Two Sided Coins

The phrase "both sides of the coin" seems to come up a lot with me. It came up in Updates/Desires, in my first Lesbian/Bisexual post years ago, in my very first post here.

I am two sides to the story, I am two points of view - so much so, that sometimes it feels like I'm two people. I'm butch and femme, gentle and fierce, hardworking and lazy, kind and mean, ugly and beautiful, educated and gullible, elegant and clumsy. I am pro-troops and anti-war, pro-charity and yet I don't give, pro-women's rights yet still uncomfortable with high abortion rates, a lover of art with no talent or background, a musician too scared to play, a writer - published - who now can't undertake anything more than a blog.

I am an amalgamation of people. So many paradoxical ideas - all living and breathing and trying to coexist inside one body. Over the course of this blog, some of you who have been with me since the beginning have seen me search for who I am and what my box is. I don't fit in a box.

But maybe I went searching for my box the wrong way. I went searching for everything I wanted to be, so confused, so naive and drowning in a world of terms and relationships that I didn't understand. Not once did I ask myself what I wanted. Not once did I ask myself what I needed. So caught up in figuring out what was wrong with me, I just assumed that anyone I fell in love with would be perfect, would be right.

And to some extent, every girl is perfect. Every girl fits some piece of me, some part that longs to blossom into life and is nurtured along by her and I can be happy with her. But not every girl can understand that I see through a fractured crystal of a lens, and all the fragments blink back eighteen different images rather than the solitary one an average person sees.

Maybe if I'd asked myself what I need in a relationship, the compassion, the giving heart, the fiery spirit, the conviction, and maybe the ability to see or understand how I see the world, I would have found myself sooner. Would have realized that instead of trying to fit into the butch/femme dynamic, I live both inside and above it - like an umbrella, understanding what lies beneath but ultimately too much and too widely spread to say I belong.

Both sides of a coin.

Here's your Christmas Present: The erotic tales of Caci and Natalie beginning and conclusion on Rainbow Sprinkles ;) You're Welcome! 


This just seems to fit all the themes going on my head this week, and when I wrote this post it ended up getting stuck in my head.

Day 7 Redux Exes

30 Day Letter Challenge

Day 7 — Your Ex-boyfriend/girlfriend/love/crush

Dear Lovely,

I used to hate it when you talked about your Brazilian ex-boyfriend. Okay, yeah, he was hunky, and maybe you wanted me to be jealous (was that it?) and if so, it worked. Did you enjoy feeling dominated and possessed? Was I trying too hard to avoid being clingy that you felt under-loved, under-appreciated? You made me feel jealous, yes, but I was also hurt. I think a lot of lesbians have issues dating bisexual girls because there is this feeling of inadequacy that comes along with the territory.

You like men, that's fine, whatever, but you were with me. I don't have rippling pectorals and a rock hard six pack and a chiseled jaw. I'm a lady. I'm pretty sure you got the idea of my feminine wrapping when you started stroking my arm in the bar and whispered in my ear how soft my skin was.

I couldn't believe you were interested in me. I think your accent alone could unravel me and your fingers could weave a more beautiful tapestry from the threads. But amongst your traits, this one bragging, boasting, constantly talking about past sex with men - I just couldn't get past.

I'm sorry, I really am. You were so many possibilities and I could see them all flash through my mind - but when you pulled away I couldn't fight for you. Whether you left now or five years down the road, I just don't think we were meant to be together.

You were a flash fire- a searing heat, filled with warmth, joy, a sort of spiritual rebirth after I had been crushed too many times, but by very definition, burned out quick as it began. But, you renewed my faith in relationships when my past experiences had my hopes withering. I wish you all the best, lovely.


T

Day 2 Redux Dream Girl

30 Day letter Challenge Redux

Day 2 — Your Crush

Ohhh man. I have so many kinds of crushes. How about a little something different?

I've never been a dreaming kind of girl. My sleeping history has been riddled with mostly nightmares, not dreams, so when I met you, dear friend, what a surprise that my nightmares paused. My normal ratio is something like 3:1 in favor of nightmares, but for weeks it seems to have reversed.

