Here in the UK we've just begun a new academic year, as a nation heads back to school. For some, it will be the year they get (some form of) sex education. For others, it might signal moving to University (a land of new experiences and lost virginities if ever there was one) and then there are those for whom little or nothing will chance and sex will seldom be mentioned let alone practiced.

R and I had been dating for a couple of months when he started at a (relatively) nearby University. He moved into halls of residence and I spent each weekend over there, and occasional week nights too, commuting back to my college for classes.

If I spent two nights a week there, I’d expect at least one of those nights to involve sex, of some form. We experimented and I got into the habit of taking toys and lube with me on my weekend stays, so my college bag on a Friday often had vibes, dildos and bottles of anal lube alongside my textbooks and pens! I’m eternally glad no one ever saw fit to go through my bag.

Sex in halls was challenging at times, but still a whole lot of fun. A single bed, with a headboard that was a little overly fond of banging against the wall, oh joy. That taught us the joy of standing-up-sex, with me bent over the bed. Paper thin walls taught me there had been some value in learning the art of silent sex when we’d both still lived at our parents’. We escaped with only a couple of accusations of being heard by our friend in the room directly below us, and as he went on to share a house with us this year, it seems the memory can’t have been too traumatic?

Then, with the impending summer of 2009, came the fact that R’s stay in halls was coming to an end. He and his friends needed a house. I’d decided to go to the same University, and joined them in the house hunt. Sure enough, July rolled around and we all moved in. Seven of us in total, five boys and two girls. Five singletons, and a couple.

I remember our first night in the new house together. It was odd, we lived together. I was sleeping next to R without the knowledge I’d be leaving within a day or two. A good sort of odd, though.

I don’t know where the presumption had come from but I’d always assumed more time together equalled more sex. It seemed obvious and natural that it would be the case. Now, 9 months on, I can tell you it doesn’t work that way. With me, it probably would, but it doesn’t seem to with R. Sometimes that can be difficult for me to handle. I feel like “hey, we’re together, we should definitely be screwing!” but he’s often tired or up early in the morning, and I have to accept that.

The handy thing (sexually) about living together though, is that sex has much less of a schedule now. Whereas before, sex could only happen at the weekend (when I visited), now it could be whenever. It also means all our toys are under one roof, so he can tie me up, pin me down and surprise me with whatever he wants to use on me at that time. Which, for a deviant little sub girl like me, is divine.

In terms of our relationship, living together has had varied effects. For the most part, it’s a good thing. I love living with him and miss him terribly when we’re apart. However, we have argued over ridiculous things since living together, and there is an added strain that living in a shared house brings – when others have left the place a complete pigsty, it’s easy to find yourself ratty with your significant other.

My advice to other young couples about to move in? Have patience. It’s a learning curve for both of you, and you’ll likely both need to adapt. Go in with an open mind too, as the effect on your relationship may not be what you expected, but can manifest in many different ways. Lastly, have fun. Cherish your partner and appreciate the fact that you get to live with them, sharing in the good times and bad, and get to be there when they need someone to laugh with, and someone to pick them up.

I’m really lucky. The person who tried to force me into something I didn’t want was stupid enough to do it in a club where I had friends nearby. It probably sounds like nothing if I recount my own personal tale now. But for me, it was very real, and had a very real affect on my life.

He vaguely knew a friend of mine I was sitting with. He seemed intelligent enough initially. He focussed his attention towards me. Flattering enough, but I wasn’t interested. No big deal, you’d think. He offered to buy me a drink – in what could be construed as a friendly, if blatantly seeking-to-score move. I politely declined. I don’t take drinks from people I’m not interested in – it’s a personal choice but I don’t like to risk people thinking I’m into them when I’m not.

I noticed his tone change. He wasn’t disappointed that I’d turned down his offer; he was offended, angry even. I remember him saying “no one refuses a drink from me”. By this point, our mutual friend had gone to the bar, leaving us alone. Moving from the opposite side of the booth to mine, he pushes me down. He tries to kiss me and I twist and turn to keep my face from him. For a moment I feel helpless. I find any strength I can and push with all my might, just as he bites into my neck.

Somehow, I manage to create enough of a gap and slide out, running as fast as my legs will take me. I find my friends, including one particularly tough looking friend, and tell them what I’m running from. I believe a ‘quiet word’ was had, where it was made clear he was to never think about trying that again with any girl in there.

A few months later, I notice a group of new employees being walked through the call centre I was working in at the time. I remember the feeling of my breath rushing out of my body as I recognised a familiar face. For many months, he worked on the next team across from me.

The upshot of the experience for me was to learn that an assault doesn’t have to be ‘successful’ to affect you. He may not have managed to get where he wanted – and I don’t know how far he’d have taken it if he had – but the fact someone had disregarded my rights as a person so forcefully, so publicly, and so carelessly… hurt. It made me angry and afraid and a whole bunch of other emotions that I still can’t put my finger on.

