Kiss Me Through the Phone

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Sometimes I feel like I’m on that show Catfish. Not because I’m in some weird online relationship with someone I’ve never met. Someone who could possibly be a woman, or a serial killer, but because I’m in some weird over-the-phone relationship with someone I never get to see. He got a job down south so when we considered establishing a relationship our options were limited. He refuses to give up his career and follow me to New York City next year and the thought of me living in Florida is absolutely hilarious. I burn under florescent lighting and it’s a known fact that the south is a dark place where feminism goes to die. Letting him go is easier said than done. So for the past few months this where I’ve been. Settling in some strange place between togetherness and separation, forced to navigate the uncharted territory of a long distance relationship.

We do as couples do. We talk when we can and make sure to support each other in our varying endeavors. We fight like typical twenty somethings, although I have to admit I do start most of it, because I get bored and restless. Everything is how it would normally be except for the underlying fact that we never share the same space, leaving us severely disadvantaged when it comes to sex. We’re average people with average needs and if it weren’t for a mutual attraction and romantic connection we would simply be friends. So how do we make the most of what we’ve got? Easy, we make it work with phone sex.

Skype sex is overrated and completely impractical. Have you ever sat across from someone and watched them masturbate? It’s disgusting. Made even worse by freezing screens and bad connections Skype runs the risk of making sexy time one horribly awkward moment. Honestly, I prefer not to Skype with him all together. Mostly because we are both so unbelievably conceited that we spend more time focusing on our own appearance than we do on each other.

Sexting is fun but there is no greater turn off than improper abbreviations or misspelled words. If you are making the attempt to sext then for God’s sake please spell out the word “you”. Illiteracy is not sexy. Thankfully he is not illiterate and understands that as a writer, I will judge him unfairly for any grammatical errors.

Words are great but then of course sometimes there is a need for a visual. I don’t mind sending pictures but even though I trust him, I would never send him anything too incriminating. As a general rule I avoid sending anything that has the potential to destroy my life. The exchange of naked photos will always be slightly unfair. Whereas I can get creative with lingerie or by positioning myself in various ways, men really only have one angle. And although I love his body, let’s be real, my phone can only handle so many dick pics. It’s also extremely dangerous to have anyone’s nudie pics living openly in your phone. I’m constantly transferring images from my phone to my office computer and the last thing I need is a close up picture of a penis to pop up on my screen. Needless to say, sexting is a little risky for my taste.

So really that just leaves us with phone sex. I know, “gross! That’s so ’97” believe me, I’ve heard it all already from my friends.  But honestly, what else do we have? Sometimes when I’m feeling melancholy I’ll think back to old movies or novels I’ve read where two people are separated by time and space and rather than give up on each other they wait patiently, romanticizing about the other’s return. It all sounds so old world and lovely but really it’s shit. We live in time consumed by the idea of instant gratification where we need to speak to, be with, or constantly be able to reach out and touch the ones we love. Having phone sex with him may be better than any actual sex I’ve had with past partners (and not just because masturbation is exceptionally more satisfying than some sweaty playboy grunting in my ear and wheezing with every thrust). but often it leaves me feeling emptier than before we began. The connection we share may feel invaluable, but there’s always a price.

One might think that doing the whole long distance thing would be easier with modern technology, and maybe for most people it is. For me, it seems to unjustly prolong something that will inevitably end. Facebook, Skype, and cell phones keep people connected to one another. For people like us, it maintains a connection that perhaps was never meant to be. Our lives are moving in two totally different directions and these communication platforms aren’t helping us build a relationship, but are instead forming false hopes. So really, if you can’t see a future in a relationship you’re holding onto, whether it be a friendship or one that’s romantic, what’s keeping us connected to it?

