Lesbians Who Fuck Men

“Cause nothing stands between us here
And I won't be denied” ~ Possession, Sarah McLachlan


Dear Sally Sunshine,

You are crazy.

Ok readers, I will refrain from addressing myself in the process of addressing you. It just adds extra layers to the crazy. I will, however, admit my lizard brain has been on a long sojourn, i.e. the creative force has not been with me. You’ll have to excuse me, removing the moldy structure at the crux of my existence was more difficult than anticipated.

After having my sexuality snacked on like a bag of Doritos, today, humbly I walk toward you with only one candle left burning- an empty vessel, formless but on the verge of a discovery. Lovers who’ve basked in my sexual duality (bisexuality) beware. I am wandering into the oblivion. I’m all up in your face and fucking up the game.

When I came out to my family and friends in 2002, I came out as a lesbian. I had a serious girlfriend, I was active in the LGBT community, I had been to Gay Pride and the Gay Church, I took communion with other queers, and I had gay books, movies, and crushes. I was eager to move from my hometown to step further, publicly, into my sexual identity without the threat of being “outed” professionally. I could not foresee myself being deeply in love with a man in the future.

There were some men who I slept with in the spirit of charity. I remember driving to meet Mercy Fuck Mark who was nursing some raw wounds surrounding a brutal break-up with his lady love. I took up a Venus mantle and touched him (read: screwed him) with tenderness in an attempt to release him from his tortured thoughts. My good deeds did not go unnoticed. A cute little blonde thing flirted her way right into my arms the night before I left Mercy Fuck Mark in the fetal position sucking his thumb.

If there were men, then, I did have the unfortunate habit of falling for their lady friends. Maybe it was the hug that lasted a little too long or a flushed-faced conversation that pushed me over the edge. This is not to say I haven’t enjoyed certain men and their cocks and/or companionship at different intervals in my life. Over the last few years, I have mainly been involved with men, but that wasn’t a conscious choice I made. There just simply weren’t any women in my area code that I had more than a passing interest in.

Overtime, I took to calling myself a bisexual- it seemed like the most ambiguous label given the cold stark reality of who I was fucking (both men and women). This theory of defining one’s sexual identity by gender preference at a given moment is misleading. The truth of our sexual identity is far more complex than who we go to bed with.

Within our erotic identities, we also contain emotional identities and transpersonal/political identities. There are infinite possibilities. Coincidentally, during the time of my feminist “coming of age”, my sexual desire for the same-sex intensified. Now, this is not a defense of “political” lesbians (i.e. women who only have relationships (sexual or otherwise) with other women as a form of protest against the patriarchy), but, it is an acknowledgement of the subtle nuances between the personal and the political. It might be fair to say, my politics (women’s rights) was working in tandem with my desire. Yes, one could exist without the other, but they blended quite well in the same vein. Lest we forget, still, beyond all the intellectualization, I wanted to eat pussy.

Since there are plenty of lesbians who are not feminists and have no interest in “woymn’s lib” and there are plenty of straight girls who are feminists, political lesbianism has been dubbed a thing of the past. Yet, the label still has societal relevance. When a lesbian is told by parents she must be a lesbian because she was molested by some family pervert (even if this is not true) or she has a huge load of resentment toward men in general they are invoking the old “the personal is political” view as an explanation for their daughter’s same-sex attraction. This is offensive for a number of reasons. The parents are basically not acknowledging their child’s identity. They are inferring that the child’s an eternal victim, unable to sort out their own desires or identity. This is an effective way to devalue a child’s sense of self, unless, of course, she is willing to call bullshit and has the language available to express it.

In a sense, all labels are ludicrous attempts to contain the very complex structure of personality. Because, all identities have a certain finality associated with them, we become prisoners of the stamp. The term “bisexuality” represents a valiant effort define the indefinable- a free-flowing sexuality with a willingness to experience deep feelings of love and desire for either gender.

Sally Sunshine, alone on your own little journey, who do you love? That is the question of the hour. Or, more precisely, who will you fuck?

In the words of Lisa Loeb*, “Do you fuck girls anymore? Do you fall gracefully into bed with the same sex? I don’t know and I don’t care.”

Well, maybe, that wasn’t her exact phraseology, but, world, listen up, I’m still a lesbian.

Your faithful hermit/servant,

SallyS



*Lyrics: Do You Sleep? : Lisa Loeb

Bisexual Barnyard Classics

“Mule-bray, pig-grunt and bawdy cackles
proceed from your great lips.
It's worse than a barnyard.”
-The Colossus, Sylvia Plath

From sea to shining sea, mis-education and misrepresentation regarding bisexuality permeates across the land. The ignorance encountered daily could leave one’s heading spinning for weeks. From trite expressions of support from men- those drooling fools! - to predictable attention-seeking kisses from straight girls, bisexuality is routinely misunderstood.

However, because of its infiltration in popular culture, bisexuals no longer shock, amaze, or even perplex the most conservative person anymore. Many examples of canned pop culture bisexuality exist in modern day media presentations. So, when “A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila”, premiered this fall I was interested to see how society, at large, would react. Tila, a bisexual wild child, started the show with sixteen men and women, who were seeking a “shot at love.”


Tila gives granny a lap dance, Episode 8.

Tila, a sexy Scorpio vixen, charms her way into each person’s heart, but must eliminate a contestant each week until only one remains, the one who win’s her heart. Ironically, there aren’t any other “bisexuals” on the show. It’s lesbians against the straight boys and Tila’s the bi prize.

