Hanging the Moon and Lesbian Monikers

I placed another personal ad on Craigslist. Hopefully this won't turn into a freak-fest like it did last time. And if it does, well, more material for my writing. LOL.

The Ad I used before was way more humorous, but I was afraid it might be overwhelming and make ME look a little crazy. Who knows? Here's the one I used before:

Only seek LOCAL friends & dates. Please & thank you. LDR's are usually doomed from the start. It's like being pecked to death by chickens. So not big on them unless you can afford to travel to date me once a week. Especially if you can pick me up in a private jet. I'm afraid to fly, so I won't ride in it, but it would still be stellar if you had one. We could park it on the tarmac & have some blackberry Merlot.

ME: I have all my teeth. I sleep on memory foam, because it helps me recall my dreams. I own a flatscreen TV & massage table. I like cheese. That's all you need to know. Let's get married.
Seriously, I'm an Author, Editor, Singer-Songwriter, Artist, Webmaster, Witty Intellectual; am stable, nurturing, a voracious learner, creative, intelligent, educated, witty, honest, selectively intense, sometimes geeky, always passionate. (Oh, & I'm also a bi-lingual illiterate: I can't read or write in 2 different languages). I don't play games unless they come in a box with instructions. I am always productive. You will never see me in a dress, unless I am unconscious, & someone is playing a prank. (those people are evil & must be destroyed). But I'm not Butch. Lipstick Lesbian.
I'm a  positive realist (i.e., I think anything can happen, but it usually doesn't). I'm a freethinker and humanist, and love cats, fireplaces, snow, Dinner Parties, Game Nights & Hen Parties. Love coffee (drinking it, smelling it, & fondling the beans) & conversation (from the sublime to the ridiculous), bookstores, flea markets (As long as the fleas are humanely treated, free-range & not in cages), movies, TV, reading, live music, stand up comedy, long walks- (I know I'm supposed to add "on the beach" but this is Colorado).  
I believe successful relationships are predicated on the 5 C's: Compatibility, Communication, Commonality, Chemistry & Commitment.
Tired of dates I want to smother with a pillow. I SEEK: a LESBIAN (I don't engage in sex with Bi or Straight women, though this doesn't preclude us being friends), who is SANE, with emotional & intellectual intelligence; educated, secure, not afraid of fun, laughter or deep conversations; who can make me laugh out loud, think, & has firm grip on reality & integrity; not afraid to explore her own issues, & be proactive in her personal evolution. I respect women who have their own life, interests & means of $ support, just like me. I am aroused by women who look like women, are confident, capable, witty & intelligent. If you have those qualities, drop everything & contact me right this second.
CRUCIAL CAVEATS: (unpleasant but apparently necessary to say). I have no tolerance for addicts, heavy drinkers, illegal drug users, anyone who needs anger-management class, or the ethically challenged. Really. If you fall in any of these categories, climb back into your little red wagon (or fancy jet) & pass me by.
If, however, you recognize yourself in WHAT I SEEK, & my details titillate or intrigue you, or you'd like to shower me with affection & appreciation, please contact me. ;^} Preferably from the cockpit of your private jet.

At first, I thought it might just make women laugh, while still being revealing and not intimidating, but now I think maybe it's a little over the top. It's so hard to tell how you're being perceived by others, sometimes.

So instead i placed a toned-down version...

LOCALS ONLY PLEASE. I'm intelligent, witty, genuine, creative, ethical person who is always productive, selectively intense, sometimes geeky, always passionate. I don't play games unless they come in a box with instructions. You will never see me in a dress, unless I am unconscious, & someone is playing a prank. (those people are evil & must be destroyed). I'm not Butch. Lipstick Lesbian.

Originally from the South, I moved to Colorado because I've always loved it here, & now make it my permanent home. Since I had to leave my friends behind when I moved, I seek a local circle of friends, & ultimately hope to find a loving life-partner who also requires meaningful conversation and enjoyable experiences. Stability, pleasure and happiness are my goals.

As retired military, I can now spend my time doing the things I enjoy most like writing (this is my greatest passion and identity marker), reading, sculpture, pottery, continuing self-education, watching TV and movies, spending quality time with friends, trying new restaurants, dinner and cocktail parties, gatherings at home with a small group of friends, and exploring this beautiful state. I'm open to suggestion, and will try almost anything unless it's dangerous, illegal or unethical.

I must have a partner who will appreciate me for all the things I am, and all I have to give. I have a great deal to bring to a relationship, as I am honest, self-actualized, nurturing, communicative, humorous, sensitive, loving, affectionate and supportive, but I'm selective about who I will give that to, and at this point in my life, I won't settle for less. If you are my partner, I want to come first in your life, as you will come first with me.

Says me: [Quotes from yours truly, copyrighted]:
"Real connection (and if it's LOVE, then real love)--goes beyond those not-so-perfect and superficial and idiosyncratic things that simply make us individuals. The trust & longevity of a relationship between two individuals is established through time & learning each other, & discovering a harmony at the core of their connection. And it becomes powerful because of where it resides--at the center of who we are; the very essence of our being."

"It's one thing to say you think someone 'hung the moon' but that generally means they are blind & deluded, and then the relationship fails because they say you changed, when really, they never saw you at all. The real test is if someone sees all your flaws or blemishes or individual differences, and they still think you hung the moon."

As far as romantic relationships go, I have been attracted to many different types. For me, it's the whole package, and not one single thing you are. But in general, I am drawn to women who are mostly femme, attractive, genuine, witty, intelligent, and who enjoy giving and receiving affection and intimacy. Touch is very important to me. (I have a massage table).

Not interested in heavy drinkers, drug users, those with an STD. You must be emotionally available, self-actualized, stable & interested in meaningful (and sometimes lengthy) conversations. Otherwise, I'm not the one for you. A good partner for me will have few if any sexual boundaries, will recognize my value, be nurturing, and show her attraction and affection. I seek someone who wants to get to know me fully and isn't intimidated by intelligence or passion or sensitivity. I do have a "work-day" of my own and need that time to do what I do, but when it's time to clock out, I need a woman who wants to spend as much time as possible with me in her own off-hours.

If this resonates with you, contact me, and let's skip the prolonged emailing and texting, and meet in person soon. I will only respond to those who provide RECENT, CLEAR PHOTOS. (Have had my share of those with something to hide, or those who use 20 year old pictures of themselves). That aside, I look forward to hearing from you!

We'll see. Maybe I should put up both ads and see what results they each get. This is so much like scientific research, I swear.

And there's always some adjustment to be made, such as the moniker "lipstick lesbian."  On the surface, that term seems self-explanatory, but what it really means is a lesbian who is femme--like who wears jewelry, makeup and dresses and heels and is attracted to other women who are like her. And then there's "ChapStick lesbian" which is a lesbian who doesn't wear makeup, but embraces her feminine identity in other ways; she will not wear fake fingernails or get a manicure, nor pay to have her hair done, nor wear dangly earrings or flashy jewelry, and many ChapStick lesbians don't even worry too much about shaving everything.

