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Title: Late Bloomer

Genra: Coming Out

When it comes to kissing, I’m like a crack whore. I can’t get enough, and I’m forever chasing that feeling – you know the one I’m talking about; the one that makes you feel like you’re on the free fall; the one that feels like the top of the swing as you pump your feet out and almost go over the bar of the entire jungle gym; the one that feels like you’ve left your body – from the waist down – at the top of the roller coaster. To me, it’s better than coming; to me, it is the most awesome feeling in the world. Unless you couple it with coffee ice cream; THEN, I know I’ve died and gone to heaven. So let me tell you how it happened then, that this person – me, the tomboy, the one who was decidedly straight and wanted to have kids and live in the suburbs with some smart and funny man -was confronting – head-on – feelings I was unable to identify. I only knew that I wanted to keep having them.

Round I

York, PA.  Heart of bumfuck.  September of 1980.  I was 22 years old, doing my student teaching.  Living with a family who took me in while their kids were away at college.  I went to class every day, came home every afternoon, did my lesson plans, ate my dinner, went to sleep, and started all over again.  Until that December.  The month of my undoing.  From the second I saw her – in all of her flannelled-work-boot glory – I knew my life was changed forever.  She came home to be with her parents on a break from grad school.  She lived in San Francisco.  She lived with a woman.  She had confidence and poise and hands I couldn’t stop staring at, and she and I would watch HBO and talk about the people we found attractive.  But I didn’t know she was gay.  Nor did I know I was.  I just started to feel “funny” when I was around her.  And act like a puppy dog.  So, one night, she and I went to grab a bite to eat.  And drink.  And talk.  And I talked about things that I don’t even think I allowed myself to think about.  We kept drinking.  We were in a very crowded restaurant, with very straight clientele.  And we kept getting closer.  Our hands touched.  My head buzzed.  I am not, nor have I ever been, much of a drinker.  I had beer, and she had Scotch.  Of course she had Scotch.  She was so much more mature than I was; so much more worldly….and I couldn’t get enough of her.  So we’re talking, and I’m starting to feel like I’m inside out – that all of the emotions I’d never expressed were actually sitting on the table between us.  And I started to shake.  The kind of shaking that you do when you realize that your life is inexorably different, and it’s all out there and you can’t take it back.  I started to drink her Scotch.  And then I remember us being outside.  In the parking lot.  And it’s fucking freezing.  And I wanted to climb inside of her, though I had no idea what that meant.  I was determined to be a virgin when I got married.  I was determined, too, to marry a virgin.  I had never seen a porn movie; or a penis; never masturbated (you’re allowed to pause here to say, aloud, “yeah, right…everyone knows how to get himself or herself off,” but I didn’t, I swear!  I tried once in college with my roommate less than 6 feet away, and got completely bored with the idea so I stopped)…didn’t even venture past first base with anyone.  I tried once, in 9^th grade, with a boy I was dating, but it felt icky.  Even my mom told me it was natural to have a boy touch me – ewww – but it just didn’t feel right.  I wanted nothing to do with boys.  Kissing was all I ever did, and I did it well.  I had a crush on my friend Sharon in 10^th grade.  She was smart and funny and touched me a lot, and laughed at my jokes and showed me how to dance the jitterbug to “Crocodile Rock”…and I just thought my underwear was wet ‘cause she made me sweaty.  God, I lived in a fucking bubble.  My mom had convinced me – at 17 - that I couldn’t be gay because, and I quote, “your tits are too big.”  She asked me if I thought I was gay because I questioned whether I was feminine.  “Just ‘cause you play ball doesn’t mean you’re gay.  Go ask daddy.”  So I wasn’t gay.  Cool.  What a relief.  But here I am in this parking lot, looking at Caren from York, wondering why I was feeling “funny,” but I chalked it up to the alcohol.  And I guess I was sweating, because I had that wet feeling again, but damn, it was too cold to break a sweat, so what the fuck was happening to me, and oh, shit, she’s in my space and I’m not backing away, and she gets closer and her mouth is on mine and I swear to God, in that instant – in that kiss, the one I lived over and over in my head for 6 months until I started reading everything I could get my hands on to find out if I was gay – a switch got flipped and I wanted more.  I don’t have any idea what the “more” was.  None.  But our mouths melted into each other.  When I drew breath, it was hers.  It was the longest shortest physical connection I’d ever made.  And we didn’t talk about it again.  Not the next day, not for years.  But in her way, with that one kiss – the one that made my stomach feel like it was trying to escape through my crotch – she gently took my hand and let me know that it was all OK; that I could never look back; that, like the surfer, I would always seek that perfect wave.  Only it would be the perfect kiss.

