This February, Time Out magazine’s cover story posed the question “What Is Gay?” They interviewed numerous former lesbians now fucking men. Two of them were my exes. It was such a controversial article that these ladies needed to disguise their identities with fake occupations and drag-queen-like pseudonyms such as Titania and Bathsheba or risk never getting another free drink from a butch.
As a progressive lesbo I understand that sexuality is fluid. But sometimes fluids need containment. I can totally support a lesbian hooking up with a guy—unless she’s hot. Then no cock for her and she stays on our team. We can’t afford to lose any more of our hot members because it would throw off our ratio of hot to plain dykes. I’m not saying hot is better, but we need balance.
Take The L Word; the entire cast is hotties, which throws off their dyke feng shui. You only see plain lesbians in the background when the hotties go to a dance. The plain ones never go to Shane’s house and they are never pictured naked in those L Word bus shelter ads all over New York. Who are those giant ads intended for, anyway? People who take the bus can’t afford premium cable. Not that I’m complaining. When I’m waiting a half-hour for the B61 to Red Hook, licking the glass over Jennifer Beals’s face helps pass the time.
It pisses me off when I hear the religious right accuse The L Word of turning innocent straight women gay. There are no innocent straight women. They’ve all gone wild! Furthermore, a mere TV show cannot turn a straight woman gay. It can only turn her bisexual. The rest is up to me. I can turn them straight, gay, and questioning. I’m the revolving door of sexuality, and it’s not easy.
I fell in love with a bi-curious Gemini once. Medusa (not her real name) wasn’t sure that she wasn’t sure about our relationship and then she changed her mind. She said, “I think I want to go back to men.” Yes, it’s important to have something to fall back on. But my mother told me to learn typing, not blowjobs. Medusa actually left me for a folksinger, perhaps the only heterosexual male in this predominantly lesbian field.
Why do lesbians repeatedly leave the vaginal fold only to move in with a vegetarian dude who looks like a lady? How straight is that? I have this friend, let’s call her Absinthe; she’s hot and tests my empathy daily with her man-love talk. We’re at a Johnny Depp movie and she whispers, “His hands are exquisite.” Not the first time I’ve heard this from a woman who left women for men. Apparently it’s hands they’re after. Hey, ladies—I got hands. They are exquisite and highly trained from years of fingering and fisting. My hands can kick your new boyfriend’s hands’ ass. All I’m saying is go for something a lesbian can’t give you, like testicles or musk or unwanted pregnancy. Don’t be bragging about how your man cries or listens to you. You can get that with us. If I wanted to cause unease and self-examination in our clique, I’d take it to the next level with an old-school man, uncut, rough with coarse hands, who can move my furniture and shut the fuck up. That’s my fantasy.
Marga Gomez is a comedian and playwright looking for a few good women. She is currently on tour with her new show Los Big Names. Visit margagomez.com.