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.

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

Meet the “Straight Girl” (Halloween Pt 2)

"Lesbians Don't Know Dick"


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!

Too Many Dudes

Dude in t-shirt--says "Do Not Cock Block"

Did I feel nervous driving to the heart of the ghetto to meet a woman who I had only met online at her house?


Did I do it anyways? Yes.

I could hear my best friend Tina’s voice in my head:

“You better be carefull.” She’d say, shaking her head, her  neatly pressed hair waving back and forth under her cap, “Go ahead, boo boo, but you never know, you could show up at her house and there could be dudes there–” Implying dire consequences.

But my gut told me it would be okay, so I drove down there. Boston is an incredibly diverse, yet still  starkly segregated city. I’m reminded most vividly of that on the snake ride from my house to Mattapan,: as complexions darken dramatically from mostly white to almost exclusively shades of brown.

The early evening streets and porches were filled as I pulled up: people barbequing, dudes on bikes. I think its safe to say I was the only white person on the block. I felt like my skin was painted with iridescent paint–my skin glowed so bright in contrast with those around me. I covered my shoulders with a hoodie, wishing I had a cap on.

“Hello” A couple nodded as they walked by, me, and I said friendly “Hi” back.

She opened the door, even more gorgeous than in her pictures: sweet brown eyes framed by sexy black-rimed glasses and a swoop of wavy dark brown hair.  A tight t-shirt and jeans with a tantalizing series of holes up the thigh clung to her curvaceous form.

“Oh, you came earlier than I thought.” She greeted me, her smile shy and inviting. “My friend’s here-he just got here, but he won’t stay long. ”

We sat on the porch drinking Pina Coladas. I was trying to assess the situation: what was he to her?

From the looks he was giving her, he was more than just a friend. Or he wanted to be. As men do, he dominated the conversation, and I learned more about him than I wanted (just go away, already!) but I managed to learn a little about her in the kitchen as she mixed up more drinks.

She was 37, three kids, one grand-kid (!) and no job, but possibly going back to school. Not looking for a relationship, just something discrete. She said she’d been with women before, but always kept it on the low. Greeat! I silently cursed my libido that was drawing me towards her even as my logical mind screamed–not the one!

She finally got Dude to leave, and agreed to come out with me. (After I offered to pay her way in.)

“So, where y’all going?” Dude asked before leaving.

“The Randolph Country Club.” I answered.

“Where’s that?”
“Randolph” We both answered in tandem.

To Be Continued…

That Kiss

CU of two women kissing--with hands

When I was in High School I was very involved with the gay community: the GSA was my social life, I was in the Governors Commission for gay & lesbian youth, etc…but over the years of living on the streets & then  raising children, I lost touch with the gay community.

At first it didn’t seem to matter much, since almost everyone on the streets seemed to be  Bi–but, I didn’t seem able to attract women, while men circled me like sharks smelling blood in the water.

For a long time it seemed like the only girls who liked me invariably had a guy with them who would fidget miserably as she publicly kissed me.

Although I never stopped being attracted to women, I became convinced that women were too scary, too unavailable, something to be “appreciated” but not pursued.

And then she kissed me.

We were talking at a party, and she smiled, leaning unexpectedly in mid conversation to connect our lips. I looked around, expecting to see a pathetically jealous man hovering nearby–but no! Only her blue eyes sparkled at me. For once, a single woman liked me!

We went on a date in Central Square on Valentines Day–holding hands on the street like it was nothing! Dinner and then back to her place…

Walking with her small but curvaceous body pressed into my side, every woman and girl that I had ever had feelings for came back to me, and my heart overflowed.


Jenny from the L word stands between her butch/trans gf and a guy

Not My Idea of a Good Time!

Start the night:

I went outside to nurse my beer by myself. I wasn’t sure if I was mad at her for her slutty ways, mad at her on behalf of all bisexuals for further tarnishing the word, or grateful that I saw her more clearly before planting my mouth deeply in her muff–which was where things were surely heading.

Who let me off the leash? I should not be allowed in the club without a chaperone! For realz people! (Like that one night, or that other time…or even with a guy!)

“Naked Volleyball!” A butch woman exclaimed. Thank god, a distraction! I thought, making my way over to the fence, where five people stood watching as two people stripped to their skivvies and attempted to bat an under-inflated volleyball back and forth.
“Why don’t you play?” a butch woman asked me.
“Me? No thanks!”
“I’ll do it if you do it.” She goaded me. (Wow I just realized she was flirting with me! I can be a little slow sometimes.)

Just then the aggressive femme came and stood provocatively next to me. I moved away from her quickly, but she followed me.
“What’s your deal?” I started to ask, almost inaudibly “you know what? I don’t want to know!” I moved even further away from her. After my fourth evasion, she gave up, looking hurt and bewildered. Did she really not understand why I would be less than thrilled to have the woman I’ve been kissing turn around and kiss a man less than five minutes later?

