I’ve been around since 1968; I was born and brought up in a state capital in the south of Germany. My childhood was normal by the standards of the time. Queerness wasn’t an issue and „gay“ was a swear word, although nobody really knew why. As puberty set in, it became apparent quite early on – at least to me – that my sexual identity wasn’t following a straight path, and that it certainly strayed from „normal“ behaviour, such as group masturbation at the ski school camp. Here, then, is the big disclaimer for everything else that was to happen to me …
My birthday is in August, just after the so-called cut-off date set for starting nursery and, above all, for starting school. I don’t know if that sort of thing still exists today, but back then it was effectively decided that I would always be a year older than my peers and classmates. After having to repeat Year 9 at grammar school – which, at the time, applied to at least 40 of my classmates and was quite normal – things got even more extreme. So, during the heady years of my sexual awakening, I was one of the first to have a moped, an „80er“, and eventually a car.
As well as these assets, I was also taller, broader and stronger, which inevitably led to greater self-confidence. If we’d been in an American high school comedy, I’d always have been one of the „cool“ kids. In other words, I had a large, close-knit circle of friends and, due to my latent homosexuality, also a large circle of female friends – though both should be understood strictly in a platonic sense.
These days, I suppose people would call my family home „supportive“, as my occasional flirting with homosexuality and „gay“ stereotypes didn’t faze my parents in the slightest. Although my father was very conservative, I can still remember being given a stern telling-off when, at the age of perhaps 11, I once again used the word „gay“ as a derogatory synonym, and he explained to me that I should stop doing so as a way of not belittling gay people. Those weren’t his exact words, but that was the gist of what he said. It wasn’t until many years later, after my father had already passed away, that I understood how progressive that reprimand was, and looking back, I’m impressed. My father had a number of gay acquaintances, both personally and professionally, which was never an issue for him. Nevertheless, I still remember how he used to wonder who was „the woman“ and who was „the man“ in a gay or lesbian couple. It was simply a different time. As a young adult with a background in queer activism, I once tried to explain the world to him during one of these moments of speculation, only for him to reply, with a touch of indignation, that he was perfectly well aware of the facts but could still speculate. As he never did this in public, but only within the smallest of circles, I can accept that.
My mother, on the other hand, confined herself to a not entirely serious lament about the possible lack of grandchildren. She had an anecdote about how a classmate at her girls’ boarding school in Switzerland had made advances towards her, but she realised relatively quickly – we still don’t know how – that she was straight through and through.
All in all, it has to be said that I am a typical representative of Generation X. Our parents had more important things to do than fuss over us. The priority was to safeguard the prosperity they had built up, and that meant the children sometimes had to fend for themselves.
No, my parents weren’t exactly „supportive“. But nobody really stood in our way as we grew up, and a mild lack of interest is almost a form of acceptance in itself. We weren’t given much guidance either. But we were given enough pocket money to buy *BRAVO* magazine and read it without being told off.
I wasn’t gay. I had too much love and fun with girls for that. I’d had some great sexual experiences with lads, and perhaps one or two of those flings might have led to more than just sex. But the time wasn’t right for that yet. Not because it wouldn’t have been possible. It was just that heterosexual relationships were the norm and therefore the easiest option. So there wasn’t time for anything else.
Despite all the sex-positivity and alternative relationship models, to which I am now drawn both in theory and in practice, for the general public, sticking to a monogamous relationship is still the norm today. And back then, I was decidedly – or at least „serially“ – monogamous.
My „first time“ was amazing and spectacular – with a woman, just before her wedding. When I was 14, I came across the term „bisexual“. Unfortunately, I can’t remember where I heard it. That’s when I found my label. Back then – and still today – I thought it was simply brilliant to describe myself that way with such confidence. That’s why I’ve understood for a very long time why labels can be liberating for many people, along with the knowledge that you’re not alone in the world. In other words, long live the pigeonhole! Especially because you can step into a pigeonhole and step out of it again at any time – that’s what’s known as fluidity, and in my view it’s a wonderful thing.
Otherwise, my youth wasn’t explicitly spent in the queer scene, apart from the odd visit to relevant venues with my circle of friends and regular trips to see the *Rocky Horror Picture Show* whilst cross-dressing. We were also, without exception, heavy metal fans, and our favourite hangouts were therefore not necessarily compatible with those of the queer scene.
