Lesbians In Tub

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Rumer Willis gets wet and wild with Serayah McNeill on Empire
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Rumer Willis opens up on childhood and closeness with sisters
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Published: 10:51 BST, 4 May 2017 | Updated: 17:28 BST, 4 May 2017
Her newly bagged recurring role on Fox's hit drama Empire is yet another acting credential helping her to step out of her famous parents' shadow.
And Rumer Willis- who plays a talented musician battling addiction in the gritty show - steamed things up as she stripped off in a bathtub to enjoy a lesbian romp in the latest episode.
The 28-year-old eldest daughter of Demi Moore and Bruce Willis was seen putting on a saucy display as she got wet and wild with Serayah McNeill (who plays Tiana) - before the girls were joined by Hakeem (Bryshere Y. Gray) for a menage-a-trois.
That's one HOT bath! Rumer Willis- who plays a talented musician battling addiction in Fox's hit show Empire- steamed things up as she stripped off in a bathtub to enjoy a lesbian romp in the latest episode
Steamy: The eldest daughter of Demi Moore and Bruce Willis, 28, was seen putting on a saucy display as she got wet and wild with Serayah McNeill (who plays singer Tiana)
The talented actress looked very much comfortable as she sat in the lavish bathtub, which was lathered in bubbles, while provocatively drawing in her co-star.
Rumer sported wet locks as she flirted outrageously with the stunning star, before engaging in the steamy cinch.
Both girls seemed to be loving the attention from each other as they succumbed to their desires to put on the raunchy display - where their modesty was just about covered by bubbles.
Their sexy cinch was all closely monitored by Hakeem, who also stripped down to join the girls in the bathtub for season four of the show.
Loving on her: The talented actress looked very much comfortable as she sat in the lavish bathtub, which was lathered in bubbles, while provocatively drawing in her co-star
Saucy stuff: Rumer sported wet locks as she flirted outrageously with the stunning star, before engaging in the steamy cinch
Racy: Both girls seemed to be loving the attention from each other as they succumbed to their desires
Rising star: Her newly bagged recurring role on Fox's hit drama Empire is yet another acting credential helping her to step out of her famous parents' shadow
Teasing viewers: Their modesty is just about covered by soap bubbles
He proceeded to make out with Rumer and Serayah - who was more than happy to continue the passionate display.
The music-centric show revolves around a family competition to become a hip-hop music mogul's successor at Empire Entertainment.
The fictional production company is the backdrop for a series addressing drug use, family dynamics and love, which frequently features A-list guest appearances.
Rumer joined the show for the latest season as Tory Ash, who joins one of the hip-hop mogul sons, Jamal, in rehab.
Third wheel: Their sexy cinch is all closely monitored by Hakeem, who also stripped down to join the girls in the bathtub for season four of the show
Joining in the action: Hakeem (Bryshere Y. Gray) was seen approaching the bathtub for the menage-a-trois
Explicit: The scene was very much racy, as the cast proceeded with the threesome
Setting pulses racing: He proceeded to make out with Rumer and Serayah - who was more than happy to continue the passionate display
She portrays an addiction-riddled singer whose entire look on the show appears to parallel the life of Amy Winehouse in many ways.
After landing the part, Rumer took to Instagram where she told her followers: 'Tonight was a dream come true. It was so much fun celebrating my first episode of @empirefox.'
The gig is a family affair, with her mother, Demi, set to appear in the finale as a nurse with a mysterious past.
Rumer and her sartorially savvy sisters Scout, 25, and Tallulah Belle, 23, are the product of the A-listers' 13 year marriage.
New gig: Rumer joined the show for the latest season as Tory Ash, who joins one of the hip-hop mogul sons, Jamal, in rehab
Character: She portrays an addiction-riddled singer whose entire look on the show appears to parallel the life of Amy Winehouse in many ways
Like mother, like daughter: The gig is a family affair, with her mother, Demi, set to appear in the finale as a nurse with a mysterious past
And proving that her talents have been nurtured by her supportive parents from a young age, Rumer recently took to Instagram with a picture of her grinning a child.
The star wrote: 'This girl isn't afraid of anything, she loves with her whole heart and doesn't apologise for being a nerd or following the beat of her own drum. She is unapologetically her sparkly self.
'Some days It's good to remind myself that that is me.....and show her all the love she deserves.'
'This girl isn't afraid of anything': Proving that her talents have been nurtured by her supportive parents from a young age, Rumer recently took to Instagram with a picture of her grinning a child
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I wanted to see myself as the cool, hip queer I hoped I was: someone who doesn’t have to subscribe to retrograde and patriarchal notions of what love is, or could be.

