A little back story for you; my earliest crush in memory was on a woman, a friend's mother, actually, though I can't remember ever considering telling anyone that. At twelve, I came to understand that I wasn't "normal" in the eyes of society, and at fourteen, a year after my first experience with another girl, and months before actually losing my virginity, I "came out" to my mother and several friends as being bisexual. Nearly thirteen years later, my mother would still swear to you that it's nothing more than a phase I'm going through.
Now, so many lessons later, I know I'm beginning what seems like a whole new life. I have my own place, am divorcing my second husband- and the remains of that are so Sonny-and-Cher it scares me-, I own two vehicles, have the coolest dog ever and a cat who's convinced he's a dog, and, well, I'm starting to feel less like a flawed burden in a contorted, scarred body than I am a real, live woman and all that entails.
In short, it's taken me nearly twenty-seven years of life to accept who I always have been.
Go f'ing figure, right?
I've started actively looking for women to date for the first time since... well, ever. In high school and for a few years after that, it wasn't even an effort to find women to see... But now?? Yeah... Not so much.
Anyway, sexuality is such a small part of it, really. Five years ago, I couldn't have braided anything- end of story. A ponytail was high-maintenance for me, no lie. Now? I own at least three flat irons, a blow dryer, a curling iron (possibly two), three different kinds of hair brushes, a couple dozen makeup brushes, more than twenty different shades of eyeshadow, concealer, blush, several shades of lipstick, at least three bottles of liquid foundation.... hell, I have satin sheets AND a number of items from Victoria's Secret!!!! Aren't you proud of me?!
I'm still the "tomboy" underneath it all, but just because I enjoy playing in the mountains barefoot doesn't mean I can't rock lace, leather and high heels- sometimes all at once. Being heavily tattooed, I've even managed to pull the modern-vintage pin-up look off.
I'm currently talking, in some way, shape or form, to three different ladies. I'm not in a relationship, but I'm definitely exploring my options. The youngest of the three reminds me of the ex that scared me most, though was, publicly at least, the easiest to be with- very stereotypically masculine in nature (I don't care for the terms masculine and feminine to describe people, but I don't know of another term that would explain my perception of her at this point), laid back, cool, short hair, slender, and not terribly fragile or soft in appearance. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and... well, despite my initial nerves about talking to someone who bore a resemblance to a past mate, I really like her. We'll call this friend Baby Boy as, biologically, Baby Boy is female, though tends to identify more often with masculine pronouns.
Then there's Little Mama. She's pretty, soft, funny and sweet- but also unemployed, living with her parents, has a child and no car of her own. No matter how much I like her, my nerves are more than a little rattled at the thought of opening myself up to get used in a situation like this. I have found my feet, and gotten myself to a point where I'm happy and secure, and would be really, really pissed the hell off if I wound up with someone who drug me down as I attempted to help. Little Mama and I seem to be almost avoiding one another- we haven't spent time together, and it seems one of us always has something come up. I'm not sure whether to see this recurring theme as a "sign" that I just need to put myself first and not risk it here, or whether things will fall together and be fine eventually.
Then there's Tenure. She's in her early forties, with a ten year old daughter. She's beautiful, funny, and outspoken, and she terrifies me. She intimidates the ever loving hell out of me. I've only spoken to her a little bit, but it's just so overwhelming and I really, really don't want to hurt or piss off this particular woman.
Amidst all of this, I am learning to allow myself to be pretty and enjoy the things I always thought were reserved for the dainty, pretty, fragile flowers like Audrey Hepburn ("Sonny"'s favorite actress, no less) and, as such, were simply too upscale for more Bettie Page/Janis Joplin types like myself. I allow myself to decorate my home and cars in bright colors, to wear makeup and get my hair and nails done professionally, to enjoy candles, baths and soft, sexy music... And I'm learning to realize that, really, these are things people who don't know me too well always kind of assume I'll dig anyway. Not being a particularly quiet soul, I suppose the hips and long hair suggest more femininity than I'd allowed myself to acknowledge before this shift in my thinking. Now, I lay between satin sheets, with a vanity dresser holding my makeup and jewelry up for display, my closet full of bright colors and high heels, pin-up posters on my wall and hot pink curtains over my windows.
I don't have this figured out just yet, but I suppose understanding that I'll NEVER really have this all figured out is a pretty big part of the big picture.... So, this blog is my story of becoming a woman, growing up (mostly against my will, mind you), tattoos, high heels, makeup and, well, me.
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