Big Dyke Debra called me up.
"Gaylee, help! I am so sick with this damn crones that none of my friends will take me or go with me to the Lesbian Summer Festival in Louisa. They are all afraid that I will ruin their day; have to come home early; or they just flat out say 'NO'. God, I feel so un-wanted."

"And you have said all of this to say ?", I replied. "Will you go with me? I will take the food, the truck, you drive, I don't have the strength. I just so need to be able to go." she begged all the more.

"Okay, it will be fun". I replied.
"And believe me, Debra, I never thought that I would be doing anything like this on a June Day in Virginia."

She was certainly right about one thing, she did not have the strength to get there. Only a week or so prior I had driven through a tornado, literally, to get to her because she was afraid if she went to sleep she would die. One of her friends had recently done just that and they did not find her for several days in her home. So in this damn torrential rain with trees falling every where I went from work to her house, a distance of about 30 miles: it was not an easy trip. At one point on a high bridge over the river, my car was lifted and moved to another lane. "DAMN !!!", I shouted to to the air: I am not kidding. I quietly told everybody 'good-by' by name as their faces came up before me and made my peace with God. "God, forgive me for fuckin' up." When death is near, prayers get mighty short.

I arrived at Debra's house and met the dogs. Most lesbians have two or three dogs--it is a thing with them: they want children and have a desire to be needed. The dogs were unusually quiet and walked me to her bed. They never jumped on me, as they generally would have done under normal circumstances. There she was, all six feet of her in a tiny ball in the covers. Thousands of covers, she was shivering and snow white.

"What in God's name did you take?"
She told me.
"You need food and lots of it, like now, this minute."
I went into the kitchen and cooked black beans and rice.
Chuck wagon fare. Substantial Food.
And I cooked it FAST !!

I sat in the bed with Debra in my lap and spoon fed her. The dogs lay around us on the bed. These are 80 + pound dogs. I held her until she was fast asleep and I slept finally also, still holding her, sitting there amid the beans and rice and the dogs: who watched through out the night, never moving. They knew!! They knew Death was standing in the doorway while the storm raged outside and trees fell all around us.

Buddhist say that dogs are humans that could not make up their minds what they wanted to be or where they wanted to go. So they hang around the same place they died and come back as dog. I can believe that one.

Morning came, extra bright sunshine came through the window. Slowly un-winding myself, I cooked breakfast; a substantial breakfast. Then I made my way home to my wonderful crib.

So, I guess that I have digressed from my story.
Came the day for the Festival:

I drove to Debra's house and we left for the mountains in her truck. I had on shorts and a shirt and she was dressed similar with can after can of bug spray. This is Virginia, the bug capital of the earth. Plenty of food was stuffed into two coolers, the sun was on our backs and we drove into a gorgeous early morning day.

Upon arriving at the farm, I realized this place is country and city. There were 200 acres with a lake in the middle and cabins all around, a sound stage, big, with full amplification and a mess hall with organic preservative free food (I would be able to eat here and never think what is in this shit). There were fully functioning rest rooms. Believe me, Lesbians are into comfort, do not kid yourself with Dyke stories. No little boys over 2 were allowed on the premises.

We got out of the truck with the accumulated stuff that women of all persuasions carry around and I told Debra, "You know, I have the most wonderful feeling here. I feel absolute safety. I do not think I have ever felt this feeling before. I feel somewhat like when I was a kid, away from home at girl church camp, except it is better, freer, with no restrictions."

Debra was jubilant: "I was so worried that you would turned off and want to go home or something the minute we got here". "Hey,Girl Friend, at this age, I am always ready for a new learning experience."

We listened to some singers: I am telling you, a bunch of damn good sing groups from everywhere, including Canada and Black Woman Down Home Blues to eat your heart out for.

Together we set up the picnic site on the knoll overlooking the sound stage. At which point I became aware of all the exposed breasts that were dancing around due to the movement of the bodies to which they were attached. What a wonderful sight. The artist in me was having a field day and I wanted my brushes and paints. In life drawing classes with the dysfunctional artist, I loved the women I got to paint. They were all round, with smooth lines and I could use huge brushes and one stroke the curves of their roundness. And here, before my very eyes, were absolute fields of them. Rubens would have died for this scene beside the lake.

As the afternoon wore on, the music got more wonderful and the clothing began to disappear. The June summer heat began to steam the area in the humidity created by so many bodies and the lake.

Debra left for the lake swim area.
I followed.
Ten years prior, she had helped open this place, back-hoe, ax, shovel, the whole bit. She had done her part, and now that she was sick, no one would come to get her, shame on all of them for that.

She wore a swimsuit, due to her pitiful swollen body from the Prednizone. She chose to hide her body from her friends. I looked around at women, alone women, spread eagle on large round hot rocks, legs askew. Steaming vaginas were everywhere, fully opened to the sun and the day and the water and the world and God. I had never in my life ever seen anything like this. It was amazing. It was Eden without a snake.

Guys have flapped it around for their whole lives, since first walking babies, it flaps around in the breeze and they love to watch it swing and make it swing all the more just because they can and for the fun of it. Girls on the other hand are left to themselves with the dark dank warm moist mushroom growing swamp within them. Some cultures even sew it up tighter. God, we are all heathens.

I was home.

Here, unashamedly before my eyes were legs wide open laying out on rocks while their owners were sleeping, for Christ's sake. Talk about security. This was it and I was there.

I was out of my shorts and shirt, bra and panties in a New York Minute. I walked to the water. Debra's eyes were absolute saucers. Her mouth was a dinner plate. I fell into water laughing at her. Splashed her mouth full of water and dunked her a good one.

"This has been out here 10 years and you never once asked me to bring you, I may hate you forever for that: what a wonderful place".

Later, following the swim, I too sunned my vagina on a rock and enjoyed the feel of heat, breeze and ultra violet light rays, all piercing the barriers and taboos of my dark incubator; the hidden mysterious cave which had never ever seen a sunset or a sunrise, or a noon day on a lake. All I had on was a gold necklace and red toenail polish. I was as white as an albino walrus. People in Virginia do not tan. Never-the-less, I went home with a sunburn where no sun had ever gone before.

Driving home out of the Shenandoah Mountains was a good feeling that night. Debra had gotten her day away to pretend she would live and not die for a while longer.