Well, I don't wear heels or dresses, but I wear makeup and lipstick and jewelry, sometimes flashy or dangly, and most of the time made of gold and diamonds, and most of the time, i wear fake fingernails, because mine are more like finger-films that I break off, and the fake French-tipped ones look nice, but I only wear them short, because I use my hands a lot and "claws" get in the way of sculpting, typing, playing guitar, and...well...they can be dangerous during digital sex. 

And I shave. If I had my way, except for my eyebrows and the hair on my head, I'd be slick like a dolphin, permanently. I am also attracted primarily to women who are the same, though I have been attracted to those a little more or less femme, if they have a certain combination of everything else, and tweak me in just the right way. So maybe I'm a ChappedLip Lesbian. Or a StickChap Lesbian. sigh. The problem is, I have features of both, but not all, and am, again, camping in the gray areas of life. Extremes have become things I avoid in nearly everything; the truth being in the middle most of the time, after all. The fact that the truth is often in the middle IS one of my truths.

In my book ISO, I talk about this rather confusion identity quagmire, and also coined a new term, that might be useful here. Femepicine.  Here's the excerpt from the book:

Butch, Femme, Androgynous or Femepicene?

 All that aside, at the risk of being politically incorrect, I must say I find it disturbing that so many lesbians feel it necessary to mimic men. A lesbian, by definition, doesn't want to be with a man and is a woman who loves women, in the romantic sense. In a very real way, then, masculinity in gay women is a contradiction. It is patently unnecessary to become manly in order to be with another woman. The need to be "manly" then, can sometimes be about gender-confusion, and not about being lesbian. This stance may be offensive to some, but indeed, I could say that I am offended by how easily some lesbians dismiss the beauty and power in themselves by diluting it with masculinity.

     Why would a group of people so vehement about avoiding the control and oppression of the other gender, be so anxious to mimic them to such a large degree? When a gay woman chooses to dress in masculine styles, such as what I call the "lesbian costume" of button-down shirts, khaki Dockers, and Doc Marten boots, she is reducing herself to a cliché of what gay women are: women, mimicking men. It is insulting to me, as a gay woman, that many other gay women don't think their appearance is important, and don't embrace their gender as it would seem they naturally would, as women who love women.

     This is not to suggest gay women should wear ball gowns or spike heels and mini-skirts. It just means, embrace the femaleness. Why do you think the L-Word is so popular, aside from the fact that it portrays lesbian lives in general? It's because gay women are titillated by the beauty of these women. Attend any L-Word Watch Party and that much will be clear. Then, they run their fingers through their hair, tuck their button-down into their Dockers, slap on that ball cap and go home. Lesbians: if you are so tantalized by feminine, beautiful women, why do spend so little energy presenting yourself that way?

     So often I hear lesbians complaining about being stereotyped by the world at large. My suggestion is that if you don't wish to be a stereotype, don't dress and act like one.

     In the novels I write, I portray women as feminine or at least as lipstick lesbians, but rarely as dykes or otherwise manly females (which is, intrinsically, an oxymoron). The only time I do portray lesbians as butch or manly is when I'm. . .sort of. . .making fun of them. Stereotyping. I know. It's not nice. But as I've already pointed out, Political Correctness is not my strong suit, nor something I aspire to. I think it does more harm than good, when telling the truth is always much better.

     In doing this, however, I have been accused of catering to straight men or merely "selling out" somehow, and yet, I find this assessment myopic, contradictory and just plain silly. I love women, because they are women. I love the feminine form. I am attracted to the quintessential qualities that make women FEMALE. If I wanted to be with a man, I would be straight. So this whole outrage based on my supposed treason against Sapphic love, strikes me as absurd.

Why do you suppose that most straight women who experiment with lesbianism, pursue gay women who are manly? It's a comfort zone, that's why. They are not straying too terribly far from being with a man.

     The most attractive women, to me, are the ones who are androgynous. I use that term loosely, and colloquially, because the actual definition is way more severe and limiting than the context in which I utilize it here. Androgyny, by its original definition, means ambiguous in gender. Genderless, almost. Like the "Pat" character on the old Saturday Night Live. You can't tell if the person is male or female. The way I mean it, is more like a woman who blends, in a harmonious fashion, the traits of both male and female, to create a balanced person. This means the woman looks like a woman, but can hammer a nail, ride a motorcycle, or be assertive, all without losing her essential womanliness.

     To whine about how you're being mashed into a mold created by straight society, and not being allowed to express your natural self, seems a cop-out--a way to avoid embracing the gender to which you are born. It's also an excuse to be lazy. If you don't present yourself in the most positive way, i.e., by wearing decent clothes, a little makeup, and taking care of your body, then you are merely justifying the fact that you don't care about your appearance. And why shouldn't you care? Do you think that men define what is commonly considered "attractive"? Sorry, but that's biology, and it extends to both genders. We are wired to be attracted to certain things; not the least of which is accentuating the best parts of ourselves.

     A great fictional character who exemplifies this balanced womanhood would be Xena, the Warrior Princess from television. She was strong, capable, assertive, loving, loyal, always looked fabulous and feminine. Even when she was kicking ass or cutting someone's throat. . .

     I desperately want another term to describe strong, feminine lesbians.

     HOMOgenized Female. . .hmmm.

     Fembian. MMM.

     Sapphian.

     It occurred to me that epicene meant having the characteristics of both genders, blended. So how about Femepicene? (fem-ep-uh-seen).

     So women who are Femepicene are those most likely to get my attention. I can't speak for every other gay woman.

     The point is, for me, it's often difficult to even be lesbian, never mind the odds of finding a suitable mate. It is somewhat like the odds of my getting a million dollar publishing contract: it's not inconceivable, but it's not something I can rationally place on the alter of my existence.

So I am femepicene. And I am attracted, for the most part, to other femepicene women. But until the moniker catches on, no one will know what the hell I'm talking about.

Hanging the Moon and Lesbian Monikers

Another Review of "As You Were"

Another review of As You Were 

Review by: Noni Nelson on Mar. 09, 2011 : star star star star
"Four years ago, as a newly-out,mature lesbian and an avid reader I was staggered by the dearth of quality gay fiction for women. So disappointed in fact that I resorted to writing my own. If I had discovered Kelli Jae Baeli back then I may not have bothered! I was hooked from the first few pages of As You Were. Her characters are natural, their lives are believable and I devoured this book eagerly late into the night. And put it down with a genuine reluctance to part company with it's two main protagonists, Tru & Brittany."

Another Review of "As You Were"

Excerpt from Armchair Detective

Excerpt from Armchair Detective, by yours truly
available on Amazon.

