Rubyfruit Jungle

by Rita Mae Brown

mean men bore me. If one of them behaves like an adult it’s cause for celebration, and even when they do act human, they still aren’t as good in bed as women.”

“I think the lady doth protest too much. You wouldn’t promote such blatant lesbian propaganda if you were sure of yourself and your sexual identity.” “Propaganda? I took a few minutes to try to answer a question you asked me. If you want to see blatant propaganda then look at the ads in the subways, magazines, t.v., everywhere. The big pigs use heterosexuality and women’s bodies to sell everything in this country—even violence. Damn, you people are so bad off you got to have computers to match you up these days.”

“It does. It looks destructive, diseased, and corroded. People have no selves anymore (maybe they never had them in the first place) so their home base is their sex—their genitals, who they fuck. It’s enough to make a chicken laugh.” “I—are all homosexuals as perceptive as you?”

“When I make love to women I think of their genitals as a, as a rubyfruit jungle.” “Rubyfruit jungle?” “Yeah, women are thick and rich and full of hidden treasures and besides that, they taste good.”

I tried to tell her to find other women, but she wanted me. She wanted me but she was ashamed of me.

Owch!