I should have been born a girl. My dad had two other girls with his second wife, and they're chock full of estrogen, not a lesbian in the carload, except maybe me. I fucking love woman, so scheming and non-linear, complicated and often unpredictable.
I know I'm full of estrogen, my skin is smooth as marble, and I didn't start shaving 'till I was entering my twenties. I like beautiful things and I don't give a fuck how an engine works or like getting dirt mixed in with the paint under my finger nails. The only kind of grease I like is girl engine grease, y'know, poontang. It's just the lesbian in me.
My shit didn't drop until I was eighteen, which made the mandatory running through the shower in public school awkward as fuck and left me subject to ridicule. But fuck them 'cause when it did drop it dropped pretty good, and I'm swinging a healthy eight, which is pretty good for a white boy full of estrogen.
My last girlfriend Annie was a crack addict, and tricked with her three black crack dealers for free crack (even though she didn't consider what she was doing prostitution, as no money was exchanged and she knew the name of the dude she was blowing), and she told me I was bigger than the lot of them. I never knew whether to believe her, but she never ran off with any of them, so there may be some veracity to what she was saying. Sure makes a lesbian feel good.
The one time Annie fucked around on me was with this piece of shit dude Aaron the Asshole, whose face was covered in scratch tattoos and had killed at least one, and maybe two people. Aaron was coming around and scoring junk from me. I knew they were attracted to each other, and I'm not a jealous guy at all, I mean fuck, Annie was twenty-three and I was forty-five and birds can fly right? All I asked was that she be straight with me and if I met a girl I was into I had leeway. Nothing doing. Annie got a six-hundred dollar tax return from her ex-husband, made a very transparent excuse and disappeared with Aaron. I figured she'd be gone for four or five days until the money was gone and would come waddling back sore. No such luck. Nine o'clock the next morning her insistent knock was on my door. Annie knew that I knew, and storming passed me pissed as usual she demanded that I "Finish what he couldn't do". I told her I wasn't sucking his cum out of her, that she needed to take a couple of showers and douche the shit out of her box. I felt really bad, Annie looked so sad sitting on the toilet cleaning herself out, but fuck, I ain't no cocksucker. After I'd taken care of her she told me that Aaron had been such a crappy lay that when it was over she looked at him longingly and said: "Y'know, Greg is really big". Talk about being fucking emasculated. Months later when my path crossed his he threatened to knock me out, something which has never happened to me, not even after being kicked in the face for several minutes by four Pakistanis in London who'd mistaken me for a skinhead and just pasted the fuck outta me, and I ignored his threat. He had the audacity to come around and try to score junk, and being a forgiving person, and since my shit was "bigger soft than he is hard" I let him. He tried telling me it was all on Annie, and the fuck later asked her to meet him. Annie came running up to me immediately and let me know he was still trying to nail her, but I didn't give a fuck; I knew she wasn't gonna jump on his knuckle sized unit ever again.
I'm all boy, my girlfriend Elisa used to tell me. For a while I had the most gorgeous man in Reno after my shit, I guess 'cause he thought my lack of homophobia meant that he could turn me. His offers to give me a blow job and fuck him fell on deaf ears; I mean what does a dyke like me do with an offer like that? Maybe it was my fault, as I did tell him one day when he was in the final throws of his attempted seduction of me that: "If he didn't have that foreign tentacle down there I'd fuck him in a second..." but then I added "...that's a line in the sand that I just don't cross". He doesn't like me as much, or maybe just the way, that he used to. Whatever.
I think if a girl wants to get with another girl that's terrific, but not in a Jerry Springer "We love lesbians" way. The clods on that show would end up lonely in the corner, furiously spanking their little pee pee, while the gals would be mackin' down and enjoying themselves-- in all likely-hood. I mean who knows a girls equipment better than another girl, it's comfortable, familiar territory. It's flavor country.
I never had any interest in getting with two girls and never have. Maybe I haven't done enough MDMA, but I'd rather get one girl off twice than two girls off once. My sixteen year old girlfriend Heather (I was twenty-eight or so), would get off and get off, and her orgasms would get closer and closer until they'd merge into one long continuous one that would last as long as I would, which would be quite a while as I was young and full of methedrine. She was my favorite, although she wasn't the 'one'.
I've fallen in love for money, for sex, for a great body, but the one time I really fell in love was with Elisa, a former dominatrix and heroin addict, who had not blown all her money on her boyfriends band or junk and bought a record store and gotten out of 'The Trade'. She had a little bit of everything, including a husband,a sugar daddy, and a nice arsenal of hand guns and rifles.