Part of the reason why is no doubt what anti-trans lesbians (unreasonably) fear: More and more young people are realizing that they identify as a gender other than the one they were assigned at birth — and more and more young people are realizing they’re attracted to people of two or more genders. But even though there are plenty of trans and nonbinary lesbians, and plenty of cis lesbians (like me) who don’t think that “lesbian” should be defined exclusively as “cis woman who’s only attracted to cis women,” our identity still hasn’t been able to shake the sexist, classist, and anti-gay stereotypes of lesbians as uncosmopolitan boomer TERFs, sporting Tevas and cargo pants covered in cat hair. For the first time on the cruise, I was starting to feel worn out – in the most satisfying way, of course. Tonight’s launch event is just a taste of Skirt Club Melbourne’s first big themed event, scheduled for August. We settled into the familiar comfort of not having to hide anything; not having to pretend that we define our love with sexual fidelity. In having the opportunity to be ourselves, we were able to truly relax. And that’s what vacations are for, right?

I thought the ultra sparkly costume I wore for that night’s metallic party would be the highlight of my day, but it was seeing our friends and community come together to make sure my partner had a birthday he would never forget.

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After my partner came out as nonbinary a couple years ago, I felt even more confused and guilty about my conflicting desires to both lean into my own womanhood and flee from it. I knew my partner’s identity was its own independent, beautiful thing, something that was entirely their own. But I still wondered — as people around me whom I loved began to move away from the genders they’d been assigned — what I should be doing, if anything, about mine. LeJeune refers to the volunteers as “hostesses” and they play the part in exchange for free entry, helping to break the ice and encouraging attendees to participate in the night’s flirtatious games.

On Thursday night it launched in Melbourne, welcoming about 50 women for an invitation-only evening of bubbles, burlesque by Ferri Maya, and a chat about “the ancient art of women pleasuring women” from sexpert Ruth Ostrow. But there were, in fact, a number of stereotype-fulfilling boomer TERFs on board the cruise — and plenty of lesbians whose policing of gender norms took more banal forms. The woman who bought me a drink after I sang Kelly Clarkson at karaoke — a petite therapist from California with a prim gray bob — ended up being one of them. I would worry about which of the many friends my ex-partner and I shared I would lose in the dyke divorce. I’d have to come to terms with the fact that I can’t control how other people feel, can’t hold out for universal approval. Though I would also seek constant reassurance from my closest friends that I wasn’t a bad person for putting myself first, for a change; that, even after blowing up my life, they’d keep on loving me. No one says the word “lesbian” all night, with the exception of one girl who asks me, “Are we not supposed to say the ‘L-word’ here?”She’s a true Pisces — romantic and dreamy and always processing. (My Capricorn groundedness makes us a good match, allegedly.) She’s known she was gay since she was 5 years old. Her mom still prays that, someday, she’ll find herself a good man. LeJeune says the company accepts “the high majority” of applicants, while remaining “focused on building a femme membership of career driven women.” But she wouldn’t give more details about why some women weren’t allowed in.

I was the one who seemed to stress this rule the most. I warned my partner about it all the time: Don’t leave me. But they were confident that they’d always love only me; with other people, they assured me, it would only ever just be sex. Soon, a pinup-style, bejeweled burlesque dancer with wavy pink hair and opulent breasts begins to shake and strip to the music. Burlesque shows are a rarity at most sex parties in the Bay Area, but a staple at Skirt Club events. Homegrown “play parties” are fairly low-key here, and with more diversity of women. Instead of the mostly skinny, femme, cis-gender women at Skirt Club, local parties tend to have women of all sizes from all parts of the gender, race and sexuality spectrum. It’s easy to see why Skirt Club, with its palatial seating, soft lighting and femmy vibe, could be an easier sell to women who don’t want to go too far outside of the hetero-norms they’re used to. When I first pitched this story to my editors, I thought I’d be reporting on a lesbian cultural artifact in its twilight years. The women who’ve faithfully gone on dozens of Olivia trips over the decades are getting older, and I didn’t have a lot of faith that younger queer people were going to step in and save companies like this from extinction. Other elements of lesbian culture have been steadily dying; why should Olivia be any different?

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I was scared of so many things, and worried about, as usual, lesbian stereotypes — moving too fast, feeling too much. And I said so. It was one of our talents that week: saying absolutely everything that was on our minds, and processing until we felt we couldn’t possibly process anymore — at least, of course, until the next night. I’d never considered before that being a femme with a butch partner needn’t be some inequitable hetero horror show, but instead could be something imbued with incredible queer comfort and power. It could be fun. It could be hot. Later, we attended a masturbation workshop, which would be better described as a meditation on self-pleasure.

My wife and I are a typical heterosexual couple, but we have a dirty secret: We're swingers. No, we don't twirl and flip to music from the 1940s; we meet other couples and have sex with each other's partners. Due to our conservative careers and even more conservative families, we keep our sexual practices to ourselves. Only a few close vanilla friends know what we're into ("vanilla" is the term swingers use to refer to anyone who isn't a swinger ... and also other swingers who happen to be covered in vanilla). At the Gen O meetup, the hairdresser mentioned that most of the paying customers on board are older women who’ve had an extraordinarily difficult time navigating life as lesbians; they deserve a space, she said, to fully be themselves. Maybe Olivia could do a specific queer-plus trip for trans people and gay men? Being in a space with “someone who looks like a man,” she said — horrifying me, Jamie, Matie, Dana, and a bunch of others — “can cause these women so much trauma.”His confidence and muscular body were all the convincing I needed to accept his offer, and I did not regret it when I was moaning in ecstasy in his room a few hours later. Eventually, once we’d reboarded the boat after our snorkeling, I did start talking with a few of the women I met at the Gen O mixer earlier that week, and it only took a couple of drinks for us to become the best of friends. I’m watching a Silicon Valley CEO being led around the room on a leash. His wife is in the next room, where a jewellery designer is getting comfortable with three men who definitely aren’t her husband. I’m part of the LA swinging community and at these parties, anything goes. For a few hours everyone can forget the stresses of juggling normal life and live judgement free. There are couples who’ve come together and some who’ve come alone (though always with their partner’s approval). That was the appeal for me - the ability to explore your sexuality whilst also maintaining an open, trusting relationship. What I didn’t expect was everything else that would happen to me — and is still happening to me — thanks to this one little week in my otherwise pleasantly uneventful life.