Dreaming/Reality

If I talk about my date you're going to think I'm lying, or making it up. It was that fantastic. I wasn't dreaming. It really happened.

It's the kind of date you see in movies - fun, full of laughter and warm fuzzies, a wholly unnecessary sappy love song playlist not-so-discreetly playing in the background at the restaurant - when the table seems to shrink and it all feels very intimate.

And then the setting moves and I love being in the car with Prince because we sing and we talk and we're so close and I can't help but touch, constantly, compulsively, because touching is so rare across the distances and in public places and in not-friendly-to-gay areas and the car feels safe and warm and comfortable and I want to touch and be touched.

But then it has to be a movie because I've never seen the sun set over the ocean like that, never seen someone smile at me with heaven in the eyes, and I feel so amazed, bewildered, content, and I don't even want to run off for sex because I just want to stand here, forever, drinking in the sunlight with our arms brushing, laughing at the little girls next to us and all their questions and comments.

I could have sat forever and watched as the city flickered to life at our feet, almost as the Egyptian Pharaohs must have done thousands of years ago from their golden thrones and their city blazed to life in the darkness. I felt like royalty from my stone seat, hand in hand, the world laid out before us, the stars shining overhead, the moon casting a silver blessing over us, so bright, so clear.

And it's laughter, laughter, between all the other moments and places and quiet and feelings, there's this laughter. When Prince laughs it's the most wonderful sound in all the world - the sound I want to hear every moment of every day. I want to be the cause, I want to hear when others inspire it. I want Prince to laugh all day long and I want to be there for every moment and open myself up and fill myself with golden laughter, because just maybe there is real magic and this laughter is it.

Maybe I'm just an idiot :)

I don't have a five year plan and I don't know what I'm doing or where this is going. But I know I never want to hang up. I hate going to work and sleeping alone, and I get really nervous and pack two weeks of clothes for a three day trip. I know that I'm flawed, so flawed, and I want nothing more than to be better - than to be the best - than to be deserving of everything Prince is.

Orgasms/Twitter

For an account which started out so anonymously, you all know much about me. We've talked about this before, and recently. I spoke how I wanted to take some of that "anonymous" feeling back - feeling more bold, daring, fun.

I must admit, Twitter got the better of me tonight - has gotten the better of me over the last week or so - has had me posting like all those years ago when I was truly anonymous. And here we're going to get back to what I was posting about so long ago: Sex/Orgasms. Since I've come back to this blog, a few months ago, I've avoided the overtly sexual topics which I used to thrive on in the past.

For whatever reason, this week was bad. I mean constantly aching, edge of your seat, hair's breadth away from climaxing, bad. All week. I couldn't make it go away. I'd have an orgasm and the feeling would come back five minutes later. It was heaven the first day, hell the rest. It was distracting, it drove me crazy. My dreams were erotic, my every thought somehow twisted and turned because my body was so close. A hand on my hip could make me whimper, a look could make me tremble.

This week's stories on Rainbow Sprinkles were all driven by this week's dreams -by my constant state of whatever-it-was and you can tell. Well, not with Maroon just yet, but you wait and see ;) Finally, by some Christmas miracle, I was able to have a shaking, wrenching orgasm in the early morning hours and it eased. It was just my normal always-ready-for-sex and not the extremely-sensitive-going-crazy sensations. The peace lasted a few hours, and then I was back to watching porn Christmas afternoon and talking about my bedroom preferences on Twitter.

My sex drive has been higher than normal the past few days and Twitter took full advantage of that tonight. What started off as playful banter eased into sexual banter, actual productive sexual conversation (which I love!), flirting, and outrageous behavior on my part.

Am I embarrassed with my behavior? A little. I have to remind myself that twitter is not private and these people who feel like friends are actually virtual strangers (the term "catfished" comes to mind) but I also enjoy giving people the benefit of the doubt and they all seem very lesbian to me. Am I turned on? Yes. Because, let's be honest, I don't have a girlfriend right now, and talking about sex is beautiful and glorious and something I desperately need.

