Today I feel like a woman

I responded to someone's blog today with the beginning sentence "as someone who struggles with gender....". I felt comfortable saying that. But do I struggle with my gender really? I think struggle is far too negative in this case.

I am as gender fluid as they come. I weave in and out of every variant there is, sometimes daily. I don't dislike any of it. I feel privileged to have the ability to feel, react, and do things from both sides of the street. Most days I am standing in the middle on the yellow line, waiting to see what comes rolling down the road and what side I will escape to. I like the flexibility. I like the protection it offers me.

What I truly struggle with, is my body. It doesn't have the ability to change with me. It fits so rarely, that most days I am plagued with the mismatch. When I stand on the yellow line, I want my body standing with me. I want to be genderless in shape and form as well as mind. I want to morph. But I cant. I could never permanently transition to something else, because no matter what I do to myself, I still wont always fit. I will always be missing one side or the other. Therein lies the true struggle.

But today. Today I feel like a woman. Today I fit what I own. I may not be happy with my body, but it fits. For as long as it lasts today, I will not have to stop my hips from slightly swaying as I walk. I wont have to constantly pull my shirt out to hang loosely on my chest. I can walk into the ladies room and not feel in violation of the women that belong in there.

I love being fluid. But I sure enjoy the break fitting the body I was born with affords me some days.

Nostalgia Lane

Yesterday I took a drive down nostalgia lane. Literally. I had to attend a wake near my home town. Actually I grew up in three different towns, but they were right next to each other. I took my daughter on a tour of places I lived and places that were memorable to me many moons ago.

The house I grew up in as a young child, until age eight, is by far the one I remember the most and would like to forget just as much. Sitting in front of it, I answered my daughter's questions about living there, while inside my thoughts, memories and feelings were reeling. Before I even looked at my house I looked at the neighbor's. THE neighbor's house. An overgrown tree prevented me from seeing the window that would eventually be the distraction that saved me.

I remembered the yard so much bigger than it was, the distance to my house seeming an eternity. I thought back to how I wondered why someone would let me go there unsupervised at such a young age, just turned five. Why the police would take me to a neighbors house up the street to speak to me when it was over. Why so far away? I now realize my going there was undetected because their back door was truly only twenty feet from my house. And taking me to the neighbors porch for questioning was simply to get me as far from that house as possible while they took him into custody. I still have no idea why it took them so long to find me.

I found it difficult to find happy memories from that street. In the few minutes I was there, I racked my brain for a time when I smiled, laughed, felt loved. I came up empty. A word that completely describes my childhood there. A time in my life that I was too young to control my surroundings. A time when I was unable to create my own reality, to rebel, to run away mentally.

I left that house in third grade. I was eight. I had a snow fort in the yard that winter. It was still standing as we prepared to leave for the final time. I hugged it. My snow fort. The only hug I truly gave all year. The only attachment to the first eight years of my life.

Wrong and Right

I think its accurate to say that when people do wrong things, we automatically think it causes a bad effect. When people do things right we associate that with good. Wrong is negative, bad is negative. Right is positive, good is positive. It makes sense.

Yesterday I was thinking about all of the 'wrong' things I have experienced, especially as a child. And honestly, as wrong as they were, they didn't all make me feel bad. In fact, some made me feel pretty good. That doesn't mean that they haven't effected me in ways that have been trying at times as an adult, but the feeling, when experienced, was not bad at all. Its no wonder people repeat certain cycles of abuse, especially when they are able to eroticize them.

I have a great disgust for those that preyed upon me. I find them weak and cowardly. I credit my morals and ethics for those feelings. If I were to allow my sensations to rule me, I may possibly have become one of them myself. We all have that choice. "I did it because it was done to me" is a cop out of the nth degree.

On the flip side, as much as I eroticize my past, I also find that what didn't feel so good then can creep up as an adult when it should be 'right'. Right doesn't always mean good. Someone sexually skilled with the best intentions has the unknown ability to toss a curve ball into the situation without warning. Most times it is simply a matter of the stimulation I need is just a little off the normal mark. So the curve ball may just result in boredom. However there are things that have happened in the bedroom that bring back moments that are not sexual at all but had a lasting negative effect. There are reasons I don't like certain sexual things, and reasons why I crave others. You might be surprised to learn that they have nothing to do with the experiences common sense would tell you they did.

