I’m No Lesbian

I am not a lesbian, she thought.

She knew she wasn't. She insisted to herself she wasn't. It was an honest denial, even though she worshipped and admired women--as a species unto themselves. She was proud to be one. Exalted. Enraptured by estrogenic brilliance.

She thought about women--what they do for the world. Women conceive and make new human beings! They are feminine, from their lactation and nurturing of our babies to their very anatomy--receptive. Held fast within the mothering of the bosom, one is safe. Welcomed by the exclusivity of the vagina, one is the chosen one.

Women give of themselves without hesitation. Put themselves second... then third, fourth...last... They offer what's left--of food, attention, and love--even when wanting, themselves. If God is love, it is woman who was made in His image.

Yes, she loved women. Yes, she loved being one.

She recognized what a woman brings to a relationship. She knew how a relationship is defined by a woman's contribution, input, and even insistence. She knew that should the biochemistry between men and women be deconstructed, hers stands alone as unique, counteracting all of the harm brought into the world by the wizardry--the necromantic alchemy--of men.

She knew women to be magical creatures, so there was never any need to search for unicorns.

She knew how women love. She knew women who love men. She knew women who love women. She knew women who love both. She knew women who love themselves. Thus, she knew what love is. And she knew who God is.

If God is love, there is no God without women, she thought.

When a woman dies, she surmised, there is a moth-eaten hole that remains, ruining the entire wardrobe shared with men.

She thought about her body. Her body as a woman. How a thigh brushing the other is not a mating call but a celebration of her temple. Her holy temple, she thought, and then she would laugh. She felt alive. She felt important--even crucial. She felt real. She felt the Earth rotate around her, even as the men fall off.

She had a clear vision of the world's men and women, perched on her pedestal, placed there by Divine Authority. She watches with women's eyes. She weeps with women's tears. She shouts with women's cries.

No, she thought, I am not a lesbian. But I sure do think about them a lot.