I come from a queer universe where traditional butch/femme identities seem old-school and retrograde, second-wavey, practically heteropatriarchal. There’s a lot wrong with that perspective — for one thing, a lot of the modern queers who shit on butch/femme dynamics aren’t from the working class, where those identities were born — but it’s one I still sympathize with, especially as someone who’d previously been hesitant to claim femme identity as my own.

After our talk, one thing we did decide would be a good step in that direction that we could do now was try sex for the first time. It says in the sidebar that excessive sexual content is not permitted, and I personally would like to keep this thread non- wanky. (I mentioned that in the comments too, I don't want this discussion to be "wank fodder".) do all you need to know is that it was most likely the best sex I've had. We were really surprised- we even had to stop like 15 minutes in to just be like "woah". My shorts are tight around my waist because of my ass so slipping my hand through them would be difficult. At dinner, we wondered why we couldn’t have both: explicitly lesbian spaces that also explicitly love, and welcome, trans and gender-nonconforming people. Our identities shouldn’t be opposed, but in communion with each other: butch and femme, trans and cis, lesbian and queer. I decided that the best way to test my theory, was by whispering one word over and over again in my sister’s ear. The next day, I would ask her what she had dreamt about. It was a fail-safe plan.

The colours, the dancing, the MILK, the lesbian realness I am going into cardiac arrest @britneyspears #SlumberParty— Matt (@thepapsmear) November 18, 2016 For what seems like the billionth time today she rolls her eyes again, "Oh my dear savior! How ever could I repay you?" Her hand comes up to grip at her chest as her brows furrow, "Oh! I know; bend over in front of me so that I may kiss your bone-y little ass!" I’m loose and light and a little sleepy from my second Corona and a blossoming sunburn. Sure, I say, why not, thinking all the while: If any other 27-year-old lesbians could use a self-esteem boost, all they need to do, clearly, is get themselves on an Olivia cruise. In the past few years, I've become much more political in the content I create. I feel like, what’s the point in making something if it’s not saying something meaningful, or has the potential to improve people’s lives? As filmmakers, we can tell any story we could possibly want. So why not use that opportunity to change the world for the better?

The wet sounds I'm producing makes a bit of shame fill my body as I realize that it hasn't been more than four minutes and I'm acting like a bitch in heat.And here I am touching myself thinking about her like a freak. Still, my right hand snakes itself under my shirt, where I have forgone my bra, to rub against my hardened buds. Disappointed with this new piece of information, I decided to confide in her. I told her of my fantastic experiment. She didn’t seem quite as enthusiastic. Clearly, she just wasn’t the kind of person who would recognise the value and beauty of a good science experiment when it is right in front of her. It wasn’t until the day afterward that we’d realize exactly how much of a spectacle we’d made. Lynette had been chatting with a few women the day before, more than one of whom confronted her in the cafeteria the next morning. “Everyone saw that young blonde hanging all over you last night,” she told her scornfully. “You better be careful.” Another woman caught us goofing around in the pool and reported to Lynette that we were causing a bit of a scene. The roaring of muffled conversations breech my ears as I make my way through one of the largest shopping districts in my country.