tagLesbian SexStraight Girl Problems

Straight Girl Problems


A very special thanks to the talented Alice_Rosaleen for her helpful feedback with this story as a beta reader, as well as to Grania2 for the inspiring anecdotes.


I have a problem. Or rather, many problems, all very much alike. Sure, I'm attracted to girls that are attracted to me, but I'm hopelessly, madly, irresistibly attracted to straight girls-- and naturally, that's complicated.

Why am I so crazy about them? Well, I have theories. Maybe it's the idea of getting them outside their comfort zone that excites me so much. The idea that I could help bring down an artificial wall of fear and uncertainty, leading them to an experience they were hesitant to imagine for themselves. One that they actually crave deep inside. Maybe I want to free them from a dualistic mindset about sexuality that unreasonably dictates which kind of sexual experiences they permit themselves access to. Or hey-- maybe it's just a superficial selfish desire to fuck a girl who's never fucked a girl before.

But really I think it's something else. I'll tell you. I have to tell someone...

In the summer between my junior and senior year of high school, my long-time childhood friend, Rachel, invited me over for a sleepover. We had just turned eighteen together the previous week, in ceremonial fashion, but didn't feel any different for it. Back when I turned eighteen kids still had no clue how to be an adult. It wasn't like it is now, where young girls have to suddenly learn to be adults before they even know how to drive, due to leaving school to march for their lives. That's fucked up.

Anyway, at first Rachel and I were simply friends. Then somehow we were aware of the fact that we were best friends. Then, as I began to intuitively understand who and what I was, I became conscious of the fact that it might be something more than that. Suddenly, the friendship I felt was love. The admiration I had for her beauty was increasingly flecked with flashes of a shapeless lust that straight up frightened me. Then, before I even knew what was building within me, it all came crashing down.

My lasting memory of that tragic episode always starts the same way: recalling the pleasant moments, the calm before the storm, that idyllic haze of childhood memory you wish could be bottled and preserved like a summer jam. The constant buzz of invisible insects infesting the deep green shadows. A puff of smoke from the neighbor's yard, filtering through the slats of their fence, evoking a scene of charred, spitting fat. The smiles, our laughter, two mouths still sticky and freshly stained with the not-too-distant memory of juicy watermelon that we wore across our faces like smeared lipstick.

"Rachel! Ashley! Come on back, it's getting dark," we heard her mom call from afar, after what seemed like hours swimming in the backyard pool.

Rachel laughed, "She thinks that means we'll drown..."

"Oh god, that's such typical mom stuff!" I giggled.

We climbed out of the pool and raced back toward her house, making our way to her bedroom together and carefully locking the door. I remember clearly: she had on a tight, navy and white one-piece that clung to her slight curves and accentuated every aspect of her changing body. I saw her begin to peel it off her damp flesh, shivering as her large breasts spilled out, so boldly revealed as a testament to the fact that we had become women together. I quickly took off my swimsuit beside her, until we stood there nude across from one another.

I began to casually towel off, taking as much time as I could, hoping that she'd do the same. Perhaps my seemingly relaxed attitude made her comfortable, so she lingered in this state as well. My heart began racing faster and faster as I took the time to secretly observe her body. I mean really observe, more than I ever had in the locker rooms where nudity was widespread, brief, and awkward. I felt myself awaken, an inner self I had yet to explore, as I gazed at the way her nipples danced about while the towel ran roughly across her body. I was impressed and encouraged that she didn't seem to be self-conscious about her boobs like a lot of girls were. I also observed that, like me, she had a neat little triangle of curly brown hair between her legs, crisp in its geometry and full of feminine charm. I wondered if she tingled like I did down there. I was excited by the confidence she had toward her own body and wanted that for myself.

"Ick!" she said, suddenly snapping me out of my trance.

For a moment I feared she was responding to my affectionate attention, but in fact she had been surprised by the sight of a small piece of soggy leaf that somehow got stuck to the underside of one of her breasts. She picked it off, mashing it between her fingers, and then introduced it to the small trash can beside her desk.

"Here, you have another one," I said, excitedly spotting another piece on her other breast. Without thinking, I lunged forward, anxious for an excuse to gain any proximity to her body. Without thinking, I plucked it from her boob, briefly treating myself to the sensation of her soft, spongy flesh which quivered at my touch.

