Yeah, We’ve All Seen The L Word

lword

Once again we found ourselves at a super gay lady filled party. It was a glow-in-the-dark-white-shirt party. I don’t know, I’m sure that there was some clever name for this sort of shindig but it escapes me now. All I know is we all wore white tshirts and got broken glow sticks flung all over our bodies (are the chemicals in those things safe??) and there were a lot of black lights.

I started this party off with a bang, this cute semi-bro blonde girl came up to me, with a backwards snapback and a crooked smile. Next thing I know we were kissing and I wasn’t mad about it. Until her girlfriend came up and pushed me, then I was definitely mad about it.

“She kissed me! How the hell am I supposed to know she has a girlfriend?”
“You don’t know who I am?” The girl sassed back.
“Sure as shit do not.” I laughed and walked away like the cocky bastard that I am.

*Theme music and opening credits play.*

It was time to find some drinks, and by drinks I mean shots, and by shots I mean basically rubbing alcohol because we were poor and young. I downed my favorite TAAKA (not my fave) and found myself moving about the room enjoying this new pool of lesbians we were immersed in. This wasn’t a rugby specific party, there was some lacrosse girls, some flag footballers, and even some ultimate frisbee girls it was a healthy mix of athletic (or passably athletic in the case of the frisbee-ers) lady-gays who I hadn’t yet kissed via truth or dare or my own accord.

So naturally with all these new women to choose from I decide to hook up with another teammate of mine, because why wouldn’t I do that?

There was only one bathroom available for the partiers to use even though we were at one of the nicest apartment complexes available in West Campus. This place was pretty cool, it was a former church renovated into student housing, and it was notorious for lots of crazy parties. I was waiting in line to pee when my teammate came up behind me. Let’s call her… Shmary 2 because she has the same name as my first lady crush (you will come to find that there are quite a few repeated names in my misadventures, and it can get a little confusing. Moms in the 90s needed to get more creative with the baby names). Shmary 2 and I were pretty good friends, she was less boyish than me but a total bro, and super fucking athletic which is a win in my book for any friend. Additionally, Shmary 2 had earned the nickname Dyson during our Freshman year because she was notorious for leaving hickies on her victims.

“Why don’t we go in together, speed this line up?” Shmary 2 asked me as we got closer to the bathroom door.

Now I know what you’re thinking… two lesbians in a bathroom together? How on earth could that expedite things?? I’ve seen the L word.  

Well I’ve seen the L word too and you’re right. We got into that bathroom and though we had never so much as flirted before we were suddenly hooking up on the bathroom sink. From what I remember it was good, it was quick, not romantic, and to the fucking point (literally to the …fucking… point). Shmary 2 was strong and dominant, and we struggled some to see who would lead this scissor fest (just kidding, nobody scissors y’all), and I think I left that bathroom covered in quite a few hickies, some in places covered by my glow-paint stained clothing.

When we rejoined the party, we both played it cool as fucking cucumbers, but our friends were like those cats in those youtube videos that are scared as fuck of cucumbers because they could tell something had obviously gone down (spoiler alert, it was me). We probably smelled like sex, Shmary’s hair was definitely sex hair, and like I said, Dyson takes no prisoners.

Judging by the look in her eyes, Shmellen was about to question me when suddenly she was crying out in pain.

“MOTHERFUCKER!” She had stepped on a broken bottle and her foot was bleeding all over the floor. We quickly removed the glass and wrapped her foot in some paper towels, like expert drunk paramedics. Why was she not wearing shoes you ask? That’s a great question. Also why was there a broken bottle in the middle of this living room? Where were we, college??

Instead of calling it a night Shmellen looked at me and said, “You’ll have to carry me.” I was a little drunk and Shmellen was so dead-serious that I thought that this was the best idea ever. Imagine me, a 5’5″ 125 lb baby dyke, throwing Shmellen (5’9″, probably 20 lbs on me, with one bleeding foot) over my shoulder to go to the beer pong table, outside to smoke, or to get more high quality liquor in our bodies. This would turn out to be one of the most memorable nights I have from college, and to this day Shmellen talks fondly about how I pulled through like a champ by being her pack mule all night.

Give the ladies what they want, like I always say.

Next week on Nobody Scissors I have a thing for authority figures.

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Reindeer Games

santababy

I had actually somehow never gotten into trouble because of a text message before. That’s the benefit of long-distance, no one is snooping through your phone and catching you in unfortunate situations. So, I didn’t really know the best way to address Shmabby’s name popping up on my phone as I lay naked on top of Shmashley 1.

“Well… who the fuck is she?”

