Liz fingered the purple-blue bruise above her cheekbone. She remembered the days when half the team was made up of lesbians and they drove home after an away game, no matter how far. Nearing twenty-nine, Liz knew she was on her way out and maybe it made her a tad bitter. Not that she minded that much. Her gaze followed Nina as she brushed her long unruly curls before tying them into a ponytail for bed. It was just a bit embarrassing at the moment.
My first lesbian story begins with a trip that was a last minute decision. Friendship, camaraderie, and relaxation were in the forefront of my mind, but my "need to know" was lying just beneath the surface. Her name was Katharine and we met during an online chat one month before my trip. She was 35 and lived in Portland, Oregon. And I—29 at the time—lived in New York City. Within days of bumping into each other in the virtual stratosphere, we were speaking via telephone. Our closeness formed quickly because of a similar mental turmoil we were each experiencing in our own lives.