Butch girls don't kiss boys, a voice inside told me as I pressed my lips against August Berihun's cruel, sensuous mouth. I looked into my boyfriend's eyes and hugged him tightly as our memorable first date came to an end. Ah, the things I do in the name of love and lust, I tell you. Just in case you're wondering who this is, I'm Samantha Pike but everybody calls me Spike. For as long as I can remember, I've been butch as hell. At my old high school in the City of Plymouth, Massachusetts, I was definitely the tomboy type. I played soccer, rugby and basketball. I won a scholarship to the University of New Hampshire, where I played soccer for all four years. I graduated with my bachelor's degree in economics in 2009 at the age of twenty three.
With the recession going on at full swing, I tried to find a job related to my field, but quickly discovered that office work wasn't for me. I worked as a club bouncer, a security guard and even as a night crew manager for Stop N Shop before I fell upon the perfect job for me. Construction work. Yep, I'm a construction worker, and I absolutely love it. Looking back, I should have known that this was the path for me. My father, Chadwick Pike, is a construction worker and he taught me everything I know about construction, sports and life.
My dear mother, Ramona Santiago, God rest her soul, was a Mexican-born Bostonian schoolteacher back in the day. She died giving birth to me, so I never knew her. My dad raised my older brother Arthur and me all by himself. The funny thing is that my brother, Harvard University Law School alum Arthur Pike is the sensitive and artistic type, not me. He's a crime novelist and lives in the town of Harmony, Maine, with Clyde Wolfe, his partner of three years. My brother and I are both brainy but I'm the "physical" one in the family. I've always been good at working with my hands, and I have a genuine love for building things. I built the doghouse my old Labrador retriever Murdock lived in, all ten years of his life. Lord I miss that old mutt. Anyhow, I began working for Turner Constructions, doing business all over New England but mostly in the Boston area, which suited me just fine.
Alright, my dear readers, I'm ready for it. What do I mean by it? The question I feel coming. I love contact sports and I work in construction, I just KNOW some of you are wondering if I'm a lesbian. The answer is no. I'm a butch woman, yes, but I'm bisexual, not lesbian. What can I say? I love pussy just fine but dick turns me on as well. Sorry if you're disappointed. The life of a bisexual butch woman is far from easy. For starters, most people don't know that we exist. The lesbian community isn't very tolerant of bisexual women, whom they view as traitors and fence-sitters, and bisexual butch women just upset the order of things. Most queers are okay with a feminine woman who swings both ways but a masculine gal like myself? No way. We're boxed into the die-hard dyke category. Well, it's my pussy and I'll stuff it with cock if I want to, got it?
The lesbian community and I have been at odds over my sexuality, and I honestly stopped going to dyke bars because I can't stand these judgmental bitches. They're always quick to claim every female celebrity who comes out as queer, but they're not very tolerant toward female bisexuality. Remember that WNBA player Sheryl Swoops? When she came out of the closet and announced to the world that she'd fallen in love with a woman, the lesbian community celebrated and she became an icon, a role model and a legend in her own right, at least in their eyes. Well, when Sheryl Swoops broke up with her lesbian lover and got engaged to a MAN, the lesbian community got mad as hell. You wouldn't think a bunch of queers would feel the need to persecute someone because of their sexuality, but there you have it. Oh, irony of ironies.
Anyhow, my penchant for loving both women and men isn't something I have ever felt compelled to apologize for. My last girlfriend, a petite, curvy and sexy Japanese-American gal named Katharine Yamamoto dumped me because of it. I miss her sometimes. The gal was good in bed, even though she was moody, fussy and downright insufferable the rest of the time. I'm a construction worker and she's a model-turned-actress. She's gone guest spots in everything from Law & Order : SVU to How I Met Your Mother and Big Bang Theory. I should have known we weren't going to work out. We came from two very different worlds. Katharine is one of a few openly gay Asian women working in Hollywood. I think I was star-struck more than anything else throughout our relationship. That's never a good thing when you're seeing someone. You're looking at the idealized version of them you have in your head rather than who they really are, and reality will disappoint you when it sets in.
When I go for a woman, I like them petite, feminine and sassy. When I go for a guy, I usually take what I can get, provided he's decent-looking and funny, because I have a hard time getting a man. When most guys look at me, they think I'm a lesbian. I must admit that my being six-foot-one, chubby, wide-hipped and big-bottomed doesn't help. Oh, and my habit of being typically attired in guy clothes doesn't exactly scream 'heterosexual'. I have long Black hair that I barely brush, light bronze skin and light brown eyes. I get my height from my father's side of the family. He's six-foot-six and my brother Arthur is six-foot-four. My skin tone, dark hair and dark eyes I get from my mother. I wish I had her charm and grace. Dad still has an old tape of the two of them dancing on their wedding day. The last time I wore a dress, I did it because I lost a bet and George W. Bush was still President. We're in the Age of Obama now.