Only Shamashley could come back into my life after months and think she had the right to control who I could and couldn’t talk to.

I responded ever so eloquently with “This girl…”

I guess that wasn’t the response Shmashley wanted because she gathered her clothes and headed for the door, but before leaving she demanded the ring back that she had just given me. I refused to give it back to her because I’m the pettiest bitch and she stormed from the house slinging even more insults at me.

I’m not really sure what I did… I hadn’t led her to believe we were going to be getting back together. I had spent the last 4 months or so mending my heart over her, and I was single for God’s sake! Let me tell you, I would find out in later years that it doesn’t matter how single you are, no girl wants to be ONE of your girls, even if you happen to be ONE of hers. Double standards are fun.

*Theme music and opening credits play*

So Shmabby went back to school on the East Coast, a life of early wake up times, shining boots and belt buckles and not so flattering slicked back hairstyles. Somehow she found the time to skype me nearly every night, and so began my life of skype sex galore all over again. What did people do before technology? Write dirty letters? I’m imagining the word clit written in the finest calligraphy right now and it’s really not doing much for me. Did that really happen? Did people sit around writing dirty letters and take the time to mail them across the country? I guess that might be a nice surprise amongst all the junk mail in my mailbox but stamps are expensive and my dirty talking strengths definitely rely on thinking on my feet and reacting to what the other person says, not on my erotica novel writing skills.

Shmabby was the first girl to pull on me what I would later pull on many women. She didn’t want a “relationship” but she didn’t want to “see other people either.” Basically she wanted to know that I wasn’t fucking around but she also didn’t want to commit to things whole-heartedly. What a stupid idea, titles are garbage anyway, but let’s just call it what is, shall we?

This weird limbo not-relationship lasted for about 2 months, in which time I was fairly well-behaved (only hooking up with one other person one time).

At this point I think Shmashley 2 and I should just be getting passes left and right. Considering how much sexual tension we had in relation to the amount of time we spent together we really only minimally hooked-up. Someone give me an award for self-control, I think I deserve one. At the time that I was “with” Shmabby, Shmashley started talking to this guy who really didn’t like me (noticing a trend?). He had basically banned her from hanging out with me alone which naturally meant that we decided to have a sleepover immediately.

That night was the first night that Shmashley ever went down on a “girl” (girl in quotes here because of my current identity as a trans man). For her first time, I’ll admit, it wasn’t half bad. Way to go my half-gay friend! She also tried to convince me to use my strap-on with her and I chickened out like the chicken who decided it would be safer not to cross the road. I had only used it twice before, with Shmashley 1, and I was far from confident in my ability to impress someone who was used to having penis-in-vagina sex on the regular. I mean my ex had enjoyed it, but she had enjoyed using it on me more, and I absolutely hated that. Maybe it was because I hated her, who knows? Also that strap-on was bright red and that’s totally embarrassing. Like, hi, hello, I’m not only not completely confident in my abilities with this bad boy and we’re not supposed to be hanging out (let alone fucking) but does my shiny, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer perpetually erect penis do it for you? Oh, it does? I guess you like Christmas a lot…awk.

In later years if this situation had come up I would have whipped my dick out like a champ, but back in those days I was much more confident in my mouth and hand skills, and I didn’t like to disappoint. Really I should’ve just busted it out, college experimentation isn’t supposed to be perfect and Shmashley’s lesbian sex experience was limited, so I probably would’ve blown her fucking mind. If anyone invents a time machine I volunteer myself to test it out and go back and use that candy-apple-penis to the best of my abilities.

I didn’t tell Shmabby about this hookup because I didn’t really feel like I was breaching the rules of our non-relationship, but Shmashley decided to tell her not-boyfriend and from that point she really was banned from seeing me (which she obeyed, what even). Another thing that irritates me: if you hook up with someone you aren’t supposed to, you should agree upon how you’re both going to handle the “honesty” portion afterward. Solidarity, am I right?

As things went on, I thought that me and Shmabby were going towards a more serious direction, we spent all day every day talking and she seemed super into me…until she broke up with me a few days before Valentine’s Day. (After I had already sent her a package, I’m a chump). She never really explained to me why things didn’t work out, instead using the excuse that she just wanted to go out and do her own thing. Needless to say that I was a little annoyed by this since she was the one who had put the pressure of “commitment” on our non-commited-relationship.

I got over her fairly quickly, I was coming to terms with the fact that some women just come and go in your life, and also I had just gotten a puppy and she was the only girl I needed. Good riddance, Shmabby. Have fun polishing your boots in the barracks, I’ll be busy polishing Clifford the Big Red Dick.

 

Next time on nobody scissors… I learn that bathroom sex is kinda my favorite thing, don’t judge me.