Even in my happy dreams, I've never dreamed of a relationship with someone in future tense. I've never had a sleeping dream where my partner and I were happily together ten years down the road. For someone who has feared commitment most of my life, I am now dreaming of you in the most interesting of ways - introducing you to friends as my wife, watching as you stand up for me against an old adversary. These dreams are not sexual in nature but imply a deeper bond, a trusting, warm link that makes me feel safe and comforted - things which are hard for me to feel during my waking hours.

The fact that I barely know you makes this even more interesting. I hardly know anything about you, and yet, in my dream you become my everything: my fierce guardian and protector, my giggling companion, the person smiling and pushing hair out of my face as we linger in the quiet kitchen of a social gathering.

Who are you, and why do you make me feel so safe? Is it a psychology thing? Have I become more accepting of love and kindness, more willing to lean on someone else, and this is being personified through you?

Now when I wake I still feel distress, but only because I wish I could fall back into slumber with you.

-

Rise of the Redhead

Marilyn Monroe courtesy of Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Images

Remember when blondes used to have more fun? It seemed like every movie star was dying her hair blonde and magazine covers all had blondes splashed across them. Now, while there is more diversity encouraged among actresses, singers, and models, a special jewel seems to have emerged at the top.

The redhead.

Dyed redheads are super popular too, but the natural redhead remains the most coveted of all. Why the sudden fascination? Why are women scrambling to buy red dye from a box or a salon? Is it a feeling of empowerment and bold sexuality that accompanies the color? Or is it something else?

Few people who are not naturally red or strawberry blonde can pull off the switch to a red color. I dyed my hair a nice, vibrant mahogany-ish color once when I was 12. With my Mediterranean/Native American tanned complexion (though I am not Mediterranean and not very Native American) it looked FABULOUS on me. Just kidding, it looked awful. I won't ever do it again, I promise.

Karen Gillan, a stunningly lovely natural ginger

Both of my grandmothers had red hair and my mother has lovely jade green eyes (but brown hair) and I always feel like I missed out on the DNA lotto. My sisters managed to snag her eyes but my brothers and I were left out. I've cherished her green eyes for years, but no amount of wishing has ever lightened my eyes or made them magically turn green.

I do wonder if our sudden fascination has anything to do with the Harry Potter culture-the red hair and green eyes that were so special and cherished in the storyline that wound its way through a generation of new, young readers. These readers have grown up and started what seems to be an "invasion" of British-isms. These are a generation of people who enjoy British television, books, music, talk radio, colloquialisms, and fashion. If we idolize the minds and words of those across the pond, why not their looks?

My ultimate badass crush- Michelle Rodriguez

Most of the world has brown eyes and brown hair, traits which are beautiful in their own right- but it seems like not many people are happy with what they have, and are constantly reaching to change themselves into something more "special and unique." I'm not saying that I fall on the outside. I love being "special," being noticed. But I'm not a redhead- I don't have green eyes. Sometimes you just gotta let DNA do its thing.

In the meantime I'm lucky in that I'm a gay lady and enjoy looking at pretty girls who are special and unique.

Aishwarya Rai- one of the most beautiful women in the world, and Jamie Chung- current TV love who is heating it up on ABC's Once Upon A Time

Kerry Washington is lighting up DC with her gorgeous face in Scandal and just try to tell me you're not in love with Grace Park, a smokin' hot lady you might recognize from Hawaii Five-O

ABC's Nashville LadyCrush- Connie Britton Along with my favorite smiling girl TaySwift

I will stand under your Umbrella.

Don't Touch

It's long, so if you want to skip to the end, the last three paragraphs are my favorite. I'll bold it for you :)

Recently I wrote about Sexual Objectification and this, that, and the why-fors of appreciating and abhorring it. Whenever I write a post the subject seems to stick in my head for a time, and then suddenly life seems to revolve around it.

All week I have been hyper-aware of my personal space. While I like my physical traits to be appreciated, I don't enjoy being touched by people I don't know well. Handshakes, hugs, and pats on the back are fine, but lingering contact with strangers/brief acquaintances unnerves me.

