A lesbian relationship is like any other relationship: Certain components are necessary to make it work.

But what are those components? What is absolutely imperative for a relationship to function healthily? I say “healthily” because a relationship can exist minus any factors. I see it happening on a daily basis. I watch couples (both hetero- and homosexual, alike) struggle to stay in unhealthy partnerships.

I didn’t go to school to dole out love advice. I don’t claim to have a perfect relationship, nor do I believe that I’m in a situation to save or break a relationship. I’ve had a lot of real life experience. I’ve dated a lot of women who were completely terrible to me, and I endeavored to make each situation work. I’ve been lied to, cheated on, broken up with, verbally abused, and slandered.

I’ve lived life precariously. I’m twenty-three. I have plenty to learn still; however, as a writer, I’ve chased a story all my life. I’ve done everything I’ve done to have the experience. Maybe, I haven’t done anything completely outrageous, but I have lived with the purpose of collecting stories to tell, and I could certainly tell you all stories that would make your dyke spikes curl.

All my life, I’ve heard that trust and chemistry are the most important factors in a healthy relationship, and while I won’t doubt that to be true, I’ve come to understand that one relationship characteristic trumps all of the commonly named ones: Want.

Now, when I say “want,” I don’t mean sexual desire. What I mean is this: Both parties have to have an infinite desire to make a relationship function. When you have that desire, you can overcome any other difficulty your partnership encounters.

I answer relationship questions on a daily basis. Such questions range in topics from “I love my partner, but she cheated on me,” or “I love this girl, but she’s scared to come out.” The answer to these questions concerns “want.” The opposite partner lacked the desire to continue the relationship and the drive to make it function as well as it possibly could.

From this “want,” comes communication, another vital component in a healthy relationship. Sometimes, it’s hard to articulate your expectations to your partner, so you shut her out and spend each day becoming more angry, waiting for her to read your mind as to what you’re angry about. When you have a want for the relationship to be successful, you have to talk about what you expect from your counterpart.

“This is what I need and expect for this relationship to work, and I want it to, so I’m talking to you about it.”

I’m rambling, and I’m not sure where to go with this post anymore. I’ve had people judge my relationship, and while it’s not perfect, we both want it to work. Thus, every day, we take steps to make it more healthy.

That’s what love is, guys. If you really love someone (and that love is reciprocated), you never walk away. You take steps to make it better.

One step at a time.

-Biz

So, two lesbians walk into a bar. . .
The punch line: They both get felt up by the straight married lady on the stool next to them.

I was prepping a fan topic post, regarding the pretentious idea many lesbians have about being able to “turn” a straight woman, but then Erica (my girlfriend) and I went out to dinner the other night and experienced a scenario with which I’ve become too familiar.

I’m never displeased when someone tells me I’m attractive. I don’t care what gender, sexual orientation, etc. you are, if you tell me I’m sexy, I’m going to be flattered; however, I’ve found that I’ve become such an interesting commodity that some people push it a little too far.

Okay, enough abstractions. Let me tell you what happened:

Erica and I decided that we don’t spend enough quality time together, so we initiated a date night. I put on a sweater and tie, and she similarly got all fancy in her femme attire, and we hit the town. We sashayed into the local sushi bar, feeling unusually good about ourselves (I was rockin’ a fresh haircut) and took a seat at the bar. I made small talk with the bartenders and a few of the waitresses that passed by, as I’m rather friendly with most of them. Suddenly, I felt a hand on my thigh.

The hand belonged, not to Erica, but to the woman sitting on my left. “Be careful, if you’re sitting next to me,” she slurred.

Her husband leaned behind her and laughed. “She’s intoxicated.”
Erica and I ordered a round of drinks, and the woman continued to compliment my tie and the shirt under my v-neck sweater. “They’re blue!” She exclaimed. “We match!”

Her dress had a similarly blue pattern, and she wore earrings and tights that were the exact color of my tie. We laughed about this for a few minutes, as she poured me a glass from the carafe of sake in front of her. Erica and I each graciously accepted the Japanese wine. She pulled out an electronic cigarette, took a drag of it, and passed it to me, as we exchanged sentiments about longing to quit smoking. Her hand never left my thigh.

The compliments never stopped. “You’re just so sexy! And your girlfriend is gorgeous! Good job picking that one out!” Her speech grew more and more unrecognizable. I couldn’t thank her enough. She was wonderfully pleasant, and I enjoy having my ego stroked, although I was growing more uncomfortable with her hand on my leg.

