Lesbian sex (for dummies)

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A girl puts two fingers up to her mouth in a V sign and squirms her tongue between them. That is the universal sign for I wanna lick your pussy. I am surprised you didn’t know that too.

No holds will be barred in this post so you might as well stop here if you are underage or you are some holy person or you are squeamish about words like pussy e.t.c., e.t.c.

Congratulations.

Heterosexual sex is commonplace common knowledge. What do I put where? When? How? At what time? I am yet to read about some dude who put it in her ear mistaking it for her vagina. Everybody finds their way out somehow, like a tot suckling on their first day, or eating in the dark. Those analogies are terrible beyond words, but stay with me.

Enter lesbian sex and we have the highest levels of anxiety the world has ever known. It goes in the lines of do I finger her, do I rub her clitoris, do I suck her breasts, do I chain her hands on the bed, do I bite her tongue off? e.t.c., e.t.c. Add the I-have-absolutely-no-idea line to it and we have a pile of confused anxious lesbians milling about the earth. Words like clitoris, vagina and lesbian are said in torturous whispers. They are terrifying words to even contemplate.

So, I suppose I should get this started by saying that there is no such thing as an experienced lesbian. This is the truth. There is no underground lesbian subcommittee with the power to decide on lovemaking top performers or something like that. It is a matter of tossing a coin and every lesbian dreads it because it involves a great deal of work. It can be as complicated as knowing all the numbers of the elements in the periodic table, or it could be as easy as eating ice cream. It can never be homogenized. It is not grouped into past lesbian partners or zero experience tick box, or age or exposure or anything really.

It’s about self-confidence and being eager to have sex.

So before you freak out on your first lesbian sex experience, chances are that your ‘experienced’ partner is half as freaked out. And you can’t blame her. She doesn’t know whether to approach you with great gentleness, or like a crack stimulated addict. You could change into something wildly different at any second. Maybe you turn blind after you climax or maybe you recite holy chants in your ancestor’s language. You know, she can never tell what you can turn into. She is having her first experience with you.

Sex demands have risen generally; everyone is stressed up with stuff in life and we all need escapisms; like sex in this case. Darling, don’t make it more difficult by expecting her to know everything. Communicate with her; this is a love bed not a graveyard for chrissake. Moan, cry; be creative. Narrate stories even; (It’s a thing; watch OITNBS02E04). The part where Nicky Nichols is going down on Brook Soso. Totally cracked me up. Uh-oh, I should have started with a spoiler alert warning.

Be in the moment and stay with her. This is not the right time to worry about your clothes (that are lying on the floor at this time) having different shades of black. While at it, forget about some mythical Egyptian Queen hourglass body shape and concentrate on loving the body you have now. I know this is a tall order for majority of women but I am really trying not to lose my coolness points here. Low self body image is not a great thing when juxtaposed with a horny woman next to you is all I am saying. She needs motivation, and motivation is what she should get.

“Don’t compare your Chapter 1 to someone else’s Chapter 20”. This holds water, I agree. It is obvs that a woman who is having brand new lesbian sex cannot be compared to a lesbian who has been around the block but as I said earlier, this hardly matters. And just in case you think I am contradicting myself, well I am not. I cannot let the darkest powers of contradiction shame me on this post. Sex is a very difficult topic, so keep that in mind as you read on.

It is not written on your face that you are a baby dyke and so long as you have the desire, there are two of you on that bed and the last thing on your mind should be about the particulars. No amount of reading lesbian sex for dummies books or Google will save your ass, it is about following cues from her and asking. Ask. Ask. Ask.

Lesbian porn is another dangerous thing that can put the fear of the Lord on a baby dyke. Take the amount of spotless pussy on there, for instance. And little tattoos all over the waxed bodies. Well, I certainly believe that you are aware that it’s all plastic. No? Oh really? Impressive!

We wish we could do all those things but we don’t, I’m afraid. Amid the fake moans and muff-dives and humongous dildos and long nails, actual sex does happen. And it doesn’t involve all that, friend. So while you were busy taking notes from these lesbo clips, lesbians were busy climaxing to plain old lesbian sex. And I think many lesbians prefer the aforementioned. But this is just speculation from me at this point I should add. There are lesbians with fetishes for other strange sexual behaviours and I don’t have the figures to back that up as of now. Many lesbians (and you can quote me on this) will not be comfortable with muff-diving during your first sexual encounter with them and sex toys and (I could go on). Relax and stop being nervous.

