Dykes Come Out #3 - Mouth-Typing Takes Practice

by Kate Pulley

Hiya faggots.

Ready for a good whine?

Ok, then:  Ow.  Owwwwwwww.  

I got in a scooter crash with Kirsten and CJ and banged us all up pretty spectacularly.

A few days later, scooterless, I got on my bicycle and rode it around Chicago.  


And damn!  I forgot about biking.

Why didn't I bike more often?  Exercise!  Coolness factor!

*BAM!*
I hit a pothole on my bike. 

Apparently, my brakes weren't fastened on exactly, um, properly, and they FELL THE HELL OFF when I hit the pothole.  
The cables tangled in my front wheel and I flipped over the handlebars and skidded into the street on my shoulder.  

Roadburn.  

Have you ever tried to scrub tar out of an open wound?

*Hint!* Olive oil and a stiff nail brush does nicely.  The sound of your own wailing is soothed by the fact that you smell just like dinner.  Mix the olive oil with your raw, flayed skin, add salt 'n' pepper, and you're ready for grillin'!

You would think I would just take the effing bus.

But no. 
I hate the bus.  I'll do anything to not take the bus.

So I got out my roller skates. 

  (by Naïf.)

I was skating along, happy to be alive (albeit bruised and cut-up), when...

a wheel came off my skate. 


Just rolled merrily along the sidewalk, winking in the sun.


I had a split-second to feel strangely off-balance.

My palms now look remarkably like cherry pie filling.

Anyway!  so we can end this pity party early, y'all are getting a Coming Out Story today, because Mummy's fingernails are hanging by threads and there's a blood blister under each fingerpad and it hurts like a bitch to type. 

[via fringeandglasses]

This Coming Out Story comes to us from a gayelle who signs her letters as "Dragon Slayer".  


I don't ask questions.

Thanks for Coming Out, Dragon Slayer!

(As always, it's edited, with permission, for space/grammar/pictures/and whatever else I felt like doing to it.)

#3 Dragon Slayer says..... I always knew I was gay.   Always.   Before my parents ever told me "Gay is bad", I already knew not to mention or display such things.   So there I am, bumbling along, chopping all my long hair off at 10 years old; wearing wolf t-shirts and flannel shirts.   Had my GI Joes and my big, boyish hi-tops.  I also had a raging crush on my 5th grade teacher, Ms. Raymond.   1994:  It's 7th grade.  I turn 12.   A few weeks into the school year,  I meet Bethany. She's a brunette; angsty, mouthy, immature, and not from around town.   [via rosavelenosa] I don't remember how we got to talking but, apparently, in a journal entry, I wrote about meeting this "yo girl" and how I'd make her cooler by getting her to listen to better music (Nirvana) and to be more like me.   Which was obviously SO COOL.  [via awkwardfamilyphotos] We hung out all the time.  Talked on the phone all the time.   I didn't really know what was happening, but luckily, Bethany was "experienced" and was able to identify her feelings.  We would talk on the phone, quietly discussing that, sure, bisexuality is cool; yeah, it's OK.  [via skincolony] We both came out as bi and then coyishly admitted that we liked each other.  And that maybe we should "go out".   I thank the gods for Bethany and her "experience" because one fateful sleepover she informed me that the petting I was doing could be done UNDER underwear. Blew.  My.  Mind. [by purelikegolddd] High school.  I cut all my hair off for good and shed any "girly" thing from my life.   My family began questioning.   [via wordsoflove] I had a girl sleep over while I was a freshman.  We banged all night.  At one point, my father was chatting with the girl, explaining to her some rules we applied at my house like, "No boys are allowed in her room ever." The girl replied, "You could have the whole football team in there, it doesn't matter.  It's the cheerleading squad you have to worry about." I was mortified and immediately reassured my father that it was a joke.  Just a bad joke.   Throughout high school, my father always questioned me about my sexuality.   I always denied being gay because I didn't want to deal with whatever consequences might follow.   Also, well, I hated my parents and didn't want to share my life with them.   My father continued to talk shit about the way I dressed, becoming angry and embarrassed if someone mistook me for a boy. My parents were the ultimate cock-block.  High school consisted of very rare sleepovers at other's people's houses (they told me I was "too old" for them), and if anyone came to our house, they absolutely could NOT sleep in the same bed as me.   COULD NOT.   My father would totally "check in" randomly at night.   I worked around that, though.  If my lady friend slept over, we did it quietly, then separated sleeping areas. [via lesfemmes] No one in high school ever asked me about my gayness, though.   Not a soul bothered me about being gay (which I stereotypically clearly was.)   Really, my friends never asked and strangers never teased.   [via theboyinthetree] Occasionally, after bad fights on the phone with my high school sweetheart, when I would sob in a way that seemed a little much for a "friendship", my dad would quietly ask if I was gay.   I would deny deny deny. Fast forward to 23 years old and needing a co-signer on an apartment I wanted to get with my girlfriend at the time.   We didn't have good enough credit and we couldn't ask her parents for help.   So I mustered up the courage to ask my parents to co-sign on this apartment.  This small, lofted studio.   No-we're-just-friends-that-want-to-live-together-in-an-efficiency-it's-cool.   We're just really good friends.  I swear.   No we're just friends. [via hellogirls] Finally, my stepmother just said, "Exactly what kind of relationship do you have with this girl?" "We're just friends." She gave me the ol' one-eye. "Really though.  What kind of relationship do you have with this girl?" I looked her in the eye, considered lying again...then sighed, slumped my shoulders and answered, "She's my girlfriend." Twenty-three freaking years of in-your-face obvious and that's how it goes down.   Sort of anti-climactic. Boom shakalaka. THE END. Heh. Wasn't the bit about the cheerleading squad good?   I particularly enjoyed the part about going UNDER the underwear. We have some serious cleverness going on here.  Dragon Slayer.   Awesome. I'm going to change my name to something like that.  Now if you'll excuse me, homos, I have weeping sores to tend.