How I Became Lesbian: Confessions of Girl Love 

We had never heard the term “lesbian” when we were young. In our region, rigid customs imposed the ideals of a man-woman-based family structure.

So when lesbianism started gaining roots and conformity, most people began viewing it differently.

Regardless, to embrace their true identities and find solace in one another, lesbians have carved out a space of acceptance and love that challenges societal norms.

With time and unwavering support from friends, family, and allies, lesbians have found comfort in knowing they are not alone.

This article exemplifies an openly lesbian person’s coming-out story.

The Meeting With the Lesbian

Ding!

The Google Gmail notification beeped on my laptop.

Basically, I shut off notifications on both my phone and laptop, especially when writing, for total concentration.

For some strange reason, I had forgotten the ritual that morning. Someone’s email was flashing on my screen on a Monday morning. She wanted to meet up and share her story. A damsel, I presumed. I got excited!

“Yes, I can accommodate you for an hour, maybe two. Let us meet at 6 p.m.” I emailed back.

The meeting took place at La Cascada Miguela. I selected a table in the backyard near the waterfalls for serenity and quiet. She was late.

I ordered a coffee [in a bar]. 

After thirty minutes, she still hadn’t turned up. So I ordered more coffee. This time a pot, not a cup.

Just as the waiter placed the order on the table, she came in. I knew it was her because she had said she would be in a red dress.

I stood up, pecked her cheek, and pulled a chair for her.

“I’d love to have a glass of wine,” she said. I guessed she needed something to put her at ease.

The waiter scuttled away to fetch her order.

“You don’t look lesbian to me,” I started.

“How do they look?” she countered.

“I guess they have long tongues, for starters,” she smiled.

She had a perfect set of the whitest teeth I had seen.

Behind the smile was a long story.

How the Lesbian Journey Started

The waiter served the wine, and she immediately took a sip. A tiny sip. 

She was too careful not to smudge her red lipstick. All the same, she left a small trace of the lipstick on the wineglass.

“It all started when I joined secondary school as a naïve 14-year-old from the village.”

The cool breeze from the waterfall displaced some strands of her long jet-black hair. She instinctively used a long-fingered nail to put it back in place. I wondered if she ever did her laundry manually at any time.

I folded the notebook I had and opted to record the confession of this lesbian story on the phone instead. Of course, with her permission.

Being an introvert, she kept to herself for most of the first term. Towards the end, she became friends with the dorm prefect.

I still had not poured the coffee from the pot. The waiter approached us again to inquire if we needed any bites. The waiters here were quite efficient. She did not need any. Neither did I.

“How did you begin the friendship, seeing you were an introvert?” I cut in.

“It started one day when I fell sick. And the sickness lasted three days. She would bring meals to me in the dormitory.”

“Even though I ate very little, I couldn’t help but notice that the food was tastier than what I and the rest of the students were used to eating.”

Later, she would occasionally sneak such meals [which were meant for prefects] to the dorm.

How It Progressed

As she sipped her wine again, I finally poured my coffee. It was tepid, and I took two quick sips before pushing the cup away.

The first term ended, and during the holidays, Mercy, our lesbian friend, received a call from her prefect friend Nelly that they should meet up.

“As a good girl, I asked for permission from my parents, which was granted because she had been my benefactor when I was sick.”

She finished her glass of wine and beckoned the waiter for a refill. She was now at ease, and the words came out with no inhibition.

“Where did the meeting take place?” I asked, out of curiosity.

She said Nelly’s parents had this nice house [she actually called it a joint] that reeked of riches in Spring Valley. 

To me, the name of the estate also reeked of riches.

Anyways, in short, Nelly had sent Mercy a cab, and when she arrived and was behind the imposing black gate, the feeling of loneliness crept into her. How could someone live in such a secluded place? The drive from the gate to the house was about a kilometer. It was quiet, save for chirping birds in the wooded surroundings.

No sooner had she entered the living area than Nelly hugged her and cried in torrents.

What is the matter? She asks.

She poured her heart out about how she was lonely, how her strict parents forbade her from going out, how she never had a boyfriend, and how she was on the verge of having a mental breakdown.

“No way could I have imagined my strong prefect in school going through all that. I feared for her because she was to sit her final exams that year.”

The Lesbian Juicier Part

As I glanced at my phone clock, I noticed that the first hour had passed. Too fast, I would say.

La Cascada Miguela filled up. People rushing from their offices were stopping for an evening drink. A jam session was starting somewhere in the background in low tones.

I discarded the coffee altogether and asked for a beer in its place.

Though I did not want to appear to rush the story, I ended up asking: “How did this thing start?” I still could not bring myself to call this beautiful damsel a lesbian.

“It was natural,” she said matter-of-factly. I realized I should have waited for the story to fit naturally too.

“Like most people do when giving solace to a weeping person, I hugged her. That moment will remain etched in my mind forever. I sensed her nipples hardening, and she was all over me.”

“What was your initial reaction?”

“Shock, bewilderment, and last, something that I least expected…”

I held my breath and dared not interrupt.

She gulped the rest of her second glass of wine and put it further away to show she’d had enough.

“I reacted positively to her touch, and one thing led to another.”

She had finally come out. Over the following years, they continued seeing each other when Mercy was still in school and Nelly was in employment.

“Do you still see each other?”

“We did better; we got married.”

This came as a shock, and as I thought of the next question, I reached for my untouched beer.

“Any regrets?”

“None whatsoever. As a matter of fact, I followed my heart on love matters, a thing most people fail to do.” She seemed pleased with herself.

I could not let her go before asking if she had tried a relationship with a man. This time, she laughed.

“I tried, and it failed miserably. My body was tense, and it cringed at his touch.” I pitied whoever that man was.

Aftermath of the Lesbian Story

“So, what does your family think of this whole shebang thing?” She smiled for the second time that evening. 

I made a mental note to tell her to smile more often. Even more captivating was a dimple I had not noted during the first smile and laugh.

“At first, they resisted. Most of the family still do. But my mom, after many months of crying, finally accepted us. She is the only family who visits us. Talk of the love of a mother. A family pillar.”

What about Nelly’s side of the family? Sadly, she had become an outcast and cut off all ties with them.

As Mother’s Day was two months away, she said she and Nelly were planning a surprise for her mom. She certainly deserved it.

I could not agree more. I drained my beer as Mercy reached for the bill.

She and Nelly deserve respect for their decision to be together as they celebrate the beauty and strength of their relationship.

After all, no one is a saint.

Final Thoughts

As I parted ways with Mercy, I wondered what would have become of her if she had chosen the marriage-with-a-man path instead.

She was not only tall and elegant but also any man’s dream partner. Maybe she would have had kids as tall and elegant as she. Maybe not.

At the parking lot, I asked her, “Do you want me to use pseudonyms for this article?”

“No, use our real names.”

The two Uber drivers were waiting for us. 

Finally, we went our different ways.

Do you have a love story you’d like to share? Engage us to feature it.

James Nduati Charagu

James is a published author, blogger, and content writer.

He writes about relationships, marriage, and self-improvement to bring out the best in you.

When not writing, he enjoys having a bourbon and coke, playing with his cat, and traveling the world to discover new places.