Enough of this chatter. We don’t want that girl you have been eyeing to slip through your fingers, now do we?

meg

A lesbian, incognito.

For the purposes of full disclosure, I support lesbians who live closeted lives (being a victim myself) as much as I support all out lesbians. I hope that we can be in agreement here for once that we don’t necessarily have to live in the closet/out tick box. The entirety of your sexuality should not be dictated by the society or your partner for that matter. The lesbian in the closet versus the out lesbian is not a comparative listing, it is not a goal we should all achieve, it is not a contest where we are promised some brownie points at the end of the sexuality race, it is not a seal of stability, it should also be your very own battle to fight.

Battle is a strong word to use, but it has been made to seem as such. Battle so draining we are seen as the-partners-who-don’t-bring-their-all-into-the-relationship. Seriously?

I know what you are thinking. I am saying this because I am closeted and ashamed of my sexuality. You are right on the closeted bit (which I have disclosed of course) and very wrong on the shame part. You guys, I would eat my lesbian life and take it out on a five star date. Keep in mind that lesbians are generally frugal women and going for five stars dates is no mean feat.

Inasmuch as it is liberating to live outside the closet, inasmuch as I love the feeling it leaves in my mouth, it should not be a mark of the ultimate lesbian love story. Sacrificing everything for my partner is one thing, showing this through coming out to the society and family is another. Lesbian relationships have been reduced to are you closeted or not check boxes. You are not lesbian enough if you can’t stomach reading a coming out to your family speech. The proverbial victim-villain story.

I wish people would trade families for a year or two. (And I dare you to survive a week in mine). Maybe then, we shall all learn that it’s not all bliss behind the closed doors. There are so many things that my closeted life offers, and maybe that’s why I have decided to stick with it. I have toyed with the idea of coming out to my family. However, by process of elimination I have found myself on the closeted standpoint time and again. Maybe I just need more time, or maybe I feel safer here. And maybe I sound very selfish.

Participating in we don’t bring everything to the table talks is in my opinion, very retrogressive. What I actually do bring to the table is far much important. It should be about surviving together as partners in not so friendly environments. It is already harsh out here; being looked down upon by fellow lesbians because I have not joined the exclusive non-closeted lesbian club is extremely dejecting. We are lesbians. Period.

An open letter to Kenyan lesbians above forty

What a nerve I have, writing to you this open letter. But I guess this is a good time as any. So let’s have a small tete a tete now shall we?

I am not in your social circles; I am as impoverished as a church mouse. I am too loud, my ways are wayward. I live in my parent’s house. I drink cheap liquor and stagger like a Neanderthal. I am screwed basically.

I get it. I totally do.

Anyone feels exceptional pressure making a conversation with someone who doesn’t want to, but I cannot emphasize to you how important this small talk means to me. Can I call you dear? Dearie? pumpkin? I am not sure I know how you and your girlfriends refer to each other. For the purpose of this blog therefore, I will call you girlfriend. Everyone understands that girlfriend vibe.

Girlfriend, I really need strong quads to write this post. That’s how intimidating you are. You seem like the type that can eat me in one bite, you scare the pants off me for sure. But still, can you do me a huge favor and read till the end? muchísimas gracias. See, I am a cool kid, I even know some bit of Spanish. By the way, they refer to everybody under thirty as kid nowadays. Girlfriend, this is a generation from a different galaxy. Never mind, I am still finding some foundation for a conversation starter.

I completely understand the need for you to remain a mystery. Sometimes I am not sure you exist in Kenya even. Your camouflaging tactics are exemplary good. If I was at your age, perhaps I would also carefully closet my professional lesbian life. Maybe I would have overseas accounts to protect my money just in case the straight tax collectors came investigating my life. Also, there is the young generation to watch out for, they are on your money like white on rice. They think you got your fuchsia lipstick as a freebie, don’t they? Do they even understand how much that shit costs? How early you rise to hassle for those Dolce & Gabbana sunnies you got going? Do they for chrissake understand the pain you endure walking in heels all friggin day cuz you’re a friggin professional? They don’t, these kids. They fill their days instagramming food. Someone with such a habit would most probably not understand.

However, this might also be a negative stereotype. I am a true believer of listening to other people ideas. “If there is any one secret of success, it lies in the ability to get the other person’s point of view and see things from that person’s angle as well as from your own.” Who even had the faintest idea that I could use quotes? I completely blindside you, don’t I now? Those are Henry Ford’s words, girlfriend. Seeing one can get away with basing their arguments on a wise person’s words, don’t you think that we should reach a consensus on how to lead parallel lives?

