Most “adventures” I’ve had in my life, (i.e. reckless, indiscriminate sex), have all happened organically.
And, by organically, I obviously mean while out behaving poorly at sweaty nightclubs or at house parties where much alcohol was consumed and I fell into the mouth of someone I probably wouldn’t have had I been sober.
But, early on in my life, I had a harder time knowing how to hook up with other women. I was just….REALLY bad at it.
With men, I pretty much had to show up with my vagina. It was generally that easy. This isn’t bragging, it’s just like that for many women who put themselves into scenarios where people want to get naked…i.e. sweaty nightclubs or debauchery-laden house parties. I wasn’t vetting life partners, I was “connecting with people.” Sure, let’s call it that.
But with women? I had NO idea how to go about this for quite a long time. I found that boobs didn’t particularly impress other women, and, as many women have since tried and failed with me, the usual ‘flirty bullshit’ batting of the eyelashes didn’t work the same when you were trying to get another woman’s attention. AT LEAST IT DIDN’T FOR ME.
My confidence in this arena was shit. I was always half-convinced that I was going to flirt with someone who was just straight enough to lose their shit with me in an angry way and humiliate (or harm) me, and I felt like I stuck out like some sort of creepy imposter when I would hang out at lesbian bars.
Fortunately for my burgeoning Sapphic libido, the internet and the magic of chat rooms were becoming more and more diverse, accessible, and a viable option for someone who had literally zero game with women.
Wait…you mean I can advertise for human interaction in a similar manner that I would advertise a garage sale? The hell you say!
It wasn’t instant magic, though. I responded to a few F4F (female for female in case you’re just that unversed) ads, met for lunch with one (WHY lunch? This isn’t sexy. Daylight isn’t sexy) and she brought me a flower – a bright pink gerbera daisy. I found that strange and adorable. I also found it painfully obvious she wasn’t the least bit attracted to me. That was disappointing. To this day, when I see gerbera daisies, I think of this woman glancing at her watch a few too many times on a boozeless soup and salad date. *sigh*
Met another woman who smelled like wet bread. I don’t know how else to describe this, but I’ve always remembered her as smelling like wet bread. This was also disappointing.
After a few more awkward meetings like this, I grew discouraged. I was really hoping to meet a girl who, like me, wanted something super casual and sexual. I didn’t want a relationship, I wanted a playmate, dammit. I KNEW there had to be someone on the same page as I was.
One night, while drinking wine and perusing more girl-on-girl hook-up ads (honestly, what else would you call them?), and sifting through the ones that seemed more like a couple looking for a third party (yawn), an instant message came in from someone named CherrieGirl4U69.
“Hi, cutie!”
Obviously, this was a spambot, because who on earth has a fucking screen name like CherrieGirl4U69…so I closed the intrusive chat window, and it popped back up.
“How are you tonight? I’m soooo bored.”
Yup, totally a spambot. Pretty soon she’d send a link to her “Sexy Cam Model Website” or some shit.
“Ok, I just saw that you were online, at least it looks like you are. Hit me up if you’re around, I’ll be sitting here sewing a costume for this thing I’m going to with my sister. You looked cool so I thought I’d say hi.”
This didn’t sound spambotty.
So I replied, and, low and behold…she seemed to be an actual live human.
She and I chatted for a bit: Hi, how are you, cool, yeah, weird, I live in Portland, too, where do you live? Oh yeah, I don’t really do the personal ad thing, either, but..
She sends a picture to my email address that was listed on my online profile. I hadn’t asked for one yet, we had chatted for all of 5 minutes, but…
Strange, she looked familiar somehow, couldn’t place it, the lighting is weird in the picture, it’s half backlit, but I could tell she SEEMED like she might be my age, my build for the most part…could mostly see a big cheesy smile, which I found sort of adorable.
“So can I come over?”
This took me by surprise…I wasn’t expecting a courtship, really, but…wait, now?
“Wait…now?”
“Well yeah, silly.”
Huh…
Against my better judgment (which could easily be my epitaph), I said, “Uh….ok, sure.”
And I gave this complete stranger my address.
Because I wanted to get laid.
Congratulations, I am a dude.
“Giggle. Ok, I will see you real soon!”
She typed the word ‘giggle.’
Alright, see you soon…
I showered, I primped, I tried on five or six different outfits and then admonished myself for acting like a dipshit and settled on my jeans shorts and a tank top. Then pitched that altogether and found something completely different to wear. And redid my hair. What the fuck is my problem?
The doorbell rings.
FUCK.
I start to freak out, reconsider my impulsive move, realize, no, dummy, you have a strange girl named CherrieGirl4U69 on your doorstep now. NOW.
