The gravity of my emotions was absolutely insufferable, so I decided to duck and hide somewhere safe. I decided to become a lesbian. I know, could I have been any more cliche? Jilted wife seeks love, support, affection and friendship from the “safer” sex. But, for me, the male species and his anatomy had become metaphors for all things emotionally dangerous, loathsome and untrustworthy. Who needed a big strong shoulder to cry on? I craved pure estrogen!
So, like a dutiful neophyte lesbian, I watched L Word on Netflix and subscribed to Time Out New York; circling all the cool stuff with the little pink triangle next to it. I knew my alternative lifestyle would have to be my own little surreptitious affair. My BFF and sister-friends would’ve been shocked at my newfound sexuality. Besides, I wasn’t ready to come out to them yet. But how cool was this? I had the power and opportunity to adopt a whole new persona, experience life as my alter-ego and no-one would ever have to know! I could wipe out my entire past like any good socio-path and start life from scratch with a new set of friends and a sexually adventurous social life!
But here’s the thing. I’ve been to plenty of restaurants by myself and I’ve never had a problem going to movies alone. But, I was admittedly nervous for my first Indie Date/social experiment as a brand spankin’ new lesbian. As recommended by Time Out Magazine, I decided to go see a play written and performed by lesbians in a hip little theater downtown. Perfect! What better place to meet other artsy women that preferred their own kind over neanderthal men? My Gemini imagination instantly ran wild with fantasies extrapolated directly from scenes from the L Word. Lesbianism would be my emotional and sexual refuge. I was hoping to be lucky enough to discover that I was seated next to a Latina hottie like Carmen, who unabashedly rests her hand on my knee and slides it up my thigh for all of Act 1, making me quiver in a way that makes me forget I had ever been touched by a man. Then, during intermission, I get ravaged in the ladies room by a totally androgynous sexpot like Shane with whom I kept catching flirtatious glances with in the mirror as I washed my hands . In my imagination, I was a total chick magnet! I should’ve done this years ago! But, no such luck. Pre-show, I stood in line for tickets and scoped my prospects. And there I was amongst a sea of earthy-crunchy butch-types. What happened to the other lipstick lesbians like myself? No doubt, I stood out as an imposter. No-one even pretended to check me out; not even a pathetic pity check-out. My presence was probably so much of an insult to their authenticity that their collective unconscious simply deemed me invisible. I guess it was best that way. If no-one even noticed me, I could pretend it never happened and erase it from my list of most embarrassing moments.
Who the fuck was I and what was I doing? It was obvious that I needed something more than the tender lovin’ of another woman. I needed THERAPY!