Round 2

So, my sister tells me, 8 months later, that she has a friend who’s going through what I’m going through. Whatever that meant. I didn’t even have to come out to Lauren; she just knew. I think that if it weren’t for Lauren, I’d have come out sooner, because Lauren and I were always attracted to the same women. Only we didn’t call it that. We used to say, “Does she make you feel weird?” How odd. Two sisters, almost 3 years apart, both having feelings we didn’t quite understand, but I’m the one who struggled with them, and she went on to get married and have kids. I, at 23, was still a virgin. I felt lost. I was so desperate to figure out what was happening to me that I dusted off my copy of the book Our Bodies Ourselves, and read the chapter called “In Amerika, They Call Us Dykes.” It was published in the early 70’s, and covered every topic you could imagine that dealt with women’s health – emotional and physical. It was groundbreaking for its time. But, though I had read it from cover to cover, I omitted that chapter when I purchased it in 1973 because I was terrified that I’d find myself in there. And sure enough, when I finally got the guts to read it, I freaked. My first meltdown, and it was comforting and terrifying at the same time. There I was – the tomboy, the crushes on friends, the wet underwear…I wasn’t alone. How cool, and how scary. And then Lauren introduced me to Stephanie. She was funny and nice and really cute and I was on fire. We got high in my car, and she put my hand on the seam of her jeans, and she started to move it back and forth, and I had no fucking idea what was going on. I thought, once again, that kissing was the be-all and end-all…it made parts of my body pound – my heart, my crotch – and she was lost….lost in the feeling of all of it. I was breathless and stoned and she was riding my hand like she’d done this before. And, remember – I HAD NOT….so when she came, I thought she was convulsing and it scared the shit out of me, but I didn’t run….

Round 3 It’s almost over.

Remember…the switch flipped, and now I’ve gone out and seen “Personal Best,” and borrowed books from the library to see if I could keep finding myself among all of the coming-out stories. Sure enough, there I was. But I clung to the idea that, if I found the right man, I’d throw this all away and never look back. I didn’t know who I was kidding, but I think it was me. Flash ahead to the summer of 1981. The thing with Stephanie lasted all of 3 weeks, and it was all about her getting off. Still, I had not experienced an orgasm. At that point in my life, I thought my head would explode, but I didn’t know it. Sometimes, ignorance really is bliss. I used to hang around with Beth and Greg. He was my softball coach; Beth was his wife, the star shortstop and reason that I took up pitching. After all, although I played shortstop in high school, I realized early on in joining the recreation-league team that if you sleep with the coach, you play whatever position you want. Little did I know that that was about to change. I used to go over to their house –all the time. We’d hang out, talk, drink, smoke pot. I was there EVERY night. My mom used to ask, “What’s the attraction?” How could I tell her I had this thing for Beth that I couldn’t explain, and something was going to happen, but I didn’t know what. Think about this combination for a minute – I’d had 8 months of foreplay. I was hanging out with my married friends, with whom I’d grown very close. I was staying over every night of the week. It was summer. We would sit on the living room floor, smoke pot, and watch porn. Did I mention that we’d give each other backrubs? Some nights I’d leave there, really late at night after the weed wore off, and sit on my hairbrush on my 15 minute ride home. It was that summer that I finally figured out – with success – how to make myself come. In fact, the afternoon that I tried it and finally got off, I thought there had been some mistake. I mean, how could I NOT have known what that felt like before then? I was 24 years old, and I was so worked up. I kept doing it to make sure I didn’t forget what it felt like. Four times a day, multiple times in one “session.” Beth used to tell me that I’d use them up. But I tended to disagree. I told her that when I finally did have sex, she would hear me at her house, 7 miles away. What I didn’t know was that she’d hear me all right. She’d be right next to me.

One afternoon that August, after weeks of hugs with Beth that lasted too long; the stomach flips that would take my breath away if she barely touched me…the nights of staying in their back bedroom, hearing them making love while I held my breath, hoping they’d invite me in…we were watching porn (I swear that I felt like I actually knew the actors)….we were high (for a change)…and I don’t remember how it happened that we were all in their bedroom. I was almost 25 years old. I was a virgin. I was so fucking turned on - and so absolutely terrified - that I didn’t know if I wanted to run away as fast as I could or crawl right next to them when they began to undress each other. I remember just standing there, watching them kiss, and I turned to leave. Beth said, “No! Don’t go. Just stay here. Don’t worry.” My heart was pretty much inside of my throat. All I wanted to do was kiss her. To re-create the “first kiss” feeling. Somewhere in my haze, I heard Greg say, “I want to kiss you everywhere.” Beth gave a nod, and I felt like a squirrel between two parked cars. What came out of my mouth was, “OK, but I want to kiss Beth first.” I’m not sure which of the three of us was most surprised by my bravado, but it didn’t matter. I kissed Beth. She was on her back, naked except for a sheet; her husband there, patiently waiting to claim my virginity. It was the best of both worlds. She held my hand while he went down on me; she and I kissed the entire time. With each kiss came a feeling so intense, I still don’t have the words. Greg could barely keep his mouth on me; I was so wet, I thought he would drown. But I didn’t care. As he buried his face deep inside of me, I came with an urgency unrivaled by any experience since. And when he put on a condom, it seemed like the most natural event in the world. She held my hand as he entered me. It was gentle and soft and hard and intense and I was lost. When he had come and pulled out, Beth and I began to kiss. He rested for a few minutes, and then he lay down. Beth straddled him. I sat next to them on the bed. She started the motion that makes me crazy….grinding into him as I held her face and kissed her hard. There was a wave of stomach flips that transcended our lips and went through our bodies like lighting. I could tell that he felt it, because each kiss between us caused a contraction inside of her, which, in turn, made him moan and drive into her. It was like that 60’s game – Mousetrap – where each event was precipitated by another. It was crazy and sweaty and he came too soon, but we weren’t done. I had no idea what I was doing, but I was about to find out. I was between her legs, and she smelled of musk and sweat and cum and me, and I tasted her and it was incredible. Her reaction to my mouth on her soaking wet body was a surprise to all of us. She came fast and hard and I don’t remember much else, except waking up at some point a few hours later in their big bed, finally free of my last vestige of virginity…and my innocence.