Yes We Can?


Shmennifer was moving to Texas. I know, I thought it was a little quick too, but who was I to complain about her being right down the street instead of only accessible through a computer screen? Besides, what were you expecting? The U-haul lesbian trope is one of the truest cliches known to man.

She hopped in her SUV and drove down to the Lone Star State with her new teacup chihuahua puppy and whatever fit in her trunk and backseat. This was a thing I would come to learn about Shmenn, moving meant nothing to her. The girl had lived in over a dozen places and she was only 20 years old. If this is a red flag to you readers at home then you’re right, but I was young and dumb and thought her spontaneity was attractive.

The question was, however, what was Shmenn going to do when she settled down in Texas? Go back to school? Well, she wanted to, but her credits didn’t transfer from her preforming arts college and she didn’t want to start all over. Work retail? She tried about two weeks of that at the outlets until she came home crying one day because apparently the store she worked at was full of Regina Georges who peaked in high school and they made fun of Shmenn for being larger than a size 6. So she was left perusing Craigslist ads, and I don’t even remember how she lucked into finding her path in Apartment work but soon she was a leasing agent at a very shady apartment complex right off campus.

*Theme music and opening credits play*

This place was a dump. But the property manager there was a lesbian, whom I had never met. Shmenn was at least amongst our people in this sketchy apartment building.

I will admit that I got weird over the idea of Shmenn staying late with this new gay girl, that she was ALWAYS talking about. It also didn’t help that with a name like Shmavery my brain had cooked up this studmuffin (who says that?) image of what she must look like. I know, I know, I stereotyped the andro name to mean she was some hot boyish thing, and it would come to light that she was really the most femme girl I had ever met and the furthest thing from Shmennifer’s type imaginable.

Shmavery had a girlfriend… boyfriend… partner… who had a lot in common with me gender wise (AKA we both thought gender was bullshit and had been dealt a terrible hand and even more terrible feminine birth names). They invited me and Shmenn over for dinner one night (at the aforementioned shithole apartments) and as me and let’s call him, Shmavis, sat on the porch sipping on beers he informed me that he preferred he/him pronouns and he hoped to transition, and that Shmenn had told him that I felt similarly.

I had never met another person who felt like me. I had only recently discovered the world of YouTube transition videos and had spent nights upon nights doing research about the topic, obsessing over the journeys of other gender non-conforming individuals, and daydreaming about going down that path myself. It explained so much about how I felt about myself. All that aside, I hadn’t broached the topic much with Shmenn, so I was surprised she was telling this guy I had never met that him and I had common “interests.”

Once I got past the feeling of being outed, Shmavis and I hit it off. He was the big brother I never had, and we would become inseparable. Weeks later he told me that Shmenn had made me out to be a total douche-hole, and that him and Shmavery hadn’t wanted to invite me over to dinner at all. I wasn’t sure why Shmenn spoke about me that way to strangers, especially one of whom was her boss, but I was pretty hurt.

I brought it up to her, just vaguely, asking why she had told Shmavis that I was controlling and mean. She insisted she had never said anything like that, so I let it go.

And then the voting incident came up.

Have you ever been lied to about something so minuscule, so bizarre that your brain kind of turns off for a second and is like “there’s no way this person is so weird that they’d make that shit up, right?” Like only pathological liars would lie about their dog’s name, what they’re allergic to, or having sex with Vin Diesel.

It was November and it was the Romney/Obama election, you remember the one I’m talking about. You know…. old white dude running against the first potential black presidential candidate?  If you don’t remember what I’m talking about you’re too young to be reading this blog.

Well, Shmenn was a Republican (I know, strike two! What’s strike one you ask? That whole strict Catholicism thing is really a no-go for me. I mean, yikes), and my entire friend group and I (being the young liberal queer artists that we were) were all progressive. Obvi we were pro-Obama (Probama?) and Shmenn couldn’t stand to be around when we watched the debates or had any sort of political discussion.

Election day rolls around and I know she’s going to vote for Romney, and you know what? Who cares! We can disagree and have differing views, that’s fine. But election night we are having dinner and the news is on, keeping up with the polls.

