “Well, Sally must not be a lesbian because we
would have known by now”; “Johnny made it to eighteen and he’s
still heterosexual, so we’re home-free!”
254 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
I told the teacher the truth—that there was no survey or test any
researcher could give to reassure someone, at any age, that they
would never find themselves desiring or falling in love with a person
of the same sex. As I have argued, there is no point at which sexuality
completely finishes developing, neatly tying off loose ends and
therefore ruling out the prospect of unexpected future transitions.
Because of fluidity, same-sex sexuality remains an unpredictable
possibility for all women throughout the life course, albeit an unlikely
one (though this is due more to culture than to biology).24
What could be more unsettling? We all want to believe that we
know ourselves fairly well, have a good grasp of our motives and
goals, and can make reasonable predictions about our future.
Therefore, it is understandably alarming and unsettling to acknowledge
that one of the most deeply personal aspects of selfhood—sexuality—
is neither as known nor as knowable as we may have
thought. The average heterosexual would probably think it impossible
that somewhere in the future, an unexpected confluence of
emotions, habits, relationships, events, and environments could jar
him or her from a thirty-year pattern of exclusive heterosexuality
into an altogether unexpected same-sex love affair. If something
like that is beyond self-knowledge, then what else might be?
Of course, in the process of coming out, most sexual minorities
have already reckoned with the discomforting unpredictability of
their own sexual development. For such individuals—including the
women in my own sample—it is not as much of a leap to acknowledge
the fluidity of sexuality and the attendant uncertainty about
one’s own sexual future. As one of the unlabeled participants responded
when I asked her what sorts of relationships and desires
she expected to pursue in the future, “Considering my sexuality
hasn’t held steady in any point in the past, for like eight years, I
don’t see any reason why it would continue to hold steady. I didn’t
anticipate in what direction it would change. I have no reason to
think that I’ll be able to anticipate it in the future.”
This uncertainty has caused many sexual minorities to cast off
Implications of Female Sexual Fluidity • 255
traditional labels to avoid misrepresenting the fluid and multidimensional
nature of their erotic and emotional lives. Yet though
this approach to sexual identification is increasingly popular among
contemporary sexual-minority youths, who are more critical of categorical
notions of sexuality than have been previous cohorts of lesbian/
gay/bisexual individuals, it nonetheless remains outside the
mainstream.25
This is somewhat ironic, given that “anticategorical” models of
orientation that make allowances for fluidity date back to Kinsey
himself. When he first developed his famous scale representing a
continuum of other-sex to same-sex experience, he sought to capture
variability in erotic and emotional experiences, not only across
different individuals, but also within the same individual over time.
Obviously, this particular usage never caught on. Nor, of course,
did Kinsey’s anticategorical approach to sexuality. Researchers
have long been taking the Kinsey Scale and chopping it up into “lesbian/
gay,” “bisexual,” and “heterosexual” sections, thereby subverting
Kinsey’s intent. So despite Kinsey’s famous assertion that
“the world is not to be divided into sheep and goats,” we seem
bound and determined to maintain discrete categories.26 Clearly,
categorical models of sexuality—on both personal and scientific
levels—will not be easily dismantled.
Nor should they, at least not entirely. After all, there is plenty of
evidence that people do, in fact, possess a core sexual predisposition
that plays a role in channeling their sexual interest toward one
sex, the other sex, or both. The variability introduced by sexual
fluidity is variability around this “malleable core.”27 Hence, it is
still useful to speak of sexual orientations, their multiple determinants,
and their developmental trajectories. We simply need to shift
from treating these orientations as rigidly fixed to viewing them as
multidimensional and dynamic.
Some activists feel that the climate is not yet right for such a shift
in our thinking about sexual freedom. Given the recent resurgence
256 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
of conservative antigay activism (much of it focused on banning
same-sex marriage), it may well be that for now, the safest way to
advocate for lesbian/gay/bisexual rights is to keep propagating a deterministic
model: sexual minorities are born that way and can
never be otherwise. If this is an easier route to acceptance (which
may in fact be the case), is it really so bad that it is inaccurate?28
Over the long term, yes, particularly because women are systematically
disenfranchised by this approach. For hundreds of years
scientists and politicians have treated men’s experiences as normative
and have marginalized women.29 This approach, of course, has
always produced bad science and bad public policy, and this is
as much the case for sexuality as for any other domain. For too
long, women with discontinuous, changing patterns of same-sex
and other-sex desire have been written off as atypical and
inauthentic, not only by researchers, but also by many subsets of
the gay/lesbian/bisexual community. In my interviews, I repeatedly
found that participants seemed slightly embarrassed by the ways
their sexual histories deviated from conventional models—they had
no idea how common fluidity was.
Nor do most other women. Almost every time that I have spoken
about my research to lesbian/gay/bisexual audiences, women have
lined up afterward to confess to me, in hushed tones, that their own
life history has paralleled the fluid trajectories of the women in my
sample. Until that point, they thought there was something wrong
with them. I have also had parents, friends, and siblings of lesbian
and bisexual women express profound relief at the knowledge that
their loved one was not the only person to undergo periodic shifts
in sexual identity. As with so many other areas of psychology, feeling
different can be a powerful motive for self-silencing.
This silencing effect is ironic, given that part of the genesis of the
modern lesbian/gay/bisexual rights movement was a widespread
acknowledgment that silence was both personally and politically
damaging. Just as the first generation of activists emphasized the
Implications of Female Sexual Fluidity • 257
importance of speaking up about simply having same-sex attractions,
the current generation should give voice to the true diversity
of these experiences. To some extent, this is already happening.
While adults continue to argue about the meaning and prevalence
of sexual fluidity, sexual-minority adolescents appear to have gotten
this message. Having grown up with more accurate, positive,
and diverse models of same-sex sexuality than the generation that
preceded them, they not only have more positive attitudes about
same-sex sexuality but also more flexible definitions of sexual identity
and orientation.30
Accordingly, they do not place nearly as much emphasis on
adopting a clear and consistent lesbian/gay/bisexual identity as did
previous generations. It used to be that simply claiming “I’m gay”
constituted a radical political act (and, of course, in certain repressive
environments, this is still very much the case). Yet this is less so
today, with the increased visibility of same-sex sexuality. In a recent
issue of In Style magazine, the married heterosexual actress Kate
Winslet gushed about meeting her idol, Meryl Streep, at an awards
ceremony: “I went up to her and said, ‘Omigod, I love you so much
I would happily tongue-kiss you right now!’”31 The fact that such a
remark carries no negative consequences (at least not for someone
who is unambiguously heterosexual) shows how much things have
changed. The idea of a heterosexual woman being so impressed and
bedazzled by another woman that her response verges on the erotic
is no longer altogether shocking.
Teenagers today increasingly perceive same-sex sexuality as a
personal rather than a political matter, and they place greater emphasis
on personal exploration than on rigid identification. As the
psychologist Ritch Savin-Williams noted, “Teenagers are increasingly
redefining, reinterpreting, and renegotiating their sexuality so
that possessing a gay, lesbian, or bisexual identity is practically
meaningless. Their sexuality is not something that can be easily described,
categorized, or understood apart from being part of their
life in general.”32 Hence the tendencies toward unlabeled identities
258 • SEXUAL FLUIDITY
and more fluid understandings of sexuality might reach fruition
sooner than we think. From the perspective of the next generation
of activists working on behalf of acceptance and social legitimation
of same-sex sexuality, hand-wringing over the implications of sexual
fluidity might, in time, prove to be a nonissue.
Looking Ahead: The Future of Female Sexuality
The fluidity of female sexuality has not been entirely unnamed or
hidden from view; it has not been threatened by total erasure. And
yet it remains beneath the radar, so to speak—hidden in plain sight.
Which is worse? For one’s experiences to be silenced and made invisible,
or for those experiences to be voiced and visible yet dismissed—
by scientists, politicians, family members, friends, perhaps
even lovers—as inauthentic, unusual, exceptional, and trivial?