There is a startling pattern with our lesbian scene. I somehow think it has become the universally accepted principle of living a lesbian life. You disappear into thin smoke after forty. Right girlfriend? What happened to life starts after forty? to sexual liberation.. What happened to sex hormones going amok (I happen to know) at your age? And while at it, what happened to getting a young woman of able kneecaps to fulfill these desires. Don’t get me wrong, I am not trying to get inside your sheets, I know there are very many others of your age where you come from who can perfectly fit inside your sheets.

What I don’t get is, don’t you get bored night after night performing orgies (again, I happen to know) with the same crowd of fifty year olds? I know you don’t give a fat turd about a youth whose moves in bed can only be compared to the speed of a herd of buffalo but guess what? I just want wanna be your bosom buddy. Seriously. It’s okay that you are superparanoid about me, it is even okay that I am just an average Joe and you are right at the top of your hassle but as one would expect of such a simpleton as me, I just want to hang out with your puppies and watch your cable TV. I know that is too much of me to ask.

Girlfriend, what I am trying to get at is that you have been around the block for some time. We could work a way where you would take me under your wings. Lesbian life is fraught with so many problems. We lay it on a foundation of shifting sand. I need your guidance on how to deal with my ex-girlfriends and their late night calls with their was-just-checking-on-you-vibe Please teach me your time standing ways.

You are not my mother. I’m far from suggesting that. You are a fine woman and not a mother figure in the least. That would be rude, calling you a mother considering I read wamama wako ushago in matatus every other time. What about we settle on how to define our relationship. We could do a big sis-lil sis thingie. Or seeing that I could vaccum your rugs for free, why not teach me how to interact with hot women and keep a straight face while at it.
That would come in handy dear girlfriend. The devil attacks me everywhere. Do you wanna hear about my colleague at work? she is too hot she could soft boil an egg. What would you do if you are held hostage and confined with a woman like that every day for eight hours? Tell me how you have managed to stand firm in gainful employment without facing any sexual harassment charges. How now, with all this madness does a woman of flagging spirit like yours truly not follow Lots wife extreme dishonest behavior and get turned to a ball of salt.

Do you even understand what I am saying here or should I enunciate every word for you.That I-need-your-help-because-I am-lost is what I am trying to say. Asking for help is the last stage, right after denial and insomnia and lusting after people’s wives stages. I am doing this with a pained face, my chicken comes injected with steroids and now my body is full of these steroids which give me a very fragile ego. In other very unrelated but imperative news, have you heard that they are now feeding our women with chicken feed? How can a generation be saved my dear girlfriend?

Do you think we should take a break? Me thinks we should. There will be a sequel and a trilogy. Meanwhile, I will go back to my Spanish ways and say chao for now girlfriend. Just for effect.

Hugs and kisses all around

What’s the worst that could happen?

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A Sunday.

First, I would like to apologize to my atheist readers because this post is church related. Also, it’s about God so to the rest of the religions, I pray for tolerance.

So- Newsflash!- This lesbian goes to church.

And I will tell you this for nothing, the church happens to be a good place. That is if you are into sitting at one place transfixed at a certain object for five hours straight. That is totally my thing, I happen to be the most patient person in the history of the world.

 

The above certain object happens to be the cross. Nothing to instill the fear of the Lord in your soul like the good wooden cross.

 

So this particular last Sunday came after the Valentine’s day (you know the day the town is in bloody circus?) that’s me admitting that I’m happy for everyone of you that got red flowers and undies, not. I happen to be sitting next to dad, as I always do. I’m a protestant and that means we carry our own hymns and Bibles because the millions and millions Church offerings get channeled towards our reverend, deacons and deaconesses Per Diem. The church therefore, cannot (and of course I don’t possibly see how) afford to buy the congregation the said books and so I will have to sit next to dad every Sunday so we can share. Why can’t I just buy my Bible you ask? Well, that is a very important question.

 

Most churches (this particular one is quite clear on that) are gay intolerant. Homosexuality arouses very strong passions in people, the devil is also quite clear too that he has a corner specifically set for us at his place. It’s unimaginable EVIL. But that’s beside the point. Despite everything that’s wrong with my life, I am here. The Reverend is giving us a little spiel about love, he is intoxicated by the Valentines love bug me thinks. He is referring to every love verse; this is especially a traumatic ordeal for me because sitting next to father means I get to have the huge task that is to locate for the said verses. Painstakingly, he marks every sermon with his special mark pen. Different one every Sunday, his Bible is now multicolored from years of use, and I automatically love it. You know, rainbows. I love rainbows my gentle readers.