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Bad Enough To Be Fiction

From the time I was a little girl I was crazy about sappy romantic films and “chick flicks”. Even today I still sometimes catch myself gazing stupidly at the screen when Sleepless In Seattle or A Lot Like Love are on daytime T.V. and although I try to fight it, I still believe in their perfect endings and all of the beautiful things they promise. I think most women are guilty of comparing their love lives to some Ashton Kutcher or Channing Tatum movie. We love the idea that “Mr. Right” is out there somewhere. We shift back and forth from day-dreaming to looking around at our friends in dismay while complaining, “Why can’t he be like that?” and “I wish this was real life!” I know how much we love those stories which is why I’m sad to say that this isn’t one of them, sorry ladies.

I recently got a job. A real, annual salary complete with benefits, first full time position. I awake proudly at 6:00am from my wine induced slumber, pull on my form fitting petite dress pants and head off into morning traffic. I work five days a week for eight hours a day answering furious phone calls from dissatisfied clients and trying my best not to cry  when I am unable to understand their half broken english. I worked hard my entire life to achieve the American dream and I couldn’t be more unhappy with my life. After the first three weeks I found myself in an emotional pit of despair. I wasn’t eating or writing and I felt as isolated from my peers as ever before. I am the youngest employee in my organization by twenty years. I was sick to death of looking at pictures of my fellow coworkers’ grandchildren and discussing knitting in the break room at lunch. I needed out, I needed to feel young again, I needed to feel loved.

So I YOLO’d; hard. I started drinking at noon for The Ohio State Game, a tradition I had previously never cared for but decided to go along with in my hour of desperation. By three o’clock I had made my way to my friend’s block party and was attempting to join the young neighborhood children in the moon bounce which proved unsuccessful and by four I was stuffing my face with all the pigs-in-a-blankets my tiny body could handle. I’m a Vegetarian. After that, the night got pretty blurry. I found myself on Campus with a group of friends headed to the despised and revered club, “Charlie Bear”. Charlie Bear is a place where dreams go to die and beers go to get spilled. The floor was so sticky that I walked right out of my shoes and into two obviously drunk college students who were actually sucking on each others faces (and suddenly I understood where the expression came from), but as I peered into the face of the man whose face was being sucked, I realized that I recognized him. We caught eyes, he paused, waved, and continued to devour the face of the girl he was with, so I left.

Later in the night he came back around. I knew this person and I had known him almost my entire life. We grew up together. He was my first crush and my first friend. We laughed and caught up with one another for what seemed like hours. As the lights came on and the bouncers began herding the bar’s patrons out like cattle we made the decision that he was coming home with me. Yes, this was real and he was real. The first love of my life and the boy whose initials covered the inside of my childhood diary was coming over to my house to sleep in my bed. I was so thrilled that I even chose to ignore when he fell getting into the cab and forgave him for not having enough money to pay the overworked Egyptian driver.

My memory begins to fade after that. I’m quite certain this is when the Washington Apple shots from last call started to kick in causing my brain to practically shut down. The last thing I can recall was his beautiful blue eyes staring longingly into mine while he said, “Congratulations on still being hot. Most of the girls we grew up with got fat.” It wasn’t quite what I was looking for but it’s amazing what Well Vodka will do to your standards.

The next morning I woke up with a sour beer taste in my mouth and my tongue felt like sand paper. I turned over and opened one eye, hoping it had all been a dream. It wasn’t. I had really taken home my kindergarten crush from Charlie Bear, F**K! But I still had hope. He pulled me in close and kissed my forehead and I felt a sense of relief rush over me. That is, until he lifted up one of his legs and released a gigantic fart right before he leaned in to kiss my lips. Needless to say, I was beyond offended. The worst thing about those kind of situations is not actually that, that’s the third time a guy has post-sex morning farted in my bed, but that I then have to laugh and pretend that it’s not absolutely disgusting out of sheer politeness. “I can’t believe we had sex, I’ve seriously thought about that since we were little.” He thought about having sex with me when we were five? What a pervert. I thought, but smiled. “I’m seriously going to go to my parents house today and I’m gonna walk in, look my mom in the eyes and say, ‘I did it. I fucked L** H********.’ It’s so crazy how she wanted us to get married!” Oh God just kill me now. If you make this go away I’ll be good. I’ll return to my job and never try to recapture my youth through one night stands again. I fake laughed so hard that I could have won an Oscar.