Every connection we have is a direct result of who we are, where we come from and how we have processed the journey so far. You can know every factual thing there is about my past and have no idea how how I choose to use it. My mind has twisted, remembered, forgot and/or eroticized everything I have ever lived through. I have chosen to use those memories how they best suit me to live within the confines of my own morals, ethics and values.

Wrong isn't always bad. Right isn't always good. Its all in perception. How we choose to use it is what matters.

Internal Homophobia

I read the phrase internal homophobia yesterday. I found it pretty amazing that it was the first time I had even thought about such a topic, and more specifically how it does and doesn't relate to me. The definition is fairly blurred with so many people having their own experiences and opinions to base it on. But the concept in itself was very easy for me to understand.

I knew from a very early age that I was attracted to women. It took different forms throughout my growing up process due to situations and environment. I didn't truly understand the attraction and the need to be in a woman's company, since as a child it made no sense. I didn't dislike boys, and I don't now, they just didn't and still don't have anything to offer me emotionally.

As I grew to know that my feelings were genuine, no matter the reason, and that I was sexually attracted to women, I found myself very interested in the 'others' of the world. I had a keen gaydar and an even keener ability to pick out the straight ones that were approachable. I was drawn to the freaks of the world and loved the free spirit ways about them. I was drawn because I was unable to find that within myself.

I never thought that I was homophobic as I loved to surround myself with the most off the wall characters. I never hated that I liked women, so I had no fear of myself. What I was uncomfortable with was people being uncomfortable with me. I am still am. I want to blend in with the masses. I want to do what I do without wearing a sign. Not because I am ashamed of myself, but because I don't want to be different. I don't like being picked out of the crowd, judged and made opinions of, as they are usually wrong. I disliked those that were blatantly gay and 'stereotypical'. I always said it was because I didn't feel you needed to advertise, that it was fake. Now I realize that my feelings were dislike for my own self coupled with envy because I was not strong enough to be and do what I was and what I felt.

In a like crowd I am very outgoing, fun, loud, a leader. In a diverse crowd I am quiet, reserved and unsure. My comfort level determines everything, and unfortunately I am not usually comfortable. Am I internally homophobic? If I don't embrace my diversity within a group does that make me phobic of my own sexuality and gender confusion?

If fear is the premise that homophobia is based on, am I homophobic of my very self? If I choose not to take the risks of outing myself in every situation, or allowing my fluid gender to show, does that make me as bad as those that judge me when I do?

I love my complexities, my genders, my sexuality. I avoid those that cant love them completely. Is avoidance a product of phobic?

Euphoria

The air is heavy, the lights dim. A familiar smell of leather, latex and metal filling my senses. An atmosphere that allows me to walk with pride and confidence. As if nothing matters but who I am and who I am with. I feel no self consciousness parading through the crowd. Trying not to be an obvious voyeur, I glance at the scenes taking place around me. My hunger grows, even witnessing things of disinterest to me. Its not the scene that fuels my craving, its the connections I feel.

It seems my mind can race through a million thoughts in the amount of time it takes to cross the floor. What can I do to feed myself? Do you think they know how intense I am...or feel? Is there any way their submissive can connect on the level mine can? Who is feeling the energy exchange? Who is simply role playing? Will I be able to reach deep enough to achieve the dance?

The newer players stand out. Their excitement and desires obvious and uplifting. What they lack in experience, they make up for with anticipation and willingness. The older players more subdued, concentrating on honing skills and finding deeper connections. I relate to some, envy others. I wish I had a little of both within me. I miss the eagerness the most. Even before I make it to the other side of the room, I have replayed my most memorable moments. I recall the intensity, the desire, the wantonness. I picture the eyes looking up at me in pure adoration.

I allow myself one more scan of the dungeon. The sights and sounds intoxicating me. The painful cries, the primal moans, the marks that accompany them. I focus on the bottoms. For the skill set of the top is of little interest to me. Its the bottom that has control. The bottom that runs that show. The bottom that fills me with lust and things there are no words for.

I watch you set the bags down. I wait for your silent "I'm ready". When I hear this. Feel this. Somehow the room that filled me with such desire disappears. You become the euphoria.