But, as we know from Alfred Kinsey’s published research, the majority of people are not strictly hetero or homo. Kinsey’s point is demonstrated on the second episode when lesbian Rebecca has “naughty relations” with straight boy Steven. Rebecca is sent packing and Steven remains after Tila finds out, which, my friends, is also very interesting.

Rebecca is viewed as a traitor while sheepish Steven is forgiven. The reasoning being, what guy wouldn’t try to bang the hot lesbian chick lying next to him? Hell, if she’s offering! The hot lesbian, on the other hand, has declared her sexuality, signed it in stone, so, fraternizing with the male species is forbidden. I suffered a similar fate when, out and proud, I announced to my girlfriend of two years that I would be fucking men again. Then, my girlfriend and the lesbian community shouted, in traitorous rage, “Off with her head!” and shunned poor Sally.

Conversely, our culture also emphasizes the glamour, sexiness, and popularity of bisexuality, as long as a careful eye on male approval is maintained. For example, compare the two sets of song lyrics below. The first set belongs to big time playa and rapper, T-Pain.

“My girl gotta girlfriend
I just found out but its aight
Long as i can be wit her too
My girl gotta girlfriend
It really is not a problem
Cuz imma make it do what it do
Cuz havin 2 chicks is better than no chicks
I'd rather just join in
Keep my girl and keep the other one too”

The first time my friend had me listen to this song at the gym, I almost threw up on the treadmill beneath me. T-Pain is free to join in anytime with Sally and another woman as long as I get first crack at his ass. In contrast, compare the lovely lyrical stylings of bisexual singer-songwriter, Ani DiFranco.

“He looks me up and down
like he knows what time it is
like he's got my number
like he thinks it's his
he says,
call me, Miss DiFranco,
if there's anything I can do
I say,
It's Mr. DiFranco to you.”

Obviously, there are conflicting views in our society regarding bisexuality. Men would like to politely remind us that there are rules, constraints, and dicks to consider. Girls, do not forget about the dicks!

Rule #1- Only women are allowed to show excessive affection toward their girl friends. Men, on the other hand, must remain stoic in their interactions with other men.

Rule #2- Men control the vast Empire of Female Ass. If a man wants a threesome with his girlfriend, another woman will be solicited, pending his approval.

Rule #3- Women must include men in all their sexual exploits with other women.

Rule #4- Cock is still the main star. Men are allowed to watch, intervene, and fuck either partner at will.

It’s under these predetermined societal conditions women must discover and nurture their sexuality. And we wonder why the inhabitants of our society are sick. We may also wonder why female sexuality must cater to male satisfaction. Sadly, in a system where men hold most of the resources, power, and the power of approval, women will always be poor. As women, we must consciously work to break free from this desperate need for male approval.

Frustrating “fake bi girls”, then, are just another natural sickness of the current system. These “fake bi girls” vie for male attention by pretending to fuck other women, but only in public, when men are watching. This is a very disappointing development because, in the past, bi/lesbian women could truly be counted on to eat pussy- with gusto. Now, Sally must field random advances from seemingly straight women. These naughty little teases, who have no interest in bringing it down South, make out with Sally in front of curious on-lookers, but disappear when the lights go down. I have no problem with bi-curious women, if you are, indeed, bi-curious. Unfortunately, some these women get a high from piggy-backing off of Sally’s sexual energy. Physically, my body loves each and every one of those playful attention-seeking straight girls, but, my mind is telling me, Sally, be careful.

Nobody wants to deal with a salty blue balls Sally.

Happy Friday, y’all. Peace and Love to my bisexual freaks. ~ Sal.

E- Dating: Finding love (or sex!) on the Internet

Is there a shortage of available sexy man candy in close vicinity? Do you struggle to find a decent relationship within a 100 mile radius? Are you so bloody sick of the specimens in your neighbor hood you’re considering a move to Siberia? If so, on-line dating could be viable option. Now, it may seem like Sally is just overflowing with applicants, but readers, I live in a small Midwestern city. Interesting men/women are not the norm here (think football Sunday at the nearest sports bar with beer & hot wings and topics ranging from who scored the last touch down to NASCAR.) In this environment, a girl could feasibly go crazy. In order to avoid the asylum, I’ve dipped a couple of toes in the on-line pool, mostly out of boredom or curiosity. And, I’ll admit, once or twice to indulge in a wildly inappropriate long-distance relationship.

My first on-line dating experience started back in my lesbian days on yahoo.com. When I signed up, I was a lonely heartbroken lesbian searching for quality ass. I had, what I thought was, a relatively intriguing profile. However, I got almost no action from my witty “about me” section. But I didn’t have a picture posted, and in retrospect, I probably just sounded haughty instead of witty. A few women sent me “ice breakers” and commented on my profile, but it wasn’t the girl pile I was expecting.

Eventually, after thoroughly exhausting my lesbian options, I decided to join Match.com, again, with no profile picture. However, this time around the gods smiled favorably upon Sally. It may be worth noting, Match.com does have a “woman seeking woman” alternative, however, there were very few women in my area…slim pickings, as one would say. Slightly defeated, I went hunting for boys instead. Men started appearing in rapid succession out of nowhere. My inbox was flooded with requests, so I started picking ‘em off one by one.

