Funny stuff comes out around the trimming table; we don’t call it therapy for nothing. One beautiful afternoon, the conversation turned to sex. There were five women and six guys. Not women and men, women and dudes. 

The women were all on paths of self and social redefinition that looked to find more harmonious ways of living. Casting aside roles and customs and fighting a bias that was all the more clear in their eyes, they became warriors. Peaceful warriors, but with intellect and heart honed for engagement. They had higher barriers to jump and when they jumped, they flew. Four out of five owned property and had some entrepreneurial angle they were working—women whom I came to wish ran the world. 

The XY chromosome was represented by sparkling spirits who were well into crafting beautiful life stories, but one couldn’t have the same confidence in the stories coming to a happy ending. The life I was living certainly put me in that category as I was constantly reminded by billboards and advertisements about the war on drugs.

There were more than a few giggles as we wound our way through the challenges of engaging in mixed-gender discourse about sex. Two of the women at the table were a couple and came up from San Francisco every year. 

“We like toys,” said Sasha, the one with the most piercings.

At least three of the guys simultaneously chimed something like, “You should try the real thing.”

“Perhaps you misunderstand; we like toys that focus on the outside. Penetration isn’t our thing. Penetration is about penises and penises come with men.”

Austin, who we all knew was gay, came out of the closet. There was a lull in conversation and he just blurted out, “I am gay. I have always been gay,” looking us each in the eye he punctuated it, “I am gay”.

“Well, no freaking kidding.”

“Who cares?”

“Do you mean you actually thought people didn’t know?”

“Austin, you are the epitome of gay. It was totally obvious the first time I met you,” said Sasha and everyone agreed. “No secret there.”

Austin looked embarrassed, not of being gay, but as he realized his closet door had always been open, he was struck dumb. Still he was relieved with the surprising and light-hearted response his confession evoked.

The conversation turned back to Sasha and Monica. “So what is your problem with men?” 

“You are all pigs,” responded Monica with a fierceness that revealed a side of her we hadn’t seen. “All you do is think with your dicks, no understanding of subtlety or timing. You all think you can have anything you want and have hardly evolved from cavemen, or lizards even.” Stopping to light the joint in her hand and compose her thoughts, she continued, “My first fuck didn’t last 10 minutes. Absolutely zero communication or connection. It was embarrassing to see each other afterward, even though we were both okay with what happened. I felt social pressure to lose my virginity and he seemed innocuous enough. The expectations were set low and met. He is probably gay too because his first experience was as passionless, loveless, grooveless and straight up lame as mine”.

“Innocuous and lame sounds pretty good.”

Funny, those moments in life when things get really quiet. Not just in the room or the house or the neighborhood, but almost as if the galaxy held its breath for a moment. So much can be shared in so few words. Beth, whose parents had named her Rainbow and was actually local, was probably the quietest person in the group. Her reticence lent no air to the importance of her contributions, either positively or negatively, though we did make a little room in the onslaught of banter whenever she did speak. Conversation for her went at a slower pace in an attempt to keep things orderly, regardless of what was going on around her. It was obvious this was not due to any lack of intellect; its cause was stern discipline resulting from trauma and chaos.