Cancer is a four letter word

Cancer has always been a reality in my family.  As little girls my sisters and I watched it steal our grandfather away a little bit at a time.  Later our aunt Jane, his sister, slowly faded from the vibrant, wise matriarch of our family to a shaking shell and then she too was gone.  So when my father sat across from me in Olive Garden (of all places) and says "I have cancer" I panic.  The only point of reference I have for cancer is a thief who sneaks in and takes away the people I love in pieces.

The panic, crying and general irrational reaction phase lasted about a week.  Right up until the first real biopsy and the beginning of words like robotic surgery, feeding tube and chemo.  There is no room for panic here.  At some point between those horrifying losses and now I grew up.  Today I have the tools and knowledge to cope with this.  Tonight I sat down with my parents and talked about powers of attorney and living wills.  Tomorrow my sisters and I are organizing care and support schedules to get Dad and Donna through the coming weeks.  At some point before the weekend is out I am going to help Dad shave his head. In ten days they're taking out his epiglottis and hopefully the enlarged lymph node in his neck.  He'll be on a feeding tube for a while and start six weeks of chemo and radiation.  Hence the head shaving.  This cancer is treatable and while it's going to be rough we're expecting positive results.

In the meanwhile we've decided several important things.  People who are going to get stuck on feeding tubes get to eat whatever they want before hand.  Also, it's very empowering to shave your head.  And most important of all:

Fuck cancer.

Out of the closet

I've spent the last day and a half doing laundry, sorting clothing and generally trying to organize my closet and dresser.  What I'm finding is that better than half the closet and more than one drawer of the dresser are full of femme type articles of clothing that I collected in the last couple of years that I was trying so hard to feminize myself.  In the last year I've had an explosion of boy type clothing as I've started shopping to suit this new facet of myself.  The result has been clothing bursting from the drawers, stored in laundry baskets and hanging from the closet doors.  It seems like a simple solution is available, right?  Just get rid of the vestigial femme clothing that hasn't been worn in the better part of a year.  But I look at it and see myself in these pieces that I felt so curvaceous, alluring, so sexy wearing and the idea of giving them away seems wrong somehow.

So what's up with that?  You'd think that I'd be happy to move away from the before boy era (BBE) things.  So far all I've managed to do is pull the majority of it out onto a hanging rack and stare at it.  One or two pieces I've got earmarked for specific people.  Some of it I think I'll hold onto.  Security blanket I guess?  Just in case drag?  Who knows, maybe I'll find occasion to wear it.  Or I'll just hold onto it for a while longer until it feels safe to let go.

I think the root of the problem stems from the fact that embracing my boyish qualities wasn't a rejection of my femme-ness.  As I explained it once to a family member I didn't replace one gender with another I added extra gender expression onto what I already had.  I still cherish those feminine parts of my personality, sexuality and personal expression.  I just feel more comfortable being a boy in my day to day life.  Boyhood is practical, comfortable, dare I say more functional than being femme was.  I can better fulfill the service aspects of my social life that I enjoy so much.  The way I interact with the kink world especially is well suited to the boy in me.

Is there still a sweet femme, a Daddy's girl, a curvy, vivacious femme inside me somewhere?  I really don't know.  Do I see myself wearing a sexy dress and high heels ever again? Maybe.

You called me boy

and in doing so gave a name to this spirit within me.  This spirit of pants and soft t shirts, dirty boots, opening doors and lifting the heavy things, you called boy. 

Finding this part of me has been like a science experiment we did when I was in school, rolling marbles under a sheet of cardboard and trying to judge the shape of the object hidden underneath by how they bounced back out.  I could not see the shape of who I am underneath the layers of socialized femininity, body shaming and misplaced modesty.  I've been trying to find the shape of things for awhile now.  Figuring out that queer fit so much better than bisexuality was a pretty big thing for me.  It wasn't a "Eureka!" type thing, it was just a gradual breakthrough after gathering many small pieces of the puzzle. 

And so goes the evolution of boy. At first it was clothing.  Soft cotton briefs under straight leg jeans, wearing a belt, carrying a wallet and leaving my purse at home.  Then it was behaviors, holding doors, fetching and carrying, bootblacking.  I tried on each of these things for size and kept the ones that fit.  The first time I stripped out all the make up and femme armor from my luggage and went to a big event felt like I was going on a top secret mission.  As if no one could possibly believe that I really was this boyish creature I'd found underneath all the layers.  Then it happened.  You called me boy. 

Good boy
Look at me, boy
Yes, boy?

You called me boy and it opened something within me.  What I have found inside I give back to you.  I give you my strength, my vulnerability, my service. I bring to you my hard work, my cleverness, my smile.  All of the things I had before with an outside that better fits my inside.

Moving

I’ve been on this travel binge. 

Pack the bags, pack the car, fill the tank and go.  In October I drove 3,400 miles in 18 days.  Solo.  I’ve been in more gas stations, hotels, rest stops, guest rooms and crash pads than I can even count. I slept in my car.  If I know you very well at all I probably slept on your floor.  I did 110 mph in the middle of nowhere in Iowa.  I got stuck in traffic.  And traffic.  And traffic.

I can’t find what I’m looking for and, really, I’m not sure I even know what that is.  I’ve seen the most beautiful places.  I’ve cried in a lot of them.  Cried in some pretty ugly ones too.  At some point, I just ran out of tears.  Everything in me went still.  I kept running.  And running. And running. 