What is wrong with these women? It’s women like her that made it nearly impossible for me to pull a lesbian while I identified as bi.

Even when I did identify as bi, it never would have occurred to me to act like that! With the exception of a few three and foursomes in my early years: when I was with a man, I was with him–I didn’t try to pick up women–and vice versa!

The few women that did hit on me in my lonely, after high school bi years tended to do it in front of their boyfriends, something that always bothered me. (And by hit on, I mean kiss me mid-conversation, while their boyfriends looked on fidgeting uncomfortably) It’s no wonder lesbians hate bi girls, with women running around acting like that!

At one point my okcupid profile listed me as bi, and for my secret I put down that I hitchhiked three times across the country. For some reason this made guys think that I was a big, swinging slut. Apparently hitchhiker, bisexual and whore occupy the same spaces in their minds.

Look, I wasn’t so much mad that she kissed a guy right after me–I would have walked away if she turned around and kissed anyone! I’m not mad at her for being attracted to people of both genders. But, somehow, kissing a guy was definitely worse than if it had been another woman. And the fact that all of that was all out there, in public. Ugh!

After my third time avoiding her, she left me alone.

Attack of the Aggressive Femme


I was dancing by myself in an alcove when she approached me. She had a smile on her face and trouble in her eyes as she rubbed her ample bosom against mine on the dance floor. We fell into step together. She turned around, pressing her juicy booty against me. I thrust my hips into her soft curves.

She turned around and clamped her thick thighs around mine, finding that sweet spot as we bounced up and down on the floor.

Tearing my gaze away from her massive gleaming cleavage to her eyes, her expression demanded a kiss.
No. I put my hand up to ward off her lips.
“But why?”
“I don’t know you.”
“You don’t just go around kissing people you don’t know.” I tried to explain, fighting the feeling.
“So let’s get to know each other” She guided me to the couch.
She was nothing that I usually look for: I like dark, reserved, butch women, and here she was, a young, aggressive white femme. But so hot! She wrapped her arm around me assertively. Our pale legs looked so sexy together in our short dark skirts and ballet flats. She hooked her ankle around me and leaned into me.
“So do you want to get to know me, then?” She asked seductively, eyes peering out from the curtain if her dark hair.
“Uhuh.” I answered breathlessly, enraptured by the energy between us.
“What do you want to know?” We exchanged names. “It’s my birthday today.” She said, snuggling closer and trying again to kiss me. “I just turned 21.”
“Wait–really? I might have to see some ID.”
She showed me an ID that could have been her–I guess. It was printed lengthwise like a book, rather than width-wise like a drivers license. It did, indeed say she was “Underage until July 2, 2011.”
Would I even know if it was fake? Did I even care as her hands roamed my body and her skin pressed eagerly against mine.
“Is there anything else you want to know?” She asked. But all I could think of was the delicious curve of her neck and shoulder. Of their own volition my lips traced that delicate white curve.
She raised her lips to mine and this time I succumbed, her mouth dominating mine as our bodies tried to merge orally.

Just then there was a flash.

“Wait, what was that?” I looked around, but she drew me back to her, kissing me fervently. Some guys were laughing at us. One of them came over with a camera. She draped herself around me.
“Wait.” I said, as calmly as I could. “I don’t want to be photographed.”
“But this is my best friend!” she protested. “it won’t go on Facebook–I promise!”
“Come on, it’s her birthday!” He chided as she pouted.
“Oh all right.” she draped herself over me as he snapped a pic.
“She tends to get her way.” Another of the guys remarked.
“I know, she’s a bully!” I replied, but I was smiling.
We returned to snogging, her hands taking more and more liberties. I pushed her fingers out if my black satin D-cup.
“Let’s go somewhere private”
“How about the bathroom?”
“Ewe! No! I do not fuck in the bathroom!” (Have you seen the bathroom at these clubs?) “How about my car?” I countered, batting her greedy paw away from the hem of my dress. “Let’s get something to drink, first, though, huh?”
She lead me by the hand to the bar. I started to protest–but shrugged: in for a penny and all that.
“I’m so horny. I want you so bad!” She enthused as the bartenders ignored us.
“I know.” I gulped.
“We are going to car after this, right?”
“Yeah. Ok.” I responded, losing all resistance. I crossed myself, hoping I wasn’t making a big mistake.

She had her ID on the table.

“Um, why does your ID say your name is Jessie when you told me it was Chloe?”
“Oh, my name is Jessie, but my friends call me Chloe.”
Just then her friend spied her ID.
“Jessie, I didn’t know you were 21 today!” He exclaimed.

Then he gave me a smarmy look, leaned forwards and kissed her. She returned the kiss enthusiastically.

I moved to the other end of the bar, commanding the bartenders attention.

“I really need a drink!”‘