Dormitory Dearest: A Sweet Lesbian Romance

by Nicolette Dane

  I knew that our relationship was fundamentally changed and while I also knew that going forward things might be a little more tense and difficult between us, it was a bridge we had to cross together. I had held in a lot of resentment for my mother and now that I had finally told her who I really was inside, that little knotted ball of anxiety was starting to loosen. It wouldn’t dissolve overnight, however. We had a lot of bridge building to do. A lot of things to work on together.

  “I just want you to be happy,” my mother said. “That’s all a mother could possibly want.”

  “Thank you,” I said, a smile slowly easing across my lips. I knew this was all rough for her. But she was handling it with aplomb.

  My thoughts drifted to Hosannah. She was right. Everything was beginning to feel a lot better. My mother accepted me as best as she could. Hosannah really was a blessing to me, a bright light that could show me the way. In that moment, watching my mother indolently pick at her taco salad and give me a half-smile, I was so grateful for what Hosannah had given me. It was like I was finally coming into my own. A new lease on life. A cloud lifting. I knew that I still had a long way to go to really feel free, to really feel accepted in my life, to burst out of this cage I’d built around myself for protection. But with Hosannah there by my side, it all felt possible. I could feel the happiness vibrating inside of me.

  *

  “I hate to say I told you so,” said Hosannah with a smirk. “But…”

  “Stop,” I said, lightly smacking her arm. We stood together in my dorm room, Hosannah helping me unpack the suitcase my mother had brought me full of my winter wardrobe. She bent down and pulled out a pair of thermal underwear and held it up with a surprised expression on her face.

  “Do these have a butt flap?” she asked, turning them around to look at the backside. “How do you pee when you wear these?”

  “Hosannah!” I said, ripping the thermals from her hands and balling them up. I tossed them over to the couch.

  “Your mother gave you the best possible reaction for her,” said Hosannah, returning to our conversation. She pulled a thick fleece-lined hoodie from the suitcase and hung it up in the closet. “I mean, she didn’t scream at you and damn you to hell. So… success!”

  “Right,” I said. “It honestly feels like a huge weight off my shoulders. I’ve never felt lighter!” I said, bouncing up a couple of times on the balls of my feet.

  “That a girl!” said Hosannah, grinning happily at me. “It’s not over yet, though.”

  “I know,” I admitted.

  “I mean, you’re barely even comfortable coming out and saying that you’re a lesbian in those words,” said Hosannah, dishing out a slice of truth. “Right? Does it make you feel weird to say the word ‘lesbian?””

  “Yeah,” I said, slinking down into my desk chair, sitting with my legs to the side and an arm slung over back of it. “I said it to my mother, but it still doesn’t feel natural or without some sort of negative connotation.”

  Hosannah adorably slid over toward me, slipping across the floor in just her socks. She placed both of her hands on my arm and then bent down and kissed me on the head.

  “Look,” she began. “You’re just pulling the bandaid off right now and the wound still needs some time to heal. Don’t beat yourself up or worry too hard about it. We all figure it out at a different pace.”

  “Thank you,” I smiled, looking up into her understanding face.

  “I’ll stick with you,” she said, smiling, shrugging innocently. “Though you’ll have to cut me a little bit of slack if I get impatient. I didn’t have it as hard as you.”

  “I will,” I said. But the more I began to think about it, the less difficult it all seemed. I think I had just built it up so much in my mind, dwelled on hiding from myself for so long, that I didn’t even consider the possibility that maybe coming out wouldn’t be that big of a deal for me. It sure felt like a big deal, but I couldn’t always trust my feelings. I had a strange relationship with them. I was grateful that I lived in a place that was becoming more tolerant, grateful that I could turn on the television and see storylines of girls just like me struggling through the same issues. Not every place on Earth had it so easy and I felt for those girls who couldn’t be themselves. Knowing how I felt inside, I couldn’t even imagine how they must feel.

  Hosannah grabbed my hands and pulled me up from the chair, into her arms. We hugged tightly, lovingly, and I melted into her. She made me feel so cared for. When I was with her, I knew that I had nothing to fear. She had already walked the path I was on and would be there to guide me. I really hadn’t had any one to trust for a long time, if ever, and I knew that I could trust Hosannah. There was something pure about her, something real and truthful. I knew she wouldn’t judge me. She could love me for me.

  And then she kissed me. We held tightly to one another as we fondly kissed. I couldn’t hide my smile, my giddiness, and I started giggling through our kiss.

  “What?” said Hosannah with a happy slyness about her, pulling back from my lips and looking me in the eye.

  “I’m just happy,” I said, feeling slightly embarrassed even though I knew that I didn’t need to be. I was beginning to learn how to express myself.

  “Hold on to that feeling,” said Hosannah knowingly. “There’s a lot more where that came from.”

  As the two of us resumed eagerly kissing each other there in my dorm room, all I could think about was how perfect this had ended up. I was ready for this. I was ardent. I gripped tightly to Hosannah, my fingers kneading into the bottom of her t-shirt as I held onto her, lips pushing together. I never expected to have a happily ever after, what with all the nervousness and anxiety I’d had inside of me, but there are happy endings after all. I knew I could make it through anything as long as I had Hosannah at my side.