I'm not ashamed to talk about what I like or what I need. I'm not ashamed to talk about how I like to be touched or what turns me on. And hopefully you can find comfort, confidence, glory enough in your sexual self that you aren't ashamed either.

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.

Updates/Desires

After being *ahem* heckled on twitter about my girl crushes :)  I had some startling realizations about myself, my esteem and my love life. Whichever girl I like can be awful, mean as hell, or undeserving (in another's point of view), but I'll think she's wonderful. Is that normal? Isn't that how relationships go? Aren't we all blind to faults?

I mean, I don't like being emotionally abused and I won't put up with it, but there are certain things I get railroaded into. I do end up getting into situations where I'm used physically, but I'll need a therapist to work out that one. Point is, I like when my my girl can get a little mean, because I like a good fight. I like stubbornness and strong convictions because I like confrontation and the explosive force that comes from a passionate argument. I enjoy the cathartic energy of airing grievances and finally getting everything out into the open. If we can't fight, are we really communicating?

There's a certain balance to be achieved in a relationship. Sweet and gentle vs explosive and passionate. I want both sides of this coin. I want the soft mornings and sweet words in bed, I want the hallway fights with slamming cupboards, the frequent shower interruptions to ask a question, the giggles at family parties, the frustration at public events when we want to be alone, and the nights on the couch when I am so mad but then at three in the morning I want nothing more than your arms wrapped around me.

Can I have everything? I don't know. But I want it.

Bonus- here's an excerpt of the latest chapter of my first:girl series AKA coming out story now up on wordpress: Mimosas

The guilt ate at me and the mimosas weren’t helping. I’m home. I sent her. I forgot to check my phone last night. I’m sorry I made you worry. Hope you got some sleep. It was presumptuous, thinking that she had been worried about me, but I typed it anyway, hoping.

I waited, drank another mimosa. Nothing. The tears built up again. I felt like a yo-yo, jerked around one way and then the other. How could she be so loving, so caring, and then so completely heartless? How could she see me aching to offer my soul on a platter to her and wave it away like an undercooked meal?

My housemate knocked on my door after one in the afternoon. “I heard something about you last night,” she started, but I shook my head.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” my voice was hoarse from crying.

“So it ended badly. We all knew it would, Tabby. God, can’t you see she was playing you? You can’t trust girls like that. They’re just as bad as guys, pitting girls against each other-” I shook myself out of my stupor.

“Girls like what?” I searched around for the term clumsily given to me in the heat of an argument.

“Butch girls? You’re judging her because of how she looks?” I was in full defense mode. Maybe Gwen had just broken my heart, but she was still everything to me and that meant fighting for her to the ends of the earth.

“No. Well, yes. Maybe. C’mon, Tabby. You know her, you’ve seen her. She’s playing you.”

“Are you saying that all this crap I’ve gone through with you and Charlie and all the others is because Gwen isn’t a nice, normal, Stepford-wife girl? That if she had long hair and a polite smile and drank cosmos instead of beer and whiskey, and didn’t curse, and wore high heels instead of converse, and dresses instead of mismatched plaids-” I choked, those were all things I loved about her. I loved her masculinity. I loved her rough edges, the way she held her beer. I loved the quirky smile and the crooked teeth and the no makeup and the tattoos and all those gorgeous freckles.

“That everyone would have been fine?” I finished harshly.

Day 15 Missing

30 Day Letter Challenge

Day 15 — The person you miss the most

If I'm going to be honest with you, really honest, it's hard not to make it all come back to first:girl. I think until I fall in love she's the only romantic trauma I've got. She's the only relationship I delved into headfirst and didn't want to come up for air. I have no other experience with that intensity to compare it with, so who else am I supposed to miss?

My best friends? My dead relatives? The brothers I see once a year or the sister I see once every 2 or 3? How can I miss them more than I miss being in love with her? How can they compare to feeling complete? How can you possibly miss something more than the ache of being touched all the time in the smallest of ways?

