BACK BY POPULAR DEMAND! ‘Lesbian Orgasms’ first appeared in Epochalips in July of 2010.
I want to open a business called, Pap and Pup: pap smears for lesbians and their dogs, because that’s how inseparable we are. There are no boundaries with lesbians and their precious furry friends. And that’s why during our love-making sessions, us gals experience canine interruptus.
My cute Shepherd girl, Chance, is in doggy heaven now but when she was around, whoopee time went something like this: let’s say my girlfriend and I were feeling frisky. We’d end up in the bedroom, clothes flying off, our bodies becoming one big bean bag of love. We’d entered the climax zone of no return–both sounding like two yaks giving birth—on acid. Everything feeling so deliciously fantastic, 5 seconds away from the big O, then BAM—the dog would jump on the bed. And Chance would try to get as close to me as possible, kind of cowering as if to say: “Don’t be mad but it sounded like you might be in trouble. I’m here but I’m also embarrassed for you. I’m embarrassed for myself. Hey, let’s play fetch with that long cylindrical thing in your hand.â€
We’d try to push Chance off the bed but she would hang on with all her Rin Tin Tina might. The jumping on and the pushing off would happen a few times before my partner would command: “Down, girl, down.†And, I’d always think she was talking to me.
Even when we were at my girlfriend’s house, her Chihuahua would fly onto the bed attempting to rescue her mother who sounded as if she was in pain as she lay moaning: “Ay, ay, ay, ay, AY!â€Â But this delicate mutt would either lick our feet or bite them depending on who was doing what to whom and for how long, and if it involved cartwheels.
So it looks like the unconditional love we get from our pets has one condition: they want to watch us come. Oh good lord! I’ve heard countless stories about this lesbo-doggy phenomenon from many friends and one particular couple is fighting about this very topic even as I write this. Should we close the bedroom door on our darling Cha Cha? Or do we embrace this spiritual beloved bitch bonding? You decide.
To book Monica for your next event, go to: www.monicapalacios.com
I’m a cat woman myself, and I miss my best friend Cleo. She was a tortie, fur colored like a tortoise shell, green eyes, affectionate, intelligent, loving. Cleo liked to sit on top of my head when another woman was making love to me or touching me. My ex said it was weird to look up and see Cleo watching us. I could feel Cleo smile when I was in pleasure. She would start purring. I could feel her warm Cleo cat fur. My Cleo cat hat. My ex would usually shoo her away. If we didn’t get rid of her quickly she would sometimes start drooling on my head, opening her mouth and giving my hair a lick and a nip. Shoo Cleo, shoo. Get out of my memories now, you sweet little kitty. I found Cleo scavenging out of my garbage cans in Syracuse NY in 1999. She was the most beautiful kitten, but starving, scared, would jump a yard if I tried to reach out for her. I started leaving a few crunchies by the cans. She ate and grew stronger. One day I went into the backyard. I knew she was under the woodpile hiding. I lay down in the grass with my arms outstretched on either side. Cleo the kitten sniffed the tips of my fingers, walked up my hand, then up my arm, onto to my chest where she let herself fall asleep over my heart. We loved one another for 10 years. I miss my Cleo cat hat.