Later that day I was distracting myself from feeling ashamed by gluing my attention to some mindless reality T.V. show as I tried my best to recover from my hangover. I was doing quite fine when my roommate came home. She walked in and stared at me, huddled under a blanket like a small Navajo child, she did her best not to be annoyed. “So, I heard everything last night” Jesus, God we are not having this conversation right now. “I mean, you woke me up. I can deal with sex noises but it was laughing that I couldn’t stand. I just kept thinking, why doesn’t he just hurry up and F**K her already so she shuts up.” And that is the story of why I attempted suicide. No, I’m kidding but a large part of my dignity did die in that moment. From that arose an enormous amount of confusing feelings. Why were we laughing? Were we laughing together or was I laughing at him? 


I know that you’re all probably expecting me to turn this around and end this piece with a positive, pro-feminist moral but I don’t have one. Regardless, I did learn a number of very important lessons from this experience. The first of which being that I cannot continue to associate certain men with romantic love simply because they knew me at a more innocent time in my life (like the time I slept with my neighbor in an attempt to fit the “girl next door” stereotype. But we won’t get into that). Another obvious lesson would be to never, ever, under no circumstances leave with a guy from Charlie Bear or even enter that God for saken place ever again, but the single most important thing I will take away from this is that I don’t need to prove to myself that I’m still young and wild by sleeping with someone, even if does make a great story.

Bromances: A Challenge to Hyper Masculinity

It was mid May, a Saturday and the kind of day that most college students designate for drinking before 2:00pm. My male companions were no exception. My friend and I stood on the steps of their front porch and watched two of them wrestle drunkenly under the warm spring sun. “Look!” I snickered and nudged my girl friend’s arm. “Oh my God, this is priceless!” she responded and sipped her beer, pretending to enjoy it’s dull flavor. “Awe, now isn’t that just the most precious thing?” I tried my best southern drawl. “They look like kittens playing. My heart is melting.” I agreed, “Yes, like two gigantic drunk kittens.” We laughed in unison and finished what was left of our stale beer.

Now, if one were to see two grown men wrestling on the ground all the while gazing longingly into each other’s eyes he or she might be able to assume which team they’re pitching for. On the other hand, contrary to most straight male fantasies, two women pillow fighting in their underwear is less likely to be seen as lesbian behavior, no matter how close they get. So why is it that women can touch, play, and occasionally blur the borders between hetero and homosexuality but men cannot? As our society becomes increasingly open minded we’re beginning to feel more comfortable disregarding the categorization of female sexuality. It is a cultural expectation for many women that we able to openly show affection for one another. Learned affection can be seen as important form of social conditioning that has been historically enforced in order to teach women how to become proper caregivers. Real affection, hugging, holding, and physical contact of this nature often enough has nothing to do with sexuality. Rather, it has more to do with love.

My friend has a theory about male sexuality, she thinks that all men harbor secret homoerotic fantasies. “All men are truly gay deep down.” She spoke so confidently that I choked on my wine. “What? What does that even mean?” I giggled and swallowed hard. “No, You know what I mean. Like, I would bet money that when we’re not around men dance around naked and have drunken sword fights.” I thought of my friends, the ones posing in the picture above, and decided that for them that was probably the case but that it doesn’t necessarily mean they want to have sex with each other. I asked her to remember back to middle school when we would all take turns flashing one another at sleepovers. None of us became lesbians later on in life, we were just curious. Can’t men share the same kind of curiosity without having to be branded as “gay”? Shouldn’t men be allowed to freely express affection and curiosity the way that most women do? I would think yes.

We live in a society with a hyper masculine idea of what men should and shouldn’t be. Our culture has decided that any form of same sex affection is automatically entangled in sexual desires. Most of the time this is simply not the case. We as women cannot expect to break our sexuality and love free from the cages and categories that bind us if we continue to perpetuate the stereotypes for men. There is a deep longing within every human regardless of gender or sexual orientation to feel physically comfortable with their peers, so let them. I’ve learned a lot from observing bros interact with one another but I believe that the most important less thus far is that real men hug it out.

