The first time I questioned my sexuality was when I was 12 years old. My family and I were in Las Vegas for my uncle’s wedding. Twelve was an awkward age because I was boob height, meaning not tall enough to look people in the eyes, but short enough so that it seemed everywhere I looked there were boobs, boobs, boobs. If you’ve ever been to Las Vegas you’ll know that in addition to the huge casinos, ginormous buffets and larger-than-life hotels, Sin City also seems to draw particularly busty women. It’s hot there and they walk around in plunging necklines and strapless dresses and wear tiny bikinis by the pool. So I was walking around at boob-height in a city where cleavage rules and I realized, to my horror, that I liked it. What’s more, all these women with their breasts hanging out turned me on. Keep reading »
A few weeks ago, a man attempted to insult me by telling me I suffer from “lesbian bed death.” Rather than get upset, I just laughed. Hard. The dude about whom we are speaking doesn’t know me. He has no idea if I have a girlfriend or how often I get down. I thought about how amazing and freaky life between the sheets is for me these days. I pictured my girlfriend wearing those thigh-high fishnets that I adore so much, tying my hands together with a black robe. I pictured staying up all night and not getting out of bed until 6 in the evening. Then, what this guy’s face would look like if he knew what I was thinking and I laughed harder than I have in a long time. Keep reading »
Dear men everywhere,
I know in the past we’ve had our fair share of arguments, disagreements and maybe even a few bloody battles. I’ve probably called you all misogynists a few too many times and I know I often say things are easier for you than they are for the ladies. Sorry. I know it isn’t your fault that men tend to make more than women. And you, personally, are not responsible for the obsession with size 0 gals nor is it your fault that we’ve never had a chick president. I’ll admit: I hate on you guys a lot for no reason at all.
But, recently, I’ve come to appreciate you fellas and your trials and tribulations a whole lot more. Now, I know what you’re thinking. You think this is all tongue-in-cheek. You think I’m putting up a front, making fun of you. But seriously, man, I get it now. And what, you ask, has opened my eyes to all your pain and suffering?
Dating women. Keep reading »
I’ve been thinking about writing this essay for a while, but I’ve been putting it off because I feel like a traitor. Since coming out, I’ve struggled with feeling like an outsider in the gay community. Now, I feel totally secure in identifying as a lesbian and when I’m hanging out with a bunch of queer chicks nothing seems amiss. But I can’t help but notice that there are a bunch of things about gay gals that most people don’t know. And, honestly, that’s because we don’t want you to know. They are guarded secrets that we don’t even talk about amongst ourselves. But, lucky for you, I’ve always sucked at keeping secrets. So here goes.
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This month, Details totally lost me as a reader with an article called “The Lure of Dating an Ex-Lesbian.” The author, Ian Daly, talks about women who date women and then hitch up with men. He eloquently calls these gals “refugees from the isle of Lesbos … hasbians.” Interestingly, Daly’s research seems to prove the opposite of what his title implies. That is, that dating a “hasbian” is terrifying. He depicts dudes who date them as scared little school boys, afraid of their penises and scared that their clumsy fingers could never navigate the female anatomy as expertly as the women they’ve seen in lesbian pornos. Later, Daly obnoxiously writes that men who are in touch with their “feminine side” are more likely to date women who are “former homosexuals.”
I’ll save you the anguish of discussing Daly’s assertion that once motorcycle-riding, tattoo-covered lesbians “soften up,” they head straight for the penis. What I really want to talk about is Daly’s assumption that sexual orientation is super rigid. Keep reading »
The other night my girlfriend and I were lying in bed and she said, “You know, sometimes I forget you’re gay. I mean, you just look so straight.”
“Crap,” I thought, “her too.” Then I rolled over so my back was to her and attempted to compose myself, to figure out how to explain, for the millionth time, that I have thought this over enough times to be fairly certain that I’m into women.
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Me and the holidays—we don’t really get along. During Christmas, New Year’s and Hanukkah (yeah, I celebrate that, too), I eat too much, drink too much and become way too poor from buying everyone presents and taking time off work. Then there’s the family. I’m really tight with my parents, grandmother and sister. But that’s about it. I don’t see much of my extended family—the aunts, uncles, cousins, you know. Oh yeah, and I’ve never come out to any of them. Awkward, much? You bet.
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There are a lot of misconceptions about lesbians. I’m confronted with them daily and, frankly, hearing this stuff is like getting smacked in the face with a wet rag. Usually, when someone fires off a stereotype, I am so shocked that I just stand there, staring, opening and closing my mouth like a big, dumb goldfish. So I’m going to take this opportunity to get up on my soapbox and stamp out all the stupid, ignorant misconceptions I have heard over the years. Hopefully, next time I hear one of these things I can eloquently explain why it’s untrue rather than just stammering, “What!? Jerk!” Keep reading »
There’s this stereotype that if you are gay, the answer to all your problems is skipping off to a big city where you can live an open and free life in an accepting environment. The sentiment isn’t always worded this blatantly, but it’s out there. Usually, when people find out I’m a lesbian they say something like, “Oh, well, at least you live in New York City.” Keep reading »
I am currently seeing this really great girl. She’s smart, sweet and really fun to be around. We agree on a lot of things. We both hate the death penalty, love pizza and enjoy hanging out—sometimes illegally—on rooftops overlooking New York City. There is one thing, however, that we just can’t see eye-to-eye on. It’s not, as you would think, what to do on Saturday or where to have dinner or which baseball team is the best. Surprisingly, the issue that we butt heads on the hardest is gay marriage.
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