Rosco is an odd fellow, who I am nonetheless very fond of. However, living with Rosco is a bit like living with a very sexually active racoon. Rosco, loving and lesbian-ish by nature but horny as a rabbit, likes boys a lot, and when he falls, he falls hard. I’ve lived with Rosco for over a year, and I’ve seen them come and go. Here’s an official Isle of Lesbos rundown of Rosco’s boys:
1. Jizz McCumface: when I moved in with Rosco, he was smitten up to the eyeballs with this one. Jizz is a nice enough fellow, very camp, and works at a certain entertainment establishment (no, not a brothel). Rosco and he seemed to actually have a fairly healthy relationship. Jizz would stay over once, twice a week and it was all very nice. On NYE that year, Rosco jumped into a swimming pool and his insulin pump (which he needs to live) fell out, and Jizz brought him home, which I found to be quite sweet. Jizz and Rosco, both being somewhat twinky, made very girly orgasmic sounds, which I did tend to find a little disturbing.
2. Country Bumpkin: this one was a Grindr find, I believe, but was quite normal and friendly. Very stocky and masculine, one of those “I look really straight” gays. I didn’t hear much of their sexual escapades through the paper-thin walls, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t have any. At the time, my relationship was going fairly well and so I probably was too busy with my own sex life to worry much about Rosco’s. In the end, Country Bumpkin dumped Rosco, and none of us know why to this day. However, I suspect it was because Rosco is a crazy cat lady, as am I, and Country Bumpkin was far too down-to-earth for all that shit.
3. Creepy Klepto Greaseball: this one was, as the name suggests, a bona fide kleptomaniac. Klepto looked a bit like a hobbit who had never encountered shampoo before. Klepto was friendly enough, but decidedly weird. When Rosco is single, his standards tend to drop a lot. Rosco is about ten million times more attractive than this guy. Sometimes Candace and I would wake up, go to the kitchen, and find Klepto sleuthing around. It was quite weird. When Klepto was on the scene, shit went missing from the house. I kid you not. Weird things, like the remote control, the salt shaker, and the microwave cover. We had to buy new ones of all these things. Thank fuck, Klepto didn’t last long as Rosco came to his senses and ditched him (potentially with a little, or a lot, of encouragement from me).
4. Jaded Lovestruck Oddball: Oddball was around at about the same time as Klepto, and was smitten with some guy who lived in Dandenong or somewhere like that. All he would talk about, in between bouts of fucking Rosco, was his long lost love. It was bizarre.
5. American Puppy: the Puppy, as I’ll call him, was a nice enough guy but not very good for Rosco. Within a day of meeting, Puppy had moved in to our house. After two weeks of Puppy’s presence, which incidentally were the first two weeks that Rosco and Puppy knew each other, Candace and I cracked the shits at Rosco and he got an attack of the guilts. From then on, Puppy was only over a mere four or five nights a week. Rosco and Puppy merged extremely quickly and the whole thing was really quite weird. Eventually Puppy went back to America and Rosco was really upset for a while. No doubt about it, Puppy and all his emotional crap fucked Rosco up. Rosco has come a long, long way since the fucked up days of Puppy, but I will never forget what the Puppy-era proved – Rosco is truly just another lesbian, looking to merge.
6. Leonard: finally Rosco has found someone normal. Thank fuck! Leonard is nice, smart, friendly and actually not a complete oddball! They did meet on Grindr, but I really can’t judge that as I’ve gotten laid off Brenda before. Leonard is a keeper and I hope what he and Rosco have can last for a long time.
The moral of this story is that if you date/fuck enough crackpots, eventually you might be lucky enough to find someone nice, with the aid of geographical hook up apps such as Grindr.
Wow. That’s fucking bleak.
Lesbian relationships, like lesbians, come in many shapes and forms. I’ve already discussed the primal urge to physically, emotionally and geographically bond that is known as The Lesbian Merge. However, this is but one pit stop on the train line to Domesticated Lesbian Bliss. Here’s a brief rundown, from Shane-esque to Merge-dom.
1) The one-night-stand:
You meet at a club. You are both inebriated. You hook up. You get a taxi home. The cab driver seems slightly aroused by his passengers – two lesbos hooking up in the back of his taxi. You get home and drunkenly have sex. You wake up to find last night’s conquest gone, leaving only dirty sheets in her wake. You sigh, and with jaded acceptance, lean over and carve yet another notch into the bedpost.
2) The whole friends-with-benefits (and latent feelings for each other) thing:
You were dating some girl, pretty hot, and a good fuck, but the romance fizzled pretty quickly. However, being the clingy lesbos you are, you couldn’t let her go entirely, because she was just too good in bed for that. You wanted to save yourself from regressing to your previous sexless existence. You wanted to salvage the insane sexual chemistry you had with this girl. So you, or she, suggest Friends With Benefits, and the other readily agrees. Now you make an effort to not lean on each other emotionally, and to keep it purely physical, and you have lots and lots of noisy sex. Sometimes afterwards you snuggle for a little while, but then one of you realises what you’re doing and pulls away. It’s sexy. It’s emotionless. It’s a bit awkward.
