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Apologies to Will Rogers, but … I never met a lesbian I didn’t like. At least not in Nashville. I know it’s wrong to generalize, so I’ll say that there are probably some unlikable lesbians here. However, they‘re avoiding me, and for that I’m truly thankful.

Why do I say this? Well, for one thing, they’re fun. I’m not saying they “Just want to have fun.” (No matter what Cyndi Lauper says.) But they know how to have a good time. One of the women I met here turned sixty a while back, and a bunch of her friends surprised her with—are you ready for this?—a parade! I mean a real parade, with a marching band and floats and clowns. The whole nine yards. I just don’t see any straight women doing that. And I don’t think the gay men I know would have done it either. But there they were, on a Saturday afternoon, lining up around the corner from her house so that she wouldn’t know what was up until they came marching down the street.

For another thing, lesbians listen to me. Growing up male, I realized after a while that, to a large extent, the women I had conversations with were just pretending to be interested in what I was saying. It’s one of those behaviors women develop as a way to get along in a man’s world. And when presenting as a woman, I’m a bit embarrassed to say, I developed the habit myself. I noticed how men love to talk about themselves, and how they love a woman who appears to be enraptured by tales of their exploits. It’s “all about them.” But not really. The content of their conversation is never really about them: it’s more about who they want you to think they are.

But if I sit down to have a conversation with a lesbian I can learn more in fifteen minutes about her, who she is—i.e. who she really is—the person, rather than her ‘accomplishments’ and acts of bravado. So when a lesbian compliments my outfit or makeup it’s usually a legitimate compliment, as opposed to women who remain mentally stranded in high school. (“Ooh…I love that dress. Where did you get it?”)

And they give really good hugs. Sorry, guys—straight, gay, or otherwise—you just can’t pull that off. So I suppose it’s pointless for me to say that loving lesbians is just a sub-category of my love for women in general. The best bosses I ever had were women. My mother was a woman. And so was my sister.

But before I get all sticky-sentimental and ask that you join me in a chorus of Kumbaya, I should mention that in Austin, Texas, where I lived for 26 years, the lesbian bar there made it clear that girls like me were not welcomed. Have times changed? I hope so. The next time I’m in Austin I’ll have to check it out.

And then there’s the infamous Womyn's Music Festival, held in Michigan every year, which has clearly stated that it’s strictly for “women born as women.” (I won’t go into the politics, except to say that there has been an ongoing “dialogue” with radical feminists, human rights activists, transgender spokespersons, and others, and that they recently announced that the festival is being discontinued.)

So how does the transgender phenomena relate to lesbians? (I’ll get to the hot tub in a minute.) As explained here before, transgender and sexual orientation aren’t the same. And while I’m fine with telling others I’m transgendered, when they ask my sexual orientation I’m “old school” and usually tell them it’s none of their business. However, sometimes it’s necessary, if for no other reason than the need to define terms, to explain that a transgendered person’s sexuality is just as varied as those sexualities found in the wider world. And that confuses them.

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