Match. com Guy Number One was a long-haired Pisces Painter with a pierced cock. We exchanged a few flirty emails before he gave me the digits. Anxious for my first Internet hook-up, I called him that same night. We agreed to meet at a well-lit public location. Twenty minutes later, cruising the isles of my local bookstore, I ran into Mr. Pierced Cock in a black trench coat. We talked spiritedly for another hour before I left with him. Upon arriving at his house, I discovered, in true starving artist fashion, the guy lived in a complete dump. But, I was horny and willing to overlook the piles of dirty laundry. The guy continued to call me for weeks afterward, but the memories of dirty laundry and garbage strewn about still haunted me. I never spoke with him again.

Match.com Guy Number Two was lanky young Piscean with a fondness for anal sex. He lived about two and half hours from me, so on New Year’s Eve, after a few weeks of phone calls and emails, I drove to his hometown. I should’ve turned around when I walked into his mother’s house and saw some lanky goofy guy beaming back at me. But, readers, I was already committed. I made the drive, hadn’t I? He took me to a local bar where I met half the members of his family while I gritted my teeth and feigned interest. Finally, we left the bar and returned back to mom’s house. Too drunk to care, I sat down the air mattress quasi-bed and started to undress him. After all, tall skinny boy did have some fuck appeal, in an awkward kind of way. Much to my surprise, the guy had a relatively large member AND used it well. I fell asleep in his arms dreaming about mom. The next morning I left with promises to see him again soon, and with a cock of that magnitude, I meant it.

After exploring my local options on Match.com, I decided to continue my search beyond borders. As my Capricorn/Virgo sister often declares smartly, “I’m writing my thesis on International Cock”, thus, eHarmony seemed perfect for vehicle for a foreign merger. eHarmony “daters” are required to take a personality assessment and then all your matches are delivered straight to your inbox. Daters are unable to cruise profiles or contact those who don’t match their criteria. This, in theory, eliminates those who aren’t compatible.

Additionally, eHarmony maintains they have a “Scientifically Proven Compatibility Matching System.” Now, Sally knows animalistic passion isn’t derived from a “scientific system”, but I’ll tell you what is…. marriages. eHarmony states on their website that “90 eHarmony members get married every single day!” eHarmony, evidently, is Thee Place for desperate 30 somethings to met and slap a ring on a finger. Since marriage is a disgusting social institution with zero appeal, I should’ve realized from the beginning, eharmony was a little too science-y for me.

eHarmony Guy Number One was a boring Libra with too much respect for authority. The guy lived far far away from Sally, which, in the end, was a blessing. The courtship (on eHarmony it is a fucking courtship with “steps” and all!) was, again, rather short. I started emailing him in July and was on a plane to visit him by the end of August. The guy was a decent enough human being and we had excellent phone conversations (think creamy smooth Venus voice) but, physically, he was not my cup of tea. He was hairy with a flabby tummy and small wee-wee to boot! I was disappointed but not completely devastated. I figured we could still have some fun. However, the dude was a like a long trip to dullsville for Sally, plus he couldn’t give decent head to save his life. I wasn’t impressed. I packed my bags and headed for the hills.

At this point, I was a bit disillusioned with on-line dating, but still hungry for more. And true to form, shortly after my Libra Mishap, I met eHarmony Guy Number Two. This guy was an intellectual Aquarian with a freaky side…perfect. However, he’d never been with a white girl and he was, as far as I could tell, still mourning the death of his mother. He invited me several times to come see him, but my days of plane hopping were coming to an end. I could not exchange anymore sexual misadventures for a $400 ticket. My bank account wasn’t havin’ it. I never met Mr. Big Brain in person, but I wasn’t too distraught, I’d had my fill.

Yet, one cannot wrap up any discussion about on-line hook ups without mentioning the proverbial King of On-line Fucks, myspace.com. There seems to be a wide array of folks who get a considerable amount of myspace ass. I, on the other hand, have been disappointed by the lack of friendly fuck invites. Currently, I’ve been taunting a slightly repressed Virgo with naughty thoughts, but nothing has manifiested. We’ll see.

My ex-girlfriend, on the other hand, pimps harder than any other woman I know on myspace. She is constantly fielding fuck invites from women. She also uses another site for on-line lesbian dating at Tangowire.com. I asked her to write a few paragraphs about her on-line lesbian dating experiences and she had this to say…

“The lesbian site I use is Tangowire.com. I don't care for it, and I have honestly gotten more play on Myspace than any dating site I have ever been on. I have new people contacting me daily on myspace, after either looking at my pictures or reading my blog. Most of them have no chance ..not into fat and/or butchy.. as you know. But there’s been about 4 girls I have gone out with, and a few more I am supposed to hang out with sometime soon.

I guess the experience has been just fine. However, I have had a few girls either edit their photos or not show certain parts of their bodies, so when I meet them, I definitely got some things I wasn't expecting. One of the girls was only about half as attractive as her pictures are. Another date stared at me fanatically for almost the entire time and still continues to border-line stalk me. Pathetic, really. I will say this, I'm convinced that this *Midwestern City* is just lacking. Conversely, I have so far put no effort into meeting or responding to anyone who lives very far away (don't see the point). I am very seriously considering moving to a land where attractive lesbians really do exist.”

Tangowire is an interesting site, it isn’t just for lesbians, but there is a “women only” area one can join. One can also hook-up based solely on zodiac signs, which is a fabulous idea. Pisces chat room, here I cum.

Also, with respect to friendly fucks @ Revolution..please don’t hesitate to fuck back…leave a message or send an email about your next plane hop. I hope it’s in my direction.

xoxo, Sal.

An Announcement from the Republic of Shaved Pussies

Do you shave, wax, or pluck your pussy hair? Concerned Citizens for the Removal of Pubic Hair (C.C.R.P.H.) would like to know. Actually, a reader emailed me with a few questions about pussy grooming, and I, with his permission, have published his email. He writes:

"Do you think pubic hair serves any real purpose?

