In the very recent past, I lived in sunny Florida for a glorious 12-month stay while I worked at a famous tourist destination. Yeah, that one. And not having been out for very long, I was eager to live the biggest, gayest life I could while I was thousands of miles away from everyone who knew me as straight or questioning.

Being a freshly hatched baby gay, I had no idea how to find girls around me and so there was a lot of late night googling of gay bars and building up my online dating profile, hoping to find someone to guide me around the American scene.

I was shocked to discover that I didn’t need the American scene; I just needed an American girl. Her name was Valentina. She was originally from Chile, lived in Florida and had for years, spoke English perfectly and was fluent in Spanish.

If I’m honest, it was probably the Spanish thing that attracted me to her the most; I’d never heard it spoken so much as when I lived in the states and when I heard her purr it into her phone when talking to her Chilean friends, I died. The ability to flip between languages and lean over to me and whisper something sexy in Spanish was incredibly hot. There aren’t too many Spanish speakers in London, not as many as Florida anyway.

I realized Valentina wasn’t like any girl I’d ever met in England — gay or straight. She had a confidence and a level of honesty that was wholly unfamiliar and although shocking at first, it became refreshing. British people are known for skirting around issues and repressing how we feel, but I felt a great weight lifted off of me in being with someone who I felt I could be honest around and who I knew was being genuine with me.

The next few girls I dated in Florida were just the same, ballsy and open, and it made me feel like I could as brave as they were. They would do things like talk to complete strangers on the street — British people would never dream of doing that! These little cultural difference became the exciting part of dating Americans as I described the exotic landscape of London to them and answered their adorable questions like, “did they show ‘Friends’ in England?” I also enjoyed the variety of accents too, particularly Brittany from Georgia, the Southern Belle who turned out to be not only bisexual but also married — can’t win ‘em all.

On the whole, I’d say that it was their confidence and ability to be friendly to anyone they met; I became addicted to their positive outlook. The other girls I dated in the states all turned out to be very similar. All of them young, confident, sociable people but I’ll admit — the dark hair and ability to speak Spanish popped up a few more times; I definitely developed my type in America.

Dattch — The Lesbian App is out for iOS and Android. Loved by Lesbian.com, AfterEllen and Autostraddle, we are the social platform for all things gay. Free download!

The post Why British girls love American girls first appeared on Lesbian.com.

As I prepared for teaching a course on how to write a sex scene for the upcoming Southern California Writers’ Conference in Irvine, it seemed an oversight that I had not read Fifty Shades of Grey by E L James. Since its debut, many people have asked me whether I had read the book—a reasonable question given my interest in erotica. I had not heard great things about the writing and BDSM isn’t my thing, so it was easy to pass. It was a bestseller, however; and to speak intelligently about it during the class, I read it for academic purposes (wink, wink).

The storyline is not unique: pair an inexperienced young woman with a slightly older, experienced man for bouts of instructive lovemaking that lead to the woman’s sexual awakening. How lovely! In James’s book, her heroine, Anastasia, (Ana) age 21, has not so much as touched herself. Really? Well, the story works better that way. The book desperately needs editing, but that only made it easier to skim the irrelevant and repetitive passages.

Honestly, the writing wasn’t as bad as I feared, despite the few times I rolled my eyes, also one of Ana’s annoying habits though not as annoying as the many times she bites her lip. Her slightly older, handsome, wealthy boyfriend introduces her to sex via BDSM, which if nothing else, provides a new perspective to the ongoing problem of women in desperate need of education about their own bodies and how to properly make love by pleasing their man.

What I didn’t expect, was how similar it was to another book I reread for the same class, Lady Chatterley’s Lover by D.H. Lawrence. This book, banned as obscene until the late 1950s, explores the blooming sexuality of a young woman. In this case, a well-bred woman trapped in a sexless marriage takes a lower class groundskeeper as her lover. Their sex scenes explore her emotional and physical feelings as he introduces her to creative ways to make love. Sound familiar? When this was written in 1928 the subject was presented in a new, bold and daring way. Interestingly, there is a small discussion regarding the ill-advised bedding of lesbians by men.

It has long been the norm of novel-length erotica that a woman’s sexuality—especially when she explores dark corners or ventures into unseemly behavior, e.g., adultery or BDSM—is not looked upon kindly by writers who in requisite fashion make sure the woman character suffers at the end. Fifty Shades is no different. There could be no good outcome for a virgin who steps into the morass of BDSM other than the one provided, so I don’t fault the story for its logical ending.