She told us that she and her husband were out celebrating their wedding anniversary. Before I could even congratulate her, she began discussing her equal love of men and women. I suddenly knew where she was going with this.

“Be quiet, honey,” she drawled at her husband. “I’m arranging my anniversary gift.”

Erica’s and my laughter became a little uneasy. “So, what’s it going to take to get you guys to come home with us?” she asked.

I politely declined the invitation, telling her I wasn’t interested in sharing my girlfriend with anyone. I took a sip of a some sort of red, fruity martini that Erica had ordered, and through my uncomfortable laughter, spilled some on myself.

“Fuck. Did I get any on my shirt?” The question was directed at Erica, but suddenly the drunk married woman picked up her napkin and started dabbing it on my chest.

“I’ll get it for you,” she announced, with a sly smile, as she patted her napkin directly over my nipple. Um.

I work diligently on my appearance and being told that it pays off is an incredible feeling; however, there’s a line you don’t cross. And a nipple pinch from the strange woman sitting next to me at a bar IS the line.

I met my girlfriend sloppy, out of control drunk, in the bathroom of our local gay bar. I stumbled in to pee, for the millionth time that night, pants falling down to my feet, sweaty from dancing, with vodka seeping from my pores. There, a tiny redhead, in lace stockings and a dress, matched my drunk glance.

I’m such a charmer when I drink, and this occasion was no exception.

“Are you gay?” I slurred, attempting some sort of sexy grin but failing miserably.

Okay, I’m not going to lie to you guys. I don’t really remember her response, but I do remember her throwing around the words “lipstick lesbian.” A stall finally opened up, and we spent the next half hour making out against a wall that was likely covered in five different types of alcohol and probably semen.

We joke now about how we “found love in a hopeless place.” When I asked you OBEY fans, you gave me a similar response: Meeting a respectable woman, who is worthy of being girlfriend material, is next to impossible in a bar. Generally, the girls we meet there are the ones we’re terrified to wake up to the next morning, or they’re the ones we party with but don’t give our hearts to.

I don’t recommend anyone goes looking for love in a bar, but I know I was certainly in the right place that night.

Where else have I met women? Let me think.

Online, in a restaurant, through mutual friends, in class, at work, at a party. . . I took a dude’s prom date, once. Does that count?

The list goes on and on. Well, it doesn’t go on and on for me because then I would start to sound a little slutty. What I meant was that the possibilities are endless. I see so many messages come in through the site asking us to find the sender a girlfriend. No. You have to do that yourself. Yes, it’s hard work, but it’s certainly not impossible. Girls are everywhere, and, statistically, one in every ten is a lesbian.

I find that often, when I go out with a group of friends to the club, at least one of them is going with the sole purpose of getting laid. My romantic love story aside, I want to talk about why you probably shouldn’t meet a girl in a bar.

1. She parties.
Sure, you’re there to party. Who doesn’t like to go out every once in a while, throw back a few, and dance horribly to a string of Ke$ha songs? It’s definitely possible, however, that if you meet a girl at the bar, she likes to spend a lot of time at the bar. That doesn’t really make for fantastic girlfriend material.

2. Beer goggles.
You could very well regret this in the morning. Club lights are very different from sunlight, and blurry vision certainly doesn’t help matters.

3. You’re going to make an ass of yourself.
Self explanatory. No one is cute when they drink.

4. It’s pretty likely that you’ll end up sleeping with her the first night.
I’m sorry. I don’t care what anyone says; Sleeping with someone the first time you meet them is disastrous for establishing a relationship.

Okay, so we’ve established that the bar isn’t a great place to find a girlfriend, but everywhere else is. Now, the hard part. How do you actually meet them?

I’m really forward. I asked Erica if she was gay the first night we met. Even if I wasn’t falling down drunk, I would have asked her. Here’s a tip: girls really like that. They want you to be confident, forward, and assertive. Why? Because that means you will be confident, forward, and assertive in bed/a relationship. If you like someone that you know is a lesbian, tell her! If you don’t know which way she swings, ask her! The worst that could possibly happen is that she’s not in to you or that she’s straight, and whether she’s gay or not, she will be flattered by the advance.

Unless the object of your affection is weirdly religious, she’s going to feel good about herself if you tell her you’re into her, regardless of her sexuality. Women like to feel attractive, regardless of the gender of their admirer. Think I’m lying? Would you be irritated if a man genuinely told you that you were beautiful? No. A compliment is a compliment, no matter your sexual orientation/gender or that of the one complimenting you.