Our slavish adherence to a rigid and obviously ill-fitting model of
sexuality makes a certain amount of sense, on personal, scientific,
and psychological levels. The conventional, categorical model is
easy to understand; it generates nice, clean predictions; it is politically
expedient; it provides psychological comfort. In the final analysis,
however, none of these factors are acceptable substitutes for
truth. Our ability to understand the complex phenomenon of sexual
orientation and its multiple manifestations in men and women
at different ages and in different cultures and contexts depends directly
on our willingness to confront those aspects of orientation
that most confound us. Female sexual fluidity should be at the top
of this list. Untold numbers of women have surely found that our
current sexual theories leave their own experiences unexplained: a
person they inexplicably loved and cannot forget; a summer when
everything changed; dreams and fantasies that do not fit; memories
of a different self, long ago; expectations of a different self in the future.
We cannot allow such experiences to collapse and disappear
for want of clear, creative language. Our task is to create this language
and to start listening.
Implications of Female Sexual Fluidity • 259
R E F E R E N C E S
N O T E S
A C K N O W L E D G M E N T S
I N D E X
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Notes
1. Will the Real Lesbians Please Stand Up?
1. Reviewed in Diamond, 2003b.
2. Reviewed in Mustanski, Chivers, and Bailey, 2002. Also see Blackwood
and Wieringa, 2003, for an anthropological perspective on the
invisibility of female same-sex sexuality.
3. Rahman and Wilson, 2003, p. 1371.
4. Kitzinger and Wilkinson, 1995, p. 95.
5. Rust, 2000e, p. 279.
6. Goode and Haber, 1977.
7. Blumstein and Schwartz, 1977, p. 173.
8. Sophie, 1986.
9. Klein, 1993.
10. Herdt, 1984.
11. Blackwood, 1985; Foucault, 1980; Kitzinger, 1987; Plummer, 1975;
Richardson, 1984; Richardson and Hart, 1981.
12. Rich, 1980.
13. Weinberg, Williams, and Pryor, 1994, pp. 163, 164.
14. Elise, 1997, 1998; Freud, 1905/1962; Money, 1987, 1990; Zinik,
1985.
15. Golden, 1987, 1994, 1996.
16. Golden, 1996, p. 240. See also Cass, 1990.
17. Kitzinger and Wilkinson, 1995, p. 96.
18. Rust, 1992, 1993.
19. Shuster, 1987, pp. 61, 62.
20. Cass, 1990, p. 261.
21. Whisman, 1996. More recently, see also Otis and Skinner, 2004.
22. Baumeister, 2000.
23. Chivers et al., 2005; Laan, Sonderman, and Janssen, 1995.
24. Hyde and Durik, 2000.
25. Blumstein and Schwartz, 1990, p. 307.
26. Baumeister and Twenge, 2002; Laumann and Mahay, 2002;
Nathanson, 1991; Tolman, Striepe, and Harmon, 2003; Vance, 1984.
27. Reviewed in Fine, 1988; Tolman and Diamond, 2001; Ussher, 1993.
28. Diamond, 2003a; Golden, 1996; Loewenstein, 1985.
29. Diamond, 1998, 2000a, 2000b, 2002, 2003a, 2005a, 2005b, 2005c.
30. For perspectives on these issues see Brookey, 2000; Gonsiorek, 2004;
Stein, 1994; Tygart, 2000.
31. Drescher, 2002.
32. Bancroft, 1989; Cass, 1990; Money, 1988.
33. Gagnon and Simon, 1968; Garland, Morgan, and Beer, 2005; Herdt,
1984; Laumann et al., 1994; Murray, 2000.
34. Baumeister, 2000; Rosario et al., 2006.
35. See Diamond, 2003a, 2005c; Hollander, 2000; Rust, 2003.
36. Pratt, 1995, p. 11.
2. Gender Differences in Same-Sex Sexuality
1. Bogaert, 2005; Mustanski, Bailey, and Kaspar, 2002; Mustanski,
Chivers, and Bailey, 2002; Rahman and Wilson, 2003.
2. M. Diamond, 1995; Fausto-Sterling, 2000; C. T. Halpern, 2003;
Tolman and Diamond, 2001; Udry, 1990; Udry, Talbert, and Morris,
1986.
3. Greenberg and Bailey, 1993.
4. Mustanski, Bailey, and Kaspar, 2002, p. 127.
5. Hyde, 2005, p. 16; Bailey, Dunne, and Martin, 2000; Peplau, 2001;
Peplau and Garnets, 2000; Peplau et al., 1999.
6. Mustanski, Bailey, and Kaspar, 2002.
7. Blumstein and Schwartz, 1977; Epstein, 1987; Richardson and Hart,
1981; Rust, 1993.
8. Butler, 1990; Foucault, 1980; Murray, 2000; K. Plummer, 1981; Richardson,
1987; Weeks, 1986.
9. D’Emilio, 1983; Foucault, 1980; Padgug, 1992.
10. Boswell, 1990a, 1990b; Katz, 1976; Whitam and Mathy, 1986.
310 • Notes to Pages 8–20
11. Baumeister, Catanese, and Vohs, 2001.
12. Buss and Schmitt, 1993; Trivers, 1972.
13. Shackelford and Goetz, 2006; Shackelford and Pound, 2005;
Shackelford, Pound, and Goetz, 2005; Small, 1993; Wallen, 1995.
14. Foucault, 1980.
15. Baumeister and Twenge, 2002; Coontz and Henderson, 1986; Fine,
1988; Groneman, 1994; Nathanson, 1991; Tolman, 2002; C. Vance,
1984.
16. Fine, 1988; Tolman and Diamond, 2001.
17. Heiman, 1975; Laumann, Paik, and Rosen, 1999. For feminist perspectives
on this issue see Tiefer, 2001; Ussher, 1993.
18. Blackwood, 2000; Gagnon and Simon, 1973; Laumann and Mahay,
2002; Tolman and Diamond, 2001.
19. On this topic, see the eloquent writings of the feminist biologist Anne
Fausto-Sterling, 2000.
20. Ehrhardt, 2000; Fausto-Sterling, 2000; Fuss, 1989; McClintock and
Herdt, 1996; Tolman and Diamond, 2001; Udry, 1993, 1995;Wilson,
1998.
21. Grosz, 1994.
22. Money, 1990.
23. Bem, 1996; Fausto-Sterling, 2000, p. 20.
24. Dick et al., 2001; McGue, 1999.
25. Dick et al., 2001; Mustanski and Bailey, 2003.
26. Block, 1909; Forel, 1908; Krafft-Ebing, 1882.
27. Kinsey, Pomeroy, and Martin, 1948, p. 639.
28. Pattatucci and Hamer, 1995; Phillips and Over, 1995.
29. Mustanski, Chivers, and Bailey, 2002.
30. Mustanski, Chivers, and Bailey, 2002; Sell and Petrulio, 1996.
31. For examples, see Burr, 1996.
32. Bailey, Dunne, and Martin, 2000; Garofalo et al., 1999; Laumann et
al., 1994.
33. For example, M. W. Ross et al., 2005; Young and Meyer, 2005.
34. Carballo-Dieguez and Dolezal, 1994; Laumann et al., 1994;
Manalansan, 1996.
35. Savin-Williams and Diamond, 2000.
36. Hamer et al., 1993.
37. Hu et al., 1995.
38. See reviews of this research in Bailey, 1995; Rice et al., 1999.
Notes to Pages 20–29 • 311
39. Mustanski et al., 2005.
40. For reviews, see Bailey, 1995; Bailey and Pillard, 1995; Hyde, 2005;
Mustanski et al., 2002; Rahman and Wilson, 2003; Risch, Squires-
Wheeler, and Keats, 1993.
41. Bailey and Bell, 1993; Bailey and Benishay, 1993; Bailey and Pillard,
1991, 1995; Bailey et al., 1993.
42. Bailey et al., 2000; Kendler et al., 2000.
43. Reviewed in Hyde, 2005; Mustanski et al., 2002.
44. Bailey, 2003.
45. Bailey et al., 2000; Hershberger, 1997; Kendler et al., 2000; Kirk et
al., 2000.
