Hello, my wünderbar ladies!! I wrote a post a while back on celebrity crushes, which has turned out to be a HUGE success (if you haven’t commented on it yet, or even seen it, check it out and add your beauties!), so in light of recent television discoveries (*cough cough* Once and Again’s lesbian couple *cough…blissful sigh*) I have decided to do a post on y’all’s favorite couples on the screen, stage, or page. Think hard, now, and don’t be afraid to add more comments as you think of some you may have forgotten. (Oh, and please make these real–no fantasy couples, i.e. Hermione and Ginny in HP, or Thirteen and Cameron on House. I’m sorry, truly.)

So here are mine to begin with:

Jessie (Evan Rachel Wood) and Katie (Mischa Barton) on Once and Again

Marissa (Mischa Barton) and Alex (Olivia Wilde) in The OC

Annabelle (Erin Kelly) and Simone (Diane Gaidry) from Loving Annabelle

Evie (Nicole Ari Parker) and Randy (Laurel Holloman) from The Incredibly True Adventure of Two Girls in Love

Love you all loads,

~S-B406

Hey, I’m a lesbian and I first started getting feelings last year for a girl on my v-ball team and since then I’ve had one girlfriend, lol it was a LONG relationship. But now we aren’t together I have like no one. There are NO gay girls where I live and I feel like I’ve been completely cut out of a ‘gay’ lifestyle and out of ‘gay culture’. I’m completely surrounded by straight people everyday and I never have any friends to talk to about my lesbian relationships or anything… Help.

I had loved my friend Amy since the age of 15, though hadn’t the guts to tell her. I hadn’t even gotten the courage to tell her I was a lesbian. I couldn’t stand it anymore, so decided to invite Amy on a week-long camping trip with just us. This was my chance to be true to myself and the girl I loved.

She is crying now, face buried in her hands and body turned into the closets, hidden from me, turned from me. I can see the muscles of her back, taunt beneath her plain, cotton shirt, and shuttering under silent sobs. Her head rests on the barrier between the middle and right-hand closets, hand now placed upon a shelf in what? Resolve? Resistance? Regret? She still can’t face me; unable to risk that my face might reveal her deepest fears: that with the truth she has forever altered our friendship, that never again will we be so comfortable within ourselves and around each other, that, from now on, we will always be searching for some hidden meaning behind the most innocent of comments.

I stand, knowing my choice. Walking over to her, the four steps from my desk chair to her hunched form, struggling under the weight of possibility, seem to take an eternity. I graze her elbow with my fingertips and this slightest brush of skin finally turns her toward me. Her eyes are bloodshot, her face splotchy, but she is more beautiful than I have ever seen, inhibitions striped away and emotions showing raw and unchecked. I stand there, waiting for her; she looks up ready to flee, anticipating the hatred, shock and betrayal in my eyes. But I only step closer and touch her elbow again, taking in the familiar form of my best friend. Raising my eyes, I cup her face in my hands and kiss her with all the passion and love I can muster. And then.

And then she is kissing me back, hands tangled in my hair, on my face. My hands rest on the top of her jeans, intimate, waiting for more. Our kiss breaks, we lean into one another, finding the ways our bodies form to each other, how natural it feels to be in each other’s arms. Suddenly she laughs, still choked with tears, relief spreading through her body. Then we are both laughing, finally released to reach out to the woman we have loved, to hug her, kiss her, caress her. I kiss her neck, our hands running over the other’s body, knowing each other.  

“I’ve waited for so long,” I whisper into her shoulder, such an ordinary body part and yet, always saved for personal, emotionally riddled instances: a place for weeping, groping, resting, and kissing. “Me too,” was her only response before once again, we sunk into each other’s embrace.

Break up sex is one of the hardest ways to say goodbye.
You hurt most in the softness of the arms of the one who just dumped you.
But when she started the obligatory “We can’t continue like this” – routine, the only thing I thought was “Please let her get into bed with me just one more time.”
She did bring me home after she had told me it was over. Guilt. I felt so miserable she had no choice. So she stayed. Not on the couch, but in my bed.
“We can sleep together, but I don’t want to make love. That wouldn’t be fair to you.” She said. That made me feel even more miserable. I put out the light and turned to my side, away from the body that rejected me. Hurt.
All night when I had tried to kiss her deeper and with tongue she had avoided me. But now in the bed, we were on dangerous grounds. The mind can be strong but the flesh is weak. Familiar flesh is even weaker.