My Lesbian Girlfriend

The Girl of My Dreams

Her name was Angela Striker. And she was the prettiest girl in school. We were both freshmen at the Tropical Gardens Community College. Our school wasn’t that big. Only a few hundred students per grade level. Most people, after high school, went to a university in Tampa, Orlando, or even Miami. Some moved hundreds of miles away to someplace even nicer, getting away from the heat and humidity Florida was so famous for.

But not me. I loved this little town and everybody in it. It was perfect.

All the neighborhoods had cute little houses with green grassy yards and more trees than fences. Plenty of parks, lakes, and streams nearby too. Tropical Gardens was big enough to have a major mall and all the conveniences of a bigger city, but was still small enough to where traffic was never an issue, most people were friendly, and you could still afford rent.

I didn’t want to leave.

My dream was to buy a house here someday. Maybe next to a river, where I could take a small boat out on weekends. I wanted a yard, a family, maybe a two car garage and a pool out back. A place to grow a garden, including a few veggies and herbs for when I wanted to cook something special.

I wanted to get married, have kids, live a normal life… But I also knew, that would never happen for me.

I would never get married. Never have kids. Never follow the traditional path or ever experience a “normal” life.

Because I was a lesbian.

I knew when I was only fourteen years old. I had my suspicions earlier. But while my female friends would talk about “how cute” a certain boy was, and how they dreamed of being kissed by him… I never felt that way. Not about boys, anyway.

I actually had a little crush on one of my friends. I didn’t tell her. I wasn’t sure if it was just a one-time thing, a fluke, something special about her… or if I actually felt that way about all girls.

But then when I was fourteen, I had my first boyfriend. He was sweet and nice. I tried to like him. I wanted to like him. He was so nervous. He really, really wanted to kiss me. And when he finally did, awkward and shy as it was… he couldn’t stop smiling. And me? I felt nothing.

Almost like I was kissing my brother. It was just dead, meaningless, not exciting or appealing to me at all. But then there was this other girl in my class. I thought she was pretty. And one night at a party, she wanted to tease some of the boys. It was all a joke, just in fun. She wanted to mess with them. Get a reaction out of them. “We should totally kiss in front of them,” she said. Now I was the nervous and shy one. I knew she didn’t mean anything by it. But when we kissed… I felt something. I felt sparks. I felt excitement. An electricity between us. I didn’t want her kiss to end.

That’s when I knew. I was a lesbian.

But growing up in the southeast, still very much in the Bible Belt, you couldn’t really tell people that sort of thing. Most people, ignorantly, thought it was a choice. Like I “chose” to feel nothing around boys. Like I “wanted” to only feel attraction toward girls. I didn’t. That wasn’t my choice. It just sorta happened. It was just how I honestly felt.

Other people, even more ignorantly, didn’t think it was a choice – they believed instead that evil spirits were trying to possess me or something, and if they just said the right prayers and made me read enough of the right Bible verses, then I would be “cured” of my “affliction.”

Being attracted to someone isn’t an affliction. I mean, I knew it was a lot less common than how most people felt. I knew I was in the minority. But I also knew I wasn’t alone, it was just who I was, and it wasn’t my fault. I was lesbian and that was just the long and short of it.

I kept that part of myself fairly well hidden though. I knew most people wouldn’t understand. When I was seventeen, I actually came out to my best friend. I made her promise not to tell anyone, before I told her. I knew I could trust her. She was my best friend all through high school.

“I’m gay,” I told her.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I like girls. The same way you like guys.”

She didn’t believe me at first. “Are you sure?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Pretty damn sure.”

“But how do you know? Like, I can see another girl and think she’s beautiful…”

“I know,” I said, “but then is your next thought that you wonder what she looks like naked? Do you wonder what it’d be like to sleep with her? Do you wish she’d touch you in certain pl—?”

“No,” she interrupted me. “Why are you telling me all this?”

Honestly, I wasn’t sure. I think I just wanted to be seen. I didn’t want to keep hiding this side of myself, especially from my best friend. I guess I was looking for acceptance. To admit that I was a lesbian and still be okay. But at the time I didn’t know how to put any of that into words. I opened my mouth, searching for what I wanted to say, but nothing came out.

Then she said, “You’re not… I mean, are you telling me this because you’re into me?”

“What?! God, no. I know you’re straight. It’s not that.”

“But if I wasn’t, you’d want me to kiss you?”

“No, no, no, I didn’t say any of that!”

“But you were thinking it?” she said.

“Kara, please! I’m not into you.”

“You’re sure? I’m just wondering why you’re telling me all this now. How long have you known?”

“Just forget it,” I said.

