Queerly Beloved Youths of America


Last week on Nobody Scissors: The whole school found out about me and Shmary and now I guess I’m kind of gay? Who knows?

You know how in teen romance movies the girl like leaves her hand super close to the boy’s hand and there’s all this tension and she’s willing him with all her might to touch her hand during the movie they’re watching? I feel like my early lesbian dating experiences were more or less that. That was my shit.

Let me sit next to you and rest my forearm against yours. How’s that for you? Good? Cause I’m wet as Niagara Falls from this minimal amount of epidermal contact, let me tell you.

*Theme music and opening credits play*

Okay maybe not quite that drastic… except it totally was. Early lesbian me thought being a lesbian was about going to batting cages and giving butterfly kisses. Current queer me, well, if we are talking we best be fucking. Early lesbian me would be really shocked by the antics current me gets up to, but, y’know, something is to be said about being young and innocent. Pre-Lesbian me was unspoiled and untainted by the greater world, there was a whimsy to the early lesbian years that I look back on and can’t even see as a part of my current lifetime.

Shmary and I continued our innocent romps. Sneaking off to locker rooms at basketball games, stealing kissing on the bus, cuddling at team sleepovers. Any chance we got to be alone we took it, but we never took it any further than touching and kissing… I’m not sure why? 50 years down the road I could picture Shmary and I sitting on a porch making out, having never crossed into further sexual territory. I could make out with this girl for a lifetime and be content with it. Sex never even occurred to me. (I know, I can’t believe that just came out of my mouth either).

Also my idea of lesbian sex was some terrible thing I’d heard of called “scissoring” and logistically speaking I didn’t think that I was flexible enough for that– I can’t even touch my toes. Also what the hell is a g-spot? Is the clitoris on the inside? Sexual education had failed me, as it had failed all of those who had come before me in the public education system, and as it has especially failed all of the queerly beloved youths of America.

I remember one particular incident in the locker room where she and I were skipping our fifth period class after lunch, flirting and messing around. Who needs geometry anyway? Let me tell you I have never needed to know what an isosceles triangle is. Not once. I do know that two acute angles go into scissoring though *scissoring hand gesture* especially if they’re two a-cute girls. *tosses quarter in the dad joke jar* Shmary took out a marker and began writing on the white board next to the lockers that the coaches often used for pre-game strategizing. There was something I found oddly attractive about watching her write in her awkward left-handed way, her hand trailing behind her letters, half-erasing the words as she wrote them. This was all very arousing (I can’t explain my lust for lefties) until I actually read what she was writing.


-Too smart
-not Mexican (?)

Those first five threw me. Like… those couldn’t all be bad qualities, right? And that last one… well I couldn’t really help that, but I loved enchiladas, had a decent Spanish accent from growing up in South Central Texas for my entire life, and I could tolerate a medium-hot salsa.

So there I was, hanging my head and totally confused by my crush asking me to skip class and touching me and batting her eyelashes then listing all my “cons” on the wall before me. I felt my ego deflating (one of my least favorite feelings), so you’d imagine my surprise when I felt her shoving me against the lockers and putting her tongue into my mouth. Was this what playing hard to get meant? I had no idea what was going on but I didn’t think I liked it. Luckily I didn’t have much time to contemplate the meaning of this interaction before the cross-country coach came storming in and banished us back to class. (Not sure how we got out of trouble in that scenario, we were clearly attached at the mouth when she walked in on us. Maybe she chalked it up to teenage antics. Girls will be girls. Amiright?)

After this list interaction I decided to make my own list, in an attempt to mend my pride and level the playing field. There had to be things I didn’t like about Shmary, I wasn’t a total shmuck (who even says that?).


-Supermodel tall
-Whose eyes are that color?? 
-She smells too good… that’s witchcraft or something
-Her handwriting isn’t THAT cute
-She wears leggings as pants sometimes 


Oh did I forget to mention that? (This is going to be a pattern later on in my life, my type will always be: unavailable).

*Tune in next time when I finally get a girlfriend. OMG.*


One thought on “Queerly Beloved Youths of America

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