Let’s get something straight…I’m not

Opal Jessica Brown, for the friends Opal, had given her first kiss at the age of 12 to a schoolmate, not because she liked him but because she wanted to understand what it felt like to kiss a boy. That terrible kiss had made her realize that not only was kissing a boy not such a wonderful thing but also that she was inexorably lesbian, not that she hadn't realized it before. But you know, experience never hurts. A once-in-a-lifetime thing, to be sure. By 16 she was engaged to a girl who lived literally on the other side of the world, a dark 18-year-old named Scylla. Love has to be strong to survive long distance, and theirs was not, despite constant video calls and texts at all hours. She had been hurt by that breakup but strangely enough, which was apparently "impossible "and she had only found out with her other relationships over the years, the breakup had been an agreement by both of them. Then there had been her first time with a girl, Helena Goldberg, the goddess that all lesbians dream of but cannot get and by some miracle of fate the goddess in question had been her first time and she had been good at it, she had; but it had been a matter of a one-night stand. Helena was not the kind of person made for a relationship, and Opal had accepted that as soon as she walked through the door of that hotel room. Once she had lost her virginity and finished high school there had been Crystal, Jemma, Skye, Angie, Peggy, Charlotte, Eleanor, Charlie and really but really many other girls; they all had different styles, zodiac signs that were none other than Scorpio, Gemini, Virgo and Pisces (those were the worst) but none of them had really made their mark. They had only been an endless set of lesbodramas that could make Shane from "The L Word" envious. She had rewatched that TV series a million times and still railed against Jenny as she had the first time she had seen it. Of course, she also had her group of girls to tell all those lesbodramas to, they didn't have the "Planet" as a hangout nor a women-only prison but they fit in. Diana's huge house-a two-story penthouse in one of the tallest buildings in Manhattan-super modern was their headquarters headquarters and also the site of their thousand lesbodramas. At least six days a month they slept there and told each other in full detail everything that had happened on the days they had not seen each other. Laughter, crying, and screaming were the order of the day for the poor old men who had had the misfortune to be Diana's neighbors and thus to hear, on those damned six days of the month, the cackling of four young women far too close to 30 to call themselves still "young." Diana Smith, a simple girl who came from Brooklyn but had managed to make a career out of working her ass off for years until she finally achieved her dream, to own the largest and most famous art gallery in all of Manhattan. Diana was the woman of many and at the same time of none, not committed to a serious relationship since Marlena (and anyone who dared or even tried to talk about her was dead) had cheated on her three years earlier. A broken heart that a 15-day vacation d in Miami with her best friends and quite a few girls and boys had repaired but not completely and the wounds were showing even now. Diana was a beautiful shapely girl, ample size breasts, green eyes and hair tending to black; she dressed so often in an elegant way, with those super-slim stilettos and that sheath dress that sweetly accompanied all the right places, that by now that kind of dress had become her only way of dressing. Needless to say, the other four girls carried her around in it. Impossible not to mention Megan Brooks, soul of the parties innocent-looking but of the zodiac sign of Scorpio, it is easy to imagine the character and certainly not wished on even the worst enemy. Strange to say, but she loved children and began teaching soon after graduating from college. Pansexuality gave her an added appeal even though she was already dubbed "superhot" by others even before she knew her orientation. Megan was the one everyone wanted to bang, and the fact that she was an innocent-looking schoolteacher was just an incentive. Her shape represented everything you could want and envy in a woman, and those blue eyes could freeze you in less than a second if you stopped too long to stare at them. The "bitch" of the group was Josephine, called Jo by her friends; the usual blue-eyed blond bitch, sarcastic and cynical like no one else in the world. She was nice when she felt like it and obnoxious when she didn't even try; why were they friends with her then? Simple. She was the best one to give advice, the best one to be your wingman when you had to cry and also the one you trusted blindly if you had to bury your ex or your ex's corpse...not that they had, not yet at least. The one, on the other hand, who forced all the other girls to sport and wiggle their butts off Diana's super huge comfy couch was Maxine Cormier (if you didn't call her Max you risked getting a nice right hook right on the nose), she was of French descent, she had gray eyes and blond hair and these were the characteristics that made millions of girls fall at her feet along with her sporty body, of course. These girls together formed a club; they were not bound together by a pair of jeans that fit them all or by a map, a la Alice Pieszecki. They had met in a gay bar five years earlier, on the same day and at the same time, and had been drinking at the bar. Rivers of alcohol, laughter, drama and relationships gone wrong had flown. They had exchanged numbers and the next day, recovering from a terrible hangover, had created a group, "Let's get some things straight...I'm not." And from the first message on that group that friendship had been born, more like a sorority or a sect of lesbians, bisexuals and pansexuals with a few mental problems, a few childhood traumas here and there and relationships so unstable that they could very well be mistaken for atom bombs. The usual cliché of all cult lesbian movies, in short...only it was much better.