I kissed a girl and I liked it. Forgive me for quoting the over-quoted, but it’s true. Like many heterosexual female partygoers, I have found myself in a booze-induced stupor, balancing myself on the lips of my best girl friend, while over-stimulated boys hooted and took pictures. I have walked out of Rite Aid the very next week, perplexed by the knowing wink from Bob in the photo department, only to thumb through 25 blurry snapshots of tongue, saliva, lips, teeth, groping hands, more saliva and tongue again. Sloppy? You betcha. Embarrassing? Only because my mascara was smeared. Bottom line? I’d do it again – no booze needed.
Thanks in part to Katy Perry’s lip-locking anthem, public girl-on-girl playtime has become a widely accepted pastime in mainstream culture. With the exception of a few displeased church groups (piety is just so dull), hardly anyone bats an eye at how candidly she giggles about her exploit. Unlike 60 years ago, when disobedient Katy would have been burned at the Stake of Unladylike, we college girls can now pat her on her bi-curious little head and say, “Yep. Been there.”
But there’s a burning question on every male spectator’s mind, as age-old as the chicken and the egg: Is it real or is it for show? While it certainly differs with every girl, time, place and chemical enabler, my canoodling compass seems to point in both directions.
Most men view a dose of girl-love as the coveted first piece of their threesome puzzle, but I must say that’s not always the case. Hate to break it to you, gentlemen, but it doesn’t matter how many ways you try to squeeze, poke, prod or pile-drive your way into the mix – sometimes you’re just not invited. The truth is, as women, we understand our appeal. Many of us are just as fanatical as you are about our amazing lips, skin, tits and asses. It’s like having ADHD in a china shop – we’re fucking hard not to touch, we get it. And when we find the courage — liquid or not — to show a little same-sex appreciation… look out, lip gloss, you’re about to get swapped.
Added to the thrill is the sheer inconsequentiality of the act. Girls tend to understand the recreational joy of simply making out; the sesh is never plagued with thoughts like, “How am I going to cut loose before this person starts humping my thigh?” No awkward “I don’t have a cell phone/Facebook/first name” conversation and no living in fear of your unsatisfied fuck-seeker finding you on campus. It ends with a smoothing of the hair, an “I like your top,” and both parties are off on their separate satisfied ways.
Now, having said all that, Katy Perry’s video featuring a cleavage-heaving, feather-tossing harem is hardly a rally for bisexual rights. There’s a reason it’s got over 10 million hits on YouTube: Men are suckers for girl-on-girl. A little tongue-in-mouth action could have made Mussolini step down. I have to admit, it’s difficult not to have you boys in mind when your tails are wagging a mile a minute just watching us. We can practically see your penis rising with your eyebrows and it’s amusing as hell. So sue us if we use it to our advantage every once in awhile.
A couple years ago, I attended a birthday shindig. After a good many drinks, the birthday boy plopped down next to me on the sofa and whispered in my ear, “I think you should give me my birthday present now.” Knowing damn well he wasn’t talking about an Xbox, I politely declined, to which he responded, “But it’s my birthdaaaay…” With that, I stood up and grabbed my nearest girl friend. I shot her a glance, to which she nodded understandingly and leaned in for the longest, hottest kiss a girl could ask for. No further requests from the birthday boy.
If you’re a girl who hasn’t quite warmed up to a little experimentation with one of your own, then I suggest you grab a gal and get to it. If for none of the reasons I’ve given, do it for the sole fact that she won’t burp in your mouth and laugh.