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

Ummm...

shhhhhhhhh.................

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.

DIVINE SEX: SUCKING THE NECTAR DRY

The Orgy: Boris Vallejo, 1980

"My vulva, the horn,
The Boat of Heaven,
Is full of eagerness like the young moon.
My untilled land lies fallow.
As for me, Inanna,
Who will plow my vulva?
Who will plow my high field?
Who will plow my wet ground?"

:Inanna to Dumuzi as repeated during Hieros Gamos

SEX AS RELIGION

Orgies have always fascinated me. The reckless abandon with which people give themselves away to others without a trace of regret- the claw-like nails dragging over tense muscular backs, and the loud slapping noises…bodies hitting one another with intense force, sweat running in and out the folds of skin, and the moaning crescendo coming from the mixture of male/female participants echoing down a long hallway- all suit my fancy.

During the Hellenistic period, those naughty Greeks sure knew how to party. Prostitutes were revered and “wife swapping” was common place. Hedonism was sacred in nature and orgies were a religious rite- rather than the morally depraved event they’ve become today. For example, during the sacred sex ritual, Hieros Gamos, a man (often a ruler or king) offered himself up to a High Priestess to join in divine union with her. The union was both for practical and esoteric purposes. The pairing was said to bless the land and people with abundant fertility and was typically enacted during the spring. In a spiritual sense, the ritual induced both participants, especially the male, to reach a higher level of awareness and experience a deeply satisfying religious experience.

All praise the holy vulva!

Auguste (Maurice François Giuslain) Léveque (1864-1921)

ORGIES, I WANT ONE... OR TWO

I have, in a half-joking manner, invited groups of hot singles over for an “orgy on my cement floor” many o’ nights after last call. Maybe it’s the granite walls or the hard floors in my loft apartment, but my offer has never been accepted. What does it take to conjure up a group for some orgiastic fun around here?

Free cookies and punch?

A few weeks ago, I had the pleasure of attending an all-girls getaway at a lake cabin. All in all, there were seven people in our group- a perfectly off-balance number to incite some sexual rebellion. My evil plan was craftily constructed to include a drunken Bacchanalian orgy of sorts. Booze, Seclusion, Sex and Song- just the right ingredients. However, I fucked it up, readers. First, as Master of Ceremonies, I should’ve resisted the first ten or so shots of Hot Damn I was offered. Then, in error, I zeroed in my affections on one particular lady, which divided the group. Shortly after, all the couples were tightly locked into their own conversations in their respective relationships. I had to abandon my mission and channel all my seductive energy in one direction.

Bummer.

Eventually, lake cabin girl and I stumbled into an adjacent bedroom. With her on top and me on the bottom I started removing clothes, throwing them in the air and giggling loudly. At some point, another drunk girl jumped on the bed with us. She had just removed lake cabin girl’s shirt and was rubbing my pussy when her girlfriend opened the door.

Busted.

The Girlfriend yelled her name and she quickly climbed off the bed and ran out the door after her to do some damage control. Although, I was excited to fuck lake cabin girl, as soon as our third partner in crime left, my pussy all but dried up. Wouldn’t it have been great if Girlfriend would’ve stripped down and jumped in bed with us? One can always dare to dream.

However, I do realize non-stop frolicking through The Garden- touching, touching, touching -everything in sight can be tiresome, which is why periods of rest or abstinence are necessary. Even those crazy Greeks knew when to give their chapped lips, engorged pussies, and sore dicks a break.

Happy Friday~Sally S.

“Inanna, your breast is your field.
Your broad field pours out plants.
Your broad field pours out grain.
Water flows from on high for your servant.
Bread flows from on high for your servant.
Pour it out for me, Inanna.
I will drink all you offer."

:Dumuzi to Inanna as repeated during Hieros Gamos

Vengeance & Rage- Jealousy Un-masked- Part II

:Woman Scorned, by Maram McWilliams:

“The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the iniquities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he, who in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who would attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee. “-Samuel Jackson, as Jules, heard in the film "Pulp Fiction"

Samuel Jackson was already one my favorite actors when this speech solidified my Sam-worship. Jackson’s character, a hit man with a spiritual side, would deliver the monologue above in a chilling executioner-like manner before he pumped his captive full of lead.

His monologue is actually based on Ezekiel 25:17, a Bible verse stating, “And I will execute great vengeance upon them with furious rebukes; and they shall know that I am the Lord, when I shall lay my vengeance upon them.”

Similar, no?

