awakenings

I went to university at eighteen and discovered an entirely new concept: fuck buddies. Here was a way to experience the fantasy without ever having to commit to it. Despite the fact that casual intimacy had never appealed to me, I tried it out.

The first girl I slept with had soft curves, full lips, and limpid green eyes. We met at a pub, and she extended her forearm across the sticky surface of the beer-splattered table to show me her tattoo. Tracing the dark shapes with my index finger, I drank glass after glass of Malibu and Coke, until the coconut-and-sugar taste drowned out the acrid tang of my own fear.

We walked back to her flat in the pouring rain and peeled off each other’s clothes, curling our clammy thighs around one another under the duvet. A pinkish glow rose like a blush from the fairy lights she had strung around her bedroom, and minutes rolled into hours as we kissed, touched, and talked. When she lay flush against me and rested her cheek against my collarbone, I felt – for the first time in my life – complete and utter peace.

I came back for more, of course, only this time I was sober. I overcame my fear by lunging at her without pausing to think, and luckily she was pleased – rather than terrified – by my apparent eagerness.

She was the first person to give me an orgasm. Her fingers danced and gripped and stroked, and I rose for her like a tide. She tipped me abruptly into a sensation that sent shock waves down my spine, and then she peered up at me in the half-light and said, with a mouthful of accented attitude, ‘I bet a man’s never touched you like that, eh?’

Indeed.

I had an insatiable thirst for the taste of her mouth, and I drank her greedily and without apology. I had no idea what I was doing, but my hands moved over her independently of thought or design, as if they already knew her. When her body vibrated under my touch, I felt something close to invincible.

That was the second and last time I ever saw her. She revealed shortly afterwards, over the phone, that her feelings were going beyond the unspoken boundaries of our circumstances. I nodded and murmured in all the right places, and then I ran like fuck.

Before I met D., there were several more like her, but none that I enjoyed quite so viscerally. By then the fear had taken me in a stranglehold. Physical intimacy has always been bound up with my emotions, and I was terrified that surrender in the bedroom meant surrender in everything else. I told myself I had made my peace with my sexuality: I dated some guys, but mostly girls, and I never shied away from showing affection to the latter in public. When I snaked my arm around a girl’s hip at the bus stop, and a bunch of pre-pubescent boys on bikes yelled ‘DYKE!’, I did not move away. I did not apologise. In fact, I gave them the finger. But every time someone got too close, I took to the hills as though my feet were on fire.

I ran from what was to be my last relationship with a woman straight into the arms of D. He was a kind and generous lover – and, to my utter surprise, I was deeply attracted to him. He was endlessly patient and he taught me how to relax again, how to give myself over to sensation. I told myself that I could not be gay, that the pleasure I felt with him during sex was far more important than the emptiness I felt after it. I told myself that it was time to break away from everything that had gone before. I told myself that it was time to move on, to create something new, to forget everything old.

And for a little while, with his help, I truly did.

Prop 102 would amend the Arizona Constitution to say "only a union between one man and one woman shall be valid or recognized as a marriage in this state". This issue is on the ballot for November 4th, even though Arizona residents voted on, and rejected, this issue just two short years ago.

This time around, the “Yes On 102” campaign has a huge budget to spread their message. Their billboards, signs, and radio/television ads are everywhere right now. It’s easy to let that make us feel invisible, marginalized, hopeless….but now, more than ever; we cannot afford to let that happen.

Consider this a call to action! We want to counter those images and messages of divisiveness, exclusion and prejudice with images of inclusion, equality and acceptance.

If you live in Arizona take a picture of you in front of your “No on 102’ lawn sign, print a sign for your car window and take a picture of that, or stand in front of one of the “Yes” signs holding your own handmade sign that shows your support of equality and your desire to defeat this proposition. Kiss, hug, hold hands, flash a big peace sign…whatever you’re inspired to do.*

If you live elsewhere in the country, but want to show your support, make a sign of your own celebrating acceptance, equality, love.  Involve your children, neighbors – heck, get your pets in the mix too – just make sure to write “No On 102” somewhere on the sign!

Margaret Mead said: “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”

To that we add, never underestimate the power of a simple photograph. Our pictures, taken from the heart, often speak louder than our voices ever could. Collectively we believe these images will carry our message of equality forward and outward – spreading a wave of positive energy that will help us defeat this proposition once and for all.

