Dear hot/nerdy/self-possessed/athletic/capable/charismatic lesbian,
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First of all, thanks for looking good.
Thanks also for not kicking me out of your bars when I've visited. For future reference, here are my responses to your questions:
No, I'm not here with my boyfriend. Yes I am here with some ladies. No, I'm not gay. Because I'd rather look at women than men. No, you use the washroom first. Any local microbrew will do, thanks.
In the past, I've described myself as a male lesbian but I don't know if that's quite right. I do know that the type of women I like are way better represented among you. And I'm certain that whoever installed the wiring in my brain did some unconventional things. Does that make me a lesbro? I don't really know. Regardless, the result of these cross-over tendencies is a kind of disconnect. Similar, I imagine to gay guys who like straight boys.
"Forget about it," their friends say, "it will only lead to heartache."
Heartache schmartache, I don't want to gay-marry you, oh sizzling Sapphite. I just want to wrassle you (hard) and then maybe later talk about gender theory over beer.
Still, even my humble wishes seem out of reach.
Can't we get over my penis? It's not even that impressive; more like an extra-large clit. What are you, sizeist now?
I guess we could just be buddies. I can resign myself to the friend-zone if you promise to go girl-watching with me once in a while. Maybe then you'll see that I don't want to "turn" you (for the sake of either ego or Jesus). I just want to get physical in a way that would make a straight girl's over-sized purse explode. I fully trust you've got some knowledge to drop.
Don't judge me, oh hot diggity dyke, if I don't fit into your worldview. Just hold me once in a while and tell me that I'm simply another colour in our glorious rainbow.
- Location: Toronto
- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests