My Second Arrest Part 2

Start the night here. (yes this post was 3 years ago, so?)

Butch Prison Guard

They took me down to the station where once again I was jammed into a holding cell: a glass room with about 20 prostitutes, all accessorizing their skin tight ho clothes with bright orange jail shirts or pants like wearable  OJ was some kind of new fashion statement.

“Oh honey what are you in for?” Asked the only non-orange clad ho. I don’t know what it was about her, but she seemed like the classiest of the group. Her velour top and clingy pants were revealing but tasteful in a way that made tohe other prostitutes in their the skimpy remains of their ho garb look shoddy.

“Obstructing the sidewalk.” I spat out weekly.

“Aww honey,” A brown-skinned ho looked at me pityingly. “If I couldn’t sell my cooch I’d be homeless asking for money like you.” That seemed so strange to me. Asking for change seemed way less degrading than selling my twat, but not to her.

“You’re pretty,” the classy ho sized me up. “Ever thought about going into the business?”  I shrugged politely. The thought of anyone touching me sexually who I was not attracted to disgusted me. Being homeless was part spiritual quest for me–distancing myself from attachment to objects and limiting my needs to the basics.  All I needed was a couple bucks a day to get by and I didn’t have any addictions or children to make me need more. “You look tired, here, lay on this shirt.” I thanked her and reclined on an orange jail shirt.

“I love being a ho.” One of the women chimed in. “Anywhere I go I can always sell my pussy!”

“I need to sell my pussy,” the “classy” one said, “I have my four year old son to take care of.”

“How did you get in the business?” Another one asked her.

“Like a lot of women do, I was a dancer in a club and I realized hooking could make a lot more money…”

That’s where I started coughing. And coughing, and coughing. Sleeping outside in the cold damp winter combined with smoking had given me a nasty cold. I spat some blood into the common toilet sitting exposed in the corner of the cell.

“Are you alright honey?” Classy ho asked.

“Yeah, I’m ok. I just coughed up some blood tho.”

“Coughed up BLOOD?!” One of the hos yelled. “Oh my god do you have TB?!!”

That’s when all hell broke loose:

“TB?!!”

“She has TB!!”

“Guards, gaurds, she has TB!”

After a few minutes the guards moved me to another holding cell. Only it wasn’t a regular holding cell, it was a white tiled room with every inch–floor, walls and ceiling–covered in blood stains of varying shades. It had a drain hole in the middle of the floor presumably for when they failed to wash the stains out. Or maybe for the blood to drain down. I didn’t know. All I knew was there was NO WAY I was touching anything!!!

I couldn’t sit down without touching the floor  (no benches in this room) so I paced the room wearilly. In a desperate attempt to look at something besides blood stains my eyes traveled accross the room. The holding cells were set up in a circle like a glass menagerie around a cubicle farm. cops in their uniforms non-chalantly processed paperwork while us chattel watched from our glass pens.

The men were penned up accross from me and to the left, and then–my eyes stopped. Directly accross from me was what looked like a padded cell. Unlike the rest of the cells this one only had a tiny windoe, but it looked soft and white from where I was. Not only that, but it was inhabited. Inhabited by what looked like a naked woman. A naked woman staring straight at me and screaming in anguish. Screaming and screaming and screaming.

That’s when I realized I had been listening to her scream all night…

 

 

1st Glimpse of D

 

Boy and girl cartoon looking in underwear

The 1st time I saw an erect penis I burst out laughing. It looked so bizarre and bulbous, protruding purple and brown from between his legs like some weird discolored mushroom.
I covered my mouth, playing it off like I was nervous. In fact I felt the opposite. I felt completely comfortable naked with Joe, comfortable in a strangely non-sexual way. More like friends who happened to be naked. One of whom happened to have a very strange physical defect.

Joe had been my “crush” the year before as a freshman in high school, the boy I trotted out as the object of my affection every time my friends talked about boys. I knew I couldn’t say that it was the gorgeous big-boned Anya that I longed for, with her wide hips and long red hair…

In fact I had spent hours in science class staring in fascination  at his hair. His kinky hair and olive skin stood out in my Lilly white suburban high school. Especially his hair: forty individual braids spiraling up up like exotic underwater sea plants from his tan scalp.

Later I learned the braids were done by his mom, certainly no African American hairdresser would create braids so unruly. I always kinda wondered what trick of genetics produced this swarthy, kinky haired, thick lipped boy from his two rather ordinarily Jewish parents.

By the time we “dated” his hair was in a neat short fro, and I was officially out as bi. I dated him after being rejected by  the main focus of my affection: Judy who I was hopelessly in love with, but whose affection was sadly fixated on the unusually tall and Giselle-like Chloe.

Up to the point where we rather casually removed our clothes in his bed room our entire relationship consisted of passing dirty notes in class.

“Are you sure this is ok?” I asked, thinking of his mom downstairs.
“Don’t worry, my mom trusts me. She won’t interrupt”
We undressed without fuss, talking comfortably.  His grossly engorged member a sign that he was much more sexually engaged than I.
“So do you wanna have sex?” he asked, stroking my arm tentatively.
“What?” I looked down in surprise, scoping his member, contorting my bewildered amusement at its strangeness into shy embarrassment. “But…” I cast about for an excuse–there was NO WAY I wanted to touch that thing! “We don’t have a condom.”
“That’s alright, I can pull out.”
“Pull out?! I raised my eyebrows as I started putting clothes on, taking one last glance at the bizarre growth sprouting inexplicably from between his legs. “Do you pay any attention in Sex Ed?” I laughed even harder. Did that line actually work on anybody? Especially from his 15 year old self?

