Confessions.of.a.NYC.Lezie

I am known to chase skirts like a sailor. But add some shots to my evening, I become a pussy hound. I chat up strangers at the bar and then try to pressure them into making out with me. I have talked many straight girls into a bathroom stall in this state through a mixture of confidence and shameless flattery.

I grew up like any other privileged children at my boarding school. I met my best friend there and we played lots of games. I was 9 mind you. We managed to play house, doctor and my favorite – teacher. Our evaluations turn into elaborate role-playing games, which ended with us exploring each other’s genitals in my tree house. I felt guilty about what we were doing, but since every sexual encounter was masked in the guise of a game in which a male and female character had sex, I could sort of pretend it was all just make-believe. We never peeped a word and till this day we both won’t admit to having played doctor.

Around the age of 12 (soon after I left boarding school and came to America) I had a best friend and his name was Mark. He was my first kiss along with major bonus package of feeling me up but we never had sex. These experiences I had growing up caused me to consider myself “bisexual” (I was in HS – don’t worry) but now that I look back at it, I was craving the attention of someone who would perform these naughty acts. It didn’t matter if it were a boy or a girl. Hands and lips felt the same with both genders.

I started my freshman year of HS with a boyfriend and I supposedly had a boyfriend until my senior year. But truthfully, he went to the all boy schools and I went to the all girl school of my town. He had no clue who and what I was doing. When I met my friend Butch, I was totally open to the idea of a lesbian relationship. She was butch. Package included : short hair (I just got out of bed hair but pulled back in a pony) stocky cause she played some serious softball for the team and wore men clothes outside of our habitual catholic school girl skirt and button attires.

I don’t really know what drew me to her. Butch was a senior when I was a tiny freshman shrimp. She wasn’t anything I wanted in a person but she provided me with a satisfied service, which was a total plus. Everyone knew she munched the carpet but they never assumed anything happened between us – big save.

Nothing attracted me to Butch but somehow whatever we had lasted two long exhausting years. She did drive a nice Jeep Wrangler – soft-top and always spoiled me with goodies. I had my own personal chauffeur and I was ok with that.

Our relationship fell into a pattern of supply and demand. I demanded something, and Butch supplied it, although often with a sexual price tag attached. I didn’t like that one bit. 1) She was practically a man – pubes flowing everywhere and I sure was not ready to floss 4 times a day. And 2) she wasn’t what I called a pretty young woman. I tried to break up with her several times, but every time I managed to tell her I was done she’d show up after my tennis practice with a car trunk full of presents for me. Surveying the booty, I still wanted out, but, well, I really wanted those presents too.

In truth, Butch was deeply in love with me; the sexual exploitation resulted from the fact that not only was I probably not even attracted to girls, I definitely wasn’t attracted to her. And for my part it didn’t occur to me that not wanting to have sex with someone was grounds for breaking up; I always worried more about how others felt about me than how I felt about them. So I threw myself as heartily into lesbianism as I had my affairs with men, even growing fond of lesbian movies and anything gay - RENT.

A budding teenager, I also cheated on my grown-up lesbian girlfriend left and right. She couldn’t even leave me alone at a party while she went on a beer run before I was chatting up some cute college-aged girl I didn’t just have sex with girls behind her back; I had whole relationships. Remember my boyfriend? Well he was in my umbrella of relationships as well.

When I left for college, I left behind Butch, Mark and my other side dish. I wanted a clean slate, I wanted no one to know of my pass and so, my little liberal college was my escape - lesbians of all sorts purring at the inexperienced “bisexuals” . The good thing was, I already knew the words to all the Ani Difranco songs that are required college-girl listening and I fell hard for a girl I will nickname Turkish.

To be continued…