"Oh... thanks," she said, as if surprised that I had done that. The warning signs were lost on me at the time.

Instead, my heart was thumping and a kind of madness came over me. I stood there momentarily, with just inches between our naked, drying bodies, and then I just did it. I leaned in and I kissed her. I didn't just kiss her, I did it eagerly, greedily, tongue and all, with my whole body pressing up against her, desperately awaiting the sensation of hers pressing back at mine. I felt my breasts gently compressing against another girl's for the first time and a powerful thrill went through my body.

And in an instant, it was over. I went from soaring as high as I'd ever been, to wallowing in bitter despair.

She threw me off her. "Oh my god, why did you do that?!" she exclaimed. I blinked at her, stunned. "Like, seriously? That's so gross!" She gave me a stern look.

Then she finally asked it.

"Are you gay or something?"

That question flooded my head until it felt hot, like a stinging pot of boiling water had been dumped all over me. I felt crushed. I still feel crushed. I feel like it happened yesterday.

"Sorry," I said, shrugging and not knowing what else to say. She didn't either.

I'd never seen anyone get dressed so fast. It was like Rachel became immediately conscious of her nudity, her innocence ruined like Eve after having just savored the apple. It was as if her body were something she ought not permit me to lay my eyes upon. The rest of the night was horrible; forcing myself through a sleepover in virtual silence, neither of us knowing how to get back on track with what would normally have been a fun experience. It was more like a chore, and when it was over I already knew it was for the very last time...

From that night forward we grew apart. Rachel seemed less and less interested in my friendship. We fully parted ways over the following school year, a year which should have been about celebrating our long-lasting friendship together before we went off on a college-bound adventure of a lifetime, and it ate me up inside. In a way, that was the event that subsequently forced me to own my sexuality around others. However, I've spent years beating myself up, buried in guilt for doing something I shouldn't have, and at the same time angry about how she judged me.

I used to obsess about it, thinking, "Fuck, I wish I could let that go, but I can't." I reminded myself that it was part of me now. That she's condemned to be the straight girl I first wanted, that I'm forever still seeking reciprocal affection from in the form of all the new Rachels in my life.

These days, for my straight friends my sexuality is just a source of curiosity and amusement. Whatever. Life is a rollercoaster of emotions, especially when your feelings can't be returned, and when you tend to have such an overtly sexual mind.

This was my burden to carry, but there comes a point where you have to lighten your load.


So anyway, before I get to a day I'll never forget, I have to go back a few days earlier.

I happened to meet up with my BFFs, Christine and Liana, for cocktails at some new West Village spot that they found. I walked in and immediately liked it. It was unabashedly girly. I mean, the decor evoked a sort of Victorian Barbie aesthetic, the pink tufted seating was perfectly suited for cradling my ass, and the first drink, No Tan Lines, looked pleasantly fruity and tropical.

They'd already grabbed a seat and were deep in conversation when I arrived. Christine is bold, confident, with a dry wit and a relentlessly sarcastic attitude. She's also gorgeous; tall and sexy, with long curly brown hair and an alluringly sinister smile that never leaves her face. Liana is impossibly cute, petite, shy and reserved at most times, but able to come out of her shell quite a bit around us. Her smooth brown complexion, a result of some impossible-to-remember jigsaw of mixed ethnicities, the way she sits and slowly blinks at me while I speak, and her slight dimples all make me weak.

Of course, like most of my girlfriends, they're both straight. As is often the case, I spent the first few minutes letting them wrap up a conversation that started before I arrived about some guy, watching Christine occasionally smirk at me as she caught my quiet disinterest. But soon the tide turned and I was suddenly there; a suddenly compatible presence.

"So you start your new job next week, right?" asked Liana, quickly taking an opportunity to pull me into the conversation.

"Yeah!" I replied, greedily sucking in another mouthful of rum.

"Cool. It's another PR job, right?"

"Yep, in hospitality. For a restaurant group," I explained.

"Nice. Good perks?" Christine said with a grin.

"You bet!" I laughed, suddenly reminded to look at the small plates menu sitting in front of me. We continued to talk about my upcoming job transition and all the things going on at work for them; the typical kinds of drama I hoped to avoid at my new place of employment. Finally Christine abruptly switched topics.

