The boundary between fans and besties is quite murky.
I would spend the school days lost in the fantasy about the girls I would eventually fall when I was a closeted baby-dyke living in Westport, CT
Girls had been frequently leggy and swaggy and high and olive-skinned, forever clad in destroyed black colored thin jeans, with a mind saturated in acid-blonde-hair dropping into faded-blue-eyes and a face defined by cheekbones therefore sharp they might kill a guy.
I might imagine exactly exactly exactly what our relationship would seem like: we’d be energy babes whom slayed inside our enviable professions by time and hung call at dimly-lit whiskey bars with a bevy of celebrity dykes when the sun goes down. (more…)