46. Kendler, Thornton, and Pedersen, 2000; Kendler et al., 2002; McGue,
1999.
47. Bell, Weinberg, and Hammersmith, 1981; M. Diamond, 1995;
Downey and Friedman, 1998; Freund and Blanchard, 1983.
48. Bailey and Darwood, 1998; Green, 1987.
49. Golombok and Tasker, 1996.
50. Cohen-Bendahan, van de Beek, and Berenbaum, 2005; Colapinto,
2000; Imperato-McGinley et al., 1980; Imperato-McGinley et al.,
1999; Meyer-Bahlburg, 2005; Reiner and Gearhart, 2004.
51. Herdt, 1984; Stoller and Herdt, 1985.
52. M. Diamond, 1993.
53. M. Diamond, 1995; Mustanski, Chivers, and Bailey, 2002.
54. Ehrhardt, 1985; L. Ellis and Ames, 1987; L. Ellis and Cole-Harding,
2001; Meyer-Bahlburg, 1979; Meyer-Bahlburg et al., 1995;
Mustanski, Chivers, and Bailey, 2002; van Anders and Hampson,
2005.
55. Gooren, 1990a; Meyer-Bahlburg, 1979; Veniegas and Conley, 2000.
56. Reviewed in Baum, 2006; Gooren, 2006.
57. Caplan et al., 1997; D. F. Halpern and Ikier, 2002; Hines, 2004b;
McGillicuddy-De Lisi and De Lisi, 2002.
58. Finder, Healy, and Zernike, 2006; Traub, 2005. For more discussion
of this issue see Hines, 2004b.
59. McGillicuddy-De Lisi and De Lisi, 2002.
60. Baum, 2006; Collaer and Hines, 1995; Gooren, 2006; Hines, 2004a;
Hines and Collaer, 1993; Reinisch and Sanders, 1992.
61. Reviewed in Baum, 2006; Gooren, 2006.
62. Ehrhardt, 1985; L. Ellis, 1996; L. Ellis and Cole-Harding, 2001;
312 • Notes to Pages 29–35
Meyer-Bahlburg, 1979; Meyer-Bahlburg et al., 1995; Mustanski,
Chivers, and Bailey, 2002; van Anders and Hampson, 2005.
63. Gooren, 1990b; Meyer-Bahlburg, 2002; Migeon and Wisniewski,
2000, 2003; Money, 1981; Money, 2002; Baum, 2006, p. 580.
64. Reviewed in Gooren, 2006; Mustanski, Chivers, and Bailey, 2002.
65. Reviewed in Baum, 2006.
66. Block, 1909; H. Ellis, 1933/1978; Forel, 1908; Krafft-Ebing, 1882.
67. Bailey, 2003; L. Ellis, 1996; Mustanski, Chivers, and Bailey, 2002;
Rahman and Wilson, 2003.
68. New, Ghizzoni, and Speiser, 1996.
69. Berenbaum and Hines, 1992; Berenbaum and Resnick, 1997; Cohen-
Bendahan, van de Beek, and Berenbaum, 2005.
70. Dittmann, 1997; Zucker et al., 1996.
71. As reviewed in Veniegas and Conley, 2000.
72. Ehrhardt, 1985; Ehrhardt et al., 1989; Meyer-Bahlburg et al., 1995.
73. Ghali et al., 2003; Hines, Ahmed, and Hughes, 2003; Meyer-
Bahlburg, 1999; Minto et al., 2003; Wisniewski and Migeon, 2002.
74. Bailey, Willerman, and Parks, 1991; L. Ellis and Cole-Harding, 2001;
Mustanski, Chivers, and Bailey, 2002.
75. Blanchard, 2001; Blanchard and Ellis, 2001; Purcell, Blanchard, and
Zucker, 2000; Zucker, Blanchard, and Siegelman, 2003.
76. Blanchard, 1997; Blanchard and Ellis, 2001; Blanchard et al., 2002.
77. Bradley and Zucker, 1990; D. F. Halpern and Haviland, 1997;
Lalumiere, Blanchard, and Zucker, 2000; Zucker et al., 1996.
78. LeVay, 1991.
79. Reviewed in Mustanski, Chivers, and Bailey, 2002.
80. Dörner, 1976.
81. Breedlove, Cooke, and Jordan, 1999; W. M. Brown, Hines, Fane, and
Breedlove, 2002.
82. W. M. Brown, Finn, Cooke, and Breedlove, 2002; Hall and Love,
2003; Lippa, 2003; Manning et al., 2005; McFadden et al., 2005;
McIntyre, 2003; Rahman, 2005; Robinson and Manning, 2000;
Voracek, Manning, and Ponocny, 2005; T. J. Williams et al., 2000.
83. Reviewed in McFadden, 2002.
84. McFadden, Loehlin, and Pasanen, 1996; McFadden and Pasanen,
1998, 1999.
85. McFadden and Champlin, 2000.
86. H. Ellis, 1933/1978; Krafft-Ebing, 1882.
Notes to Pages 36–43 • 313
87. Bailey, 1996; Bailey et al., 2000; Bailey, Nothnagel, and Wolfe, 1995;
Bailey and Oberschneider, 1997; Bailey and Zucker, 1995; Lippa,
2000.
88. Gottschalk, 2003; Herek, 1986; D. C. Plummer, 2001.
89. Bailey, 1995, 1996; Green, 1987; Zucker and Bradley, 1995.
90. Bailey, 1996; Bradley and Zucker, 1997; Corbett, 1998, 1999;
Grellert, Newcomb, and Bentler, 1982; Phillips and Over, 1992,
1995.
91. West, 1977.
92. Peplau and Spalding, 2000.
93. Blanchard et al., 2002.
94. E. Ross and Rapp, 1981, p. 51.
95. Curtis, 1988; Penelope and Wolfe, 1989; Stanley and Wolfe, 1980.
96. Charbonneau and Lander, 1991; L. M. Diamond, 1998; L. M. Diamond
and Savin-Williams, 2000; Dixon, 1984; Golden, 1987;
Kitzinger and Wilkinson, 1995; Savin-Williams, 1998.
97. Chan, 1992; Collins, 1990; Espin, 1984; Hidalgo, 1984; Icard, 1986;
Morales, 1992.
98. Espin, 1997; Savin-Williams, 1996.
99. Amaro, 1978; Chan, 1992; Espin, 1984, 1987; Hidalgo, 1984;
Jayakar, 1994; Smith, 1997; Tremble, Schneider, and Appathurai,
1989; Vasquez, 1979; Wooden, Kawasaki, and Mayeda, 1983.
100. Carrier, 1989; Parker, 1989; Ramos, 1994.
101. Clarke, 1983; Collins, 1990; De Monteflores, 1986; Gomez and
Smith, 1990; Greene, 1986; Icard, 1986; Mays and Cochran, 1988.
102. Carballo-Dieguez, 1989; Carballo-Dieguez and Dolezal, 1994;
Clarke, 1983; De Monteflores, 1986; Gomez and Smith, 1990; Icard,
1986; Mays and Cochran, 1988; Mays, Cochran, and Rhue, 1993;
Vasquez, 1979.
103. Bailey, 1996; Bailey and Zucker, 1995; Bell and Weinberg, 1978;
Chapman and Brannock, 1987; L. M. Diamond, 1998; Herdt and
Boxer, 1993; Isay, 1989; Savin-Williams, 1990, 1998; Sears, 1989;
Troiden, 1988; Weinberg, Williams, and Pryor, 1994.
104. Blumstein and Schwartz, 1990; L. M. Diamond, 2000a, 2002, 2006;
Gramick, 1984; Hedblom, 1973; Ponse, 1978; Rose, Zand, and Cimi,
1993; Schafer, 1977; B. K. Vance and Green, 1984; Vetere, 1982;
Weinberg, Williams, and Pryor, 1994.
105. Blumstein and Schwartz, 1990; Cass, 1990; Cooper, 1990; Esterberg,
314 • Notes to Pages 43–50
1994; Nichols, 1990; Ponse, 1984; Rust, 1993, 1995; Sears, 1989;
Silber, 1990.