Hours. The longest I went without a gentle caress, a steadying hand, a reassuring palm to the small of my back - might have been a few hours. Now it's days, or weeks. Weeks without a loving touch, a gentle kiss of fingers against my cheek. The lack of touch could make anyone wither, could make anyone go insane with wanting, with missing.

I try not to think about it. I can stand on my own two feet. I can wait for the right person. I'm not desperate or fragile or crazy enough to beg like a kitten arching between someone's feet for affection. I want feelings first.

But I miss all the touches.



Just as an update because I've gotten an influx of comments and emails about my ex from Day 7: I don't want that ex back; I know I talk about her a lot but I don't want first:girl back. I miss things about my relationships with each of them, sure, but because those are happy memories. Relationships end for a reason, and each has given me an opportunity to learn, grow, and become a better person. So, when you ask me what I'm going to do to get her back -

Nothing. My past relationships aren't right for who I am now. And if you're trying to get someone back, maybe you need to look at how the two of you have changed and see if you can still forge that connection and be what the other wants and needs.

Disasters

This post has been in my head for days, but I haven't been able to piece it together. The only reason I can do so now is because I'm a procrastinator and avoiding something else.

When something like Sandy hits on the opposite side of the country, I feel useless. And it happens every few years, like with the Aurora massacre, Japan, Hurricane Katrina, the 2004 tsunami, 9/11 and the Oklahoma City bombings and all of these horrible things that happen in other places where I'm not and can't help.

I mean, I do what I can, I donate and try to be active and informed but it never feels like enough. I'm never doing enough. I didn't go to Haiti to rebuild houses, and I wasn't in the search and rescue after the tsunami in Japan. I'm not a firefighter or an EMT and I want to do more than take five seconds to donate and then live my happy little life where I try to make kids succeed in school and bask in the sunshine as long as it lasts. I'm living the California dream and it's times like these, when my countrymen are starving, trying to rebuild, have gone without power or clean water, that my life feels so gross.

It's almost like survivor's guilt. But what else can you do when you're not supposed to donate items; when you live on the other side of the world? I can't just pack up my life every time a disaster strikes, although I'd like to.

How do you help? How can I?

Sexual Objectification: Part 1

I like to be sexually objectified.  Except that I don't.  Not in what that term really means.  Have you ever looked it up?

Objectification: depersonalization - representing a human being as a physical thing deprived of personal qualities or individuality;

I even found this from a Stanford article:

Objectification is a notion central to feminist theory. It can be roughly defined as the seeing and/or treating a person, usually a woman, as an object. In this entry, the focus is primarily on sexual objectification, objectification occurring in the sexual realm. Martha Nussbaum (1995, 257) has identified seven features that are involved in the idea of treating a person as an object:

1. instrumentality: the treatment of a person as a tool for the objectifier's purposes;
2. denial of autonomy: the treatment of a person as lacking in autonomy and self-determination;
3. inertness: the treatment of a person as lacking in agency, and perhaps also in activity;
4. fungibility: the treatment of a person as interchangeable with other objects;
5. violability: the treatment of a person as lacking in boundary-integrity;
6. ownership: the treatment of a person as something that is owned by another (can be bought or sold);
7. denial of subjectivity: the treatment of a person as something whose experiences and feelings (if any) need not be taken into account.

Rae Langton (2009, 228–229) has added three more features to Nussbaum's list:

8. reduction to body: the treatment of a person as identified with their body, or body parts;
9. reduction to appearance: the treatment of a person primarily in terms of how they look, or how they appear to the senses;
10. silencing: the treatment of a person as if they are silent, lacking the capacity to speak.

The whole article is interesting but it is seriously confusing, derogatory, against pornography, and hard to fit into the lesbian dynamic- especially with how femmes feel about their bodies, their gender, and their sexuality.

Point being: I don't like the depersonalization aspect of objectification.  I love that I am an intelligent, opinionated, respectful, witty woman.  I love when people recognize those qualities in me, and I don't want those qualities to be lost or pushed aside so I am viewed purely as an object to be used for sexual gratification.  I refuse to be treated "as if I lack the capacity to speak."

