Dec 31, 2009


That last post is not how I want to end the year, not what I want to come back to in the New Year, but I'm still organizing the "chapters" of my trip, as it was very long and eventful. Instead, I thought I would share some New Year's Eve trivia and plans.

This is only my second New Year where I have been comfortable kissing women at midnight.

I have only stayed up to watch the fireworks at midnight twice. Both times were at New Year's parties in high school, and both years I broke up with my boyfriend right after.

I was at Disneyland for New Year's Eve two years ago. The park was so crowded you could barely breath, and the fireworks were canceled at 6 pm due to high winds. As a result of being pushed around all day, I was exhausted and went back to the hotel room, asleep before 10pm.

I have never had champagne on New Year's Eve.

I like to play scratch off cards on New Year's Eve, and have one for tonight.

I like dressing up for New Year's Eve, even if I'm by myself in my room.

I have always worn high heels on NYE.

I have never slept at another person's house on NYE. I did sleep in a hotel room once.

My own NYE tradition is to drink whatever I'm drinking out of a wine glass. This year it is Coca Cola and Sierra Mist Cranberry Splash, respectively.

I have never seen NYE fireworks in person.

I live not far from a casino which is having a New Year's bash. I am trying to decide if I should be fun and outgoing, and go, or be comfortable and frumpy and stay home with a good book and some pajamas. Oh, what a decision!


While I'm excited that everyone wants to hear about my trip, and I promise I will write about it, this has to come first.

I always joke around with my mother that I don't feel guilt. To some extent, I don't. She feels guilty about all the little things, guilt that she's not at work, guilt that she's not at home, guilt that her husband is dying and she wishes it would happen faster.

Maybe the last one is something I feel and project onto her. But I don't guilty about things like that, don't feel guilty that I don't care if my father lives or dies.

My father has a disease. He stopped taking the medication that doctors prescribed because it wasn't working, and he thought they were trying to kill him (paranoia is a side effect). Now he takes alternative medicine, and it's not helping. He is withering away.

I came home from a perfectly wonderful lunch at a lavish old castle with two fabulous old hens, an aunt, and my cousin (whom I have always considered as a brother codename:ladybug), to find a family visiting with my father. The mother is not ill, but her grown daughter has chronic pain, and her husband has the same illness as my father.

I listen quietly, fiddling with cans and cupboards in the background as he paints the future for this couple. A future where neither of them are in pain, where both can walk, run, jump and play like normal people.

And I feel guilt. I feel guilt as he convinces these people of the impossible. Feel guilt as he sits there in his chair, ashen, withering, and shriveled, and leads this couple to their deaths. In my head, I want to arrest him for murder. For surely, if her husband stops taking his medication he will deteriorate and die.

As I they say their goodbyes, I walk the nice family to their car and pull the husband aside, "The medication works. My father has gone downhill so quickly since he stopped. Try the silver as well, try it, but don't stop the injections so long as you want to live." I can see his eyes darken as he takes in what I say, measures the weight and gravity in his head. He nods and looks at his wife, sitting in the car waiting, when he looks back at me I recognize his wan smile as one I've seen in the mirror too many times, and I know he won't stop the injections. Yet even as I get the mail and walk back into the house, the guilt knots in my stomach, and behind my eyes, I see the lovely husband and wife rot and decay.

Dec 29, 2009


When I went off to college, I didn't go through the normal routine. I went to a conservatory, where one is expected to put in 16 hour days (sometimes more), six days a week. I was one of the youngest in the class, with most ranging between 25 and 30. I lived in a house with roommates instead of a dorm, was required to cook and clean and split bills. It was all (or as close to being an adult as I have ever experienced). Whereas I tend to think of university as an extension of high school with dorms, cliques, and not a whole lot of responsibility.

So, after living more or less as an adult for three years, I had to return home. My father has a fatal disease, and my mother is not coping well. We weren't doing well financially. So, after three years, here I am, in my old bedroom of my childhood home. I moved back home in June of 2009.

I started unpacking today.

I never unpacked because I thought maybe there was a way to leave quickly. I worked long hours for three months, so long that I was never home, and then left on a road trip for another two. Five months of trying not to live here.