The last few girls I dated were in their mid to late 20's and kept hardwood floors (i.e. shaved pussies), which I actually liked a lot. My ex wife and previous girlfriends, who were a bit older, were more on the shag carpet or au natural side, which I guess I didn't really mind, but I got sick of sticking my tongue in a brillo pad.

I asked my ex wife to clean it up a little bit, which she begrudgingly agreed to do. However, she insisted on keeping something because that was more adult-like and being fully shaved was disgusting. Apparently she hasn't gone down on another girl with a huge bush. Ick. We found a compromise that worked, which was about the only compromise we ever had in our short marriage, but I digress.

I'm not too hung up on it, but it’s interesting and I'd like to hear your thoughts on the subject, since you've probably seen more variations of shaved and unshaved or somewhere in between than I have.

Do lesbians or bi-sexual girls typically have a preference of shaved or unshaved? Do you think age is a factor if a girl will shave or not?

What do you think about guys who shave or do you not pay attention?"
- C.C.R.P.H.

See my response below:

Dear C.C.R.P.H.,

You are correct, Sally has sampled a wide variety of pussies in her day, plus I have one of my own I’ve been meticulously grooming since day one.

Or not.

Pussy up-keep can be girl’s worst nightmare, especially if you are prone to shaving rashes, in-grown hairs, or yeast infections. Sally has horrible eyesight, so, shaving in the morning without contacts is out of question. Thus, every couple of days, I laboriously grab my razor from a shelf on the tub while I’m bathing and do the deed. However, all those little hairs, regardless of how careful I am, end up stuck to the bottom of the tub. Now, it’s fine if you live alone, but if you have roommates, it can be an embarrassing discovery. When someone screams, “Ew! Who left their pubes all over the place?!” during your semi-formal dinner party, you know you’re the guilty offender. Please be careful with those pubes, folks.

In my experience, it’s the girls you would least expect to have immaculate clean-shaven pussies that do. Lesbians, especially, are surprising. The butchiest of the butch will have Thee Most Beautiful Pussy Ever while the Sexy Siren’s is only mediocre. Yet, I don’t subscribe to the school of thought, “Bald is Beautiful”. A pussy doesn’t necessarily have to be hairless or even shaved. Pussies with a rough texture, however, should come with a warning sign. Stubble is not sexy. I love giving head, but when razor burn threatens to remove the first layer of my epidermis, it’s time to revaluate.

Lucky for Sally, the ex had a stellar pussy. She shaved often, which, I too, like the reader above, appreciated. The only complaint I had was when she first shaved. She’d go completely or almost all the way bald, and it was usually on a Fri/Sat. night before we went out. Later on in the evening when we returned home, I’d rip her pants off and stick my tongue in her only to discover a little hair left over…like the pubes in the bath tub hair…hanging out. Usually, these stray hairs would end up in my mouth, or lodged in the back of my throat, but that’s nothing a glass of water can’t fix. I never did tell her about the strays, she was still one beautiful bitch in my mind.

But, to answer your question, reader, there is no hard n’ fast rule in the world of lesbians and bisexuals regarding pussy grooming. Even so, I consider it good form to shave mine at least once a week if I’m fucking a woman. I haven’t been as considerate when I’m going through a "man phase". Currently, the dude I’ve been nailing, much to my dismay, isn’t a huge fan of pussy licking. Thus, I admit, I’ve been lazy lately. But, if I’m spending an evening with a pussy enthusiast it will be groomed to perfection.

I’ve have also found age to be an equally surprising element in the whole “bald pussy” phenomenon. The oldest woman I’ve slept with was thirty-nine and the youngest was twenty-one. The twenty-one year old had nearly a full bush while the thirty-nine year old was as well-groomed as they come! Go figure! Reader, I see your point about the older generation being resistant to the prevailing trend. It happens. However, asking our lovers to do little things (like trimming) to increase our pleasure/their pleasure should not be out of the question, and I like the idea of compromise.

Do I notice when men shave their crotch? Yes, I think so. But with men I’m more likely to remember shape and size rather than hair presence. Some men are incredibly hairy, which makes dick sucking not only dangerous (choke!) but unpleasant. Men with big bushy pubic areas are probably also hairy-back gents and should consider a trip to the salon. There are men who are, for whatever reason, pretty hairless, so, for those boys, hair removal isn’t necessary.

Pubic hair, or hairiness in general, is probably a matter of preference more than anything. I have friends who “love them some hairy gorilla men”, and I imagine there are some men out there who (gulp) like hairy women, brillo pad and all. I lust for men who are tall, thin, femmy types with delicate hands, thus, hairy macho boys need not apply.

Tangentially, since we’re on the topic of pussies, ladies, which sign do you think gives the best or worst head? I’ve had terrible luck with Gemini men. Gemini men do know how to give a good fingering, but head, no thanks. Air sign men, typically, I’ve found are not well-trained in Pussy 101. Pisces men, on the other hand, give excellent head and are well-behaved slaves. Just kidding.

Well, maybe not.

Yours, Sally S.

Water from the Well

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Sexual Dysfunction, Part II

Read Part I

I finally got her off. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the girl who was only a few nights ago “too tired” and “not horny”, let me have my way with her. After she let go of her inhibitions and relaxed it was, as they say, “smooth sailing.” Well, ok, sometimes it was rough, hair pulling and what not, but that’s neither here nor there.