*Just keep it legal folks – nothing obscene or vulgar, and definitely nothing against the law – no graffiti or defacement, keep it positive!

Please blog about us, link to us, send our information to your friends and family.  Consider making a sign or taking a pic and uploading it to our flickr group or email it to noon102@gmail.com.  Add us as your friend on Myspace (and make us your top friend until the election) or join our group on facebook. Check out our ‘Get Involved’ page for more ways to help, and make a donation to help us fight against this proposition.  Every little bit helps.

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Can we adopt this commercial in Arizona to counter the “Yes on 102′ folks? Brilliant.

“What are your fantasies”?

She asked me this recently, during a quiet moment together in bed. We fit so perfectly together that I tend to forget she hasn’t always been with me and doesn’t already know the answers to all the questions. My mind went blank, and I was surprised to find myself without a response to her query.

I pulled my eyes away from hers and looked down at our bodies, nestled together on my white sheets. My eyes ran across the smooth expanse of her back, her strong shoulders, the curve of her breasts, that perfectly formed space between her ribs and her hips. I lifted my gaze once again to her golden brown eyes, and as my hand traced a path along her arm I was in awe at the almost unreal softness of her skin. I laced my fingers with hers and was swept by a wave of deep contentment and a rush of exhilaration so interconnected that they felt like a single emotion.

This breathtaking sweetness and lightness of being – this is exactly what I wanted for so many years. It’s what I longed for, ached for, dreamed about, yearned to experience. Until recently I didn’t even let myself imagine that I could possibly live this, that it could ever be real. But it is real – aside from the births of my children, it is the most true and honest thing I have ever done.

Lying here like this with a woman – with this amazing, kind, soft, sweet, giving, wonderful woman (who somehow found me despite the fact that I wasn’t looking and was determined not to open myself to possibility) – this goes far beyond anything I could have imagined or dreamed or hoped for.

And so I found my answer,

“This. This is my fantasy.”

And I lay my head against her shoulder, closed my eyes and breathed in the utter perfection of moment.

Sometimes life just works out that way.

____________________________________________________

Apparently this one wanted to be a poem too:

you asked

you asked me for my fantasies
but how could I give you an answer
when
i look down your body
and mine
lying together
at the curve of your breast
and the sweet perfection of your skin
at the way your body curls
into mine
so I cannot tell where
one ends and the other begins
and it’s all curves and softness
and a tangle of limbs
atop a white down duvet
how could I think
of a daydream
when even the briefest touch
causes me to
lose myself
(and find myself)
every single time
and our connection
spirals across time
and space
and makes words unnecessary.
and even hurts and misunderstandings
just seem to swing us closer
and closer
to magic.
why would I spend time on
the imaginary
when even
the most ordinary
moments are
edged in brilliance
and sweetness and
beauty.

and of course that’s the answer
isn’t it?

you, my girl
this, my girl
us, my girl

it’s all fantasy
and it’s so very real.

sometimes life just works out that way.

This is what it was like for me, the first time.

the ocean

when I asked
what it was
like
to know a
woman
my dear one
replied
with infinite
wisdom,
“it is like
the ocean”
…..

and I
was
rolling and,
spinning and,
holding
the air
in my
lungs
so I would
not drown

eyes shut
but
mind open
under
and
over
and over
again

waves crashed
hard
and soft
on me.
and I
rode them
to
shore
floated
blissfully free
while tethered to
her.

clarity in
disorientation
the touch of
water
on my
skin
the feel of
heat
on her
breath
the sound of
desire
in
us
and all
around.

diving
and surfacing
above
and below
sounds and light
filtered
through want
and need
from far away
and from
right here

right.
here.

and right
now.

and then
she
touched me
there

there

right there

in that place
beneath the surface
and I gasped
and was
filled
with
rushing water
the power
of the current
taking me
places
I had
not yet been
but wanted
to stay.

I felt the
insatiable
pull of the
tides
gravity and rotation
legs
intertwined
hands
clasped
bodies
with no
spaces
in between.

I was
dizzy
because I
could not find
air
I tasted
salt
on her
skin
and I thought,
my soul
already
knows this
place

because
I am from
the
ocean.