“Did they let you off work to vote?” I asked, genuninely curious.
“Oh yeah, me and a few of the other girls from the office went during lunch.”
“Oh cool! Was there only one precinct? I wasn’t sure, where did you have to go vote?”
“The elementary school, the line was so long!” She seemed believably exasperated.
“Eh, it didn’t take too long when I went. I wish I had read up on some of the smaller issues I had to vote on though, and I have no idea if I voted for the right candidates on most of that stuff.”
“Me neither! I just closed my eyes and circled random names.” She laughed. Oh boy.
“Shmenn… you know that voting is electronic right? Like you can’t just close your eyes and circle things…”
“…Like with a pencil?” I asked.
“Well, yeah, just in case I messed up. I could erase my choice and go back!” Shmenn laughed casually.
“Um… Are you lying about voting? Because, one: I don’t care who you voted for or even if you voted… but two, that’s a fucking bizarre thing to lie about and if you’re gonna be dishonest about something like that then where do you draw the line?” I was a little heated at this point — my “crazy meter” was going off the charts and I was a little scared. Both for myself and for the country if Romney won the election. Could Obama become president? Could me and Shmenn make it through this? Yes we can…maybe.

*Next week on Nobody Scissors, find out the fate of our country and I hop the border*


The Hills Only Have Eyes For You


Shmennifer and I were happily in love, just 1000 miles away from one another. We spent many a night on skype, sent care packages, wrote letters, and besides that surprise visit didn’t get to see each other all summer long…

Until one day when I got my work schedule (I was working at a retail store at the time) and saw that I had a week off and so I packed a bag, hopped in my jeep, and decided to drive the 12 hours to surprise Shmennifer.

I know — I hate surprises, why did I do this? I mean I know why I did it, what a romantic gesture. Showing up on her doorstep with flowers? That would totally win me points for forever probably.

*Theme music and opening credits play*

It is a little bit reckless to drive by yourself through several states (especially the backwoods of said states when they’re in the south and you’re a very queer looking boyish lesbian), and my parents didn’t even know I had gone. Courtney was the only person who knew where I was, and we were all praying that I could find my way without issue because how could I possibly explain it to anyone if my car decided to break down in Arkansas somewhere?

Somehow I made the drive without incident, Shmennifer even called me while I was driving and I made up some bullshit excuse about doing laundry and needing to hang up — she had no idea whatsoever that I was coming, but she did inform me that her parents were going out of town in the next few days which was perfect seeing as they didn’t know we were dating.

I got to her small town a little after midnight, but my google maps… I’m sorry *ahem* shmoogle shmaps, could not locate her house. I was driving around Shmenn’s neighborhood for nearly an hour before I gave up and called her. She groggily answered the phone.

“What does your house look like?” I asked like a crazy person.
“Huh..?” She replied.
“Your house. What does it look like, or better yet how do I find it from the front of your neighborhood because I’m here and I’ve been driving around forever and can’t find it!” I was beyond frustrated. My romantic gesture was being thwarted right before my eyes.

She gave me directions and came outside and was dumbstruck. “What are you doing here??”
“Well, you see, I was in the neighborhood…”

Now, I hate surprises but I’m all for romantic gestures, and let me tell you, not much compares to the sex that follows an 11 hour drive to surprise a girl you haven’t seen in months. She was pretty thrilled with me, and I was pretty thrilled to sleep with her in my arms for a few days.

Her parents were out of town by the time I got there so we had the whole house to ourselves. We had sex on every surface of that place, I swear to God — well except for her parents’ bed. I’ve never and will never have sex in any parents’ bed, that’s just really gross to me — I was also afraid her big bad Catholic parents would come home and smell the gay on their sheets even after a run through the wash so I wasn’t gonna risk it.

My stay in small-town nowhere USA was pretty uneventful, but apparently not so terrible that I vowed to never go back.

