Caesar, you don't know shit.

tangled together under the covers, both of us still fully clothed. my hand slides down your hip, tracing the waistband of your underwear before slipping under the cotton. my fingers finally find you, soft and wet. a shuddering gasp escaping your lips right into our kiss. i keep the rhythm steady, still trying to find your favorite spot, pace, and pressure. i’m being so incredibly gentle, getting used to the way your body naturally twitches against my hand.

i start moving, reaching up to slowly peel the blankets away from us. “where are you going?” you whisper, your hands instinctively tightening on my shoulders.

“i’m right here baby” i say back. “i just want to see you properly. i want these covers off and i want these clothes gone.”

the dim light hits your face and i notice the look on it. your eyes looking down, a little hesitant, somewhat overwhelmed by the sudden vulnerability. i chuckle, cupping your face. “what is it? are you shy?” you squirm, a nervous but sweet smile tugging at the corners of your lips, your hips tilting unconsciously against my hand.

“don’t be shy or nervous with me” i whisper, my thumb rubbing your cheekbone. “i want to see every single inch of you. i want to look at you and i want to taste you”

you let out a soft breath, silently giving in as you let me fully drag the blankets down. i don’t rush you. i move back up your body, keeping my weight between your thighs, holding you close while i press deep passionate kisses into your neck to soothe the nerves.

“i’m just going to take your pants off first, okay? nothing else yet” i promise softly.

i gently remove them, but as soon as my hands move back to your waist, your thighs instinctively squeeze tight together, guarding yourself out of habit. i don’t force it. instead i just come right back up, burying my face in your neck, kissing you until i feel your muscles slowly relax again.

your hands wander up to the collar of my button up shirt, your fingers playing with the buttons. i take the hint immediately. “unbutton it for me” i whisper, looking down at you.

you don’t hesitate this time. you part the fabric so you can see the bare skin of my chest but you don’t pull the shirt off completely just keeping it loose, a little bit of shared nakedness to make you feel safer and more comfortable. your palms slide inside, flat against my breasts, your thumb catching my nipple and rolling it gently.

a breathy moan catches in my throat and the sound makes your eyes light up with confidence. “come closer” you whisper, tugging my shirt.

i lean further down and you take one straight into your mouth, sucking softly. the intense feeling has me holding onto the headboard, my hips sinking into yours. hearing me completely lose my breath for you ruins the very last of your shyness.

i finally slide back down your body and the atmosphere shifts from hesitant to needy. i look up at you, maintaining intense eye contact while i gently part your thighs. my hand rests over your underwear, my palm applying a heavy, circling pressure against the wet fabric that has your back arching off the mattress.

“can i?” i ask while hooking my finger under the waistband, making sure you feel completely ready. you nod, breathing heavy. “please”

i slide the underwear down your legs, tossing them aside and then i spread you open even wider. i don’t immediately dive in. instead, i just stay there on my knees, staring down between your legs in absolute adoration and hunger. the sheer beauty of you takes the air right out of my lungs, making me even needier than you are. I’m getting wet just at the sight of you absolutely glistening for me.

“you’re gorgeous baby” i whisper, my fingers gently tracing, familiarizing myself with you even more. you're so soft and throbbing. “so perfect”

you cover your face with one hand, a final wave of shyness hitting you from the sheer intensity of my gaze. the way i’m looking at every inch, every fold, inspecting you and admiring you. but your hips are already twitching, silently begging for the ache to stop.

i pull your hand away from your eyes, lacing my fingers through yours to hold your hand flat to the mattress. “look at me”

You’re seen and appreciated

Even though dykes had been using all kinds of dildos for years, no one talked about it. It was seen as bar dyke and regressive, certainly not lesbian-feminist.

Few lesbians would admit to owning one. I can remember a screaming fight I had with someone at a pro-and-con porn workshop who was denouncing the use of dildos as, yet again, "What men do to us— not what lesbians do."

I've been told she kept hers in a shoe box under the bed.

Our answer was to explain that dildos were absolutely lesbian. They were our heritage and history, a link with those who had bravely gone before. Dildos did not represent the penis. Couldn't we take ours off and put it into a drawer? It was a removable object purely for pleasure and did not endow its wearer with any innate ability to keep its recipient barefoot, in the kitchen, or oppressed.

Then we threw away the lavender silicone cucumbers. They were embarrassing and they broke. We bought bigger dildos; we wore them under our jeans (or our skirts). We bought the kind with simulated veins and balls from porn shops. We walked differently when we wore them to the bar. Girls bought us drinks, we used the men's john. I named my collection of graduating sizes "The Tools of the Patriarchy." We looked people in the eye when we had that bulge in our crotches. Some of us perfected our long-forgotten skills of rolling on a condom.

A very butch friend asked me for help in figuring out why she liked her femme girlfriend to fuck her with a dildo. "Nerve endings," I told her. It meant she had the right anatomy to come from vaginal stimulation. And we were both happy with that lie. The reality is what we both knew, that we all want to be fucked senseless, as Sharon Olds points out in, "The Solution." More than that, some of us need to be also taken sexually in a way possible only by being entered and used by a cock and what that represents. Because we are dykes, we want a dyke on the other end of that cock.

We lied to you and I lied to my friend. Plastic dicks represent much more than sex toys for pleasuring nerve endings in vaginas. When we strap one on, it becomes ours."]