In my opinion, far too many people would be inclined to say that if the attacker wasn’t successful in their bid that it’s nothing more than a close shave. It’s easy to forget the fact that the attempt in its own right is traumatic.

I’m not playing the victim on this one. It’s not something I feel I have allowed to hold me back, or alter my choices in life. However, it has taken me a long time to accept that his actions on that night did affect me. To accept that they did contribute to my anxiety problems for a long time, and possibly even go some way to explaining some trust issues I’ve had to work on. Saying that, I will always cherish how lucky I was to get away.

There is no get-out clause here. Just because the person who you tried to attack fought you off, or because someone defended them, or for whatever reason it didn’t go to plan; you still did it.

Greedy, unsure, just experimenting, going through a phase, a slut, a liar.

All things that I have heard bisexual people referred to as, in today’s so-called modern society.

Whether intentional or unthinking, bisexual denial is a frustrating thing for bisexual, pansexual or ‘fluid’ people to have to deal with. It became unacceptable, in the majority of places, to pass comment on a gay or lesbian person for their sexuality, yet it seems that bisexuality lags behind. Even in the LGBT scene, there are so many who see bisexuality in a different light to the rest of the queer community.

One problem I feel society seems to hold with non-binary sexualities is that they just won’t fit neatly into a box. In a world made up of shades of grey, where so little is defined black-or-white, this makes so little sense. In reality, fewer people than you might think would comfortably slot into the gay/straight categories. Routinely, though, people who have publicly identified themselves as being bisexual or pansexual are relabelled as gay or straight by the media, or members of the public. Even in purportedly LGBT-positive shows bisexuality takes another beating. A prime example comes in the form of the hit show The L Word. There are several depictions of bisexuality during the show, most notably from Alice. However, it is frequently shown to create social tension, or to be a phase or a stepping stone to the woman in question recognising she is in fact a lesbian.

Most frequently in the media we see bisexuals labelled as being straight when they’re with an opposite-gendered partner and gay when they’re with a same-sex partner. And of course between times, they must have just “changed their mind”. Even media that presents itself as being pro-LGBT can often be found using terms like “the gay and lesbian community”, effectively immediately excluding the half of the acronym.

“Hi, waiter? Yeah, I’ll take my confused sexuality with a side of indecision please!”

This isn’t just the case in the media though, friends and family are just as guilty of this binary pigeonholing. I remember at the age of 17, I was dating my first girlfriend. This was, admittedly to be a fairly complex and dramatic relationship – but I firmly believe that had nothing to do with her gender and everything to do with who she was! I do remember being in a car with my best friend at the time, and her parents. Her dad giggled childishly while asking if I really was gay, before explaining that he and his wife had a bet on, the prize of a sherbet dib-dab up for grabs, on whether this was “a phase”. I tried to explain I was bisexual. I gave up after a while.

At the same age (17 was a big year for me!), I remember telling my mother that I was bisexual. I didn’t do it very well, any time would likely have been better than mid-argument, but I remember it being one of those things that really just happened naturally. I yelled that it was hard for me to listen to the things she’d say. I have known from a young age that my parents, and in particular my mum, have had gay and lesbian friends. My mum has said before that she has no problem with gay people but admitted to me on several occasions that she did have a problem with bisexuals. I don’t remember having a huge battle with myself over liking both genders, and remember being conscious of my natural liking of boys and girls from a fairly young age, as young as 10 or 11 even.

I strongly believe both the media attitude and that of the public can be attributed to a misconception of choice. That bisexuals should just “pick a side” and be done with it. If a heterosexual or homosexual person was told they should choose either short or tall people, it’d be seen as absurd. I see the concept of a bisexual person “choosing” to date only one gender in much the same way.

Criticisms of bisexuality have come from sources such as studies showing bisexual-identified males showing unequal sexual excitement to images depicting either males or female; however all this demonstrates is the comparative rarity of a true 50/50 bisexuality. Enter the Kinsey scale. As overly simplistic as it may be, the Kinsey scale introduced the concept of a scale of sexuality excellently, suggesting that people can be, and are, somewhere on a scale between absolute homosexuality and absolute heterosexuality, with being equally-balanced bisexual as the midpoint. Within this scale, everyone sees themselves at their own point (mine is roughly centre) but ultimately everything that isn’t at either end, falls under the category of being, to either more or less of a degree, bisexual.

The single biggest irritant for a bi-identified person (or at least, if said person is anything like me) is the pseudo-bisexual. I have no problem with girls who kiss their friends for a laugh. I don’t even have a problem with those who do it for the attention. But please, oh please, don’t call yourself bisexual…

All things considered I guess my biggest wish is just that sooner or later – hopefully sooner – bisexuality will be seen as every bit as valid and complete a sexuality as homosexuality and heterosexuality are. I’m bisexual. I always will be, regardless of the gender of the person I am in a relationship with. I am not a slut, a liar or attention seeking. Nor am I confused.

I am me, and I fall for who I fall for – just like you.