“My friends and I don’t wanna be here if this isn’t an actively trans-affirming space. I’m only coming if all my sisters can.”

Our identity hasn’t been able to shake the anti-gay stereotypes of lesbians as uncosmopolitan boomer TERFs, sporting Tevas and cargo pants covered in cat hair.

“I don’t have a husband,” I said. “I’m gay. We’re all gay.”

Olivia is one of the last dedicated venues for lesbian debauchery still standing.

From the very beginning, we moved as if we’d known each other a long, long time.

I saw how much pride she took in her butch womanhood, which wasn’t some androgynous nowhere zone — femininity’s absence — but a whole universe unto itself.

We did a lap around the upper deck before sunset, arms linked, and when we arrived back on the main deck, a big group of lesbians literally cheered .

She told me she’d lived on this earth for 53 years. She knew what she wanted. And now it was my turn to figure that out for myself.

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I didn’t expect that spending a week with a couple thousand lesbians on a cruise ship would push me to radically reconsider the future I’d planned for myself.
It’s night four of the cruise — karaoke night — and everybody’s been picking slow, sad songs. So I decide to wake the place up a little.
The second dinner session has just let out, and the Rendezvous Lounge (which is as tacky as it sounds) is overflowing with lesbians. They’re mostly middle-aged or older; they’re wearing brightly colored tourist T-shirts purchased on our excursion earlier today to St. Kitts; they’re cheering for their new friends; they’re here to have a good time.
I’m determined to do something showstopping, but our offerings are comically limited. No Sheryl Crow, no Michelle Branch. Not even “Total Eclipse of the Heart.”
“These choices are homophobic,” I tell my new friend Dana. She’s technically my press handler, tasked with making sure I see the best that the tour operator, Olivia Travel, has to offer. So far, she’s more than delivered, but the weak karaoke selection — not Dana’s fault! — is a rare low point on a trip that, four days in, has already slowly but surely begun to change my life.
I settle for some Kelly Clarkson, and after my screechy but enthusiastic rendition of “Since U Been Gone,” five (!) different women approach me, complimenting my performance. One of them tells me her friend thinks I’m really cute, and could she buy me a drink?
I’m loose and light and a little sleepy from my second Corona and a blossoming sunburn. Sure, I say, why not, thinking all the while: If any other 27-year-old lesbians could use a self-esteem boost, all they need to do, clearly, is get themselves on an Olivia cruise.
I had only a vague idea of what to expect when I boarded the Celebrity Summit in April for a weeklong excursion to the Caribbean. Olivia, a groundbreaking women’s record label turned lesbian travel company, named for the hero of a Dorothy Bussy novel, has catered specifically to lesbian vacationers since its maiden voyage in 1990. When I reached out to Olivia, the company offered me a press ticket for one of its Celebrity-partnered cruises so that I could get a sense of how it's become one of the most successful lesbian companies of all time . I generally expected to meet some nice older ladies with interesting life stories, to explore the tensions of intergenerational lesbian culture and the fraught future of lesbian spaces, to laze about on a beach in the Virgin Islands and get to say I was swimming and sunbathing “for work.”
What I didn’t expect was everything else that would happen to me — and is still happening to me — thanks to this one little week in my otherwise pleasantly uneventful life.
For one thing, I didn’t expect to have nearly so much fun. I’d been on one cruise before, also to the Caribbean, but I was too little at the time to really remember it. And were it not for this story, there’s no way I would have voluntarily set foot on a cruise ship again. Even though cruise companies are actively trying to capture the millennial dollar , which is sort of working , cruises still aren’t exactly a popular travel option for my peer group; we tend to favor more “ authentic ” travel experiences (whatever that means). And we have plenty of reasons to avoid cruises: Operators exploit their workers ; passengers experience alarmingly high rates of sexual assault ; and the ships destroy the environment , disrupt local communities , and generally disgorge terrifying crowds of oblivious and often racist white people into historic ports, where they can cause a few hours’ worth of chaos before sailing off to their next destination. It’s a particularly ugly (and expensive ) brand of tourism.
So I’m surprised to say I might actually travel with Olivia again, skeptical as I remain of cruise ethics in general. And that’s because of all the things that happened in the eight days I spent aboard the Summit — things I wasn’t remotely expecting.
I didn’t expect to have a profound reckoning with my relationship to my own lesbianism and womanhood. I didn’t expect to make friends I hope to keep for a long, long time. I didn’t expect that spending a few days with a couple thousand lesbians on a floating hotel/casino/mall/amusement park would push me to radically reconsider the future I’d been carefully and painstakingly planning for myself.
