So here I am New York City, 20 years old… a green army sack with a couple of pairs of jeans – 2 pairs of shoes and $200.00… the thickest Northern British Accent in town. I remember being terrified coming through immigration, the police had automatic weapons and the ones that didn't … had firearms strapped to their belts in plain view!
OMG – I thought I was gonna get creamed by some jack-off who had just argued with his wife that morning because she didn't make his lunch! Not to mention the female cops – who possibly had PMS or were going through the Change!
British Police Officers "Bobby's" wore tall hats and carried a bobby stick. As kids we would dare each other to stick marshmallows on their windshields while they were busy scolding other derelicts for throwing bricks or sniffing glue. In truth, we weren't all that afraid of them. Had those coppers had guns well, Good Golly Ms. Molly! We probably wouldn't have fucked with them all that much. My childhood would have been such less fun had those coppers been armed and dangerous.
I digress, fast forward to 1990.
I found myself in Fairfield County, CT. One of the most boring places on the planet and freakily, a lot like a movie I'd seen about a place called Stepford (Bugga, Bugga). I became a British Nanny to wealthy people who just did not wanna raise their own children. I was suitably freaked out but the money was good, they gave me a car and enough time off to get drunk and find all the gay hangouts. Local Amtrak service gave direct access to Manhattan, so I was golden!
First week in the country, I get an offer to go into the city to see Suzanne Vega… WHAT? Hell Yeah!! So it's me, this girl I know Sandra and a straight chick she plays soccer with. Sandra is smitten with the straighty. I pay very little attention because I am so enthralled with every American experience coming my way. Yellow Taxi's, Homeless People in cardboard boxes, Sky Scrapers, The filth of Manhattan and the fact that Broadway was not paved with gold nor illuminated by neon, with a background in Theatre – where we ended every childhood sentence with "I'll see you on Broadway", sadness descended for a lickety split second.
The concert was amazing. New York was amazing. The game of gin rummy I won on the train… amazing!! We go to Crazy Nannies ( NY lesbian bar) for a drink.
Sorry but I gotta refer back to my British life again… I was never the hottest woman in the room but because I was a bartender and known by the lesbian masses… I had a mojo that wouldn't quit. I didn't even have to have game. I could get laid any old time I felt like it, no problem. It's easier to decide you want to sleep with the bartender because you are forced to interact in order to get hammered and maybe hit on the cute girl in the corner….
Advice: If you can't seem to get laid to save your life, get a job in a lesbian bar or club… trust me – you don't even have to work it.
Back to NYC. So I'm in an American Lesbo bar and no-one… I mean no-one is even looking my way. No-one knows who I am and no-one really cares. This was a shock to the system; I was having a serious small fish in a very big fucking pond moment. Panic began to set in, I was 3,000 miles from home and the chances were loomingly large that there was no way I was getting laid in this country!!! Oh, no… what had I done??? I didn't even have game… remember – never had to practice that before now…
The Brits mating ritual is brutal. We see how sarcastic and cutting we can be and whoever has a razor sharp wit enough to come back for your jugular, the one chick that has mastered the power to stop you in your verbal tracks… that's the girl you're gonna be fucking. That kind of sex is aggressive and uninhibited. Not fun for you? Sounds like the insect that bites its mates head off after they are done, right? The funny thing is… all that upfront sparring and sexual energy… behind that is the softness. I can't give away any more secrets… The British Lesbian Counter-Intelligence will make me turn in my membership and I will have to resort to playing softball, drinking light beer and slapping high fives in order to get laid….. uuurrggghhhhh – the sheer horror of it all.
In my highly panicked state, it finally dawned on me that the straight girl was googley eyeing me…. She was stuck in a conversation with Sandra who was trying to impress her with the by-laws of the Soccer field. Straight chick, Hmmmm…..Either, she was asking me to save her from this scintillating conversation or… well the "or" didn't bear thinking about since I've only ever had two rules about my own personal brand of lesbianism…
"No straight girls and No first timers"
I'm not good with naked chicks that freak out – so I thought my rules were pretty good ones.
"Do you dance" I ask straighty – over my friends shoulder,
"Dance?" she looks confused – I must have just fixed her with the… what are you stupid? ... look.
"Yeah, I dance" she finally spits out
"Let's Dance"
For a straight white girl raised on a private road with a private beach – the product of ski bunny winters and tennis lesson summers…. Shit… This girl could actually dance!! A little intrigued, I start a gentle sparring exchange with her – pushing her buttons about her stereo type and my personal judgments of what that looked like from my window. Damn, this girl was funny too… she kept right back at me and refused to get offended. As all good conversations do, this one turned to sex. This offspring of a dentist and a school teacher knew more sexual terms than anybody I had ever met. She had me captivated and taught me the term "Felching" (That term has gotten me far in many circumstances over the years).
I like a double edged sword and apparently so did she. We became friends. We went everywhere together – it was a blast. The sexual tension never wavered between us and we talked about sleeping together (a lot). I was clear on my position about straight girls and first timers. She thought it was a ridiculous rule, both of them. It is true that double negatives usually cancel each other out so we struck a deal.
Here was the deal:
I did not want to be in a position where I had to show her the ropes – subsequently leaving enough rope to hang myself with. There was an outside chance that I could do something that would completely freak her out and send her into therapy for ten years and have charges brought against me for taking advantage of the privileged white woman… Not my gig.
She, while having more intellectual sexual knowledge than anyone I had ever met – had the least amount of hands on experience. She knew what she wanted to do – she just couldn't break her own vacuum packed wrapper.
My declaration was that – while I would enter into this sexually jacked up relationship… I would not be getting my kicks below the waistline. That was all her… no sexual rejection in sight, whenever she was ready to figure it out… I was an allied troop!
We made out. A lot!
She polled her friends. She went to lunch everyday with a guy from her office, she bought him lunch and he gave her step by step instructions on what he would do to his wife if he didn't have a male prop to consummate his love.
My goal was to drive her completely crazy – so that in order to resume a normal life of eating, sleeping and working she would have to pop her own cherry or join the cast members of one flew over a cuckoo's nest.
It was the longest two weeks of life as we know it, for both of us.
When Vesuvius finally erupted & she realized she was actually good at it, well… we didn't do much of anything else for a long time… I forgot being a first timer meant you wanted to try EVERYTHING….
I was in a new country; it was like reinventing the lesbian sex wheel. Having sex on the wrong side of the highway in a sedan being stalked by truckers driving eighteen wheelers…. Was not the same experience as having sex in a right hand drive mini-cooper on the M1 motorway being passed by nuns giving you the thumbs up as they drive by in motor coaches….I was an American now!
How is it, that when you are having sex all the time… everyone knows it? You stop to pump gas and the kids in the next car start peering at you as their parents usher them away to safety. At the grocery store, the deli guy gives you that knowing look… rock on dude – I just watched this lesbian porn last night and…. The dry cleaner doesn't apologize for not being able to get that "spot" out… I mean really he did try but…. At dinner, the waitress gives you your check with the appetizer… apparently it's obvious you may not make it through the entire meal…
Total strangers are responding in telekinetic ways and now the chick wants me to meet her Mother? See? See? Straight girls are so dumb sometimes.
Private road. Private beach. Four children. Two Boys, Two Girls. All graduated from college. Swims, Ski's and plays Tennis. Married a Dentist. Teaches middle school and catechism classes. Has a formal reception room, donned with white furniture and a fireplace. The family can usually be found watching television in the "playroom".
Enter; Moi… ripped jeans, doc martins with orange laces, short hair and the general air of "Hi, Nice to meet you, I'm fucking your daughter".
We had a strained relationship for four long years. I blame it on the first meeting. In hindsight, I should have taken a few tennis lessons and studied up on Catholicism, I think that may have been the way to go. I know I certainly paved the way for those trailing behind in my wake… Those bitches had it easy!!
Her mother was a matriarch to be feared. If nothing else I had respect for the woman who could reduce her children to shivering wrecks with just a look. Ironically, her eldest brother married a British chick and moved to London. I recall his wife saying – he would pale and start to sweat anytime she would say the words "Your mother is on the phone".
My parents loved their new "American Daughter" - I think a little more than they loved their British one. Our struggles with the Mother-in-Law became legendary and so the Brits decided to help the cause and organized a meeting of the families…. Oh boy! Oh boy!
That.... my friends is the next installment.
http://sparklesmagee.blogspot.com
OMG – I thought I was gonna get creamed by some jack-off who had just argued with his wife that morning because she didn't make his lunch! Not to mention the female cops – who possibly had PMS or were going through the Change!
British Police Officers "Bobby's" wore tall hats and carried a bobby stick. As kids we would dare each other to stick marshmallows on their windshields while they were busy scolding other derelicts for throwing bricks or sniffing glue. In truth, we weren't all that afraid of them. Had those coppers had guns well, Good Golly Ms. Molly! We probably wouldn't have fucked with them all that much. My childhood would have been such less fun had those coppers been armed and dangerous.
I digress, fast forward to 1990.
I found myself in Fairfield County, CT. One of the most boring places on the planet and freakily, a lot like a movie I'd seen about a place called Stepford (Bugga, Bugga). I became a British Nanny to wealthy people who just did not wanna raise their own children. I was suitably freaked out but the money was good, they gave me a car and enough time off to get drunk and find all the gay hangouts. Local Amtrak service gave direct access to Manhattan, so I was golden!
First week in the country, I get an offer to go into the city to see Suzanne Vega… WHAT? Hell Yeah!! So it's me, this girl I know Sandra and a straight chick she plays soccer with. Sandra is smitten with the straighty. I pay very little attention because I am so enthralled with every American experience coming my way. Yellow Taxi's, Homeless People in cardboard boxes, Sky Scrapers, The filth of Manhattan and the fact that Broadway was not paved with gold nor illuminated by neon, with a background in Theatre – where we ended every childhood sentence with "I'll see you on Broadway", sadness descended for a lickety split second.
The concert was amazing. New York was amazing. The game of gin rummy I won on the train… amazing!! We go to Crazy Nannies ( NY lesbian bar) for a drink.
Sorry but I gotta refer back to my British life again… I was never the hottest woman in the room but because I was a bartender and known by the lesbian masses… I had a mojo that wouldn't quit. I didn't even have to have game. I could get laid any old time I felt like it, no problem. It's easier to decide you want to sleep with the bartender because you are forced to interact in order to get hammered and maybe hit on the cute girl in the corner….
Advice: If you can't seem to get laid to save your life, get a job in a lesbian bar or club… trust me – you don't even have to work it.
Back to NYC. So I'm in an American Lesbo bar and no-one… I mean no-one is even looking my way. No-one knows who I am and no-one really cares. This was a shock to the system; I was having a serious small fish in a very big fucking pond moment. Panic began to set in, I was 3,000 miles from home and the chances were loomingly large that there was no way I was getting laid in this country!!! Oh, no… what had I done??? I didn't even have game… remember – never had to practice that before now…
The Brits mating ritual is brutal. We see how sarcastic and cutting we can be and whoever has a razor sharp wit enough to come back for your jugular, the one chick that has mastered the power to stop you in your verbal tracks… that's the girl you're gonna be fucking. That kind of sex is aggressive and uninhibited. Not fun for you? Sounds like the insect that bites its mates head off after they are done, right? The funny thing is… all that upfront sparring and sexual energy… behind that is the softness. I can't give away any more secrets… The British Lesbian Counter-Intelligence will make me turn in my membership and I will have to resort to playing softball, drinking light beer and slapping high fives in order to get laid….. uuurrggghhhhh – the sheer horror of it all.
In my highly panicked state, it finally dawned on me that the straight girl was googley eyeing me…. She was stuck in a conversation with Sandra who was trying to impress her with the by-laws of the Soccer field. Straight chick, Hmmmm…..Either, she was asking me to save her from this scintillating conversation or… well the "or" didn't bear thinking about since I've only ever had two rules about my own personal brand of lesbianism…
"No straight girls and No first timers"
I'm not good with naked chicks that freak out – so I thought my rules were pretty good ones.
"Do you dance" I ask straighty – over my friends shoulder,
"Dance?" she looks confused – I must have just fixed her with the… what are you stupid? ... look.
"Yeah, I dance" she finally spits out
"Let's Dance"
For a straight white girl raised on a private road with a private beach – the product of ski bunny winters and tennis lesson summers…. Shit… This girl could actually dance!! A little intrigued, I start a gentle sparring exchange with her – pushing her buttons about her stereo type and my personal judgments of what that looked like from my window. Damn, this girl was funny too… she kept right back at me and refused to get offended. As all good conversations do, this one turned to sex. This offspring of a dentist and a school teacher knew more sexual terms than anybody I had ever met. She had me captivated and taught me the term "Felching" (That term has gotten me far in many circumstances over the years).
