A Complete Beginner's Guide to Scissoring

What's this? Another Lesbian Post. Oh No.

IT'S NOT. Relax. Put the mouse down.

Well, in a sense, it might be. But it isn't. Because this is my story, of my sexuality and gender. So listen! Enjoy. Keep an extra pair of panties around because things might get saucy. Scratch that, things with most definitely get saucy.

A little bit about me?

Everyone goes through the many mistakes and wrong turns while trying to navigate the perilous and unforgiving journey of discovering one’s purpose in life. There are countless influences that tell you what your best way to contribute to the world is, making an honest choice a difficult one. Some of us have no choice in the matter. There has always been, and always will be, a prevailing, unavoidable characteristic in some people's lives that are there unequivocal raison d’etre.

For me ...

...It has always been an oddly intuitive understanding of female sexuality, and an obligation to nurture and uncover it. Thus follows an autobiographical recount of my greatest weakness, as well as most powerful strength.

No greater weakness do I have than the female kind, and just about everyone in my life knows it.

In a cosmic sort of manner, the older I get, the more I recognize that the female kind has no greater weakness than me.

Do I sound like a hot air balloon expanding itself with vanity and false confidence? Maybe. I request that my readers allow me to tell my story before writing me off as another baby dyke stretching truths to legitimize their sexuality (at this point in life, nonetheless, their existence).

I am a unique case, with unique stories that speak to more than just the physicality of sex. To begin, I must make it clear that I don't usually get along with Lesbians of any kind. I capitalize the word Lesbian because it has become more of a social identity instead of simply a way to convey to the heteronormative world that, yes, I like women. Yes, I am, myself, a woman. (Refer to me as just me?) But let me save the many reasons why for a deeper chapter. The affairs, infatuations, and deep, dark loves of my life have not been explained in detailed recount, and I owe you a back story to explain who I am and where I came from.

My love for women burned hot before I had a grasp on how to channel it. Picture this: fourteen-year-old Charlie, yearning not from the groin, but from the heart, for her olive-skinned, creamy, brown-eyed swimming teacher. As far as I was concerned, life itself shined out of her playful, deeply tanned complexion. Any excuse to converse with her was good enough. I gather my readers have come to recognize Charlies’s passionate, rather erratic nature. Like a pubescent boy drooling over each curvaceous body, she lusted after it. There really is not much to say about Maddie Juss, other than she was the introduction to lust. It was, perhaps, truly downhill from there. Charlie recognized what world she lived in, and what a regular flowering young girl did and did not do, and became quite good at satisfying her relentless thirst without destroying her quite average appearance. Elementary school was a blur of innocent stolen gropes and squeezes, and even occasional bed play with experimental young girls. Rest assured, none of these acts came from a conscious place. It was the most primal, natural, and automatic thing for her to do. She was not fully aware of what she wanted, but she wanted it bad enough to make feeble attempts. Now imagine this: an ordinary girl (whatever that means) who just happens to have an appetite for a forbidden fruit, literally immersed in it every day of her life.

To make matters worse, the girls in her life had their own sexual energy that they did not understand, time from time allowing there feminine to play with Charlie’s masculine, and enjoyed it.

No one really discusses how hot and curious young women are, usually presuming the young boys are the only ones with an insatiable thirst to fuck. Let me give an example to clarify what I have shared.

Friends Who F

A best friend, someone whom Charlie trusted with all of her heart, saw quite early on the burning needs that did not align with the rest of her friends. Her name was Molly, and Charlie owes a great deal to her. A play date did not look much different than any other, however, when Charlie was given permission to rest her head near, her loins would rage with passion and flood Molly with unmistakable energy.

“Do you want to come closer?”

Molly’s eyes traced Charlie’s body in the dim lit room, then, knowing the answer without reply, caressingly flipped herself on her side, pressing her weight in to her delicate shoulder. I took in her present position, processing the empty space between us, and nudged myself close enough to feel her warmth in my groin. Fireworks! Passion! Triumphantly grinning, I relaxed my body and soaked in her woman. I felt whole. We did not talk about this rather unordinary arrangement between us, and I’m not quite sure what she got from it, even so as our understanding grew, so did our play. Flashing forward to sixteen years old, drinking introduced, and the concept of having sex well-engrained in our innocent minds.

