History Is Repeating Itself And Not For The Better

I am a seventy year old woman lesbian living in Dallas with my partner. I have one child, a girl, who is a doctor and has her family. We are not close, she prefers her lifestyle and is embarrassed at mine. But once upon a time I was a young girl in junior high with ambitions to be a music teacher. My mother taught piano and my father was a professor. I had a brother who was killed in Viet Nam and younger sister. My family was in mourning. It was 1969.

I studied nursing and it was at nursing school that I discovered my affections and attractions to another nursing student and we touched and groped and kissed and, yes, we kissed pussy. In fact I liked kissing her pussy and licking her and all that and I felt good when I triggered an orgasm. I worked my orgasm by getting on her and kissing her tits and rubbing my clit against her hip bone. We were active, inventive, read everything we could put our hands on, bought midnight lesbian novels, and had a perpetual look out for other lesbians. In a nursing school, all women, at Texas Women's University there were lots of lesbians, but everyone was in the closet. We only knew because we had parties.

Parties where lesbians got together and danced and kissed and got down and kissed their girl right between the legs and the other girls cheered. We had dual couple sex on a bed together. Those of us who were well along with sex, taught the younger girls how to finger and eat pussy. Breasts were everywhere, topless parties. For us lesbians breasts were everything, guys focused on getting between your legs, lesbians looked at breasts first and then the rest. Or maybe it was that I was a breast girl from the beginning.

The world was alive with the killing and the war in Viet Nam, and I was up front with that. They had killed my brother. I was out there, activist, screaming my head off for women's rights. I marched. I met a woman who was much older who dragged me around and took me into a real dark place with illegal substances and behavior. I escaped but just barely. The world was alive but at the same time it was crazy. I had ruined my relationship with my parents, I had kissed a girl in front of them and told them I was a lesbian.

In my thirties my mother told me that her regret was that she was never going to see a grandchild from me. She played the guilt card, what did I think my brother died for? My younger sister had three and I had none. I got pregnant with a man friend who worked at the hospital. I settled into as normal a life as a lesbian could with a baby. I met a girl, another nurse who I found attractive, a Texas girl with blue eyes and black hair and rode horses. A Texas girl with real attractive boobs who liked having another girl eat her pussy. We became inseparable and parents to my child and lived together.

Well today I'm an old woman with her partner with a long life in the movement. I have grown tired of the screaming and yelling and don't participate in anything. The world is alive again and scary. It's deja vu all over again. I would not want to be a young lesbian right now.