I like a double edged sword and apparently so did she. We became friends. We went everywhere together – it was a blast. The sexual tension never wavered between us and we talked about sleeping together (a lot). I was clear on my position about straight girls and first timers. She thought it was a ridiculous rule, both of them. It is true that double negatives usually cancel each other out so we struck a deal.
Here was the deal:
I did not want to be in a position where I had to show her the ropes – subsequently leaving enough rope to hang myself with. There was an outside chance that I could do something that would completely freak her out and send her into therapy for ten years and have charges brought against me for taking advantage of the privileged white woman… Not my gig.
She, while having more intellectual sexual knowledge than anyone I had ever met – had the least amount of hands on experience. She knew what she wanted to do – she just couldn't break her own vacuum packed wrapper.
My declaration was that – while I would enter into this sexually jacked up relationship… I would not be getting my kicks below the waistline. That was all her… no sexual rejection in sight, whenever she was ready to figure it out… I was an allied troop!
We made out. A lot!
She polled her friends. She went to lunch everyday with a guy from her office, she bought him lunch and he gave her step by step instructions on what he would do to his wife if he didn't have a male prop to consummate his love.
My goal was to drive her completely crazy – so that in order to resume a normal life of eating, sleeping and working she would have to pop her own cherry or join the cast members of one flew over a cuckoo's nest.
It was the longest two weeks of life as we know it, for both of us.
When Vesuvius finally erupted & she realized she was actually good at it, well… we didn't do much of anything else for a long time… I forgot being a first timer meant you wanted to try EVERYTHING….
I was in a new country; it was like reinventing the lesbian sex wheel. Having sex on the wrong side of the highway in a sedan being stalked by truckers driving eighteen wheelers…. Was not the same experience as having sex in a right hand drive mini-cooper on the M1 motorway being passed by nuns giving you the thumbs up as they drive by in motor coaches….I was an American now!
How is it, that when you are having sex all the time… everyone knows it? You stop to pump gas and the kids in the next car start peering at you as their parents usher them away to safety. At the grocery store, the deli guy gives you that knowing look… rock on dude – I just watched this lesbian porn last night and…. The dry cleaner doesn't apologize for not being able to get that "spot" out… I mean really he did try but…. At dinner, the waitress gives you your check with the appetizer… apparently it's obvious you may not make it through the entire meal…
Total strangers are responding in telekinetic ways and now the chick wants me to meet her Mother? See? See? Straight girls are so dumb sometimes.
Private road. Private beach. Four children. Two Boys, Two Girls. All graduated from college. Swims, Ski's and plays Tennis. Married a Dentist. Teaches middle school and catechism classes. Has a formal reception room, donned with white furniture and a fireplace. The family can usually be found watching television in the "playroom".
Enter; Moi… ripped jeans, doc martins with orange laces, short hair and the general air of "Hi, Nice to meet you, I'm fucking your daughter".
We had a strained relationship for four long years. I blame it on the first meeting. In hindsight, I should have taken a few tennis lessons and studied up on Catholicism, I think that may have been the way to go. I know I certainly paved the way for those trailing behind in my wake… Those bitches had it easy!!
Her mother was a matriarch to be feared. If nothing else I had respect for the woman who could reduce her children to shivering wrecks with just a look. Ironically, her eldest brother married a British chick and moved to London. I recall his wife saying – he would pale and start to sweat anytime she would say the words "Your mother is on the phone".
My parents loved their new "American Daughter" - I think a little more than they loved their British one. Our struggles with the Mother-in-Law became legendary and so the Brits decided to help the cause and organized a meeting of the families…. Oh boy! Oh boy!
That.... my friends is the next installment.
http://sparklesmagee.blogspot.com
Posts
I was googling a recipe for whitebread and it brought me to this blog. Hmm.. it seems I've been exposed by an XMrs. I guess the worst part is it's mostly true. She did make me wait..that bitch! Then we did have sex all the time every which way. The hardest part for her was getting my turtleneck off and the hardest part for me was getting her to use felching properly in a sentence. Beware or those Whitey McWhites though...when the moon is full and the club lights are dim... and nobody's looking-they're trading in their turtlenecks for strap-ons.-WMW
ReplyDeleteI just re-read this from 2008... and it tickled my fancy... well, it got me laughing anyway. Whitey McWhitey, damn you and your turtlenecks!!
ReplyDeletelove from your X-Mrs