The Art Of the Great ‘O’

“I seriously remember laying there like, ‘This is sex?'” I giggled into my coffee and looked over at the dumbfounded look on my friends face. It’s no secret that sex at seventeen is more comparable to some awkward naked handshake than anything pleasurable. No young boy really knows what he’s doing, but of course we are expected to lay there and pretend that they do. If you are one who insists on saying that sex was always good (even in your teenage years), then you’re lying. But what if you’re in your 20’s, 30’s, or even 40’s and you’re still pretending to climax? It’s time to share my thoughts on the truth about faking it. Ladies, get ready for a little girl talk.

Whether you’re laying there bored and desperate for something interesting to stare at, or wondering if he knows he’s on your hair, you’re not having fun. Take solace in the fact that you’re not alone, we’ve all been there. Reflect back to these experiences and allow yourself a moment to gag. At the same time think about why you weren’t enjoying yourself, I mean really think. It’s always a possibility that it was just bad sex. However, there are also a slew of other factors that need to be considered when that final finale never happens.

Unfortunately, there is still a tremendous amount of shame that revolves around female sexuality. Sometimes this shame never leaves you. It can settle in the back of your mind and discourage you from enjoying yourself. Other times it can come from a place of discomfort, either with your body or your partner. You could be so distracted with negative thoughts about the way that you look that you’re not even paying attention to how you feel. You may not be treated the way that you really want to be. You could explain what you would like from your partner, but if you’re too embarrassed or uneasy to share than there’s really no point. Cosmo can give you 101 Tricks to a Great Orgasm, but it’s not going to help if your problem is all mental. A woman’s body is not a machine and we should never treat it as such. Young women often jump or are pressured into sexual experiences with out discovering their own sexuality. The same “girly” magazines that tell you how to climax also promote degrading, self-sacrificing ways to Please Your Man. Society isn’t allowing us to sit with ourselves and ask what we want from sex. Women are conditioned to give which can make it extremely hard to receive. Not every woman has this problem but I know that there are a lot of us out there who need to establish a relationship with both our bodies and our partners.

For God’s sake masturbate. Learn your body and how you want to feel. Know every function, tick, and button better than anybody else. This will not only raise your self esteem and love for your body but it also help seize any sexual shame you may have felt prior. If you are unable to climax from casual sex, then stop having it. Don’t force your body to do something that it doesn’t want to do. You are allowed to wait and establish trust and love with someone you are interested in sleeping with. How can you enjoy a situation that you were unable to make a full decision on? Sex can be a gift for yourself as well as a shared personal experience with someone else. It is the exchange of something beautiful and natural that should be enjoyed. It is an act beyond the physical and has the ability to tug on your mind and heart.

Self love is the best love and it is the key to establishing a satisfying connectedness with others. Every woman has the right to feel good and be happy with her sex life. If you have yet to enjoy yours fully, there is nothing wrong with you. Orgasms are not just a physical reaction. Remember that your body is often smarter than you are. So love, trust, and know yourself fully in order to allow someone else to do the same. Ladies, I encourage you to enjoy yourselves because you want to, rather than feeling forced to pretend. After all, no ones going to applaud you for your performance. If they did I would have already won the oscar for best actress.

Who Benefits, From Being Friend’s With Benefits?

Oh Hollywood, you did it again! You managed to take casual sex and turn it into a slew of romantic comedies. As if young girls weren’t already misguided enough on the matters of love and sex, you threw in Ashton Kutcher and Justin Timberlake to really shake things up! Oh, but this is much more realistic than those When Harry Met Sally romantic comedies, isn’t it? I mean everyone’s had a friend with benefits, haven’t they? I have, but unfortunately my own stories have never ended with running into each others arms and professing our undying love for one another. Instead, they usually end with lots of drunken crying, mostly from me.