  “Hey,” I said softly, pulling back from Hosannah and smiling naively at her.

  “Hmm?” she intoned, nuzzling her nose against my face.

  “Thank you,” I said. And then: “I love you.”

  Hosannah smiled wide at me, her eyes lighting up, her pale face beaming with excitement and possibility. I could tell she was dizzied by my affirmation. I could sense an intense warmth coming from her with our bodies so close. And that smell of coffee was ever-present, a delicious and enticing aroma. I loved that. I loved her coffee fragrance, whatever it was.

  “Oh Tasha,” she mused through a smile. “I love you, too.”

  I had told you in the beginning that I’d never anticipated college being this weird. I think weird is the wrong word. I had never anticipated college being this enlightening. I had never expected college to be able to hold a mirror up to me and to show me who I really was. Sure, the reflection was still geeky redheaded Natasha on the outside. But it showed me something great on the inside. It showed me truth. It showed me that the stories I told myself were just stories, they weren’t really who I was and nor did they dictate who I could become.

  If anything, even in my short time, college had taught me that I wasn’t alone. And that was important, coming from someone who often felt very alone, very misunderstood. But those, again, were just stories. I wasn’t alone. And Hosannah proved that. Hosannah showed me that the light inside of me was something worth loving, worth accepting. I didn’t have to hide anymore and I didn’t have to pretend to be someone I wasn’t.

  I could just be me. And that was good enough.

  *

  Thank you so much for reading Dormitory Dearest! I write these stories for you and sincerely hope you enjoy them. If you liked this novel, please leave a positive review on Amazon and let me know what you loved most. Reviews not only help to inform potential readers of a good book, but they also let us authors know we’re on the right track. Writing and publishing is a tireless profession, and there’s nothing more rewarding than positive feedback from readers. Thank you so much for your support!

  Love,

  Nico

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  AN EXCERPT FROM: SWEETHEART STARLET

  *

  “ARE WE READY to get started?” I asked, looking around the room through the lenses of my black plastic frames. I sat at the head of the table in our small conference room, a stack of papers in front of me, flipping a pen around in my fingers and occasionally chewing it. Sometimes I wondered how I got to this position. It happened really fast, much quicker than I ever imagined it would. Going from an improv and comedy performer in Chicago, then somehow waking up one day as head writer of This Saturday, a live sketch comedy television show in New York. It’s a lot of pressure, a lot of responsibility. You’ve got to not only always be funny, but you need to learn to wrangle other funny weirdos like yourself.

  I had a constant case of imposter syndrome. It all seemed like a dream that I was destined to soon wake up from. And the responsibility gave me buttloads of anxiety. But I was doing it. It was working out. Just breathe, Tab, just breathe.

  The other writers quieted down as I began our meeting. Looking down into my papers, still chewing on my pen, I began to think out loud.

  “So we’ve got Corinne Holmstrom on the show this week,” I said. “Blonde bombshell Hollywood actress. She’s got big boobs, so we should have a sketch that focuses on that.”

  “Is that all you think about, Tab?” asked Bernie. Bernie was a good friend of mine, a fellow writer who had come up with me in Chicago and made it to This Saturday just a few years after me. He was a bearded, balding, pudgy, almost stereotypically Jewish comedy writer and I absolutely loved him. “Your mind is suffused in tits.”

  “I think about tits a lot,” I said. “And I’m sure the rest of you can understand.”

  “I bet I think about them more than you, Tab,” said Wayne, one of the less orderly writers in our little collective.

  “You know what’s it like to be in the mind of a lesbian?” I asked. “I love tits and I’m not afraid to admit it.”

  “Yeah,” said Wayne. “But it’s the male prerogative to be obsessed with bountiful breasts because they signify a healthy woman with whom we can procreate. It’s etched into our DNA.”

  “Wayne, when was the last time you attempted procreation?” I said.

  “Does mating with a tissue count?” he said.

  “No, Wayne, no it doesn’t,” I said.

  “Then… I don’t remember,” said Wayne.

  “Can we just move on from Wayne’s personal problems?” asked Bernie.

  “Right,” I said. “So Corinne Holmstrom. What do you guys got?”

  “She’s in space,” said Gene, yet another piece in this puzzle of miscreants. “She’s an astronaut who’s used to getting her way because she’s so hot.”

  “Yes, and then…?” I prompted.

  “She’s got a geeky, less hot sidekick, like a super dweeb,” continued Gene. “And they meet these evil aliens who capture the girls, they want to probe them.”

  “Anally?” asked Wayne.

  “Is there any other way?” said Bernie.

  “Tabitha,” said Janet drolly, the only other woman on our writing staff, looking over to me and rolling her eyes. She was sarcastic to a fault and I always found her hilarious. “Can’t we just get Wayne a prostitute or something? It’s like the jizz has built up inside of him and poisoned his brain.”