106. Bell and Weinberg, 1978; Chapman and Brannock, 1987; Dixon,
1984, 1985; Esterberg, 1994; Golden, 1987, 1994, 1996; Hencken,
1984; Hunnisett, 1986; Rust, 1992; Sophie, 1986; Weinberg, Williams,
and Pryor, 1994; Whisman, 1996.
107. Kitzinger and Wilkinson, 1995.
108. Fine, 1988; Kitzinger and Wilkinson, 1995; Rust, 1993; Tolman and
Diamond, 2001.
109. Blumstein and Schwartz, 1990; Boxer and Cohler, 1989; K. Plummer,
1995.
110. Bergler, 1954; Defries, 1976; Goode and Haber, 1977; Whisman,
1993.
3. Sexual Fluidity in Action
1. Blumstein and Schwartz, 1977; Pattatucci and Hamer, 1995; Stokes,
Damon, and McKirnan, 1997; Stokes, McKirnan, and Burzette,
1993; Weinberg, Williams, and Pryor, 1994.
2. I analyzed the qualitative portions of the interview using a technique
called thematic analysis, in which transcripts are read for core, recurring
themes; the themes are narrowed down according to the aims of
the research question; and independent raters are trained to code the
transcripts for the occurrence of these themes. For more detail on this
process, see Ryan and Bernard, 2003.
3. The methodologically inclined will be interested to know that my percentage
measure proved to have excellent test-retest reliability. This
means that when individuals are given this measure at different testing
sessions, around two weeks apart, they give the same responses
both times. This is important because it means that when individuals
do give notably different responses over longer periods, we can safely
conclude that it is not a measurement “fluke,” and that some sort of
change has occurred.
4. Rust, 1992.
5. Firestein, 1996; Rust, 1995, 2000d.
6. Fox, 1995; Rust, 1993.
7. Carey, 2005; Leland, 1995.
8. McIntosh, 1968.
Notes to Pages 50–67 • 315
9. For more examples see Weinberg, Williams, and Pryor, 1994.
10. Rust, 1993.
11. Rosario et al., 1996; Savin-Williams, 1998; Savin-Williams and Diamond,
2000.
12. Bell,Weinberg, and Hammersmith, 1981; Bergler, 1954; Burch, 1993;
Ettore, 1980; Money, 1988; Ponse, 1978.
13. Bell, Weinberg, and Hammersmith, 1981, pp. 200–201.
14. Burch, 1993; Rust, 1995.
15. Bell, Weinberg, and Hammersmith, 1981; Fox, 1995; Pattatucci and
Hamer, 1995; Phillips and Over, 1992, 1995; Rust, 1992; Weinberg,
Williams, and Pryor, 1994.
16. Kirkpatrick, 2000.
17. Cass, 1979; Coleman, 1981/1982; Lee, 1977; Minton and McDonald,
1983; Mohr and Fassinger, 2000; Troiden, 1979.
18. Hollander, 2000; Savin-Williams, 2005.
19. Weinberg, Williams, and Pryor, 1994, p. 292.
20. Davis, 1999; Kyrakanos, 1998; Rimer, 1993.
4. Nonexclusive Attractions and Behaviors
1. For the most comprehensive overview of the diverse range of current
and historical views of bisexuality, see Paula Rodriguez Rust’s landmark
anthology, Bisexuality in the United States (2000d), which contains
both reprinted articles by a variety of scholars as well as Rust’s
own integrative commentaries.
2. Rust, 1995.
3. Rust, 2000f.
4. Savin-Williams, 2005.
5. Rust, 1995.
6. Reviewed in Rust, 1995.
7. Laumann et al., 1994.
8. Garofalo et al., 1999; Kirk et al., 2000; Mosher, Chandra, and Jones,
2005; Remafedi et al., 1992.
9. Rich, 1980.
10. Chivers et al., 2005.
11. Heiman, 1975.
12. Laan, Sonderman, and Janssen, 1995.
13. Rieger, Bailey, and Chivers, 2005.
316 • Notes to Pages 68–100
14. Lippa, 2006.
15. For example, Dickerson and Kemeny, 2004.
16. Fine, 1988; Tolman, 2002; Tolman and Diamond, 2001; Udry,
Talbert, and Morris, 1986.
17. Laumann et al., 1994.
18. Cassingham and O’Neil, 1993; Charbonneau and Lander, 1991;
Kitzinger and Wilkinson, 1995.
19. Rust, 1992.
20. Cochran and Mays, 1988; San Francisco Department of Public
Health (SFDPH), 1993.
21. Gagnon, 1990; Pillard, 1990.
22. Rust, 1992.
23. Rust, 1992, p. 380.
24. Clausen, 1999; Near, 1991.
25. Cass, 1990; Kinsey et al., 1953.
26. Blumstein and Schwartz, 1990; Klein, 1993; Rust, 1993, 2000b,
2000c.
27. For example, see Bode, 1976; Coons, 1972; MacInnes, 1973; Ross
and Paul, 1992; Weinberg, Williams, and Pryor, 1994.
28. With some exceptions, such as Tolman, 2002.
29. Jacobellis v. Ohio, 378 U.S. 184, 197 (1964).
30. Laumann and Mahay, 2002, p. 44.
31. Money, 1980, 1987.
32. Blumstein and Schwartz, 1977; Diamond, 1998; Klein, 1993; Mac-
Donald, 1981; Stokes, Miller, and Mundhenk, 1998; Taywaditep and
Stokes, 1998; Weinberg, Williams, and Pryor, 1994.
33. Ross and Paul, 1992; Rust, 2000b; Weinberg, Williams, and Pryor,
1994.
34. Klein, 1993; Zinik, 1985.
35. Elise, 1997, 1998; Freud (1905/1962); Money, 1987, 1990; Zinik,
1985.
36. Baumeister, 2000; Chivers et al., 2005; Lippa, 2006.
5. Change in Sexual Attractions
1. See the discussions of this topic on the website for ConcernedWomen
for America: http://www.cultureandfamily.org/articledisplay.asp?id=
5458anddepartment=CFIandcategoryid=papers.
Notes to Pages 101–137 • 317
2. A view endorsed by the American Psychological Association: http://
www.apa.org/topics/orientation.html.
3. See http://www.nickyee.com/ponder/gaygene.html.
4. For a radical view on these issues, see www.queerbychoice.com/.
5. See Beckett et al., 1992; Drescher, 2002; Drescher and Zucker,
2006; Gonsiorek, 2004; Haldeman, 1994; Halpert, 2000; Morrow
and Beckstead, 2004; Nicolosi, Byrd, and Potts, 2000; Stein,
1996.
6. See http://www.psychologymatters.org/hooker.html.
7. See http://www.psych.org/psych_pract/copptherapyaddendum83100.cfm;
Bright, 2004; Drescher and Zucker, 2006.
8. As in Drescher and Zucker, 2006.
9. Schroeder and Shidlo, 2001.
10. Baumeister, 2000; Baumeister, Catanese, and Vohs, 2001; Cass, 1990.
11. Laumann, Paik, and Rosen, 1999.
12. Tiefer, Hall, and Tavris, 2002; Ussher, 1993; Leiblum and Rosen,
1988b, 2000.
13. Udry, 1990; Wallen, 1990, 1995.
14. Chivers et al., 2005; Rieger, Bailey, and Chivers, 2005.
15. Baumeister, 2000.
16. Kinsey, Pomeroy, and Martin, 1948; Money, 1988.
17. Blumstein and Schwartz, 1977; Cassingham and O’Neil, 1993;
Charbonneau and Lander, 1991; Kitzinger and Wilkinson, 1995;
Loewenstein, 1985; Saghir and Robins, 1973.
18. Saghir and Robins, 1973.
19. Loewenstein, 1985, p. 122.
20. Kitzinger, 1995, p. 100.
21. Golden, 1987, 1994, 1996.
22. Weinberg, Williams, and Pryor, 1994.
23. Stokes, Damon, and McKirnan, 1997; Stokes, McKirnan, and
Burzette, 1993.
