Know how when you’re shopping for a car, and you find one you like but haven’t made up your mind yet – all of a sudden, every third car you see on the road is the make and model that’s on your mind? Maybe that’s what this is. Maybe the fact that gender ID has been in my head these last couple of days is why this shit is coming at me hard and fast. It doesn’t much matter. But I have to work hard not to just vent and rant and scold and question and all these things.
A friend posted this link on fb tonight. I have a lot of feelings about it.
This ties into the interaction I had with my lover after sharing this post last night:
(interesting how both have “vs.” in the title, no? How it’s always gotta be one against another??)
I’m not going to say a whole lot about these posts here tonight. Here’s what I will say:
I am a femme. I am queer. I am a dyke. I am submissive. I am a Daddy’s girl. I am a bottom. I am traditional.
That does not mean I only sleep with, am attracted to, or fall in love with people who identify as butch. That does not mean I am not skilled at performing oral sex on females, or that I don’t want to. That does not mean I am only attracted to cisfemales. Or transmen. Or butches. That does not mean I am a doormat. That does not mean I do not love fucking my partner. That does not mean I cannot take care of myself. That does not mean I expect my lover or partner to take care of me. That does not mean I am spineless. That does not mean I can’t or won’t take out the trash, snake a drain, change a tire, swear a blue streak at a bad ump, or wear sneakers.
PEOPLE. Wake up to the fact that, when you assign negative values to identities within your broader community, you contribute to the devaluation of your own identity, experience, and self.
We can all do and be and feel any combination of things without it taking away from someone else’s doing or being or feeling. No, really. Read that again. The same way advocates for gay marriage say to opponents, “Letting us get married doesn’t mean you can’t,” we must say to each other, “Respecting your way of being butch/femme/queer/lesbian/dyke/fag doesn’t mean mine isn’t also okay.”
I don’t talk about my love life much here, for a number of reasons. But I want to. HOLY SHIT do I want to. Because this amazing, intricate, magical being I’m in love with deserves so much blog time, I can’t even tell you. And I owe a lot of my personal growth over the last several months to this relationship.
My lover is an incredibly strong woman. An incorrigible boy. A chivalrous butch. A dirty Daddy. A brilliantly creative fag. Some days she is all one. Some days he is all another. But all days, my little prince is herself. And I love every single aspect of him. She loves me better than I ever knew could be, and I am grateful every second.
K, as she will be known for now, emailed me after my post about Femme identity the other night. K has never dated a self-IDed femme. We have talked some about the ways my identity affects her, and how her fluidity in all things affects me. It is an ongoing conversation that brings out the best in me, and makes me love us all the more. This is what Femme means to K. I feel shy and honored and humbled and proud and, above all, so loved.
Her words, for me.
“Femmes come in all shapes and sizes. They have favorite colors and favorite make up stuff. They always have the sexiest under clothes and lots of shoes. They plan their outfit to coordinate with their mate as well as the date. They make you banana bread with sugar sprinkles and give it to you cold because they know that’s how you like it. Femmes have an amazing ability to be right there when you need them. I do not mean this in a clingy way, more like a super girl way. They stand tall alone but they stand a little taller when they are with loved ones. Femmes are pretty much hot all of the time, basically. They do most everything in a super sexy way and they usually show cleavage. They even sleep sexy. Femmes leave you feeling full in your heart and they smell so nice. They bat their beautiful lashes and talk to you without words. Femmes always seem to be listening. Femmes have the softest skin in the world and if you behave they always let you touch. Sometime they let you touch even when you misbehave. Femmes have an amazing ability to make you feel bigger than a sky scraper and stronger than the Incredible Hulk. Femmes find you in the grocery store and tell you how handsome you look even if you are still in your work clothes. Femmes will tie your tie but not your bow tie. They like to mess up your hair a little and fix it the way they like it. Femmes are also, 100% without a doubt, the best kissers ever. They kiss you so good and love you so hard that you will forget your name.”
Is this about all femmes? No. Is this everything about femmes? No. Is this enough to make one femme love one boy so hard it almost hurts, but in that delicious way? Absolutely.
And it’s enough to make this femme feel a little softer toward those who feel like they need to take away from someone else to have what they need. I hope they find what I have – something that doesn’t challenge my femme identity, but embraces it. Something that doesn’t feel intimidated by my preferences, but enhanced by them. Something that doesn’t feel the need to make something else less-than, only to recognize the greater-than that two people who fully appreciate one another can be together.