I actually have not got a clue how to begin with this, so I'll tell you some of the boring stuff first. I'm 18 and I'm bisexual (and bodice rippingly proud of it!). At the moment I'm actually unemployed, having freed myself from the clutches of my mad ex employer. My favourite bands are Placebo, Mansun, Portishead and The Army of Lovers and I also like Beck, PJ Harvey and Nick Cave. Being astoundingly lazy, I avoid sport like the plague. My hobbies are taking the mickey out of my boyfriend for being an ageing goth, drinking a lot and falling over. I'd just like to assure everyone that although whenever you find someone bisexual they're always with someone of the opposite sex, I am a genuine fence sitter, and am definitely not doing it just to be fashionable.

Right, now we can get to the juicy bits. Picture, if you will, a young schoolgirl, approximately 14 years of age. That's me. Now make your schoolgirl very unhappy, because as she is perceived to be 'different' in some way, all the people she hung around with at school have deserted her. That's still me. As you can no doubt imagine, this left me with a not inconsiderable amount of time on my hands to think. For a few months, I'd noticed I was more attracted to girls than to boys. I just noticed boys, and got on quite well with them as friends, but never fancied them. Girls just seemed nicer, and I couldn't quite see why anyone would fancy boys over girls. (Feel free to insert your own smutty humour here.) Fortunately, for my peace of mind, this realisation didn't really bother me, but it did seem to bother other people. So I thought, and thought, and gradually became more attracted to women. Fast forwarding a year, well, forwards, I was 15 and realising that as long as I was happy with myself that was all that mattered. I first admitted to myself that I was a lesbian. 'But wait' I hear you cry 'you said you were, and I quote, "a genuine fence sitter". What gives?' to which I can only reply, read the story and all will become clear. I never actually told anyone at school that I way gay, but dropped some heavy hints through conspicuous Doc Marten and short hair wearing. Yes, I know it's a terrible cliche, but it gives the hint to heterosexuals.

The first person in my family I told was my mother, although possibly she already knew due to the Doc Martens. Or she may have thought it was a failed attempt to do grunge. Who knows? The point is, she went a little quiet, but all in all coped with it very well. Even my father, never exactly the chairman of the 'We Love Gay People Society', accepted it quite well, and continued to treat me the same as ever. He was never actually explicitly told, but all the family went away to France for a holiday and when we came back, he knew due to hints not so much dropped as hurled by my brothers, who were very helpful in that. Despite my pathetic attempts at humour in this piece, the main point is that even parents who seem very un-gay-friendly may well surprise you with their reaction if and when you come out to them.

I went to college, where the people were a lot better than at school in the 'mental age of more than two' stakes. My real friends accepted me, although there was a little trouble when I and a male friend of mine both fancied the same girl! I inadvertently told everyone in college about me by mentioning quite loud in the canteen and not noticing everyone was looking and also telling someone in class when I had a go at him for saying the work he was doing was 'well queer'. So, things went on. I started going to Freedom Youth, back in the halcyon days when it was still called Basingstoke Under 26 Lesbian, Gay and Bisexual Youth Group or something similarly snappy, and made a lot of friends there. I also went to an LGB group at college, which unfortunately we couldn't advertise because as soon as the posters went up, some resident 'clever' Neanderthal would rip them down proving you don't need to be a rocket scientist to be homophobic. I went to Pride and to Summer Rites, two big gay festivals, on trips organised by the ever sexy and gorgeous Bruce and Simeon. I was happy as a lesbian, my family and friends all knew and everything was going fine.

But! Here's where the bisexual part comes in. All through the time described above, I considered myself a lesbian who occasionally fancied the odd man. (And believe me, there were odd!) However, I'd just started my new job when a gorgeous and rather sexy man, doing a fine impression of a bearded bean pole, asked me out and I said yes, on condition the beard went. It did. So from then on I have been an official bisexual, and I can tell you that while gay may be good, bisexual is better! I can also very happily report that the rumours about bad treatment of bisexuals by gay people have, in my case, been unfounded. I'm actually very glad to be bisexual, because I was a useless lesbian. Even though I had a head start through the traditional tomboy childhood, I didn't play pool or drink beer, and I utterly hated sport. Also, the fact that all my friends were gay men meant that they always wanted to go where there were other gay men, so I never even got to meet any available women! The actual worst thing about it all has been the 'told you so' expressions on the faces of sundry heterosexuals I've told, which quickly vanished when I've said I still fancy women! As to how I see myself in later life, I can only answer 'in the lap of luxury, filthy rich and surrounded by hordes of scantily clad nymphs and greek gods all following my every whim'. I think that sounds perfectly plausible, and now I've got to go and train my fleet of flying pigs.

Finally, apart from stopping the stubble rash I get from my boyfriend, I wouldn't change anything about my life. Except to make the above luxury/rich/nymph/Greek God thing happen.