I am a woman who finds the occasional woman sexually attractive. It is a physical desire, not an emotional one, and sex for me has always been more of an emotional experience (I get clingy after sex and have no desire for an emotional relationship with a woman), so I've never really acted on it and have rounded myself up to straightish and moved on. My fantasies don't always revolve around women, and are highly varied in the gender of the participants and the activities involved.

I've met and fallen in love with a great, smart, strong, and sex-positive man. We are getting married in a few months, and couldn't be happier. He knows about my straightish orientation. I'm having the best sex of my life, and it keeps getting better. But my straightish orientation coupled with my rather androgynous clothing style—I work in IT, and am taken more seriously when I don't dress too girly, besides, it is comfortable—have him worried that I am some deeply closeted lesbian. I can tell that he is genuinely concerned, and only wants me to be happy. But this is coming up often enough (a few times a week) to the point where I am starting to question myself. I've never "come out" about this to anyone else, and frankly wish that he would just get over it already. I know that he is the person for me, but I'm trying to figure out how to get him to move on. Reassurances aren't cutting it. I'm 40, not 20, so this isn't my first rodeo.

I'm Good With Straightish

If your fiancé won't take "not a lesbian" for an answer—to say nothing of great straight sex that just keeps getting better—I can't imagine anything I might say to him making a difference.

But there is something you can and should say to him, IGWS. The next time your fiancé asks/whines/insecures about the possibility that you're a deeply closeted lesbian, IGWS, blow the fuck up at him. In a controlled and strategic way, of course, and with your subsequent remarks already prepared and rehearsed. You could write your own speech or you can memorize the one I've written for you: "For fuck's sake, honey, I am fucking done reassuring you about this. I am not a lesbian. I'm a straightish woman, a slightly butchish woman, and I happen to be in love with you and your dick—that's highly unlesbianlike behavior, don't you think? I'm also sick of having to talk you off the same damn ledge three times a week. So I'm going to say this one more time: I am not a deeply closeted lesbian. From here on out, you're gonna have to reassure yourself on this point. Which means the next time you start feeling insecure about my sexuality, honey, you're going to reflect on all the head I've given you and engage in a little auto-reassurio."

The best reassurance that you're not a deeply closeted lesbian isn't the head you're giving him, of course, or the all the great straight sex. It's the passage of time. The longer you're together, the longer you go without coming out as a dyke, the more secure he can be that you are who you say you are. But the two of you are never get to that point—you won't experience the passage of serious time together—if his insecurities prompt you to dump his ass before or shortly after the wedding.