Head first

Okay, I admit it. I am pretty awful. Over the last week I have stood up Adventures in Lesboland several times, leaving her waiting on the corner of Blogger Street, Cyberspace, while I stay at home in the warm, watching Taggart and sleeping in cookie crumbs.

But here. I give it to you open palmed. My first blog in about three weeks. Let's hope it's a good one.

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Being a lesbian brings with it many unique pleasures. The universal right to wear dungarees. The knowledge that you belong to the only sub-culture on earth that can get away with a mullet. The glorious thrill one gets when overhearing a drunk gaggle of women on public transport moaning about how "all men are bastards".

However, there are few pleasures greater than getting to initiate a girl into Lesboland. It is, like, my favourite thing ever. So when my friend Jo told me that she suspected she might be a little into the muff, all the little people in my head got into a line and did a Mexican wave.

I relish the thought of guiding Jo’s timid hand through the Museum of Dyke. And before you ask, there is no National Trust Guide book, and you are encouraged to touch everything.

This week, I am dedicating my spare time to nurturing my little prote-gay (yes!), and in preparation, I have begun making a list in my head, of all the differences between the straight-lady world and the gay-lady world. My initial list was 5 pages long and read like a Colin’s dictionary, but with a little editorial skill (and a lot of backspacing), I have narrowed that shit DOWN into three Commandment-like lessons. So cross your legs, stop pulling that girls hair, and prepare to be taught.

If the first lesson on the agenda had featured in the Bible, it would have been probably been summed up as ‘Thou Shalt Not Give So Much Of A Shit’. As a gay woman, you are basically an honorary man. You can get away with all of the things men get away with, safe in the knowledge that, when you wake up the next morning, you will not be harbouring an unwanted erection and will still have funbags. Fuck make-up. Fuck Veet. Don’t wash for three days. Get hideously drunk, pick a fight with a bouncer, and get thrown out of the club for vomiting on the pool table. Plaster titty mags all over your room. Adjust yourself in public. Spend an entire weekend playing Pro Evo, in your boxers, using your free hand to alternate between eating cornflakes from the packet and playing with yourself.

Many gay women despise the thought of others attributing their bad behaviour to their sexuality. I say embrace it. You’ve got a reservation on the Vulgar train. You may as well get the fuck on. *

The second, and possibly most important lesson, is this – do NOT put up with bad sex. Straight sex is a bit of a minefield. Neither party has any fundamental idea of how the other person’s anatomy works. Foreplay is a starter to the main course of penetrative sex, which means men often like to skip the prawn cocktail and get straight to meat and two veg (and the winner of the Most Inappropriate Metaphor goes to...).

But if you’re not having sex with a girl for the fun of it, why ARE you doing it? You can’t make no babies. Lady-on-lady sex is sex for sex’s sake. And you’ve got no excuse – you’ve only got to look as far as your crotch to find a working replica of your future partner’s nether regions.

Another lesson which really should be adhered to is this – don’t pigeon-hole yourself. You’ve just come out, the world is your pretty pink pearl. Hold off on the buzz cut and the Tracy Chapman for the minute. I have seen many a woman enter the gay portal in matching underwear and heels, and return looking like the bastard son of Macaulay Culkin and JT Leroy. Don’t let this happen to you.
(This is of course more of a personal preference. I like women that look ultra-femme – high heels, junk in the trunk, long pre-raphelite locks. My ideal women is basically Ariel, minus the fin. Or not. Maybe that would make it more interesting).

What I mean to say is..have fun with it. Being queer gives you the ultimate excuse to experiment with your look. Try varying levels of lumberjack chic. Find the trendiest gay bar in town and turn up looking like one of the 7 Brides. Trust me – confusing people is a lot of fun. I once went to the Ghetto with a banana down my trousers...

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That’s it. No punchline. I just like putting fruit in my pants.

And finally – and this is a big one – fall like you’ve never fallen before. In love obviously, not into a manhole. Or with a manhole.

See, man-on-lady relationships are a bit push and pull. Men are genetically programmed to put their fun bits in as many female reciprocals as possible, while women want someone who will cherish them, make babies with them, and not fuck off to Shirley Winter’s house for a bit of How’s Your Father.

The combination of women’s genetic clingyness, and men’s natural urge to run the hell away from them, somehow creates an equilibrium, so when a straight couple come together, things generally move at a healthy pace.

Lesbian relationships laugh in the face of sensible decision-making. Any relationship that involves two uteruses doesn’t stand a chance when it comes to being rational. There is no straight man to stop the domestic snowball that happens when two women fall in love. This may explain why my dear friend Naiomi recently went to live with her current girlfriend. In Leeds. After 4 weeks.

But wait. I know what you’re thinking. ‘Kat. Are you suggesting this is a good idea? Are you some kind of fucking sadist?’. And to that I say,

Yes

and...

Thanks for noticing,

Because I believe love is a wonderful thing, in all it’s hideous incarnations. Men miss out on a lot of love because they fear its consequences. Women run at love like it’s Platform 9 and 3/4s – risking getting a brick wall to the face for something that might be incredible. And for this I salute them. As that sly old dog Tennyson once said, “It is better to have loved and lost, than to run into a brick wall.” Or something.

The best thing about initiating Jo into the wonderful world of Lesbianism, is it gives me a chance to reflect on how much I adore being a woman who likes women. And despite all the failed dates, the sexless evenings searching Leisha Haley on YouTube, and the fact that my haircut costs me roughly the same amount as my council tax, I really do love this life.

Not This Life though, That was rubbish.


Love Kat xxxxxxx