A few weeks later Shmennifer was visiting me again, and again without telling her parents, and we missed her flight back. I literally dropped her off 10 minutes after the flight stopped boarding, it was terrible timing, and Shmenn was all tears. She couldn’t afford to buy another ticket and her parents thought she was out of town with her best friend and would be returning that night.

“I’ll drive you, let’s go.” I said and we literally hauled ass for 11 hours to her parent’s house.

I don’t know if that should win me a “partner of the year” award… okay it totally should have won me partner of the year — it’s not every day that someone drops everything and drives you multiple states home to avoid the wrath of overbearing parents.

During this drive Shmenn and I decided to have “the talk.” And by “the talk” I don’t mean the birds and the bees, I mean the, “how many people have you slept with” talk.

I had slept with quite a few more people than her, but definitely not like an unreasonable amount, though Shmenn did make me feel a little slutty when I revealed my number. And then she wanted names… she was not going to be happy to find out that quite a few of the people I’d slept with were teammates and/or good friends of mine… especially Smashley 2 who she had taken an immediate disliking to when she met her. Wonder why.

We were silent through all of Arkansas as she mulled over my list. She could have simply waited a few years and just gone back and read this blog if she wanted gory details, patience being a virtue and all.

We made it to her parents’ house late that night, Shmenn snuck me in the back door to her bedroom which was downstairs and we decided to keep my presence there a secret until morning. This would have been easy except that she left the back door open as she went to take her makeup off and I sat in a chair barefoot, scrolling through instagram until I felt something slither across my foot. I kid you fucking not that a 4-foot-long black snake slid across my foot and under her bed.

“SHMESUS FUCKING CHRIST!” I screamed and jumped from the chair. Shmenn came running out and I pointed under her bed screaming about the snake. She stuffed me into her closet (I realize the irony here) as she heard her dad come thundering down the stairs to see what the noise was all about.

When he saw the snake he ran from the room and returned with a snow shovel which he then used to corral the snake and sweep it out the back door. Had I not been hiding this would have been pretty hilarious — her dad is like a mix of Guy Fieri and The Most Interesting Man in the World; handsome but big and goofy with a shock of white hair. He’s like a cartoon in that he owns only hawaiian shirts, and seeing him wielding a snow shovel as Shmenn hid behind him was a sight, I’ll tell you.

Things calmed down and her dad went back up to bed, I made my way out of the closet and back to her bed, now mortified of this god forsaken state we were in. I didn’t sleep a wink that night, terrified her dad would come back in and find me in bed with his daughter. As fun as her dad was, he was also a very judgey Catholic dude with strong opinions about the gays and this wasn’t exactly how I’d hoped to meet him.

The next morning Shmenn made some unbelievable excuse about how I was in town for a family reunion (I’ve never been to a family reunion, let alone in small town nowheresville) and asked if I could stay a few days before “leaving to starbucks to pick me up.” So we snuck me out the back to her car, ran to get coffee and came back to meet the fam. They were delighted to have me, as most parents are… until they find out I’m fucking their daughter.

I got along with her parents swimmingly (who says that?) aside from a few hiccups when they asked me my political views and if I had a boyfriend (y’all, I looked like Justin Bieber, there’s no way they thought I was straight, I’m just saying).

I left after about 48 hours, trying not to overstay my welcome, but really dreading my drive back to Texas all alone. Shmenn did end up Skyping me almost the entire way back, occasionally flashing me her DD’s when I seemed to be nodding off to sleep.

I made it home safe and sound, and things were pretty quiet for the rest of the summer. But I will never forget those collective 44 hours spent driving through the “Hills Have Eyes” countryside of the Bible Belt. Nothing cements a relationship more than the fear of backwoods hillbillies and Catholic fathers.

*Next week on nobody scissors: How soon is too soon to rent a U-haul?*

Softie Shmoftie


I opened the facebook message from a “friend” from high school, someone I hadn’t talked to in over 5 years. I say “friend” because we had a few classes together, were teammates on the softball team, but we were never close, and when she had moved away Sophomore year we didn’t stay in touch besides remaining FB friends.

