Blog Archives

Kristen Stewart Finally Joining Our Team?

The latest buzz about one of my not so secret celeb crushes, Kristen Stewart, is that she is indeed dating her gal pal, Alicia Cargile. I don’t always write about celebrity gossip, but I’ve been a dedicated Krisbian for years. So, let’s savor this unconfirmed piece of information and give Kristen a warm welcome.

 

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I’m So Hot. And I’m So Old.

When I speak of my single life, I sound like a 50 year old man glorifying his high school football days. I get all glossy-eyed and lost in my own swollen head. I think I sound hot. Seasoned. I reminisce on when I was dating four girls at the same time. On the good dyke clubs “back in the day”. I think I am impressing the 21 year olds that landed in my circle. Like these baby dykes can learn a thing or two from this veteran clit licker. I remember how attractive I used to be with my tan and tiny clothes. I was an avid teeth bleacher. My legs (and more) were always shaved. It was a serious case of “too many girls, too little time”.

38936_150568611624093_7070806_n(Me circa 2005, age 22)

Maybe I do sound cool. I don’t know, it’s possible. Or maybe I just sound old.

Truth is, I haven’t been single in eight years. And truth is, I’m okay with it. In fact, I have been married to my wife for almost seven years and we have a baby boy. We own real estate. And a dog. We don’t get drunk and we have a bedtime. I wear comfortable clothes.

I don’t know if people are impressed with the image of the former me. I don’t know if I miss her. I don’t know if I think that if I were single today, that it would be the same as it was. Because the reality is that it would be nothing like it used to be. I sincerely laugh at my fantasy of the younger, goddess-like version of me. The thing is, I have changed. Single, married, or whatever. I’m not the same person that I once was. And it has nothing to do with whether I was a fresh little lezzie or not. It has everything to do with growing up. My priorities went from phone numbers to anniversaries, from new club music to nursery rhymes, from panties to diapers. You catch my drift.

Maybe we all like to hang on to something from our youthful counterparts. I mean, isn’t that what the media and commercialism want us to do? Look younger! Feel younger! Maybe because I’ve had so many changes in these last eight years, that it just seems recreational to embrace a memory or two. Frankly, I enjoy remembering the days where things happened a little faster, women were a little more prevalent, and I was a little shinier.

And as far as I’m concerned, there is nothing wrong with that. Okay okay, and I was a ripe little hottie. There, I said it.

Precious Heart of a Past Life

Her skin was softer than a lullaby.
A tune so simple, I’d wished the words were my own.

That voice embraced a song, just so she could set it free.
As she sang, I had to hide the tears.

Her own hair, the color women pay for, left a strand on my coat.
It was part of what defined her beauty.

I insisted she was number one, no matter how sensitive she was.
Weak and selfish, my light shined through her voids.

She answered sweetly to the name only I could call her.
Then painted a picture of her reservations.

A new sense of complication emerged from the rose-colored trench.
And I pitied my intentions.

She came and went until something better became obvious.
I paved that road for which she danced.

Aromatic memories of her perfume are reduced to ash.
I now live my new book, where the words are my own.

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Get Your Swag On

Been having a rough few days. Gotta revamp my swag and snap out of it.

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Skin On Fire, a sexy lil poem

She used her eyes like a weapon,
And her tongue just like a whip.

She set her skin on fire,
With the curve of her hip.

She caressed herself gradually,
Using just a fingertip.

Her breath was sweet and heavy,
As she slowly bit my lip.

I embrace her body underneath,
When she invites my hand to slip.

Insatiable thrusting swallowed me,
Wave of ecstasy tightened her grip.

As she trembled and glistened,
Succulent nectar I always sip.

We held each other in our arms,
With steamy flesh, our sweat did drip.

Soon enough she kissed my neck,
Whispered in my ear to “flip”.

It was my turn she said,
Our love making goes round trip.

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Super Fly Dyke?

They say you can tell a lot about a dyke by her hair. What, exactly, I do not know. Either way, how do you like my new do?

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Shane, Just Shane

I dedicate this to my younger sister. My straight-except-for-Shane younger sister. Surely you ladies love Shane too.

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Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

I’m not Irish, but my wife is so we always have a traditional feast and wonderful celebration!