Today I threw out three bags of stuff that had been lying around. Things from when I was a kid, things from the road trip, just things in general. I started with one section. One section that, after today, feels a little more like myself. Feels a little more like if I were to bring a girlfriend home to see it, she would get a glimpse of me- of what is important to me. I finished my bookshelf today, and that is a huge start.

I think part of the reason that I haven't felt like an adult, haven't felt capable of dating, is that being in this room again makes me feel like a child. The angel figurines, the stuffed animals, the collector barbies-they all shrink me down until I'm no more than a small girl.

It's time to give those away, to pass them on. Not to get rid of them, but to take back this space as my own; to make this room grow up with me, so that I no longer shrink under its gaze. A place to play guitar, read a novel, finish my psychology homework, a place where I can lock the door and feel sexy (because I'll be damned if a woman doesn't need to feel sexy in her own bed once in a while).

Today I took a step toward that, and feel a little more comfortable inside my own house.

Dec 27, 2009


Part of me loves Christmas. I love cooking with my mother, wrapping presents, setting up the Christmas tree, feasting with family, playing with the kids. I love the whole family experience of Christmas.

I love my family, don't get me wrong, but for as open minded as they are about some things, they are extremely close-minded about others. The other part of me hates Christmas, because it is a time when family gathers around the table and discusses current events. This year it was the Christmas Day bombing, which led to my brother-in-law and my grandmother talking about how everyone who follows the Muslim religion is evil. A lot of times my family sees everything in black and white, and no matter how much I try to convince them otherwise, they are set in their ways.

I'm afraid that if I ever have a girlfriend that I do want to bring home, that my family will scare her off. While my mother and my sisters are very accepting of my sexuality, my extended family, especially my grandmother, just wouldn't see it that way. I'm sure she would love me despite it, but she wouldn't be happy about it.

Christmas is always a mixture of and good and bad for me. I wonder if it's kind of like that for everyone. On the upside, my nieces and nephews sent me drawings that they did as my Christmas presents, and nothing makes me happier than homemade things from my little ones!

Dec 25, 2009


Merry Christmas Everyone!

We truly had a Christmas Miracle today as we transformed the lower level of the house from messy and awful to cheerful and holiday themed in under an hour for everyone's arrival! This includes Christmas napkins, plates, cups, flowers, a tree, hanging decorations, Christmas lights everywhere, a Christmas tree, tree skirt, wrapped presents, rugs, tablecloths, signs, ornaments, angels, snowmen and santas. I was very proud of my mother and I.

A gingerbread castle magically appeared with my name on it in the living room, which was my main present for the holiday. It was very exciting! We had great food, lots of laughter, and beautiful moments with the kids. All in all, a great way to spend the holiday with family.

I will leave you with that glowing post and wait until tomorrow for all the icky revelation stuff :P

Merry Christmakwanzakka and/or Happy Holidays! Hope everyone had a great day!

Dec 23, 2009


There are certain terms that I love, that make me feel special, sexy, sweet, adored, etc. I have such an attachment to these words that when they are used, they feel like endearments, even when they are not addressed to me.

M:girl has a habit of calling me Miss. Not Miss Tabby or whatever, just Miss. I used to love it when I would wake up in the morning and the first thing I would hear is "Good morning, Miss." Therefore I've taken up that term and started passing it on.

I love being called Miss, Lady, Girl (as in "Hey, Girl, how are you?"), etc. I love the phrases "my Lady Friend" and "My Lady" (as in "my lady is coming over tonight"). I like the feeling of possession. Tegan Quin writes a lot about "you're not mine" and "you were all mine, I was yours right?" which really strikes a chord with me. She also tends to write from a more traditional pants side of the relationship when possession is involved, which I strongly identify with.

First:girl used to greet me with a teasing version of Tila Tequila's "Hey, Girl, hey!" which always made my day in such a strange way. I also have this odd love for when derogatory terms are thrown into ordinary conversation (such as a "Whatever, bitch, you know you love me," kind of retort). Of course, that was part of my relationship with first:girl and I would never use it in my relationship with m:girl because that's not how we work. She calls me miss, and I call her miss and my lady so bitch doesn't really fit in there.

I don't like the whole "baby, shorty, mami, honey bear," side of things. The poo-bear and pumpkin saccharine-sweet terms tend to get on my nerves very fast.