"Actually, I was gonna hit a spa this weekend. You guys wanna go?" she suggested. Christine motioned to me. "Ashley deserves to be pampered before her first day of work." Liana nodded in enthusiastic agreement.

"Hell yeah, I'd get in on that!" I exclaimed. "Where do you go? Sanctuary, still?"

"Yeah, but I was thinking about trying one of the Koreatown ones."

"Ah," I said, surprised. My gears started turning. I thought for sure she must know what a K-town spa meant...

"Do you know a good one?" Christine added.

"I sometimes go to Grand Spa," I noted, with equal parts nervousness and excitement.

"Okay, let's do it. You in?" Christine asked Liana.

"Sure!" she replied.

My heart started thumping. Christine was silent for a moment. She took a sip of her drink, rattled the ice a bit, and then glanced up at me as if she was considering whether she wanted to say something more. I knew what it was. She was totally, completely transparent.

"It... wouldn't be weird for you, would it?" she finally asked. And there, ladies and gentlewomen, it was-- the question I'd been expecting since the moment she suggested a Korean spa.

I laughed. "No... I guess the real question to ask is, are YOU comfortable."

Christine smirked and shrugged it off. "Yeah, of course."

I feared the conversation would become awkward. Korean spas, of course, mandated nudity, and I was their gay best friend. But honestly, "weird" wouldn't exactly be the word to describe how I felt at the prospect of seeing my two closest straight girlfriends strutting around in their birthday suits. More like... let's say... "out-of-my-mind-with-inward-excitement."

Fortunately, I kept my cool and didn't show it.

To be honest, I don't go to Grand Spa too often, mostly because I always leave there feeling worse than I did then I arrived, thanks to sheer sexual frustration. Still, it's an occasional treat I can't seem to fully deny myself. What's not to like about a locker room full of girls undressing and wrapping towels around their bodies, then wandering into a bewildering scene of mass nudity? I could spend all day casually reclining next to curious women, listening to them chat awkwardly, trying in vain to pretend they aren't naked together when in fact they're secretly checking out each other's goods.

It didn't occur to me that Liana had no idea what we were talking about, but it soon became apparent. "Why would it be weird for Ash?" she asked Christine.

Christine blinked at her. "You know it's a nude spa, right?"

Liana abruptly shut her mouth, revealing her answer in a brief stretch of utter silence. "No..." she finally spit out, after recovering from the shock.

I suddenly panicked. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna come on to you," I rushed to say, laughing nervously as I placed my hand on Liana's arm. I often offered silly reassurances like this, afraid that someone would have a fearful reaction, even if I knew that wouldn't be the case.

"Oh, I know--" she started to say.

Christine interrupted, thwarting my plan to reassure Liana. "Suit yourself, but I might!" she laughed. "Like, have you ever seen Liana in her yoga gear? Hotttt." Christine's drink crackled loudly as she hovered over a long, colorful straw and reached the bottom of her glass.

Liana started giggling and, having allowed Christine to take the lead, I continued the joke. "Why have I never seen this?" I asked, turning to Liana with humorously wide eyes. She gave an embarrassed shrug.

"Seriously," continued Christine. "She's pretty dangerous in spandex."

I winced. Christine said the S-word, my kryptonite. My own yoga class is filled with so many college girls with cute butts that I have yet to make it through one without having to go home and change my panties. Scenes like that remind me of the old eighties spandex workout VHS tape that I stole from my mom when I was a kid, for reasons I might not have fully understood at the time. I'm not even going to tell you what I learned to do while watching it. Spoiler: it wasn't exercise... Well, okay, I suppose you might consider it a type of exercise.

"So like... when you say nude spa, you mean..." Liana muttered, still trying to process this information.

Christine and I laughed at Liana's innocence. "It means you use the saunas in the buff," Christine added. Liana still looked scandalized. Christine glanced back at me and hurled another cliché my way. "You must looove going there."

I groaned. "Yes. Yes, I love going to nude spas because I'm a lesbian," I sighed. Christine snickered.

