She imagines a world in which she is not thought of as a dyke, but instead like a musician with a talent to masterfully navigate a pussy piano. F sharp is hit, she thought, once she could make a woman cum and sing opera. However the only word she wanted her ladyfriend to utter is: "hallelujah". The woman she wants is kind of a mix between a slut and a mammy. She is freaky under the sheets, but hums while she cooks. She also has an affinity to wear Church hats while freaking doggy-style.
She remembers what it was like when she came out over 10 years ago. She felt like the only ethnic lesbian who still embraced her feminine charms. She didn't want to look like a sheep, for god's sake, she is brown, hair is not a choice, but shaving is. She would feel the pain as each hair plucked from her Frida brow, but it was better than the fate of looking like a plump. shaggy rug from India.
Yes, she loves Madonna, and no she is not a fag.
More than anything she wants to say to her fellow pussy munchers, "moisturizer for your skin and lips is not heterosexual, it is simply a way of taking care of yourself. Lotion your damn self and moisten those lips with more than just vaginal spit!"
She remembers the excitement associated with knowing who she really is and then thinking how wonderful it would be to kiss and girl with some tongue action (of course after a soft peck), and maybe even have the chance to feel up a pair of good looking knockers. Maybe sniffing some lucky panties.
From fingering girls in middle school under the desk during art class, to fingering the world. This is my definition of an angry dyke.