I am
at home
in this
water
in this
sea
in the vast
emptiness
and fullness.
and softness
of these limbs
of this skin
of this moment

floating
weightless
but
falling
just
the
same.

And like the ocean
it was wise
and it was powerful
and it was beyond
my control
and it was strong
and it was gentle
and it was everything
and nothing.

It was
like
the
ocean.

No words needed, these videos speak for themselves.

..

I know where my eye goes first – to the rockstar bad girl, the edgy dyke with her short, spiky hair and larger than life attitude. She’s got tattoos and piercings; maybe her hair is bleached or dyed some outrageous color. She captivates her audience and works the room with a confident swagger, nothing (and everything) to prove. The cocky self-assurance, the overt sexuality with an undeniable edge – bordering on androgynous but still so innately female. I feel myself responding immediately.

[…think Pink. Oh god yes, let’s think about Pink for a moment, shall we? Ummm. If ever a gal should be gay. That pic makes me..well..you know…]

Yes – they are the ones that grab my attention first, but then I keep looking. I am overwhelmed at the beauty of the women I see. The butches with their man-style shirts and ties – the right girl in the right tie, sigh. The sporty girls in their tennis shoes and pony tails – so fresh faced and strong. The femmes in their dresses and lipstick – the embodiment of the traditional feminine ideal. The younger girls, barely out of college. The older women, so comfortable in their own skin.

Each of them unique, each of them beautiful in a million different ways. I find myself wanting to try one of each, like a kid at an ice cream counter who can’t possibly choose between rocky road or strawberry or butter pecan and so begs for a triple scoop.

I don’t need to limit myself to a type, or a look or a label or a role. Right now I feel this incredible freedom to experiment and sample and learn about myself, and about other women. I’m fascinated by their voices and their scent and the way they move. I’m enthralled by how they are all so unique and yet all so wholly female. I am captivated by the endless expressions of femininity and masculinity and how they flow together so seamlessly in the same space and even within the same body.

I want to romance and to be romanced. I want to be kissed passionately and urgently against the side of a car in a dark parking lot by a girl who tastes of cigarettes and beer. I want to touch softly for hours on a bed covered in blankets and pillows with a woman who smells like orange blossoms and tastes of red wine and dark chocolate. I want to sit in a café while daylight wanes, across from a cute girl with curly hair and glasses and learn about what makes her tick. I want to ride on a motorcycle out into the desert pressed up against the back of a worn leather jacket breathing in the scent of men’s cologne, the engine so loud that conversation is impossible.

I want to be seduced by an experienced top who knows exactly how to strip me of my inhibitions. I want to take the role of the aggressor and experience a woman who knows exactly how actively bottom. I want to sit and sip herbal tea while I watch a girl I’m crazy into up on stage singing a song she wrote. I want to go rock climbing with a woman who will show me just where to place my feet and hands to stay safe, and push my body till my muscles burn and I’m covered in sweat. I want to be in control, and I want to be totally and completely out of control.

Right now I am so dizzy with potential I don’t even feel too attached to developing any one particular reality. I’m flirting. I’m getting phone numbers. I’m sending and receiving texts and emails that bring a smile to my face and make me wonder ‘what if?’ and ‘oooh, I hope’. I’m cuddling on the couch with cute girls watching movies, acutely aware of the feel of our legs pressed together, or her fingers intertwined with mine, or that slight hint of her scent that makes me want to move in closer. I’m hoping she’ll call, and I’m trying to decide when I’ll pick up the phone. I’m waiting to see if I’ll be kissed, and I’m leaning in to do the kissing myself.

Cherchez les femmes = seek the women.

Indeed.

This is not an ode to any one particular woman, but to all women who love women. Enjoy.

