In the late 70s a group of lesbians in Leeds, known as revolutionary feminists (RFs), made a controversial move that resonated loudly for me and many other women. They began calling for all feminists to embrace lesbianism. Appealing to their heterosexual sisters to get rid of men "from your beds and your heads", they started a debate, which reached its height in 1981 with the publication of an infamous booklet, Love Your Enemy? The Debate Between Heterosexual Feminism and Political Lesbianism (LYE). In this, the RFs wrote that, "all feminists can and should be lesbians. Our definition of a political lesbian is a woman-identified woman who does not fuck men. It does not mean compulsory sexual activity with women."

The message of LYE immediately provoked a strong and often negative reaction. While some radical feminists agreed with the group's arguments, many went wild at being told they were "counter-revolutionaries", undermining the fight for women's liberation by sleeping with men. The main author of LYE, Sheila Jeffreys, says that the backlash to the booklet "even among lesbians, was quite shocking. Quite a few were angry with the group for writing it. They felt it exposed them to hostility from outraged heterosexual feminists."

It's no surprise that the booklet was so controversial. "We think serious feminists have no choice but to abandon heterosexuality," it reads. "Only in the system of oppression that is male supremacy does the oppressor actually invade and colonise the interior of the body of the oppressed." It also asserted that penetration "is more than a symbol, its function and effect is the punishment and control of women".

Tina Crockett was one of the RFs who gathered in a holiday cottage in the Yorkshire Dales to write LYE. She says that while the booklet's insistence that lesbianism could be a choice was controversial, debate was equally heated around the suggestion that men were the enemy. "We were trying to challenge the excuses used by some heterosexual feminists as to why they lived with Nigel or John," she says. "They said, 'Oh, but my man is OK,' as a way of refusing to look at the fact that some men really do hate women."

Alison Garthwaite was another of the authors, and she stands by the original argument. "Sexuality is not determined by a gene which we are born with," she says. "It can change over time, and is determined by both your circumstances and the choices you make." Garthwaite is keen to reassure heterosexual feminists, however, that their role in feminism is not redundant or unwanted. "Perhaps the original paper implied that heterosexual feminists were of no use, and that they need not bother. I don't think that."

Both Crockett and Garthwaite can see why LYE upset people. "The arguments in LYE were a stick of dynamite up a very cosy feminist convention," says Crockett, "that heterosexual feminists must never be criticised for choosing men over women."

The publication of LYE was the one of the first times that the notion of sexuality as a choice had been publicly raised in the UK women's movement. Many feminists considered sexuality purely a matter of personal desire, and the idea that lesbianism could be a political decision was perceived as "cold-blooded". "They believed that one did not choose sexual orientation or feelings, but was overcome by them," says Jeffreys. "One could accept them or struggle against them, but not manufacture them."

The feminist writer Bea Campbell was one of LYE's many detractors, arguing that it was far more important to challenge men's behaviour in heterosexual relationships than to insist that women abandon hope altogether. "The notion of political lesbianism is crazy," she says. "It erased desire. It was founded, therefore, not on love of women but fear of men." Another feminist critic was the academic Lynne Segal, who has written in celebration of heterosexuality. "For me, coming into feminism at the beginning of the 70s, 'political lesbianism' was the main position advanced by a tiny band of vanguardist women," she says. "Its stance was tragic, because no, all men were not the enemy." She adds that the media used LYE to "trash" feminism in general. "That inevitably added to the bitterness we felt, both then, and ever since."

For all those who bridled at its message though, there were women who took the arguments in LYE to heart. The booklet described lesbianism in glowing terms, which was quite something back in the 70s - after all, out women still face prejudice and exclusion (just yesterday, the Sun used the pejorative "lesbo" in a headline about Iceland's interim PM). Some women threw out boyfriends and husbands after taking note of claims such as this: "Being a heterosexual feminist is like being in the resistance in Nazi-occupied Europe where in the daytime you blow up a bridge, in the evening you rush to repair it."

Others, such as myself, found that the arguments in LYE spoke directly to feelings that had already been developing. Opponents of political lesbianism argue that "genuine" lesbians are motivated purely by lust towards women, rather than a decision to reject men and heterosexuality. For me, however, my lesbianism is intrinsically bound up with my feminist politics and my campaigning against sexual violence.

When I was growing up on a council estate in Darlington, the expectation was that I would one day marry a local boy, settle down and start producing kids. Frankly, the thought horrified me. I was surrounded by men - my father and two brothers - and at an early age I had picked up on the stories of domestic violence, child abuse and general unhappiness that seemed to emanate from neighbouring households. I was also struck by the drudgery on display. While men were out drinking, embarking on fishing trips and generally enjoying their freedom, women were stuck cooking for them, cleaning for them, and running around after children. For women, heterosexuality seemed a total con.

At 15 then, having only ever had one, non-serious, boyfriend, I came out as a lesbian. Three years later, I moved to Leeds in search of the scary-sounding feminists I had heard about and, having joined a group that campaigned against pornography, finally met the RFs. They engaged me in discussions about heterosexuality in the pub, and critiquing this mainstream sexual culture made sense to me - after all, the women I had met during my childhood clearly hadn't benefited from it. The RFs told me that, to them, lesbianism was a choice that women could make, and not a "condition" we are born with. "All women can be lesbians" was the mantra. I loved the sense that I had chosen my sexuality and rather than being ashamed or apologetic about it, as many women were, I could be proud, and see it as a privilege.

Many of those who embraced political lesbianism in the 70s and 80s still keep the faith today. For Jeffreys, for instance, the arguments in LYE are as relevant now as they were 30 years ago. "We made the decision to become lesbians because loving and fighting for women was the centre of our lives, and for me it still is. It made little sense to spend our whole time working for women's liberation and to then go home to men." Crockett also says she stands by the sentiments in the paper, but wishes it had not only focused on the negative aspects of heterosexuality. "We should have said, 'Come on in, the water's lovely,' because actually, it is really great fun being a lesbian."

To me, political lesbianism continues to make intrinsic sense because it reinforces the idea that sexuality is a choice, and we are not destined to a particular fate because of our chromosomes. I also suspect that it is very difficult to spend your daily life fighting against male violence, only to share a bed with a man come the evening. Then there's the fact that working with women towards a common goal means you develop a strong and passionate bond with them - why some feminists then block out the possibility of sexual relationships with their political sisters and instead turn to men for intimacy is beyond me.

I think it's time for feminists to re-open the debate about heterosexuality, and to embrace the idea of political lesbianism. We live in a culture in which rape is still an everyday reality, and yet women are blamed for it, as it is viewed as an inevitable feature of heterosexual sex. Domestic violence is still a chronic problem for countless women in relationships with men. Women are told we must love our oppressors, while, as feminists, we fight to end the power afforded them as a birthright. Come on sisters, you know it makes sense. Stop pretending you think lesbianism is an exclusive members' club, and join the ranks. I promise that you will not regret it.