MM

Paradise

I was recently on vacation in Hawaii. It was beautiful and laid back with perfect weather. It was filled with obvious tourists, but didn't seem inundated. The locals seemed genuine and willing to talk about, explain, and direct to the same things they probably do on a daily basis. Some times it was difficult to pick out on the beach who was a 'local' and who was on vacation. It seems that so many people that now call the island their home are obviously transplants and not native.

Its obvious why someone would chose to relocate to Hawaii. Its weather is amazing, and its atmosphere is guaranteed to make you lose your stress. There is little room for snobbery, and dress up means a newer floral print shirt than the one you had on yesterday. But what brought these people there to begin with? Was it a realization of love after a vacation there? Was it just a no-brainer? Who knows.

What I do know, is that these people have and had a lifestyle that allowed them to pick up and move to this paradise. A lifestyle that through lack of work, a flexible job, and/or little responsibility, afforded them the opportunity to pick up and go. I admit I was envious. And the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if I regretted my life path. I pictured what life would have been had I been selfish and lived just for me. I thought about never having lived carefree. About how my responsibilities took hold of me way before my time, and have never ceased.

Then I thought about why I chose the path I did. How I like to take care of my family now that it is a choice not a mandate. How I appreciate my accomplishments and responsibilities. How I like the pride that goes with it. I thought about how incomplete I would feel if no one depended on me, especially emotionally. I remember how I gave up friends and good times and replaced them with children and work. And how much deeper one touches you over the other.

Yes, I would love to live with absolute freedom from life's quandaries. But I have realized my life's quandaries are not responsibilities or emotional attachments. Those are the very things I live for. I will stick to vacations in paradise.

Accidental Soldier

Accidental soldier. A phrase I am sure I have heard before but apparently never paid much mind to until about a week ago. I was at a music concert and that phrase happened to be in a song I hadn't heard before. I was very tuned in trying to 'hear' the words, since I felt the melody very strongly. Perhaps that is why the phrase grabbed hold of me. Accidental soldier. Yes I am.

An accidental soldier, to me, is someone who has had no choice but to fight in life. Someone who has been drafted into battles from which they must choose to live or die. Someone who wears scars, seen and unseen from situations they would never have chosen to put themselves into. Someone who fights for themselves and ultimately for others, known and unknown.

A soldier is not a victim. A soldier rises above. A soldier gives all they have to ensure the welfare of themselves and those they are fighting for. A soldier understands sacrifice is sometimes necessary, and entitlement is nonexistent. An accidental soldier is no different. A soldier by chance, but a soldier nonetheless.

As an accidental soldier, I have lived through my own battles. Taking them as they came, fighting to remain who I was and come out on the other side. I have won many, lost some. I have never asked to fight, but fought when it was necessary. I struggle with my scars, but appreciate what they represent. Survival. I wear my conquers with pride and dignity, but most times where no one can see them.

Accidental soldier. Proud of the victories, heavy-hearted from the war.

Phone call

The other day I was having a phone conversation with my mother. I sent her a picture text and being that she is old and cell phone challenged and near sighted, she thought it said she missed a call from me. So she called me 'back'. Hurray for me. I was not in the mood for a superficial conversation. Usually her calls entail passing judgment on someone or just obviously false terms of endearment. This particular conversation involved a woman that administered my mother's motorcycle road test many years ago.

My mother has pretended for quite some time now to be OK with my relationship. I know she isn't. She probably truly wants to be, but she isn't. So I hear the false tone in her voice that most people don't pick up on. The "Oh it's great to see you" comment translates to, "now I have to wonder if you are going to embarrass me". I am well aware of her fake demeanor, and honestly I no longer care. I think she thinks she has come a long way.

During the phone conversation regarding the motorcycle test lady, I mentioned that she must have passed my mothers friend Robert and not her because he was such a stud muffin. Those of us who know Robert, know he is a wonderful guy, but far from a stud muffin. My mother's reply, "That woman would have had a hard time even getting the attention of Robert......". She could have stopped there. I knew it was typical Robert teasing, and I got the point. However the comment continued..."or a woman for that matter. It wouldn't have mattered what her orientation was or wasn't."