This girl, let’s call her, Shmennifer, sent me this:

Hi, so I know this is random and you’re probably going to read this and thing “Wow, Shmenn is crazy” but I just have to say something… You’re hot. Like so fucking hot. And that’s not eloquent or groundbreaking, but it’s out there. So if you ever want to like, talk, or whatever, I’m interested.

*Theme music and opening credits play*

I was beyond shocked. Shmennifer was not my usual type physically — she was pretty damn girly (most of my ladies thus far had been fairly low-maintenance, toward the middle of the of the road between masc and femme), and curvy. I would learn that I have a really big attraction to curvy women, which for some reason seems like a taboo when it shouldn’t be. Personality wise though she was pretty spot on for what I look for — creative (she was a singer and actress), independent, older than me (only by 6 months… but it still counts!) and left handed (have I mentioned how much I like that?). Also I was shocked because I didn’t know that this girl was gay… well okay, she had ironically dated Shmary 1 back in high school, but I thought that was just some teenage softball sleepover shit, not like permanent lifestyle shit.

My response to Shmennifer was as follows:

I didn’t realize you were still gay… 

Boy do I have a way with the ladies. She sent me back an “LOL” accompanied by her phone number. I may not be smooth but this face really does take me places sometimes, thanks mom and dad!

We began texting immediately, constantly, relentlessly. She lived in the midwest at the time, she had to come back from college because she got diagnosed with Epilepsy during her second year at a dramatic arts school and her parents had asked her to take a year off. She was a little stir crazy in their house, being that she had fled their control at 18 to the city that never sleeps, to pursue an acting career. She was driven and talented beyond belief — to this day I know her name is meant to be up in lights somewhere someday.

The first time we skyped we just looked at each other, not saying anything for over an hour. It was bizarre… not love at first skype, but it was something, alright.

My friends back in college all made fun of me for getting into something long distance again. I was always looking at my phone, tired from all nighters spent on the phone, and I could tell you what every bit of Shmennifer’s body looked like even though I had never touched her. I learned how weird it was to miss someone you had never “met.” I also learned how weird it was to feel as if you had never met someone that you had technically met before.

Soon she planned a surprise visit to me, and let me tell you… I hate surprises. I was drunk when she showed up with Courtney at our apartment. There’s a video somewhere of me just saying “what the fuck?” over and over and sitting on the ground as Shmennifer made her way over to me saying, “I hope that’s a good what the fuck, and not a mad what the fuck.” I just laughed and wrapped my arms around her. I also wondered how the hell she had gotten from midwest bumfuck nowhere to my college apartment. I also wondered how long Courtney and her had been scheming — usually I was 100% on Courtney’s wavelength, so this sort of thing didn’t happen very often. I know that I said that I hate surprises, but I was pretty okay with seeing Shmennifer in person this night. Having a girlfriend solely via Skype was fairly safe and all, but it wasn’t necessarily the most physically rewarding scenario for everyone involved.

The first time we had sex I remember having an anxiety attack as we lay in bed afterwards, Shmennifer looking at me with worried green eyes, “Are you going to break up with me?” I laughed, she didn’t seem reassured. I raised myself up on one elbow and choked out the most feeble “I love you” ever uttered in the history of the world as I realized that I was completely head over heels for this girl. When did I become such a softie??


*Next week on Nobody Scissors, I get to meet the parents, sort of…*

Wanna Fook?


Have you ever been sitting next to a friend at a party, while people are getting drunk around you and thought… why shouldn’t me and this friend have sex? No? Me neither.

Except that’s a total lie because if I didn’t think things like that then this blog wouldn’t exist.

We were at one of many parties at my sophomore year apartment, people were drunk, making out, hooking up, throwing shit (not literal shit) off the balcony, and having a general good time. I was on the couch next to one of my teammates and somehow we both locked eyes at the same time. It was one of those wanna-fuck stares…



…and we both kind of shook our heads and went back to participating in the game of King’s Cup before us. But as the night wound down I couldn’t shake the feeling of why I shouldn’t fuck this teammate. We were both single, both horny, and we liked each other enough to be friends so that’s about all you need to hook up, right?

