So now my gaydar is out of radial symmetry. Straight girls are infesting the market with their moonshine induced tongue waggles. If at the end of the night you want some big hard genital organ down your baby hole then please, save your lip smacks for some guy who’d actually buy you a drink and light you a cigarette after you bump ugly with him.
Hey, its not been an easy ride for us to get to where we are now you know? Lesbians and gay man alike struggle their entire life to come out in the open and be honest with their sexuality. Kissing another girl at a nightclub on a podium like a tonsil hockey tournament is a slap to our face. We are not here to entertain man who can’t afford broadband celerity. For girls who actually do prefer the female anatomy and can still keep their hands up in the air at a straight club, good on you for not capitalizing your sexual appetite. God knows we lesbians get enough questions like “So how do two girls do it?” Show me a man who’s never watched lesbian porn and I’ll gladly perform in a live show.
Perhaps the bible’s prediction on the end of the world is true. The inundation of new-age lesbians on the prowl for experimentation and social recreation is multiplying in numbers. A vast of multifarious females are making out at clubs to get attention from hard crotched males. They disgust me. Blame it on the L-Word for popularizing homosexuality like a new handbag off Vogue.
I have met a couple of very feminine girls who has shamelessly confessed their sexual preference to me (knowing that I am openly very gay), although living a double life of pre-determined sexual orientation. At first sight, you would not suspect acrylic nails dressed in hot pants and pointy heels to be that of a walking woman lover. However, throw in a couple of hot tunes, a disco ball and a mass of ogling man, there they go massaging themselves against another chick. Now now, I know what you’re thinking. Cyndi Lauper’s disco track comes to play. Girls just want to have fun. Right? But where does one draw the line? Apparently down that suggestive G-string sticking out of their hipsters.
Everyone is ‘bendable’. So they say. Truth be told, I have met quite a few with their boyfriends possessive arms roped around their waist. Yet there is the curious glance, batting of the lashes and outright blunt questions to satiate their curiosity. Unless you’re going to put it to good use, why bother asking? I’d rather save my breath panting over Angelina Jolie.
Sad to say, many are coffin lesbians. Their sexual preference is buried alive. They will live a life of discontentment only to realise after 2 childbirths and a divorce later, that they are more partial to cats than dogs. All I have to say is chose wisely.
And no, I’m not trying to convert you.