And if that's not enough, other examples can be found throughout the Bible where acts of retribution and “eye for an eye” theories flourished. “God” gets ticked off when we worship other deities, and He hates it when we disobey orders. In fact, during the entire length of the Old Testament God is smiting, destroying, and pillaging because he’s one jealous, angry, bitter old dude.

The problem with this belief system is the lust for revenge is endless. You smite me, and I smite you right back, and so the cycle goes. Until, that is, someone finally breaks the circle with forgiveness. Unfortunately, human beings bear the genetic imprint- a retributive stamp of pain- accumulated from ancestors, heritage, and if you want to go there…past lives too.

These primal feelings (cell memories) remain lodged in our subconscious and affect our relationships. Thus, when faced with a partner’s infidelity (or imagined infidelity) instinct kicks in. Once jealousy is aroused the tendency is to revert to our primal nature when threatened. Rational thought processes are discarded and the animal is released. Extreme examples of this type of behavior would include crimes of passion and half the bar fights I’ve seen over the course of my life.

Now, readers, let me just say, I’m a nice girl. However, some of the things I’ve done to my lovers in the past in the name of revenge have been really mean, if not outright horrible. Lovers were surprised by my malice because I seemed, on the surface, laid-back and uncomplicated. I told lovers, “I’m the most non-jealous person in the world!”, but was thinking, “I don’t care if you flirt with her, I’ll hook up with 10 guys to your one girl, Ha!” It didn’t matter if I actually did it (which yes, sometimes I did!) but the threat was there. Clearly, I wanted to have my partner by the balls. Do This or else. Do This or I will (insert consequence). Obviously, I am a jealous person, but was masking my feelings with revenge/control/manipulation tactics instead of admitting it. As one can imagine, this attitude has caused a lot of unnecessary pain in my relationships with others and internally as well.

For instance, my ex-girlfriend is a flirt AND she’s incredibly cute. I’d cringe each time a pretty girl would even walk in her direction. However, on one particular night I was especially worried. A tall dark-haired, tan, exotic-looking sexy grrl had been eye-fucking her for at least an hour when she finally walked over and struck up a conversation. I stomped off in the other direction, looking for some poor unsuspecting girl to flirt with while she talked. Eventually, sexy tan grrl and my girlfriend parted ways, and I was relieved, but still pissed.

I grabbed a twenty dollar bill out of my wallet, and made my way across the room toward tall tan girl. I took the $20 bill, marched up to the table she was sitting at with her friends and said, “Do you see that girl over there (pointing to my lover)? That’s my girlfriend. But, I’m soooooo tired of her, I’ll give you twenty bucks if you’ll take her home.” I threw the bill down on the table and walked out of the club with my pride in tow.

Evidently, insults of that caliber are enough to kill a relationship.

In hindsight, my behavior was clearly motivated by jealousy. This, strangely, coming from the girl who said she didn’t have a jealous bone in her body. However, that was then and this is now. It’s never too late to bring our negative behavioral patterns into our field of awareness. It’s never too late to learn the art of self love, healing, and forgiveness. And, it’s never too late to try again.

Stay tuned for Part III, when a guest blogger makes his mysterious presence known to weigh in on the jealousy factor.

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.

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.

Honey and The Sting

*raises cup metaphorically to readers* “Here’s to rejection, may all your humiliations be as fine as mine!”

Haven’t we all been there? Rejected by a potential romantic partner, institution, job, parent, or even your entire peer group? Yep, it happens. In fact, it has been occurring since the beginning of time. From classic ostracism dating all the way back to the budding Athenian democracy to modern day excommunications and the shunning of certain public personalities rejection rears its ugly head. And that doesn’t even begin to touch on the petty little rejections each one of us has suffered on a personal level.

Rejection, with its funny little stinger, reminds me of a bumble bee. ( I know, weird analogy, stay with me.) It buzzes around your head on a beautiful summer day, its presence annoying, yet not terribly noticeable. Until the little fucker stings you. Then, that big swollen red bump takes shape, the stinger hanging half way out of the wound. After you’ve torn out the stinger itching and what not may last for a week sometimes longer. In some cases, those allergic to bee stings may experience a fatal reaction. Hell, I think we’ve all seen My Girl where that kid dies from multiple bee stings.

Rejection, especially to the environmentally sensitive person, is like a little mini death of the ego. We scratch, we pull, and some of us even manage to suck the venom out of the wound, yet it is still painful. Some never recover, and the pain turns into rage. For those of us who manage to find some healing and self-esteem, it’s long battle indeed. Yet, as human beings I think we’re up to the task.