*Theme music and opening credits play*

This girl on our team, let’s call her, Shmictoria, is one of (if not) the only girl(s) I’ve slept with who was younger than me. She was a former soccer player, with blonde hair, and reminded me of one of my high school best friends. We always got along exceptionally well but I can definitively tell you that I had never EVER thought of her in a sexual way, so this decision to fuck her was definitely spontaneous and definitely only going to happen once.

We found ourselves drunkenly fumbling into my room and falling onto my bed. Soon we were both taking our clothes off and it was like we were playing naked twister, except not in a sexy way. There’s nothing quite like having sex with someone you aren’t exactly sexually attracted to or that you’ve been exceptionally good platonic friends with — you know when your grandma went to kiss you as a kid and she always insisted on kissing you straight on the mouth? Yeah, that’s the only feeling that comes to mind. Nothing is exactly wrong with it, it just makes you a little uncomfortable and you hope no one saw.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Shmellen had burst into my room and she was laughing uncontrollably, as she had a view of my bare ass, Shmictoria’s boobs in my face, and my fingers clearly inside of her. Yep, someone just saw me mouth kissing grandma.

Shmictoria and I never spoke about that incident ever again after she quickly put her clothes on and we went about our rugby filled platonic relationship from that point forward. Which I think is what defines a true friendship. We moved forward and left that drunken encounter in the past, exactly where it should’ve been left.

Side note, I know I’ve told these stories as if they’re all one after another… in all reality these last 4 or so women overlapped a little (a lot), but it was super Caz (caj? Casj? short for casual, you get it), at least on my end so I didn’t think much of my juggling act.

The next girl I hooked up with proved to be the most masculine girl I ever ended up fucking, and by most masculine I mean she also had a short haircut. That’s it. I mean you could hardly call her a bro besides the bieber-do. Funny thing is, if you throw me into a club full of lesbians I am immediately drawn to the androgynous girls with great hair and good style, but I never ended up dating them… I guess I was just too intimidated by their swag (do people still say swag?). No, honestly I think I just confused the hell out of the boyish girls I hit on, which is pretty fair.

This girl and I had been friends since high school, she was a year older than me and I was the first person she came out to. This was actually a trend at our high school where the gay athletes would always come out to me because I was the gayest-not-even-out-gay-but- may-as-well-have-been-wearing-a-rainbow-flag-around-my-neck-and-worked-as-professional-U-haul-driver-gay-person at our school.

Her and I had been talking for a few weeks, and she decided to drive up to my college town to see me one night and I knew this would be the night we hooked up. Now, I somehow end up sleeping with the girls that say the weirdest shit in bed, I swear to God. We are mid-fuck and she starts speaking in tongues. And I don’t mean that in a she was enduring so much pleasure that her speech was unintelligible, I mean that in that she was moaning in latin. Or what I think was latin (my only frame of reference being exorcist movies). We weren’t even drunk! This was mid-day afternoon snack sex. I tried to pretend I didn’t notice but she sounded like we were role-playing except I never got my lines, and so I was looking into the camera like I was on the office and pleading for someone to save me. But really, someone needed to save me if the latin thing continued because I had seen way too many scary movies for that shit, and me and God aren’t tight enough for him to do me a solid and not let the Devil come out of this chick and possess me as well.

As we were laying there, post-weird-exorcist sex, I got a Facebook message from a girl I had gone to high school with. I didn’t realize when I opened that message that my dating life was about to take a serious turn… for the better?

*Next week on Nobody Scissors: I said I would never do long distance again but never say never, right?*


You is One Lucky Bastard


Shmemistry Teacher was definitely interested, y’all. She cleared up any doubts I had one night when I was out with some friends. It was midnight, and we were at the dollar theatre in our college town watching a movie when I received a very drunk, nearly incoherent, but super flirty text message from her. I don’t remember the details of what that message said but I do remember whisper-yelling down the row of seats at my friends, “Shmemistry Teacher just drunk texted me!” This was neither the time nor the place to share this hot gossip, but we aren’t always in charge of when we receive drunk texts from our teachers.