If I Were a Boy

beyonce.jpg

It was the holidays and I was working at the outlets near my college town part-time. I worked in the men’s section of a store that lesbians loved to shop at so I was never lacking for eye candy. I was like a kid in a candy shop, except like a lesbian in a shop full of lesbians.

One day a particularly tall, blonde, athletic girl walked in and instantly stole my attention. I mean to the point that I followed her around the store, offered to help her pick out some boxers, and probably just came off as a total creep to be honest. Honestly though this girl was hot in an intimidating sort of way, like she looked like she could kick my ass, and I was into it.

I didn’t give a second thought to this girl after she left, but the next time I worked one of my co-workers came up to me and slipped me a piece of paper.

“My friend was in here the other day, she thought you were cute, text her.” I was a little shocked, first of all… what friend? Was this what blind dates felt like?
“What’s your friend look like?” I asked, probably sounding like a shallow douche.
“Tall blonde soccer player…” She began, and instantly the stars aligned. It was her, the girl I picked out teal boxer briefs for, what a dream come true.

I texted her and found out that her name was… Shmabby, and she wanted me to come hang out with her and her friend that night.

*theme music and opening credits play*

Our date was about as chill as you can imagine, because it wasn’t really a date. I met her and her friend in the parking lot of their old high school and we threw a football around. However, if you know me, you know that I LOVE girls who like sports so this was kind of perf.

Shmabby told me all about her, and I thought my luck had turned. She was a soccer player, and a track athlete, she was also in a Military Academy (hot!), and she was older than me (ding ding ding). The only con to her was that she was in school on the East Coast, and was only home for Winter Break, so this really was destined for failure.

We were instantly attached to one another, she was always staying over at my place — even with a deadline on what we could be, maybe in spite of it. She tried to teach me to drive stick shift, we got lots of Mexican food, I went to her alumni soccer game, I met her parents (a little quick don’t you think?) and one time we rear-ended her best friend’s car cause we were so busy making out at a red light that she took her foot off the brake.

We had really good sex. Really good. One time we were hooking up at my parents house in the downstairs living room and she was sitting on my face and my dad came downstairs to use the bathroom. By some grace of God (more like the God of Lesbian Sex, AKA Shane from The L Word) *praise be with Shane, Amen* he didn’t see anything and we both melted into a puddle on the floor. That could have been awkward. Like oh hey dad, don’t mind me, just being a throne for my princess here. You taught me to be a gentleman, always offering my lady a seat, you know what I’m sayin’?

There was something weird about Shmabby though, something that would come up with another person around this time. She didn’t like me to be the boyish one… she liked when I wore lacy underwear and real bras (……. don’t picture it, please don’t). She liked to be in charge, and pay for dates, that sort of stuff. I don’t know, I just don’t really feel like a “baby girl” you know, that’s not my pet name of choice to be called, and she was always telling me I was pretty and that I was her girl. This was the beginning of a slight shift in my understanding of how I liked to be perceived, and it would prove to be truly pivotal.

During this winter break my ex-girlfriend Shmashley 1 (or as we commonly called her around my apartment Shmasshole Shmashley) came home and wanted to rekindle things. We hadn’t talked in any length in months since we had broken up but she wanted to meet up. When I saw her it was exceedingly weird, like she had a ring for me weird. She hugged me and promised to try to be better, saying that this ring symbolized that she was committed to me. I put a halt to things right there.

“Whoa whoa whoa. We aren’t even a thing yet. You said some fucked up shit to me when we broke up and now we are committed again? No thanks.”

By fucked up shit I mean: “You need help” “You’re a disease” “I’m a God and you’re a peasant” that sort of shit. Stuff that you don’t just brush off because it stabs you right in your core. Shmasshole Shmashley really was a shmasshole. (Say that 5 times fast)

To distract from the situation I decided we should have sex instead of discussing this ring that she had slipped on my finger, because sex is always the answer. I was so much more confident in bed now — I had gone from Lil Bow Wow in “Like Mike” to the actual thing. I was now THE Michael Jordan of sex, I know that that might sound a little cocky but it’s not. We were playing a little one-on-one (if you know what I mean) and I was killin’ it. I knew what I was doing, I felt sexy, I was in control, and I knew exactly the moves that would make Shmashley melt. Or so I thought.

“Can you stop playing the boy?” She said mid thrust.

These words shattered my world a bit. “Playing the boy?” I had never thought about it that way. Playing the boy… but, I wasn’t playing, I was being myself.

Before I had too much time to self-reflect my phone buzzed and Shmashley picked it up.

