ItStartedWithAToothbrush

 NON-FICTION LIFE STORY

IT STARTED WITH A TOOTHBRUSH”

INTRODUCTION

Hello, just the mere fact that you’ve decided to read this book tells me that you are in a relationship, and maybe the thought has crossed your mind to take it to the next level. If you are anything like me, you may be having doubts and looking for advice. Before you take that next step, whatever it may be, let me tell you about my experience. I hope that my story may enlighten you—no matter how you fall in love.

I was not a child who grew up knowing that she was gay. Contrary to popular beliefs all gay people have not always understood or felt attracted to same-sex relationships. There are some who have had long and very loving heterosexual relationships. I had relationships with men. In fact, I thought I had found the love of my life at the tender age of eighteen. I believed that I was a woman of the world and could easily tell the difference between love, infatuation, and even know if my loved one was cheating on me. I would be proven wrong.

 Perhaps, my choice in men at that time was not in my best interest. I didn’t allow myself enough time to appreciate my independence before getting involved with someone. Maybe, if I had done that I wouldn’t be writing this book.  During this time of male companionship withdrawal, I found myself enjoying the company of women. I did not have many female friends, but there was one girl who I used to hang out with regularly. We had a lot in common. She made me laugh. We used to spend hours on end talking on the phone about everything and anything.

Looking back today, many times when I was with this woman I would experience strange feelings. Like when she accidentally brushed up against me or touched me, I felt something inside my being. I didn’t understand what was happening to me emotionally and put it down to loneliness, or finally liking the attention. Here is my story . . .

THE BEGINNING – A Short Excerpt

WHEN I FIRST LAID eyes on her, it was love at first sight; it was like I was seeing the person I had always wanted to be. She was perfect, what on earth could she see in me? Hello? She came over to me and wanted to meet me, little ole bashful me? That day, at the Sunday baseball game, became a moment in time that I would fold away in my memory forever.

After bumping into her at the tennis stadium, we had planned to meet the following Friday for a casual lunch. She had taken my phone number, but truthfully I didn’t think she would call. I tried to convince myself that it was a silly, and impulsive. Probably just a fun meeting on her part and she had probably already forgotten me. She was out-going with everyone she met. Still, I couldn’t get her out of my mind. I was going crazy; how could this be happening to me?

For once in my life, I wanted to talk to someone. I was no longer afraid, and in fact, I was becoming obsessed wishing to speak with her. I regularly checked my mobile phone to see if I’d had a missed call, text, or voice message. I was excited, afraid, and nervous. Most of all I was trying to trust that she would call me, but as each day went by I was fast losing hope.

Thursday . . . four whole days later. My phone rang. I didn’t recognize the caller ID, and immediately my heart skipped a beat. I knew that it was her!

“Hello, this is Vanessa,” I answered politely, my blood pressure rising.

“Hey, it’s Mary. Remember me?” she quizzed.

“Y-yes, of course,” I tried to sound casual. “H-how are you doing?” I asked holding my breath. I was panting because I felt so nervous.

“Good. Are we still on for lunch?”

“Oh, y-yes. Looking forward to it,” I gushed, hoping that I didn’t seem too anxious. We made plans to meet at 12:30 p.m. at Mickey’s Beach Bistro & Bar, the only restaurant in Bermuda situated directly on the beach.

After putting my phone down, I wanted to do a cartwheel but thought better of it. Already workers were looking at me. They had apparently noticed a different me. Yes, it was a different me. I felt alive, I was floating in an aura of desirability. I began to question and wondered why I felt this way about a woman, and what if she didn’t feel the same way about me?  No, I couldn’t be that wrong, could I?

Friday morning, I dressed carefully and casually. I looked in the mirror and approved of the person looking back at me. “Who is that person?” I whispered, moving closer to the mirror. To my surprise, she smiled back at me and said, “Let’s go find out!”

Picking up my pocketbook and keys, I confidently strode out of my apartment . . .