  “That’s not a bad idea, Janet,” I said, stifling a laugh. “But I’m afraid if we did that, it might hurt Wayne’s pride when he’s presented with that moment he’s built up in himself for his entire adult life, that first penetration with a woman, and all he can think about is asshole.”

  “Can we get back to my sketch?” said Gene.

  “I’ve had sex with a woman before,” protested Wayne.

  “Yes Gene, I apologize,” I said. “Continue.”

  “So the aliens want to probe the girls, and Corinne takes it upon herself to try to save them,” he said. “But the aliens don’t give a shit about her looks. They’re more interested in the metal in her geeky sidekick’s teeth. Braces.”

  “So the comedy is that Corinne is flabbergasted that they don’t want her?” I said. “Okay, that’s not bad,” I said, scribbling some notes down.

  This kind of conversation was very typical for our writing meetings. We were all a bunch of odd ducks, goofballs, outcasts, people whose brains were a bit askew and didn’t seem to function very well in normal discourse. We mostly talked about gross sex stuff interspersed with actual real writing work. It was all part of the process. Or at least, that’s what I liked to tell myself.

  “Maybe we could think of a sketch to get Corinne in a bikini,” mused Bernie. “It’ll be a mocking of those paparazzi photos that came out recently.”

  “Are you really mocking recent events, Bern,” I said. “Or do you just want to see Corinne Holmstrom up close in a bikini.”

  “Why not both?” he said with a grin and a shrug.

  “C’mon guys,” I said. “I know she’s hot and I know we’ve got to play that up in the sketches, but let’s tuck our little penises back for a bit and concentrate on funny.”

  “Good luck with these guys,” said Janet with yet another eye roll. “They can’t help but look down and constantly diddle themselves.”

  “It’s the source of my comedy,” said Wayne. “My power!”

  “Oh boy,” I said with a sigh. “I really don’t know how we get anything done around here. I know I say this every week, but you all realize that we have five days to put up a live show? There are tons of people counting on us. The cast, the viewers, the sponsors. Your paychecks depend on this.”

  “You’re harshing my mellow,” said Wayne.

  “That’s my job,” I said.

  “I’m sorry, Tab,” said Gene. The other writers begrudgingly agreed.

  “Okay, I’ve got one,” said Bernie, clearing his throat, picking up his notepad, and looking into the pages. “Corinne is a talk show host,“ he began. “The funny is, um… she’s a former Hollywood starlet, past her prime, older, trying to flirt with the young hot Hollywood guys who are repulsed by her obvious come ons.”

  “Fine,” I said, writing down a brief synopsis of Bernie’s idea in my notes. “Let’s do this,” I went on, adding to Bernie’s idea. “We’ve got Tim, Kyle, and Wes on the cast who could pull that off. The first two guests on the show will be repulsed, but the third will be turned on by a sexy grandma coming on to him. How does that sound?” I said, looking up at Bernie over top of my thick-framed glasses.

  “That’s good,” said Bernie. “Fine with it.”

  “Guys?” I said, looking to the others.

  “Sure,” said Wayne, nodding along with the other writers.

  “Bernie, you flesh that one out since it’s your idea,” I said.

  “Got it, Tab,” he said.

  “Let’s only do, like, one sketch about how stupidly pretty Corinne is,” I said. “I think it’s too obvious and we won’t be able to sustain laugh after laugh on that one note.”

  “I agree,” said Janet. “We already went through this same shit when we had Dana Lin on,” she said. “All you guys did was drool over how hot she was and try to think of sketches based on that.”

  “Yeah!” I said, joining in with Janet’s criticism.

  “You’re guilty of that too,” accused Janet. “Remember t
he ‘Yellow Fever’ sketch? That was your idea.”

  “Ugh,” I groaned. “Yeah, I have a thing for Asian women. Was that sketch too racist?”

  “Yes,” all the writers said in unison.

  “It’s not racism, it’s satire!” I countered. “C’mon gang.” I looked around, trying to find support. “Gang?”

  “You’re lucky we voted to cut that one line,” said Bernie, shaking his head. “I’m sure it would have been blasted all over the internet the next day if we allowed that to air.”

  “I don’t think it would have made it past the censors,” said Gene. “Dude,” he said, putting his hands over his eyes.

  “So I’m not always the most PC,” I said. “I’m not perfect. I’m just like you. I’m an idiot!”

  “Did anyone record that on their phone?” said Wayne, his eyes darting around the room. “I would love to have Tab saying that as my ringer. I’m an idiot! I’m an idiot!”

  “Enough,” I said, crumpling down into my own arms on the conference table. “Every week we do this, every week we scramble to have enough sketches for broadcast.”

  “It’s only Monday,” said Gene. “We have the cast meeting later this afternoon. I’m sure they’ll have something for us.”

  “I love your optimism, Gene,” I said, my voice muted, face buried into my arms.

  “And Corinne is coming in tomorrow,” said Wayne. “Once she’s on set goofing around with us, we’ll come up with more. We always do.”