I think part of the reason that I love the terms I do, is that no matter how masculine I end up looking or acting, the constant reminders of my femininity are gratifying. I like that I can walk around dressed like a boy and M:girl will still call me miss. Like I can be female without having to act like it because it's an integral part of who I am. Like I don't have to put on a show of being femme to be female. I can be feminine by just being me. The terms I love are more old fashioned, and many years ago were terms of respect. I think hidden within them is the trace of respect and honor that they used to be endowed with. When I am called Lady, it's like the person who is using the term has a respect for me, has a love for me, and is giving me power in the knowledge that I have that old fashioned respect.

I also enjoy such words as bird, doll, doll face, darling, foxy lady, chica, etc.

Missus was just mentioned to me, which calls to me with the same feeling of love and respect that I was speaking of. I have a feeling this will become a new favorite of mine as well.

What are your favorite terms and why?

Dec 22, 2009


I decided to write a separate post for this, because whilst the other one is somewhat whiny, this is about discovery, and the need to separate those two topics is bred deep within me.

Sinclair posted about the homework which she gives to Kristen, which in turn sparked Alphafemme's different kind of homework (which I think is truly brilliant).

I decided to jump on the bandwagon and discover what I feel most comfortable with about my sexuality. I feel like the only way I will ever grow and discover what I like is to push myself. This week's topics were femininity and self appreciation. I was walking around my room undressing to put on pajamas, when I caught a glimpse of myself in my full length mirror. The light on my nightstand was on, and it cast shadows across my body that hypnotized me and stopped me where I stood.

I've never been very proud of my body, never loved it for what it is, but just then I was enamored. I was caught up in the curve of my hips, the slope of my breasts, the shape of my tummy, the length of my legs, the strength of my calves. For the first time I felt how soft my skin was, felt the thickness of my hair, the silkiness of my neck, the satin feel of my shoulder blades.

I realized how perfectly my ass is shaped, how my ankles invite the brush of a finger, how the dimples in the small of my back invoke happiness and sweet memories, how the curve of my back begs to be cupped, how my spine is slightly crooked and juts out from my skin like a message in braille, showing the reader a map of my body. I noticed my jawline, the softness of my figure, the way my nipples respond to touch and how hard my stomach muscles are underneath all the cushion.

For the first time, I drank myself in in the half light, excited by what I saw, delighted in who I was and what I looked like.

This sparked in me the need to take care of myself. The need to pamper myself and rejoice in the beauty of my own body. It was enough to bring out the coconut butter that I used to adore, enough to make sure I used lotion under my makeup and put on an extra coat of mascara. From this spark and the aforementioned posts about homework, I decided to assign some for myself.

I wanted to be high femme for a week. I spent half an hour curling my hair every day. I bought new lipstick, eyeliner, mascara, and used them religiously. I wore earrings again, and a necklace that spoke to me with simple elegance and quiet beauty. I wore high heels and dresses, and everything matched. I brought coats out of hiding and coordinated them with my outfits. I wore underwear that made me feel sexy, and I didn't wear bras, which also made me feel sexy.

While it did take up more time in my morning routine, I rather enjoy the feeling of primping for myself. Of feeling sexy for myself.

While I won't go into detail for fear of revealing way more that you wanted to know, I finally had an orgasm. Talk about being excited about the prospect of sex all over again. Now that I know that I can at least give myself one, the possibilities of sex are now even more appealing than they used to be. It may not become a common occurrence, but to know that at least I can, at least I won't go my whole life without one, it's kind of a relief. I don't expect it to happen again anytime soon's to hoping, yeah?

I feel like maybe I need to push myself to the butch extreme to figure out what I like about each and find a happy balance, but I'm enjoying the femme side so much that I don't want to let it go yet, even though I know I don't want to keep it up forever.

What are other ways I can push myself in this area? What do you consider as feminine qualities that I should experience?


So, every time I try to write about first:girl, I have a major block that won't allow me to write anything at all. Therefore, I just feel like I should not try to write about her for a while, until I can really get a handle on things.

I realized, through lesbo's comment, that I have never really talked about schooling before, which is kind of a big topic for me.

I am an alumni of a performing arts college, but have recently decided to give up that career path in favor of something else. I was never really a great singer/actor/dancer and I also rather enjoy watching other people perform instead of doing it myself.