But I do want those wonderful qualities of mine to step into the background occasionally.  I find it thrilling, arousing, to have all thoughts of how sweet or smart I am fly out the window because of an all consuming sexual desire.  Perhaps this is because I have always felt pretty, not sexy.  Perhaps it is because I have always felt body conscious.  But there is something about when someone turns to me with that heat in the eyes that makes me tingle all over.

Even when I'm not attracted to that person, I'll find myself doing little things to keep up the crush.  I'll dress nicer, keep up my makeup, make an effort.  My smiles are a little slower, my eyes a little warmer, my blouse a little more low cut.

Is it teasing?  Is it wrong?  Am I not supposed to do it? I've never really seen the problem in looking my best.  As long as I'm not flirting I don't feel like I'm leading anyone on.  I'm careful to not give the wrong impression, careful to not say anything that would be interpreted as interested in a date, but I'm a flirtatious person by normally, so I have to cut back and I can't say I've never accidentally slipped.  What do you think?  Is the body language too much?  Am I being unfair to the other person?

Am I, in turn, objectifying/using someone else as he/she/z sexualizes me, in order to boost my own self esteem?  Do you think this is a better or worse form of objectification?  Do you enjoy when your body is sexualized by strangers, acquaintances, your partner?  Or do you prefer that your mental attributes be your sexiest qualities?

Beauty/Ugly

There comes a time in every person's life where they discover a flaw in themselves. As humans, we discover superficial flaws all the time: too fat, too skinny, one eye is larger than the other, one breast is smaller than the other, etc. The internal flaws are hard to discover, and even harder to admit to, unless low self esteem is in play.

I have always been fairly confident in myself, even while admitting to myself that I have several ugly internal tendencies. Over the years, I have come to terms with the ugly sides of my personality, but showing them to others remains hard for me to do. I am cynical, I am jaded; I picked up a book in Target today called "100 reasons every daughter needs a father" and wanted to write the author because I never had a father and I'm just fine. (The urge to rip the book into pieces obviously says that while I'm not psycho because of it, I still carry a penny of daddy issues in my pocket.)

There are ugly tendencies I wish I could change, or get rid of, but there is one thing I am selfish about, and I wouldn't change it for the world.

After first:girl, my mind was jumbled about. I had an affair with a boy that felt dirty and unsatisfying, and then went out partying, looking for people I could connect with so that I didn't feel so alone. When first:girl and I stopped talking, I felt like I had been thrown into a churning ocean with no way to float or scream for help. A few short months passed, and a new girl came into my life.

An:girl was cute, in her own way, a little loud, funny, a soccer player. She was a little rough around the edges, but she was bi-curious, and I looked at her like a drowning man looks at a life raft. We hung out, talked, laughed, but she was young. An wasn't much younger than myself, but girls were a new concept to her. I had had time to begin to adjust, begin to find myself, and she clung to me, taking who I was as the ideal lesbian figure.

I just wasn't emotionally ready for that. I wanted to be with someone older than myself. Someone who would ground me, who would look at me and say, "Go change. You don't look like yourself, you're imitating Tegan Quin." I wanted someone to guide me through sex, to understand that sometimes it doesn't end in orgasms, and it's okay if it doesn't. With An, I felt as though I were carrying two worlds on my shoulders, my world, and hers.

I didn't want to stumble through this tangled web of do-be-do-be-do complexes, stereotypes, and uncertainties with a young girl. I wanted someone who would walk alongside me on my path, and maybe knock a tree branch out of the way or pull me out of the way when a wolf attacks. I still want someone like that. I'm older now, and know more about myself (I can occasionally pull my guide out of harm's way as well), but I am still new enough that I want someone who has been through this a couple of times.

So, I broke it off with her. Abruptly, and without any real explanation as I could not put what I was feeling into words that had enough worth for her to hear. I handled it badly, and I was selfish. I put my own emotional needs first, an ugly, awful thing to do. I could have handled it better, but even now I believe it was the right thing to do.

I've shown you one of my selfish priorities, and have justified it for myself, and for you as well. I write with a bias to portray myself in a better light, another ugly habit I cannot break. It is human nature. And with this justification, the ugly seems more beautiful inside my head.

