women's.liberation
It’s the happiest moment of my week, driving home from work on a Friday; the weekend’s open promises are laid out in front of me. I pull into an open parking space, bounding out of the car. Feeling like a kid at the beginning of summer vacation, I sing loudly to lyrics I just learned. I feel like a bundle of joy, like I just got a warm massage and the air cradles me instead of making me cold.
I open the front door to my apartment that I share with my boyfriend, who I’ve been with for years. My boyfriend who is currently buried in some strange girl’s snatch.
“What the FUCK?!” I scream as loud as I can, to which he looks up with such terror, and I’m glad for it. I want him to fear for his life. “WHAT. THE. FUCK?????!!!!” I scream again, smacking him on the back for each word. “I’m sorry, I can explain,” he babbles, but the thought of sitting through any kind of explanation makes me want to do something drastic, like burn down the apartment building. Or key the fuck out of his car.
“I HATE YOU,” I yell, and push him again before stomping out. Once outside, I walk back over to my car and sit on the hood, seething. I grab my keys and lunge at his car to write “fuck you motherfucker” on the hood of it, evil white scratches across the sunset red color. And then I decide to walk. I feel like sobbing uncontrollably, but I don’t want him or her to see me cry, so I run. I run down empty sidewalks, tears splashing to the concrete. I run until I don’t know where I am, but I never want to go back, so I keep going.
The sun starts to disappear and I don’t know what time it is. Soon the sky matches the color of the road, black and broken. I sit down on the sidewalk curb, watching cars drive by, mechanical monsters taking over the world. I can’t help but think about what I just saw and wonder if it’s because of me. Maybe I’m too fat, maybe I’m not sexy enough, or maybe I nagged him too much. My head falls down between my knees, so that I have an intimate connection with the ground between my feet. I feel helpless and hopeless, playing it all over and over in my head. Not just being betrayed, but also the love I thought he felt for me every day. The utter sureness I felt that he would never be unfaithful. I feel like I just found out the world is a figment of my imagination, that everything I thought was life was just a hologram.
It gets darker, I get sadder. I decide to walk some more; the least I can do is get some exercise. Before I know it, I’m walking along what seems to be a small town version of the Vegas strip. Neon lights call out to me, begging for my attention. Lines snake around every sidewalk, happy people waiting to walk through the door of clubs lined up down the block. For a moment, I am completely pulled out of my funk, and I just stare with amazement at everything I see. It’s so awesome this place is here, I think. Maybe next weekend we could go…
That’s when I realize that I’m still thinking of us, me and him, as we were in our normal lives. It’s not like that anymore, it never will be, and I have to stop and cry again. It comes down like rain from clouds, unplanned and part of nature. I’m probably the saddest person on this block, walking through crowds of party people in my work clothes, wiping away tears. The constant dramatics make me think of how much he loved me for who I was, holding me whenever I couldn't stop crying. Who else am I going to find to deal with me?
This is when I start to break down. I am now openly wailing, unable to control my gasps for air or my watery eyes. “I HATE YOU FOR RUINING US!” I scream into the sky, imagining it reaching his ear. My whole body feels limp, so I walk into the alley between two clubs and lean against the wall of one of the buildings. Almost immediately, the wall gives and I find myself falling backward. I don’t fall long, and a stream of obscenities follows me down to the floor. A girl leans over and pulls me up with a big grin, her pink hair shaved to her head on the sides, and grown long on top. “You okay?” she asks, and her voice surprises me. She’s big boned and her features are hardened, etched into her face with age. When she speaks, though, the lilt of her soft voice is like a little girl’s.
“I’m fine,” I breathe, and stand up holding her hand. She stares at me with big blue eyes, surrounded by black smears of eyeliner, and they pierce right through me. “You’re just in time,” she smiles, “I was just about to ask someone to dance.”
I smile politely, a little confused. “Why me?” I ask, “Are there not any guys here worth dancing with?”
She laughs. “I’ve always liked fems,” she says, and I nod, slowly backing away. “I’m not like that,” I whisper, and she leans in closer.
“You smell good,” she exclaims and then smashes her face into my hair, taking a big whiff. “You smell like my ex-girlfriend,” she laughs.