That being said, I made the career switch to journalism. I would love to be a theater/art/dance/literature critic, as well as articles about society's positive/negative impact, gender studies, queer theory, etc. Anything I can write about, I want to write about. My major is Journalism, and I'm hoping to minor in gender studies or psychology. Or maybe something else I've never thought of! Let me know if you have a suggestion that I should look into!

In other news, the holidays are approaching quickly, and this is the first year that I've been single and aware that I'm a lesbian. I know that I don't do well with men. I don't trust them, I don't like to be sexual with them, and I don't really like to be in relationships with them.

However, I've had a few guys who were more than happy to chat me up and be suggestive with me this past week, and I have been so lonely that I honestly thought about making out with one of them. I haven't been physical with someone in so long that the thought of kissing anyone is somewhat appealing.

This, of course, has thrown me into a tizzy. Does it mean I'm not gay? Does it mean I'm bi, does it mean I'm straight, does it mean that relationships with men may now work out because I fantasized kissing one of them? Does it mean I still love girls but am lonely?Do I even care what label I am anymore? It won't make life any easier for me once I've found a label for myself. And who is really going to come up to me at a bar and ask me to identify myself before she'll chat with me?

I had this thought the other day that maybe I want to date girls because I was so in love with first:girl that I'm trying to find her clone. Then, of course, I remembered that I liked girls before she came along.

I think it's just hard to be lonely.

Dec 20, 2009


PIP is Post in Progress, in my own personal language.

It's because I ran into first:girl last night, and it threw off my whole balance of being. I rushed home and scribbled out everything I was feeling and going through, but I don't want to, in haste, write something that I will regret. Maybe that particular post needs to wait until I can write about how first:girl and I met, how my relationship with her began.

I feel like if I write about her with how I feel right now, she'll be placed as the bad guy, but she's not at all, and I love her enough that I want you to view her from the good and bad. From the beginning. I just can't bring myself to go back to that point in time.

Dec 16, 2009


My sister had her seventh baby yesterday, which means that the past couple days I have been taking care of the other six while her and her husband were at the hospital. This has been an ongoing thing since she was pregnant with her second child, and it gives me a chance to bond with each little one while the parents are away.

This time was no exception. The youngest girl is adorable, and at only 2 years old she was the sweetest thing! (She also prefers to eat vegetables over both meat and candy, which I find fascinating!) I had a great time with all the kids, but am happy to come home and get some rest. However, this trip in particular opened my eyes to a lot of things:

1. I don't want to have loads of kids. And it's going to take a specific kind of partner to make me want to have kids at all.

2. My butt is way bigger than it looks in the mirror. My niece was videotaping and she panned past me just over my butt and I was not very happy about it.

3. Kids come up with the funniest phrases to not say bad words! As we were driving, a bunch of teenaged boys j-walked in front of us and so I said "stupid boys", but my niece blurted afterward "Stupid Apples!" which, of course, sounds like "stupid assholes".

4. New babies are adorable, but they only stay little for a few days. And then they get bigger. And eventually, you're going to have 7 teenagers and then life is not so fun.

5. Disney/Pixar movies are made for adults. It was my second time watching Up! (which still makes me cry; especially the musical montage near the beginning which astounds me with how much pictures and music can really stir up emotions in a person), and my first time seeing Wall-e which has a lot of political undertones and a lot of really beautiful things about love.

It also made me realize how much I really need to go back to school. I'm not going to be happy with any job I can get with a certificate from trade school. I need my BA. So, back to school it is.

Dec 12, 2009

Hot Vampire Girls/Forbidden Fruit

Twilight has brought up many different feelings for me. I've enjoyed the books, the premise, and the general idea of vampires. However, I would never enjoy fantasizing about a vampire girlfriend for myself, and I've tried, just to figure out if I could.

I think part of it is that I was raised in such a catholic home, that a piece of the forbidden fruit is appealing. Taboos are arousing when they are just that: a taboo. I love gay male porn, I love people who are not good for me, I love bad girls, I love women in general(which that relationship in itself is forbidden). But put two of those together (e.g. woman who is bad for me+lesbian relationship) and it's too much forbidden stuff. I do actually want a happy ending, and compiling too many odds against you is just asking for heartbreak.

So, immortal girl+wants to eat me+lesbian relationship+can't get married in my state+socially not accepted+can't go out in daylight= Not a relationship I want to be a part of.