She’s probably not even the person in the picture, but rather an axe murder or my ex playing some kind of headgame with me. Great. Circle back to my epitaph.
I look through the peep hole…ok, yeah…that might be her.
Then this big silly smile appears DIRECTLY IN FRONT of the peep hole and she waves maniacally.
I open the door.
“HI!!!! I’M CHERRIEGIRL!”
Oh…what the fuck…
Standing in front of me…is me.
Mostly anyway.
She was my height. My build. My same round face, my tiny nose. The same smattering of freckles and the same small but full lips.
She also sported my general hair length and style, just past shoulder-length and wavy, only hers strawberry blonde to my black. And she was wearing pastels; lavender capri pants and a white top with pale pink and yellow stars.
I had finally settled on wearing charcoal grey jeans and a black tank top with silver lettering that read CULT.
She wore a purple lace choker with a little jewel resting on her throat. I wore a black lace choker with a crescent moon dangling from it.
I was “goth” her.
She was “HAPPY MALIBU BARBIE OH MY GOD HI!” me.
She was adorable. In a strangely incestuous or narcissistic way, I wasn’t really sure, but who’s keeping score at this point….I’m not.
And she waved again.
“Hi…and I’m Lisa. What’s your actual name?” I asked as she literally bounced past me into my living room.
“My name is Cherry, silly. Cherry like the berry! It’s even spelled like that. That’s what I have to live with! Sucks to be meeee!”
Of course her name was Cherry.
As I was about to offer her a seat, she flopped face down on my couch, and then immediately flipped over onto her back and kicked her feet up in the air.
“This is so comfy! I love your couch soooooo much. My couch is total crap, but I got it off the side of the road without test driving it, so, you know…my fault. ”
Ok, this chick was weird as fuck. That’s fine I guess, but I really was way too sober for…well, any of this.
I headed to the kitchen and asked her, “Would you like something to drink? I have beer, wine, and I think a couple ciders.”
She sits up and looks at me dead faced. “Are you going to get me drunk and take advantage of me, Liiiisaaah?” Her serious expression then broke, and she fell into a fit of giggles. She flipped her hair and smiled at me, batting her eyelashes.
Jesus, what?
“Uh, I mean…I was just wondering if…”
She laughed maniacally and bounced up and off the couch.
“I’m KIDDING, of course. Yes, a cider would go down nicely,” she said as she walked up to me holding out her hand. I blinked at her a few times and shoved a bottle of cider into her open hand. I didn’t even think to make a joke out the “would go down nicely,” which should tell you how taken off-guard I am by this whole thing.
“Thank you, Lisa,” she said as she curtsied.
Ok, listen. I don’t know at this point if I’m being punked or what the fuck is happening, but what I do know is that this is not sexy to me. I mean I’m not angry, but seriously, WHAT THE FUCK IS WITH THIS CHICK?
And I KNOW that this is what some dudes like: The bizarre, cutesie, “little girl” dance.
Does my glittery twin have the same problem I do? Knowing that dudes are super easy to impress with bullshit, coquettish prancing yet having no idea how to act with a woman she wants to bang?
She takes a drink of her cider and a little glimmer of zen briefly flickers over her face. “Ohh, that’s good.” She leaned against the kitchen table and took another swig. Her shoulders visibly relax.
I decide that I need to find my zen as well so I poured myself a glass of wine and took a few gulps. I waited for my shoulders to also relax.
I forced some conversation, asked her how long she had been chatting in the chatroom I stumbled upon her in (just a few months). We make banal smalltalk about pets (she has two kitties and they’er her whole WORLD) and music (she and I agree that Candlebox is underrated and were apparently at the same show when they played Portland a few years ago).
The TV in the living room was on. I had left it on VH1 because it was actually playing music videos for a stretch, but once it hit 9pm, a movie started: Purple Rain.
“Ohhh! I love Prince,” she growls. Ok, more points in my book. She grabs both of my hands and looks at me hopefully, “Can we watch the movie? Just for a little bit?” I guess I’m mom now.
“Sure, that sounds like a plan.” I am completely winging it and figure well, this will give me a break from coming up with more benign questions to ask this stranger – heavy on the strange – that I thought was a good idea to allow into my home.
“Oh SWELL!” She plops back down onto the couch and pats her hand on the cushion next to her as if inviting me to sit on my own couch. Which I did.
About ten minutes into the movie, it breaks to commercial being as it’s on VH1 and not an actual movie channel. Cherry pouted.
“Aw damn, it’s just going to keep doing that, isn’t it? Let’s do something else. Where’s your bedroom, do you want to show me it?”