Now I ask you, what was the purpose of that part of the comment? I am sure it was her attempt at showing me how 'cool' she is with gay people. Or perhaps it was her way of stating that even in the worse case scenario (gay) this woman was going to stay lonely. Her comment reminded me of the racist comments some of my elderly family members made long ago. They never quite understood that by adding "He was a nice guy THOUGH" or "I know SOME I really like" or "I went to school with ONE" you don't neutralize the rest of the racist comment. And its no different with my mother. By trying to 'add' in a gay reference where it doesn't need to be, it just says to me that she is still ignorant and does not accept me entirely.

I cant say that I spend too much time worrying about what my mother has to think anymore. Her thought processes have caused enough damage to my life already. However, I will keep diligent on whose calls I answer next time.

Mechanically inclined

I was putting together a new scooter last evening. It was shipped disassembled but with assurance "it is only a matter of two bolts." Cool, no problem.

After spending 45 minutes just disassembling the steel frame it was shipped in, I noted ten separate pieces, a couple bags full of various bolts, nuts, washers, and screws, and no instructions. Hmmmmmmmm.

Now, I am a pretty mechanically inclined person. I can fix most common things on a car and I have many years as a motorcycle enthusiast to know the basic mechanics of those as well. This is why I chose not to pay for assembly. Ultimately, after thinking, sorting, thinking, sorting, I finally figured out what pieces belonged to what bolts etc. In the end I prevailed and after a couple of hours I was able to take my first trip around the block. Wheels stayed on, nothing fell off, electronics did their job. I was proud of my accomplishment.

I'm really not writing about my mechanic skills however. I wanted to write about how I felt putting that scooter together. Typically I am very self conscious about everything I do, wear, say etc. But when I am engrossed in my latest butch project, I don't feel any of that. I love the sweat, the grime, the pride in fixing something. I am not aware of my hair or how my T Shirt is laying on my big breasts. I feel very untouchable and capable of anything in those moments.

I wish I was able to understand what it was that happens during those times that enables me to remove myself from the constant self judgment I do. I would love to feel that big and strong and confident and unaware of my flaws all the time, not just then.

Maybe I am just more comfortable in a more masculine role. That maybe my self consciousness is the female in me. Perhaps my lack of fitting the societal norm for 'woman' keeps me from ever feeling comfortable. And when I am working, and dirty, and being more masculine in activity, it fits more of who I really am. I am a female that is able to problem solve and think, and a male who is physically capable of handling the task at hand. Perhaps it is in those moments that I am neither male or female, but my own gender. The one that is me.

Fish

I have no idea how fish operate. I don't understand their behavior and have never looked into whether or not they even have genuine thought processes. However, I do not need to know how they operate scientifically to appreciate the relationship I sat and watched last night in a giant tank.

The tank sits in the waiting room of my doctor's office. Ten years ago there were about a half a dozen pair of fish. Each having a mate or friend or whatever of their species or breed. It looked very balanced. Today, many of those fish have been replaced. Three of the originals remain and are quite large. They no longer have partners. As a matter of fact, none of the fish have a matching species in the tank. The tank didn't appear as aesthetically pleasing with the mismatched fish, and if at that moment I thought fish could actually have feelings, I felt sorry for them.

I went from simply watching the fish to almost studying them. I could pick out who ruled the tank and who didn't. I was able to see what part of the tank each had chosen as their own domain. I watched other fish trespass and the owners balk. I still wondered if these were actions from thought processes or simple instinct.

There was a gourami fish that was small and must have been relatively new to the tank due to its size. Another new addition was some sort of goldfish with a mouth that remained open in the shape of an 'O'. It appeared that both of these fish had claimed the same territory as they appeared to take turns in each others spot.

As I watched these two fish it was very apparent they were actually interacting with each other on purpose. They seemed to be 'playing'. One would coax the other in a very childlike fashion to come near. They spent a lot of time 'kissing' each other. The gourami seemed to be more in control with the goldfish seeking the attention. If the gourami swam away, the goldfish looked for it. It really looked like this goldfish was smitten and almost needed the gourami to share its space. If I didn't know better, and actually I don't, I would say this was indeed a love affair of a very innocent kind.

I was very touched by the attention they gave each other. I have never witnessed fish paying what looked like adoration to a fish that was not its species. Perhaps it happens all the time, I have just never seen it. Either way, it just made me very aware of how even the simplest of animals in our world have the ability to see past the obvious differences in each other.