Whenever I know someone will be touching me in a professional context (masseuse, chiropractor, doctor, gym trainer, etc) I shower and shave in the few hours before I go. Feeling fresh, wet, and clean is very important in those meetings. It makes me feel like I'm courteous and hygienic, and helps reassure me that particular setting will be strictly professional.

Whether this is normal behavior or this is because I have had problems with molestation in the past (ex-boyfriend and prior) is somewhat irrelevant considering I don't find the behavior harmful.  I don't go ballistic if I can't shower in the hour before I have to go to the doctor- it's just a general guideline. Although I wonder how many other people do the same thing.

When I'm with friends, family, and romantic partners, touching is wonderful- warm embraces, lingering brushes, harsh hits, surprising grabs. I'm not on the defensive when I know who is around me and all sorts of touching is great.

So, when I was at the gym the other day, my trainer (who is a woman because, yeah, I admit I'm just more comfortable with that) called over the big-boss-man to ask for help working out this jumping muscle issue I was having. He put his hand full on my pelvis between my hipbones (God, his hand was large, like a baseball mitt) and it felt far too close to my vulva, even though it probably wasn't.

He was just measuring something because he calculated a few things and moved his hand around, and then he pressed into a particular spot on my upper thigh. Wouldn't you know, the tiny muscle in my lower leg stopped twitching immediately! That part was kind of cool.  However, the fact that this guy that I didn't really know (I had talked to him a few times before and he seemed nice) was all up in my private business kind of freaked me out.

It reminded me of my first year in college, before I came out, when girls would grab at my boobs or other body parts at parties. There was one girl who would constantly sit on my lap and slip her bra off underneath her tank while hovering her breasts in front of my face (at multiple parties) all as an act to get guys to pay attention to her. (I didn't mind her so much as she never groped me, just sort of got into my personal space) There was this unspoken rule that we were all girls and our bodies were all communal property. If it enticed a guy into a bedroom for one of them it was even better.  But gay or not, it's not any more okay for a random girl to grope me than it is for a guy. If I don't like you, if I don't know you, it's an unwanted advance.
 
Sometimes I can meet a person and get comfortable with him/her/z in less than five minutes.  Other times it takes weeks, months, years, and occasionally I never get comfortable with that person.  Some people have a vibe that I can never quite get over. Some strangers never feel like strangers, and some people I've known my whole life still give me the creeps.

The point is: my breasts, my body, is my property, and the ability to touch it is not a right you are entitled to, it's a permission I give you. It's a trust I bestow you with.

Don't abuse it.

Awakening

I dated boys for many years.  It started when I was 12.  When I was 13 I was dating a 16 year old, but he was my best friend, and very gay.  He was the best boyfriend I've ever had.  When I was 14, I had a "friend with benefits" open my eyes to the underbelly of the internet that the school had blocked.  Oh my God, girls could do that?  To each other? Obviously, he found it hot, but I don't think he expected it to turn me on so much.  Whatever got me in the mood, though, so he soothed me, convinced me it was absolutely normal for straight girls to feel aroused by it as he palmed his way under my shirt.

I will be forever grateful to him for showing me the true use of computers. 

However, it was with this way of thinking that I spent my high school years.  I was in unsatisfactory relationships, seeking adrenaline rushes, boyfriends, affairs, and taboos to feed this sexual void in me.  I couldn't figure out what was missing.  And then I slowly began to wake up.

m:2, we'll call her Mary, was my first girl crush that had me thinking sexual thoughts. I was in year 12, so ready to be done with high school, and she was a grade below myself. She had curly black hair (do you see a trend?) that was always in a ponytail, and a huge silver guitar for a belt buckle. She rocked out on it with headphones over her ears like she was practicing for a garage band.  She wore jeans and pullovers and the skater sneakers that make your feet look huge.

She was funny. She had a dry humor, a sarcastic wit, and her responses were lightning fast. Her brown eyes could swallow you. She never really smiled -it was always more of a half smirk, but that fit her perfectly.