Does anyone else have a resounding "no" in their head when they think about hot vampire girls?

Dec 9, 2009

Incidents/Unresolved Emotions

I dated a boy my freshman year. He was a few years older than me, and we only dated for a few months. I was young for my year, so it never progressed to more than making out. The summer between my junior and senior year, we met up. I had just gotten out of a relationship where I gave my boyfriend head every day that we saw each other, so it was habitual and almost routine when I went down on Freshman Boyfriend.

I didn't like it.

I got into another friends deal where I was used predominately for oral sex. That spring of my senior year, a few friends and I decided to drink at the beach so that we didn't go off and get crazy in college. We came back to my house and camped in the backyard. We drank more and lounged around and eventually everyone started falling asleep. I was sharing an air matress with Freshman Boyfriend when he started grinding into me, inching his fingers into my waistband. I'd gotten hotter, gotten older, become more experienced. He wanted me now, instead of the little kid I'd used to be.

He touched me. I told him to stop and he didn't. My friends heard me crying from the tent next to us and didn't help. Before he could get my jeans all the way off and actually rape me, I pushed him off, ran inside the house and locked the door.

We began talking again. We ignored it. Never spoke of it. We became friends again. Now he's telling me about this girl who broke his heart and all I can think about is that I wish his heart broke for the way he hurt me. I just want to scream "You molested me! You screwed me up and ruined any chance I had at a normal sex life!" But I can't, because I don't know if that's true. I don't know if he really did molest me. I remember him touching me in places he shouldn't, but I'd been drinking and it's all a bit fuzzy.

I thought I'd gotten over it, moved past it. I don't want revenge, I just want him to realize what he did. I want him to cry for me; for breaking me.

I confronted him, and granted, online was not the best way, but he doesn't remember it. Any of it. I hate crying.

And now I feel broken all over again.

Femme Headbands/Gender Quotes

I watched "12 Men of Christmas" last night. Make fun of me all you want, but gay or straight I still like romantic comedies. Anyway, the movie takes place in a small town in Montana which has a total of 19,000 people.

My town has 5,000. Talk about a realization there. I hadn't really thought about my town as small, mostly because we have a lot of tourists flitting in and out. However, when it comes down to it, the people who are here for more than a few hours are sheltered, religious, not-queer people. This makes finding people I connect with (much less date) very difficult.

I saw this gorgeous woman in the parking lot today, and I wanted to go chat her up. She looked dressed up, like she was going out to dinner in a place where you didn't have to be fancy but you dress up because it's the only chance you get. It was the headband that threw me off. She looked sensational in her skinny jeans, high heels, and trendy black double-breasted coat, but she had her hair back with this cute cloth looking cream-yellow headband that did not go with the rest of the outfit. It doesn't really matter to me whether the headband matched at all, but it just stopped me in my tracks with it's little girl look. It punched me in the stomach and set up a big neon sign that said "She's totally straight, not your type, and will never date you." So I just kept walking to my car.

For all you lovely ladies out there, how do you feel about headbands without a dress? For some reason it seemed girlish with normal clothes, rather than when it's paired with a retro dress and is sassy. That, however, is only my opinion.

The other thing I ran across today was Genderfork. Which is made up of anonymous quotes sent into the website. I identified with so many of them and just wanted to share a few that really struck me.

"I've learned enough about gender to be utterly confused by the term."

"I love letting the top of my boxers show above the waist of my sari."

"I've come to realize that I don't feel like a lesbian- I feel like a female-bodied-androgynous-male-who-likes-girls."

"I don't mind people treating me like a lady, as long as they don't mind me acting like a gentleman."

"When I tell people I'm 5% male, 5% female & 90% genderless, they seem to forget one very important thing: I'm also 100% human"

"Kids get it. They dont care what I am. They just like it when I play with them. I wish adults could be more like that."

"How can I fuck with my gender more if I am a "str8-looking" lesbian and feel most comfortable that way?"

The bold/italicized ones are the ones I personally identify with. Do you have any gender/sexuality quotes that you identify with and want to share?

Dec 7, 2009

Storytime/parallel lives

Meredith Baxter just came out and pretty much summed up my high school years in just a few sentences.

'But in an interview with Today show host Matt Lauer, she revealed that she had had a "later-in-life recognition" of her sexuality and has been in a relationship with her girlfriend for four years.