3) You got yourself a stalker!
You went on one (mediocre) date and (drunkenly) slept with her (once), and now she’s obsessed with you. It’s great that somebody thinks you’re wonderful, and at first it did wonders for your self-esteem. Now it’s just fucking creepy. You log onto Facebook and discover umpteen notifications; she’s gone through all your photos from age 15 to now, and liked a large proportion of them. She’s commented on statuses you wrote weeks ago. It’s fucked. You start to sweat a little. She knows where you live. You lock the windows and bunker down for the night. Your housemates are out and every time you hear a noise outside you pray it’s not her, creeping into your room with a bunch of roses and an engagement ring.
4) Purely dating:
This is that nice girl you’ve been on a couple of dates with. You have kissed a little bit, and you enjoy gazing into each others’ eyes, and there’s the promise of lovemaking to come. But it hasn’t come yet. And neither have you. You’re nervous about whether the sex will be good or bad. You’re not sure where it’s going. You dream of a cat-filled future together. But you’re just not sure.
5) More than friends, less than girlfriends:
This is where I am currently at with The Musician. And where I’m positive you’ve been with someone at some point. You’ve been on a lot of beautiful dates. You’ve had amazing sex. You’ve bought each other gifts, you’ve gone to shows together, you’ve introduced her to your friends, and you’ve even met some of her family. She scores a mention at your weekly shrink appointment, and you score a mention at hers. You feel like when you’re together, it’s kind of like a relationship. But then you go a week, two weeks, without seeing each other and it’s abundantly clear it’s not a relationship. You like her a lot, and you kinda want to be her girlfriend, but there’s something holding you back. Maybe you’re not ready for a relationship. Maybe you’re also seeing someone else and having trouble choosing. Maybe she’s got some fundamental personality flaw that you simply can’t get over (examples include pyromania, a scat fetish, or being a Liberal voter). But no matter the reason, it’s stuck in hiatus.
6) The open relationship:
You’re girlfriends, you’re in love, but you’re allowed to screw around. So long as neither of you develops romantic feelings for anyone else. And so long as you tell each other about it. Nobody else really understands, but you both do so fuck everyone else. But then one of you “breaks the rules” and then it all goes to shit.
7) The monogamous relationship:
Boring! Fuck that!
8) The Merge:
See my previous post dedicated to this topic.
I know a lesbian couple who found themselves in this predicament. We haven’t seen or heard anything from them since. They’ve dropped off the face of the planet. The motto of this story is: lesbian marriage = death.
So, girls, there you have it. Everything you need to know about lesbian relationships. Namaste.
The bubonic plague of Middle Ages Europe was pretty bad, I’ll admit. So is herpes. But neither of them got anything on the various syndromes associated with text messaging.
A text, a small bit of data that flies through time and space from one mobile phone to the other, is seemingly innocent enough. But there is a dark underbelly to this phenomenon that we all know, but of which we rarely speak.
Picture this: you like a girl, and she likes you. You might like her a bit more than she likes you, but that’s alright, because you’ve had sex a couple of times and it was nice. You text her. You sit by your phone and wait. When an immediate reply doesn’t come through, you justify this by trying to convince yourself that she’s put down her phone and gone to the bathroom, but that she’ll immediately be back, because she is an anxious to receive a text from you as you are to receive one from her. You wait by your phone for one to five minutes. Nothing comes through. You begin to sweat a little. You tug at your collar. Still nothing.
After you eventually divert your attention to something else, say some work or study, a bit of time passes and you almost, but not quite, forget that you’re still waiting on a reply from her. Then a miracle occurs: your phone beeps! You jolt a little, and grab for your phone. It reads:
“Hi darl, just wondering what time dad and I will see you for dinner this Friday? Love mum.”
Your stomach sinks. You send a clipped reply to your mother. Logically you know it’s not her fault, but you can’t help but feel a little pissed at her that she dared, dared to text you at such a crucial moment.
The waiting game resumes. A few hours go by. You contemplate sending another text. Eventually, you do. You try really, really hard not to make it clingy, and say something related to your previous SMS, trying to pass it off as an add-on to what you said before. But at the back of your mind you fear she’ll know what you really are doing – waiting for her to reply.
You have dinner, you go to the gym, you study, you sleep. Between 12 and 36 hours pass. When you’ve finally stopped thinking about it, finally stopped trying to rationalise why she didn’t reply, your phone beeps.
“Oh yeah, that’s so funny! Ha ha. Yeah I’m good, just chilling with mates, and trying to get some study done. How are you?”
The penny drops. She wasn’t ignoring you, she wasn’t punishing you, she wasn’t trying to make you wait – she just took a while to reply, and that’s okay! What an idiot you’ve been! What a tragic, desperate moron!
She didn’t do it on purpose!
Or did she?