“Who the fuck is Shmabby and why is she calling you ‘baby’?”

*Next Time on Nobody Scissors, long distance is totally a good idea the second time around*

Look Ma No Hands

juggling

Shmoebe’s birthday was always a big thing, it was the one day a year that Shmoebe kissed ladies, a tradition that started in the dorms with Courtney and me. Shmoebe’s boyfriend had no issue with it becuase we were just those friends that kissed on the mouth a lot, and he got that. Plus it was Shmoebe’s birthday and when it’s a bitch’s birthday, a bitch gets what she wants.

Shmashley 2 and Shmoebe lived together, and this year we decided to throw a mustache party for Shmoebe, because themed parties are the only ones worth throwing, and themed parties that require as little effort as putting on an adhesive mustache are the very best. Plus we wanted to kiss on the mouths while wearing mustaches, because obvi.

There was this girl at the party, let’s call her… Shmooke. Shmooke was straight, but we had made out on a few occasions — one time she had picked me up and put me on a counter, it was kind of the hottest thing ever considering she was a small blonde, with big blue eyes who had that whole girl-next-door aesthetic going plus a side of huge tits. She was actually kind of dating the hottest of our guy friends, but he refused to actually commit to her so I think that’s why she liked to be a drunk lesbian at parties, you know, let loose, that whole bit.

*Theme Music and Opening Credits Play*

We were all in the living room playing drinking games, when Shmashley and Shmooke stumbled into Shmashley’s bedroom, giggling back at me to follow them in. I hesitated for a moment, on the precipice of a threesome — contemplating whether or not I was prepared for the situation I was being beckoned into. Mid-contemplation, Shmoebe did me a solid and pushed me into the bedroom after them and clicked the door shut…essentially making my decision for me.

There I was, a couple notches in my lesbian belt, confronted with my very first threesome. This was going to be a defining moment for me, I just knew it. Things started off awkwardly at first — which, if we’re being honest, is just how threesomes are. Someone always gets a little less attention, you don’t know whose hands are on you at any given time, and sometimes someone just ends up watching, which is awk. It was hot, like temperature hot, sweaty, and sloppy. 6 hands reaching, you can only really kiss one other person at a time, I mean you can try one of those three-way kisses but again those are only hot in porn, in real life it’s a lot of saliva happening. Luckily, after the first awkward giggles and logistical maneuvers, the bras were out of the way and we were off to the races. I suddenly found myself in the middle of a not-so-gay large-breasted-woman-sandwich. I felt like I was juggling. I mean seriously, what is two sets of DD breasts equal? A test of some serious hand-eye coordination that’s what.

I don’t know if it’s something you learn as you become a more advanced threesomer but as an amateur it’s not so easy to commit your time evenly between two women. I naturally had an inclination toward Shmashley because we were kind of a thing, but then I’m a people pleaser and was afraid to make Shmooke feel rejected. Also when one top and two bottoms get into bed together it results in a nearly hour long plank, and some forearm cramping. I added two more notches to my lesbian toolbelt that night and I crossed something off my sexual bucket list (which is much longer than one might think) but the jokesters I was in bed with just got participation ribbons because neither of their hands went south of the border, comprende? Calling those two pillow princesses would be an understatement. These two were pillow presidents, mattress matriarchs, bed bureaucrats…I don’t know, we’ll workshop it.

So, here I am, forearms burning, doing my best circus performer impression and juggling all the boobs I possibly could when someone comes blundering into the room. Suddenly, what little sex appeal this threesome had flew out the window as the sounds from the party in the other room drifted into the bedroom — I could hear drunk conversations, my sister’s loud laugh (mood killer), and “No hands” by Waka Flocka Flame playing: “She said look ma no hands, she said look ma no hands…” And I couldn’t help but think, “No, Waka, weren’t you listening? 6 hands. Too many hands. So many hands. My hands are cramping. Send help.”

Waka had heard my plea because the person who had busted into the room was none other than the birthday girl herself, Shmoebe. Shmoebe had apparently come in to admire her handiwork and was very pleased with the results. So pleased that she made her way over to the bed and joined in on the action.

Just kidding, but she did give me a kiss on the mouth and returned to the festivities. After that encounter, I did my best to make sure that the experience ended on a positive note for both girls and by “positive note” I mean I rocked their fucking worlds. Just kidding, I high-fived each of them, uttered a solitary “good game”, and left to find a glass of moscato that I had been craving since “No hands” had graced my eardrums earlier. I think that was a pretty A+ threesome if you ask me. Someone remind me to never do that again (Spoiler Alert: I do it again).

*Next time on Nobody Scissors: I think my luck has finally turned*