Not to get biblical on ya, but “forgive our sins as we forgive those who’ve sinned against us” is not a bad message. Plus, playing the eternal victim is boring and really does nothing in the way of relief anyway. The question we all need to ask about *any* wound we may have suffered in our life is, “How can I use it?” How can we take what we’ve learned through our suffering and give it back to others in the form of compassion, love, and strength? A high order, I know, but necessary in our evolution as a species.

Rejection being the theme … if you feel inclined to do so please share a story of rejection/humiliation no matter how big or small the rejection was. It’ll be like free therapy! YAY!

Here’s mine:

Sally Sunshine is proud of her ability to seduce, being the Aphrodite charmer hyper-sexual girl that she is. It’s an art that’s been perfected over many desire-induced evenings spent in eternal rapture. Eh, you get the point.

Anyway, many moons ago there was a certain lesbian *who shall remain nameless* who seemed bent on humiliating me. She was of the stoic variety, said very little, but had one of those “penetrating stares” romance novels talk about. She was twice my age and rather butchy. She was cute, but in a non-traditional super-secret spy kind of way.

We had been eyeing each other for some time, but never said a word throughout our exchange of hot n’ heavy glances. Finally, on my birthday, with a killer mini and extra beer in hand, I approached Ms. Elusive. She was, for all purposes, less than thrilled with my overture. My “hey, don’t cha wanna come home with me?” after 3-5 birthday shots wasn’t exactly classy.

She explained she didn’t like to rush things and wanted to get to know me better. I, although pleased she wanted to “know me better”, was not pleased with the reference to “taking our time.” However, I conceded and continued to chat with her. She said later that evening we should leave the bar together and continue our conversation elsewhere, which I considered a small victory. After all, it was my birthday and the mini did look fierce.

However, at the end of the night, when I went to get her, her friends said they weren’t sure where she was at. They thought she may have stepped outside for a minute. So, happily I trotted away leaving my drink on the table next to them. But when I got outside she was no where to be found and her car was gone. A few moments later, the first few rain drops fell. I stood, stunned and hurt in my best birthday outfit, while the rain soaked my face. Rejected and a bit emotional, I went home alone.

On*my*birthday.

** Update: The lesbian *who shall remain nameless* later apologized and we dated briefly, until I left her for a hotter younger chick. Funny how life works.

Colonel Mustard, in the library, with a candlestick.

And he said, “She’s like a dream” to which
I replied knowingly, “Yes, like a knife down the throat.”

This weekend I was reminded of a young man who I worked with many years ago. Nick was sweet, cherubic, and kind, but he annoyed me beyond measure. I worked with him closely, and was often times put off by his buoyant optimism. Never did I question the sincerity of his angelic temperament, as I saw him interact with others constantly under pressure while still maintaining a bright smile. Much to his peers’ dismay, his unfailing optimism grew stronger each day, but so did their harshness. Nick was often the butt of their long-standing jokes, as rumors about his sexuality or lack of “maleness” permeated though out the school. Nick was rather slow to hit puberty and his high-pitched voiced along with his feminine stride was enough to raise an eyebrow or two in small town South Dakota. Although I felt sorry for Nick because of the apparent disrespect of his classmates, the dude was actually very irritating. However, I didn’t have to dig too deep to find some compassion for poor Nick because his peers were so horribly cruel.

When I saw an older Nick-look-a-like on Saturday night, I was reminded of how my radar picks up femininity in men fairly easily. Now unlike Nick, this guy was a tall, much taller than anyone else in crowd, but there was a certain femininity in his movements. When I first spotted him, I thought I had stumbled upon what could’ve been thee hottest tall athletic butch lesbian I’d ever seen. I noted his/her presence, and then went back to my table. Later in the evening, as I was leaving the bathrooms, I saw him/her, and it became apparent that he/she was actually a he. At that point, all my fantasies of a late-night tryst with a butchy ball-player were destroyed, but I was still curious. Turns out, HE lives with two lesbians, and had spent the evening entertaining a crowd of em’. To which I responded with “Ah, ha! I knew I smelled lesbian all over you.” He laughed, and readers, that was it, androgyny coupled with a sense of humor is a lethal combination, true to form, I was smitten.

So, imagine my surprise when I woke Sunday morning dreaming of my old friend Nick. In my dream Nick was standing in front of me, speaking in his nasal high-pitched voice. Although I was in front of him, he seemed to be ignoring me while starring off into space speaking to God knows who or what. At the end of his speech, I drove the sharp knife I was holding down the back of his throat. Nick hung limply from my knife as I plunged it down even further, twisting the blade as hit back of his throat. When I pulled the knife free a blue liquid pooled around his feet. The liquid reminded me of blue kool-laid, and when I saw it, I was relieved. I was so damn thirsty. I got up from my bed, drank the rest of my water, and sank back into the sheets.