I had the prepaid cell phone on the seat beside me. Huxley had provided that so he could keep in touch with me, and in case I had some emergency and needed to call him. It was a source of embarrassment for me that I didn’t have something as fundamental as a cell phone, but Huxley seemed to understand, and displayed no judgment on it. Until now, I saw little reason to have one. Who would I call? I kept to myself and didn’t have any real friends here. 
     Next to the cell phone, lay the .45 caliber Ruger SP-101. The gun was not for shooting anyone, necessarily, but for self-defense, or leverage to get out of any sticky situation that might arise. I wasn’t afraid of guns; I was quite good at handling them and hitting targets. I used to have a bumper sticker that read, Guns don’t kill people, People kill people. I hoped that no people would kill other people tonight. 
     Yawning and stretching for the umpteenth time, I frowned down into the too-expensive cardboard cup with the well-known logo. The too-expensive coffee that had been in it was now cold. I grunted into the dark liquid, rolling down the window to catch some air. Though balmy, as if August wasn’t sure it wanted to be September, a cool breeze periodically felt like Freon on my skin; something I was not used to in the pre-air conditioning era of the Falcon. I sucked on my eCig, and watched the wind catch a wayward cheeseburger wrapper and propel it through the parking garage as I worked at the knot in my neck. 
     What was taking so long? Were we being stood-up? Stacey’s goons might be toying with us. So this could all be for nothing. Or something could already be going awry, and that hundred bucks would seem less and less equitable.
     I could see that surveillance work was tedious. Anyone who would sit in a parked car for hours and drink expensive coffee, waiting for something that might never happen, was not in it for the excitement. That wasn’t the reason I wanted to take up the investigative vocation; though inexperienced, I did understand there was little glamor to be had, here. Hopefully not just the coffee. But the events of my near-past segued naturally into the job. I needed a source of income, and couldn’t risk doing anything I’d done before. Presumably, I was on my way to something that might release me from the tethers of the past. Still, it was my first case, and I felt a little naked. 
     I checked the layout in my head against the one in front of me. Second level, row C. I could see row A, near the elevator, about 50 yards in front of me and to my left. So where the hell is— 
     Just then, Huxley’s black Mercury Sable pulled into Row A and parked. Somewhere in the parking deck, I heard an engine start, and faint music playing, and soon, a silver Toyota 4Runner was moving toward Huxley’s car. Ah, the delivery boy. The SUV backed into the space beside the Sable. Its driver probably wanted to be able to make a quick exit if things got dicey.
     I dropped my eCig in the seat, and slid down, peeking over the dash at the blond man who leaned over to open the passenger door. Huxley got out, carrying the bank bag of cash, and got in, closing the door. I heard the music get louder when the door was open, and knew the guy must have kept his radio on in case Huxley intended to record anything.
     Using my binoculars, I got a good look at him. He wiped at his upper lip, his attention scampering around the garage, and I ducked when his gaze came my direction.
     It was too dark for him to see me, as I’d been careful to stay away from the lights that were mounted at infrequent intervals on concrete pillars and crossbeams. And I had taken a moment to stand on the roof of the Falcon and unscrew the light above the crossbeam over me. Still, I didn’t want to take any chances on this case for the same reason I parked my butt and read reference manuals for hours on end. The pain was worth the gain. Maybe.
     While I waited, I had an idea. Truly inspired. I removed the overhead bulb inside the Falcon and then my hand darted for the handle. I bumped my coffee in its holder on the door. The brown liquid splashed onto the top of my left Doc Marten, and ran into my sock. “Shit,” I growled, kneeing the door open quietly, and stepping out. Pushing the door closed firmly, I headed for the 4Runner in a crouch, periodically shaking my sodden foot in an effort to drain the spill. The glow from the lamps moved over me, bright, then dim, as I traveled between the cars, my attention momentarily snagged by the `66 Galaxie, waiting in all its antiquity for my adoring eyes as I passed by. I toyed with the image of the car with a new paint-job and some bodywork. The general population didn’t appreciate the value of these sturdy old behemoths; probably because they’ve never realized the true potential of a large back seat.
     I ducked lower to travel the expanse of the concrete wall behind the Toyota 4Runner, until I reached a spot directly behind it. Careful to time it so that I couldn’t be seen in the rearview, I hurdled the concrete wall and crept over to the passenger side tire, taking out the tire gauge. Placing the pin on the valve stem, I liberating the tire of its air. I knew he wouldn’t hear it closed up in that SUV with the radio on.
     Then I hurried back down to the bottom of the ramp and crossed over, and up the other side, hiding behind a concrete pillar, watching, and waiting.
     Momentarily, Huxley got out, carrying a manila envelope, got in his Sable, and drove out of the garage.
The blond man began to pull away too, but paused as he felt the flat tire. He put the 4Runner in park and got out, looking at the tires on his side, and then headed for the other side. Finding the flat, he cursed loudly, and retrieved the keys to open the hatch. As he moved to the rear of the vehicle, I got out and shuffled toward the SUV, my head down below the cars. Thankfully, he had left the driver’s door open. When he opened the hatch and peered in, I dashed over, leaned inside the cab and snatched the green zippered bank bag. Pretty easy so far.
     And it would have been the perfect ruse. But I have always had a strange intolerance for certain colognes, and I could smell the pungent odor of his, in the cab of the Toyota. In the inexplicable way that luck has a way of turning, I sensed a tickle in my nose, and before I could think about it, I sneezed.
     The blond man’s head popped out from behind the hatch, and our eyes met, his darting to the bank bag I held, and back up to my, no doubt, stunned expression.
     I launched into full-throttle retreat, first heading for the Falcon, but the last thing I needed was for him to be able to identify the car I was driving, and besides, I wouldn’t have had time to get in and drive away before he caught me. He was tall with long legs. Instead, I headed for the lower ramp, but he had jumped the wall and was running parallel to me, attempting to cut me off at the pass.
     Turning to check his location, I didn’t see the car fender until I rammed my knee into it. Cursing, I jerked away at the popping sound, freezing for a nanosecond, then scanning to my right and behind me at the hole in the side of the Oldsmobile. “Holy shit!”
     Looking back at him running up the incline, I saw that he held a pistol in front of him, and was firing as he ran. Several more shots whizzed past me.
     Recognizing the need to put something between me and that flying lead, I vaulted to the hood of the Olds’ in true Rockfordesque style, and rolled over, falling off the other side, landing hard upon the pavement near the front tire, the smell of oil assaulting my nose. A searing pain shot through my side, and with great chagrin I felt the re-injury of my ribs; they had finally healed, and now I might be back in walking-wounded status. I raised myself painfully and squinted into the early morning darkness at the Falcon: my only hope for escape.
     His advancing foot steps told me I was a clay pigeon, not yet airborne, but loaded in the trap machine, with a stranger’s finger on the release mechanism. I took as much breath as I could into my lungs in order to force myself to stand—the adrenaline dulling the pain in my side. I came up off the pavement and sprinted across the lot, my shoulder blades pulling together in anticipation of the bullets that would soon riddle me like the Delta 88. I was pretty sure the guy was using the type of pistol usually found on any given gang member. No one would think anything about a random shooting in this neighborhood. Gang initiations were common. Poor girl. She didn’t have a chance.
     I tried not to look at the Falcon as I ran past it. Instead I headed up the opposite ramp, on the far side of the matching concrete wall.
     Crouching there for a moment, I surveyed the area. An exit ramp was nearby, but I knew I wouldn’t make it with condition of my knee and ribs. My eyes darted to the large trash receptacle by the wall, in front of a big buttress. Please, God. I limped over, pried the lid off, and found just enough room in the garbage sack to nestle myself inside, and pull the lid back over me.
     This is a mistake. This won’t work. He’ll know I’m in here. Fuck! What was I thinking? Trying to breathe through my mouth as quietly as possible, I waited, my heart pounding so hard, I was sure it was vibrating the trash can.
     His foot steps got louder for a few seconds, and then stopped. I could hear him breathing. Cursing. He was so close. After an almost unbearable silence, I was jostled by the impact of his foot on the side of the receptacle. Oh shit. I’m dead. He knows.