 

What is love? Reverend says it is kind, it does not judge blah blah blah. Right, love does not judge. Now, my eyes are transfixed on the Reverend. I would love to hear him explain this one. And during one of those life’s rare coincidences, our eyes locks for a whole two seconds. My poor attempt at nonchalance ensures that I nod vigorously and together with the faithfuls, chants a big AMEN! I’d like to think it is God’s commanding presence but at that instant where our eyes lock, I think about Messiah’s second coming, I think about the lady I was checking out on our way to church, I think about my web history, I think about the gay people in Nigeria and Uganda, I think about the laptop I left unattended in my bedroom and all its lesbian porn and at the spur of the moment, I do what a good lesbian Christian would do, nothing.  You see, the church has a way of specifically loading on homosexuals’ shoulders, the sins of the rest of humanity. And they are many. But if you want to target my sexual orientation without even mentioning your nightly orgy of masturbation dear Reverend Christian, I’ll need a damnly good reason why.  

 

Love does not judge. The Reverend is unstoppable.

 

The church was built to instill good values in our hearts. Without a doubt, this is true. I don’t even question the credibility of that for one second. I don’t even justify my extreme gayism behaviors, I am a sinner dear gentle reader.  The fact that I will burn in hell is the final piece of the puzzle. But will you at least stop drumming this in my head every one second? I think the intolerance surrounding the hate for homosexuals makes a mockery of the whole Church structure. The blabber in loving your enemy is sickening mendacity and plain bigotry.

 

Why not quit church altogether you ask? I go to church to be alone with my thoughts, and for many other reasons I don’t have to necessarily explain to anybody. The Great God of the universe has not yet struck me with a sword, I WAIT. Also, I think who or who won’t burn in hell is too close to call for any fellow humanoid.

 

What would the Holy Virgin Mary do?

 

She would give unto the Lord what belongs unto the Lord. And so it is offerings time and I raise my note unto the high heavens. Praying to God that could he please remember me in his kingdom? That despite my extreme earlier mentioned behaviors; I paid the good Reverend to spread the gospel. It’s not for me to question what he does at night under his duvet.

 

Unrelatedly, on my way out I run into the lady I was checking out earlier on our way to church. This is definitely a sign. Do you know how to interpret dreams and signs my gentle reader? Neither do I.

 

Go ye in peace.

 

 

The elusive Gaydar

 

Walks into a coffee house, spots beautiful unchaperoned woman, stares at woman, fiddles fingers, scratches head, sips coffee, pours scolding hot coffee on self’s tits, makes a hot mess, looks up to stare at woman, woman is leaving now, holy crap she is coming over to your table….

That is Hollywood for you. Now back to Kenya. You are screwed and nobody gives two hoots.

It’s like the writer’s muse. Writers will go batshit crazy looking for it at the insides of their cigars, they will run naked in the middle of the night and come back with all of two sentences if they are lucky, or in most cases they will end up writing one book in two decades. Physical and emotional miseries.

I was having a conversation with a programmer who told me that he might be in the process of building a particular application but there is this line of code that just won’t work. Then it will appear to him like a dream in the dead of the night and it doesn’t matter whether he was making sweet love to his dear wife, he will hit the sheets like a demented creature and make a run for his laptop.  Else, he won’t remember it for months on end. What a life to live. Also, poor wife!

Gaydar is far much worse. I mean, we are talking about a heart and a homophobic population. I can’t remember which site this was but someone left a comment and said that if their kid was gay, he would skin off their manhood and spray pepper spray on them. I don’t know about you but getting sent to hell with hot flaming balls isn’t my idea of dying. Especially now that I am a woman and I don’t have balls so I am thinking that maybe this particular reader would have chopped off my breasts. It’s dreadfully scary what hitting on a straight woman/man can turn into. You don’t know whether what you have is an abnormal attraction masquerading as gaydar. Many of us were denied this God-how-much-we-all-need-it skill.