She ended up asking me to come meet her outside of a bar later that night… outside of the bar because I was still a baby and couldn’t get INSIDE the bar. Hot, I know. She asked me to bring her a snack (Ritz peanut butter cracker sandwiches), which I went to 3 gas stations before finding because I’m that much of a kiss ass. When I walked up she was on the patio with her friends, but she came out to meet me on the other side of the fence outside the bar. The fence provided us with a little bit of privacy, but I was pretty sure that her friends were spying on this romantic Ritz cracker rendezvous the whole time.

*Theme music and opening credits play*

She was all smiles when I showed up, leaning into my neck, touching my arms, and she smelled like tequila. I’m not the type to take advantage of a situation like that, but before I knew it she had stood on her tiptoes to kiss me lightly on the lips. I pulled back and raised my eyebrows at her, “I thought…”

“Oh shut up.” She said before leaning back in. That’s all the convincing I needed before grabbing her by the hips and pushing her against the fence and making out with her like the horny not-really-teenager that I was. After a quick but hot make out sesh she thanked me for the peanut butter crackers and made her way back to her friends. I left feeling on top of the world, not knowing that my night out at the dollar theatre watching The Help was going to end this way. Chris, You is kind. You is smart. You is important. You is one lucky bastard.

When I told Courtney (and then Shmermione the next week in class) they were both completely astounded… I mean, not even I knew I had this much game. Shmemistry Teacher played it totally cool in class, because this clearly wasn’t her first rodeo, but she would text me on and off during the week. She made sure to never explicitly talk about us doing anything inappropriate however, for fear of what could happen if someone got ahold of that paper trail of our misbehavior. Pics or it didn’t happen, amiright?

I ended up inviting Shmemistry Teacher to Shmellen’s birthday party at our house, a few weeks later. Shmellen is a total nerd so we decided to throw a nerd/science themed party and I thought this would be right up Shmemistry Teacher’s alley. When I invited her she immediately told me she couldn’t be seen at a party with a bunch of undergrads, but come the night of the party she was texting me asking for the address. This girl was 125% mixed signals and I was 125% into it.

When she showed up she asked to speak with me outside. I was rocking a short-sleeve button up, bow tie, and glasses plus tousled hair, and I had already had a few drinks when I sat out on our balcony with her. Tonight was going to be a good night, I could feel it.

“Look, this is fun and all, but I can’t keep kissing you. It’s not allowed, and no offense but this isn’t worth losing my job over.” …uh, so maybe tonight wasn’t going to be a good night.

I didn’t take offense to this one bit but I also wasn’t going to make her leave the party, so I told her I understood and made my way back into the apartment, found the birthday girl and proceeded to do some jell-o shots. I didn’t waste any time trying to assure her that I wasn’t hurt, because I was young, drunk, and honestly this romantic storyline had already exceeded my expectations. I went off to do shots of plastic-bottle-vodka like the mature adult I was when I saw that Shmemistry Teacher had followed me into the crowded party. I was glad that she stayed because this party was made for her (hello, actual science nerd teacher person in a science nerd themed party??) and because it gave me the opportunity to show her just how unfazed I was by her ending things with me. If there’s something I’m good at it’s looking hot while flirting with people in front of someone who has turned me down. In later years I would perfect this skill into a real art form.

Not twenty minutes into my cool act, drinking with girls, dancing, and generally just giving Shmemistry Teacher the cold shoulder she pulled me by my hand into my bedroom.

“Wow there sure are a lot of women on your walls.” She said as we closed the door, gesturing to the posters of mostly athletes but also celebrities who I crushed on. I shrugged and sat down on my bed, not really sure why my room decor was significant. “Don’t you think it’s a little bit objectifying to just hang women up like decoration?” The tone of her voice was getting higher and I could tell she was upset.