Excerpt from Armchair Detective

Women's Homophobic Meetup Group

Several friends have asked about my evening with the Women's Social meetup group. So thought I'd jot a little blurb to let you all know that I don't think I'll be hanging out with that group.

We met at Baker Street Pub in Lakewood--great place. I'm sure I'll go there a lot. Just not with these people. I had nothing in common with them. Just a little example...

They were all talking about dating, and I was asked directly what kind of men I date. I wanted to say, "The kind with breasts and lipstick" but was afraid they would think I like to date drag queens. So I said. "I don't date men."

And one lady said, "Oh, burned out?"

I said, "No. I just don't date MEN."

Then things got quiet. You'd think I had just said I was a Muslim Jihadist, looking for a passport. I said, "Look at that, I just outed myself, and everyone forgot how to talk."

They sort of laughed nervously, and then the subject got changed quickly. The group organizer asked another woman something.

So a few minutes later when another participant said she had to leave, I said I did too. "I have a date," I said. "With a NON-man."

Women's Homophobic Meetup Group

Making Tracks

So my first First Fridays at Tracks.

I went, faithfully following my GPS, and watching the little pulsing blue dot that was me on the map, as i veered repeatedly from the route i was supposed to take. I've discovered that if i just drive straight shots through town, i do better. The Highway is confusing and i end up taking the wrong lane and having to circle back and start over.

Later I ran into Tina and her friend and spent a little time with them. Everyone wanted to steal my electronic cigarette. I must get some stock to sell. Or get a referral fee from the guy i send them to online...

Anyway, I have re-verification, now, that one cannot make friends at a nightclub. One must have friends first and go with them, or meet them there. Otherwise, you wind up the solitary creature holding up the East wall. So what do you do when you just moved and have few friends in the area? hang out with them, and make new ones as you can, outside the nightclub. I have spoken.

I went home at a respectable hour, and on the way, got a text from Rheana that she was at Tracks and was i still there? I turned around and went back. I wanted to see Rheana. I hadn't seen her in years. And besides, i needed the practice driving around.

I was equal parts excited and uneasy. I am, after all, a recovered agoraphobe. I don't think I've ever seen that many women--gay or otherwise- in one room at the same time. There must have been around a thousand of them. One person commented that it was "A slow night." I was there a few hours and felt stupid, being alone.

While Rheana danced with her girlfriend, I stood aside and took a few pictures. A young woman sidled up next to me and started a conversation. After initial introductory small talk, she asked, "Do you live in Denver?"

"Lakewood," I said, "I just moved here."

"Oh? Where did you move from?"

"Hell," i said. She giggled, possibly because she didn't believe me. I couldn't bear to burst her bubble. There really were many hells to be had on earth.

"Are you a lesbian?" she asked next.

I laughed. "Why yes, i am."

"It's just that you don't look like one."

"Thank god," i said, like the true atheist I also am.

"How old are you?" she wanted to know.

I hate that question. "How old do i look?"

She squinted at me in the strobing, pulsing lights. "Twenty nine."

"Bless you, my child." Kills me how everyone always thinks I'm younger. I guess I should not complain, since I'm smack dab in the middle of a mid-life crisis.

Making Tracks

Lesbians: Art Does not Imitate Life

Excerpted from my book,
ISO (in Search Of):
The Art of Dating, Relationships & Sex for the Discerning Lesbian

Any Lesbian who is currently single knows that it's often a great deal less romantic to be unattached than the media would have us believe. Many of us would love to hang out with the kinds of women we see on the L-Word, yet in the Lesbian Community, this is often not an option. Sophisticated, feminine lesbians are simply not the norm, overall. Most of the actresses who play those roles are in fact, heterosexual. I have frequently been chagrined by this. In all of Hollywood, they could not find a cast of feminine, sophisticated lesbians to play those roles? In this case, it seems that art does not imitate life. It warrants consideration.

Are lesbians primarily less feminine than straight women? I suspect the answer to that is a resounding "Yes." Are masculine lesbians a product of brainwashing -- that in romance there must be two opposite roles-one feminine, one masculine? Most Likely. . .

At the risk of being politically incorrect, [*a concept i reject] I must say that I find it disturbing that so many Lesbians feel it necessary to mimic men. A Lesbian, by definition, doesn't want to be with a man and is a woman who loves women, in the romantic sense. In a very real way, then, masculinity in gay women is a contradiction. It is patently unnecessary to become manly in order to be with another woman. The need to be "manly" then, can sometimes be about gender-confusion, and not about being lesbian. This stance may be offensive to some, but indeed, I could say that I am offended by how easily some lesbians dismiss the beauty and power in themselves by diluting it with masculinity.

So often I hear lesbians complaining about being stereotyped by the world at large. My suggestion is that if you don't wish to be a stereotype, don't act like one.

In the novels I write, I portray women as feminine or at least a lipstick lesbian, but rarely as dykes or otherwise manly females (which is, intrinsically, an oxymoron). I have been accused of catering to straight men or merely "selling out" by doing this, and yet, I find this assessment myopic, contradictory and just plain silly. I love women, because they are women. I love the feminine form. I am attracted to the quintessential qualities that make women FEMALE. If I wanted to be with a man, I would be straight. So this whole outrage based on my supposed treason against Sapphic love, strikes me as absurd.

Why do you suppose that most straight women who experiment with lesbianism, pursue gay women who are manly? It's a comfort zone, that's why. They are not straying too terribly far from being with a man.

