I remember from a very young age thinking girls were so much more fun than boys. Not in a “boys are yucky way,” just in a “I like girls way.” I didn’t seem to care whether my friends were girls or boys. I liked both for different reasons. And I had crushes on both throughout my childhood.

Much of how I feel about my sexuality was shaped by my mother. My mom was a humanist in the Buddhist tradition of the word. She believed in equality and the inherent dignity of all human beings. She drilled in to me that all persons deserved to be treated with dignity and respect, regardless of their race, religion, age, socio-economic status, and gender. There wasn’t a discriminatory bone in her body. “We are all on the same planet, living, breathing and sharing space,” she would say.

So, I grew up thinking like my mom. I believed in equality and humanity, and that good will prevail over evil. I also grew up with a talent for dance, also thanks to my mom. My mom had studied ballet for the better part of her childhood and she would teach me ballet barre with a kitchen chair in the living room; it was the best! I could think of nothing I wanted to be when I grew up except a dancer and a mother, and eventually both came true.

When I was 14 years old, I applied for a scholarship to go to a prestigious summer school to dance in Boston, one of the oldest cities in the U.S. Unbelievably, I got it! My mom and dad helped me scrape together every penny we could to get me there for what was supposed to be three weeks. I never came home. I stayed with family friends, met my husband, and pursued my goal to become a modern dancer. I was living the dream.

"She is married, and so am I...She is 17 years older than me and I am in awe of everything about her. Her mind, her spirit, and her body."

Fast forward 13 years. It is now 1987. I have moved back to Canada, I have two beautiful daughters, and I have trained with some of the finest modern, ballet, and jazz teachers on the east coast of Canada and the U.S. I also have met a woman, a choreographer, a dancer (trained by none other than Martha Graham, the mother of modern dance), and above all, a humanist and a believer in all that is good.

She is married, and so am I. She casts me as a dancer in a piece she is choreographing. She is 17 years older than me and I am in awe of everything about her. Her mind, her spirit, and her body. We dance until we drop literally day after day, month after month, and year after year. I felt like there was absolutely nothing else I could want in life. I had it all. One day, we were rehearsing a particularly difficult duet and we were so exhausted we fell to the dance floor and started laughing so hard at what we figured we were earning to create this dance—approximately 7 cents an hour. Ahh the price of love! We truly loved dance and I know, now, we truly loved each other.

We decided to call it an early day and pulled our sweaty selves off the dance floor and went back into the dressing room. I looked in the mirror and saw her staring at me and in that moment our eyes met. She walked over, past the mirror, in front of me, and said, “you know, I love you.” She touched my face, swept back my hair, and kissed me. It was the sweetest kiss I had ever had. For a moment, the world stopped and it was truly just us acknowledging our love and sealing it with a kiss. I took a breathe, smiled, and kissed her back.

We were lovers from that day forward, until I left my husband and she didn’t. Over time that wedge was enough to separate us forever. We tried many times to be in touch and find some sort of place to be but, it never worked out. It haunted me for years, every time I went to a dance performance, every time I danced or choreographed, and later, when I was diagnosed with HIV.

"I never deny a connection I feel with another human being, whether that’s smiling at a sweet and sexy woman on the bus...or just loving myself a little more one day at a time. I’m optimistic. My goal is to have unbridled passionate sex before the end of 2018."

After my diagnosis, I stopped dancing and I tried, in so many ways, to reach out to her. I called and she never responded. I talked to people we both knew at the time; they didn’t really want to get involved or talk about it. So, I never heard from her again. I don’t know if she’s alive or where she lives any more. But, I think about her a lot and have looked for her in many women since.

I have not had sex with anyone since my diagnosis. I came close a few times. Once with a woman and once with a man, but it just wasn’t meant to be. I became unavailable or off the market, as it were. I wasn’t interested in online dating and, because of HIV, I changed the way I presented myself as a sexual being. I also learned a lot about myself and about being bi-sexual.

Now, I’m coming out of my sexual shell. I try to cast a line out once in a while and see if I get a bite. I never deny a connection I feel with another human being, whether that’s smiling at a sweet and sexy woman on the bus, which is generally where my eyes wander these days (and to be honest, it seems all the men I am attracted to are gay, go figure!) or just loving myself a little more one day at a time. I’m optimistic. My goal is to have unbridled passionate sex before the end of 2018. (I’ll keep you posted.)

But my challenge is, I think, more than sex. I am looking for that elusive moment of a first kiss with a new lover—the moment that makes everything feel fucking amazing, like the first time she kissed me.

I want to acknowledge her, wherever she may be, for loving me the way she did and all that we shared when I was younger, before I became HIV-positive. She taught me to love and accept my humanism for all the definitions it lends itself to be. She was my first female lover and hopefully, someday, will not be my last.

I am so grateful I kissed her back, and, if you are out there, I would love to hear from you... I miss dancing with you in the dark.

________________________________________________

Join the conversation. Share your thoughts below in the comments section. When did your first kiss happen?