Lesbian Female / 32
Chasing A Story,
I am 32 with a journalism degree in a dead end world. When I graduated I was sure that I was different, I was going to be the one with the breakout story of corruption, or I was going to get that interview with the impossible political person. I had dreams. As I got out there, as a reporter assigned to traffic, the editor told me I didn't have it. You just don't have that instinct. Sorry, you're fired.
Landing a second job as a journalist for a paper, without the help of my school mentor was impossible. No one answered. Not one paper returned my call, or even acknowledged my application. Forget about being at the desk in New York or LA, even the paper in Beaumont didn't have a job for me. P.S, I'm from Lake Charles. I got a job working as the receptionist for a Lady's Spa In Katy, because a friend's mom is the manager.
At the Spa I started to get feelings. You know, feelings I had never had before, for one of the girls who did facials. Here name doesn't matter, well it matters to me, but I could not go to sleep without thinking about her, or even sit and have breakfast without thinking of her. I left my place at the front desk to go to the bathroom, just to walk by and see her. I sat at my desk, and rubbed myself silly. I began to think that maybe I had been looking for love in all the wrong places. I literally found myself face down, with my hand rubbing 'one' out, my face in a pillow, dreaming that I had my face between her legs and I was 'savoring the sweet nectar of her being'. Never once had I even gotten that close to kissing a girl, or anyone else for that matter. Now I was obsessed and masturbated regularly, and always to the same girl.
I asked her 'out'. If she knew of any nice places. She looked at me strange, like 'excuse me', I don't date bitches. Don't think I haven't noticed you, always scoping me out, it's creepy. And the other girls at the Spa have also noticed you staring at me, if Mrs. X (the owner) wasn't your friend you would be fired.
I can't tell you just how bad that made me feel. How small I felt. I went home and cried. I looked at myself, am I that ugly that even a chick rejects me. I didn't have anyone to talk to, I mean who was I going to talk to about my 'girl' crush rejecting me? I needed the job, any job with benefits. I went to work the next day and I didn't put on make up.
Two years later I was at a dance club, one of the women there was chasing me. I could feel it. And I couldn't shake it. It was Friday night after work. OK bitch, get in the car, and we drove to this club I had never heard of. Be a good bitch honey, so behave yourself and don't embarrass me. Her friends were spooky. Big women, I mean they were heavy set and tall and big. They danced like cardboard cutouts, and kept their 'dolls' close to them. Pretty young girls in the dark lights. The talk between these women was all 'male'. The way they talked about us 'bitches'.
I followed her around the room with my eyes, how in the name of God could this be a woman. But she was, and so were her friends, and so were those 'dolls' and so were those 'bitches' . I excused myself and went to the 'ladies' room, there was no 'men's room. I nursed my ego, I thought about my dreams of journalism. But who cares about the lesbian underworld, where one day you might find yourself. I got out of there and walked to a gas station and called 'her' and asked her to come get me.
No, all I want is a nice girl, I swear a nice girl to kiss and hold hands with. That's all I want, nothing special. Like the girl at the Spa who I never stopped crushing on. She wasn't pleased I had gone there and told me to stop being a reporter. It's just that I can't stay home, I need a 'story'. Or stay home with her and be a nice girl.
Landing a second job as a journalist for a paper, without the help of my school mentor was impossible. No one answered. Not one paper returned my call, or even acknowledged my application. Forget about being at the desk in New York or LA, even the paper in Beaumont didn't have a job for me. P.S, I'm from Lake Charles. I got a job working as the receptionist for a Lady's Spa In Katy, because a friend's mom is the manager.
At the Spa I started to get feelings. You know, feelings I had never had before, for one of the girls who did facials. Here name doesn't matter, well it matters to me, but I could not go to sleep without thinking about her, or even sit and have breakfast without thinking of her. I left my place at the front desk to go to the bathroom, just to walk by and see her. I sat at my desk, and rubbed myself silly. I began to think that maybe I had been looking for love in all the wrong places. I literally found myself face down, with my hand rubbing 'one' out, my face in a pillow, dreaming that I had my face between her legs and I was 'savoring the sweet nectar of her being'. Never once had I even gotten that close to kissing a girl, or anyone else for that matter. Now I was obsessed and masturbated regularly, and always to the same girl.
I asked her 'out'. If she knew of any nice places. She looked at me strange, like 'excuse me', I don't date bitches. Don't think I haven't noticed you, always scoping me out, it's creepy. And the other girls at the Spa have also noticed you staring at me, if Mrs. X (the owner) wasn't your friend you would be fired.
I can't tell you just how bad that made me feel. How small I felt. I went home and cried. I looked at myself, am I that ugly that even a chick rejects me. I didn't have anyone to talk to, I mean who was I going to talk to about my 'girl' crush rejecting me? I needed the job, any job with benefits. I went to work the next day and I didn't put on make up.
Two years later I was at a dance club, one of the women there was chasing me. I could feel it. And I couldn't shake it. It was Friday night after work. OK bitch, get in the car, and we drove to this club I had never heard of. Be a good bitch honey, so behave yourself and don't embarrass me. Her friends were spooky. Big women, I mean they were heavy set and tall and big. They danced like cardboard cutouts, and kept their 'dolls' close to them. Pretty young girls in the dark lights. The talk between these women was all 'male'. The way they talked about us 'bitches'.
I followed her around the room with my eyes, how in the name of God could this be a woman. But she was, and so were her friends, and so were those 'dolls' and so were those 'bitches' . I excused myself and went to the 'ladies' room, there was no 'men's room. I nursed my ego, I thought about my dreams of journalism. But who cares about the lesbian underworld, where one day you might find yourself. I got out of there and walked to a gas station and called 'her' and asked her to come get me.
No, all I want is a nice girl, I swear a nice girl to kiss and hold hands with. That's all I want, nothing special. Like the girl at the Spa who I never stopped crushing on. She wasn't pleased I had gone there and told me to stop being a reporter. It's just that I can't stay home, I need a 'story'. Or stay home with her and be a nice girl.
