Urination Law Evasion, Lesbian Watersports on the Run!: Golden Showers in the West (Desperados Book 3)

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I would sleep in Alia’s bed that night and accidentally pat her butt in my sleep, my mind clearly deluding my body into believing I was still on the cruise with Lynette. By that, I mean b-o-i kinds of boys (who may or may not identify as such): nonbinary dykes, twinky tops, Titanic -era Leo DiCaprios. Later that night, at dinner in the dining room with Dana, Jamie, and Matie, we debriefed about the Gen O meetup, Elvira’s set (which was, in fact, very funny), and the seemingly age-old problem of how to heal lesbians’ intergenerational wounds. These days, Olivia is one of the last dedicated venues for lesbian debauchery still standing (or, rather, sailing) — though it doesn’t exactly market itself as a freaky sex cruise.

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Then, in the dream, they all got their dicks out and started urinating on me in the showers and it really turned me on – that feeling of being humiliated, and drenched in something so hot from these gorgeous jocks. I would get frustrated talking to her on WhatsApp, both of us trying to decipher each other’s intentions and senses of humo(u)r through the complexities of cultural differences and intergenerational differences and plain old personal differences. If you liked this story you should give our new sex podcast Good Sex Bad Sex a listen – it’s out every Wednesday.

We are an international community for straight singles and gay men who are into watersports and all types of pig play. I suspected, even early on, that I was about to break our most important rule of all: Don’t fall in love with anybody else. I’d failed to pack ahead for any of the themed nights (including a very culturally questionable “Caribbean Queen” theme), so I fretted about what I’d wear, especially when Lynette showed up at my door wearing a goddamned tuxedo.

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As Sophie Gilbert put it last year, in a piece for the Atlantic about Sharp Objects on HBO, “For some reason, and despite all assurances from reporters to the contrary, Hollywood is stuck on the idea that female journalists are having sexual relationships with their bosses, their sources, or both. I would tell my therapist everything in one fell swoop, and I’d be so relieved and grateful when she seemed genuinely happy for me. But there was another part of me that was very much not into it, especially when the makeout gave way to other things and people started banging on the bathroom door. Lying in bed one night, talking about a hypothetical world in which we could be together outside the dreamy vacation twilight zone we currently occupied, Lynette scooped me up in her arms, kissed my neck, and said, half joking, half serious, that she’d happily be my big, strong butch.I’d never considered before that being a femme with a butch partner needn’t be some inequitable hetero horror show, but instead could be something imbued with incredible queer comfort and power. And that’s because of all the things that happened in the eight days I spent aboard the Summit — things I wasn’t remotely expecting. First, Trump with his whole "pee tape" scandal and now Jair Bolsonaro, the homophobic president of Brazil who tweeted an explicit video that features -- amongst other things -- someone in a jockstrap having a bit of a shower.

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I’m a little ashamed of how, over the years, living beside various permutations of my partners’ easy masculinity, I’d defend my own femme rituals with I’m-not-like-other-girls insistence: Hey, at least I don’t shave! According to everyone’s awkward intros, they were from all over the country: Denver, San Diego, Seattle, Nashville, Houston, New York. But even though I’ve been out for years now, I’ve still never spent much time around older lesbians. For a lot of millennial queer women, myself included, MichFest is the perfect example of something beautiful and sacred we would have loved to take part in — something we’d be forever thankful for — if only, if only, they hadn’t seen trans women as the enemy.

But I’ve also felt caught between two seemingly competing currents: the lesbian heyday of generations past and what it looks like it’s shaping up to be — a queer, genderfluid, no-labels sort of future. Lynette wasn’t with me when I was getting ready, but I knew that if she had been, she would have loved to watch me, just as I loved watching her, both of us going through these little rituals to become beautiful to each other.

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Afterward, I had lunch with Dana and some of the other Olivia staffers and asked them about it — why not make the Public Posts more prominent, MichFest style? But over the years it has evolved to just being a sex party with young, hot guys that's probably about 20 percent guys into watersports. As soon as the bathroom is in sight the urge to relieve my bladder gets all the more violent and I start whipping off clothes like they’re on fire.But when another person is factored into the mix, particularly when it may be going into their mouth, over their face, or some place that may be more sensitive, we have to be careful. We simply proceed to fight over the soap and shampoo while trying not to elbow one another in the face.