So let’s discuss this strange phenomenon. This confusing place between love and friendship. For those of you who may not know, a friend with benefits is someone you have fun with. It’s someone who you share common interests with, care about enough to consider a friend, and are attracted enough to sleep with. Friends with Benefits is a concept that I still haven’t been able to fully wrap my head around. For me, this is usually the stand-in. The person you otherwise use until someone you truly feel a romantic connection with comes along. In which case, you must seize all the sexy-time nonsense and go back to being “just friends”. Let me tell you that this can make parties and casual hang outs really awkward for both the friend and the new romantic partner.

For me, sleeping with a friend usually starts with a slip up resulting from way, way too many lemon drops. It’s when I continue sleeping with him that I really know I’m in trouble. It took me a long time to realize something really important about myself. Which was, I cannot have casual sex. I either don’t enjoy it at all or I become completely attached. Either way, there can be serious consequences for someone like me. One problem was that for so long I really believed I could be like everyone else. Which makes me wonder, who else out there is faking it?

For almost two years I had a “friend” with benefits and it was SHIT. Not shit because he wasn’t a great friend, or because the sex we had wasn’t good. It was shit because I wanted to punch every girl in the face who talked to him, I wanted to punch him in the face for not falling completely in love with me like I felt she should have, and I wanted to punch myself in the face for having absolutely no willpower. The real problem was that we didn’t begin our relationship as friends, we began romantically but he didn’t want to become exclusive with me. So with broken pride I turned my back and walked away. Though, somehow we kept finding each other again. This would’ve been fine had we began a real friendship and allowed the sexual aspect of things to fall away, but of course we didn’t. So with that it continued. I fell harder and harder under the guise of, “He doesn’t matter…it’s not like that…we’re just friends.” But that’s not really how I was feeling at all. So why couldn’t I just be honest? I really felt like I could maintain this friendship as it was. I really tried to convince myself that I was unattached but the only person I was fooling was myself. It took being apart from him for some months for me to finally realize what I was doing to myself.

When did the separation of love and sex become normal and everyday? We hear songs on the radio, and see T.V. programs that glorify random hook-ups and advertise the normalcy of sex with out attachment. As if everyone is capable and should be having it. But unfortunately, life is not a movie. If it was, Heath Ledger would have never died and instead he would pick me up, spin me around and we would run off into the sunset together. Yes, this is actually I fantasy of mine, judge me. Movies may depict real life, but real life barely ever depicts the movies. You cannot pretend that you are a certain way, just because you feel like you have to be.

I though that as a feminist I could be sexually liberated and sleep with whomever I wanted to just like a man. I was wrong, neither being sexually liberated nor being a feminist encourages you to become deaf to what your heart is telling you. I learned a lot about myself through my experience. He taught me a lot about intimacy and I wouldn’t change any of it, but I wouldn’t relive it either. Learn from listening to yourself and not from listening to the media. They’re just there to blow smoke up your ass. So who benefits from friend’s with benefits? The one who doesn’t get attached could perhaps. However my advice to someone who doesn’t want a relationship but still wants to have sex, learn to masturbate because it’s a lot less complicated.

Playing the Game, Or Getting Played?

I’m sitting at the table with my hand on the shoulder of a close friend, trying desperately to understand her inaudible words. Exploding with tears, her voice wavers in and out. Cracking every time she says his name, “I..Ju-uhst don’t…know what..I di-id wrong, you know?” With one large gasp for air she manages, “Everything was going fine, and now he won’t answer my calls!” I rub her back, quietly shushing her hysteria. “I can’t believe I slept with him, and now this?” As if one big hallelujah, everyone in the room chimes in collectively with, “God, boys suck!”

So here we are again. The break up that happens before you actually start dating someone. This is a tricky topic because there’s a serious difference between deciding you’re not interested in dating and toying with someone’s emotions. It’s fragile space between getting to know someone and being Facebook official. The beginning of a new budding romance, a chance to test the waters with someone new, and above all else, the part of a relationship where miscommunication is king. This is usually where my hopeful crushes and romantic fantasies go to die.