We didn’t “date” long after that. In some bizarre bid for Judy’s affection he attempted suicide a couple weeks later, and I learned that this was the first time (though far from the last) that the biggest thing a boy I was dating and I had in common was a crush on the same girl.

Fake Bash

A Teen about to hit another boy

Two young teenaged boys walked by holding hands as I pulled into the  parking lot. On the right, the skinny Indian-american boy was smiling. The young fair-haired boy he was holding hands with looked slightly embarrassed as he met my eyes. I have to admit I was surprised to see two slightly jockish young boys courageous enough to express their affection in public, but it was pretty cool–I thought.

As I headed into the Boy’s and Girl’s Club, the two boys met up with six-seven other boys. They were talking and laughing as friends. I was about to enter the building when I heard a yell.

I turned around and saw the Indian boy on the ground with a large muscular teen wailing on him.

“You have to stop that now” I hollered, walking across the lot towards them. The tall brown haired jock moved away with a guilty smile.

“We’re just playing!” He Told me.

“Is this a game?” I asked the swarthy kid on the ground.

“Yes.” He was laughing, unhurt.

“It’s time to stop. This is not funny.” I said, at a loss for other words, and to my surprise, they did.

WHAT THE ENTIRE FUCK????!!!!!

Interview With a Bisexual Stud

I did it again! Guest posted on Dinmag.com

Bi Tags

The Bisexual Stud…

Shakara agreed to speak with me about her experience with bisexuality. I told her I planned to call it “Interview with a Bisexual Stud.*” She told me she was not a stud. I asked how she considered herself?

Woman. Human. Me.

But you do seem Masculine of Center to me? I pressed.

Masculine of Center? She responded. I like that, yeah.

I asked her some questions:

Continue reading @ Dinmag.com

More with the Asking and the Answering

White Femme in Fedora smoking a cigar

See not all of my pics are dirty!

So, remember when I said I would be writing semi-regularly for DinMag.com?

Welp, I’ve done it again. Here’s an excerpt:

1.) Are you just as equally attracted to Doms and Femmes?
**Usually when a white lesbian couple is spotted in an urban area, its difficult to differentiate between the two..so its a common myth that white Femmes date everybody**

I am attracted to both Doms (or Studs as I say) and Femmes..and women who fall in between. But I do have a serious weakness for Studs though. White women definitely have our preferences, but a lot do not subscribe to the butch-femme dynamic.

I think that the white lesbian community used to look a lot more like the lesbian community among POC: small, marginalized, and tending towards a culture Dominated by the butch-femme dynamic (I’m not judging, just calling it as I see it!)

Then a few things happened:

1) Feminism: as white women became more aware of patriarchy, I think a lot of them rejected the masculine-feminine dynamic within their own community.

2) Main-streaming: As lesbianism has become more accepted in main stream white culture, more women are coming out who have not been exposed to old-school lesbian culture, and who are, frankly, embarrassed by it. They reject genderqueerness in an attempt to appear more “normal.”

Continue reading…

And check out the rest of the site while you’re there! (It is sooo worth getting the password)

Meet the “Straight Girl” (Halloween Pt 2)

"Lesbians Don't Know Dick"

Right?

Start the night off  with Lezplay Halloween PT 1

“I wish I could smoke!” Gina said as I rolled a joint. “But I’m planning on being an RN–and they drug test!”

“Girl,” The narrow boned woman sucked her teeth next to her. “I smoke blunts ALL. DAY. LONG. And that’s my job.”

“Well how do you do it?” I asked, twisting up a J.

“I got four kids.” Shiniqua replied. “I line them up outside the bathroom–tell them: ain’t none of y’all going to school until Mama gets some pee!  Put it in a little bottle like this.” She grabbed a shot bottle. “Then I put in the microwave for a minute. You gotta put it right up against the skin.” She lifted her skirt to reveal a sliver of dark chocolate skin above her leggings, tucking the empty bottle in.

I lit my joint and took a hit. I’m usually a decent roller, but this weed was super sticky and I could barely pull through.

I handed it off to Shiniqua with a grimaced apology at my rolling job. She took a deep drag and glared at the joint.

“So, you’re all lesbians?” She asked somewhat skeptically, and we nodded. “Like, I don’t get that. I don’t get the whole ‘lesbian thing'”

“It’s an emotional thing.” A Latina in a Harlequin costume replied. And the rest of us tried to explain too. But it’s a hard thing to explain lesbian attraction to someone who hasn’t felt it.

“I don’t know,” She raised her eyebrows sceptically. “I need the dick!” She dropped low, undulating her thick booty to simulate some dick riding. “I used to only date white men,” she said, jumping up and taking the joint back from me, lighting, sucking and glaring. “I wouldn’t give black men the time of day! But then this nigga put it on me! I was turned out!”

What followed was a very strange interlude where she and two “lesbians” talked excitedly about the first time they had black dick. Not like a conversation, but three monologues all at once–their enthusiastic descriptions overlapping as I gazed on in bemusement.

It’s not that I don’t have my own story about being turned out by black dick, it’s just that I am so past that now that I don’t even really like thinking about it.

I like pussy.

So. Much. More!

Ask A White Girl

Ask a White Girl

Note...That's KD Lang in the Pic--Not Me!

I have another guest post! What can I say, I get around! Actually, this one may be semi regular…so go ahead and hop over to Dinmag.com and check it out! (Also check out the rest of the Mag–it is definitely worth getting the password to read the Juicier bits!)

Got any questions for a white girl? Ask!