[This is what I listened to while I wrote this, so of course I think you should listen to it while you read it. One of the sexiest songs ever.]

there is something
about a woman

something about the way
my hand slides
along the smooth curve between
her ribs and her hips
and settles along her waist
and curves around to the small of
her back
to pull her closer

something about the way
our lips meet
and pull away
and electricity pulses
and our eyes connect
to share a million secrets
and hands become entangled in hair
and bodies fit against one another
like pieces of a puzzle

something about the softness
and the firmness
and the perfect alignment
of parts
and about that magic spot
right
on the inside of
her hip bone

there is something about the
familiarity
of intimately knowing what
and where and how
and why
it all works
and that, in our shared feminine experience
there is undeniable connection

something about the
the way we meet as equals
and the safety of
exploration
and the vulnerability of
opening
and the freedom of
surrendering
and the bliss of
coming back to earth in
her arms

something about the feel of her arms and legs
intertwined with mine.
and the sound of her
voice in my ear
husky with desire
like the wind, or the waves
or a lullaby
before falling asleep.

there is something about
the way my body reacts
whole, instantaneous
passion awakened
need overtaking
and spiraling
and roaring
in my ears, in my heart
and in my very soul
till I am dizzy with my yearning for
her

and, oh yes
there is something about
the way friction becomes
something far more exquisite
than I ever fathomed when I was
sitting in physics class.

and there is certainly something
about the heat and the sweat
and the sound of her ecstasy
as she climbs and crashes
and the way she moves
inside of me
and of reaching down to feel
the slickness and wetness
of our desires
mingling together
and the almost unbearable
sweetness of the rhythm of moving
as one
and the scent of her on me
surprising me when I least
expect it.

something about the way there
is no ending or beginning
just the endless experience of
being
something about the stopping and starting
and whispering and laughing
and traveling to the edge,
and back
and back again.

yes.
There is something about a woman.

Is it a uniquely lesbian phenomenon, I wonder, to fall into comfortable friendship so quickly with someone you used to date/kiss/love/fuck? Of course, I’d heard all the jokes, laughed at the clichés, and have seen the evidence among my own friends – but it still surprises me.

Not even a month out from ending things with e. and I can honestly say we’ve moved into a pretty good place. I can’t help but smile at the irony that we’re far better with one another now than we often were during the period that we were dating. Yes, it’s bittersweet. I still wish things could have gone differently, I’m only human. But, I understand now that we’ve been given a chance to develop a solid, healthy relationship in a way we never could as a couple.

We got together to talk things out once (which made a huge difference), we’ve hung out briefly a few times, we’ve exchanged emails and had casual phone conversations. It’s been fairly smooth and comfortable and good. I think I’m probably more surprised than anyone, I really didn’t expect to feel this way, at least not this quickly. I know that much of this healing and perspective came from the fact that I allowed myself to dive into the darkness of my emotions and not deny myself the right to sit with my sadness and disappointment for a while.

Fact of the matter is, in the three months we were together, I came to care about her on a level that went beyond the dating and romance and sex. The intensity of our life events made both of us vulnerable and we each opened ourselves to the other in a very real way. In the process of navigating all the drama and uncertainty, I became invested in her as a person.

I’m glad that I was strong enough to recognize that it was time to move on from our relationship the way it was, but I’m far more glad that both of us care enough to let it become something else. I don’t want her to disappear from my life. I want to be her friend, to see her succeed, to see her really happy. I feel a deep sense of gratitude right now that it appears I will get to do just that.

It’s sometimes hard to discern, when life takes you down a road you didn’t want to travel, if it’s your heart that is more damaged, or if it’s your ego that has taken the brunt of the hit. Sometimes, I suppose, it varies from second to second. My heart hurt like hell when things ended – no doubt. I ached in a profoundly real way. As much as I knew they had to be, I did not want things to be over between us.

However, with a little distance, it’s also easier for me to see that a huge part of my emotional response was related to the bruising my ego took because of how things went down. Fact is, she moved on quickly. Really quickly. Like before things had officially ended kind of quickly. And when you’re the one on the other end of things, it really fucking sucks.

“Ouch”, whined my ego, with a massive pout and a bit of petulant foot stomping, “I wasn’t all that special after all”. When there is moving on to be done, nobody wants to be the one left behind in the dust. It’s a big slap in the face of the ultimate suck-it-up-sistah variety. Yeah baby, sometimes reality really does bite.

But it became clear, very quickly, that C (the new girl) was something different for e. I can’t exactly tell you how I knew, but within a few conversations I had a sense that C. already had e. in a way that I never did (and likely never would have). You might think that would make it hurt more, but instead, everything seemed to make more sense. If things had ended between us for the sake of casual dating or a quick fuck – it would have seemed so senseless, it would have burned in a whole different way. But if things ended because e. found someone that she has the opportunity to create a real, lasting connection with…well, all of a sudden the whole picture looks different.

