Dear Diary

Dear diary

I ended up there again. An hour away by bus from my neighbourhood at the ywca with many women in various states of undress. You probably ask dear diary why I don't just enjoy the company of heather, a fellow senior at my high school who seems very interested in me. Why do I come here under the pretense of swimming, but more honestly to feel some sense of true sensuality and sexuality. The answer is that I like anonymity of watching these people with the hope that I might accidentally bump my bare skin against theirs. But even more so, I don't like heather's in your face brand of sexuality. Her desire to trumpet every aspect of female with female, dating, mating etc. I am only an eighteen year old girl/woman. I want to be able to pursue someone without it turning into a political statement or after school special.

And sometimes it feels like its enough just to be there. I can clandestinely watch someone showering while I shower and hope that they don't notice that I have been washing my genitals for several minutes. I must say that my clit sparkles with a new car shine when I am finished there. But understandably, I am not really happy with these events, I will try to explain what I feel. The only word I can think of, is more. When I am feeling the most pleasure or arousal, etc, I want more, more touching of her, more touching by her more of something in my wetness. My sopping wetness is physically a hole, but mentally its an appendage and invitation to the outside to join me. Not a hole to be filled, but a portal to channel my torrent of desire. I imagine my passion would service as much as it might need to be serviced.

So why not be real, why not just meet, touch , kiss and love a real female. I guess because nothing can be done quietly as a high school student. One of my friends danced a slow dance with another female student and held her hand at times through the evening. The next day a female class mate said she noticed that she was holding hands and dancing close with a girl, and asked her what it feels like to be a lesbian. My friend was upset and ran off, I would have been mad and said I notice you are five foot four and about ninety five pounds, how does it feel to be anorexic. Whenever any girls at school do anything at all "lesbian" they get peppered with questions about it from other female students. I wish I could figure out how to be me, without any of my same sex behaviours being taken as an invitation for classmates to involve me in an open roundtable discussion about my most private thoughts and feelings.

And so dear diary I might have been willing to stay faithful to only you, were it not for what happened next at my oasis of sensuality. After the object of my interest finished rinsing and departed the opposite end of the shower to the opposite lockers, I turned to see a tall relatively young towelled woman standing in an otherwise deserted locker room. Her eyes were very kind and she said its ok to be this way, to which I said : well duh; its genetics yknow; its like being left or right handed; we choose to be gay at about the same time the others choooooooooooooooose to be straight; the book that chastises homosexuality, also endorses slavery, and putting people to death for sabath activities or the improper handling of pig not exactly a bastion of intelligent thought on any subject. I instantly felt hideous for my outburst but her eyes seemed to have the perfect answer, a combination of understanding for my pent up angst along with a look of "its time to move past some of this fight and be who you be"

At this point I became aware that she hadn't verbally responded yet, and I had no idea what she was thinking, I just knew I was extremely naked with enough arousal to make my nipples visible by satellite. I instantly turned red with shyness. Almost in unison, a towel appeared in her hand. I took it from her to wrap myself and we sat on a bench. She began to speak in the most healing tones. In fact the tone was so important that I don't really remember much of what she said. Mostly it seemed to be that coming in to ones sexuality is hard especially for those with "controversial" instincts. She then asked me a question that seemed like a lifetime coming, which was "what do you need and want". As I went through my first responses, not be gay, not be different, not upset my family friends, etc. I realized these things were all what other people needed or what I imagined they wanted.

So my answer to the question what do you need was surprising to me, which was I need to get laid. "Yikes were did that come from" was my instantaneous response to my self, but she just smiled and tapped me twice on my shoulder, like a coach encouraging a made basket. I should have been uncomfortable, but I was too busy being really horny. She was really beautiful and her towel was very thin and fairly small. I could see much of her beautiful breasts peeking above the towel as well as a good sense of her perfect nipples through the towel. And I realized that I was a breastman (well woman). Imagine little old me a fratboy, dad would be so proud. But this was no time for sarcastic self derision, I would have an entire adult life for that, (unfortunately). No this was the time for captain sex drive. I really was enjoying that fact that I was enjoying seeing this beautiful body.

Just about the same time that I started to think, ok great, now what, when she spoke again and said tell me about some of the other girls at your school. I told her about the girl who likes me, who is so out there (militant milli to her friends, and foes as well I guess) I told her about friends who suspected I was gay and those who didn't. In the middle of my teenage prattle, she asked " isn't there anyone you have a crush on" and I immediately thought of Nicole. I have known Nicole since middle school. She always seemed to be the first to know things. The first to know how to do algebra, chemistry, physics, etc (although I was usually second, but I digress), the first to know about Margaret cho and her take no prisoners sexuality. She had grown up in nyc, wore the funkiest clothes and was always listening to the best music. We had been sitting together at lunch, science lab, and on the bus for years. I think I knew just about everything about her, except whether she was gay. She spent time around boys, but so what, so did I. She never said that she gets wet for beautiful breasts, hips, legs, and the idea of kissing, licking, loving a female, but neither have I.

As I started to describe her to this total stranger, I realized that I had memorized every detail of her. I knew her favourite bands, food, and clothing labels. I could draw the top half of her body perfectly, every curve starting at her hips, including her breasts which are in my opinion about a c cup with a thirty four size across the chest and virtually perfect (but I digress) and finally to her neck which has a few odd marks here and there which only make her more beautiful in my opinion. Her face is a bit round and reflective of the slightly extra weight in her ass that only makes her more sexy. She is not the typical teenage stick doll that rooms the halls like packs of antelopes, but instead seems like a real body. Not a bony gap dancer but a being full of sex and life. I can imagine someone with her kind of ass, hips, and tits, would be capable of great wetness. I dream of shedding all her clothes from top to bottom, exploring with my tongue as I go, I contemplate seeing the mound between her legs to finally determine what her true hair colour is and enjoying her between those legs into perpetuity. Sucking and licking and fingering and with my tiny hands maybe even fisting her as her juices flow like the nile. To paraphrase hamlet that would be the key to the rub. Rubbing her, anyway possible to unleash her sexuality, so that she would flood my small face with a Katrina of vaginal fluids and then fly up in lust to suck me, lick me, bite me, penetrate me with fingers, vibrators, carrots, anything that just happened to be within arm length.

I finally stopped to take a breath and realized that I had never said or really thought this before and I was in fact uncovering my soul to a (lets say this together complete stranger), but her response was, as had been her forte, healing. She said it sounds like you know what you want, I find it much easier for everyone to deal with that. It also seemed to her that what I feared most was rejection, but that in her experience her greatest regrets were opportunities missed. By this time I was dressing very quickly and starting to head out of the lockers saying that I had no idea whether Nicole would be a great love of my life or a source of ridicule or pain for years to come, but vowing that I was going to find out.