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.