Out of Hand

I am the only lesbian in my inner-circle of friends. This, alone, keeps me out of all sorts of lez trouble that I would most likely be tempted to participate in if I hung out with other lesbians. (IE. fucking/dating ex-girlfriend's ex-girlfriends. I don't get myself into that kind of lesbian trouble, because I don't know who any of my ex-girlfriend's ex-girlfriends are.) On the surface this seems productive and healthy; however, it does prove more difficult than one would think. While the straights in my life try to be supportive of my romantic woes, they simply don't understand the behavior of sappho-ic relationships. My friends and I spend most nights with me either explaining something, or justifying something, or hiding something; all while I look into the eyes of some confused, and often a little frightened, heterosexual.
**This might be why I started blogging**

Perhaps I should preface my story by telling you about my theory on lesbian bed death. Lesbians experience bed death because lesbian sex is hard work. There are lots of hands, lots of tongues, lots of toys, and lots of positions. On top of that (uh-hum), we are a resourceful lot; so, we never run out of ideas, props, or scenes. Once you meet a girl that you click with in the bedroom, it is glorious for weeks on end...until you wake up one morning and can't move your jaw. (If you understand what I'm talking about fantastic for you. If you don't, go out and bang a girl for ten days straight and call me in the morning.)

Here is my story.
I meet a girl that is bananas in bed. Seriously! Bananas! Jackpot, Right?! Well, the other day I woke up and I could not move my hand without some serious pain attached. I spilled coffee in the kitchen, burnt eggs because I couldn't flip them with my left hand, and I think that it is fair to say that my make-up didn't go so well that morning. I am a student, which means that I use my hands all...day...long. By the end of the day I had vowed to never fist a girl again. (I don't drink, so maybe this was my opportunity to experience hangover regret....maybe...and we all know how effective hangover regret is...) Anyways, at an end the day study session, a classmate asked, indiscreetly, how I hurt myself. I am not a good liar and I know this about myself and everyone knows I am gay, so I confessed...

"I meet this girl that is a real beast in bed. Apparently, my metacarpals are a little green when it comes to lesbian finger-banging."

"Did you know that the muscles and the nerves that control your hand actually start in the shoulder?" said the boyfriend of a not-so-close study partner of mine. "Everything in our body is connected. If you sat up straight, it would strengthen all the other muscles in your body, including those in your hand."

OK, the douche-bag comment aside, research showed that he had a point. What's my point? Don't ever stop fisting!!! and when you're finished on your back, turn your vibrator onto it. It might just stop all that post-war pain and forever cease what was once known as LESBIAN BED DEATH.

P.S. Did you know that the blogspot.com spell check doesn't recognize fisting as a legal word?