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So, I know -- appreciating women is different from wanting to have sex with them. For starters, one makes you straight; the other makes you gay.

For instance, I find Angie Harmon incredibly sexy without, say, wanting to go down on her. Yet, when I told my lesbian friends this, they just laughed.

"Straight until drunk," Sara, the hottest one, giggled. Then she invited me to a gay club the next night.

"I'm in," I replied. "And watch me prove you wrong."

The problem was ... they were kinda right.

Click here to keep reading after the jump.



No Thanks! I'm Straight ... Right?

I walked into the bar, confident in my heterosexuality -- while both sober and intoxicated. But I also panicked a little en route to the bar, hoping that Sarah didn't just interpret our conversation as a cry for lesbian help. Scanning the room, I got a text from my boyfriend. Make sure you're on your best behavior tonight! He and I had joked about my lesbian co-workers' making me gay, even though everyone knows you just are or you aren't. But looking around, I realized I'd never seen so many women in my life. It looked like a sorority party.

Sara spotted me and rescued me from looking like ... well, a loner straight chick walking around a lesbian club. "Damn girl, you clean up nice!" she grinned, giving me the once over. "Well, let's dance!"

When we hit the floor, I made a couple observations. First, "I Kissed a Girl" was playing. (Lesbians. This has to have gotten some for you.) Two, chicks were looking at me. Three, my idea of lesbian-bar clientele was way off. Sure, some of 'em are bit manly, but most of them look just. Like. Me.

A Moment of Gay Panic

And then, something happened. When a girl introduced herself to me, I giggled, blushed and grabbed Sara, grasping her as though I was "with" her. Three drinks later, I was still grasping her. At some point, I thought to myself, "I'm pretty sure she and I are going to make out ... in more than a spring break way."

Before I did something ca-razy, I decided to walk to the bathroom (where I saw two girls going at it hard-core) and splashed some water on my face. I nearly started talking to myself in the mirror. What are you doing? You. Like. Penis. Right? Right.

Don't Call Me Anne Heche

When I got back to the dance floor, Sarah was seductively chewing on an ice cube from her rum and diet, giving me the eye-f---. Then it hit me.

I'm not gay.

While I was certainly enjoying the attention, in the end, I was probably just performing. Just like the time when I was 10 and visited England and faked a British accent. Was I turned on? Yeah, but horny is horny. And when you're drunk and there are no guys in the equation, that leaves girls. If every human male died tomorrow, would I remain celibate for the rest of my life? Probably not.

So yeah -- I was probably only one vodka cranberry from being gay for a night, whatever that means. I went home with my undies wet and my sexual identity intact and f*cked my boyfriend.

Beth Brennan is the collective pseudonym for Lemondrop's sex and relationship bloggers and their more "sensitive" stories.