24. Pattatucci and Hamer, 1995.
25. Weinberg, Williams, and Pryor, 1994.
6. Attractions to “the Person, Not the Gender”
1. Buss, 1989.
2. Reviewed in Hazan and Diamond, 2000.
318 • Notes to Pages 138–172
3. Blumstein and Schwartz, 1990; Cass, 1990; Cassingham and O’Neil,
1993; Golden, 1996; Whisman, 1996.
4. Blumstein and Schwartz, 1990, p. 346.
5. Blumstein and Schwartz, 1990, p. 348.
6. Weinberg, Williams, and Pryor, 1994.
7. Jensen, 1999; Stanley and Wolfe, 1980.
8. Reviewed in Rust, 2000b.
9. Ross and Paul, 1992, advanced a similar notion specifically with respect
to bisexual individuals.
10. Savin-Williams, 2005.
11. Brown, 1995.
12. Kinsey, Pomeroy, and Martin, 1948.
13. Gagnon, 1990, p. 199.
14. Bailey, 1996; Diamond, 2002; Gottschalk, 2003; Money, 1987.
15. Bornstein, 1994; Cole et al., 2000; Feinberg, 1996; Martin and
Yonkin, 2006; Roen, 2002; Straub and Epstein, 1991.
16. Reviewed in Bailey, 1996.
7. How Does Fluidity Work?
1. Regan and Berscheid, 1995, p. 346.
2. Beach, 1976; Hrdy, 1987; Wallen, 1995.
3. Bancroft, 1989; Baumeister, 2000; Fisher, 1998; Wallen, 1995.
4. Beach, 1976.
5. See reviews in Bancroft, 1978; Udry, 1988.
6. Alexander and Sherwin, 1993; Arver et al., 1996; Davidson,
Camargo, and Smith, 1979; Kwan et al., 1983; Luisi and Franchi,
1980; O’Carroll, Shapiro, and Bancroft, 1985; Salmimies et al., 1982;
Sarrel, Dobay, and Wiita, 1998; Schiavi et al., 1997; Sherwin and
Gelfand, 1987; Sherwin, Gelfand, and Brender, 1985; Skakkebaek et
al., 1981.
7. Adams, Gold, and Burt, 1978; Judd and Yen, 1973; Stanislaw and
Rice, 1988.
8. Abramson, Repczynski, and Merrill, 1976; Griffith andWalker, 1975;
Slob, Ernste, and van der Werff ten Bosch, 1991.
9. Bancroft et al., 1974; Kwan et al., 1983.
10. Beck, Bozman, and Qualtrough, 1991; Blumstein and Schwartz,
Notes to Pages 173–208 • 319
1983; Byers and Heinlein, 1989; Ellis and Symons, 1990; Julien et al.,
1992; Knoth, Boyd, and Singer, 1988; Laumann et al., 1994;
Leitenberg and Henning, 1995; O’Sullivan and Byers, 1992.
11. Baumeister, Catanese, and Vohs, 2001.
12. Reviewed in Wallen, 1995.
13. Fine, 1988; Gagnon and Simon, 1973; Reiss, 1986; Richgels, 1992;
Tolman, 1991, 2002; Tolman and Diamond, 2001.
14. Baumeister, 2000.
15. Reviewed by Schlegel and Barry, 1991.
16. Herdt, 1984; Murray, 2000.
17. Bell, Weinberg, and Hammersmith, 1981; Gagnon and Simon, 1968;
Garland, Morgan, and Beer, 2005; Hensley and Tewksbury, 2002;
Hensley et al., 2002; Money, 1988; Rust, 2000a; Ward and
Kassebaum, 1965.
18. L. M. Diamond, 2003a; Diamond, 2005; Rust, 1992.
19. Bergler, 1954.
20. Cass, 1990; Money, 1988.
21. Kinsey, Pomeroy, and Martin, 1948; Pattatucci and Hamer, 1995;
Russell and Consolacion, 2003; Sell and Petrulio, 1996.
22. Fisher, 1998; Hatfield, 1987; Tennov, 1979.
23. Tennov, 1979.
24. Hatfield et al., 1988.
25. Udry, 1990; Udry and Billy, 1987; Udry, Talbert, and Morris, 1986.
26. Reviewed in Curtis and Wang, 2003; Emanuele et al., 2006.
27. Bartels and Zeki, 2000.
28. A. Aron et al., 2005.
29. Arnow et al., 2002; Redoute et al., 2000.
30. Blackwood, 1985; Faderman, 1981; Gay, 1985; Hansen, 1992; Nardi,
1992; Sahli, 1979; Smith-Rosenberg, 1975; W. L. Williams, 1992.
31. Parkman, 1969; W. L. Williams, 1992.
32. Brain, 1976; Firth, 1967; Malinowski, 1929; Mead, 1943; Reina,
1966.
33. Brain, 1976, pp. 39–40.
34. Streitmatter, 1998.
35. Streitmatter, 1998, p. 19.
36. Kogan, 2006.
37. Hill, 1993; O’Connor, 1992.
38. D’Emilio and Freedman, 1988; Faderman, 1981; Nardi, 1992.
39. Faderman, 1981.
320 • Notes to Pages 208–221
40. Faderman, 1993; Smith-Rosenberg, 1975.
41. Sahli, 1979, p. 22.
42. Faderman, 1993, p. 35.
43. O’Connor, 1992.
44. Diamond, 2000; Rothblum, 1993; Von Sydow, 1995.
45. Crumpacker and Vander Haegen, 1993; Diamond, 2000.
46. Rubin, 1985; Oliker, 1989, p. 5.
47. Von Sydow, 1995, p. 288.
48. Espin, 1993, p. 207.
49. Rosenbloom, 2005.
50. Nardi, 1992; W. L. Williams, 1992.
51. Derlega et al., 1989.
52. See Mellen, 1982.
53. Bowlby, 1958, 1973a, 1973b, 1973c, 1979, 1980, 1982.
54. Hazan and Shaver, 1987, 1994.
55. Bowlby, 1958, 1973b, 1979, 1980, 1982.
56. Ainsworth et al., 1978.
57. Graves and Hennessy, 2000; Hofer, 1987; Hoffman et al., 1995;
Suomi, 1999.
58. Gould and Vrba, 1982.
59. Panksepp, 1998.
60. Gould and Lewontin, 1979; Gould and Vrba, 1982.
61. Lim and Young, 2006.
62. Carter, 1998.
63. Carter, Lederhendler, and Kirkpatrick, 1999; E. E. Nelson and
Panksepp, 1996; C. A. Pedersen et al., 1994; Uvnäs-Moberg, 1994.
64. Insel, 1997.
65. E. E. Nelson and Panksepp, 1996; E. E. Nelson and Panksepp, 1998;
Popik, Vetulani, and van Ree, 1992; Uvnäs-Moberg, 1998; J. R. Williams
et al., 1994.
66. Reviewed in Bartz and Hollander, 2006; Carter and Altemus, 1997;
Carter and DeVries, 1999; Knox and Uvnäs-Moberg, 1998; Lim and
Young, 2006; Taylor, Dickerson, and Klein, 2002; Taylor et al., 2000;
Uvnäs-Moberg, 1998.
67. Henry and Wang, 1998; Knox and Uvnäs-Moberg, 1998; Light,
Grewen, and Amico, 2005; Taylor et al., 2002; Uvnäs-Moberg, 1998,
2004.
68. Carter et al., 1999; Galef and Kaner, 1980; E. E. Nelson and
Panksepp, 1996; E. E. Nelson and Panksepp, 1998.
Notes to Pages 221–227 • 321
69. Field, 1998; Knox and Uvnäs-Moberg, 1998; Uvnäs-Moberg et al.,
1993; Witt, Winslow, and Insel, 1992.
70. Reviewed in Pedersen et al., 2005.
71. Cho et al., 1999; Insel and Hulihan, 1995; J. R. Williams et al.,
1994.
72. Kirsch et al., 2005; Kosfeld et al., 2005; Light et al., 2005; R. A.
Turner et al., 1999; R. A. Turner et al., 2002.