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memecentre.com

 

 

It is a fundamental law of nature that our lesbian hormones are always on a 24 hour clock shift. We will stop at nothing. Seriously, you just can’t stop us. How else do you explain flirting with a married heterosexual woman who even the devil knows you will never have. How do even explain to her how you get erotic dreams of you giving her earth shattering cunnilingus. How do you know she won’t tell on you to the authorities. When in the midst of all these emotions do you know what’s gaydar even if it were to hit you smack dead on your face. BUT we will hit on these married heterosexual women anyway, because that’s what winning means.     

 

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My gaydar is generally not so bad. I can call it neutral, occasionally edging toward bad. I will stare at a woman and two seconds into it I know she is lesbian. I will however practice the same with another woman and tumble head-first into the whale-belly of scoring an E. You can never tell with the dress code here. The old-age plaid shirt giveaway for instance does not apply on our streets. Lesbians have mastered the art of camouflaging in the crowds. Yours truly included.  Stereotypes or no stereotypes, gaydar is your best friend. I will be speaking for many lesbian women when I say that sometime you just want to hug a random beautiful woman on the streets, in a matatu..she look so divine, she looks like a lesbian, oh God you just wanna kiss her.

Gaydar entails confidence. It entails learning how to hold a stare; it also entails having a third eye. It is all about having killer conversation starters, and keeping the conversation going. If you are homosexually stunted, you will need to be laid hands on. There is no way you will survive in this hot and dry season in Kenya if you are the type to wait for a gay angel to rise from hell and cure your dry spell. Forget about snuggling in cold winter, there is something in this hot February sun that turns on all your horny hormones. I happen to know because I am speaking for myself. Pick cues from everything and everybody in her life. Compliment her and study her body language. There must be something there. Also, lesbians are generally friendly people. Take this to your advantage and study her keenly. You know, I am just giving you my two cents worth, this ain’t the gospel yo. Somebody needs to explain to me in writing how you spot a lesbian say 500 metres away and all your gaydar bells goes off. I mean, there are effeminate men for instance who can get you all so confused. But they happen to be as straight as a round-about. Same case applies to our tomboys and butch sisters. I think it is constitutionally wrong to judge people’s sexuality by their dress code.

So where to from here?

I suggest you work with intuition. It is pretty much the straight twin sister to gaydar. If it feels right, then it is right.

 

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Moving on

 

I should preface this post with intellectual stuff like I lost my writing mojo, writer’s block yada yada. I am not a writer so I won’t say those things. Also, I am not intellectually inclined. I just like women (Go Fig).

This is what; I have been nursing a heartbreak. I should have put that in Broadway 72 to emphasize my point. See, I say things matter-of-factly and I have never known how to perform histrionics.  Say for instance I found a Bugatti Veyron parked in our compound with my name on it, (which sounds blasphemous to Volkswagen peeps) I will just get in the damn car and drive my troubles away. No stripping naked, taking selfies or twerking on it.

I am sure the upper middle class have a name for this, because it is a disorder. Everything is a fucking disorder.

We have mastered the art of doing everything else apart from dealing with heartbreaks. Everyone has to come up with their own coping mechanism. From comfort foods to memorizing every chapter in the Bible.

Hell; we will even go to church and plant the seed of non rejection, get the anointing oil in a bottle and because we are not well versed with these pulpit theatrics, we will drain the oil down our throats and end up looking like Masonic agents in front of the heaven bound congregation.  Very desperate times.

You can never tell with people. There are those who were created to make every day of your living life miserable. You know what, Just suck it.

I have read so many books in the last two months. It is the perfect distraction, my heart is not a strong a muscle. The fact that I feed it with chocolate and pizza most of the time doesn’t help it. A good book alters my life in a way I cannot explain. I will uproot my life and live inside a character’s head as long as the book last. I will put a face to her name and imagine that she was my girlfriend. Full disclosure: I have weird fetishes.  

Frequent readers of this blog really know how to look out for me. I have mentioned before that I am not a bright person. A certain reader took this to mean that I am totally dumb. So she offered to tutor me during my spare time. I am not sure what she had in mind. I am in a frigging university for god’s sake.  I could be studying typing lessons but at least I made it to the list of university goers. Am I cool, or what? It is never that serious guys.

So to stay with the topic in hand boys and girls, a break up is hardly something I feel the need to shout from the rooftops but just like the highly unstable nature of farts, it will always happen to the unexpected of souls and who else to write it better than yours truly?

Heartbreaks are like homing pigeons. They always return. I have coined this phrase to look clever to the reader mentioned above. Predictably, failing miserably. Maybe I should just let her tutor me.

 

Have a peaceful weekend. With the kind of horror Kenya has experienced for the past one week, calmness is all I can pray for you right now. I love every single one of you. 

