Hello darlings. I know it's been a very long time since [that one time] I had a guest post. But a friend and I were discussing the current state of lesbian affairs, and she wrote this thing, and I felt it needed a home. So without further ado, Open Letter Series #5: Guest Edition.
To Every Lesbian I've Known, and Every One I've Yet to Meet:
I love you, but you will never love me back. Until, of course, I stop loving you. Then you will love me fully and with unbridled passion. One night, after too many well whiskey drinks, our hips will collide against a pool table and we will stumble into a sticky, sloppy embrace. We'll find our way back to my house or yours, somehow, and engage in something resembling amateur high school wrestling. With my face nestled between your legs, I will immediately regret the late night totchos we got on the way home. I will try my hardest not to vomit while I ride along with the thrusts and moans of your body. With a final crescendo-ed moan, your body will give in and I will pull myself back up to you.
As we catch our breath, you'll look at me hoping that I don't expect the favor returned. I don't.
It's late; I'm tired, drunk, and too emotionally damaged from past relationships to reach orgasm anyway. It would be a futile effort. You will try to snuggle into my embrace, but I'll have the spins and prefer facing the other side of the bed. When I roll over, you'll ask if anything’s the matter, and I'll mumble something incoherent. We'll both drift off into an uncomfortable sleep because it will be too hot and we are still drunk and didn't drink enough water. A few hours later I'll wake up to pee.
Soon I'll wake up again, much earlier than you and I'll lay there uncomfortably wondering what to do with myself. I'll read Facebook until the battery on my phone dies, then roll over and try to gently wake you up with a morning snuggle and possibly morning sex. This is how I'll learn that you hate morning sex.
Eventually you'll wake up. We'll laugh about the night before, and one of us will go home.
We'll never talk about how either of us really feels, so we'll go on text flirting for a few months, and getting really drunk and having sex a couple nights a week. We won't talk about anything meaningful, except for when we're drunk. Then we'll talk about all the things that caused us pain in our childhoods. We will sing Brandi Carlile on karaoke just before the bar closes and walk home together, each quietly thinking to ourselves about the girls we'd rather be going home with. After two months of this, over a plate of hummus and limp carrot sticks, we'll decide, mutually, that this isn't working. We'll both cry.
We'll still text each other for 6 more months, but all social interaction will feel strained and sad. I'll see your profile come up on my Tinder account and I'll swipe right, just to see if you swiped right. You didn't.
A few more months will go by and I'll leave town. I'll get the job of my dreams and a dog and you'll look at all my Facebook photos, wondering how you ever let me get away. I so look forward to our time together, sweet Lesbian. With love and eager co-dependency, Other Lesbian
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