..."But you're too pretty to be a lesbian." I can't count the number of times I've heard that ridiculous and infuriating objection from both men and women, and I wouldn't want to try. What's even worse is when they follow that up with, "You're kidding, right, Amy?"

Yes, I'm pretty. I'll admit it. But why does that mean I'm not a lesbian? Is there some sort of cut-off point? I'm petite, but I'm not flat. I have well-defined curves all over, I'm just small and thin. I have a delicate, young-looking sort of face. I have almost-curly brown hair to my shoulders and hazel eyes. My lips are a little pouty. I've taken taekwondo so my arms and legs are muscle-toned. My hips roll nicely when I walk. And, yes, I look pretty damned cute in my braces.

Where in there did I pass the, "Sorry, Amy, you're not a lesbian anymore," point?

"Well, you mean you're bi, right?" some will follow-up.

No, I'm not bi. I don't hate men, but I can't get emotionally attached to them the same way, and I'm not attracted to them. Yes, I've seen a penis before. Yes, it was erect. No, it didn't stir some hidden desire inside me.

"Oh, so you're a virgin."

No! I'm not a virgin. I am sexually active and in a committed relationship with a wonderful woman my own age.

I will admit, though, that I'm not particularly proud of how I lost my virginity. It was a couple years ago, around the time of my 18th birthday. At the time I was dating Angie, a cheerleader for the high school basketball team. We were seniors and had been dating for a couple of years at that point, but Angie especially was committed to waiting for sex until we could be life partners.

Well, the, "You can't be a lesbian" stuff was laid on pretty thick in high school. There was plenty of room in people's imagination for lurid fantasies about cheerleader locker-room lesbo orgies, but the idea of a cheerleader in a committed, basically chaste lesbian relationship was not something anyone in our school could handle. In their minds, Angie and I were just close friends who liked to make believe about being lovers.

A couple weeks after I turned 18, I decided I'd had enough. I still loved Angie, but I needed the world to accept that I was a lesbian, and there was only one way I could think to do it.

I approached a girl named Danielle, a 19 year-old high school senior with an air of exotic maturity about her, as well as a reputation as, well, a dyke and a slut. It was rumored that the only reason she'd finally made it to her senior year at 19 was a dalliance with the female assistant vice principal. I didn't know if that was true, but her reputation counted for everything.

Danielle was sitting by herself on a bench outside of school waiting for her ride when I approached her. She was attractive, but rebel enough in her look that she didn't have to put up with people dismissing her lesbianism. She was a gorgeous native Alaskan with creamy porcelain skin of an almost caramel hue, shiny black hair, flinty brown eyes, and an incredible figure. But she also had three nose-rings and a tattoo of a marijuana leaf on the back of her right hand. In Fairbanks that meant she was allowed to be a lesbian. strapless formal dresses

"Hi, Danielle," I said, wishing my voice weren't so sweet and perky.

She looked at me and nodded silently. She knew well enough who I was, but she didn't really have anything to talk about with me, as far as she knew or cared.

"I need your help," I told her simply, wishing I'd dressed sexier.

She looked at me questioningly, but still didn't speak.

No reason to not just say it, I decided. "I need you to take my virginity and I need the world to know about it."

She narrowed her pretty eyes. "How romantic."

My cheeks burned with embarrassment. "Danielle, I'm sorry. I know this is rude, but I'm sick of no one believing I'm a lesbian. I love Angie, but I need to prove myself."

"What, you want me to take your ass with a dildo in the gym while a bunch of people watch?"

I blushed even deeper. "Fuck you," I finally sai