73. Young and Wang, 2004.
74. Anderson-Hunt and Dennerstein, 1995; Carmichael et al., 1994;
K. C. Light et al., 2000; K. C. Light et al., 2004; M. M. McCarthy and
Altemus, 1997; Pickering, 2003; Salonia et al., 2005; R. A. Turner et
al., 1999; R. A. Turner et al., 2002; Uckert et al., 2003; Uvnäs-
Moberg and Eriksson, 1996.
75. Bagdy and Arato, 1998; Depue and Morrone-Strupinsky, 2005; Insel
and Winslow, 1998; Panksepp, 1998; Panksepp, Knutson, and Pruitt,
1997; Schwarzberg et al., 1981.
76. A. P. Aron et al., 1989; Hazan and Diamond, 2000.
77. Gay, 1985; Hansen, 1992; Katz, 1976; Richards, 1987; Rotundo,
1989; Sahli, 1979; Smith-Rosenberg, 1975.
78. D’Emilio and Freedman, 1988; Pleck and Pleck, 1980; Richards,
1987; Smith-Rosenberg, 1975.
79. Von Sydow, 1995, p. 288.
80. Carter and Keverne, 2002; S. E. Taylor et al., 2000; Wallen and
Tannenbaum, 1997; Wrangham, 1980.
81. Baldwin, 1985; Dunbar, 1996; Wallen and Tannenbaum, 1997.
82. Keverne, Nevison, and Martel, 1999.
83. DeVries, Johnson, and Carter, 1997.
84. DeVries and Carter, 1999.
85. Mason and Mendoza, 1998.
86. Argiolas et al., 1987; Arletti and Bertolini, 1985; Caldwell, 2002;
Caldwell, Prange, and Pedersen, 1986; Carmichael et al., 1994;
Floody, Cooper, and Albers, 1998; Gorzalka and Lester, 1987; Riley,
1988.
87. Gagnon and Simon, 1973; Hyde and Durik, 2000.
88. Hyde and Durik, 2000; Leiblum and Rosen, 1988.
89. Caldwell et al., 1994; Carter, 1992; Hiller, 2004; M. M. McCarthy,
Kow, and Pfaff, 1992.
90. De Wied, Diamant, and Fodor, 1993; Panksepp, 1998.
322 • Notes to Pages 227–233
91. Blackwood, 1985, 2000; Fine, 1988; Tolman, 2002; Tolman and Diamond,
2001; Ussher and Baker, 1993; C. Vance, 1984.
92. Similar to arguments made by Hiller, 2004.
8. Implications of Female Sexual Fluidity
1. D. Carter, 2005; D’Emilio, 1983.
2. For example Faderman, 1991.
3. Loftus, 2001.
4. National Gay, Lesbian, and Bisexual Task Force, 2000.
5. Blumstein and Schwartz, 1990; Cass, 1990; DeCecco and Shively,
1984; Golden, 1987; Kitzinger, 1987; Kitzinger andWilkinson, 1995;
Peplau and Cochran, 1990; Peplau and Garnets, 2000; Peplau et al.,
1999; Rust, 1993.
6. Fogel, 1993; Fogel and Thelen, 1987; Thelen, Kelso, and Fogel, 1987;
Thelen and Smith, 1994.
7. Reviewed in Fausto-Sterling, 2000.
8. Christman, 2002; Elman, 1995; Fogel et al., 1992; Fogel and Thelen,
1987; Gilden, 1991; Granic and Patterson, 2006; Izard et al., 2000;
Lewis, 2000; Lewis et al., 2004; Magai and McFadden, 1995; Read
and Miller, 2002; Steenbeek and van Geert, 2005; Thelen and Smith,
1994; Tucker et al., 2005.
9. Fausto-Sterling, 2000.
10. Savin-Williams and Diamond, 2004; Tolman and Diamond, 2001;
Udry, 1990.
11. See Granic, 2005; Partridge, 2005; Tolman and Diamond, 2001.
12. Coleman and Watson, 2000; Lewis, 1995, 2000; Sameroff, 1975.
13. Thelen, 2005, pp. 259–260.
14. Fogel, 1993.
15. Erlhagen and Schöner, 2002; Schutte and Spencer, 2002; van Geert
and Steenbeek, 2005.
16. Pew Research Center for the People and the Press, 2006.
17. Reviewed in Patterson, 2003.
18. Federal Bureau of Investigation, 2004; Safe Schools Coalition of
Washington, 1999.
19. Knight, 2005.
20. Byrd, 2006.
21. Drescher, 2002.
Notes to Pages 233–252 • 323
22. Spitzer, 2003.
23. Beckstead, 2006, p. 79.
24. Murray, 2000.
25. Savin-Williams, 2005.
26. Kinsey, Pomeroy, and Martin, 1948, p. 639.
27. Rust, 2006.
28. Halsam and Levy, 2006.
29. Bem, 1993; Gilligan, 1982; Harding, 1991.
30. Hamilton College and Zogby International, 2001.
31. In Style magazine, December 2006, p. 141.
32. Savin-Williams, 2005, p. 1.
324 • Notes to Pages 252–258
Acknowledgments
Ritch Savin-Williams has been by my side as a trusted mentor, colleague,
and friend from the very first day I decided that I wanted to
interview a whole bunch of women and follow them for as long as
possible. He must have known that it would be pointless to try to
talk me out of it, and so instead he became my most steadfast and
stalwart supporter, as he remains to this day. I have learned so much
from him and cannot thank him enough.
I am also deeply grateful to a number of senior colleagues who
have been generous with their support and guidance, and who consistently
reassured me that this project was worthwhile: Cindy
Hazan, Carla Golden, Deb Tolman, and Anne Peplau.
I have been blessed by a loyal army of transcribers over the years,
all of them undergraduates at the University of Utah, who have
plowed through hundreds of hours of audiotape, faithfully representing
each woman’s story in perfect detail. I’m also grateful to the
Society for the Scientific Study of Sexuality and the Society for the
Psychological Study of Social Issues for providing grants to support
this effort.
Elizabeth Knoll, my editor at Harvard, shared my vision for this
book from the very beginning of the process, and her guidance was
pitch-perfect.
Mom, Dad, Nicole, Bob, Aidan, and Chloe: I don’t know very
many people with a family as extraordinarily loving as mine. Your
love and support have made all my successes possible and all my
setbacks easier to bear. And a special thanks goes to Marshall, with
whom I talked through many of the ideas in this book during long
summer runs in the hills above Griffith Park.
Most important, I thank my partner, soulmate, and wife, Judi.
There is no way I could have done this without you.
