I’m waving the white flag, running white modern brief panties up the highest flagpole here at the House of Lesbian for all the world to see. I’m giving up, giving in. I surrender, people. I am caving, folding, acquiescing. I submit to the Dominant view that the only thing there is and will ever be to know about lesbians is lesbian sex.
I am resigned to the fact that when it comes to lesbians, people are ruled by primitive brain, reducing the language skills, the reasoning skills and any grace and elegance. Lesbian = Sex.
The questions I get here (the ones I don’t answer) are: so how do lesbians lure straight women into bed? How we find our prey? What could two women possibly do in bed?
Lure? Prey? Excuse me? My girl hunting days were not about luring, and not about finding prey, I’ll have you know. I was hunting freckles and brilliance. A rare combination.
Then there’s the contingent who not only wonders what two women do in bed, but want to find out. Those straight women who want to expand their sexual horizons and find a lesbian to have a lesbian experience with. To that end, they want to know what the lesbian flirt signal is and how can a woman know when it means I — a lesbian — want to take you — a straight woman — to bed? Which I don’t but that’s another story.
There is another side to this that I have covered before? What’s a lesbian to do when she’s in love with a straight woman who says, “Yes, I love you too, but I don’t want to have sex with you.” And of course, lesbians who only want straight women. I am not sure either of those are about sex so much as psychology.
I’ve pretty much ignored most of the stuff that came my way wanting to know about lesbians and sex. There are sites dedicated to lesbians and sex of all flavours, so it’s never been top of mind for me to write about. Love is a different matter, and I have on occasion alluded to making love.
Do you want to know why I have caved? It’s actually a bit traumatic to retell, but I’ll bite my trembling lower lip and share with you.
Imagine if you will a summer party, a huge backyard filled with lots of people I know and have known for some time, food, beverages, conversation. Mixed straight and gay and lesbian of various ethnicities and cultures and a bunch of dogs to round out the species diversity. A pool party. I was dressed appropriately: tank top, capri pants, sandals, and a linen shirt.
There I was standing with some people very dear to me and this woman came up to me and before a hello, how are you gee haven’t seen you in a while, she said, “you’re overdressed.”
My right eyebrow might have raised a titch. It was soupy hot. This was the woman who told me the last time I saw her — just over two years ago — that her husband thought it would be cool if she slept with a woman. I turned to ice then and I turned to ice now. I did not appreciate her energy, her conversation.
I said something about being just fine thank you and went over to the happy people trying to figure out some kind of crazy margarita-making machine. We poured half a bottle of tequila in one part, ice in another and lime and a half bottle of triple sec in some other compartment, and voila! Perfect margaritas.
Straight woman came over. I walked away.
Half an hour later and I was talking with some friends and straight woman came over over to me, quite obviously drunk. She threw her arms around me and ordered someone standing nearby to take pictures. Before I knew it, her hands were all over my breasts, massaging and squeezing them, groping me. For a split second, I froze. So did the cameraman. Neither of us believed what we were seeing.
The next split second, I had my wits about and stepped away from her. I was beet red, stunned, and did not know what to do. She slurred some words about how wonderful women’s breasts are and how I could touch hers if I wanted to. What I wanted to do…well, I was conflicted between rage and tears.
I got away and told a few people. They offered to keep her away from me, but most laughed. All but one of the people I told shrugged it off, saying there was no harm done, I’m irresistible and she was just drunk. I took a few deep breaths to anchor myself.
Because I was there with people I love, I stayed for a while longer, but gathered the dogs and went home as twilight hit Toronto.
I don’t care if straight women want a lesbian experience, but for Sappho’s sake, have some class and romance, choose someone who’s interested in you and don’t be a slobbering drunk. Yuck and double yuck. If you need liquid courage, then you’re clearly not ready.
And no-one touches me who does not have a right to. I could not get past the fact that someone had, and that the someone was a straight woman.
I tossed and turned in my sleep. Dark dreams. If a man had done that to me, people would have been all over him. But no: it was a rich, mouthy, drunk, crass straight woman who loves breasts and wants to have sex with a lesbian. Since I was not the only attractive lesbian — or woman — in the place, I couldn’t help but take it a bit personally, and wondered if she figured I was ok because I am quiet; or, did she view me strictly and only as a sexual object who would take a sexual action in stride, because I’m a lesbian and lesbians are all about sex with women?
At the time, I couldn’t exactly process it. And I couldn’t process it the next day either. I felt molested. When her hands were on me, she felt huge; I felt surrounded by her want of something from me I was not prepared to give. It triggered a little girl inside me and for that split second I was frightened and shocked and I froze, too shocked to say anything. And that shock is captured in pictures taken by the man who had a camera in his hands who was, by all accounts as shocked as me.
I can’t pretend to know what she thought or thinks: that touching a woman’s breasts in sexual manner is OK because we’re all girls? That I would reciprocate because I am a lesbian?
I am a lesbian. The sex I have is lesbian sex, and it’s indescribably erotic, wonderful and loving and fierce and tender and everything making love should be: and it gets better with age. Oh and the thing about any sex? It’s way better for me when there’s love.
At the same time, I can appreciate that some straight women who are interested in sex, would wonder about sex with another woman, and want to explore that just for the sexual experience. All the other stuff? The wonderful conversations, walks on the beach, falling in love, sharing life, sharing its joys and trials? Knowing what’s unique to being a lesbian in the many parts of the world, and what lesbian culture is and how it’s expressed across the different tribes? Lesbian culinary pursuits? The challenges of discovering that you are a lesbian? Coming out?
Well, no. The broader community is not interested in any of that about lesbians. We’re either assimilated and invisible, curiosities and .alt or religiously reviled, or seen simply as sexual experiences because after all, in all cultures, women are first and foremost, objects of sexual desire. Unless you’re one of the little boys in Afghanistan who have been sold as a dancer and as a sex slave to the warlords that is, a practiced banned under the Taliban but thriving again and ignored by the armies and police in the country today.
So it seems that while I might have hoped otherwise, people are interested in one major thing and one minor thing about lesbians: the major thing is sex and the minor thing is humour.
So here ya go: Tip #1 for anyone thinking about getting into lesbian sex: If you think massaging and squeezing breasts like a loaf of bread is universally sexually arousing for women, including lesbians, if you think all women will enjoy what you enjoy, and if you do it without talking with her and without asking her, you might want to have a hormone test because if you think that then you might have more testosterone coursing through your blood and your brain than estrogen. And that makes you a man and not a straight woman at all.
My submission to the Dominant view is under internal negotiation. For reals: the last thing I want to write about publicly is lesbian sex.
(Dramatique lesbian sigh)