Born A Lesbian I Was Allowed To Be One, Not So Much For My Mother

The way we were brought up was very religious. My mother was the religious one, my father not so much. But as far as how we were raised he told my mother to raise us. Later I would find out a lot about my mother, but as a child growing up it was a very traditional household. We were a family of four, father, mother, older brother and me, little sister. If ever you lived in a traditional household it was mine.

The first lesson I got about sex was having my hand slapped because I was touching myself. I touched myself because I liked it. And I learned not to touch myself in front of my mother. I had a friend Regina who liked to touch herself and we touched ourselves together. We were in second grade with our little legs open and licking each other. At that age you are not kissing and fondling, you just want to get that feeling between your legs under control. I don't know really if I had orgasm at that age, but something had to happen for the misery to stop.

I found out that I could 'sit' on some objects and rub myself that way. Like the fence. I would climb up on the fence while my brother played soccer, and rub myself until my legs trembled. I suppose that most all girls have these feelings, and at school we talked about it. Regina was always my friend and up for some touching and licking. I 'loved' to lick Regina, 'loved' it. We were now sixth graders. And I got my period. Regina didn't get hers until a year later. We went through puberty with all the ins and outs and moody feelings, but one thing stayed true to the course, we were not longer just 'licking', we were fingering and eating pussy. I mean, eating pussy. We were already shaving by the end of the seventh grade and we were out and out lovers. Now we were kissing, now that we had tits we were groping and sucking nipples. Now we were having sex.

We went to prom together, because no boys asked us. We weren't boy material, believe me. The only boy I liked and admired was my brother. And my father. We were having a good time, and most of all we loved being together. Our couch was one of those eight foot couches, but you found us bunched up on the edge of the couch together. NOTHING was ever said to us. Not my by mother, and not by my father. They had to know what we were doing. We could not have been more obvious. We kissed on the lips in front of them. My brother ran interference for us. After we graduated my mother talked Regina's mother into letting her go with me on an art appreciation tour of Europe. It was a group thing of about a dozen girls with two chaperones. At every hotel, every time, we always shared a bedroom. There was no swapping around like there was with the other girls. On that trip we also learned to 'spot' other lesbians.

We went to college together. We roomed together. We moved off campus together. We lived together. A great big one bedroom apartment and we spent half the time cuddled in bed. We had developed separation anxiety. We had become codependent. We were each other's shadow. We know that now, but at that time we were living it. We were gently and later harshly sent to therapy. Not for being lesbians, but for learning to live a little more independently. We knew, but you can't just change. For example, if we were torn apart it was often at the expense of crying.

We live our little quiet life together. We are both teachers, educators. We know how to spot signs in little girls. But we don't interfere. That lesson I learned from my mother. My mother is a lesbian who was forced to get married. That's how they dealt with lesbians when she was a young woman. My father dealt with her the old fashioned way, he had sex with her daily. Until she surrendered to her 'circumstance' and after five years got pregnant with my brother. For five years my mother cried herself to sleep. She never wanted that for me. And my father didn't either. Regina is to them, their other daughter. My mother is codependent of my father.