...or, I don't know, maybe it's a question of it's New York?
but the thing of it is, well, this doesn't apply to feminism per se so much; but when i was coming out in Connecticut, went to the local LGBT center and the bars...yeah, definitely there was a lot more let's call it old-school going on, out in the so-called provinces;
and yet you know i still remember hanging around with a group of wildly disparate dykes (the way you do in a smallish place with not many resources and you're just coming out), and us talkin' sex. And one at least LOVED the girl-girl flicks, yeh, the cheesy hetlez boy-made ones that are by far easier to obtain than artsy independent stuff (of the sort i now perfer) and why not? at least they were something. Another talked about wanting "Helen Hunt printed bedsheets," with clumsy lasciviousness.
What I really remember was the awkwardness, the timidity, about That Subject, which in truth i see -so much more often-, even among supposed sophisiticated people, of all orientations.
"What's your favorite body part" (to be touched).
and one woman shyly answering, "My...my...my...you know..."
and another, more wordly one (and we were all grownups, you understand, many in their forties and fifties), "Okay, your 'Dolores,' sure. Anything else?"
...you know, erogenous zones.
oh, so exciting! i hadn't been in any such discussion with -other lesbians-...and i was still so profoundly uncomfortable with myself, so out of my skin from -years- of practice, that i couldn't really enjoy it. instead agonizing over my lack of experience, how little if anything i had to tell, even at my advanced age...