At the time, I was convinced that I did not have a crush on her. Me? Gay? No way. I went to school with lesbians, I was friends with lesbians, I was part of the GSA. I'd heard them all talk, when you're gay you know it all the way from when you're a kid.

I remember the first time Mary hugged me. There was skin to skin contact and it was a long time before I let her go. No boy had ever made me want to hug him like that. She smelled wonderful and her body fit along mine like we were two halves of the same whole. I fantasized about hugging her, kissing her, seeing her without her sweatshirt. We went on this school trip and stayed at a hotel, and when we all went swimming she had the most amazing body. Her arms were like woah. But of course that didn't mean that I was gay. As my feelings grew I passed them off as a fluke, a one time thing with just one girl. It helped that Mary wasn't gay, so what was the point of trying to talk to her about it?

I graduated, and found out two months later that she came out and was identifying strongly as a butch lesbian. Way to go, me.

I started college that fall. Again, I found myself crushing on a girl. Luckily, m:3 (I'm realizing that I like a lot of girls whose names start with M) was not the girl I was sharing a room with. My roommate and I got along well enough. m:3 had the room next to ours, and she was something else. She was slightly taller than me and much curvier. She was gorgeous. We traded clothes, dresses, makeup. We hugged all the time or snuggled on the couch together under a blanket watching TV. She would curl into my arms and beg me to play with her hair and it was so long and beautiful and felt like silk between my fingers. We sometimes cuddled and fell asleep in the same bed or on the couch, but she was firmly straight, so I couldn't possibly think of her that way at all.

We started having crushes on the same guy, and I realized that I was jealous. I didn't want them to date because then she wouldn't be spending time with me or cuddling with me. I never had dreams about kissing her, never thought of having sex with her, but I craved skin to skin contact. She was so soft, so smooth, so warm that I snuggled up to her like a cat. I was happy just being next to her, sleeping beside her.

I went nine months in silence, not thinking that I liked her in a lesbian way, but I knew something about my feelings for her was different. She graduated and moved away after I let my jealousy get the better of me.  She refused to speak to me and I was crushed.  Soon after, the summer of my life stormed in like a hurricane.

It began with Patty: she was a very short, curvy thing with gorgeous black hair and dark eyes. She had an attitude that was so strong, confident, sexy. I couldn't take my eyes off her. After m:3, I was a little wary about all of my wonky feelings around girls and I wasn't about to get heartbroken again. I befriended Patty quickly during our shifts together at work, and her laugh was extraordinary. She taunted boys and girls both with her bountiful assets, but I couldn't get a read on her. Would she be offended if I asked her out?

She was constantly teasing the lesbian girl who worked with us. I knew her vaguely- she had been infatuated with m:3 and made her extremely uncomfortable, but Patty didn't seem so uncomfortable, so maybe she'd be open to the idea.  I remembered that m:3 was no longer talking to me and I decided I'd be damned if I let another girl slip away.

We were joking one day at work and I tried to be casual about it. "So, Patty, you want to go out on a date sometime?"

"Tabby, you're such a charmer!" she laughed. "Ran out of cute guys to ask?"

"You're prettier than they are," I threw out the compliment unabashedly, but she laughed and took a sip of her water. "God, I wish more people were as sweet as you," she said and walked out.

I sighed and leaned my head back against the wall. She thought I was joking.   She thought I was super sweet, which was great, but also that I was straight and joking.

That night I went out to a party, got drunk, and made out with a boy. It was wholly unsatisfying. The next week, Patty began dating the lesbian girl from work. Shit.

Day 2: The Crush

Today's letter challenge is to write a letter to my crush. Well, I don't really have a crush at the moment, so I am going to take this time to write to my celebrity crush whom I have never met and obviously have no chance with.

Dear Sonya,

I admired you from the moment I saw your work. You inspire others to dance the music that lives within your heart. I can see your emotions, your blood running through their veins for a few precious minutes.

You seem so tough, are so tough. You have a backbone that allows you to kick down doors and stand up for yourself and others. But when you speak, Sonya, that's when I see through the bad ass exterior to the more vulnerable state within. When you cry, it is because you are so moved that it is the only way you can express yourself.

