Excerpt - Hello Lesbian!

“When did you realize you were gay?” Hillary asked. “You used to be engaged, right?” Erica nodded her head and explained that when she started watching pornos with her then boyfriend, she began to get excited when the girl, girl action occurred. Something about a woman’s body made for a delightful, make that delectable experience, much more so than her boyfriend’s lumpy, god awful hairy frame that made an ape look like it had gone through a series of cancer treatments. The curves and the flawless skin that spread from head to toe. These features, among others, of a woman’s body got Erica keyed up. Erica’s attraction became more severe and shortly after, she dumped her boyfriend and became a full-fledged lesbian, a taco eating lesbian.

A letter to Eliot solidified the breakup. The four page, handwritten note on yellow legal sized paper said that her feelings toward him weren’t the same as when the two first met in college. This was the case in every relationship disintegrating, Erica would soon find out. It went on to explain her sudden change of lifestyle -liking women, attending drag shows and the occasional strip club visit -in which she described in full detail.

Dollars protruding from G-strings. “Who wouldn’t like that visual?” Erica explained. “The way her breasts rubbed against my face, pushing my nose to the side with her nipples. Then her ass pumping back into my chest. It was crazy.”

Erica said, “All that and the smell, the smell of watermelon.” Erica threw up another dollar and the process continued. This time with a different dancer, Shamrock. Shamrock was a nice shot of Irish goodness. Her tan skin with tan lines around her breasts made Erica shiver. It gave her goose bumps every time Shamrock shook her ass. She had a slight accent, Shamrock did, which to Erica, was absolutely sexy. Her blond hair and big blue eyes were proof enough for Erica to think, I made the right decision.

Eliot was horrified when he heard the news. Fake vomiting ensued, followed by some real vomiting followed by the dry heaves, and soon after, Eliot began to watch country music videos as a means to justify what happened. On the screen were videos of cowboys singing about how some women left them for farm animals. Farm animals or a person deemed to be Donald Trump.

Eliot cried himself to sleep every night for three weeks. Almost every night. The nights he didn’t cry, he watched Springer. He just loved the final thoughts. After this got old, he had his own final thought. He thought, What if? What if the pornos were only of man, woman? Would the two of us still be going out? He also thought, What if we were watching gay porn? Would I, as a result, turn to polishing the knobby knob, as Erica used to say? Then he thought, What if my name was something cooler like Giovanni leJuan? Would she like me more and would she tell all her friends that I was an Italian artist with a heavy accent instead of a shipping employee with the name, Eliot? It soon became a moot point. His relationship with Erica was over. And Springer’s final thought was over. Now Eliot had to change the station back to CMT. On the screen, there were cowboys serenading cows and goats.

As for Erica, she went on to date woman after woman. A serial dater, her straight friend Denise would say about her.

“She’s my best friend and all, but she’s got a short attention span when it comes to relationships,” Denise told Sharon, the woman who had been recently dumped by Erica.

“Well, tell her that I’m not mad,” Sharon said. She said, “If she wants to be friends, that would be nice.” Sharon was very understanding, the type of woman that men and women could fall for. Like Erica, she was gay. Unlike Erica, Sharon had been gay her entire life. Sharon realized at a very young age, around the time when complete sentences were required in every day language, that she liked her Barbie dolls a little too much. There wasn’t a day that went by her Malibu Barbie, Graduate Barbie, I Can’t Believe It’s Not Barbie Barbie, or whatever Barbie could be found with no clothes on.

“By taking off the clothes, you don’t know which Barbie is which,” Sharon told her mother. Her mother consistently asked why it was Malibu or Graduate Barbie when the only difference was the clothing. They could manufacture a nude Barbie doll and just market the clothes, she told her husband.

“It’s so parents like you can spend lots of money,” her husband, a wordy journalist said. Sharon became infatuated with the nakedness and, at first, considered being a nudist. She had learned about nudists when she stumbled across the Playboy channel. There were always girls washing cars naked. “Neat,” Sharon said. She said, “But my boobs…” Her body wasn’t as toned as Barbie’s, being at such a young age. On one occasion, she walked around without a shirt on. A smart remark from an older neighborhood boy forced Sharon to reassess her decision.

“Look at her. Her chest looks like two Tic Tac’s on an ironing board,” he said, laughing until the rest of the children joined in.

Although she didn’t understand what the remark meant, Sharon ran home crying. She told her mother, but due to the abundance of sniffles and stuttering words, her mother couldn’t understand. It was then, during the river of tears, Sharon had discovered that Playboy models weren’t nudists after all.

“It’ll be okay,” her mother told her daughter, who had other things on her mind. Her marriage with her husband was festering. There were no more love making sessions when he came home from work. Dinner was never together and movies, they were a means for Sharon’s mother to see how relationships were supposed to be. Romantic movies that starred Tom Hanks, they were the model of successful relationships. Her husband, on the other hand, wanted out because Sharon was gay.

“I’ve failed as a father,” he said to his wife.

“You just need to get more involved in her life,” his wife said.

“No, I’ve failed.” And that was that.

