So today I brought up the fact that I am proud to be crushworthy of women. I got a concerned and well-meaning message asking if I wanted to open myself up to “that kind of attention.” It took me a good five minutes to even figure out what the question was. I realized the answer is so much longer than I had space for there, that I am going to rhapsodize here.
First, on the subject of graphic conceptualization, shall we say… I’ve been asked a few times what I thought of various lines of fantasy, specifically fantasizing that certain actors have secret homosexual relationships. Here’s the thing. IT’S MAKE BELIEVE! If someone wants to pretend I had sex with someone I kissed on screen, I’m not offended. If someone is going to pretend I roll around in the guts of a Tauntaun to get off, I’m not offended. I’m fairly certain that is the case with most people on television. (The only time any of that gets under my skin is if it is material that would disturb me no matter who was starring in it. I try to stay open, but NAMBLA’s take on “Zack and Cody” skeeves me. You’re welcome for putting that in your head.) In real life, I am only going to have sex with my husband. Sorry, but it’s true. So I don’t give a flying fuck WHO imagines they’re having sex with me or what their genitalia are. Same holds true the other way around. I don’t give a shit if someone is gay or not. I really don’t. The only reason I would is if I personally wanted to sleep with them. Which I believe is covered under my previous explanation.
Okay. Off my soapbox. If it ever comes up again, I shall refer the inquisitor to this page. I would like to spend the rest of my allotted time talking about how lesbians are better than anyone else on the planet.
A few years ago, before I was married, I was working at a Shakespeare festival and decided to revisit a piece of my youth. I wanted to go out dancing. A particular club claimed to have an “Alternative 80′s Night” so I made a date with myself. However, I am now significantly older than I used to be, you know, actually IN the 80′s. This meant that I got ready in a whole different way. Instead of dressing to impress, I dressed for comfort and sweating. I threw a bandanna on my head, cut a pair of slightly baggy jeans off at the knees, and tossed a tank top over a sports bra. I completed my ensemble with some Jelly tennis shoes. I put on some makeup, since I didn’t want to actually be turned away, and took a gander at myself.
“I look like a lesbian.”
I was THRILLED! Yay! Being a lesbian has always been a club I thought was for the cool kids and I’m not that cool. I mean, yes, I understand it is a primal part of a woman’s being and all, but I was enthralled with the image and culture. I put on some lipgloss since I always figured I’d be the “lipstick” type, and headed off.
Not one woman hit on me. And it was a gay bar. WTF?
As I was getting a drink, a friend I worked with commented on my presence and I lamented that I wasn’t passing as being a part of the sisterhood. She snarfed her beer and said, “Oh, you are SO not a lesbian.” I was heartbroken.
“I could be if I wanted to be!”
“No,” she deadpanned. “No, you couldn’t.”
“I’ve come really close to having sex with a woman. A couple of times. Sober!”
“Come on. Not even a little?”
She just laughed at me.
“Well, how can you tell?
I will never forgive this evil evil woman for smiling serenely and saying, “I’m not telling.”
There were lesbians there who could dance, I can dance. There were lesbians there drinking dirty martinis, I was drinking a dirty martini. I certainly don’t shirk from admiring the presence of a lovely woman, so it wasn’t like, “Oh look at the straight girl acting like we all have cooties!” What the hell was it? I wanna have it! This is not to say the life of any gay human right now is a life of ease. But men have their version called “metrosexual”, when they know how to accessorize and use hair product, but still want to put their penis in a pussy. What’s the female equivalent? How do I learn it?
For some reason, a straight guy has some level of fear about being hit on by another guy. I, on the other hand, think lesbians are FAR more discriminating and tasteful than men. After all, they don’t have the Little Brain screaming stupid shit at them all the time. They tend to be pretty fucking smart about a lot of things. I know that’s a stereotype, and I apologize. It’s like, Gay Men Can Decorate, Gay Women Can Think! Sorry. I don’t mean to be insulting. But I am enamored, I truly am. The first time a woman ever confessed feelings for me I was so profoundly flattered I almost couldn’t react honestly. For a second I thought, “Well, if SHE likes me, I must really be worth something. I mean, dudes just want to fuck things that are warm and semi-mobile. Maybe….” I mean, I don’t actually WANT a woman to hit on me, but only because I’d have to turn her down and I don’t like hurting people’s feelings.
Apparently guys are enamored too. I don’t quite understand this. Is it a numbers thing? Like if one vagina is good, two is better? Or is it the masculine ego thinking it’s just going to take his massive cock to make them see the light? (Which means a lot of dudes have never truly seen the dimensions of a strap-on and done a side-by-side comparison.) But the point is, it’s not just me that’s smitten. I’m pretty sure that we could be on the third to the last lap of the Indy 500 and if someone shouted, “Holy shit! Two chicks are making out live on YouTube!” every television in America would be abandoned.
Anyway, I am a huge supporter of girl-on-girl in any way shape or form. Be it poetry readings, motorcycles, vegan restaurants, volunteering in cat shelters, or even having sex with each other. So if the closest I am going to get to having whatever that thing is nobody will tell me what it is, is being crushed on by some women, I gotta admit, I am blushing and honored. And if I offended anyone I am trying to praise, I will humbly eat…. crow. I will eat crow. Stop it! Shut up! I’m married!