Leash Your Lesbian, If You Dare

     To say I don’t like living on a short leash is an understatement. Maybe the word indignant describes the way I feel about someone or something tied around my neck to restrain me. I gave up on Corporate America because of my last irrational boss in 2006, and I will always give up on any woman who tries to control me like she owns me.

     The simple fact of the matter is that I am uncontrollable for the most part. I’m not bragging, as this stubborn aspect to my personality has caused me much heartache. Maybe we all want the safety of the box at times, so we aren’t constantly on guard and trying to figure out how to get out. Can you say, exhausting. Maybe the trick to keeping someone like me in line is to make the box so damned attractive and flexible, that I never really know I’m residing inside it.

     I see lesbians on leashes. They seem happy, knowing exactly how far they can go. They smile knowing that their owner/wife/girlfriend is holding on to them to keep them from running amuck, to keep them safe. Many of these lesbians appear to be at peace. God bless them. I envy them their bliss. If I could, I would go in for some rewiring for my own good. But then, I’m not an appliance and I am philosophically opposed to taking drugs that strong.

     When I first came out of the closet in upstate New York, one of the first things that happened to me could have been prevented, had the “other” lesbo been on a shorter leash. I was out in the “young” lesbo bar located in Albany, New York, in my twenties, giddy over the girl sitting next to me. She flirted shamelessly and ended up with her arm thrown around my neck after a couple of drinks, kissing me. We had met only an hour earlier. Don’t say it. I was young and thought the word whore was a compliment, as clear evidence of my irresistability.

     At the time, I assumed the girl kissing me was single. She was there alone, smooching on me, telling me everything a girl longs to hear. Then the next thing I knew, a woman I had never seen before, comes up to me yelling, and throws a punch at me. Imagine my shock. For one, I didn’t know girls were allowed to hit. And secondly, I didn’t understand why she was trying to hit me. My paradise of a few moments earlier was crumbling. Yikes!

     As the other girls at the bar pulled this wild lesbo off me, the ugly truth became apparent. The woman I was in a liplock with evidently was two- timing her girlfriend with me. I was an innocent at the time, but Ellie, her girlfriend was intent on bringing me up to speed. I can still see the venom in her eyes and hear the curse words in my head. That was the first time I had ever even heard anyone say the “C” word out loud. My mother would have fainted. I almost did myself.

     Maybe in this one case, Lori, the girl I had liked, would have benefitted from being on a shorter leash. But the truth is, if you have to leash your lesbian, then it’s time to rethink the type of partner she is. If she’s prone to wandering off, no leash will hold her in place. Of course, it is only human nature to try to hold on to what you think is yours. But maybe, that’s where the error in the thinking starts.

     It is really quite freeing to realize that you have little control over another person, and that she will stay as long as she WANTS to, and not a minute more. Putting a leash around her neck will probably only serve to make her resist the restraints, that she may actually appreciate without the evidence of the leash to remind her that she’s tied down. But what do I know. The mystery is always in the metaphor.