As you begin talking to a potential partner you will battle with what I like to call ‘the waiting game’. This refers to the back and forth question of, “when is the right time to sleep with him?” Because, of course you don’t want him to think you’re a whore and you surely don’t want him to think of you as a prude either. So when is the perfect time to get intimate with someone in order to keep them from getting bored from chasing or  waiting? As we all know men have to have something to chase, they’re like cats. Once they catch the string they’ll bat it around for a while having a good time, but eventually they’ll figure out that it’s not moving and walk away.

In agreeance, your sturdiest male friend will stand before you in all of his chivalrous glory and tell you in his most fatherly voice, “Any guy that’s trying too hard to bang you isn’t interested, he’s just trying to get pussy.” However, that same friend will then turn around to a girl he’s trying to “bang” and whisper sweet nothings into her ear until she’s trusting (or drunk) enough to spread her legs.

So why lead us on? Why lie about what’s really going on just so that they can sleep with us? In that slow space you occupy while getting to know someone better, you really don’t have any rights. not technically anyway. I’ve found that when going out with someone I’m interested in, I’m completely going off of what he might be feeling. So let’s talk about it, let’s open it up to discussion. Men are too discouraged by the idea that they aren’t “allowed” to talk about their feelings. If it ends up that they’re not really interested in you, oh well you’ve seen better days. However, lying and acting interested in order to get what they want is really childish and cruel. It’s closer to stealing than dating. The most common answer i’ve heard to this problem, aside from picking daisies, is to understand that boys lie and to protect yourself from it. But can’t they just stop lying? It really can’t be that hard to be honest about how you feel in order to spare another person their feelings. Instead of becoming less trusting, I think that they should just become more honest.

Earlier in the year I met a handsome baby faced boy who I had developed quite a crush on. I took his corny lines for sweet romances. I really believed that he was interested in me. Until I walked up the steps to his house to find him with his arm around the waist of another girl. Okay Liz, stay calm. Obviously he invited you over as just a friend. No problem with that. What’s wrong with being friends?  Then something strange happened. When I sat down next to him he removed his arm from where it had rested around her and placed his opposite arm around me. Hmm, curiouser and curiouser. Towards the end of the evening I announced that I was ready to return home. After which he asked me to follow him inside so that we could talk. “You should stay and sleep over, you’re too drunk to drive home.” In all fairness I know now that agreeing to sleep over wasn’t one of my better decisions but in truth and honesty, we all have needs. We disappeared into his bedroom and kissed madly. Well, drunkenly…sloppily. That’s when I heard someone bounding up the staircase followed by wild banging on the door. Shortly after an angry drunken voice called out, “Bye, you’re fucking disgusting!!” He brushed it off with laughter, like he had no idea what was going on and it was all some big joke. This is the point in the evening when you pretend not to know what’s happening. I’m completely oblivious to this. Oh, I wonder what album cover that is on the wall. God, he’s got a boring room…and he’s getting spit all over my face. Oh well, la la la la la la… Minutes later his phone began flashing and beeping and buzzing uncontrollably. “Jesus, who’s blowing me up right now?!” Really? You have got to be fucking kidding me. “Maybe it’s that other girl.” He completely ignored it as if I hadn’t said anything at all.  The next morning I crept gently over his sleeping body, trying desperately to avoid his massive pile of drool. I placed my feet carefully on the ground as not to wake him up. When I looked at the floor I noticed that something was off. There were two empty condom wrappers on the ground, one of which being unaccounted for. Prince fucking charming, you sure can pick ’em! 

Now, is it just me or does this feel like a whole lot of bullshit? No, because it is indeed a whole lot of bullshit. Why do we seek relationships while men seek sex? It’s because both men and women are receiving mixed messages. Women are conditioned from childhood to be monogamous creatures. We are expected to desire relationships rather than frivolous sex, and told that sex will is shameful unless you have one person to share it with. While at the same time men are told to go out into the world and spread their seed. They’re told that lying to a girl isn’t such a bad thing. We don’t even know that we’re doing it to each other because we’ve been designed this way. However, by doing this we are placing both genders in an unbreakable box. Women must be this way, men must be the other. This places immense pressure on both parties. This is also the reason why women find virginity so unattractive in men. Men stereotypically seek women who are closer to “purity” while women desire that their partner be sexually experienced.  I’m not saying that it can’t be turned around, it obviously can be. I’ve dealt with this issue more often in my own life as well as the lives of my girl friends. So let’s start changing things, shall we? Let’s place ourselves under a microscope and ask ourselves what we really want. It’s not men who are at fault, it’s the system. So let’s communicate with them instead of assuming that we know what each other wants.