How my closet door almost got ripped off its hinges

I was thirteen.

At this age, kids are out there learning how to preserve the earth and read their way into becoming top-notch neurosurgeons, but not the 13y/o that was me. I had learnt that there was more to the bees and bird’s story. My whole purpose on earth became the undaunted task of unraveling this mystery and wonderment and I found it from these two girls in high school.

One of them was my best friend whom I had a crush on since day one of my high school life. She was a knock-out. In fact, God had hired her during his last day of creation and he was like, you know what? thy shall possess all the remaining beauty of this creation, because you are sweet as pie, and I am God, I am allowed to do such stuff.

Being the romantic midget that I am, there was no way on earth I was going to confess to her that I could be her kindred spirit plus other benefits too.

Stories have been told about lesbians in high school facing the wrath of expulsion; these become painful memories that follow you for the rest of your life. There are depressing things in a lesbian’s in life which eventually fades away with time, enough determination and maybe expensive therapists. ‘Lesbian behavior’ expulsions is not one of them, they are in a class of their own, no amount of alcohol you pour on them will make these memories go away- – you can blow away the entirety of your income hiring ‘em therapists but eventually, you will meet that bitch from high school on the streets who will oust your ass all over again. Really, high school for you will never end.

These tales made me shudder in fear. Girls were to be watched from a far and no amount of lesbian fantasies would make me touch one. Figuratively speaking, ye perverts of the world.

I should have stuck with this mission and direct my teenage energy into solving complex algorithms but no, this was adrenaline rush for pete’s sake.

During my second term in my second year of high school, all my lesbian alarm bells went off. Lust, wet dreams and other words of the same family came running after me day and night at disconcerting speeds.

You see, I saw the two girls kiss on my way to the dormitory from my night preps. I became unstoppable; oh mercy, I was in deep. I used to have these heart shaped sheets which I preserved to write for my first true love and now the moment was here, and writing I did.  Fancy drawings and heavy Oxford dictionary words were used. I finally stamped it with my signature fragrance, smeared my lips with lipstick and sealed it with a kiss.

The letter made her spine turn to gel.

I think I had a way with words back then, as compared to the present where I have to hit on a woman with 140 freaking characters. The feeling was mutual she said: she had always liked me but somehow figured I was not ‘like that’.

 

The nagging issue was how I was going to dip my toes into the issue that was her current girlfriend. We had to start somewhere, but attempting to enter the world of threesomes was a dicey dive, besides, I never wanted to share her with anyone. Teenage love. We decided to play it cool, I don’t even know what that meant but it was like stealing sugar from the sugar jar and leaving some on your cheeks kind of setting, so she found out eventually.

 

 

 Nothing says you are all fucked up better than an estranged jealous fourteen year old. I will call her Beth (second time I am using this name here). By the way, I am in no way affiliated or bitter with chics called Beth, it’s just the name that comes to mind every time I am doing a post. But was i in her shoes, I would have acted the same way maybe so I don’t blame her now.

 

Beth went ballistic. She started blackmailing me by writing me hate letters and such, but the capper of it all was when she broke into my school locker and found a picture I had taken with Sheryl (yes even her name was a total knockout) in a not so Godly pose. She threatened to take it to the Deputy Principal. I don’t know about Deputy Principals from other schools but the one we had in high school will have her own bunk bed in hell. That woman would literally beat the daylights out of you if she even dreamt that somehow you were about to commit a wrong. 

 

I had to save my ass quick and fast. So in return I asked Sheryl to gather all the notes Beth had written to her and give them to me. She was in love with me too and was willing to do anything to save me now that Beth was entirely and specifically targeting the co-wife, me. I copied all them in my own handwriting (I couldn’t risk giving her the originals since they were my only exhibit) and passed all of them to her and on the envelope, I wrote, sounds familiar? That did it, it gagged her completely.

 

But during Beth’s brouhahas trying to name and shame me, a few girls had gotten wind of our secret (between Sheryl and I) that there might be a thing going on worth of their discovery. That meant that to prove them wrong, we had to cut all ties. It’s an ordeal I would rather not revive, spending each day with Sheryl like she was a complete stranger, craving for her touch; I had even imagined marrying her.

 

It is like your fashionista friend telling you that your favorite pink pants look so terrible on your butt. Now all you can do is hang the goddamn pants in your closet and look at them every day and sob your brains out.

 

Oh, the love story is over.

 

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