The most attractive women, to me, are the ones who are androgynous. I use that term loosely, and colloquially, because the actual definition is way more severe and limiting than the context in which I use it. Androgyny, by its original definition, means ambiguous in gender. Genderless, almost. Like the "Pat" character on Saturday Night Live. You can't tell if the person is male or female. The way I mean it is more like a woman who blends, in a harmonious fashion, the traits of both male and female, to create a balanced person. This means the woman looks like a woman, but can hammer a nail, ride a motorcycle, or be assertive, all without losing her essential womanliness.

A great fictional character that exemplifies this would be Xena, the Warrior Princess from television. She was strong, capable, assertive, loving, loyal, always looked fabulous and feminine. Even when she was cutting someone's throat. . .

I desperately want another term to describe strong, feminine lesbians.

HOMOgenized Female. . .hmmm.

Fembian. MMM.

Sapphian.

It occurred to me that epicene meant having the characteristics of both genders, blended. So how about Femepicene? (fem-ep-uh-seen).

So women who are Femepicene are those most likely to get my attention. I can't speak for every other gay woman.

Lesbians: Art Does not Imitate Life

Catching Hell From the Hellish

Even within my own "supposed" community, the community assigned to me by virtue of my sexual preference, I catch hell in the online dating realm, whenever I complain about the content of insipid emails from the dull and ignorant on personals sites. Misspelled words, fragmented sentences, fake modesty, transparent bravado, shallow beliefs, misplaced haughtiness, gender confusion, the walking wounded.... Sometimes I can't believe it. Unfortunately, I have no choice but to believe it, because it's true. It happens to me repeatedly, like some recurring rash... I continue to get those kinds of mails.

I even started a special forum called Atypical Lesbians, to try to accommodate those who felt as I did. I saw it as a sort of Underground Railroad for chagrined, dispirited lesbians who wanted more from their lives and their people; those who wanted to rise above the mundane and stereotypical. I have simply lost my patience with the kind of mentality so commonly revealed in ads and emails from personals sites. Associating with those "types" just depresses me. But five months after I launched the forum, there's very little activity, because apparently, there are not enough lesbians out there who are Atypical. Notwithstanding my good intentions, it's not like you can bring any rise to the unleavened, as it were. This is another thing that Political Correctness helps keep afloat. No one speaks out, no one says this is not acceptable. It keeps us all from evolving. Some truths are still the truths, even if they are uncomfortable to some.

So...I am an individualist, non-conformist...among other things some would label "bitch." Why is it that having standards for yourself and others, automatically relegates you to bitch-status? I don't enjoy being so schismatic with my identity and the identity of others...but somehow if I don't, I feel I will be sucked into the abyss. And if I'm going to be sucked into the abyss, I want it to be the Bliss Abyss, not the abyss of ignorance.

I suppose all this means I am also an Intellectual Separatist. I'm not judging the people, per se, just their behavior, their choices, and the surrounding issues that arise. But it's often so hard to divide a subjective self-concept or cosmology from the objective universal ones. Meaning, some people have certain ideas about themselves, and anything that threatens it is rejected out of hand. Even if what they believe is inaccurate or delusional. They believe what they believe and sometimes can't understand that beliefs are malleable; that evolution is predicated on questions and data-gathering; that what is true now, is not always written in stone; and perhaps most importantly, that if you don't educate yourself and make learning your friend, you will be INCAPABLE of understanding the very concepts that might lead to inner peace and happiness. Contrarily, you also cannot make a silk purse out of a sow's ear. Ultimately everyone has to take the reins on their own buggy and guide it where they want it to go.

And then there's that old Prime Directive (from Star Trek)--never interfere with the natural evolution of a species. I think that applies here, too. We can help when asked or when we think we might be able to LightSwitch someone; we can put our ideas out there and hope they are considered. But ultimately, everyone is on her own path, and what she learns has to be visceral. Ideas will only take you so far. Action is the defining element. And I can't make anyone do anything they don't want to do.

Catching Hell From the Hellish

Drag Shows are Aptly Named

Drag shows are aptly named. They are a drag.

Please don't ever expect me to join you at a drag show. I'd sooner perform an appendectomy on myself with a SPOON. And I'm GAY.


All gay bars have drag shows, because apparently, gay people en masse don't have anything else to offer in the entertainment realm. (Notwithstanding the Melissa Etheridge's and Ellen Degeneres's of the world--thank god for them). I'm not expecting a rendition of Bent, but Hell's Bells. Can't they do better than a same tired old stereotypical thing where men and women dress up as women and men and pretend to have talent? Can you pretend to play that unplugged electric guitar any more convincingly? It strikes me as some puerile backyard presentation to mom and dad by a bunch of 7 year olds. "Mom! Mom! Look what *I* can do!"

I know I'm just ripe for an attack from the Homo Hit Squad, but damn! Is being politically correct more important than being honest? I will never understand why people don't want to reach for more in their expressions of selfhood.

And there's another added confusion--is it just me, or is there something inherently wrong with lesbians getting excited about a man, pretending to be a woman? (Like they don't KNOW that under the sequins and fishnet stockings, resides a live, pulsing penis). And the same goes for the drag KINGS. Why would i get excited about a woman pretending to be a man? If I were sexually aroused by a man, I'd be straight.


And have you ever noticed how the audience at drag shows will applaud when the "performer" hits a money-note in the song? Um...hello! He's not REALLY singing, so why are you applauding that? The recording of the REAL singer can't hear you. It's a case of either the willing suspension of disbelief, or the unwitting suspension of rational thought. Either way, something vital is being suspended, and i just find it absurd. I just won't support that crap anymore. I'd rather eat my own brains.


Okay, Homo-Hit-Squad, release the hounds. And you guys try not to break a nail.

Drag Shows are Aptly Named

Mercy Kissing

Recently i was presented with an ethical dilemma which i initially found troublesome due to its lack of a clear path of reaction for me as an ethical person.

The situation, in a nutshell, was this:

During a visit at my home from a female friend, she came out to me as a lesbian, and confessed her attraction to me, and i was at once surprised and confused. I hadn't ever thought she saw me in a romantic way. That was not the dilemma. I felt like she put me on the spot, and i had little time to consider it. That wasn't really the dilemma either. The dilemma was that she was in a loveless marriage that had become, over the years, merely a convenient friendship due to the fact that she shared a child with this man. Since i overheard part of their conversation when he called during this visit, i was relatively certain that her framing of it was accurate. She stated that she was not after my heart, not seeking a committed relationship with me, and would be happy for me, should i find the right woman at some point. And though she had intimated earlier that she hoped we could have some sexual arrangement, all she wanted from me was "just this little moment." She said, "i want you to just take me in your arms and kiss me." That was uncomfortable enough, but when i hesitated, she started to cry. Everything in her life, she said, was about someone else. She gave-gave-gave, and never got anything for herself. She had felt this way about me since the first night we had coffee together. She just wanted to know what it was like, just for those few stolen moments.