C’mon, Lesbihonest Here.

As a huge supporter of gay rights I believe that there is absolutely nothing wrong with homosexuality. I have lot’s of gay friends. In fact, it’s been said time and time again that a gay man is a straight woman’s best friend. After all, “every woman needs a great shopping partner!” So that’s great we’re all in agreeance that we love our gays. We love gay bars and drag queens and sassy men who stick their hands out in opinionated protest, but what about lesbians? Yes, that’s right ladies. I want to talk about good old girl on girl love.

This blog is all about women and girls so of course I have to talk about my sisters who share same sex practices. As the curser flashes at me annoyingly I’m reminded that I don’t really know anything about lesbianism. Or a gay woman’s struggles in this male dominated society. Why is that? I can sit with my friends having drinks, encircled in our usual cloud of smoke, and I can guarantee the word “fag” will not be said. However I also know that the word “dyke” will be, more than once. Why are we as women, more inclined to accept gay men over gay women? I once read an article that surveyed the opinions of college girls on homosexuality. These girls were increasingly more likely to surround themselves with gay men than lesbians. They reported that they would live with a gay woman as long as she “kept it to herself”, or hid her outrageous lesbianism, but most confided that they wanted no interaction with lesbian students. When asked why, many of them explained that they would be labeled as gay by association and would lose friends. Oh God! You mean these girls would be cordially uninvited to Kappa Kappa Delta’s sexist kegger and rape fest? The horror. I would rather kill myself than let a lesbian stand between me and a bromantic beer pong tournament.

No, stop. Just stop it. We have to change this. We can’t continue to isolate women just because they like other women. Isolation could be the reason that, from what I’ve seen, most gay women choose to hang out primarily with other gay women. There are many bars in my city that cater to gay men and only one or two, that I know of, who’s clientele is mostly lesbians. I was at one of these bars the other night, waiting in line for the bathroom. Thin little sorority girls were running through in their highest heals with a gay man strapped to their arm like a purse. I heard one of them say to the other, “Don’t worry I won’t let those dykes get you.” I’m sorry, but excuse me? I don’t know who you’re getting your information from, but believe it or not lesbians don’t attack innocent college girls with strap-ons. Even worse, the girl I was standing next to looked down at me and asked if she was scary looking. I was horrified.

As an adamant feminist I have been referred to as a “dyke” on more than one occasion or even asked, “oh, so you don’t like dick?” I understand that men feel extremely threatened by lesbians. Perhaps they feel they have to compete with these women because they’re both seeking the same prize. Or maybe it’s some sort of penis inadequacy because there are women out there that they cannot please. There are tons and tons of feminist analyses on the subject but frankly, they bore me so I choose not read them. I remember one however, from a feminist theorist who’s name I can no longer recall who believed that there was no such thing as consensual heterosexual sex. Her argument being that that if men and women are not equal, than women cannot properly consent to sex. The only consensual sex happens between gays and lesbians. Obviously this didn’t go over too well with many readers, and now that “you’re a feminist so you’re a dyke” stereotype hangs a little lower over our heads, but it’s still something to think about.

Even as I type “lesbian” into google images I am astonished by the amount pornography that appears before me. Now, obviously I need to change my security settings but regardless there’s something wrong here. Lesbians don’t exist for Girls Gone Wild as much as they don’t flip innocent straight girls. Let’s stop forcing their sexuality into a box that makes us feel comfortable. When I write about supporting other women, I mean completely supporting them. Accepting and celebrating the differences that bind us together making us uniquely female. We must stop stereotyping each other. When you tear one woman down, you bring us all down. For the record, this applies to gay men as well. They are not designer purses and were not put on this earth to help us with our outfits, even though some may be great at it.