“In all honesty, half those women are people I idolize. That’s Becky Hammon, she holds the world record for most free throws in a minute…of any man or woman! That’s Abby Wambach, arguably the best female soccer player ever. That’s Kristen Stewart… okay, yeah, she’s just up there cause she’s a total babe.” I was drunk and a little offended that I was in trouble for thinking these women were hot, I wasn’t the first person to hang posters on their wall. I was 19, what decorations was I supposed to hang up? I wasn’t into dudes so of course there were female celebrities instead of Justin Bieber or Taylor Lautner or whoever was cool back in 2012. Why couldn’t we be talking about the photographs I had hung up around my window or the art I had made hanging above my head board. Hell, we could even be talking about my extensive shoe collection, anything but this.

“I’ve just heard you talk about how gross the guys in your class are and here you are, just like them.” She said in quite a judgey tone.

“Okay so this is where I cut you off. You may be my teacher, but you don’t know a damn thing about me, and you’re making a lot of assumptions based on shallow observations of what, my college bedroom?” On that note I left the bedroom, I wasn’t there to be lectured, I had done nothing wrong to Shmemistry Teacher in this situation and she was clearly projecting her feelings of insecurity or fear or whatever onto me however she could. Plus, the guys in my Shmemistry class were gross. They were frat dudes who wore visors for God’s sake.

I made it to the kitchen before I felt her grabbing my hand again. “I’m leaving, walk me to my car?” This woman was all over the place, she thought I was a pig but also the gentleman you want to walk you to your car? Maybe 125% was too low of a number for the level of mixed signals this girl sent.

When we got to her small black Mazda she grabbed me and started kissing me and then she was putting my hand down her pants. Yeah, you heard me right, 10 minutes ago she was lecturing me about objectifying women and 30 minutes before that she was telling me how we couldn’t kiss anymore — but there we were. She opened the back door of her car and pulled me inside on top of her and I was thankful (for once) that I was a pretty small person because this was not a roomy vehicle. I was confused but also excited, this was what I had been hoping for the whole time, and it was definitely hot, despite her weird vibes toward me all night.

She informed me that she wouldn’t get off unless oral was involved so, like the champ I am, I somehow got my head between her legs in that tiny sedan. Having sex in small cars was how I started out hooking up with the ladies and those lessons I learned as a teenager would serve me well on this night and many nights to come. I got her off several times before she pulled my face back up to hers and then said in true mixed-signal fashion, “Oh no don’t kiss me.” AKA you smell like my vagina which you just ate out for twenty minutes and gave me a handful of orgasms, but that’s gross. And then, as if that wasn’t the cherry on top of this convoluted sundae, she told me she couldn’t reciprocate because she “wasn’t gay.”

You think maybe she could have mentioned that before… like, “oh hey heads up I’m a total pillow princess.” One way sex is totally a thing, like, yes you can have sex and only one person participate but it helps when there’s a mutual understanding before going into the act, and the way she said it was just so… rude. I disentangled myself from her petite frame and exited her car, closing her in the back seat like the southern gentleman I am.

She proceeded to text me the rest of the summer but I’m gonna say I dodged a bullet on that one because she was hot, but she really wasn’t all that fun, and I’m not about that judgey-not-kissing-after-oral-can’t-appreciate-a-woman’s-beauty-doesn’t-give-and-only-takes-sorta-relationship. No thank you.

*Next time on Nobody Scissors old habits die hard…*

Teacher’s Pet


It was sophomore year still, second semester, and I had a smoking hot chemistry teacher who was young (but still 9 years older than me, SCORE), questionably gay, and let us call her by her first name in class. She was very petite, tan-skinned, dark haired, with gauged ears and a lip ring. For the sake of privacy, I will refer to her from now on as Shmemistry Teacher (in all honesty, in real life we always called her this as well because it was funny).

I sat at our lab table with Courtney and another lesbian friend of ours, let’s call her Shmermione, from the rugby team, who both thought I was ridiculous for constantly flirting with our teacher. But I was single and hooking up with a teacher is a total fantasy that everyone has, right?

*Theme music and opening credits play*

I decided the most fool-proof way to decide if she was gay was to wear the gayest shirt I owned at the time (an “I enjoy vagina” tee from Spencers), and see if I could get a rise out of her. Honestly I think the shirt was less to blame than this face *bats eyelashes* as I asked her to come over and help me with the lab we were working on.

