One of the great sages of our time, the cartoon character Sid the Sexist, philosophized on the subject in his inimitable Geordie accent - "How do you mek a hot dog wi' two buns and nae sausage?" 

And indeed, this has been a source of curiosity for men for quite some time. Queen Victoria refused to make it illegal on the account of the fact that she couldn't imagine how such a thing was even possible. But it is possible, and it does happen in various foreign movies that get sent to Netflix. And as a result of having watched the treatment of this phenomenon in films - we can truly answer the age old question that has fascinated men for centuries.

What you will need 

  • One butchy lesbian woman. She has short hair. She's a with it, tough chick. She rides a motorcycle without a helmet. She has short hair. At some point she will drink high proof liquor straight from the bottle while playing cards with a bunch of men who look like Danny Trejo while smoking.
  • One innocent straight woman with long hair, nice lipstick, a very feminine girl. She at least has a boyfriend she loves dearly. She is more likely to be married. And to have a child. But this will in no way make her look anything other than a 19 year old girl with flawless skin.
  • A gaggle of other women who sit around drinking red wine and talking ribald stories
  • An exotic location of some sort. A villa in Greece, or a cabin on the beach in the Carribbean.

Lesbian sex is on the menu when the innocent straight woman finds herself surrounded by the lesbians by inadvertently gatecrashing the gathering. Either her car has broken down, or her sister is an existing lesbian and she's amongst the gathering. Or she just happens to wander in. But either way, she's now in the presence of the Sapphic ones. They learn she is not of their kind.

Casual viewers will wonder why if this is a lesbian gathering, all they're doing is sitting around drinking red wine and comparing golden retrievers rather than mushing their peaches together. This mystery is soon to be solved. 

Because the revelations of the newcomer will excite the butchy one, because - as studies done by the K.D Lang Institute for the study of advanced Lesbionics has proven - it is a known law that lesbians can only have sex with other lesbians once. Once they have had sex, only the butchiest of them may go forth and have sex again, and only by finding someone who does not share their orientation, and converting her. The rest sit around and consume red wine and talk about life and how hard it is to be an indepdendent woman.

The newcomer will find out that she is surrounded by lesbians. She will react with some polite shock. No, not that there's anything particularly wrong, but... but... she's married. She's not like that! She has a child, or children. In fact, it's a good thing she isn't a lesbian because if she was tempted into lesbian sex it would wreck a relationship and really mess up her kids.

That night, the butchy one will accept a bet from the assembled lesbian brood that she cannot bed the newcomer within the week, while she is trying to find a ride out of there/her husband is on his way/etc. At the point that that deadline happens, sex cannot happen and she will have lost the bet.

This is her cue to be strong as ever. Her taut breasts will strain against her wifebeater vest as she swims, or runs along the beach, or determinedly does pullups on a tree branch while the newcomer watches from close by. Either way, the innocent one looks over, bats her eyelids, and can't believe her panties are getting.... moister.

This is the cue for foreplay. This takes at least a week in real time and about an hour and forty five boring and forever-taking minutes in film time, in which the butchy one talks about her life and reveals a number of touching, fluffy bunny vulnerabilities about herself which intrigues the newcomer. Who touches her hand. And hugs her. A lot of this happens, along with crashing waves.

The foreplay period ends when some sort of crisis happens which renders the butchy one bed-bound or otherwise truly vulnerable. She's sleeping off a hangover, or hurt herself skydiving (but not too much, she's slept off the injury overnight), or something. But either way, the innocent one comes to her bed, and slowly and tentatively climbs under the sheets. Like a deer slowly approaching a discarded apple within seventy five yards of humans she's spotted.

It is at this point the requirements for lesbian sex increase.

  • Soft, mournful piano music - to be played as the two stare into each others' eyes for fifteen straight minutes, as the camera pans over various nice looking objects in the room and their suddenly deep, catching breathing.
  • Soft focus lenses: to make things a bit blurry and unclear as the two start to intertwine fingers.
  • Crashing surf in the background and crashing waves to cut to.

At this point, the lesbian sex begins. They turn to each other, and they touch each others' hair. Toplessness encouraged, but not necessary. Crisp white sheets will furl around as they stare into each others' eyes, and a couple of hesitant kisses turn into a soft, slow facial embrace. The camera then cuts to the crashing waves and the piano music gets especially stirring, because the lesbian sex, as such, is now over.

And then we have the denouement.

Obviously, having had lesbian sex, the newcomer can never have lesbian sex again. She's not butchy enough, and her life is messily intertwined with the kids, and the men. He shows up, and the butchy one leaves her life forever somehow. Either she dies of the plot-convenient cancer that in no way inconvenienced her or made her less attractive (or communicable) until the Sudden Cancer Attack which has all the lesbians tearfully hugging in a hospital waiting room as different piano music swells in and there's a Moving Death Soliloquy. There is nothing after death, this life is all there is - enjoy it as best as you can, now that you've had sex with me and therefore never will again. Or the butchy one's Hidden Criminal Past catches up with her and the police come to take her away for long enough of a time that it's in essence forever.

The dumbass clueless husband, an inoffensive blandly good looking man arrives. He doesn't know what's different - but something's different. She's now distant. No amount of penile plowing or male ministrations will ever match that one night next to the beach in the Grecian villa where she got to touch another woman's hair. And she's traumatized by the death of the woman that brought her out of her shell and showed her the Nirvana that she never realized existed. Her sex and relationship life are over. She's just going through the motions, distracted by the piano music that started up again out of nowhere. We all know she will eventually leave the man, her daughter will become a bohemian free spirit and she will join the gaggle of women drinking red wine and laughing on these retreats, remembering the fallen Butchy Woman.

And so the cycle of lesbian life continues. 

I left the movie, quite moved. I went over to my wife and looked into her eyes, caressing the side of her face and touching her hair. She looked at me quizzically, telling me to knock it off and that I was weirding her out. I told her that I, too, was a lesbian now, and she threw a cushion at me.

I'm just waiting for the cops to show up. Because it's either that or death by Very Sudden Cancer.

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