The rest of that afternoon was awkward.

And she never seemed fully herself around me again. We were still friendly. We still hung out. But usually only in groups after that. Or only briefly. She was still nice to me. But I could sense she never felt like she could fully let her guard down around me again after that.

I regretted telling her.

I lost my best friend that day.

It made me afraid to come out to anyone ever again.

Anyone from my real life, anyway. Anyone I knew in person.

But as soon as I turned eighteen and was able to get my own credit card, I signed up for one of those online lesbian dating sites. At least there I could meet others like me – and I didn’t have to worry about losing any more friends.

I was so excited to find others like me. Even if we didn’t date. Just to have a like-minded friend I could talk to about all this stuff. But yeah, especially, hopefully to date too.

I scrolled through all the search results.

Some were obviously lesbians. The stereotypical cliché dykes. Butch girls that, honestly, just weren’t my type. And then there were the sweet and innocent looking ones, very feminine, you’d never guess they were gay. Just cute little feminine beauties. I liked them most. They were definitely my type.

I guessed that meant I was the more “masculine” one in the relationship, but I didn’t see or feel it that way. I was just me. And yeah, maybe sometimes I liked to take the initiative a little. I liked picking the restaurant we’d meet at. I liked showering her with compliments and seeing her blush. I seemed to always be the one to go in for the first kiss.

I just knew what I wanted. And love is worth taking some risks. But I did like the quiet, shy, introverted, sweet, innocent girly types. The dainty, feminine, slightly submissive ones. I just found them irresistible.

Over the summer break between high school and college, one of my online matches and I went on a lot of dates. Her name was Lisa. Everyone thought we were just “really good friends,” but in secret – when no one was around, when no one was watching, we made out… a lot.

She was into me. I was into her. We fit. She was so pretty. We got along great. Had the same sense of humor and always laughed at each other’s jokes. And her hands? Her fingertips? Her touch? They felt like magic on my skin.

I lost my virginity to her.

It was so romantic. We went camping, shared a tent. Talked and cuddled for hours as the sun set and the stars slowly came out. We kissed each other all over. We expressed our mutual love for one another.

I knew she’d be leaving at the end of the summer. She got accepted to a great school in another state. We promised to keep in touch. But we also knew we probably wouldn’t see each other for at least four years. Even during the holiday breaks, she’d be too preoccupied spending time with family. I understood. So we knew we just had the summer.

And that night, under the stars, laying out on a blanket in an open grassy field surrounded by the forest in every direction, we took our relationship to the next level.

We were both scared. Both nervous. Both constantly checking in to make sure the other was comfortable and enjoying this each and every step of the way. Eventually, we both found ourselves completely naked, secure in each other’s loving embrace, our legs gliding down the other’s as our lips passionately communicated such love and affection.

My fingers reached down to her clit. Her dainty little hand reached for mine. We pleasured each other. Stroked each other. For the first time, I placed my fingers inside another woman – and felt sheer joy as her little fingers circled around inside of me.

I made her orgasm, twice. She was in heaven. Lying next to me in all her beautiful naked glory. And then she went down on me, with her gifted tongue, and brought me to an elated climax as well.

We kissed. We cuddled. We laughed. We talked. We talked about nothing and everything. Fears about moving away, going to college, the pressures of adult life. We talked about a new outfit she recently bought and couldn’t wait to try on, the next movie we wanted to see together, and where we’d be going for breakfast in the morning.

I loved her. I’d never forget her. I was forever grateful for her.

But eventually the summer did end. We hugged and held back tears as she got in her car and headed off to start her new life in distant corner of the country. I felt so empty inside, so alone, as I watched her car drive away and bend around the corner out of sight.

I was going to miss her.

I would always treasure the time we had together. The dreams we shared. The stolen kisses. The inside jokes. That night I lost my virginity to her.

I tried to be strong and not let it bother me. Lisa and I both knew this day was coming. It made it a little easier. But it still hurt. I was still sad.

My mother could I really missed her. “Don’t worry,” she said, “you’ll make new friends in college.”

I really thought my mom knew what Lisa actually was to me. Far more than just a friend. Maybe my mom knew. Maybe she didn’t. Or maybe she just pretended not to know. I wanted to tell her I was gay. I just never found the right time or way to say it.

So I just shifted my focus to the future ahead. Starting college. Earning a degree. Beginning a career. A lot to look forward to.

Maybe, hopefully, if I were lucky enough for lightning to hit me twice, I might even find love again.

First day of school. Community college. Lots of new people. A fresh start.

And my mom was right. I did meet someone new.

Her name was Angela Striker. And she was girl of my dreams.

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