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“Womyn, you can pull the butch out of the most labeless of dykes.” ~ **The Rack** circa 2010ish

Warning: This will probably be the only sentence without a curse so enjoy it. (You should also be aware that I’m home from work early and sipping on a chilled glass of Moscato d’Asti as I type this.) Here be my tale of woe:

I was running late this morning, something I rarely do. So, instead of being ready for work and sitting down and enjoying my morning coffee before my father’s aide/nurse came, I was in the shower. By the by, I was going to Oxford comma that last sentence but fuck it.

Photo credit (buy one!)https://www.etsy.com/market/dyke_as_fuck

We let the aide – let’s call her Reyna (She’s family and doesn’t do labels) – come a little earlier than she should because she has an all-night case before us and would have to kill an hour somewhere before she starts. Note to self: Let Reyna kill that damn hour somefuckingwhere else.

It happened pretty quickly after she arrived. Dad let her in and they immediately start with the corny jokes and futzing around until I finish in the bathroom. I know I’m holding them up and try to hurry. Well, guess who’s all lathered up? Guess who reaches for the shower head with a very soapy wash-and-moisturize-while-in-the-shower hand?

The damn thing slipped out of my hand but I managed to grab it. What I didn’t see was it hitting the cold water handle and so my unsuspecting ass opens my legs to rinse that Nivea shit from my crotch. I broke Olympic records the way I jumped to the ceiling from that hot ass water.

Screaming, I dropped the shower head – which automatically retracts – and on its way up, smacked me in the forehead. That shit hurt and I kinda tilt over and thud into the wall.

As I’m thinking ‘great now I have a headache to go along with my quite possibly blistered punany’, the door bursts open.

“Your dad sent me in here to check on you. Looks like you hit your head. You okay? ”

I’m glad she thought I’d slipped in the shower. I was not about to tell her that I may have boiled my pussy.

“I’m okay,” I squeak through the pain and start drying off.

Then, I-don’t-do-labels Reyna makes that sound. Ya’ll know that huff, that expulsion of breath any lesbian with a whiff of butch in her makes when shi (damn right it’s “shi”) sees something…pleasant? I admit freely the tatas are that fucking awesome.

“Damn, girl,” followed by a hasty retreat. Too late, Labeless Reyna. I heard that Barry White impression directed at my left boob.

Okay, I’m tired of typing now. The Moscato is delish and my twat isn’t on fire anymore. Don’t think my labia is coming back until the Fall though.

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