"Some people were saying, 'Were you living a lie?' You know, the truth is, not at all," Baxter told Lauer, saying she'd only been out for the last seven years.

Baxter said she'd always had a great deal of difficulty connecting with men in relationships, but she was also involved with people who made her think they were the problem.

"It never occurred with me to think, 'Oh, it's me."'

See the rest of the article here.

It's such a relief to know that some people never felt queer growing up. Most people I talk to say something along the lines of "by the time I was 15 I was experimenting and knew I was attracted to girls." That's just not the way it went for me. I was 17 before I even looked at girls with the possibility that I found them sexually attractive. I was almost 19 before I had a thought that there was a possibility that I would consider having sex with a woman. Gay? I didn't consider that possibility until I was the same age as most of my friends had already come out of the closet. Granted, I was never really in the closet. Once I realized "hey! I want to have sex with women!" my friends already knew and my mother and my sister were the first people I told. (Granted, my grandparents don't know, but they are old and fragile and I don't want to cause unnecessary heart attacks unless I'm bringing a girl home to them.)

I also found this quote from Teh Portly Dyke today

"And I think that's a big part of what's kept me from blogging. Part of what marks me as the "New Improved Portly Dyke -- Now More Functional!!" (in my mind, at least), is no longer the central issue of my life every single day -- and I think that when peeling time comes around again, I get scared that it will subsume my life as it did 18 years ago."

This feels a lot like what is happening now. I don't expect to write about much more than my sexuality at the moment because it is still so new. It's also why my friends and family won't be reading this. This is a safe place for me to explore, to to bare myself without fear that the people who have predispositions about who I am or should be will contaminate this experimental area.

I'm obsessed right now with being gay. Obsessed because I don't understand it. Obsessed because I was introduced to it and then left out in the cold. Obsessed because I thought I would never enjoy being in a relationship, or loving, or having sex. Now I have the capacity and the urge to do all those things without having anyone to do them with. I think it's only reasonable that I am obsessed. So this is what I write about.


I made a better activist for LGBT issues as a straight high school student than I do now as a gay, capable, intelligent adult.

I had this moment today where I realized that I had stopped caring. I had stopped caring about marriage equality and social equality and everything else. I went to the rallys, sure, but not for the right reasons. I went because I was gay, because these are my people, because I owe it to this community to be there.

When I was in high school, I never even thought about liking girls. It just didn't even register that I could. "The small valley I grew up in didn't really have any gay people, so how could I be gay?"

But even as a heterosexual teenager, I followed gay marriage every moment of every day. I organized campaigns, I got kicked out of classes for protesting, demonstrating, arguing against my Mormon teachers.

I followed it because my heart broke for every couple who loved each other and couldn't get married. My heart broke for the lesbian couples where one person had to legally adopt the child that was rightfully their own. It broke for the gay couples who weren't allowed to adopt. For the couples that were ridiculed and discriminated against. For partners who weren't allowed to stay together when the other was dying in a hospital.

My heart broke for them. And now I know for us, for me. So why is it that when I became a part of the LGBT community my heart stopped breaking? I lost all compassion. I was so caught up in the fact that there were cute girls at the rallys, and so fed up with organizations asking me for money, so fed up that we were losing in every part of the country, that I think I just shut down. I stopped thinking about it all so that I could ignore it all and not feel the disappointment and the heartbreak.

I realized today that I didn't care anymore, and that made me feel awful. I felt cold, callous, and completely detached. I don't want to be detached. I don't want to forget that this isn't just about marriage equality. That term sounds so detached from the issue it is representing. Like it's all about wanting to be married. That's scratching the surface, to say the least. It's about the struggle that LGBT couples go through every day that straight people don't. About the injustice that we receive. About all the places that won't rent to gay couples, and the adoption agencies who refuse to trust us with children.

I remembered today, why I cared. Why this was so important to me. Even though my heart is breaking all over again, I'm glad that I'm not detached and jaded anymore.


I sprayed her perfume on my pillow. My mother used to spray lavender on my pillow before bed to help me sleep during the years that I had horrible night terrors. Of course it never worked, and now I have an aversion toward the scent.

Last night I had a nightmare, and the only scent that has nothing but good memories attached to it is the smell of her perfume. Maybe that makes me creepy, but I just want to have good dreams tonight.