Anyhow, I've never been lucky with guys, until I met August Berihun. I spotted this six-foot-three, broad-shouldered and muscular Black stud walking around Tremont street in downtown Boston. I was on my break from work, grabbing a bite at the MacDonald's located near Emerson College. The tall, sexy brother sat next to me, and asked me for directions while sipping his drink. When we talked, he spoke in flawless but accented English. I smiled and asked him where he was from. He told me he was a proud son of Ethiopia. Hmm. Ethiopia, huh? So he was African, not African-American? Cool. As it turns out, August was looking for the Loews movie theater, where he was supposed to meet some friends later. He was in the MBA program at Suffolk University. Hmmm. The guy was sexy, obviously smart and ambitious. How come he was single? I tactlessly asked him that, because I'm that kind of chick. August smiled and told me he just hadn't met the right woman.
We talked for a little while, eating together and discussing...what else? Boston. August was fascinated by the town in which I was born. I had a really nice time talking to him, but I had to get back to work. Before he left, he asked me for my Facebook. I told him I'd add him instead, since he was definitely the only August Berihun on Facebook. We shook hands, then parted ways. I chanced a last glance at him as he walked away. Hmmm. August Berihun had a cute butt. I love a sexy ass, doesn't matter which gender it's attached to. I checked out his profile on Facebook and I must say, I liked what I saw. Tons of pictures of him in Agaro City, Ethiopia, with his family and friends. Shots of him in London, England, with a group of young Black men inside an old church. Pictures of him on the beach, looking great in his swimming trunks. The dude was toned, for real. Oh, yeah. I wanted to know him, alright.
That night, over Facebook, August and I exchanged numbers, then agreed to meet a couple of days later. We caught the movie Seven Psychopaths at the Loews movie theater, then grabbed a bite inside the Prudential Center building's Copley Mall food court. It's long been my favorite mall ever since I could remember. My pops told me that he and mom used to hang inside Prudential Center back in their college days. Like father like daughter, I guess. After we finished eating, August and I walked around the mall a bit. While walking through the crowded mall, we stopped at a couple of stores, including Talbot's, where they know me because I buy suits there. A couple of well-dressed older guys came in, a Black guy and a White guy. They were smiling and holding hands. The Arab lady behind the desk shot them a nasty look and shook her head.
I rolled my eyes at her. It never ceases to amaze me, how a lot of immigrants who come to America and beg us to be tolerant of their religious and cultural customs can turn around and offer harsh treatment to those who differed from them. August excused himself, then went to the Arab lady. He indicated the two gay guys, who were checking out some suits, and asked her if she had a problem with them. The Arab lady's face morphed into a fake smile, and she asked August if there was a problem. August told her that here in America, gay people had rights, and if she didn't like it, she could go back to Arabia. I stood there, stunned, as I watched the exchange between August and the Arab lady. She told him he was way out of line. August scoffed and told her he knew a bigot when he saw one. Things looked like they might get out of hand, so I walked over to August, took him by the arm and told him we had to go. August looked at me, hesitated, then nodded.
Together we left the store, and went to sit at a bench located near the bookstore overlooking The Garden. I looked at August and asked him what came over him. He sighed, and told me that there were a lot of things he loved about America, and especially Boston, and that was the people's spirit of tolerance and openness. He pointed to the crucifix hanging around his neck, and told me that one of the biggest problems he had with his Christian faith was the hatred many evangelical Christians felt for gays and lesbians. He told me that back in Ethiopia, he learned from his Pastor that God loved all of us no matter what lifestyles we led. I smiled, and told him his Pastor was a wise man. August looked at me with those intense brown eyes of his and asked him how I felt about the subject matter. I bit my lip. I was brought up in a Roman Catholic household, and although I rarely went to church these days, my faith still mattered to me. I considered myself that rare Christian woman who always voted democrat, supported gay marriage and abortion rights, and only went to church on special holidays like Christmas, Easter and Lent.
August nodded, clearly he liked my answers. Well, I had a question of my own to ask him. I hesitated, because we were heading into sensitive territory fast, and this was just our first outing together. Still, I've always been a straight shooter, no pun intended, so I looked August in the eye and asked him about his sexual orientation. August pursed his lips, and looked away. He looked at me, shrugged, and told me that he found Lebron James, Michelle Rodriguez and Alicia Keys equally attractive, for different reasons. In other words, he was bisexual. Wow. August, the crucifix-wearing and tough-looking Black man from Ethiopia swung both ways. I didn't see that one coming. Well? August said, fixing me with his impenetrable gaze. Good answer, I said, as I leaned closer to him. I am a bisexual woman who happens to like bisexual guys, I whispered into his ear. August smiled, and then he kissed me. How's that for a first date?