I find it odd and a bit exasperating that in the years passed between Lady Chatterley’s Lover and Fifty Shades of Grey, a woman’s sexuality is still prime fodder for a morality tale. James reminds us that Mrs. Robinson can be the seductress, but she will pay a price for her actions. So-called “chic lit” and “mommy porn” have given modern women a chance to be sexual without being vilified, but I’m told the genres are losing steam.

Fortunately, there are countless tales in modern literature and trade fiction that celebrate woman’s sexuality. A book of erotica is different than a short story—my usual playground, as writing lesbian erotic short fiction is one of my niches. I do it partly because I like to write the kind of stories I like to read, where strong women are able to explore their sexuality and feelings with positive outcomes.

Zoe Amos brings her lesbian point of view to articles and stories on diverse topics. Connect with her on Facebook and Twitter. Read her stories on Kindle and Nook. Check out her other life at www.janetfwilliams.com

The post From A to Zoe: Shades of erotica first appeared on Lesbian.com.

I was sitting in biology class counting the ceiling tiles when someone from the office came to tell me my mother had a brain aneurism and it had burst. I was told she was DOA when they air lifted her to the hospital. Although they were able to revive her, it didn’t look good.

I didn’t know how to react — a pinwheel of emotion spun crazily in my head as I was taken “home.” I had just met my mother’s childhood friend when we had moved in a few weeks before. Entering the house, I spotted my mother’s soiled clothes strewn across the bathroom floor. Accustomed to operating from a place of lack and service, I spent hours scrubbing the clothes she had been wearing when she lost control of her bowels earlier in the day. I feared she’d be angry if I didn’t.

I don’t remember who took me to the city to sit vigil until my grandmother arrived. The doctor’s questioned me about my mother’s general demeanor as they tried to determine if her episodes of punching a doctor and kicking a nurse were normal reactions for her or new behavior due to damage caused by the aneurism. I didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. I simply walked off to wander the solitary halls as I tried to make sense of my life, wondering what the future would hold. It looked like she was going to be OK.

Although I spent Christmas morning opening presents in the run-down motel room, Grandma-ma and I spent most of the holiday at the hospital. I still don’t know how she put together such a perfectly wrapped Christmas complete with teen glam gifts, including an amazing lavender boom box, the best the overly garish 80s had to offer. I was filled with joy as I loved music and my last portable stereo system had shattered when my mother threw it at my head during a heated argument.

Shortly after the holiday, Grandma-ma returned to Florida, taking me with her. Although the law considered it kidnapping, I didn’t. She had a cozy place in Jacksonville and an unlisted telephone number. Settling in and feeling safe, I started my fourth school of the year.

I’ve always felt comfortable at the mall. During my time in Jacksonville, Grandma-ma and I often visit a glitzy one that house some of my favorite stores, including a Swarovski crystal shop and a French chooclateir. We went several times a week, not to buy necessarily, just to feel “normal.”

After one of our regular jaunts, we were surprised to return to see a car with familiar out-of-state tags outside our condo. Grandma-ma drove past asking me what I wanted to do. If her dog Su-Su hadn’t been in the house, I would have been all for driving to another part of the country and starting over again. It seems my mother had been calling information in cities across the United States, telling the telephone operators she was dying and had to see her mother. Eventually she found an operator that gave her the address. When we arrived, my mother was already inside the house, gun in her lap.

My grandmother’s friend and landlord met us there. Raised voices quickly volleyed threats back and forth, with each person confident he or she was in the power position. I knew that one way or another, I would be returning to Missouri and I didn’t want anyone to get hurt. Even though I was only 15, I decided it best to just cut through the bullshit and move forward. It would be a long time before I saw the inside of another mall, enjoyed another decadent chocolate or slept through an entire night.

Usually we don’t know the end game so it’s good to make our plays as we strive to evoke positive change in our lives. However, I think there are times when we know how things are going to play out, yet we go through the motions anyway. Yes, it’s totally possible that things will miraculously change. There isn’t a wrong or right answer here. However, the key, I find, is to be conscious about our decision to play or not to play.

The next time you find yourself in a repetitive cycle, consider what you can do to empower yourself, work from a place of peace or remove yourself from the situation. What is your best strategy for getting off that hamster wheel? I’d love to hear!

Miki Markovich is a seeker of beauty and truth, traveler of interesting roads, saver of furry souls, typer of words, iPhone lover and mac head. You can find her on Twitter at @mikimarkovich and @fiveminutezen. If you’re looking to go from pissed to blissed in five minutes flat, find balance or improve the quality of your life through self care, check out her website at fiveminutezen.com.

The post A holiday on the hamster wheel first appeared on Lesbian.com.