The only problem is that now my bed smells like her. Her scent is intoxicating, inebriating. It clouds my judgment until I can think of nothing but her and the time I spent with her in her apartment. She'd never been in my bed. There was no reason for it to smell like her. But now it does, and I am stuck drinking her in. It's like sweet torture.

Maybe it's not as creepy because she is not my ex, she is attracted to girls, and she does know I am interested in her and is possibly interested in me. Or maybe I am only justifying this for myself.

If you would have dreamed the nightmare I had last night, you would understand my desperation for a change in environment.

Dec 6, 2009


There is something about the rain that brings out the best in me. The colder it gets, the more romantic fiction I read. I break out my striped toe socks and my oldest, warmest blanket, put on a pot of coffee and start a fire. There is something about curling up by the fire, a book filled with adventure and love in hand that warms you to your toes.

I also love when it is cold enough that the heater comes on. I remember how, as a small child, I would stand on the couch under the vent and dance in the heat, trying to get as close to the ceiling as possible. I love the smell of the musty ducts, the sound of air rumbling through the walls, the warm breeze across my cheeks.

I found my old paintings today. Victorian style calligraphy, inspirational quotes and words on wood and canvas. It reminded me that my room is so unfinished, inhabitable, uncomfortable. I think it's because I don't want to get attached to this place. I want to leave so badly that I don't want to settle into living here.

I've noticed that whenever I meet a new girl that sparks my interest, she changes where I want to live, where I want to finish college. I want to pick up and move and place myself in her life. It's like I want to emulate everyone I have an attraction to. There is must be something wrong with that. I need to live my own life, not flit through others.

I've gone all day wearing only one sock because my left foot kept getting hot. I took the day off to just doze and read, and it felt spectacular.

(I love seeing quaint little houses covered in Christmas lights.)

Dec 5, 2009


Seeing old friends from high school who knew you as straight is not that fun. Not that they aren't wonderful, accepting people; it's just that orientation becomes everything. To those people you are something new, something they never expected you to be, or had never encountered before.

Seeing old friends who have always known you as gay is absolutely wonderful. Needless to say, I've just done that. I went to dinner with seven people I attended college with, and someone new. Everything was warm and friendly and funny (and it helped that there was another queer woman and two gay men at the table). Sex came up, of course, but it wasn't wonderment or disgust, it was practicality and "who're you seeing now?"

It was wonderful to talk about sexuality, topping, bottoming, even having crushes on straight people and how to cross that bridge whenever we have come to it. (I'm crossing that bridge at the moment.)

When we started talking about labeling and why people do or do not assign labels to themselves it was nice to have someone understand that I want to label myself for me. When I mentioned that I had tried to label myself as butch for a period of time the entire table burst into laughter. Apparently I am the least butch girl they had ever seen. Once I explained that I was trying to label my whole persona by how I feel in bed they were more understanding. I'm still waiting as to what about me is not butch at all.

There was a beautiful woman three tables over who kept meeting my eye. She had glossy black curls, dark brown eyes, a mouth that begged to be kissed, and an overcoat that was too trendy for the little hick-city we were in.

The bathroom had two stalls, so when my friend and I walked in, we waited. Interestingly enough, the two women inside were talking about the double date they were on. This piqued my interest as one girl started talking about her (female) date and how she just wasn't interested.

The beautiful woman who kept catching my eye across the dining room walked out. I let her pass by me to the sink and took her place in the stall as she kept chatting. "She's just a baby. I'm going to end up taking care of her. She's not emotionally ready." Every moment she kept talking my heart was pulled in two directions. I wanted to take care of this beautiful femme with full lips. I wanted to pull her glossy hair and watch her submit to me while I fucked her. I wanted her to shudder underneath me and pull my body to hers; seeking my body heat, wanting my comfort. The other side of me cowered in fear. Was this what I would appear to be? A baby who'd never had sex? Someone who needed to be taken care of?

I wanted to walk out of the stall, press her into the counter and watch her expressions in the mirror as I kissed her neck. I wanted her to melt in my hands until she would whisper a plea for me to drive her home. I wanted to prove that my love and respect for strong femmes would urge me to take care of her, and not the other way around.

I just didn't know if all that would constitute as a lie. I don't feel young, afraid, or unready. But I also don't want to make anyone else take care of me if it turns out that I am any one of the above.

