At Least Grab One Boob


Last Week on Nobody Scissors: I kissed a girl and I don’t know if I liked it, and then I didn’t exactly seal the deal.

After our kiss, Shmary and I went about our daily lives as usual except now you could cut the sexual tension between us with… well… scissors. There was this elephant in the room now that we were both avoiding like you would probably avoid a literal elephant if you encountered one in the wild. But one day about a week after the INCIDENT she passed me a note:

Let’s play a question game she wrote in a messy left-handed scrawl.
okayyyy I replied, not knowing what I was getting myself into.
If you could kiss anyone on the basketball team who would it be??? 

*Theme music and opening credits play*

I looked at her stupidly. Here I was, 14-years-old, awkward, trying to hide a brace-laced grin. Imagine Shane from The L Word but before puberty and before semi-cool early 2000’s lesbian haircuts, and before a sense of style. Now take the person you’re imagining and imagine their dorky best friend who gets minimal airtime on a mediocre cable sitcom… yea that was me.

How was this gorgeous girl flirting with me? Was this flirting? What do I do with my hands? What was this feeling in my stomach? Butterflies? Nausea? My ovaries exploding?

**Insert side story**
Speaking of ovaries… When I was 13 and started my period for the first time my mother and her sister (also known as my aunt) decided it would be HILARIOUS and appropriate to throw a period party welcoming me and my twin into womanhood. Nobody told us about this party it was a mothafuckin’ surprise. Everyone wore red. By everyone I mean my mom, dad, brother, baby sister, aunt, uncle, cousins, grandma, other aunt and uncle… it was a whole shebang. There were red balloons. Red velvet cake. Presents. It was horrifying. When you think you had an embarrassing mom remember that at least yours didn’t throw you a Menstruation Memorial…a Female Fiesta…a Womanly Wingding…a Girlhood Gala…a Vaginal Visitation…a Bloody Bash…a Cunt Cotillion? Thanks, shmom.
**Back to High School**

You. You know it would be you. I wrote back.
Would you do it again? 

My heart was pounding. I had just admitted via passed note (a sacred girl ritual as old as the earth itself) that I would kiss Shmary again. What did that mean? I was in way over my head here.

What I also didn’t know was that another teammate of ours, Shmia, was watching us from a row over in our English class. She had spied enough from our note passing to get the scoop and pass it along to all the other players in the locker room later that day. Word carries fast among teenage girls–faster than just about anything in the world I’d say–and word of two girls kissing in suburban Texas? That shit is viral. Like a RJ sex-tape viral (just kidding, we know who the star of that was). Like breaking the internet before breaking the internet was a thing viral.

That afternoon I got cornered in the locker room by the manager of the basketball team demanding to know the deets. I was pinned to the lockers like the little dweeb I was and had my phone stolen by my “best friend” who immediately texted Shmary with some super sleuth skills like she was fucking Grissom off CSI: Las Vegas. (By “super sleuth skills” I mean she sent: “Am I a good kisser?” and Shmary happily replied: YES!) Way to go Shmary, way to fall right into that one. (More importantly, way to go me for being a good kisser!) *Tiger Woods fist pump*

By our next basketball game Shmary and I were banned from sitting together by our clearly closeted bull-dyke of a coach (who told her anyway??) and were specifically told NOT TO TOUCH EACH OTHER on the bench. I couldn’t believe this. One kiss and I was a social leper.

Looking back, the reason the team was so interested in this gossip was because (mostly) everyone was so closeted that they were living vicariously through my G-rated lesbian romps. I mean who could blame them? Two ladies touching mouths? Oh baby.

If I could give my 14-year-old self some advice it would be: what these people think of you doesn’t matter one god damn bit. 10 years later you will still interact with two of these people outside of Facebook and one of them is your twin sister.

Another tid-bit of advice for former me: You should just chop your hair off now, it’ll do wonders for your game with the ladies (but maybe skip the Biebs side-swoosh look). And for god’s sake at least try to grab her boob (just one?) the next time you kiss her!

*Tune in next time as I wade into the ankle-deep waters of closeted lesbian dating*


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