Okay, now get out there and meet some women!

I live in the land of Tapout, steroids, and men with spiky, gelled hair; the land of words like “bro” and “buddy.” I live in a wasteland of Midwestern Jersey Shore Wannabes. They flock to the same bars, wearing the same button up shirts and hats pulled down to their eyebrows, doing the same high-five/handshake/hug mix. Yes, I live in the Isle of Douchebaggery: Toledo.

I like to party. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m by no means financially able to hit the bar more than once per week, but on that one day that I do decide to go out, I go all out. If I’m able to put one foot in front of the other, when last call comes around, I know I’ve done something wrong.

Anyway, back to the douche capital. Since they all seem to be rockin’ the same attire, when I do decide to take my evening vacation to the bar next to my apartment, I stick out like a sore thumb. Cliche aside, I’m hard to miss in my semi-hipster attire, donning some sort of funky hat/jacket/bedazzled jean mix, with nothing but a belt keeping my pants from sliding down to my ankles. Yes, I’m a sight to see, and it’s no doubt that I attract people; however, the attraction I’m talking about doesn’t come from women asking for my number. No, I attract weird, random dudes, pushing all sorts of questions on me.

My favorite of all of these questions: “So. . . How do you have sex? I don’t get it.”

Before I go any further, I want to make one thing clear: I am absolutely, positively, definitely, ridiculously in no way a man-hater. Every time I make any negative statement about men, everyone has to raise their eyebrows and make some sort of snarky comment about misandric (New word I learned today. Opposite of misogyny. If you don’t know what either of those words mean, I suggest you look them up) tendencies. I have a fair share of straight male friends and a plethora of gay ones; however, I’m not going to justify this like a racist would when he/she justifies a shitty comment about a minority, by saying “Well I have a lot of fill-in-the-blank-racial-minority friends.” Before you call me a man-hater, just fucking stop. Listen to what I have to say because this is a topic that every lesbian faces. At first it’s cute, but after the one-hundredth time of being asked, it’s just blatantly irritating and rude.

I’ve been in the lesbian game a long time, so I have a way that I handle this now. You all had a menagerie of humorous responses, when I asked about this on Facebook. Before I tell you how I handle it, I want to share my favorite responses.

How do you have sex?

“I just tell him we kill random men at bars first cause it turns us on”

And a close runner-up:

“Simply ‘very carefully'”

Well done, ladies.

Now, the approach to answer this question must be considered very carefully. You can say “None, of your fucking business, you douchebag,” but then, you pose the potential risk of looking like you’re embarrassed of your sexuality.

You can also explain the whole thing to them, and provoke a boner for the backwards-hat-wearing, tribal-tattoo-having “bro.”

My favorite approach, however, is just to embarrass the asker. “You must not have a lot going on up in that brain of yours, if you really can’t figure this one out for yourself.” I’ll laugh it off, put my arm around my girl, swig my beer, then return to my previous conversation.” Simple.

I don’t ask about other people’s sex-lives, even if they’re my friends. If you’d like to share your sex-life with me (and for some reason, everyone, including strangers, does), feel free. I have fantastic sex, and that’s even more than you need to know. Sometimes, I feel like I should get “Asking me about my sexual activities is fucking rude” tattooed across my forehead. I like to educate people about lesbianism; however, I know you’re not asking me about this particular topic because you want an education.

Hi, I’m Biz. Want to know how I have sex? Use your fucking brain.

I don’t believe I have ever met someone who is as confident with themselves as I am.

Now, I haven’t always been this extroverted and awesome. It’ been a twenty-three year long bloody, sweaty process.

I was once an awkward junior high student, with a secret crush on a girl. Then, I was an awkward high school student, with a secret crush on a girl. Four years later, I was an awkward college student with a girlfriend, and I couldn’t bring myself to tell my two roommates.

“I’m gay.”

I Facebook messaged my roommate, while we were sitting ten feet apart. I couldn’t bring myself to say it out loud.

“Do you think everyone else will be okay with it?”

She already knew, she said. Everyone else already had their suspicions, she said.

A weight had been lifted. Now, I’m not saying I instantaneously came out of my cocoon and spread my rainbow wings, but, suddenly, my roommates, whom I had previously had difficulty exchanging more than ten words with, became my best friends. They could actually get to know the real me, and they thought I was pretty awesome. I had only been awkward previously because I thought I was awkward. When I became comfortable with myself, I didn’t have to be awkward anymore. I wasn’t a weird person, just a super gay one.

