If I Were a Boy


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*


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