One would think amongst lesbians/bi girls you would find women who are immensely comfortable in their skin, loving women that is. Yet, in my experience, it’s the lesbians who are often the most bashful, reserved, missionary position types. Why, in the land of women, are we not all gorging ourselves at the table?

The medical community and the APA (American Psychological Association) call it Female Sexual Dysfunction or FSD. FSD actually represents a group of specific diagnosable female sexual problems. The four basic categories of female sexual dysfunction include:

1) Sexual Desire Disorder
2) Sexual Arousal Disorder
3) Sexual Pain Disorder
4) Orgasmic Disorder

Do you see a pattern here? A flow, maybe? One step leads to the next. If you’re not turned on (desireless), surprise, you won’t get aroused (wet), which results in pain (hey, pass the lube!), and sadly then, no orgasm. Boo. Hiss.

Further, what if we are able to successfully navigate our way through steps 1-3 but still can’t orgasm?

Is it psychological? Physical? A little of both?

Once it took me five months to achieve an orgasm with a woman I dated. (Hangs head in shame.)

It wasn’t because she did not have superior oral skills, because she did. However, there was something in me that would not release. We tend to forget orgasm is the release of tension. The fact is, I really needed it at that time. I needed someone to push down on the release valve- hard AND fast.

It’s hard to say why I felt so inhibited then. I had just came out to my mother and was dealing with her critical negative attitude, plus a death in the family. All those factors add up and make it difficult to get out of our heads and into our bodies.

Yet, right inside our bodies is where we need to be- comfortable and free, full of life and ready to release.

It’s Friday!

Enjoy the weekend--go get some. ~ Sally S.

Role Play: Mother Mud and Father Law

“Girls can wear jeans
And cut their hair short
Wear shirts and boots
'Cause it's okay to be a boy
But for a boy to look like a girl is degrading
'Cause you think that being a girl is degrading
But secretly you'd love to know what it's like
What it feels like for a girl” ~ Excerpt from The Cement Garden, and also as heard on Madonna’s cd, “Music”

Men who want to be initiated/assimilated into the female experience have always fascinated me. Typically, it is these types that find me with startling frequency.

Keep in mind, I’m not talking solely about drag queens or transsexuals, folks. I’m including straight, gay, bi, monogamous, and poly men alike. Bear with me as I expound....

Prescribed gender roles have been around since the beginning of time, and were generally used to organize society in order encourage efficient resource allocation. Men do this, women do that, and everyone lives happily ever after. So it would seem.

Fast forward a few hundred years and now women can own property, vote, manifest our own respective financial destinies, and reap the benefits of reproductive freedom. On a superficial level, at the very least, women have entered and been assimilated into the male experience. And yes, for some women, the door is open to move toward an even deeper level of masculinity. Women who stand at this threshold may face societal pressure to step back, but still, the door is there.

Men, on the other hand, from what I’ve witnessed, find it far more difficult to submerge themselves directly in feminine. Not only has society, with its rigid structural permanence, enclosed men in air tight gender roles, but there are internal barriers in place as well. The basic idea of a “woman’s role” has clearly shaken to the core. But, what about men?

Here’s something: Men crave, I mean, CRAVE, experiences/encounters that allow them to surrender their masculinity. I’m not sure how I figured this out because it was not within the intellectual realm. My first experience with this happened when a lover and I were fucking, me on top, him looking adoringly up at me…and he gave himself over. Psychically, I felt him let go of his “maleness” while I fucked HIM. Even his facial expressions took on a very feminine quality, while I observed the transformation right before my very eyes. He climaxed almost immediately. And that, dear readers, is how I got involved with energy experiments. I’ll take back my femininity if you take back your masculinity.

In other words, I’ll show you mine if you show me yours. hell. yeah.

Now, how does this work with two women? oooooo….. I knew you’d ask, more to cum, I mean come….

Please, Make Yourself Comfortable

.....lay down on the couch

It’s been a long time since I’ve met any women who’ve “done it” for me. And in the small city I live in, the pool of available sane sexy smart les/bi women is more like a wading pool, there’s no deep end and definitely no waterslide. (Bear with me, I’ve been at the pool for the last couple of days!---in more ways than one if ya know what I mean *heehee* *wink wink**) There is one singular gay bar in this godforsaken town, so if you do hook up with a new girl, everyone knows it. Usually, I can’t even frequent a drinking establishment without running into two-three ex gfs. Luckily, most of my exes and I are on good terms.

So, this weekend when I was out, I was shocked to see a multitude of hot girlies running ‘round. Some were more of your garden variety lesbian types (butchy, softball players galore!) with even fewer femmy types lurking about. Now, I would definitely align myself, at least style wise, with the femmies. And yes, I’ve been known to vamp it up with the best of ‘em. For example, Friday night: red mini, red heels, black halter.. ect, ect….

Yet, in attitude I’m far more *masculine* than one might expect.

For example, a table of younger “soft butch” women were congregating by the bar watching me on the dance floor. One of em’ in particular kept giving me the eye. You know, the eye, the smile, the big grin, and the head nod to friend in my direction type of thing. I also sent flirty smiles her way and made it a point to return her gaze several times. Still, at the end of the night, she had not uttered one word to me. Nothing. As the night progressed, it became clear there was no way in hell she was going to approach me.