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Let Me Tell You About Christina Jones

I first got “Jonesed” in 2000. I was a senior and she was a freshman. A very audacious little freshman because I was hot shit my senior year. Now this is dating back almost 15 years, so it was a different time. At that time, the only out lesbian couple was myself and my then girlfriend. We were very popular (as a couple) and surrounded by attention and controversy. Sweet, smooth talking freshman, Christina Jones, found it all to be very infectious, and thus a little baby dyke was born.

Jones had an annoying habit of following my girlfriend and I around, hoping to pick up lesbo tips, I assume. Well, that, or strands of hair. Then one Monday morning, at the start of a new semester, Christina Jones and I were to report to the same homeroom, down a long, desolate hallway, in the back of the building. She didn’t talk to me in class, mainly because her friends didn’t know about her infatuation, and because she was intimidated.

What happens next will forever go down into the herstory books. Upon exiting the classroom, I swung into the girls restroom. As I finished my business and stepped out of the stall, I was taken by complete surprise as I was pushed up against a wall and passionately kissed on the mouth. Caught completely off guard, I could not speak, just look at the ballsy freshman, who smiled and turned away out of the room. I could not believe this little freshman had the courage and audacity to make such a move on a big freshman. I didn’t know to feel victimized or impressed.

4e913bcaf5476c4513ae1fa772169304Years passed, and I didn’t keep in touch with Christina Jones. I think I saw her at a pride festival here and there, but nothing was ever spoken of her ladies room stunt. Then one night in 2005, I was at a new dyke club with the girl I was dating. It was a hot club and the place was packed. I suddenly got the feeling of eyes on me. My premonition was correct, and a  smooth talking baby dyke was dancing next to me. Sporting a rainbow belt and ponytail, she gave me this huge grin and introduced me to her girlfriend. I thought it was sweet that she could be out of the closet, living an open life, that she had grown up.

The bar was about to close so my girl and I hit the restroom before heading home. Did my business, stepped out of the stall, and BAM! Pushed up against a wall and intensely kissed, full on, on my mouth. I looked at Jones and, again, had no words. My girlfriend was still in the bathroom stall. She hadn’t seen any of the kiss attack. Christina Jones had “Jonesed” me again! How the fuck did I allow this to happen twice? I haven’t talked to this girl in five years!

Next came the era of Facebook, and Christina Jones and I had become ‘friends’, along with a hundred other people from my high school. We never communicate online, but she sees my information- like getting married and having a baby- and I see her info too- like moving out of state. Yes, Christina Jones moved to Kentucky. Not going to lie, seeing that produced a bit of relief.

Last night I went out to a bar for lesbian night with a couple of friends. It was my first night out since the baby was born, so I was ready to cut loose. Somehow my friends and I got onto the topic of Christina Jones, and the act of getting “Jonesed”. As we made our way to the ladies room, we joked to always watch your back in the bathroom at places like this. So I did my business, and stepped out of the stall, to find a long line of cuties waiting for their turn. The bathroom attendant handed me some paper towel and I walked out.

And there she was. Fucking Christina Jones, not in Kentucky. In my bar. With my guard up a little, I smiled and we started conversing. The way I saw it, we weren’t in a bathroom, there were people around, and she knows I’m married. We started to joke about the sneaky smoothness of her prior convictions. Okay, cool. The trend is over and we are officially grown ups. Then, mid fucking sentence- BAM!…

Christina Jones is officially my master. She kissed me in front of everyone and I was stupidly caught off guard. I can’t believe I got “Jonesed” a third fucking time.

I think it’s time to accept that I will randomly be ambushed every handful of years when I least expect it. It’s ridiculous and weird. It was entertaining when my friend bitch slapped her for kissing me, but that’s another story for a another day.

My warning to others is to steer clear of Christina Jones, especially in, around, or within 20 feet of a restroom. Rumor has it there have been others who have been “Jonesed” as well. I’m sure I’m the only three-striker.

 

*Names have been changed to ensure privacy. And so I don’t get hunted down.

 

Tegan Quin Loves Being Queer

One thing you will learn about me is that I love Tegan and Sara. No, I’m obsessed with Tegan and Sara.  Not new teeny bopper “omg I love that song, Closer” kind of love. More like the 13 year “hyperventilating as they bust out old school acoustic riffs in small venues” kind of love. Oh and I’m dating Sara Quin. Yeah and Tegan Quin. Individually.

Anyway, I really love this video of Tegan talking about how much she loves being queer. It’s uplifting. And adorable.

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