“Hello bub, what’s the plan tonight? How are we getting booze, hm?” Molly was making the necessary arrangements for a party she had been invited to. I, of course, was her plus one. A lanky, bland toast of a boy she had been seeing for several weeks had extended the invitation. Molly and I really didn’t know anyone there so obviously had planned on knocking back some drinks, as teenagers tend to do. Awkwardly, we played drinking games and did our best to converse with the cooler kids standing in corners talking about there cooler's lives. I drink not like the little blonde thing that I am, but more so like a 200-pound sailor who doesn’t know his limits. I didn’t really know my limits in any aspect of my life, come to think of it. Sufficiently intoxicated, Molly dragged her swaying lady to the bathroom, squealing

“I have to pee, come with!”

Dutifully following, Charlie slipped into the bright, blurry room. Her mind a hot bed of emotion and alcohol, she pressed herself against Molly’s breasts and grabbed her smooth jawline, tilting her within reach. Hunger overpowering her rationality, Charlie placed her lips against the deliciously frail, passive girl, the two enthralled in each other's bodies for several minutes until Molly stopped.

“Good lord, Charlie! We simply can’t keep doing this.”

Charlie bore her deep blue eyes in to Molly, who shifted back from the intensity of her stare. You see, through her confidently steady gaze, Charlie could submit anyone who got caught in it. She was not quite sure how this skill had arisen, however, she had known since that first day she had made her middle school principle falter and fumble over his words with a subconscious, yet swift shift in her energy. Being only 12 years old, this had felt like quite a feat, and indeed, it truly was. Now, back to Molly and what her complicated sexual identity must be like. Why might a girl who doesn't usually tend to be known for making love with other girls decide that an arrangement like this might be a positive one?

Yes, mom, I love straight girls.

As Charlie grew older and her social decisions grew increasingly important, her tactics became sly. What has every honest, straight-edged girl carelessly participated in for simply a good time and some even a little bit of attention? Why, kissed her own kind, of course, naturally inebriated and in front of the gawking eyes of an encouraging audience.

When a straight girl decides it might give her joy to humour an advancing, lusty-eyed lesbian, no one really can be quite sure what is running through her mind in that very moment. Is there a bystanding male she might be trying to impress? Does she just love to press her lips against anyone with a willing pair? Or perhaps, maybe a small squeal of curiosity, buried deep below, surfaces.

No no, I am not one of those idiotic people who believe every girl is a lesbian. Don’t put the book down. Relax.

If you must take one lesson from the mishaps of my life, it is that everyone has a bit of variance in their sexual desires. See, the way we are taught to look at a human is by slotting them into either side of a categorical difference. You are either:

female or male.

man or woman.

penis or vagina.

These differences are purely visual, and neglect something important. What if we categorized people we interacted with by how they made us feel? An odd thought, I admit, but an arduously important concept to ponder. What if an interaction between two humans was simply the manner in which these entities interplayed energies, regardless of rather obviously irrelevant physical features? You see, Charlie exuded a strong and dominating energy that even women who didn’t consider themselves into women, were attracted to. She did this unknowingly, but did not stop to question why so many of her friends played the game of cat and mouse with her. If one decides to open their minds and take in the world not in the way we are told to, but the way the world naturally presents itself, the classic straight girl with a lesbian crush makes sense. And let’s face it—all women really want is to love and be loved.

Charlie loved every beautiful piece that made up a woman, and she knew how to show it. She worshipped them. They are beyond her, even though she is them. She lied at their feet while they towered over, her happy as a clam. She felt truly equal and one with them, she looked for a future in them, she dreamt of every part of their body, from the highest follicle on their head down to the very ground they stood. She wanted to protect them; she wanted them to protect her. She wanted to pant her tongue on her hands and knees while they teased her. Charlie was truly, madly infatuated with the female kind. What a lucky girl; lucky to feel both the emotional intensity that two women can create, as well as the deeply connected bond unique to the empathetic nature of a female; lucky to experience the freedom to embrace all aspects of her sexuality, both highly feminine and deeply masculine. She allowed these sides of her to develop as her sexuality grew stronger amongst the pubescent hormonal cesspool that filled the halls of Nanaimo District High School, and by the time she hit grade 12, her chances of mutually heated encounters increased.

All Rights Reserved to Ana Cross.