I guess I should talk briefly about coming out to my parents, as most people define “coming out” as that moment. What a terrible experience. My mother was not impressed, to say the least, and my relationship with her suffered greatly for a while. The turn-around for us occurred after I told my roommates. Why? Because when you’re comfortable with who you are, other people will be comfortable with you too.

When did I become the gay social butterfly that I am today? Well, it’s hard to pinpoint an exact moment, but when I cut off all of my hair, I became much more confident with myself; thus, I became much more confident with other people. Now, I’m not suggesting that every lesbian out there take the drastic step of the big chop, but when I didn’t have to look people in the eye anymore and say “Um, I’m gay,” it was a lot easier to just be Biz. Semi-intelligent people just assume that I’m a lesbian, now, and that’s just fine with me.

Coming out isn’t a moment. After you tell your parents and the important people in your life, coming out is a process. Actually, it’s more like a fucking lifestyle. The more new people you associate with, the more you have to come out. Unless you’re a stone butch, it’s inevitable that you’ll have to continue to tell people. Even with my short hair, I know, as I apply for jobs, there will come a time that I have to tell my not-so-bright coworkers, who are too blind to assume for themselves.

My advice for those who haven’t come out: Do it. When you can express who you are, you will be much happier with yourself. You don’t have to shout it from the mountain tops, dressed all in rainbow, but I promise that you can’t get very far in life, if you’re stuck in a closet.

Find happiness. Find the rainbow. Come out.

My first girlfriend and I have two mutual exes.
My archnemesis and I have two mutual exes.
Needless to say, lesbians in my community who use the expression “sloppy seconds” are clueless.

When I asked the OBEY fans what they would change about the lesbian community, you all responded pretty similarly: less drama, a more expansive selection of women, etc.

Does it bother me that my ex girlfriends inevitably get recycled back into Toledo’s gay cesspool? Initially, yes. It’s difficult going through a breakup knowing the person I once shared a bed with will likely end up sleeping and/or dating someone I know. It’s also rather daunting knowing I’ll have to see her at the bar. I don’t think “Will I see her out?” but, rather, “When will I see her out?”

So, post-breakup, every time I decide to visit the local gay bar, I have to make sure I look twice as good as usual, sip my drink casually, and try not to look too desperate when I happen to run into her in the bathroom.

Three months and countless expensive haircuts after a breakup, though, what are the repercussions of having such a minute lesbian population?

A few months ago, during the Chick-fil-A fiasco, I decided to attend a protest. My attempts at gathering my friends to go, however, proved unsuccessful.

“I can’t go. My ex is going to be there.”

Are you kidding me? So, now, we’re going to opt out of standing up for our community because you don’t want to see your ex?

When I arrived at the protest, I could count on just two hands the number of lesbians in attendance.

Toledo’s gay pride festival drew outstanding numbers, but the sentiments were similar.

“Oh, I can’t go over to the beer tent right now. That bitch who fucked my ex is standing over there.”

Now, I’ll admit: There are plenty of lesbians whose company I’d rather not keep; however, in the face of oppression, I find it necessary to settle our differences, for the sake of equality. There is enough hate directed toward our community. Is it really appropriate to harbor further hate within it?

I don’t care who you are, how you’ve betrayed me, or how many of my ex girlfriends you’ve slept with; I will ask you to stand next to me in pursuit of our rights.

Why would I fight you, when I’m so consumed with fighting for our equality?

I like to make a mark.

Okay, that could, quite possibly, be the understatement of the century.

I like to make a scene.

That’s better. Now, when I say that, I don’t mean I like to freak out in random places. I don’t decide to scream, “NO, YOU DIDN’T, BITCH,” when I see my archnemesis in the middle of the mall. No, when I say “I like to make a scene,” I mean I like to make my presence well-known, when I walk into a room. I’ll get a little too drunk, talk a little too loud, make too many friends, and/or make an obscene joke or statement.

I’ve just walked into the proverbial room. Here I am, OBEY, and I’m about to make an obscene statement. I’m not walking in quietly, discussing the ins and outs of lesbian relationships. Nope, not in this first post. Today, I’m talking about my favorite topic in the whole world: sex. More specifically, today, I’ll be discussing strap-ons.