Most of all, I didn’t expect to meet Lynette.
When I boarded the cruise at the end of April, my partner of nearly five years and I had been experimenting with nonmonogamy. When we met, we’d been two postgrad dirtbags, drinking beer out of paper bags in the park on weekday afternoons, sleeping on air mattresses and in hallways. I had a full-time media fellowship that paid me $20,000 a year; they were a bike courier, delivering food to rich people’s apartments, and working the late shift at REI, stocking while I slept. We’d see each other early in the mornings; they’d bring me donuts in bed.
Then somehow, all of a sudden, years passed. We became two professionals in our late twenties, living in our dream apartment on the top floor of a Brooklyn brownstone. We weren’t allowed to have pets, but, like good millennials, we had plenty of plants, and interests outside of each other: my roller derby, their ultramarathons. We were busy, stable. Happy enough.
I tried to tell myself that lesbian bed death isn’t real , all the while heartily blaming myself for our increasingly diminished sex life. I was the one who never really felt like initiating, or at least not with anywhere near the regularity we’d had as a hormone-crazed new couple. I assumed, at best, that all passions cool somewhat over the years; at worst, I thought something might be wrong with me.
My partner was patient and kind. But as time went on, they got frustrated — understandably — and they suggested, as a reparative measure, that we open up our relationship.
I was hesitant for a couple reasons. The first was that they’d slept with someone else, just once, when they were on a solo vacation, before we’d agreed to any sort of open-relationship terms; I felt like they’d forced my hand. (It’s hard for me even now to say they cheated on me, though that’s precisely what they did.) The second reason was that I’d watched some of my friends in long-term relationships experiment with nonmonogamy, only for the experiment to end in disaster: Somebody, inevitably, fell for somebody else.
In the end, I decided to give it a shot. I was starting to get nervous, nearly five years in, about what our future had in store for us. I’m a long-term kind of planner, while my partner was more likely to fly by the seat of their pants. I wanted kids; they were less sure. I wanted to spend our shared time and money on building a true home together; they were happy to live indefinitely out of milk crates. I wanted to stay in New York; they were feeling pulled back toward the Mountain West, where they’d grown up.
Nonmonogamy, then, seemed like a sort of part-time solution to much deeper issues I wasn’t yet ready to grapple with. So I decided to believe in the potential of openness to enrich a relationship, rather than to unravel it.
Before I went on the cruise, not much had actually happened in the nonmonogamy department. Once, after a friend’s party in Brooklyn, I drunkenly took a cab into Manhattan alone and picked up a girl at the borough’s only good lesbian bar, Cubbyhole. It was a perfectly nice experience, but when I got home and spent the day on my couch, sick from binge-drinking my way into someone else’s bed, I tried to figure out how to feel. Later, when my partner started sleeping with a friend of a friend, I was no more equipped to sort through my mess of emotions (sadness, ambivalence, relief).
Nonmonogamy is hardly scandalous or even really notable these days. In some of my queer circles, in fact, monogamy is the rarer beast. There’s nothing inherently more ~radical~ about either lifestyle. Still, in opening up my relationship — and in trying to convince myself that maybe I didn’t want marriage or kids or the trappings of conventional adulthood — I wanted to see myself as the cool, hip queer I hoped I was: someone who doesn’t have to subscribe to retrograde and patriarchal notions of what love is, or could be.
The night before I left on the cruise, two of my best friends got married. Watching one of my friend’s dads talking at the wedding dinner about how much he loved his daughter and her new wife, I teared up a little and said something to my partner about it: “This is actually pretty nice, huh?” But they wrinkled their nose at me. They’re not a fan of weddings — the pomp and circumstance, the big, grand displays of public affection.
I know this. And I get it. But this particular wedding, for friends we love, wasn’t something ostentatious and flashy; it was a tiny ceremony at city hall, a simple dinner, drinks at a bar afterward in Brooklyn. Was that so bad, really, to want?
My first day on the cruise, Saturday, I was hungover and exhausted. I’d been up late celebrating at the wedding, slept through my alarm, and barely made my flight to Puerto Rico. After deplaning and bumbling my way through the cruise check-in, I crashed in my quarters for a two-hour hangover nap. When I woke to the gorgeous sight of water and sun outside my personal patio, I felt a little sad and a little lonely. I wished I could
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