The other night, I had a moment. I was laying in bed trying to get to sleep, and scenes from my adolescence kept flashing before me. It was different, to have a realization hit you without urging. An epiphany that gave me the courage to finally move forward in my life, to plan for a future without the fear that my sexual orientation is just a phase.

It was like I felt my soul click into my chest.

Though I didn't make a move for the beautiful woman I will probably never see again, I have that knowledge that I am here, I am real, I am comfortable with who I am (maybe for the first time in my life).

But it helps that I have feelings for both my wonderful new friend and a straight girl that my life path keeps intersecting with, too.

Dec 1, 2009


Can fear actually make you a more confident person? Can you be so afraid that you put on a brave face, and through that facade become a more courageous person?

I'm not suave and charming, and I have no idea how to woo the woman I want to be with. And honestly, she is going through a rough breakup right now and probably doesn't want to be wooed. Whilst I'm discovering women for the first time, she is discovering men. However, this doesn't mean that I am not cute and coy and a little sly.

Is it because I am afraid to tell her outright that I am interested and have her reject me? Or is it because I know she likes women who are more femme than her and I want to make her feel good by playing to her strengths?

Is one reason any better than the other?

I am afraid to go to sleep. I don't have nightmares. I have the exact opposite. Beautiful dreams of love, sex, relationships. Such real dreams that I can feel her skin, the heat of her breath, can hear the pound of her heart. Different, exquisite women every night. And then I wake up, and I am alone.

I'm alone in the supermarket when lesbians don't recognize that I'm gay. I'm alone at the register when the man behind the counter is chatting me up and I can't help but notice that the woman standing by the ice cream has the most beautiful mouth.

I can take it every day as long as I don't have those dreams. Those dreams that remind me what it is like to lay my head in [first:girl]'s lap and have her run her fingers through my hair. They remind me that I no longer see the woman who used to simultaneously hold me and make fun of me as I cry over an episode of L Word.

Fear is a constant. Trying to hide your fear is a constant. It's all constant. Stagnant. There has to be a way to break the cycle and create something new.

I am a good person. I am cute, sweet, smart, caring, warm, comforting, and have just a touch of sensuality. I'm beautiful. I'm all soft curves and a sweet face with big brown eyes and soft hair. I should be good at this. I should be able to walk into a bar and have everyone jump at the chance to take me home.

But for whatever reason, I'm too scared to walk into that bar.

Nov 30, 2009

Lost my Identity

The Butch/Femme dichotomy. The perfect relationship. The give and take between two fierce personalities, two extreme forms of beauty.
Why don’t I fit in?

When I realized what was going on with me, I read Mr. Sexsmith’s blog, and it made so much sense. I understood the struggle of power, the need to find my own identity, the love of topping, the admiration of femmes. But I’m not butch. I feel like a gentleman sometimes; I love to pay for dinner, open doors, pull out chairs for the beautiful woman who has my eye. However, if I am with a more emotionally masculine or dominant woman, I love to play to her longings, let her pull out my chair for me or tuck a stray hair into place. I love to catch her eye from under my lashes and make her feel powerful. 

On the superficial scale of butch and femme, I believe I don’t look good enough to go out of the house without mascara, even if I don’t put anything else on. However, I also hate dresses, wear heels only when necessary, and I don't like lipstick.

I want to fit into this beautiful power play. I want to be a part of this gender society where your partner helps your identity along and the power exchange is intense. Where you feel butch because of the way her body melts in your hands and her fingers flex against your back as you enter her. Where you feel feminine because of the way she protects you, the way she envelopes you and makes it safe to be fragile. 

I think it would help if I had sex. With somebody. Anybody. I always thought that when people figure out they are gay they experiment, they have relationships, they have sex, they figure out what they want in the sexual aspect of the relationship. Top, bottom, dom, sub, switch, whatever.

It seems all I do is fall hard for women who don’t want me for one reason or another. I’m a floundering baby dyke in a world where no one believes I’m gay because I’ve never had sex or a relationship. How does a girl who has never had a relationship with a man know that they are straight? Because of who they fall in love with, right?

I’m gay. I’m just a fish out of water. I am an inexperienced 13 year old surrounded by women who have gone through hell and heartbreak.

I am so out of my league here.