Within the next couple weeks, he was out of there. His clothes, his books, his CDs, everything he could fit into his car, were gone like that. Poof, like a magic trick that no one could explain. Neither Sharon nor her mother would find out that the real reason he left was because her father was boinking his editor, Ginger, for six years. The boinking occurred four nights a week, in his office after everyone had left. Apparently, she was the cure for writer’s block. He had gotten used to the situation until she became pregnant. Ginger threatened to go to Sharon’s mother unless he left her. To avoid humiliation, he weaseled out of his marriage by saying that he hated the fact his only child was a lesbian. He would never know that his son from Ginger would grow up to be a homosexual. A flaming homosexual, the kind you see on VH1. Glittery shirts that read, CHICKS RULE, tight spandex pants and high tops underneath ankle weights that were strapped together by Velcro. Fah-laming!

Sharon was still very young when her father left – barely an adolescent.

The next few years would be difficult for Sharon, an openly gay woman trying to gain acceptance at school, home and society. Most of the children mocked her profusely, but she kept strong. She believed in what she did and who she was, unlike the head cheerleader, Cammie, who had slept with half the football team and the entire basketball team in one school year. A boy was lucky to land a spot on the football and basketball team. It meant double the pleasure.

“I made both the football and basketball team,” Eddie told his mother.

“That’s great, honey,” his mother replied, brushing her hand through his hair. What she didn’t know was, Eddie was only happy because he finally got to use the pack of condoms he stole from the pharmacy.

He had been plotting the theft for weeks. Various hours, Eddie would visit the establishment and watch the employees, memorizing their work behavior and also their schedules. Finally, he made his move. During a late night shift, when the only employees working were a mentally retarded stock man, a 72-year-old cashier and a nineteen-yearold assistant manager who only landed the position because she had been there for three years, Eddie waltzed in, nudged the box of condoms until it fell to the floor, kicked the box while dropping his glasses to the ground and then in one swift motion, Eddie recovered his glasses and pocketed the condoms until he found himself in his car wiping the sweat from his brow. He opened up a condom to see how the mechanism worked, rolled it down over his middle finger, and felt the warm lubrication around his skin until it gave him a woody.

Then it was love me long time with Cammie. She said, “You know how to use that condom pretty well.” To her, this was a sign that he wasn’t a virgin, as most of the boys she had been with.

Unfortunately, what Cammie didn’t know, Eddie was as pure as water. The two second sextravaganza should have been the giveaway. But it wasn’t. Instead, Cammie was leading a cheer for round two. “Give me a P-E-N-I-S. What’s that spell?”

Aside from leading the cheers at John Adams High, Cammie also led the revolt against gays and lesbians, saying that it was immoral and against God’s will. For her, being gay was immoral, but being a slut was okay because it felt good.

The revolt was unsuccessful, like most projects headed by dingy blonde cheerleaders, not because it was a stupid plan to begin with, rather John Adams High was a public school that did not discriminate against a person’s sexual orientation. When the plan faltered, Cammie grew a hatred for Sharon. She would later realize she hated Sharon so much because she was jealous of her. “Give me a J-E-A-L-O-U-S. What’s that spell?”

Cammie was a flake and a woman with a head on her shoulders upset her. This was what she thought but since the only thing that matters in high-school is the prom and what people wear to school, Cammie got over it.

The rest of the student body never had a problem with Sharon, but because of Cammie’s peppy attitude and popularity, she grew a fairly sized following. Of course, the following consisted mostly of jocks, nerdy boys who dreamt about her and the occasional creepy father who lusted over her every time she jumped off the top of the human pyramid -her skirt flying in the air, showing the parents in attendance her tight spankeys. The event was like the battle of the bulge in creepy fathers’ pants. Namely Peter. His wife was cottage cheese obese, but since she had given birth to his four children, one of whom was on the cheerleading squad, he put up with her and imagined on a daily basis of bending Cammie over his desk at work and penetrating her with his dusty, over the hill cock.

The high school experience made Sharon a powerful individual, a person whose self-confidence was fifty times higher than Cammie’s, the high flying fake intensity chick that guys wanted to eat out. Sharon didn’t look at her that way. Sure, Cammie was pretty, but her attitude sucked.

Sharon went on to become well liked, as she grew older. She was attracted to like people, like meaning “like her.” Sensitive, compassionate and real, as she would describe to her friends. For her, however, these traits were only found in women, which was partly the reason why she liked them so much.

She became a person that attracted both genders, male and female, even though she settled for the latter when it came to relationships. A couple hints indicated that, although she liked women, if the right person, not man or woman, but right person came along, Sharon could find solace and comfort in the arms of the person that could make her life full.

“You would never date a man, ever?” a friend asked her one time. Sharon looked at her, eyebrows lowered. “I’m just saying that it seems like you know what you want.” Sharon thought about it and replied, “I guess if my soul mate is a man.”

“How do you know if your soul mate is a woman or a man?” Sharon didn’t know. “How do you know if you’ve even found your soul mate?”

However, Sharon knew this answer. “You just know. Something that tells your heart that this is it. Everything that your body and soul are looking for, you can find it in this one person. The person that you see every day but every time it feels like the first moment you met. It’s always fresh. The jokes are always funny. The conversations are always stimulating. The silent moments are always filled with a hidden intensity that gives you goose bumps. Every minute spent with this person, it’s like an emotional roller coaster. Your inside could be turning, yet one word out of this person’s mouth can make you feel calm, serene, tranquil, all the emotions that make you feel, wow, this is what love is.” As Sharon explained her rationale, the woman’s eyebrows lowered. Sharon was like any other person, searching for something that was real. Gay, straight or bi -it didn’t matter. Of course, Sharon didn’t know this yet.

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