Now, I’ve been taking care of this lesbian business for about six years now. I’ve had a plethora of girlfriends (Did that sound skanky? Well, now that I put it like that, I’m rather self-conscious). Up until about a year and a half ago, the strap-on discussion was a closed one. No, I’m not interested in a rubber penis, but thanks for asking.

I don’t know why I was so close-minded about it. Perhaps, it was because I thought it might jeopardize my “lesbian” label. In high school, I slept with a couple of guys, and discovered quickly that it wasn’t an activity I wanted to continue. Maybe, I equated the two, as it seems so many people do. A guy friend of mine always laughs and tells me, “You’ve made your bed. Now, you have to lie in it,” in regards to using a strap-on. In fact, when I posted the question on OBEY, it seemed that the girls who weren’t into the strap-on concept had reasons concerning their skepticism of a “fake penis.”

Before I tell you about why I believe lesbians should at least give a strap-on the “ol’ college try,” I want to share my first experience. I’ll keep it PG13. You guys don’t know me that well. . .  Yet.

The first girl I used one with was a gold star (a lesbian who has never slept with a man). She’d used one before but had never had one used on her. She elected me to be her first. Not intimidating at all, right?

It turns out, she was probably the best person with whom to have my first experience. She couldn’t compare my skills with anyone else. It didn’t matter that I giggled the whole time I strapped myself in. It didn’t matter that I fumbled attempting to adjust. I had slept with my fair share of women at this point (There I go, sounding skanky again), but we were both kind of virgins in this aspect. Plus, I was able to see through my apprehension concerning my lesbian labels with my gold star. When we switched, that thought was completely extinguished. Sex had a whole new meaning, and it was in no way a heterosexual one. I know I’m gay, through and through, and I also know I enjoy a strap-on. I’m going to leave the graphic details at that, just in case my mother decides to read this (Love you, Mom!).

One of our fans articulated it the best: “i cant be bothered to argue with the people saying straps and penis is the same thing, its just the shape as our bodies are made for it obviously. you arent gona stick something up there that doesn’t fit or feel comfortable. come on its not rocket science people.”

Along those same lines, another fan posted, “Ok ladies, please understand that if you truly know women like you claim , you will understand that the inside of the vagina is filled with hundreds of nerve endings and pleasure comes from penetration as well as oral /clitoral stimulation . Enjoying vaginal penetration does not make you less of a lesbian , it shows that you are aware of a woman’s body. I know many hard core studs who have never been touched by men who love it . It’s also a part of growing up and being comfortable as a woman who just so happens to be a lesbian.”

As the latter fan said, I do believe that strap-on use is a part of growing up. Now, I’m not saying you’re immature if you prefer a finger or a tongue. I firmly believe, however, that it was my own immaturity that took me so long to stop saying, “Ew, gross. I don’t do penis.” I don’t do penis, but I’ll definitely take a strap-on.

To summarize, I give the strap-on ten out of ten stars. Of course, it’s all about personal preference, and I’m not going to chastise you if you’re not a user; however, for those out there who are wondering “should I or shouldn’t I,” I say, “Go for it!”

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this first of, hopefully, many more OBEY Lesbians blog posts.

-Biz

Welcome, OBEY Lesbians fans, to your newest resource on the community!

The purpose of this blog is to extend knowledge to the lesbian community. The goal? To answer all of your questions about the lifestyle!

Okay, so let me tell you guys how this is going to work:

1. I’ll request fan topics/questions on the Facebook page.
2. You guys provide your feedback to the topics/questions.
3. I fill in the blanks with my prior knowledge, and. . .
4. Voila! A beautiful, informative blog post, brought to you by yours truly.

You may be asking yourself, “Who the hell is this broad, and what exactly makes her worthy to run this blog?”

Well, calm down. I’m getting to it.

My name is Biz. I’m twenty-three and have been out for six years. I graduated from the University of Michigan with a BA in English Language and Literature. You may have seen my personal blog BizLearns plugged on the OBEY site., which has become increasingly popular in the tiny large city of Toledo, Ohio. I was presented with an opportunity to take my writing skills and lesbian knowledge to a larger audience, and here I am!

I am beyond excited to begin this journey with the OBEY crew and ecstatic about the opportunity to work with such great people, as well as educate their amazing fans!

Please, take advantage of the link on the right side of the page, which will take you to the chat site associated with the blog. Also, be sure to leave comments on the upcoming posts. There can’t be a blog without fans and feedback!

Again, I can’t express how excited I am to being this great endeavor!

Cheers,

Biz