Soaking Wet Lesbians - at the movies: Her girlfriend loses all control of her bladder and leaves her seat dripping wet!

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A contest to see who can stay awake the longest results in Alisha wetting the bed in this cute pee scene. I was scared of so many things, and worried about, as usual, lesbian stereotypes — moving too fast, feeling too much. And I said so. It was one of our talents that week: saying absolutely everything that was on our minds, and processing until we felt we couldn’t possibly process anymore — at least, of course, until the next night. Having a contest to see who can stay awake the longest, Alisha has clearly lost, making Olivia the winner. Feeling that the looser should have to suffer some consequence, Olivia decides to test the myth about putting someone’s hand in warm water while they sleep. Carefully, she places Alisha’s hand in a bowl of warm watch, then watches as Alisha proceeds to wet the bed. For the last stretch of our afternoon, we were dropped on a secluded beach at Nevis, where a few of us ferried beers and our new favorite drink, the very college-esque Panty Ripper (coconut rum and pineapple juice), from shore to the rest of the women waiting in the water. One woman stuffed a bunch of beers into her bathing suit and we cheered whenever anybody pulled one out. A couple women had GoPro cameras, with which we took a lot of increasingly drunken group shots while we swam. One of them was attached to a floating handle that looked very much like a big yellow dildo, which, once somebody pointed it out, kept sending us into hysterics.

Once, after I came in her hands, I burst into tears (yeah, I know, big dyke energy), and she held me tightly in her strong, sure arms. “You’re OK,” she said. “I’ve got you.” She kissed my hair. Then somehow, all of a sudden, years passed. We became two professionals in our late twenties, living in our dream apartment on the top floor of a Brooklyn brownstone. We weren’t allowed to have pets, but, like good millennials, we had plenty of plants, and interests outside of each other: my roller derby, their ultramarathons. We were busy, stable. Happy enough. I’d never considered before that being a femme with a butch partner needn’t be some inequitable hetero horror show, but instead could be something imbued with incredible queer comfort and power. It could be fun. It could be hot. Metro bloggers Miranda Kane and Bibi Lynch co-host the show, chatting to a different guest about all things sex and relationships each week. Ye goddess! I have not heard of an atomic wedgie is a very very long time. That was THE most impressive one I have ever seen. Thank her, and you!Bonding is built into an Olivia trip, which, I realized soon enough, is basically like grown-up lesbian camp. “It’s funny, because on a normal cruise, you’re trying to spend as much time as you can away from other people,” Jamie would later put it. “But we’re all here precisely because we want to be around everybody else.” I would sob in a car to uptown Manhattan, where my friend Alia would take me in her arms and tell me it was all going to be OK. Some may think that’s a blessing, but those people probably haven’t tried holding in four litres of Evian for an hour. Savannah has to Give Me 5, Savannah is given a subject and has to name Five things that are in the subject. She plays the drums, loves cars — like, posts-on-car-forums-level loves cars — and follows tech news. She cares about clothes and buys a lot of hers vintage. She just got a tattoo commemorating Liverpool, her beloved football team.

I’m loose and light and a little sleepy from my second Corona and a blossoming sunburn. Sure, I say, why not, thinking all the while: If any other 27-year-old lesbians could use a self-esteem boost, all they need to do, clearly, is get themselves on an Olivia cruise.I don’t care,” Lynette said, shrugging. She told me she’d lived on this earth for 53 years. She knew what she wanted. And now it was my turn to figure that out for myself. I would tell my therapist everything in one fell swoop, and I’d be so relieved and grateful when she seemed genuinely happy for me.