Now, although she is an attractive woman, I was clear that I had nothing but platonic feelings for her, and that would have been simple enough to respond to in the proper fashion. But then when she cried, i began to wonder if i was making my hardline ethical choices more important than compassion. Which was more important for me to consider, if i wanted to be the best person i could be? I'm afraid I erred on the side of compassion.

Afterward, i reconsidered, and realized i was regretful. Perhaps i had made the wrong choice. The gray areas always get me in trouble.

Then i found a two-part solution in the counsel of my best friend, and in the words of John Varley, via his novel, Steel Beach. The first insight my friend offered was something like this:

"Can't you remember a time when you were crying and upset about something like that? Did you really need sex or a kiss?" So the question then became, Can i be compassionate without compromising my ethics? My friend suggested my response should have been, "I like you, you are an attractive woman, and i enjoy your company, but i consider us platonic. I think that what you really need is someone to offer compassion." Then i should have pulled her into my arms and let her cry, and just be supportive that way. When my friend suggested this, my first reaction was, "Why the hell didn't i think of that?"

I percolated on that whole concept for a few days. I knew that i would certainly handle it in that manner if the situation came up again. But my understanding was solidified only a few nights later, while I was reading the Varley Novel. The passage was:

"I have a short list of things I never do, and right near the top is surrendering to emotional blackmail. If there's a worse kind of sex than the charity fuck, I haven't heard about it. And her words could be read as the worst kind of whipped-puppy appeal and dammit, okay, she did have a right to act like a whipped puppy, but i hate whipped-puppies, I want to kick them for letting themselves be whipped...only the words didn't come out like that...."

And there was the answer to my ethical dilemma. It's not like i haven't been in this situation before, either. I have often let my soft heart make my decisions, rather than my good sense. I should not be blinded by the suggestion that there is only one way to show compassion. And if anyone puts me in that position, i am not obligated to comply in the way they had in mind, and they ought to be ashamed for enlisting the ruse of emotional blackmail.

Maybe there is always a solution, even when the situation seems to tie me in a knot. The knot doesn't have to be Gordian. I can just do what Alexander the Great did, and CUT it.

Mercy Kissing

What is the deal with Lesbians?

From an online forum; my responses.

Posted By: bearwoman1959 on 11/22/2006 7:28:58 PM
Subject: what is the deal with lesbians?

Message: The deal with lesbians is that they don't like d..k !!! Plain and simple. I don't get it, but to each his own

Bearwoman,
I am an author, and also a lesbian. I think you have mentioned something that is a major misconception, and warrants discussion. Lesbians aren't lesbians simply because they don't like d**k. Lesbians are lesbians because they are attracted to women...it's about WHO it's "attached to." Myself and many of the lesbians i know do enjoy penetration-- both giving and receiving--it's about the person they are with, not the equipment.

The emotional connection that one woman can have with another woman, is part of the attraction. You simply resonate with your own gender and not with the opposite one. You know, "Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus"--sometimes it's easier to bond when someone's from your own planet....it' s not always a hatred thing, it's often just an identity that is as real for us, as yours is for you. Not to say there aren't some individuals out there who are VERY confused. Some of us are not confused.

Also, most lesbians i know have been with men and figured out it wasn't their thing. Nothing mysterious about it. Our brains are hardwired to be attracted to what and whom we are attracted to.

And another misconception::: not all gay people identify solely as sexual creatures. I've always been so disgusted with the "mainstream gays" who present themselves as sexual deviants or promiscuous. Not all of us are like that. Maybe you haven't met lesbians with character and integrity, and for that, I'm sorry and chagrined... Believe me, i am often ashamed of the gay community...at the same time, you have to understand that gay people are relegated to the fringes of society, and so often, the only time they can meet each other is at a bar--you might meet someone you are really attracted to and want to get to know, but because you're not at a gay bar, you can't pursue it. And when that's your only way of meeting those like you, it leads to all that underbelly stuff like alcoholism and promiscuity. I have always been for other venues to meet gay people--like coffeeshops and Hen Parties at our homes. That's why i placed the ad about the Hen Parties. I'm making a concerted effort to gather like-minded lesbians in my area, so we can avoid the bars, and stop perpetuating the stereotypes...Me and mine are interested in intelligent conversation and real emotional bonding, not when our next good drunk will be. Hope this sheds some light.
Regards,
jaebaeli
(WittySegue)

Vinny low said, "it almost seems like its a new trend for women to be into women(even if theyre straight)...im not knocking any 1s sexual orientation but im wondering why its so much more accepted these days than say men on men...like so many guys think that 2 women making out is hot..and im wondering am i strange as a man...in that i do not find there to be anything hot or alluring about 2 women making out what so ever? "

Vinny,
Remember that trends are started by the youngsters... immature people who are still not quite sure of their identities, nor at all self-actualized. Often, i have found, YOUNG bi-sexual women, are really just experimenting with their sexuality, or trying to appear cool or dangerous, or otherwise attractive through the very scandalous nature of their (mis)deeds. I cannot speak to older, mature women who identify as bi, as i have never identified as bi myself, and am not qualified to address that. Just know that there are a lot of confused people out there, mostly because they are young and still trying to figure it all out, and the ones who are older and confused, have simply not evolved to the point of understanding, for a myriad of reasons. This confusion is such a hot topic, that i wrote a book that is a manual of sorts for mostly younger lesbians...it's called ISO (In Search Of): The Art of Dating, Relationships & Sex for the Discerning Lesbian. You can check that out at "my signature" dotcom.

...And Vinny, i wouldn't call you a strange man for not being turned on by 2 women together--an uncommon man, to be sure, but not strange. The sexual identity of a TRUE lesbian is not about impressing or titillating men, it's about acting on what feels most natural, and that's a private thing, not to be shared with the public at large.
Regards,
jaebaeli
(WittySegue)

What is the deal with Lesbians?

"Don't You DARE say I'm Unique!"

First, let me just do a disclaimer here....I can't profess to know someone i don't know...i can only look at the data i have and make an informed assessment....that's what i'm about to do, but know that i realize i could be completely wrong....i am using this person as an example to get to greater meanings.....i do that a lot. Real examples are always so much better than the hypothetical ones...

Okay....In my account on experienceproject.com, i created a group/interest that directs everyone to Atypical Lesbians forum, should they be interested. I explained, using the description on the home page, primarily, and left a link.

The next day, I got this comment on the post:

Gothgrrl said :
"doesn't that sound a bit discriminating? who said that typical lesbians are not intelligent, witty, loyal or educated??"

