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True Stories: The End of an Era
The hookup that taught me I was a lesbian.
By L. M. Fleming
Ken and I were sitting at a table in the pathetic little pub on campus, sipping beers and talking about how to break into the film industry, something we both desperately wanted to do. Ken made the obvious statement that it was "all about who you know" and I asked, mostly rhetorically, how you made Hollywood contacts while living in San Francisco.
"Through someone like me," he responded cockily.
God, I thought as he proceeded to list off the rather puny catalog of connections he'd made interning one measly summer in Los Angeles, when I sleep with him, I really hope he doesn't think this is why.
I had just broken up with my first girlfriend for about the fifth time and was trying to figure out if I had any desire left in me to be with men. I figured the only way to find out was to sleep with one, and Ken seemed like a good choice simply because I knew he'd sleep with me and wouldn't be upset if I never wanted to see him again.
As a bonus, Ken was relatively attractive and actually quite fun to be around. We bonded over classic rock and hot chicks in our screenwriting class, much the way I'd always made friends with dudes. We had a lot in common, and it didn't bother me at the time that our greatest shared passion was for the tits on a blonde in class. We got along so well that it was only logical to my twenty-two-year-old sexually experimental self that I should try to sleep with him.
My plan of seduction involved a lot of cleavage, some drinks, and some not-so-subtle sexual innuendos. Leaving the campus pub, I asked Ken if he wanted to grab another beer Friday night, and we agreed to meet up at a bar near where he lived with his parents, about thirty minutes south of San Francisco.
When Friday came, I dragged my roommate Talia along with me to Ken's local pub, a place his family had been frequenting for years. As a group of us sat at the bar, the owner/bartender told stories of Ken as a kid, and we spend most of the evening walking down his memory lane. I learned Ken was a twin, and wondered openly if I'd picked the right brother. Ken's friend added some stories about their high-school glory days but that's about all he contributed; I'd pawned him off on Talia early in the evening.
Attempting to impress and entertain, I told a story that had been spreading through the film school about a T.A. (no one ever knew which one, but everyone always swore it was theirs) who'd heard a certain actor get a blowjob over a radio on the set of Cliffhanger. According to the rumor, the actor repeatedly asked his giver to "cup the balls, say the name," while she gagged attempting to pronounce his three-syllable moniker. We all knew the story had no basis in truth but we liked it anyway.
Since we were on the subject — and since the bar was closing soon — I took the opportunity to emphasize how much I loved oral sex. It was obvious and not especially classy, but it did the trick. Soon we were all piled into my car, Ken and me blatantly groping each other in the back seat while Talia and his friend chatted up front. I remember wishing Ken would play with my nipples more, but before I could protest, we were at our destination and Ken was whispering in my ear, "Meet me in the bathroom."