If I reject their advances, they can categorize me as a tease or a bitch. Only when I make it explicitly known that I'm not interested because of my sexuality, do they label me appropriately. It bothers me that I must carry the burden of proof, that I must continually defend my selfhood. When I go out with my wife, things change. The leers appear.
People stare, trying to understand.
Clearly we are not chums from the office or friends on our way to the one-day sale at Macy's. There is a dynamic created by our disparate appearances, a dynamic that does not fit mainstream explanations. Even other lesbians regard me differently. When I'm alone, I can give a dyke the eye until the cows come home, and she'll never even glance in my direction. Or if she does, she'll glance quickly away again, paranoia in her eyes, afraid that she'll be caught cruising the straight girl.