I ANSWERED:

Gothgrrrl, the dictionary defines "typical" thus:

1. exhibiting the qualities or characteristics that identify a group or kind or category; "a typical American girl"; "a typical suburban community"; "the typical car owner drives 10,000 miles a year"; "a painting typical of the Impressionist school"; "a typical romantic poem"; "a typical case of arteritis" [ant: atypical]<<<<<<

2. of a feature that helps to distinguish a person or thing; "Jerusalem has a distinctive Middle East flavor"- Curtis Wilkie; "that is typical of you!" [syn: distinctive]
3. conforming to a type; "the typical (or normal) American"; "typical teenage behavior"

I have discovered over many years that typical lesbians do not care about certain things, and they behave and think in certain ways that are common to lesbians in general. I had a hard time finding those who were not like that and had other qualities. Hence, ATYPICAL.

I think that being politically correct all the time about everything has a way of stifling communication among ALL people. WE are too afraid to say things for fear of stepping on toes, and so things don't get discussed and issues don't get resolved. Furthermore, why would you denigrate or discourage a group whose goal is to aspire to the best in themselves in all ways?

This is my opinion, and Atypical Lesbians is my project. IF you don't resonate with it, then you wouldn't be comfortable there. However, since you've never found out about it, taken part or had a discussion about it with me or any other member, you are not qualified to make your judgment.

Thank you for your comment, and i wish you all good things.


December 30th, 2007 at 06:13PM
Oh, and Goth--one more thing. I never said that typical lesbians weren't all those things. I said that ATYPICALS were, plus they were other things too. It's a combination. And you took it out of context for your own purpose, whatever that might be.



Now, i am sharing the above posts because i feel it is a good example of something quite common that is at the crux of why my site, Atypical Lesbians is needed. There will always be some people who know--even if only on some subconscious level-- that they are not reaching or striving for their potential, and so they must justify this in various ways, one of which is by attacking those who do strive toward their potential.

I wanted some perspective on her, so i went to her page/profile... one thing that popped out was, Gothgrrrl filled in her HEALTH CONCERNS AS:
Borderline Personality Disorder, Panic Disorder, OCD, Avoidant, Social Anxiety, Depression (nice cocktail, but mostly BPD)

I can see why she was diagnosed this way--her behavior exemplifies it in SPADES.

Further, she also has a group of "Experiences & Interests" Icons complete with labels:
[img]file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/JAEBAE%7E1/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/moz-screenshot-5.jpg[/img]

Have Borderline Personality Disorder	Still Love My Ex	Have a Boyfriend But Want Someone Else	Want to Be Fearless
Have Anxiety Attacks	Am Terrified of Commitment	Am In Therapy	Study History

She is announcing to the world everything about herself that is broken....I saw nothing positive in her list, did you? Just on the surface, by looking at this list, one can make an assessment about her, that she is allowing herself to be a victim, has a hard time letting go, wants what she feels she can't have, is not honest with herself or others sometimes, allows fear to be the foundation of her existence, needs something to blame things on, doesn't know what she wants and is afraid of it if she does, cannot deal with change--is not adaptable....i could go on and on...it's not that hard to figure out, just by looking at her list.

Obviously, she struggles quite a bit with coping. Someone with that many diagnoses is PATENTLY lacking in coping skills. Believe me, i am not dismissing or condescending to those with chemical imbalances and organic mental illness....I believe there is a difference, here, that is worth noting, which often gets blurred by humanity's own garbage: brain injury, chemical imbalance and organic brain illness are not what i am addressing here...i am addressing those conditions, disorders or imbalances that stem from a human's own creation, starting with the coping mechanisms created to deal with something.

Back to my bug under the glass...Gothgrrrl--the fact that she announced all that on her page, means that she embraces it as her identity. She allows it to have complete power over her. It's almost like being mentally ill is her religion, and the illness itself is her god. All things are referenced back to this NutGod. Things that cannot be explained, things she doesn't want to deal with. If she can shift it there, she doesn't have to look at it or do anything to make it better.

Further, I also believe that many of the names the psychological intelligentsia gives to disorders would be better stated as COPING MECHANISMS, not Personality Disorders... A disorder of personality has an antecedent...that, being the inability to cope in a healthy way.

I think that probably most of the things we call personality disorders is merely a manifestation of an inability to cope with something in a healthy way. I think these things can be conquered, notwithstanding the true chemical imbalances and organic brain conditions that also exist... I can say these things from experience.

I was diagnosed over the years with many different things...to the point where i thought i was just this broken, fucked up individual. It's enough to make you want to kill yourself....oh...see the correlation? That's not very helpful, is it? Well, once i took responsibility for all that and began to do the self-work, avoid the therapy where i just masturbated the sickness, things began to change. Those symptoms of these disorders went away. wow. it was a miracle. NO. IT WAS HARD WORK and it was SELF UNDERSTANDING and it was SELF-RESPONSIBILITY.

The amusing/paradoxical/telling thing is that Gothgrrrl also identified strongly as someone who studies HISTORY. Not her OWN, ironically....isn't that interesting? Someone will choose an identity marker of one who studies things in the past, when they are crippled by their present because they can't study their own history?

Okay. I'll stop here. I hope this gives some food for thought, and i welcome any insights from any of you, even if you are chicken to post it here under comments....

"Don't You DARE say I'm Unique!"

The KISS Method, with Perhaps Not So Much Kissing

(AKA; 50 First Dates)
Excerpt from ISO (In Search Of): The Art of Dating, Relationships & Sex For the Discerning Lesbian

I was talking with a friend about dating (What a shock--is there any other subject on my mind these days?) and how I need to learn to just enjoy the process of dating since I've never been able to do that. I was in the U-Haul crowd, all my relationships overlapped and when there was a romance, a spark, it just segued into being a couple right away. I feel I have missed out on the joys of just having a good time with a woman. I have decided I need to just enjoy it. I joked that I need to have 50 First Dates, before I allow myself to get serious with anyone. It doesn't have to be serious. Just because I go out with someone, it doesn't mean I have to see them as longterm partner material......I must remain open...that's the advice I give my friends, anyway. Look at me, giving advice on something I suck at.

..those who can't, TEACH...

What happens is, if I am attracted to a woman, and I kiss her, and it's a good kiss, a kiss that lights a fire, then my thoughts become very testosterone-like. I think about what it might be like to make love with her...then I get more excited, and all my lofty ideas and good intentions go out the window in favor of that instant gratification...everyone wants to feel good and let's face it, arousal feels good. It's rather like a drug. You just want it to continue and maybe increase...and what if this girl has a great personality, is attractive, and I am Sparkin' on her, and what if she's also a good kisser, whose lips match mine, and then I keep it simple and don't go all the way...then I'm investing in her.

An example of lips that don't match mine

And what if, when we do make a commitment, and make love, I hate it? What if she's bad in bed? then what? (or God Forfend, she feels that I AM bad in bed)--I'm not. Finding the right mate is so much like finding the right job...we really are interviewing everyone we date. Will we get along? Are we of like mind? Will the environment be to my liking? Is there financial trouble? Will there be a chance of advancement? Is there any security? Will I be passed over later, dumped, set aside for someone younger, more vibrant?