Fortunately, by this time, I’m steadily metabolizing my second glass of wine so my apprehension has been mostly quelled.
“As you wish,” I say to Princess Buttercup here, grab her hand, and lead her down the hall.
We entered my room, which was huge and set up like a second living room as well. I had candles lit on the desk on the far wall. Not even for her so much, I just really dig candles, but she cooed appreciatively at how romantic I was.
She reached up to my shoulder with her free hand and pulls me to her. She kisses my neck. I suddenly forget she’s a weirdo. She kisses her way down to my collar bone as I’m standing in my hallway, and I start to forget literally everything else. The little hairs on my arm are standing upright and my breathing has shallowed.
Then she bites my shoulder. Hard.
“OW, what the fuck?” I am laughing, but I’m not sure why.
Cherry pouts again.
“Ohhh, I’m sorry, I’m just a bit of a biter. That was probably weird. Let’s pretend I didn’t do that.”
I am actually a bit of a biter, too. When I’m not randomly drunk-biting people at parties (it’s a thing, I’m not proud), my biting is generally once things are hot and heavy and it’s….well it’s different.
I chuckled a bit. “That’s okay, you just caught me off guard…”
She grabs my hand again and leads me to my own bed. She sits at the foot of it and pulls me toward her, my naval directly in front of her face.
She begins to slowly undo my pants with one hand while running her other up the front of my shirt. I begin to drift away again. She sits back and removes her top, and reaches for my hips and brings me close to her again.
I think she’s about to pull my pants down…but instead she smashes her face into my abdomen and proceeds to give me a giant raspberry.
“PBBPPBPBPBPBPBPBTTT”
I just…
*sigh* lol
“What the hell is wrong with you…” I had to laugh. What the hell was this evening?
Cherry giggled again, but didn’t let go of me.
“I’m sorrryyyyyy! I just love tummies, I couldn’t help myself,” she wailed.
Still holding onto my hips, she pulls herself up to standing again, and we’re nose to nose. She gently grasps the bottom of my top and starts to pull my top up and off of me. Holding my hands over my head still, she kisses me.
Now, let me tell you, it’s hard at this point, to even relax and enjoy things because I’m not sure if she’s going to boop me on the nose next, or if she’s going to break out a whoopie cushion. And I’m all about goofing around – and that is truly an understatement – but goddammit….you know?
But her kiss, coupled with the holding my wrists over my head the way she was doing, was hot as hell. And, as she parted from my lips, I glanced over into my dresser mirror. The picture of the two of us was undeniably sexy; two women of the exact same height, build, and both with hair past our shoulders, hers wavy and fair, mine the absence of both these qualities. We were as contrasted yet similar as night and day, visually…and in personality. The candlelight was flickering off the shine of my dark mane and boosting the fire of her light ginger tresses. A visual creature, this added to the heat growing within me.
I grabbed her hands and gently brought them down and around to the small of her back before kissing her neck and lightly biting her neck. She started a bit.
“Uh oh, are you a vampire, Lisa? If you are, that’s ok, I just need a little warning. I’m scared, but I’m into it,” she purred.
I realized she was actually serious and decided to ignore her and ride the little wave we had been on, as I was not, in fact a vampire. I did spend a half second amused, considering that this wasn’t the first accusation I had received. Pale skin, black hair, hates daylight…yeah, I get it. But wait a minute…she bit me first, didn’t she? Whatever.
I grabbed the waistband of her capris and asked if she would be ok with me pulling them off of her. She nodded in the affirmative. “Mmm hmm. Yes please.”
I pulled them off, and she reached for my waistband and finished the job she began earlier, slowly pulling them down, kneeling down in front of me as she pulled them off as I stepped out of each pant leg.
Suddenly she pops back up to a standing position with my jeans in her hand. She immediately put them on her head and began running around the room screaming,
“I’M A BUNNY! SEE?”
I sat down on the foot of the bed and watched Cherry the Bunny run and hop around my bedroom with denim “ears” and hoped to god she didn’t knock over the candles and set this whole fucking scene on fire while simultaneously knowing that would honestly be the next logical thing to happen.
“Beep beep beep,” she sings as she’s hopping around. She stops suddenly, turns to me, and covers her mouth with one of her paws.
“Ohhhh my god. I’m beeping, but I really don’t know what sounds a bunny makes. What sounds does a bunny make? Beep? Boop? It’s probably not beep.”
I just sat there with my elbows on my knees and blinking at this adorable lunatic in a lavender bra and panty set. I decide against telling her that the only sound I’ve heard a bunny make is when they’re being killed by a wild animal.
“I…don’t know.” I’ve gone from having a fire in my belly in anticipation of