Shmermione and Courtney rolled their eyes as I playfully touched our teacher’s hand, asked her to review my work, and winked as she leaned across me in my seat. While they both told me that I had a -0% chance of actually hooking up with Shmemistry teacher, they did place bets on how long they thought it would take for me to crash and burn. We had to find some way to make learning about compound solutions and molecules interesting after all.

“I love that tattoo.” She said, gesturing to a compass I have on my forearm. She went on to ask me about my other tattoos and I resisted the urge to pull my shirt up in the middle of our classroom to show her the quote on my ribs, but told her the song it was from and she told me she was going to go home and look it up.

“I’m in y’all.” I said to my friends, and we did our secret lesbian hand shake (spoiler alert, it’s a low five).

Before the day was even over I received an email from Shmemistry Teacher.

Hi Chris,

I know I could have waited until our next class but I wanted to tell you I listened to that song and I loved it, so I listened to the rest of his album and have to admit you have great taste. We should get together for coffee sometime and talk music some more.

xo Shmemistry Teacher 

“HOLY FUCK! SHMEMISTRY TEACHER ASKED ME TO COFFEE, THIS IS NOT REAL LIFE.” I told Courtney way too loudly in the middle of our painting class, and our teacher shot me a look. Sor-ry! Jeez. I was about to go on a maybe-date with our hot teacher, I was a little pumped, don’t be jealous shmainting teacher.

We planned to meet the next day in between two of her labs. We showed up and sat on the patio of a small coffee shop just off campus, she ordered a Matcha something or other and some pita bread and hummus, I ordered a latte and sat opposite her.

We discussed music, school, our pets, relationships (she wasn’t gay, bummmmmmmer), her affinity for snakes and my lack of affinity for body parts that looked like snakes, and so on. We talked until she realized she was late for her next class, but she asked me come by her office later that week if I wanted to talk more. I mean I’m totally not reading into anything here. I know I’m only a 19-year-old inexperienced baby lesbian but she was giving me some positive vibes. Plus when we discussed our favorite foods we both professed our love of tacos and everyone knows that being a food taco lover is a gateway to being a lady taco lover.

When I went to visit her office later that week after my typography class that was in an adjacent building she told me she had to run to her house which was in the town south of us and asked if I wanted to join her. THIS IS ABOUT THE TIME MY INSIDES WERE FREAKING OUT. DID SHE JUST INVITE ME OVER? IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY? COULD I REALLY SKIP CLASS? Okay, I skipped class. Thankfully I had a twin to take notes for me — shoutout to Courtney for being the best wingman EVER.

I rode with her and we listened to music, she made fun of me for not knowing some of the songs that came on, I promptly informed her that I was born in 1992 which made me an infant at the time of some of these songs’ release dates. It’s always a huge turn on to tell an older woman that you were born in the nineties, that’s a tip from me to you.

When we got to her house we walked her dog, she showed me some nature photography she had done, she grabbed a snack and then we left. That’s it. The L word had led me to believe that anytime a girl invites you over you are gonna rock paper scissor your way into said girl’s pants, but things didn’t quite work out that way this time. Damn that show for giving me false expectations.

When we were in the car on the way back to school, she turned to me and asked, “Why do lesbians always like straight girls?” I guess my attraction to her wasn’t as subtle as I had tried to make it.
“You know, I’m not sure, but then again I’m not sure why ‘straight’ girls always like me so much either.” I said with a smirk and she nodded in response. Well played self, way to turn that one around.

Though the trip we had made was uneventful, it resulted in her asking for my number, which felt like a step in a direction that might lead to a taco party. I was looking forward to where this less than appropriate student-teacher relationship was headed.

Mostly I was hoping to find out if we had any Shmexual Shmemistry, ya feel?

*Next time on nobody scissors, we definitely have a little shmemistry…*


Yeah, We’ve All Seen The L Word


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.

Reindeer Games


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


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


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*