Thursday, November 30, 2006


Ever since I was a little girl, I've always liked boys. I can still remember the crush my four-year-old self had on my next door neighbor with the mop of brown hair and a penchant for shirtless yard work. My heterosexuality was confirmed young. But lately, I've been having these thoughts. Not really thoughts, but moreso flashbacks. A couple months ago I met a girl and I don't quite know how it happened, but we kissed.
We met in front of my grandmother's house in the north Bronx. She was walking up the block with a friend of mine I hadn't seen in over two years and I was standing on the stoop. We locked eyes and she immediately entered the slightly ajar gate leading to the front walk. I introduced myself with a handshake and invited them both inside. Her energy was amazing. She ran around the house, exploring the new environment.
"Would you like some water," I offered.
She eagerly accepted the tap water I placed before her and within minutes it was gone. In her excitement to have a drink she even spilled half of it on the kitchen floor. No bother, I just wiped up the mess with some paper towels and headed back to the living room so we could get to know each other.
For the next half hour she wouldn't leave my side. I tried to engage our mutual friend in conversation but she kept interrupting. Usually I'm bothered when someone doesn't let me get a word in, but her interruptions were so endearing I didn't even notice. What I did notice is that she kept laying her head in my lap. Now, I'm a pretty affectionate person. I have no problem putting an arm around a female friend or cuddling close to one of my guy friends, but this situation was weird. True, we were hitting it off great, but we'd just met. That type of closeness made me uncomfortable.
"Stop doing that!" our friend would tell her.
She'd do what he said for a minute or two and then come right back into my personal space. While I didn't want her hanging all over me, I also didn't want her to feel uncomfortable. Whenever she came close to me, I ran my hand up and down her back. She was extremely fit and I could feel her muscles through her coat.
I think I might've rubbed her back a bit too long because before I knew it she pinned me to my chair and started kissing me. Her tongue was EVERYWHERE. My lips, my cheeks, my chin were covered in saliva. I tried to push her off of me but she was too strong.
"No! Stop!" I screamed. In the midst of my protests she slipped her tongue in my mouth. Immediately, I closed my mouth and turned my head to the side so she couldn't try that move again.
Meanwhile our friend looked on, consumed by a fit of giggles, guffaws, and gasps. In all the commotion he was still able to snap a couple of pictures of the girl on girl action with his camera phone.
After what felt like an eternity, she finally let me go then casually walked to the other side of the room as though nothing happened. The second I was free, I ran to the bathroom and scrubbed my face with St. Ives Apricot Scrub and brushed my teeth with Colgate Total. Unfortunately I didn't have any bleach. When I felt sufficiently clean I rejoined my guests in the living room.
The moment I reentered the room she rushed back to my side. When she stood on her hind legs and started humping my right leg I knew that she wanted more than the kiss we just shared. I disengaged myself from her paws and kept my distance for the rest of the day. She was way too aggressive for my liking. I mean, can't a girl at least get a few hours to process the fact that she just had her first same sex kiss?
Days later as the events of that day replayed in my head one moment stuck out in my mind. The kiss. Yes, it was sloppy. Yes, it was against my will. No, I didn't kiss her back. But when I thought about it some more, I realized that she had given me the most passionate kiss I'd had in a long time. And she made it a total sensory experience. Not only was I lavished with her tongue, she also got her paws and fur into the action. Maybe she was just trying to hold me when I was fighting her off? In hindsight making out with her wasn't bad at all. In fact, it might've even been enjoyable.
So now I sit here with something of a conundrum on my hands. Since she is a girl and I'm a girl and we kissed and I think I liked it, does that make me a lesbian? Or just bi?

Monday, November 27, 2006

I Promise

When is a promise no longer valid? If you swear up and down about ANYTHING are you held to it no matter what? Are the promises you make to a person contigent upon who that person is to you when you made the promise.

This summer, I made a promise. Actually it was more of an assertion. I swore that a male friend was just that, a friend. I promised that nothing physical or romantic would ever occur between us because we just "aren't like that." When asked if anything physical or romantic had already occurred I was honest. Yes, but that was a long time ago and things are different now. Not only would it not happen again, it simply couldn't. I was firm.

I said those things because I truly believed them. Plus, I was trying to prove a point. I have been told by several men that I have too many male friends and that there is absolutely no way in hell that all of those inter-sex friendships could possibly be 100% platonic. And I have always argued that men and women can totally be just friends. MY friends are NOT trying to get in my pants nor am I trying to get them to lay on top of me so I can feel a warm body.

So when I told a man who was definitely not just my friend that nothing would ever happen between myself and The Friend, I meant it. I didn't just say it to appease him or to give him a reason stop whining about why The Friend always seemed to call at ungodly hours of the night. I wasn't saying, "Because of you, I won't do that." No guy wants to hear that anyways.
"You're the only thing stopping me from tappin' dat ass" is not exactly reassuring. If there's a possibility then there is definite reason to be concered. But I was saying something totally different. I was saying I wouldn't do it, period.

Last weekend I did it. I had every right to. Things with the man who was definitely not just my friend fell apart weeks ago. I am perfectly free to do whatever I please without worrying about anyone else's feelings. And I'm not necessarily worried about feelings being hurt per say. The problem lies with me. I feel like a liar. I made a promise and I broke it. I didn't make the promise with a built in contingency plan and out clauses. And I'm not that girl that lies to a man just to make him feel better about a situation. Actually I'm honest to a fault divulging more information than what is really needed all in the spirit of full disclosure. Granted, I owe nothing to that man and he has a tendency to be a veritable asshole....yet I still feel bad. Like I've done something to him or was deceptive or something. I can't explain it. Or maybe it's not about him and more about me. I have no problem lying to my parents, boss, IRS (just kidding), etc. but when it comes to who I say I am I prefer to be truthful. And I feel like a hypocrite. I might say I am just friends with each and every one of my male friends but am I really? How much would it take for me to fall into a similar situation with another guy I claim is "just my friend." Maybe I should just NEVER say never again.

Tuesday, November 07, 2006


The screen is mocking me, daring me to write something impressive. "Type. Do it. Say something remarkable," it says to me. I put my hands to the keys, but nothing happens. Firefox saves me from the sting of defeat. I promise myself I'll face the Word document again in a few minutes - just a quick browse through My Space, Facebook, Nappturality, my email, back to My Space, check in on Facebook, then back to Nappturality. And before I know it sleep calls and words go unwritten.

It shouldn't be this hard. There was a time when I could turn out twenty five pages in two weeks. I would just sit and stories would pour out of me, filling up page after page with the people, places, and events that existed in my mind. This story only trickles in sporadic spurts leaving more to be desired with every line. I take solace in the dialogue, which is the only part that works. The setting is bland, exposition abrupt, and action non existent. I can do so much better, but for some reason I can't.

Twenty five pages. The equivalent of two ten-page papers and a five-page essay. I have a 165 pages sitting on a jump drive. I did that in five months. 165 pages that are of no use to me now. None of it is good enough. For friends to read, sure it's great. But to hang my future on, to compete with hundreds maybe thousands of other writers. Not so much. So scrap it and write another 25 pages. What's 25 pages? Everything to admissions panels. And right now, nothing I have in me.