Boys Don’t Cry- The Cure

I would say I'm sorry
If I thought that it would change your mind
But I know that this time
I've said too much
Been too unkind
I try to laugh about it
Cover it all up with lies
I try and
Laugh about it
Hiding the tears in my eyes
'cause boys don't cry
Boys don't cry
I would break down at your feet
And beg forgiveness
Plead with you
But I know that
It's too late
And now there's nothing I can do
So I try to laugh about it
Cover it all up with lies
I try to
laugh about it
Hiding the tears in my eyes
'cause boys don't cry
I would tell you
That I loved you
If I thought that you would stay
But I know that it's no use
That you've already
Gone away
Misjudged your limits
Pushed you too far
Took you for granted
I thought that you needed me more
Now I would do most anything
To get you back by my side
But I just
Keep on laughing
Hiding the tears in my eyes

Seven Women Who Make My Teeth Sweat

Instead of posting cynical biting commentary on V-Day, I've decided to focus on the good things in life...sexy women. Here are my top seven, I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. Happy V-Day.

kd lang



Marlene Dietrich



Natasha Lyonne



Eva Mendez



Greta Garbo



Marina, as seen on the "L Word"



Maggie Gyllenhaal



Feeling Love- Paula Cole

Where do i put this fire
this bright red feeling
this tiger lily down my mouth
it wants to grow to twenty feet tall

i've left bethlehem
i feel free
i've left the girl i was supposed to be and
someday i'll be born

i'm so tired of being shy
i'm not that girl anymore
i'm not that straight A anymore
i want to sit with my legs wide open and
laugh so loud that the whole damn restaurant
will turn and look at me and say
look at the tiger jumping out of her mouth

i've left bethlehem
i feel free
i've left the girl i was supposed to be and
someday i'll be born

no more sex-starved teachers
trying to touch my ass
i can finally be a teenager at age twenty-six
go to hell lions, tigers, and bears
i'm not afraid of you anymore

OH, HORRORS! I MISSED THE SERMON AGAIN!

So, what was I actually doing on Sunday? Readers, you guessed it, I was watching my favorite lesbians on T.V. See the promo shot for the third season of this thrilling Showtime series below:



The show airs at 9pm from now until the middle of April. This show is my one pop culture indulgence, and I watch it religiously. The first season of The L Word started in 2004 and was unlike anything on television before. The show centers on a beautiful cast of women with fabulous careers who live in L.A. The show documents the lives of these young women as they discover themselves through their relationships with other women. (Not all the characters on the show are lesbians, some are bisexual, Trans- gendered, all colors of the rainbow are represented.) See below the beginning credits from the show:



Sexy, eh?

As one can imagine the show attracts a wide variety of viewers from the “foaming at the mouth because I love lesbians” straight-boys to the gayest of the gay, the L Word has a lot of appeal for many reasons. I, personally, wouldn’t mind being a high-powered lesbian who lives in L.A. with a gang of hot friends. What a life!

The show’s time line, oddly enough, moved right along with my own blossoming sexuality. During 2004, I began a series of intense relationships (both friendships and romantic) with other lesbian women. At the time, I was strictly involved with women only and was not considering romantic relationships with men. Although women are preferred, occasionally now I will date men too. During the course of my sexual self-discovery, the question of identity and sexuality plagued me indefinitely.

Is sexuality just part of our identity? Or does our sexuality define our identity? Among those who follow social norms, gender roles, and tradition I believe it does. For example, what would happen to good ol’ Bob down the street who has 3 kids, a wife, and respectable job if he was outed publicly against his will? Does his identity cave in? Does he form new identity as a result of being forced “out of the closet?” Does he then form a “new” identity within the gay community? Interesting questions indeed.

Bisexuals, on the other hand, straddle the middle line. Since we are neither gay or straight, the task of forming a strong identity can be daunting. It reminds me of a song by Suzanne Vega called “Left of Center” where she states: “If you want me, you can find me, left of center, off of the strip.”

There are advantages to living on the fringes as the view sure is nice from the outside. From here, you can see almost everyone-I mean, everything, as a potential possibility. But as a good friend of mine would say, “Come on Sally S, now isn’t the time to be gettin’ greedy on me.” Although I relish the display, I’d better keep my hands to myself.

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

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.