“I’m not a lesbian,” I say louder. She leans back, her eyes narrower.
“Are you dating a guy?” she asks me. I don’t know how to answer, so I stand there for several minutes thinking. Finally, she leans in, grabbing my arm. “How do you really know?” she yells in my ear with a mischievous grin, and pulls me to the dance floor. Lady Gaga blasts out of speakers, making it impossible to talk. I find myself ignoring the dyke trying to feel me up, and really getting into the music. I close my eyes and just think of the beat and the sound, letting my body react naturally to it. I open my eyes and announce, “I’m going to get a drink!”
I walk over to the bar and sit down on an empty stool. “Gin and tonic please,” I say to the expectant bartender, and she walks off immediately to start making it. “Two limes!” I call out, and she rolls her eyes, nodding.
“Want me to buy you that drink?” someone asks me, and I turn to see a woman dressed like a man. She’s even drawn a mustache above her lips, slicking her black hair back like some fuckin Guido. Without missing a beat, I say, “I don't swing that way.” She nods, looks me up and down.
“My tongue will make you change your mind,” she flirts, but it just makes me think of my boyfriend’s face buried in between that girl’s legs. “No it won’t,” I say, turning my head and crying as quietly as I can. “Fine,” she states bluntly, and turns around, walking over to another girl. My drink is placed in front of me, and I chug it, having the great idea that the only way I’m going to forget is if I black out.
Several drinks in, it dawns on me that I’m in a lesbian bar. Barely any men, and women everywhere wanting to touch and kiss me. By this time, I don’t care, and I’m caught in this wonderful, sexually vibrant atmosphere. Like an orgy, less sticky sweat, more light and fluffy. I make out with girls dressed like guys, girls dressed like punks, girls dressed like pretty little girls. The night got blurrier and blurrier, but I remember calling for Ana a lot. I remember grabbing her skinny little waist, not wanting to stop kissing her. Maybe I am a lesbian, I would think. Though usually I would laugh it off, thinking it was just the alcohol.
I wake up to sunlight spilling onto my face, and it makes me feel like a vampire. I hiss and cower, trying to get away from the burning sensation when I realize it’s in my head. I’m no vampire, just hung over as shit.
“Here’s some water," comes a soft and breathy voice, and I look up to see her. Her as in the snatch girl, the one who created the mountain-sized rift between my boy and me. She hands me a glass of water and ice, and I drink it as fast as I can, craving the moisture and hydration. Still, I am shocked to see her. “You- who are you?” I stutter, surprised she doesn’t recognize me. She laughs like bells ringing, and an awful thought passes through my head. No wonder he liked her.
“It’s Ana silly,” she smiles, “We danced at Ginger's last night, do you not remember? You were pretty drunk.” I can’t help it; I grab her arm and pull her closer to me, eyes boring into eyes. “If you’re such a fuckin pussy licker than why were you fucking around with a guy yesterday?” It’s her turn to look surprised, and she looks me over. Finally, she sighs, and tries to hug me, but I pull away.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know he was taken. I wouldn’t have chose him if I had known.”
“What do you mean, chose him?!” I demand. She sighs again, and is looking down at her nervous fingers. “I had asked him for help because I was so hungry. He didn’t know I didn’t want food. I just wanted someone to get me off.”
“Why a guy? Why him??” I plead, halfway wishing that she hadn‘t broken up my happy, unremarkable life. I thought I was in love, but right now, admiring her smooth skin, I was wondering.
“Guys are sluts and he was there,” she shrugs. “Though I like your body so much more.” Her smile returns, and she rubs her hands over my chest, stomach and hips. She kisses me on the neck, and I admit it gives me flutters. I can’t contain myself, so I grab her waist and pull her on top of me. We giggle as we kiss and feel each others skin, but I stop, pulling back. She waits for me to talk, tracing her finger along my bottom lip.
“I don’t think I can forget about heterosexual sex,” I confess. Ana nods and puts her hand on my hair, petting me. “You don’t have to,” she says softly, and points to a shelf across her room stacked with dildos, strap-ons, and vibrators. “Let me show you what you’ve been missing,” she whispers, and grabs a strap-on. “Who needs men? I’ll get to fuck you, and then you can fuck me!”