Even whilst doing my compulsory military service, I tended to be quite outspoken about my sexual orientation. This probably played a part in one of my comrades coming out as gay. Of course, there were some very conservative people amongst my comrades and superiors. But looking back, I can’t recall any incidents of anti-queer behaviour, apart from a few stupid comments born of ignorance – though these were usually called out.
In 1991, I moved to Berlin to study and found myself in a queer bubble practically from the very start. My first Pride march was in 1992. Those years marked the height of the AIDS crisis, so it was very much on my friends’ minds too. A friend of mine worked at a specialist pharmacy in the Motzstraße neighbourhood, where she also lived. We often went to her flat and to the local haunts.
I wasn’t gay; I described myself as bisexual whenever it was appropriate. Sex in those days was difficult; HIV cast a shadow over everything. Nevertheless, I felt safer in that respect amongst gay men than in heterosexual society, because awareness was much greater. When you’re confronted week in, week out with who’s HIV-positive, who’s in the terminal stages of AIDS and who’s died, you become extremely aware of the issue. As I still largely regarded monogamy as the ideal norm back then, I considered myself safer than others.
Of course, I am all too familiar with the hostility of that era, when bi+ people were labelled „virus spreaders“ and accused of bringing HIV into the heterosexual mainstream. But I never suffered as a result, and thanks to my experiences and connections within the queer community, I was always able to engage with these discussions in a well-informed and confident manner.
I had a driving licence and a car – something of a rarity even back then in Berlin – which made me the ideal person for certain errands and the like. Every now and then I’d drive HIV patients to the doctor, transport items for a funeral, or help clear out a house. It was here that I also gained my first insights into the workings of queer organisations, foremost among them Berliner Aids-Hilfe. These were more like occasional favours for friends than genuine activism.
At the CSD, visibility has always been particularly important to me – even without fancy outfits and glitter. I even appeared on the telly once, when I happened to be in front of the camera during a pan shot of the march. I was as proud as punch. Unfortunately, television was still broadcast on a linear basis back then, so I could only tell my friends and family about it.
In my relationships My bisexuality has always been common knowledge. Fortunately, it never led to any drama. Even today, many relationships between bi+ people and straight people still break down because of the stereotype that assumes – or even accuses – the bi+ person of being sexually insatiable. Fortunately, that was never the case for me.
After completing my degree in 1998, I moved back to southern Germany for a good two years for professional reasons, this time to the real countryside. There, too, I spoke openly and confidently about my sexuality. Of course, I didn’t introduce myself by saying, „Hello, my name’s Thilo and I’m bisexual,“ but I seized every opportunity that came my way. Usually, whenever someone made an insensitive remark, I’d be quick to say, „Listen, that’s completely unacceptable!“ And when the question then arose as to how I knew that, my answer was, „Because it affects me“ or „Because it’s about me“. I can’t recall a single negative reaction to such a statement. But of course, I was also very lucky in this respect. I was a member of my employer’s family, and we held a special position in the village. That can be a curse or a blessing. In my case, fortunately, it was a blessing.
That has shaped me too. Since then, I’ve changed jobs quite a few times and have been out from the very start wherever I’ve worked. I’ve always mentioned my commitment to the queer community straight away in job interviews. And whilst it may occasionally have been a reason not to hire me, from my admittedly privileged perspective, that’s not really a disadvantage. Who wants to work in a biphobic workplace anyway?
In 2011, I met my now wife. In 2012, we heard about the open bisexual meet-up at the Sonntags-Club. In January 2013, we attended this meet-up for the first time and immediately had a stall at the Motzstraßenfest, which was organised as an offshoot of this meet-up. In 2016, my wife and I got married. In 2018, BiBerlin e.V. was founded out of the Sonntags-Club meet-up. And in 2024, we launched Europe’s first publicly funded Bi+ resource centre, run by BiBerlin e.V.
My story is a special one because, in my personal development, I’ve enjoyed a great deal of freedom, a lot of support and also a great deal of luck. Perhaps, looking back, I’m romanticising certain aspects, and so some memories are more pleasant than the reality of the time. Fortunately, I had the strength and self-confidence to stand my ground. But without a community, without the people who stood by me, things could well have turned out very differently. I’m a football fan, so for me it’s important that no one is bigger than the team or the club. But everyone has to play their part in ensuring it stays that way.