You move your body like no one else I have ever seen. You care about the world, about our kids, and genuinely want to make life better for others. You pour your heart and soul into your dance, and when I watch it, it is like seeing through to your very core.

And your hair, I mean, my God, could you be more amazing/gorgeous/awesome/badass/insert adjective here?

I respect you, I admire you, and I think you are totally hot.
-Tabby

Train/Part 1

The other day, I had the opportunity to take the train! I somehow grew up with the notion that no one on the west coast takes the train, so this was to be my first experience with trains. I had thought they were practically obsolete until I arrived at the train station only to be jostled by families, college kids, business travelers, and everyone with either a book, an iPod, or both.

I boarded the train and prepared for my two hour trip by choosing a seat at a table next to a pretty blond with a book in hand. Conversation was awkward at first, far less graceful than the smooth motion of the train. (I thought trains were supposed to be rickety and loud, not smooth and quiet. I could hardly tell when we slowed to a stop and took off again.)

I took a trip down to the cafe on the first level and grabbed a coffee just as we were passing the cliffs down to the ocean. I stopped at the doors and watched the ocean fly by through the huge windows. The silver sky blended softly towards the dark, swirling ocean: beautiful in its ferocity, stunning in shades of gray.

I made my way back up the staircase to my seat across from the shy blond. After offering a banana, she began to open up. She was from Washington, originally came to California to go to school and ended up staying. We talked about how I want to move to Washington, and the beautiful scenery of both our states. She takes the train often, and since it was my first time, she talked me through the experience. We shared a few laughs and it was easy to see that whatever social barrier she usually carried, she was beginning to relax. The conversation moved fluidly for quite some time and I was happy to be sitting near her.

Eventually we fell into a comfortable silence, staring at the ocean. I was reading a book as well, but noticed when she pulled out a notepad and began to compose a song from notes inside her head. She used all string instruments, cellos, violins, violas, harps, etc. It was wonderful to watch, though I hope I was subtle about it as she did seem very shy.

We both got off at the same destination, and I saw her several times afterward, strolling about the city. Each time we would laugh at each other and wave, a common bond formed over a simple train ride. It wasn't until I got home that I realized we never asked for each others' names.

Age/Love

I have always been most attracted to people who are older than me. The first woman was 4 years older than me, and the next was 5, the next 7, the next 7, the next 8...Do you see a pattern here?

I am wondering if it is because there is something missing in my age group. It is so hard to find decent women who aren't 5-15 years older than I am. Most of my generation is rude. Most people my age grew up to be disrespectful, impolite, without manners or rudimentary etiquette. Maybe this is part of the reason why I go for women at the extreme ends of the butch/femme spectrum, because they have a beautiful set of mannerisms and behaviors that endears me to them.

With the butch and femme women that I have encountered, there has been self study into their identities. They are intelligent, there's a thirst for good conversation and enlightenment. I can't imagine going out with any of the people I have met and seeing them yell at the waiter or stiff a tip. They have respect for each individual. They are polite. They hold doors or say thank you when someone holds the door for them. That simple thank you is what endears me to a person, and the lack of that simple phrase will make me end a relationship.

The queer girls my age are mean, angry, and bitter. They enjoy protesting and yelling at people who don't understand us. But yelling doesn't help them to understand us. I want to be with someone who respectfully talks to the religious, the traditional about who we are. There are some people who have never encountered an LGBT individual. Bitching that person out isn't going to make them like us or want to treat us like equal citizens. That's not the way to go about it.

So I date the people who were either raised with better manners, or have gotten past the rebel stage in their life. I date the people who help me pass out cookies around the block and chat with the neighbors about the flowers.

Just to clarify: I think age is just a number. It just occurred to me why I date older women than myself, so I wrote about it. I also know that there are exceptions to all of this, I am just generalizing.

P.S. Just wait till I get to why I (for the most part) don't date girls younger than myself, though there are plenty who want to. That post should be a real treat.

Rain/Warmth

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.)