I’ve seen them together twice now. The first time was crazy awkward, it was very soon after everything had happened and although I thought I could handle it, I just wasn’t ready. E. hugged me and J., J hugged C, and then C and I just stood there purposely not looking at one another, both of us likely wanting to sink into the floor wondering what the heck we were supposed to do now.

But Sunday night at the L word showing they were there again, and this time I felt totally different. This time I went up, gave e. a hug and then turned to C and hugged her as well – hoping I was transmitting the message that I was cool with this, that we could be cool with each other. Truth be told, I met C once before this all happened, and I honestly think she is a really cool lady. Someone who, under different circumstances, I would have totally wanted to get to know better.

Personally, I’m so much better, so much happier, so much more solid having moved beyond that relationship. Those three months were important to me on so many levels, they taught me so many things – but energy between e. and I didn’t put me in a good place mentally or emotionally much of the time. I was always unsure, off kilter, just a little out of wack. It never felt stable or predictable or like something I could put my faith and trust in – and a relationship like that just cannot sustain itself long term. Regardless of how much you care, or how much chemistry you have (or how damn good the sex is) it’s just not enough.

But if you take out all the drama, and all the uncertainty and all the missteps – it just comes down to two individuals caring about each other…and that is more than enough to form the basis of a friendship. So here we go, learning about each other in a whole new way, hopefully building a lasting relationship of an entirely different kind. For once, I’m happy to be a cliché.

I have not just been in the closet – I’ve been buried in the back of a long term storage facility with an elaborate Fort Knox-style security system. I was tucked so far in the back corner that you would have needed a map, compass and sophisticated GPS system to find me in there, hidden away, trying my hardest not to be noticed.

Even if you had stumbled across me and somehow recognized me for what I was, I’m not sure you could have gotten me out. For so long I have been crammed and locked inside a massive box, which was inside another massive box, which was inside another massive box (ad infinitum). Each of these boxes was chained, padlocked and booby trapped and covered in words scrawled in angry black marker…

…Denial…Good Girl…Conformity…Expectations…Insecurity…Fear…

Why?

What combinations of personality and life experiences led me to deny myself for so very long? What convoluted social regulations made it necessary for me to push down, block out, hide away from things I have been feeling and wanting for much of my life? What kind of lies did I have to tell myself to sustain my belief that I could feel and think all those things and still be a good little straight girl?

Why was I so damn afraid to be me?

I never gave voice to this in my life. Not to friends, not in the countless journals I filled with angst and joy and philosophies about the meaning of life and stories about kissing boys. Only in the quietest, darkest corners of my heart and in my wildest silent fantasies did I let this live. I never once spoke of this aloud until meeting my best friend M.(another married lesbian, we’re a more common breed than one might think).

And in having a place to release my feelings they became – for the first time – something real. It was such a relief, such a sweet exhale, to let go of these swirling, mixed up, crazy emotions that had been fighting for acknowledgement for so long. It wasn’t a quick path from there to here; it still took three full years of discussing and processing and agonizing to get to the point where I could accept my sexuality without reservation or denial or apology.

For the past seven months I have been ever so slowly making my way out of that closet and into the light. Every step forward is liberating, every time I am open and honest with the people in my life I feel a little bit lighter and a little more solid at the same time. Every time I am accepted for who I am, I feel myself occupying this new space with more confidence.

But as I move further and further into this new life I also find myself wishing I could have figured this out a little sooner, that I could have been this person a little earlier. I wonder what it would have been like to own my experience on this level when I was 16 or 21 or 28. I wonder what it would have been like to go through my early adulthood knowing and accepting and loving myself this way.

On many levels I get that this was my path. That everything I’ve lived through in the past 32 years was necessary to my journey. That everything I did was something I had to do to get here, to this point, so that I could live THIS exact life. But sometimes I just have to shake my head and laugh that it seemed so hard and took so long and scared me so much – because the reality is incredibly easy. It fits. There is a rightness to this life, a sense of immediate and total belonging, that I’ve never experienced before. This is who I am, without doubt or hesitation. This is me.

And I hope that most of you out there know on a personal level exactly how amazing that is, because there is nothing that compares, and no way I could ever fully explain how it feels.

It’s exciting and calming and electrifying and crazy and easy and it’s just simply good. Yeah. It’s good.