Pass on the Pussy. All for the Penis.
I've already established that lesbianism is not for me. (See Why I Stick With The Penis) There are many reasons why, but the biggest is that it's just not how I roll. Sorry. All you lesbians out there lusting after me, I'm just not into pussy.
But for some reason the topic keeps popping up.
Chris and I (who has returned from her exile) spent our entire Saturday causing trouble. We visited a Renaissance Fair --Yes, I know it's a very lesbian thing to do but we go to make fun of the chubby goths in leather and to lust after guys in kilts -- when we stumble upon a beer garden. Hooray! Beer! Instantly the entire event was vastly more entertaining.
I nursed an Ultra while underage Chris had to settle with a Dragon's Blood smoothie, and watched a bunch of guys in kilts beat on drums and dance traditional...jigs or whatever they're called.
The young, mildly handsome lead of the entire production was making eyes at us the moment we wandered in. If you've ever been to one of these things and seen the vast array of chubby teenagers and old ladies in Xena outfits, you would know that the KiltGuy's attention was not only expected but understandable.
Chris and I, being hot and in our street clothes tended to draw a number of eyes. Ofcourse we were also probably two of ten girls at the Fair under 150lbs.
Anyway, throughout the performance Kilt-Guy blew kisses in our directions and managed to flash us a few times. Unfortunetly, he wasn't actually Scottish and wore a pair of boxers under his kilt. Sigh.
When the show was over we said hi and got a few pictures taken with him. Everything was peachy. Guys in kilts rock my world.
But later, as we resumed our wandering, we kept getting hit on by creepy boys dressed as everything from pirates to trolls to bondage experiments gone wrong. One guy even asked if we wanted to ride his camel. His camel.
That line just seems lame compared to the ones we received at the biker bar in Vegas. "Hey Baby, ever had a 200mileperhour vibrator between your legs?" Now that's classic. The camel is just lame.
Soon enough we decided there was only one thing to do. We pretended we were lesbians. I'm not proud of it, but a girls got to do what a girls got to do.
The reason I told this story was not only because of my obvious love for kilts but to point out that it was really easy for Chris and I to pass ourselves off as lesbians. Not because we're butch. (We're not.) Not because we were all over eachother. (I've got personal space issues.) But because guys want us to be lesbians.
They want two cute college girls to start necking in the middle of a Renaissance Fair. Hell, it's probably the closest to any play most of those guys have gotten in a long time. Which just makes me sad.
Case in point:
Chris has been shamelessly throwing herself at this guy from her new workplace. He appears to be interested but has thusfar resisted meeting up with her outside of work. They spend all their time at work together. But he just hasn't mustered the balls to ask her out. She, the big-fat-pussy that she is, refuses to step up also. So they're at an impasse...and I've had to hear about it every fucking day for weeks.
Last night Chris called, giggling like a crazed cheerleader on speed about how WorkBuddy confessed that he thought she was a lesbian...with me.
Ofcourse!
Two chicks are close friends. Known eachother forever. Hangout all the time. Lesbians!
Well ofcourse we are. How can we not be? Why didn't we figure it out sooner?!
It took a guy I've never met, who's known Chris for about three weeks to enlighten me on my sexual tendencies. Great.
I officially hate this guy. Never met him. Hate him.
So here I am again defending my right to NOT be a lesbian. Hooray for lesbians. More power to the pussy-lovers. That's just not how I roll.
Got that? All you assholes out there who are just praying for some girl-on-girl action, NOT A LESBIAN.
I am completely Pro-Penis!
But for some reason the topic keeps popping up.
Chris and I (who has returned from her exile) spent our entire Saturday causing trouble. We visited a Renaissance Fair --Yes, I know it's a very lesbian thing to do but we go to make fun of the chubby goths in leather and to lust after guys in kilts -- when we stumble upon a beer garden. Hooray! Beer! Instantly the entire event was vastly more entertaining.
I nursed an Ultra while underage Chris had to settle with a Dragon's Blood smoothie, and watched a bunch of guys in kilts beat on drums and dance traditional...jigs or whatever they're called.
The young, mildly handsome lead of the entire production was making eyes at us the moment we wandered in. If you've ever been to one of these things and seen the vast array of chubby teenagers and old ladies in Xena outfits, you would know that the KiltGuy's attention was not only expected but understandable.
Chris and I, being hot and in our street clothes tended to draw a number of eyes. Ofcourse we were also probably two of ten girls at the Fair under 150lbs.
Anyway, throughout the performance Kilt-Guy blew kisses in our directions and managed to flash us a few times. Unfortunetly, he wasn't actually Scottish and wore a pair of boxers under his kilt. Sigh.
When the show was over we said hi and got a few pictures taken with him. Everything was peachy. Guys in kilts rock my world.
But later, as we resumed our wandering, we kept getting hit on by creepy boys dressed as everything from pirates to trolls to bondage experiments gone wrong. One guy even asked if we wanted to ride his camel. His camel.
That line just seems lame compared to the ones we received at the biker bar in Vegas. "Hey Baby, ever had a 200mileperhour vibrator between your legs?" Now that's classic. The camel is just lame.
Soon enough we decided there was only one thing to do. We pretended we were lesbians. I'm not proud of it, but a girls got to do what a girls got to do.
The reason I told this story was not only because of my obvious love for kilts but to point out that it was really easy for Chris and I to pass ourselves off as lesbians. Not because we're butch. (We're not.) Not because we were all over eachother. (I've got personal space issues.) But because guys want us to be lesbians.
They want two cute college girls to start necking in the middle of a Renaissance Fair. Hell, it's probably the closest to any play most of those guys have gotten in a long time. Which just makes me sad.
Case in point:
Chris has been shamelessly throwing herself at this guy from her new workplace. He appears to be interested but has thusfar resisted meeting up with her outside of work. They spend all their time at work together. But he just hasn't mustered the balls to ask her out. She, the big-fat-pussy that she is, refuses to step up also. So they're at an impasse...and I've had to hear about it every fucking day for weeks.
Last night Chris called, giggling like a crazed cheerleader on speed about how WorkBuddy confessed that he thought she was a lesbian...with me.
Ofcourse!
Two chicks are close friends. Known eachother forever. Hangout all the time. Lesbians!
Well ofcourse we are. How can we not be? Why didn't we figure it out sooner?!
It took a guy I've never met, who's known Chris for about three weeks to enlighten me on my sexual tendencies. Great.
I officially hate this guy. Never met him. Hate him.
So here I am again defending my right to NOT be a lesbian. Hooray for lesbians. More power to the pussy-lovers. That's just not how I roll.
Got that? All you assholes out there who are just praying for some girl-on-girl action, NOT A LESBIAN.
I am completely Pro-Penis!
Labels: All things Vagina, Penis
This entry was posted
on 22.6.06 at 6:27 PM.
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