326 • Acknowledgments
Index
Adolescence, same-sex behavior during,
4
Adolescents, current generation of,
258
AIS. See Androgen insensitivity syndrome
American Psychiatric Association,
138
American Psychological Association,
138
Androgen, exposure in utero, 35, 37–
44
Androgen insensitivity syndrome, 38
Aron, A., 219
Arousability, 202, 204–215, 234
Attachment theory, 224–234
Attractions to the person, not the
gender. See Person-based attractions
Authentic versus inauthentic samesex
sexuality, 15, 50–52, 54, 71,
73, 88, 128, 156, 214, 257. See
also Subtypes of same-sex sexuality
Bailey, J. M., 23, 30, 99
Baumeister, R., 8, 141
Berenbaum, S., 37
Berscheid, E., 204, 209
Biological influences on sexuality, 5,
18–19
Bisexuality: difference from fluidity,
10, 88, 134; as a basic feature of
human sexuality, 10, 94, 134, 135;
previous research on, 27, 97; representation
among sexual minorities,
27, 97; as transitional, experimental,
or due to repression/
confusion, 61, 114, 115, 122;
switching to and from lesbian identities,
61–64, 66, 67; views within
the lesbian/gay community, 62, 72;
cultural visibility of, 62, 95; challenges
to identity development, 68;
negative stereotypes about, 70, 95,
96, 114–115, 133; as more socially
influenced than lesbianism, 72; as a
form of potential, 88, 94, 131–
132; as a form of “gender-free”
sexuality, 94, 125, 131, 183; gender
differences in, 95, 98; patterns
of sexual attraction, 106–109, 124,
130; associations with promiscuity
versus monogamy, 114–115; patterns
of sexual behavior, 116. See
also Nonexclusivity
Blackwood, E., 5
327
Blanchard, R., 45
Blumstein, P., 4, 8, 173
Bowlby, J., 224–225
Brain regions, research on, 35–36,
40–41, 218–219
Brown, L., 187
CAH. See Congenital adrenal hyperplasia
Cass, V., 7
Casual sex, 112
Categorical models of sexuality, 24–
25, 125, 201, 214, 236, 254, 256,
259
Causes of sexual orientation, 11, 28,
135; gender differences in ideas
about, 7, 209
CEOAEs. See Otoacoustic emissions
Change: in sexual attractions, 4, 6,
65, 116, 137–170, 244; in sexual
identity, 4, 62–70, 82, 110, 116,
147; in sexual behavior, 5, 67,
109–111, 116, 135, 161–163; in
sexual orientation, 11, 15, 65,
137, 142, 146, 160, 163, 168;
importance of studying, 238,
245
Chasing Amy, 2
Childhood experiences influencing
sexuality, 4, 32–33
Children: of gay/lesbian parents, 32,
247; having, 118–119, 122
Chivers, M., 99, 103–104
Choice about sexual orientation, 11,
17, 60, 73, 137–139, 143, 153,
163–167, 246–254
Clausen, J., 1, 114
Coming out, 46–47, 61–63, 75, 83,
120, 255
Companionate love, 216–217
Compulsory heterosexuality, 99. See
also Rich, A.
Concerned Women for America,
247–248
Congenital adrenal hyperplasia, girls
with, 37–38, 41, 43–44
Contextual influences on sexuality.
See Environmental influences on
sexuality
Continuum, 5
Cultural differences regarding samesex
sexuality, 4–5, 20, 48–49, 210,
220
Cultural influences on sexuality. See
Environmental influences on sexuality;
Sociocultural influences on
sexuality
Cypher, J., 1, 16, 186
DeGeneres, E., 1, 3, 50
DES (diethylstilbestrol), fetal exposure
to, 38, 43
Deterministic models of sexuality, 5,
130, 242, 244
Development of sexual orientation, 2
Dynamical systems theory, 237–246,
250–251
Emergence, 242–243, 253
Emotional bonds between women, 5,
69, 78–79, 113, 121, 129, 132,
187, 189–191, 219. See also Romantic
friendships
Emotional or romantic attractions,
50, 60, 113, 128, 213; discrepancies
from physical attractions, 77–
78, 128, 156, 158, 183, 189, 236;
among heterosexual women, 78–
79, 92, 190–192, 222. See also
Person-based attractions; Relationships,
as triggers for sexual feelings
or changes in sexuality
Environmental influences on sexuality,
17, 22–23, 32–34, 36, 38, 44,
328 • Index
47, 73, 129, 153, 161–164, 211,
213; individual differences in reactivity
to, 207, 215; gender differences
in reactivity to, 209, 233; interactions
with biological factors,
240, 250. See also Sociocultural influences
on sexuality
Equifinality, 241
Espin, O., 223
Essentialism, 19–21, 50–51, 124,
248, 269
Estrogen, associations with sexual
desire, 206. See also Menstrual cycle
influences on sexuality
Etheridge, M., 1
Ethnicity and ethnic minorities, 27,
48, 49, 56, 57, 58
Evolutionary origins of love and sexuality,
20, 22, 203, 210, 223–234
Exaptation, 226
Experimental same-sex behavior, 3,
72
Facultative same-sex sexuality. See
Situational same-sex sexuality
Faderman, L., 222
False consciousness, 50, 51
Family background, 57
Family reactions to same-sex sexuality,
57, 111, 151, 197, 200–201
Fausto-Sterling, A., 23, 239
Feelings of differentness, 38, 47, 49,
58, 72, 257
Feminine boys. See Gender
atypicality
Feminist views of sexuality, 21, 97–
99
Finger-length ratios, research on, 41–
42
Fisher, H., 219
Flexibility in sexual responsiveness,
3, 8, 11
Fluidity: history of, 3; definitions of,
3, 10, 11, 24, 84–85; evidence for,
5, 6; as a general property of sexuality,
6, 11, 134, 166–167; difference
from bisexuality, 10, 134;
misconceptions about, 10–12, 15,
236, 248; in men, 12, individual
differences in, 85, 86, 161, 243;
mechanisms responsible for, 202–
234
Focus on the Family, 247
Follow-up assessments: previous
studies using 54; in current study,
59
Fraternal birth-order effect, 39–40
Freud, S., 134, 142
Gagnon, J., 188
Gender atypicality, 37, 43, 44, 45,
47–49, 71–73, 156, 193–194
Gender differences: in changes in sexuality,
6, 50; in beliefs about causes
of sexual orientation, 7; in sexual
variability and nonexclusivity, 8,
52, 95, 141; in research findings on
physiological/genital arousal, 8,
100–102; in cultural suppression
of sexuality, 9, 51, 208, 232; in
same-sex sexuality, 17, 18, 19, 49,
50; in sex drive, 20, 208; in bisexuality/
nonexclusivity, 27, 95, 97–
102, 212; in biological influences
on same-sex sexuality, 29, 31, 34,
42, 46, 214; in brain structure and
function, 35, 40, 41; in implications
of gender atypicality, 44; in
attitudes about sex, 45; in sexual
identity development, 49, 52, 49;
in capacities for person-based attractions,
173; in links between romantic
love and sexual desire, 203,
233; in day-to-day proceptivity
Index • 329
Gender differences (continued)
and arousability, 208, 211–212; in
ideas about causes of sexual desire,
209
Gender identity, 193–201
Gender nonconformity. See Gender
atypicality
Gender reversal or inversion, 36, 42,
45, 193
Genetic influences, 23, 24, 27–34,
211
Genital arousal. See Physiological
arousal
Girl crush. See Romantic friendships
Golden, C., 6, 142
Goode, E., 3
Grosz, E., 22
Haber, L., 3
Hall, R., 222
Hamer, D., 27
Handedness, research on, 40
“Has-bian” (former lesbian), 1
Hate crimes, 247
Hazan, C., 224, 225
Heche, A., 1, 3, 16, 50, 186
Herdt, G., 4, 5
Heritability, 29–34
Heteroflexibility, 1
Heterosexual comparison group, 58,
59, 78–79, 132–133, 190
Heterosexuality, reidentifying as, 1,
63, 64, 67, 86, 147, 153–160,
170
Heterosexual women, fluidity in, 2,
57, 59
Hickok, L., 220
Homosexuality: as an inborn predisposition,
5; as an illness, 25,
43
Hormonal influences on sexuality,
35, 36, 140, 206–209
Hyde, J., 18
Identity. See Sexual identity
Infant-caregiver attachment. See Attachment
theory
Infatuation, 216–217, 225
Influences on sexuality. See Biological
influences on sexuality; Environmental
influences on sexuality; Genetic
influences; Hormonal influences
on sexuality; Menstrual cycle
influences on sexuality;
Sociocultural influences on sexuality
Interactions between culture and biology,
22, 23, 33, 46
Interview procedures, 59–61
King, G., 220–221
Kinsey, A., 25, 256
Kinsey Scale, 25, 55, 60, 98, 144,
145, 216
Kissing Jessica Stein, 2
Kitzinger, C., 7, 142
Klein, F., 4
Labels for sexual identity, 12; rejecting,
27, 64, 74–83, 87, 162, 256.
See also Unlabeled sexual identities
Lateralization of brain function, 35,
40
Laumann, E. O., 28, 127, 131, 140
Lesbian, flexible definitions of, 69
Lesbian continuum, 5
Lesbians, becoming involved with
men. See Other-sex attractions and
relationships
Lesbians, switching to bisexual labels,
61–64, 66, 67
“Lesbian Until Graduation.” See
LUG (lesbian until graduation).
LeVay, S., 41
Limerence. See Infatuation
Lippa, R., 101–102
Loewenstein, S., 142
330 • Index
Longitudinal research, 10, 53, 54;
previous studies, 54
LUG (lesbian until graduation), 1,
88. See also Phase, same-sex sexuality
as a
Madonna, 2
Mahay, J., 127
Marriage: heterosexual, 110, 115,
119, 138; same-sex, 195, 235, 247
Masculinizing effects of androgens,
35, 38, 39
Maternal immune pathway to sexual
orientation. See Fraternal birth-order
effect
Maternal stress, influences on sexual
orientation, 39
Measurement: of same-sex sexuality,
4, 8, 25, 28, 55, 60, 61, 99, 104,
155; of changes in sexuality, 143–
145
Men, women’s attractions to and relationships
with. See Other-sex attractions
and relationships
Men’s experiences, as basis for research
on sexual orientation, 2
Menstrual cycle influences on sexuality,
205–206, 209, 213
Methods of the study, 55–60
Milestones of sexual identity development,
49, 56, 66, 71, 83, 242
Models of sexual orientation, failure
to fit women’s experiences, 2, 15,
16
Money, J., 23, 130
MSM (men-who-have-sex-withmen),
27
Multifinality, 241
Mustankski, B., 18, 23
NARTH (National Association for
Research and Therapy of Homosexuality),
248
Nature versus nurture, 11, 17
Near, H., 1, 16, 114
Neuroendocrine theory of sexual orientation,
34–43
Nixon, C., 1, 16
Nonexclusivity, 13, 27, 68, 83, 87–
88, 91–136, 215; reason for using
this term instead of “bisexuality,”
13, 95–96. See also Bisexuality
Nonlinear variability, 241
Opportunistic same-sex sexuality. See
Situational same-sex sexuality
Other-sex attractions and relationships,
13, 14, 25, 50, 52, 60, 66,
67, 69, 89, 128; among lesbians,
69, 109–113, 150, 162, 181, 245;
as triggers for identity change,
113–114, 181; differences from
same-sex attractions, 128
Other-sex sexuality, definition of, 13
Otoacoustic emissions, 42
Oxytocin, 218, 226–228, 230, 232–
234
Pairbonding, 216, 225
Pansexual, as an identity label, 12,
199
Passionate friendships. See Romantic
friendships
Passionate love, 216
Person-based attractions, 90, 160,
171–201, 212, 213, 232, 250
Phase, same-sex sexuality as a, 1, 51,
86, 150, 153–154, 162, 169
Physiological arousal, 8, 99–104; discrepancies
from subjective arousal,
102–104, 127, 141
Plasticity in female sexuality, 8, 141
Political implications of fluidity, 15,
236, 246–259
Political lesbians, 54, 71
Prairie voles, 230
Index • 331
Pratt, M. B., 14
Prenatal hormones. See
Neuroendocrine theory of sexual
orientation
Primates, research on, 204, 225, 230
Proceptivity, 202, 204–215, 234
Prototypes of same-sex sexuality, 15,
26, 47
Pryor, D., 6
Queer, as an identity label, 12, 187,
197
Questioning of sexuality, 6, 47, 48,
56, 66, 71, 72, 89, 120, 164; as
prompted by political involvement,
6, 47, 50, 73, 120; as an identity
label, 81–82, 155
Rapp, R., 46
Receptivity, 205. See also
Arousability
Recruitment of research participants,
25, 27, 30, 31, 56
Regan, P., 204, 209
Reimer, D., 32–33
Relationships, as triggers for sexual
feelings or changes in sexuality, 2–
3, 7, 69, 76, 93, 114, 168, 174,
176–177, 181, 189, 201, 207, 212,
213, 231–234, 243, 253
Reorientation therapy. See Reparative
therapy
Reparative therapy, 11, 138–139,
169, 248, 252
Research: on sexual orientation, 2;
on bisexuality, 4, 6; on female sexuality,
6
Retrospection about changes in sexuality,
51, 142–143
Rich, A., 5, 99
Romantic friendships, 219–223,
229–230, 243
Romantic love, 2, 7, 69, 77, 91, 93,
113, 173–174, 203, 215–234; as
distinct from sexual desire, 203,
216–218; leading to sexual desire,
203, 231–234, 243; different types
of, 216; as “unoriented,” 223–231;
as based in infant-caregiver attachment,
224–234. See also Infatuation;
Pairbonding; Romantic
friendships
Roosevelt, E., 220
Ross, E., 46
Rust, P. C. R., 7, 61, 110, 111
Same-sex attractions, 5, 13, 38, 60,
65, 69, 106–108, 117; initial experiences
of, 47, 50, 141, 142; differences
from other-sex attractions,
128–129, 155
Same-sex behavior, 3, 25, 27, 28, 33,
48, 49, 50, 67. See also Change, in
sexual behavior
Same-sex sexuality, definition of, 13
Sampling of research participants.
See Recruitment of research participants
Savin-Williams, R. C., 258
Schwartz, P., 4, 8, 173
Sepekoff, B., 4
SES. See Socioeconomic status
Sex atypicality. See Gender
atypicality
Sex and the City, 1
Sex drive: changes in, 8; gender differences
in, 20; and interest in female
versus male partners, 101–
102
Sexual attractions. See Sexual desire
Sexual desire, 12–14, 20–21, 88, 92;
physiological measures of, 99–105;
difficulty in defining, 124–131;
changes in, 137–170; for the person,
not the gender, 171–201; different
types of, 202, 204–215; hor-
332 • Index
monal influences on, 206–209; as
distinct from romantic love, 203,
216–218; developing as a result of
romantic love, 203, 231–234, 243;
gender differences in, 208–209,
211–212. See also Change, in sexual
attractions; Nonexclusivity;
Person-based attractions
Sexual dysfunction, 21, 140
Sexual identity: definition of, 12; development
and timing of expression,
47–49, 56, 61, 64, 66, 68, 71,
83, 85, 89, 66, 242; changes in,
61–70; defined according to gender
of current partner, 70
Sexual-minority, definition of, 14
Sexual orientation: as a fixed trait, 2,
8, 50, 236; traditional assumptions
about, 2, 24, 236; relationship to
fluidity, 10, 256; definition of, 12.
See also Change, in sexual orientation;
Categorical models of sexuality
Shaver, P., 224, 225
Shuster, R., 7
Situational influences on sexuality.
See Environmental influences on
sexuality
Situational same-sex sexuality, 74,
84, 88, 131, 161, 211
Situation-dependent sexual desire.
See Arousability
Smashes. See Romantic friendships
Social constructionism, 5, 19
Social stigma versus tolerance of
same-sex sexuality, 48, 111, 153–
154, 175
Sociocultural influences on sexuality,
7, 9, 17, 19, 21
Socioeconomic status, 57
Sophie, J., 4
Spears, B., 2
Stability in sexual orientation or
identity, 2, 10, 15, 45–46, 54, 61,
65
Stereotypes: about homosexuality,
43, 44; about bisexuality, 70, 95,
96, 114–115, 133
Stonewall riots, 235
Subtypes of same-sex sexuality, 54,
71, 83–84, 88, 131–136, 212–215.
See also Authentic versus
inauthentic same-sex sexuality
Summers, L., 35
Sundahl, D., 1
Tennov, D., 217
Terminology, 13
Testosterone: use among
transgendered participants, 196,
199, 200; associations with sexual
desire, 206
Thelen, E., 240
Tomboys. See Gender atypicality
Transgender, 193–201
Twin research, 30, 31
Unlabeled sexual identities, 55, 63–
64, 67, 74–83, 105–107, 116, 135,
185–186. See also Labels for sexual
identity
Vasopressin, 218, 226, 228
Weinberg, M., 6
Well of Loneliness, 222
Whisman, V., 7
Wilkinson, S., 7, 142
Williams, C., 6
Williams, W., 220
Winfrey, O., 220–221
Winslet, K., 258
Wolf, T., 4
WSW (women-who-have-sex-withwomen),
27
Index • 333