I tease myself around my labia for a bit looking for the rythm I had previously on the couch. The wetness of my pussy almost has me slip right past my destination but I'm successful in my catpture. Say my name," my breath hitches, "say my name like you were on the couch." Has her voice always been this raspy? Probably not. I whine through my throat as I squeeze close my eyes and my body flushes even more (if that's even possible). I took care of boys — like my partner, like the person I’d dated before them, even like my cis college boyfriend — because I loved them, and that’s what you do for the people you love. I think there was also a part of me that liked tempering my fastidious long-term planning, my conventionalism, my seriousness with their wild spirits, their rejection of every social expectation. Queer bois, with their embrace of pleasure above most all else, in their refusal to adhere to the rules of heteropatriarchal capitalism — why grow up if it means becoming a cog in the machine? — seemed to embody a radical queer ethos I admired, and maybe felt the slightest bit jealous of. We both like Justin Bieber, Phoebe Waller-Bridge, babies, spicy foods, and romantic comedies, as well as traveling, swimming, dressing up, having sex, being tall, biking (“cycling,” she’d say), and making detailed plans well ahead of time. We also appear, at this admittedly early stage, to be each other’s scarily perfect sexual complement; lesbian sex can look like a million and one different things, and we like so many of the same ones that it is, honestly, a miracle we ever got out of bed and did anything normal, like eat dinner or generally interact with other people. (Turns out, there was nothing wrong with me during my sad stretch of a dry spell after all — I just hadn’t been having the sex I actually wanted to have.)

However, there’s a big difference when you’re in junior high and you get to request a roommate. As lots of people have said, it’s different at that age. Band camp and all that.For the last stretch of our afternoon, we were dropped on a secluded beach at Nevis, where a few of us ferried beers and our new favorite drink, the very college-esque Panty Ripper (coconut rum and pineapple juice), from shore to the rest of the women waiting in the water. One woman stuffed a bunch of beers into her bathing suit and we cheered whenever anybody pulled one out. A couple women had GoPro cameras, with which we took a lot of increasingly drunken group shots while we swam. One of them was attached to a floating handle that looked very much like a big yellow dildo, which, once somebody pointed it out, kept sending us into hysterics. Now my son’s cats are living with me and they refuse to sleep in my bed, but love the belly rubs. Cats are weird. I had a dog before, and am new to this whole cat situation.

Her thrusting is as frantic as my body is for release and right as I'm about to be pushed over the edge I hear, "You've been such good girl, cum for me." We had pent-up sexual tension anyway. My friend went down on me because we had a vaguely flirty relationship previously anyway. While we weren’t crushing on each other hard enough to want a relationship or anything, we were curious about one another sexually and took whatever opportunity we could get to pursue that. In other words, it didn’t really come out of nowhere.

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When we boarded, Dana introduced me to the adorable boomer-millennial pair in charge of Olivia’s Solos Program, which caters to women (single or partnered) who decide to go on trips alone. I got my own Solos dog tag and a pink Olivia bracelet to signify my newbie status. I would feel horrible, hurting a person I cared for, even though I was certain they wouldn’t be able to care for me in the years ahead in the way I needed them to — someone who I suspected, ultimately, wanted different things. How do you justify leaving a perfectly nice relationship, taking a blind chance that there might be something better for you out there — even if you’re right? Leaning against the front of her stand with my arm rested in front of me I smartly reply, "Aw, come on Gi Gi! You know I would never leave you hanging like that!" She raises an eyebrow in skepticism, "Not for long at least," I finish a little sheepishly.

Later in the week, Tisha Floratos, the vice president of travel for Olivia, told me that she and her staff think about this a lot. “We’ve talked about how we begin to promote inclusivity while also preserving our core: that this is a company for lesbians. We don’t publicly, historically, say that we’re trans inclusive, but we’re always welcoming to our trans guests.” My partner was patient and kind. But as time went on, they got frustrated — understandably — and they suggested, as a reparative measure, that we open up our relationship. Ugh… Your reaction is absolutely spot on – what are they thinking! Don’t let your colleague’s reaction make you second-guess yourself. Alison’s language is perfect – straightforward and to-the-point, no excuses or discussion. But even though I’ve been out for years now, I’ve still never spent much time around older lesbians. The lesbian bars and events I frequent in New York — the gay capital of the world! — are almost overwhelmingly populated by young people. The older women I did meet tended to be coupled up. I knew that hot older butches, even single ones, were out there, in my city and beyond, but I didn’t know where to find them.After everyone went to sleep around 2 in the morning, we stayed up. We both got a blanket over ourselves and my girlfriend made me spoon her, so that we could have sex quietly without letting others know. And we did it! We had to keep our hands wrapped over our mouths so that our moans couldn’t wake anybody up. Otherwise, it would have been an extremely embarrassing situation. But the thrill of having sex secretly, amidst everyone without letting anyone know was too much. It alone turned us on. We both even finished quietly and to be honest, it was one of the best sex sessions we ever had. I love the way my girlfriend and I are spontaneous and rebellious. And this crazy sex encounter made us attracted to each other only more! I would write in my journal, the night before leaving: “There’s something so deliriously pleasurable in the idea of trusting myself enough to know exactly what I want.”