From: shellyr@bridge.net Date: Mon, 23 Jun 1997 01:19:40 +0000 Subject: GLCCFTL@aol.com ROBERTS' RULES by Shelly Roberts LESBIAN SEX? UNHEARD OF. David, who is now 70, spending these days on a Carolina island, sipping coconut milk drinks, checked in after a few years of absence. And he reminded me of something I meant to share. I worked for David in the New York ad trade, when he was a mere 62. David was heading toward me one morning, when I realized something was different. Not wanting to make that stupid mistake when confronted with this physiognomous anomaly (which should cover your word-a-day exercises for this afternoon, Girls and Boys) of saying, "New haircut?" when someone just had a nose job, I studied his face. "Mustache! You shaved your mustache!" "Yep. When I was eighteen," the sexagenarian said. "I looked in the mirror at my baby face, and said, `A mustache would make me look older.' This morning, as I was looking in the mirror again, and I realized it worked!" Now this IS related to Lesbian Sex, Kiddies. Be patient. I did a radio show last week, and amongst the incoming questions was one I now expect. No, not the "abomination-unto-God" one, the two-lesbians one. From a middle-voiced middle-aged, middle-mannered middle woman - though I've heard it from all manner. "I saw two lesbians the other day." She started, about to answer my silent query about how she could tell. ".And they couldn't keep their hands off each other. Why is it that lesbians have to be so sexual in public?" This time I didn't duck the subject. I just dodged. "Oh, wouldn't you love to have a relationship just like that again with your husband? " It deflected her into misty reveries of her courtship, and the bullet missed my ear by inches. See, I'm not dumb about these things. I got the memo. You know, the one from Lesbian And Gay Central, with the flashing neon "POLITICALLY CORRECT ALERT!" bannered across the top. "Attention! Attention!: "Lesbian Sexuality is very scary to non-gays. It smacks of Barbara Stanwick-after-your-wife. They only know us by our sexuality. They only know us by their pornography usually written by their men. And faked pictures in -boy magazines. "From this time forward, let everyone committing acts of speaking in public refrain from this vile, stereotypical subject matter. It is the official policy of this body, and theretofore binding and irrevocable, THAT THE IMAGE OF LESBIAN AMERICA SHALL BE OF WHOLESOME, WHOLE-HEARTED, ASEXUAL GIRL-NEXT-DOOR. Genitalia-deleted flesh Barbi's. Dyke Doris Days. Little sisters. Daughters. For acceptance, it is paramount, REPEAT urgent, REPEAT critical, REPEAT absolutely necessary that all sexual references be eliminated from our speakers bureau vocabulary. "We trust you will follow this dictum to the precise letter to accomplish our world wide agenda, or else the entire community will trash you with in an inch of your stomach lining, excommunicate you from the cooler social occasions, and generally make your life heck on wheels. Got it? "Because we said so. " --Your Ever Vigilant Homosexual Oversight Committee." So like a good doo-be, I bobbed and weaved and changed the subject whenever it came up. I wasn't the only one who got the memo, apparently. So did hundreds of thousands of middle lesbians who never get on the radio. And thus our front cover mainstream magazine portraits showed us, not as sexual predators, but mild mannered girl-scouts in whose mouth butter, among other things, wouldn't melt. But wait a minute. Ever been with a group of lesbians over 33 trying to discuss sex? It's a real short conversation. Regardless of what they may do in bed, sex became a taboo subject. And, with discovery of our common catch-phrase Lesbian Bed Death, it became a taboo subject there too. After, of course the first few, can't take your hands-off-each-other months, or if you're really lucky, years. In order to accommodate the necessary acceptable wideworld new imagery for lesbians, we all, okay, many of us, have internalized, not the homophobic message, but the asexual one. With profound unison cries of "We're NOT just about our sexuality!" we went forth and befriended. So the only time that we even dare its whisper in public is in those extraordinary moments when, even on subways or in cafes, it is physically impossible not to touch. When there's so much no-one-else-in-the-entire-world-but-us, who has time to scroll through the PC file? Which tells me why so many straights only see us when we are touching each other and their embarrassment. I'd read the memo, and as David said earlier, looked in the mirror, and discovered it worked. Being asexual friends is just fine. Many lesbians choose it. But that is a choice. Not a default. And nearly as I can tell, the textbook definition of lesbian, at core, has a great deal to do with sex. I say it's time to put it back into our lives and vocabulary. Being a lesbian, as we all know is hard work, and comes with high price tags. So being a sexless lesbian seems to me to be a contradiction in terms. Otherwise, we might just as well have all joined the PTA. ________________________ (C) 1997. Shelly Roberts. All rights reserved. May be commercially reprinted only in its entirety with written permission. Shelly Roberts is an internationally syndicated columnist, and the author of the newest best-selling Roberts' Rules of Lesbian Living. (Spinsters Ink.)