The boundary between enthusiasts and besties is quite murky.
I would spend the school days lost in the fantasy about the girls I would eventually fall when I was a closeted baby-dyke living in Westport, CT
Girls had been often leggy and swaggy and high and olive-skinned, forever clad in destroyed black colored jeans that are skinny with a mind high in acid-blonde-hair dropping into faded-blue-eyes and a face defined by cheekbones therefore sharp they are able to destroy a guy.
I would personally imagine exactly exactly what our relationship would appear to be: we might be energy babes whom slayed in our careers that are enviable time and hung call at dimly-lit whiskey pubs with a bevy of celebrity dykes when the sun goes down. (more…)