So, Sally had to pull out the big guns, folks. I walked straight over to her table stuck my hand out, said “I’m Sally…and you are…????” She immediately picked up on the vibe and struck up a conversation with me. About five minutes into it, she asks me if I’m straight. And, in her defense, you really can’t blame her, as I’m fairly sure the term “passing” may have been invented for me. Passing is an interesting topic of it’s own, really. For instance, when I saw her I thought, “Yep, that’s a lesbian”, which definitely gives me the advantage as far as making the first move goes. So, yeah, butch ladies, I understand why you may be reluctant to hit on girly girls.

In my experience, however, I’ve also noticed the old saying “Butch on the streets, femme in the sheets” to be quite accurate. Therefore, in almost all of my encounters/relationships with butch women I have been instigator. I’m the first one to fire up the conversation, and take the lead in the bedroom too.

Ok, back to Friday Night Hottie.

Later in the evening, Friday Night Hottie said, “You’re a top, aren’t you?” And then proceeded to comment about my aggressiveness- funny thing is, in my earlier days, I wasn’t necessarily a top. Or maybe I was just a top in disguise. I often noticed then how the butchies were uncomfortable in their own skin, unwilling to let their femmy girlfriends *ahem* service them. I always found this to be strange, and lords knows, I have helped many butchies get over this fear. Then again, I have many straight female friends who are similarly uncomfortable. So, obviously, it isn’t just a butch/femme phenomenon in gay/les circles. I’m more inclined to think it’s an f-ed up cultural attitude women have been indoctrinated into and, as a result, experience shame with regard to their bodies. It takes a lot of work to undo all of the societal conditioning imposed, but it can be done.

Before the evening ended, Friday Night Hottie introduced several of her friends and one of them said, “Hey, aren’t you a sex therapist? I could swear that was what I heard you did for a living.” Astute observation, my friend, indeed.

George Bush and Female Desire

(Not a likely combo you say?)

This fucking incompetent irresponsible administration, with its lies, corruption, and greed, has gone too far. Democrats have given George the Finger, and there’s no turning back. Today, ACTUAL legislation passed in the House in a 218-212 vote which provided for a time table to bring the troops home. It’s hard to tell if the Senate will pass it, but it’s a start. Bush has said he will veto the measure if it ends up on his desk. Everything negative that could be said about this president has already been said. Soooo, I’ll spare you the “he’s a trigger happy war mongering obstinate fool who needs to remove his head from his ass” speech.

Ahem.

Now that I’ve got that off my chest, back to the babes. It is, after all, female desire week. Let’s not waste anymore time.

OBJECTS OF DESIRE: The Musical: Act II

How could I forget these two? I seem to have a preference for brunettes, with blue eyes, that is.

But, as my friend Julie would say, “I don’t discriminate, I’m an equal-opportunity destroyer.” Indeedy, Julie.

Rachel Yamagata




Amy Lee




Next, I’d like to continue with some cinematic duos of female desire. Here are my most recent two.

Loving Annabelle- Diane Gaidry, Erin Kelly




This could very well be my life story. Teacher falls for hot young student- so delicious, yet completely inappropriate and naughty.

My Summer of Love- Natalie Press and Emily Blunt



Hell, Emily Blunt by herself works for me too. Yikes- she’s sexy.





*Turns off movie projector and turns on the lights*

Time for a cold shower.

OBJECTS OF DESIRE: The Musical

“I know you've seen her
She's a sad tomato
She's three miles of bad road
Walking down the street
Will I never meet her?” - Crush With Eyeliner, R.E.M.

Since Cassandra Says has declared it Female Desire Week, and others have followed suit, I thought I’d throw my two cents into the ring. Female Desire Week reminds us all that women aren’t just tools of the patriarchy, that we too can be initiators of “the gaze”.

I cannot speak for all women, but at least I know I’m not dead inside. I’d like to actually, you know, enjoy my sexual activities, whether it is with a man or woman.

And, oh, on the whole man or woman topic. As most of my readers know, I’m bisexual. If you’ve been reading my blog for some time you’ve probably noticed that I have a tendency to get involved with more men (whether sexually, emotionally, relationships.. whatever) then women. And when friends call they say, “Meet any cute guys lately?” or “any special guy in your life?” Inevitably, I have some random guy-story to relay to them. Blah Blah Blah.

Not that I don’t like or don’t fantasize about certain men, because I do. BUT, it gets old. If I had my way, I’d alternate between the two genders. This week men, next week women, and so forth. In a perfect world, I could Take a Sample from Every Platter when ever I wanted, AND not feel guilty about it.

But why do I feel like Mom just slapped my hand as I reached into the cookie jar?

For some reason, Desire, especially has been a central issue for me. Certainly, I’ve been known to frolic in the garden while tasting everything in sight. Most partners would like to keep my frolicking to a minimum or eliminate it altogether. I am not comfortable with this for several reasons. But, mostly because It’s So Freaking Boring! I love the chase, the moment where nothing is certain and adrenaline is high. I realize this resembles the classic feelings of a girl with a middle school crush, but hell, don’t we all like our love dressed up and all idealistic? Cause I know when reality creeps in, that’s the kiss of death for me. It ruins the expectation of a perfect union, and well, I’m just not that interested in settling. Delusional? Maybe. Hopeful? Always.

And so, I digress.

Anyway, here are some other tantalizing gaze-inspirers from a previous post for your viewing pleasure. And I do mean pleasure.

This, however, is the Music Edition. And since there are so many sizzling desirous musicians , I had a lot of material to work with.

I’ve grouped them into categories for organizational purposes, of course.