I wish those high-horsers would just get over themselves and realize that it's not shallow to be prudent, not superficial to want what we want, and not in the least insensitive to admit when something is just not a happenin' thing. Yet I realize there are ways to do that with the fewest casualties. Ultimately, though, I cannot be responsible for everyone else's feelings. I tend to do that, and then I just get all stressed out worrying about how everyone else is feeling, to the exclusion of how I'm feeling...ostensibly, we are all adults, and should able to handle the ups and downs of life and romance.

In our discussion, my friend said, "Well, I think if I could just get some good sex--"

But that argument doesn't wash for me, because I know that good sex means MEANINGFUL, going-somewhere sex. It means a connection with someone. The proverbial SPARK. Now I suppose I could learn to do the casual sex thing--as long as it was SAFE SEX, and as long as I was really Sparkin' on the woman. But is that really who I am? Or is it who I could have been, if I'd had a normal dating life all these years? Is it too late for the old girl to change?

Those who can, DO...

The KISS Method, with Perhaps Not So Much Kissing

Jersey, Wawa, and Little Miss Delaware

I just returned from a week in New Jersey, visiting a couple of friends. There are always dangers in big cities and always dangerous cities in every state. I knew that, and still, I had my own apprehensions; especially since a new report listed Camden as the most dangerous city in the nation. But i wasn't in Camden. And everyone outside Camden knows to avoid Camden. Apparently, even the Camden Criminals know to stay within Camden. Or something like that. But I was in Glendora, and it reminded me very much of Colorado Springs. Clean, relatively safe, and not at all threatening. Jersey gets a bad rap, maybe

My friends took me to Atlantic City and we went to a casino for the buffet. I had crab legs, primarily. Then we strolled along the boardwalk and then the beach, where i stared out at the ocean, watched the beautiful waves cresting, ebbing and sluicing onto the sand, and thought of how romantic it would have been if i had been holding hands with a girl of my own. I knew this was something i could thoroughly enjoy in the right circumstances. One of my friends found me some beautiful shells and I told the other she had to find me something too, so she soon handed me a rock. (Thanks, that was special). It was nice to be able to look for shells on a real beach--unlike my experience with the Gulf Coast.

A few days later, the Rock Giver and i took a walk in an actual city park. That's something--inane as it sounds--I've never done. It was a meaningful bonding experience for us, even though it was so cold that we were numb when we got back to the car. Again, i thought of how romantic it would have been to walk with a special someone (not that she wasn't special, Oh Giver of Rocks, but she was SPOKEN FOR!).

One of the more appealing things about the Glendora area of Jersey was the presence of a Wawa store on almost every corner. I love my coffee and Wawa is a dreamy place for any java connoisseur. There are always about 20 different flavors of coffee in carafes with all the condiments to make even Juan Valdez weak-kneed. And then there's all manner of snicky-snacks, like bagels and cream-cheese filled soft pretzels, and fruit cups and cheese and sausage trays--all fresh. I didn't even get a chance to sample the deli, but the selection was also impressive. It was the sort of convenience store that other convenience stores aspire to be. I could live there. We stopped several times a day while on our drives.

Another plus is that New York and D.C. are only 2 hours away, Philly is 20 minutes, and there is a plethora of cultural and social activities to be had. The Philly library alone held dozens of meetings and events for the Same Gender Loving folks, and the newspaper was full of other activities and social opportunities. Everywhere we went, i noticed, too, THE WOMEN...gorgeous, educated, cultured...it was all i could do not to rub my hands together in glee and cackle with delight.

I did have a rather rude awakening at the club BOUNCE we went to. A sweet young thang was "dancing at me" so i joined her on the dancefloor and exchanged a few ear-chats, learning that she was from Delaware, and came down to this club once every two weeks. The girl was hot, and i discovered a few raw hormones for the next several minutes, having a large time watching her gyrate and undulate, until i found out she was 18.

"Oh my god. I almost went to jail," I said. "I'm way too old to be dancing with you."

"No you're not!" she enthused.

She could not imagine the disturbing twinge that shot through me when i realized that i was actually entertaining some less than chaste fantasies involving she and I and a can of whipped cream. Little Miss Delaware was Unaware. I broke away and spent the next few minutes reacquainting myself with the sensation of air in my lungs and the burn in my leg muscles, and trying desperately to quell the burn in other areas.

Jersey, Wawa, and Little Miss Delaware

Texas Pain Saw Mess-a-Girl

Once upon a time there was this lesbian who had been in a monogamous relationship for 7 years, the last year of which she had been very unhappy, living in what some would call the the Second Ring of Hell, also known as Texas. She was away from her usual circle of friends, and ripe for a dance with infidelity. She was the flirty type, but had never acted on her crushes or any of those raging hormones.

She had been flirting with an old friend online, via emails and phone calls, and wishing she didn't live in Texas. Then one weekend, another old friend came to visit, with more Old Friends in tow, and much merriment was made, and way too much beer was imbibed. Somehow one of the friends thought it would be fun to visit a local cemetery.

One thing mysteriously led to another, and she found herself in a liplock with one of those old friends, an Amazon Woman who played guitar and sang beautifully.... Then she found herself having wild sex with the Amazon. Twice. Then she found herself in a car going back to the motel the friends shared, and found herself having sex again in the motel room with the Amazon. When the beer wore off, she realized what she had done, and felt awful. Felt guilty, felt totally like the Second Ring of Hell was where she belonged, because she was such a sinner, and worthy of some Fire and Brimstone.

Word got around the Old Friend Grapevine, and soon phones were ringing and e-mails were zipping back and forth, and everyone had an opinion. Some Old Friends turned their backs, some Old Friends supported her in her hour of self-loathing. The Old Friend she had been flirting with online felt almost like she had been cheated on as well, since they had discussed why they couldn't pursue anything romantic, the Texas Pain Saw Mess-a-Girl still being ensconced in a relationship.

But the E-mail Flirtee still offered understanding and support, as she had also been guilty of some bad decisions in the past. The Texas Pain Saw Mess-a-Girl was busted, and the usual emotional upheavals began. But the Spurned Lover did not take the Texas Pain Saw Mess-a-Girl to a cemetery and bury her up to her neck and leave her there all night. Nor did she smack her around, or throw her things in a pile in the yard and light them on fire. The Spurned Lover took it on the chin and tried to maintain a sense of humor through those clenched teeth, and despite her aching heart.

Whenever she drove them past a graveyard, she'd say, "Are you turned on, yet?"

Then the jokes began. "What was it like having sex on top of dead people?"

"Was there a soundtrack...like...the one to Thriller? Did you see any zombies?"

"Is your favorite show 'Six Feet Under', now?"

Texas Pain Saw Mess-a-Girl