Its saddens me that the most complex animals, us, cant seem to get past the most simplest of diversities.

Soul Mate

In two weeks it will be 18 years since my best friend died. I have a particularly hard time dealing with it since the anniversary date falls on my birthday. I also still live with the guilt that I, albeit not responsible for his death, could have very well prevented it. However, this post is not about guilt and what ifs. Its about the relationship I shared with him and how it forever changed my viewpoint on what a soul mate truly is.

Most people, when asked, would say soul mate refers to two people sharing an intense unusual love, including sexuality and intimacy. We all think that soul mate refers to the one person who you can be yourself with no matter what. We view the relationship in terms of marriage or permanent commitment. What we don't usually acknowledge is the fact that soul mate doesn't always have to be about sexual relationships.

My best friend Richard was indeed my soul mate. On the outside our friendship seemed that of convenience, both of us taking what we needed from the other to push on through a very troubled time in both of our lives. But that very convenience is what connected us. Each one of us relying on each other for an incredible amount of things, both tangible and emotional. Richard was gay, as am I. We had absolutely no desire to 'be' with each other. Yet we shared a bond that went beyond what intimacy usually brings to the relationship.

As much as I loved Richard. As much as I needed him. He drove me crazy. It was like always having to be with myself. And I didn't necessarily like myself very much. Richard was a junkie and a drunk. We was loud and rude and flamboyant in public. He was embarrassing at times and would let his passion over rule his common sense. He was violent at times. His behavior an unfortunate side effect of drugs and alcohol. And I knew this. I was the only one capable of seeing who he was, who he was hiding behind and what he had to offer. A gentle sad soul lost in a world that didn't fit him. That is where we connected.

I received a call from Richard the night before my birthday. He was drunk and loud. He wanted a ride to my house to crash. I refused. The baby was asleep and frankly I didn't want to deal with him in the sober state I was in. He hung up on me. The next morning I received a call saying he was dead. After the phone call with me he allowed someone to shoot him up with heroin at the party. It was a lethal injection.

My heart still aches for him. There is hardly a day that passes that something doesnt remind me of him. There are so few memories of the behavior he displayed that people avoided at all cost. What memories I can still recall are the tender moments. The vulnerable times. The need we had to balance each other out. We were soul mates. We walked the same path inside. It was difficult to breathe alone. We shared a love that didn't include sex and obligation. It was genuine with no strings attached.

I learned a lot from Richard. I learned what I needed in my life and I certainly learned what I didn't. I learned that love and connection don't come in the form of sexuality. That sexuality and intimacy are a by product that don't truly dictate how your soul feels.

I have photos and trinkets that still link me to Richard. But I will always have a hole in my soul where he used to belong.

Striped Shirt

In a reply to a post I wrote last week, a friend refereed to those not fitting the societal norm as "others". And how we, as others, rarely have the opportunity to be who we are without some political stigma attached.

Keeping emotions aside, when I am in a group, as I often am, with no other 'others', I tend to try to fit in instead of allowing myself to be who I am. I don't feel it should have to be my job to familiarize who I am to people. I dont think that throwing my diversity into their faces helps them find tolerance. I think it puts me in more of a compromising position than I was to begin with.

Why does being who I am have to be about my pride, about representing something. Why do I have to constantly fight for my position? You don't hear people greet each other normally as "Hi, I'm Bob, I'm straight. Just wanted to get that out there because you will hear about it later". However that is exactly how I feel I need to be. I come with a label and a disclaimer. "Pleased to meet you. Yes I am a lesbian. And yes I look a little gender confused. And no, you don't need to hide your wife or worry that I am undressing you with my eyes".

So most times I say nothing and feel half of my whole. It seems easier than being a freak show. Even in the most gay friendly group of straight people, someone is talking about you, even if only in their own head. I understand its intriguing to some. I understand they are trying to see what makes me tick. But honestly it is exhausting. I am so conscious of everything I say and do in a group setting in order to minimize those thoughts.

My presence is all about my sexuality. There is hardly a time when my presence is about who I am. I am my sexuality and my preference, the rest of me comes after that. And while I have absolutely no problem with people knowing who I love, I have a real problem with that being who I am to most people. "You know, the lesbian over there." Instead of "You know, Bob, the guy in the striped shirt".

No one ever sees my striped shirt.