OBJECTS OF DESIRE: The Musical

Hot Girls with Guitars (and an occasional Piano):

Tristan Prettyman





Regina Spektor



Neko Case



Hot women who should beat me with a whip:

Rose McGowen (I realize she is not a musician, but I couldn’t resist)

Alison Goldfrapp





A Threesome I wouldn’t mind participating in:

The White Stripes





Group Gropes I would definitely attend:

The Yeah Yeah Yeahs



PJ Harvey, Bjork, Tori



And shocking as it is, one singular man:

Ray Lamontagne




Standing ovation, close curtain.

Skirt Chasin'

It took me a long time to finally stop imaging every boy that I’ve ever saw in a dress. Because boys, at some point, will all have their manhood stripped from them. The only difference being, I saw it in my mind’s-eye long before they could ever fathom it. I knew that purple sash and little Bo Peep bonnet would look nice on him long before he ever did.

For most men the transformation is necessary part of development. Tori A. said it best in her song, Caught a Lite Sneeze, when she said “Boys in their dresses, but you're not here.” Sometimes the ego disappears, and identity is lost during the unraveling of our false self. Where do we go when we lose ourselves? Do we sublimate our thoughts, desires, and needs and lose contact with our instinctual drives?

This happens easily to men who are often taught to ignore their feminine side, in favor of unrelenting masculinity. Men without a proper container to hold their femininity will project all their neurotic tendencies on to the woman with the right hook (to hang his projection on, that is.) This is the one that draws him in.

Of course, women too experience their own form of de-humanization and humiliation. For many women, the unintended consequence of sublimating our inner male has forced itself to the surface through violent abusive relationships, or splits between our bodies and minds. Women, with our tendency to contort ourselves into chameleon-like poses to please everybody, need to collectively develop a lower tolerance for bullshit.

And really, the only way to overcome it is to build a divine marriage of opposites within yourself. Relationships should only exist as a container for self-discovery, if we are aware enough. The rest of the work should be done in the confines of our own minds. Even if the only thing you can see is a bunch of dudes standing around in their pretty dresses.

Pulling Back a Dream

As we begin to uncover the layers of who we are, some strange happenings often occur. This weekend, being true to form, was sort of a montage of strange experiences bundled into a few days. For example, on Saturday I ended up on the kitchen floor throwing a tantrum like a little girl. You may ask, what nearly brought me to my knees and into the fetal position on Saturday night? Readers, I stubbed my baby toe. Now, this wasn’t an ordinary toe stubbing, no, this shocking blitz of pain entered through my baby toe and went up my leg and down the other side. This unprecedented throbbing throughout my foot gradually turned into a great big bruise with a large array of colors represented. I’ve got blue, I’ve got pink, purple, green, and variations of each. One could paint a masterpiece from the color palette on my foot.

However, this shock wave of pain did not deter me from participating in the weekend’s festivities, and like a trooper I soldiered on in my black stiletto boots. The night began with random frou frou shots administered by a lovely bar wench, in full wench gear. With the liquor flowing, the pain in my foot gradually diminished. Naturally, at this point the dance floor was calling my name. I hit the floor with vigor, oblivious to the throbbing in my shoe. I should’ve known it wouldn’t be long before a sexy-mamma diva threw me against a wall and had her way with me. Yet, I was surprised when it happened, as we were not in gay-friendly establishment and she was quite forceful.

At the end of the night she asked me to leave with her. I was puzzled. Does this really happen in straight venues? Her boldness was stunning, and in that moment, I thought, “Why the hell not?” Other detailed events ensued shortly after, but dear readers, this is not a XXX-rated porn blog site, so I’ll leave my observations to myself.

Eventually, I fell asleep with my head on her stomach, sighing deeply and wondering how this would fit into reality as the sun was coming up. I drifted in and out of sleep for awhile and finally woke up as the sun’s rays burned through my basement window. I rolled over and reached for her, but my bed was empty. I looked over at the floor and there were no signs she had ever been there.

Next time, I’ll know not confuse reality with a dream because morphine will do that to you while you sleep

What d'ya got up in that house?

I am the official babysitter of drunk women. Last night there were girls girls girls everywhere, and evidently, I am their keeper. Making sure they get home ok, and doubling as bodyguard and bouncer in the meantime. Someone actually asked me if I was "the man" in the relationship. To what relationship he was referring to, I don't know. Or to what extent I am "The Man", I'm not sure. But, I'll take it as a compliment. Obviously he thought I had bigger balls than him.

On the topic of balls, I have no doubt, if I was a man, I'd be nailing chicks left and right. Is that ok for a feminist to say? I'm guessing not, I’ll probably get kicked out of the top secret sisterhood club for that one. Lately, I have become pretty blasé toward men though. What exactly is their purpose again? It seems like anything they can do, I can do twice as well. Am I conceited? Probably. But hey guys, I’m still waiting to be knocked off of my chair. So far, it’s been less than impressive. Is it because South Dakota men are completely standard? Maybe I’m a snob, but I’m not finding any other reason to believe differently.

It could be I am in need of a total re-evaluation of why I am here. It could be time to leave SD. Although, the main purpose of my life should not be meeting someone spectacular, every now and then it would be refreshing to feel there is someone who at least RESONATES with me. Until then, fellow bloggers, you can find me on the dance floor, in full tough-girl gear, fielding questions like “What’d ya got up in that house?”

Woman Like A Man--Damien Rice

I need a piss,
I wanna hate,
Fuck it up, come.
My love,
Eat your meat,
Keep your teeth, run.
You lost me,
You cost me,
You taught me of me in the end.
We're bad,
What we do.
Stupid fools.

