How Many Gays Must God Create?

If only there were more Minnesotans (and humans) like this guy:

My Awakening Part 1

I got my period for the first time at a Lesbian music festival. I was eleven. My mom decided to let me get my ears pierced in honor of my the few spots of blood in my panties marking my incipient womanhood. A gorgeous butch with sparkling blue eyes held my hands while her partner did the piercings and instructed me on how to care for them.

My first sexual memories come a few months later. I used to drape a scarf around my face, dancing in front of the table lamp and pretending that my shadow on the wall was a beautiful mysterious woman. I still think women in headscarves are incredibly sexy.

At twelve I was at a new school with new friends. At night as I explored my body I’d think to myself: “I like–rabbits!” I threw that last word in as a joke to myself. I knew what word belonged in that sentence, but was afraid to even think it all the way out to myself. Although my mom had shown me that being gay was okay, society had told me different. I knew I liked girls even then–I knew what I felt on those sleepovers, lying next to vivacious, red-headed Anya–the sweet torture of being so close to her and yet feeling so terrified of touching her or telling her how I felt.

When I was about thirteen talk among my friends turned to boys. I don’t know how many of my friends boy-crushes were real, but I knew that mine was wholey manufactured. Well, not entirely manufatured; he was about the closest thing to black my lilly-white high school had. He had dark olive skin and a suspiciously kinky black jewfro, which, at the time of my “crush” was braided into a hundred different braids that sprouted from his head in all different directions. I spent hours in science class admiring those braids,like wild, distant cousins of the neatly turned out braids sported by the cute and unfriendly girl at my Mattapan summer camp. (Mattapan’s a black neighborhood in Boston. Not entirely sure why my mom sent me to camp there.)

I lost my Junior High friends in the transition to high school at fourteen. There wasn’t any drama, it was just hard to maintain our friendships with completely different class schedules. I fell in with a group of friends that were more nerdy than I was used to–nothing wrong with that, but there was no one in the group I really connected with.

Then one day as I wandered through the halls after school feeling lonely and depressed, I noticed a room with some people in it. A hand-lettered sign on the outside proclaimed it to be the gay-straight alliance. Inside was a friend-of-a-friend of mine. Gathering up my courage, I stepped inside.

Adventures in the BBW District Part 1

We walked into the room like a thicker, sexier, lesbian version of Girlfriends. (Wait, does that make me Lynn? I am the lightest, thinnest of the four of us, and I have been known to be something of a hippy…okay I’m Lynn lol)

Four femmes walking across the room and we were invisible. I found myself wishing we had a stud with us so that we would be instantly recognizable as the Lesbian posse that we were. Not that were really invisible–three gorgeous brown-skinned women with their cleavage and legs proudly displayed (and their slinkily dressed white friend) strutting through a room full of plus-sized white women and thinner black men is hardly invisible.

We were at a BBW party. That’s a Big Beautiful Women (and the people who love them) party. My friend Chelsea had the idea that this would be a good place to meet women. She brought her friend Tami: a drop-dead gorgeous, golden skinned, curvaceous woman with a neat short puff and a deadbeat stud wife. (Whom she conveniently left behind.) I brought my off-the-hook friend Kiki: dark-skinned, extra thick, with a cute smile, WAY too much ass, and more sexual energy than I could handle. (I think…I don’t know…I feel a combination of intrigue and terror at the thought of getting intimate with her.)

We found a table and sat down. Over drinks the conversation got kinky. I realized how nice it was to be out with women whose minds are possibly dirtier than mine is, and mouths that would make a trucker blush.

Rather tame sample of our conversation:

“Justa’s like you Tami, she doesn’t use toys.” Chelsea announced. Tami and I high fived.

“Not me!” Hollered Kiki, “I have a whole bag full of toys!”

“Me too!” Put in Chelsea.

Me: “My toy box is just the place I keep my batteries.” (Hoots from the ladies)

“So what do you like?” Tami asked me.

“I like eating pussy.”

“Mmm me too,” Tami responded, showing the piercing in her tongue and making prolonged eye-contact with Kiki. “I can make a woman come in five seconds.”

“I’d like to see that!” Kiki replied sceptically.

“Me too!” I chimed in, trying to think of a time I came in less than twenty minutes…or forty…or longer. I can be a tough nut to crack sometimes, even for myself.

A curvy blond in a leopard print shirt approached our table and started flirting with Tami. Tami complemented her on her shirt, then she complemented all of us on her titts….Tami reached out and playfully squeezed her ample tit in response. A slenderish blond woman joined us at the table, hovering around her ‘friend’ as she and our table bantered.

“So there are some pretty hot guys here, huh?” The blond asked.

“I don’t know.” Kiki replied, “I’m gay.”

“Well, I’m not GAY,” The ample blond replied, “I just like women.”

Part 2