When The L Word first aired in 2004, it was heralded as a groundbreaking television event for the often forgotten, always marginalized lesbian community. It spawned fan sites, message boards, and artwork. It created Tibette worshippers and Jenny haters. It turned the name “Shane” into an adjective. It made me make sock puppets.
Now we have The Real L Word, and its six telegenic cast members: Tracy, Mikey, Whitney, Rose, Jill and Nikki. Like the original The L Word, the girls are femme-y, trendy and busy-busy. Unlike TLW, they don’t know each other, no one is writing a book about them and no one dies in a swimming pool.
To establish their lesbian street creds, the show begins with each one regaling the details of the first time they had girl sex.
Like a mugging victim who only sees the gun, and not the perpetrator’s face, Rose recalls having a breast in her mouth for the first time, but not the girl’s name. Nikki threw caution to the wind, (along with her top) and may or may not have scared the other girl. Her current partner, Jill, says she thought to herself: “Oh my God. What did I just do?” She could be talking about her first woman; she could be talking about this show. Hard to tell.
Tracy’s first time with a girl included foreplay. And by foreplay, she means doing four shots at a gay bar before heading home and letting the other girl “take the reins.” And then there’s precocious, little Whitney.
Whitney: I’m uh, nine and she’s 11. She’s got boobs. We were trying to be all romantic and sexy. I was like, “Oh, let me put whipped cream all over you and lick it off.” I didn’t have whipped cream, but I did have sour cream. So I put sour cream on her boobs. And I thought to make it sweet, I would put Fruity Pebbles on top of it. And I proceeded to eat it off… I’m just saying.
Whitney: putting the “date” in play date.
Mikey swaggers in, peels off her shades, loosens her tie and boasts that she found herself giving a girl an orgasm right out of the gate. She says, “I was literally eating p—y, the first f—ing time I had sex with a woman, and it was awesome.”
The Situation called. He wants his penis back.
“I love women, and not in a douche baggy way,” says Whitney, the walking sound bite. After picking up two San Francisco friends, Taylor and Sara (pronounced “Sada” like Sara Ramirez) from the airport, Whitney takes them out to lunch, where they complain about LA being overrun by femmes. Whitney observes that LA lesbians are more polished and lack the “working hands” of New York lesbians. So true. I haven’t had to churn butter since I left New York and now my hands are as soft as kitten paws.
Whitney tells Sara that she should move to LA. Apparently, they had a thing, and it might still be a bit of a thing. Keep your friends close, but your things closer, I always say.
Hug it out while you can, girls. You might be strangling each other later.
Elsewhere, TiBette doppelgangers, Nikki and Jill, (Jillki? Nikkill?) Do what all lesbians do during a quiet evening at home: look at old summer camp photos and paint each other’s toenails. “This little piggy went to Gucci, and this little piggy went to H & M, ’cause you gotta keep it real,” Nikki chimes.
I’m sure all you nesters out there can relate.