Lesbian/ Bisexual

There was a post done over at Sasha's Card Carrying Lesbian entitled "Bi-sexual Lesbians...An Oxymoron?" which brought up some fun things for me. There were several comments which brought to light how prominent Biphobia is in LGT circles, and I personally think that is a little strange. We, as members of the queer community come across a lot of prejudice, and I feel awful subjecting someone else to discrimination because of their sexuality.

This is my hastily typed post after I first read the article:

"I think that there is always a chance for the right person to come along in a gender that is unexpected for the individual, no matter if the person is gay, straight, or any other sexuality.

I don’t date men in hopes that one of them will be right for me. I date women with that hope. However, if I fell in love with my best male friend without trying, I would probably try out a relationship with him. I think that closing yourself off completely to the opposite or same gender is just reinforcing the gender binary. All the movies where the straight girl falls for the lesbian gives hope that love transcends sexuality, and that can happen in any direction, in my opinion."

However, looking back on it, I half-lied. While I believe sexuality is somewhat fluid, I'm not the true definition of bisexual, and it would take a potential soul mate for me to venture into seeking a relationship with a person of the other gender. If I found myself inexplicably in love with a man I'm not saying that I would close myself off and dismiss a possible relationship with him, however, I don't think that I could ever have a lasting relationship with a heteronormative man, even if I was in love with him.

I take such comfort in my own personal ability to perform outside the gender binary that I feel, right now, as if being in a heterosexual relationship would cause me to feel trapped in a heteronormative female role.

There are so many freedoms in lesbian relationships that seem awkward and ill fitting in heteronormative relationships. I love to pay for her dinner, tuck her stray hair into place, open her doors, tell her she's beautiful, etc... What I am poorly trying to convey with awful, cliche examples is that there is an understanding in lesbian cultures that these sorts of gestures help to reinforce a certain identity for an individual, or a mood for that particular evening.

When a woman curls into me and buries her head in my shoulder, she is giving me her vulnerability and simultaneously reaffirming my own identity as a strong, nurturing individual. When she kneels down on the elevator floor and slips off my heels, carrying them for me as she wraps a stable arm around my waist, she is enabling my vulnerable side, providing me with someone to lean on; she is showing me that it is okay to acknowledge a side of myself which I am less than comfortable with.

There is a dynamic in my lesbian relationships that allows our identities to flow, transferring the weight between the two of us. I want to be in a relationship where I feel butch because of how she treats me, or how I feel femme because of her chivalry, and how I play into her. I don't feel like I can have that sort of dynamic with a man, and that dynamic is a huge part of who I am, sexually and emotionally. That power play is one of the things I feel is crucial to my being.

Being with a woman feels less lopsided to me; it feels more equal. In past relationships with men I was constantly playing the damsel in distress, which made me feel so weak that I would close myself of completely and be stone cold, until I was afraid I couldn't feel anymore and cycled back to the damsel in distress. This was an unhealthy emotional environment for me, and it never felt equal.

There are always exceptions, but for the most part the heteronormative male seeks to stay within the gender binary, rather than stepping into a foreign dynamic. While the heteronormative male is becoming increasingly more open to options other than the gender binary, I am still not as comfortable being myself (taking and giving power as I see fit) with men.

I have felt more comfortable with a few bisexual men, and I feel like they understand what I need more than the straight male who has never stepped foot inside LGBTQ territory. So while I feel that I could potentially fall in love with anyone, I also feel like I need to date inside the LGBTQ world because LGBTQ people seem to be the only ones who really understand what I need, and possibly share in that same need.

(I do realize that by writing this post, I am, in fact, reinforcing the gender binary for myself, making me a hypocrite in my own words. Unfortunately, as much as I try to erase the gender binary for myself, it's very hard to get rid of all that the gender binary encompasses and the impact it had on me while I was growing up.)

(I also did not mention my intense physical attraction toward women and lack thereof toward men because I try to write about more than just that physical attraction and focus on the emotional needs.)