It wasn't the first time I'd heard this comment, and surely wouldn't be my last. Is there a straight person in this world who hasn't thought about what spa or locker room nudity must be like for a gay person? I mean, sure... I'm not gonna say I don't enjoy that perk myself. Did I not just admit that? I am not shy about the fact that I am an overtly kinky, sexually motivated woman with voyeuristic tendencies. But that's not the point. There are plenty of lesbians who go to the spa just to use the spa like anyone else, not to get a sexual thrill. I feel as though I have to defend their right to not be lumped together with the likes of me due to some ridiculous stereotypes about the LGBT community.

"What's it like?" she said, pressing further with a obvious curiosity.


"Is it, like, awesome?"

"Seriously? Yeah, I mean-- it is... but it's not like I'm walking around drooling or anything. It's still just a spa."

"But it turns you on... You're one of the most sexual people I know," she explained.

"I guess, yeah. I grew up with two brothers, and I'm still more girl-crazy than they ever were," I admitted. Then I laughed. "You should see old photos of me from senior year of high school, when I came out. In every single one I'm wearing a skimpy t-shirt with a midriff 'cuz I thought it would make me sexy. Thank god I didn't grow up in Oklahoma or something, or else I'd have been forced to spend my formative years drowning in a school-issued modesty poncho."

Christine snorted.

"But it's not like I'd behave anything less than ladylike," I concluded, batting my eyelids.

"Mmm hmm," muttered Christine, taking sufficient time to express amused disbelief as she perused the cocktail list. "I'll take my chances," she added.

The truth was, I haven't always been very ladylike.

By the time I got to college and met girls that I could actually have sex with, I reinvented myself in a whirlwind of experimentation that still leaves me dizzy to think about. Some of those girls went the straight route and now had so-callled traditional families. Some, like me, figured out who they were and never turned back. Some of them, such as Cynthia, I even still see once in a while at Meow Mondays for 2-for-1 drinks over at a lesbian bar called The Garden of Eves. I won't say that she hasn't occasionally made it back to my apartment in the wee hours of the morning for a wild little trip down memory lane, so to speak.

With Cynthia, though, it always ended on a melancholy note. She would wake me up in the morning, having raided my music library, with the sudden cacophony of "Pour Some Sugar On Me." I'd look over and see that she poured herself a little hair of the dog, extracted from my private stash of top-shelf bourbon. She seemed to not want to let go of the rush of the previous night, as if afraid to return to reality. I felt like I was just some circumstantial part of her depressing escape from real life. I'd lay there watching the jackhammering of her thumbs upon the brightly lit screen of her phone, accentuating the odd silence of an internally raving lunatic who was incensed by the early morning texts of some jealous lover that I had temporarily replaced.

How strange it is that in the moment of passion one feels so close to another and then, suddenly, so far away...

But I digress. Christine and Liana were different; my best friends. They knew plenty about my innermost desires, but I had also worked hard to give them the security that they weren't aimed at them. There was a part of me still so badly bruised from the disaster with Rachel that I was sure I would never cross a line with either one. Or so I had to keep reassuring myself.

With the weekend spa day confirmed, I just couldn't decide if I should be terrified of a repeat of history or thrilled to be on the verge of having a fantasy fulfilled, and it haunted me right up until the day arrived.


Yeah, yeah, okay, my wicked side won out.

By the time our spa day rolled around, I had successfully permitted myself to experience the full range of positive emotions surrounding the upcoming event. This was thanks to the late-night realization that if the trip were to never happen, I would regret it for the rest of my life. "Who wants to live with grief like that?" I asked myself, latching onto a deep satisfaction that blocked any further protests from the angel on my shoulder. Still, the moment I reached the spa, a creeping nervousness began to take root...

"Hey! I'm so ready for this!" Christine exclaimed upon seeing me.

"Yeah! I haven't been to a spa in forever," Liana added.

Admittedly, I was surprised. Both Christine and Liana appeared to be unfazed by the task that now lay before them. We headed inside and made our way to the desk to check in. Before long, the young woman there was reminding us that, "no clothing of any kind is permitted in the gender-segregated part of the spa, accessible though the locker room."

Christine and Liana stood there alert and motionless, with all activity confined to their heads. I watched their faces curiously. What they were thinking was a complete mystery to me.

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