You wanna get boned,
You wanna get stoned,
You wanna get a room like no-one else.
You wanna be rich,
You wanna be kitsch,
You wanna be the bastard of yourself.
You wanna get burned,
You wanna get turned,
You wanna get fucked inside out.
You wanna be ruled,
You wanna be fooled,
You wanna be a woman like a man,
Like a woman like a man.


Need a hit?
Wanna wait,
Suck it up, cum.
My love,
Eat your meat,
Itchy feet, run.
You reach me,
You bleach me,
You teach me of things so familiar.
We're bad,
What we do.
Stupid fools.

You wanna get boned,
You wanna get stoned,
You wanna get a room like no-one else.
You wanna be rich,
You wanna be kitsch,
You wanna be the bastard of yourself.
You wanna get burned,
You wanna get turned,
You wanna get fucked inside out.
You wanna be ruled,
You wanna be fooled,
You wanna be a woman like a man, like a woman like a man.

12:00 AM (it’s purely fictional)

As I lay in bed last night, my thoughts drifted to an ex-girlfriend of mine, as they often do around Thanksgiving time. She and I met about three years ago at the end of November. She was a dynamic woman, head-strong, forthcoming and political. She had a warm smile and a laugh that just INFECTED the room. She was fearless in her pursuit of me, never giving up until she won the prize- in a typical Aries-like fashion. She was a force, a woman with a clear agenda and the determination to make it happen, to put thoughts into action. Now, I’m not saying I was in love, I would never admit to such a travesty. Then, the dream would cease to be, and dreams are not made to hold up against the stark light of reality.

My phone rang last night at midnight. And here’s how it went down.


Bruce Springsteen- I’m on Fire

Hey little girl is your daddy home
Did he go and leave you all alone
I got a bad desire
Oh I'm on fire

Tell me now baby is he good to you
Can he do to you the things that I do
I can take you higher
I'm on fire

Sometimes it's like someone took a knife baby
edgy and dull and cut a six-inch valley
through the middle of my soul

At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet
and a freight train running through the
middle of my head
And you, you cool my desire
Oh I’m on fire

Gender Bender

Did anyone else notice how bi-sexuality is often equated with promiscuity? Now, this girl isn’t saying she doesn’t enjoy a good ol’ fashion romp without strings attached, but in this day and age, it’s not the safest of alternatives.
Even so, bisexuals have an interesting relationship to society, especially when our sexual selves are constantly on display.

The ambiguousness of our choices baffle others, yet they have no problem including us as a welcome distraction to their boring stale relationships. All bisexuals have heard it… “how about a threesome? come home with me and my girlfriend.” Or as my ex-boyfriend so obnoxiously said, “you owe it to me”, when discussing the possibility of including a third person. Now call me naïve, but I don’t believe bisexuality is the same as polygyny. With each new relationship, I have to explain myself over and over again. While there may be some bisexuals who play on both teams simultaneously, I, personally, do not. If I’m with a woman, I’m with her, and if I’m with a man, I’m with him. It’s that simple.

However, bisexuals often have a hard time getting others to take their sexuality seriously. I have to admit; knowing a girl is bisexual and not gay would cause me to approach the relationship with a little more trepidation than I might otherwise. As there are different factions of bisexuals with different beliefs and one can never be too sure of what they’ve signed up for. The idea of loving a man or a woman equally has been a serious roadblock in several of my relationships as many people equate this philosophy with infidelity. But, in order to find our true identity we must struggle with the ignorance and judgments of others, over and over again. Desire is a nebulous concept and attraction often a chemical reaction that sparks a fire inside of us, yet it is not gender which draws another to us. Gender isn’t even half of the story.

Most people are blind to their desires, letting each passing tingle fade away, even if it challenges them to redefine their own sexuality. Still, the seeds of desire grow in each of us, threatening to disturb our carefully laid plans and partnerships. It must be dealt with. Bisexuals are closer to this energy and embody the image of duality, as the seeds of desire spin inside of us eternally. However, it would serve hetero and homosexuals to remember their more base natures; they aren’t as far from the seed as they think.

Baby, you can leave your hat on. (Remembering why)

Sometimes I wonder why I still live in this city.

A long time ago we stayed up until the snow plows barreled through this city while we touched each other tenderly. You see, I created a secret life where I could hide. And in the privacy of our room, it seemed like a great idea. We would throw secret parties, proclaiming our love, letting the rest of world guess what it was like to be us. Then, there were the late nights, the endless smoke fests and alcohol lips pressed against each other. Candles burned well into the next day and dates lasted days long. The phones were left off their hooks, the blinds closed, exploring one another’s bodies in the last flickers of the day light. We spoke in soft tones, not to upset the delicate balance of you and me, wrapped up in the sheets. And when you held me, our legs touched easily, we fit perfectly. You always held me so tightly, when we were alone in that fantasy.

And sometimes I wonder what’s left for me.

And I will not, I will not, I will not…
find
anyone
but
you
while
I am
alone
in this
city



You Can Leave Your Hat On- Tom Jones

Baby, take off your coat, real slow.
Baby, take off your shoes. I'll help you take off your shoes.
Baby, take off your dress.

You can leave your hat on.
You can leave your hat on.
You can leave your hat on.

Go over there, turn on the light. No, all the lights.
Come back here, stand on the chair.
Raise your arms in the air

You give me reason to live.
You give me reason to live.
You give me reason to live.
You can leave your hat on

Suspicious minds are talking. That's right, they'll tear us apart.
They don't believe in this love of ours.
They don't know what love is.
They don't know what love is.
I know what love is.
You can leave your hat on.