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iConfess: A shower that turned me into a ‘lesbian’
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A young woman tells the story of the first time she slept with another woman.
My First Time Having Sex at College
My First Time Sleeping With Another Woman
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[Narrator] I was 18 and moved to New York for college.
In high school I was an overachiever.
did over 600 hours of volunteer work,
and in my senior year, I took eight classes
But college was going to be different.
I knew what I wanted and what I wanted was sex.
The on-ampus housing staff must've had a cruel sense
of humor because we had the same name.
But the similarities stopped there.
Her half of the closet was bright pink dresses
and my half was shades of gray skinny jeans.
She was so chipper and earnest and nice,
so I continually found reasons to blow her off.
I got what my doctor would later call
the worst case of mono I've ever seen
from a grungey guy I hooked up with
after pretending to like death metal.
So now I was bedridden and miserable.
I ended up spending a lot of time with my roommate.
Lindsay took care of me, bringing me protein shakes
with a straw when I was too sick to eat.
And suddenly we were great friends.
Once I recovered from my four month stint with mono,
I was wearing a dress and had some sort of
cleavage situation going on, trying so hard to fit into
my idea of what it meant to go out, hook up, flirt.
It all felt like such a costume and it was.
I think Lindsay even got me to dance,
but it was the most fun I'd had since I started college.
We went back to our dorm room that night
We hugged and the hug just never seemed to end.
Literally, we were just standing there in the middle of our
tiny room, embracing each other for maybe 20 minutes
longer, neither of us saying anything.
I asked her if she wanted to stay in my bed that night
so we could keep hugging, you know, as friends do.
So we're in this tiny twin bed and we're spooning,
I was surprisingly the little spoon,
I could feel her nod yes into the back of my neck.
Even more time goes by and I still haven't fallen asleep
and the sun is coming up and I ask her again, are you awake?
I ask her, do you want me to kiss you?
We couldn't stop, even after both of our mouths were dry
and the whole time I couldn't stop thinking,
what the fuck is happening right now?
This went on for months, slowly escalating
not only physically but emotionally,
hooking up in secret and still totally convinced
that we were both straight, we were just best friends,
this is totally just what best friends did.
Long story short, we're still roommates and best friends,
Since that first dorm room we've lived in
nine apartments together, upgrading from a twin dorm bed
to a full sized IKEA about a year ago.
When I started college, I felt so sure of what I wanted.
I wanted to have casual sex with guys, but here I am,
five years later, I don't wear dresses,
I'm always the big spoon, and I'm a lesbian.
Though not everything changed, I'm still a nerd
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I Discovered I Was Bisexual At Girl Scout Camp
By heatherbarmore — Written on Apr 03, 2020
The first time I kissed a girl was at Girl Scout camp when I was 14 years old. Girl Scout camp, of all places! She was a short, red-haired girl named Bailey who I pecked on the lips in a moment of teenage experimentation.
I kissed her again in the parking lot in front of my rather prudish mother who stood by, ready to load me up into our minivan. In my periphery I could see her eyes widen and her face scrunch in disgust. “Let’s go,” she said curtly.
After kissing Bailey, I returned home and started my sophomore year of high school. I didn’t head through the doors of my small town school and proudly proclaim that I was contemplating my sexuality and possibly being a lesbian. A kiss was just a kiss, and a peck was my version of "we’ll see."
Although my parents were sexual beings by my estimations — I once found more condoms than any man could possibly need in a dish on my father’s dresser — they never spoke of the big "it" out loud. Since the Internet came of age, just as I did, instead of having "the talk" with my parents, I learned about sex via the World Wide Web. Thanks to Ask Jeeves (remember Ask Jeeves?), I learned about orgasms and the purpose of a clitoris.
From September to June, I admired (and attempted to approach) the boys in my grade and was quickly rebuffed. It seemed I wasn’t good enough, pretty enough, popular enough for them. I simply wasn’t enough at all.
Come July, I officially switched to the other team, so to speak. Nothing serious, mind you, just casual flirtation and a willingness to be open and affectionate with women. 
But it was Girl Scout camp where my curiosity about women, bisexuality, and sexual orientation first piqued. It wasn’t simply the place I learned to tie a rope, build a fire, kayak and sail; it was where I learned to appreciate women as leaders.
I envied these women because they were able to be themselves and — as it seemed from my teenage vantage point — had been able to forge a path of acceptance in themselves and those around them. The women I met were creative, talented, and kind. They often wore their heart on their sleeves.
These weren't the girls I was forced to be around in my high school for nine months of the year — these were women. Real women. They weren’t mean or haughty, but adventurous and clever. These were the type of women I hoped to become.
Eventually, during my junior year of high school, I moved past personality traits and truly began to notice the female form of my fellow staffers, the way a woman’s body moved with hips and curves. At the time, I was a breast girl. An enthusiast, if you will, so I admired (clandestinely) the chests of those around me to compare and contrast to what I had to offer. 
I developed a lesbian crush on my friend Lindsay, but she was dating a fellow counselor. On one of our breaks, I brought Lindsay home with me before heading back to camp. My father was courteous, but later referred to her as "that dyke." It was then I realized that crushing on a woman and holding hands in the woods was as far as it could ever go.
Eleven years later, I stood in the bathroom of my apartment. My girlfriend at the time, Heidi, was taking a bath. I knew she had been dying for one, so I surprised her with a Lush bath bomb. I swirled the water around with my hand and asked how she liked it before receiving a kiss. Not a peck, not experimentation, but a full-on plant where she grabbed my face with her wet hands.
I got up from the edge of the tub and started to undress myself and prepare for bed. We had sex the night before — some of the best sex I've ever had — and she fell asleep wrapped around me so that I could feel her chest on my back.
Three years later, long after Heidi and I broke up, I was sitting on a friend’s rooftop with a group of girlfriends. While I hadn't inherited my parents’ reluctance to discuss sex, I'd been known to keep many intimate details to myself, namely the one where I openly say that I'd had sex with women and I'd probably do it again.
After a bottle of wine or two, it came up. Amid close friends, I nonchalantly mentioned an ex who happened to also have a vagina.
One friend simply said, “Oh, so you’re bisexual? How did I not know this?” and the conversation moved on. Another friend poked me in the arm, gave me a side-eye and said, “I told you no one cares.”
I'm bisexual. I'm attracted to people , full stop. For far too long, that was something I was reluctant to admit. Once upon a time, my parents sent me off to Girl Scout camp where I was imparted with a healthy dose of independence, and, more importantly, an ability to finally find women with whom I could form a bond. 
Perhaps it was finding that capacity within myself, in this world full of gray areas, that made it possible for me to eventually be able to connect to women based on friendship and acceptance. Over the years, I've found a natural lust for both women and men, and eventually a confidence to go after both sexes.
In a recent conversation with my once-prudish mother, I mentioned what camp did for me: how it turned me into a woman who loves people — all people — and I told her that she raised a woman who wanted to love (and be loved) by whomever.
I broached the topic carefully, waiting for disappointment. She smiled and said, “Good.” Nothing more, nothing less. Simple acceptance, which is really all I ever wanted.
Heather Barmore is a blogger, freelance writer and policy advocate. Visit her website or follow her on Twitter .
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