What are the meanings of these? Who knows? Do you? Do we? I don’t know, I don’t think so, not at all, we don’t know, but we think we do.
Everyone who knows you thinks they do, but what does it mean? Wait! I think I have something, something of some sort, you know that feeling when you land on that white cotton fabric in the hands of the doctor – when you pop out of your mother’s ‘You know What,’ and the people present at that moment look at you and you don’t smile but you are so beautiful and your face looks like you have a ‘PeePee’ but no! It’s not, it’s a “Fagina”, At least that’s what I heard the nurse call the genitals of my little cousin when HE popped out and they couldn’t figure out what SHE was at first sight, Why? Because her upper part we saw couldn’t determine what we were seeing, and when she finally came out it was a “HER”.
Everyone including the doctor was like “Oh! She’s a girl” Finally it was a girl, it’s been identified, but enough of my cousin, I wasn’t talking about her. I was talking about me, yes me, I was a girl, but since I couldn’t remember how it was with me, I had to use my baby cousin. Why? Because we have a resemblance, at least that’s what I hear my family say all the time, everything about her is just like me, that’s why I’m using her as an example.
So, I ask again, what is the meaning of these words: Sexuality. Gender. Age. What do they mean? Right from age three, I figured I liked wearing shorts. Yes, shorts’! I felt bold in them. It was very comfortable, and I didn’t know why I should wear a ‘skirt’ when I believed it limited my movement. I liked to run, squat, jump, play soccer, watch soccer, argue about soccer and … should I say this? OOOOOuuuh! Shooosh! Admire the female soccer team players playing the world cup, somewhere around 2015 or so, did I get it right? Yes, it was 2015 when I couldn’t keep my eyes off Alex Morgan, number 13, the striker of US women’s national soccer team. Damn! She was hot. And Angelina Jolie, the Angelina Jolie, the sassy sexy tomb raider star; and there was Michelle Rodriguez the hit female badass chic in Fast and furious. Then I realized I had an issue.
Why was I crushing on Girls, when I was clearly watching Dane Jones big dick star Martin Gun, every evening? When I hit orgasm with that curved six inches, which looked like a Banana. Actually, it was ripe plantain, but I liked it big, that was why I chose the plantain over the banana and hey! the pleasure was all mine and mine only.
I had numerous boyfriends but we didn’t pleasure each other until last year when I was 29 and I decided to come out to myself, so I shout out to myself saying, “I like women!”. In other words, I’m a lesbian.
So here I am watching the face of a woman I admire and like so much, sitting right next to her, having a conversation, and oh, she’s older than me. She’s forty-one years old I guess, and she has three kids and although I don’t know what I am right now, I would kill to have a moment of passionate plantain, sorry oral sex with her, so she can scream out my name and ask for more.
The thing is I don’t know what to tell her, but damn she is hot and I would love to be with her. But I don’t know what I am, so I am passionately talking with her about business. Because I like her so much, I volunteer to work for her, and as we talk I keep a close look at her face with all my concentration centered on her lips.
She asks, “Is there a problem?”
Then I reply, “There is a strand of hair on your eyelashes”.
We both keep quiet for a second and she replies, “A strand of hair on my eye lashes?”
Wow! What is wrong with me? Why did I say that?, I wonder.
“Kindly help me take it out”, she suggests and oh I touch her lashes and my fingers move to play with her cheeks. I go closer and surprisingly, she comes forward and kisses me. I kiss her back and we continue kissing. Her hand goes beneath my shirt. “Oh my God!”, she whispers, “I see the way you look at me. I didn’t know you liked me”. And when I’m about to reply she says, “shoosh! don’t talk”.
In my head, I’m floating on Mars until she touches me at the back and immediately I snap out from whatever dreams I was having to reality, only to find out I’m on a bed with my fiancée who is busily romancing the hell out of me.
She whispers, “You seem far away. Should I go down on you?”
“What the hell!” I exclaim silently to myself. Was it a dream or a Deja vu?
“Sorry baby, I have to pee”. And then I leave to the washroom and peek at her. She replies with a look.
“Are you okay?”, she asks me.
I answer, “Yes, I am”.
Then I shut the door and shout. “This is me! I am gay! Want to know why because my fiancée who was making out with me is the woman I volunteered for and yaaay we are together!”.