Dylan Dishes Dyke Drama

I’m Dylan, a 46 year old, lesbian living in Provincetown (mostly) year round.

I played on my division 1 college soccer team and still consider some of my teammates my closest friends. An injury to my left knee kept me sidelined my senior year and still flairs up if I’m not keeping a regular routine of running and lifting weights. I love watching Sunday football, go Pats, and support women’s soccer whenever possible. My college friends were jocks so it was easy to not be out to everyone, especially my Catholic parents until much later.

After college I had a consulting job that was ridiculous to give a 22 year old, what the fuck did I know? Without planning on it, I became a psycho pharmaceutical sales rep covering the North East and Mid Atlantic regions. I liked the travel for a time, but got sick of stale work dinners, and the occasional drinks with doctors. An ongoing fling with an older internist in Philadelphia had me moving back and forth from Boston to Pennsylvania for most of the 1990s. I had a studio apartment; she had a family she swore she was leaving. It so easy to see now how messed up our dynamic was, but I loved her. I loved how she looked in scrubs, I loved how other sales reps thought she was a bitch, and I loved the thrill of getting caught. The older I got, my friends were all settling down, getting married, and moving to suburbia. I was lucky to get one week away with my lady and could never introduce her to friends. I had also never come out because there was nothing specific to share. I left the lady so many times that I’m sure she never took me seriously. We were together in bed when the Twin Towers went down in 2001, but she felt endlessly guilty she had been away from her family. Realizing that didn’t include me, I was finally able to leave her and Philly.

Gay friends from college always wondered why I was single, and finally dragged me along to Provincetown for Baby Dyke Weekend in 2002. We were too old, but I was also so new to lesbian culture so it was an eye-opening weekend. I remember buying a t-shirt at the HRC and cautiously accepting the dyke discount at Womencrafts. I also drank a lot, and hooked up with a local bartender. By that Monday, I decided not to go back to my real life. My friends were worried to leave me, but staying in Provincetown that summer was so clearly what the doctor (ehem) had ordered.

That’s how I got here. I never left. I honestly doubted I could make it through that summer, never having waited tables or done any service industry jobs I wasn’t sure how I’d fair. Sixteen years later, I’ve worked most everywhere in town, doing things I could never imagine, making much less money than I can sometimes bear, but feeling home and alive in a way that is beyond compare.

I work from home now, mostly. I still say yes to a good paying catering job or to help a friend flip a house on a busy July Saturday. I’ve slept with more women in town then seems comfortable in the freezer section of Stop and Shop, but we all work through that with age and humor. Since living in town, I’ve had a few long term relationships with people I thought could be forever. I have a tendency to love alcoholics or workaholics, and try not to become one myself. I’m happily single now, with a strong desire to just have a fun, drama-free summer. I still love the hottie bartender who got me to stay so many years ago, and continue to sit at her bar if her wife is away. I’m friends with locals, townies, washashores, summer 2nd home owners, men and women equally, and love a good tourist now and again. I spend a lot of time on the beaches or fireroads early in the morning with my dog. I have a good head on my shoulder and could tell you a thing or two about how this town operates. I’m a friendly listener who people love to tell their stories to, and I’m not a gossip so this column is a great chance to share some of what I’ve collected without betraying anyone (I hope). Find me out in town or here with a question or pondering.

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