Writing this isn’t about what broke.  That’s over.  It happened and it’s done.  This writing is about the after.  This writing is about healing.  I’m relearning how to feel.  I’m learning more about who I am and who I can be.  It hurts sometimes. Sometimes, tho, it’s wonderful.  I’m finally opening up.  I think it’s time to stop running.

Wisdom from Pat Califia

A Code of Honor for Leatherdykes
By Pat Califia, From the book "The Second Coming" 1996

I feel a little silly writing this down. It's very personal, and I'm not sure that putting my own ideals down on paper will be useful for anyone else. And I'd be a complete fool if I tried to tell anybody that these items are anything other then goals. On some days achieving them seems very damned distant.

I only know that for me, leather is more then a way to get off. It can be a powerful bond between outspoken women who have the courage to be honest about their needs, strong women who have the guts to live outside society's fences. For me, these bonds have transcended any connection I've have with my family. There's an old saying, "Leather is thicker then blood." But if we're going to abandon the standards and institutions that keep most women domesticated, we need a code of our own to keep us from preying upon one another.

1. I will take care of myself financially. I will pay my own way. I will not manipulate or coerce other women into supporting me. If I have to borrow money, I will pay it back. If I borrow someone else's possessions, I will protect them and return them in the same condition that I received them.

2. I will take care of myself mentally, emotionally, and physically. If I need counseling or medical attention, I will get it. If I need support to seek professional assistance, I will ask for help. I will not lapse into self-destruction, I will not let my use of alcohol or other drugs get out of control, and I will not expose myself or other women to disease by having unsafe sex or sharing needles.

3. I will take care of myself sexually. I will not have sex with someone I despise just because I am needy. I will not allow someone to abuse me because she provides me with sex. I will not trample on other women to make a sexual connection. I will not trade my basic rights and responsibilities for sex. I will not pretend I am a top because I want the prestige, and I will not pretend to be a bottom because I don't want to be grown-up or culpable.

4. I will take care of my relationships. I will be honest with my partner(s). I will resolve conflicts in a nonviolent manner. If I need to change or end a relationship, I will do it with care. I will not treat someone I once loved as is she were a stranger or an enemy. If someone ends a relationship with me, I will recognize that as her inalienable right, and I will not use it as an excuse to instigate a vendetta against her.

5. I will take care of my property. I will improve everyone and everyone that I own. I will not exploit someone else's labor or affection because I'm too lazy to do for myself or too insecure to get down on my knees. I will not ruin my bottom's pleasure because I am jealous of her status. I will not sabotage the rest of her life to keep her under my sexual control.

6. I will take good care of my owner. I will not make contracts I do not intend to keep. I will not undermine her confidence. I will not change my mind about whether I consented to a scene once the scene is over. I will not get her into fights over me or make other master think badly of her abilities because I am unkempt or rude.

7. To the limits of my ability, I will defend myself and other women from danger. I will not cause another woman bodily harm, and I will not allow myself to be injured without seeking redress.

8. I will keep my promises, and I will not make promises lightly.

9. I will not pretend to know things that I am ignorant about. I will not attempt S/M techniques that are beyond my skill or experience I will honor my teachers and always give them credit for the knowledge they shared with me. I will not hoard that knowledge and skill but will pass it on to any woman who is genuinely curious and willing to learn.

10. I will not gossip. I f I know something bad or good about another person, I will share that information when it's necessary and constructive to do so, as long as I am not violating her confidentiality. I will not pass on stories that I can't personally verify, and I will not stir shit by spreading rumors or backstabbing. If I can't keep someone's secrets, I won't allow her to tell me any. If I have a problem with someone, I will confront her myself and not pass the problem on to someday else by whining about it.

11. I will especially respect and honor people in the community who do things that I don't do, because they have abilities I do not have. I will not cooperate with any effort to stigmatize or punish them for being different from me.

12. I will not brag. If I'm any good at all, other women will do my bragging for me. If I'm not, bragging is a form of lying. Dignity and a calm attitude are the mark of a player who can be trusted. A frenzied pursuit for the mob's good opinion will result in bad digestion and sexual frustration.

13. There are women who went before me. They have made my life easier. They are my elders, if not my betters, and I will be grateful for the achievements even if I do not like them personally.

14. S/M is a craft, and I am an apprentice for life. Other people may call me an authority, but I know there's always something about this game-that's-real that I don't know.

15. I will keep a sense of humor. Players who take themselves or the game too seriously get so rigid that they are in danger of shattering under stress.

16. Clean constructive power comes from responsibility. I will not try to gain power in any other way-not by sleeping with somebody else who has some, not by buying it, not by stealing it from other women who have acquired power because they work hard and stick their necks out.

17. There is no welfare in this community. If I want it to flourish, I must contribute. If I sit on my hands, I am a parasite, and I should give my leather away to somebody who deserves to wear it.

18. My good opinion of another woman does not depend on whether she flatters me, gets me laid, or gets me high. When I am taking sides in a conflict, I will try to think about what's right before I think about what side my cunt is lubricated on.

19. My first loyalty is to other women. Women do not have enough physical space, money, or freedom. I value women-only space and institutions and will not attack or weaken them. If I have men in my life, I will not give them priority over women or impose their company on women who choose to live apart from men.

20. I will treat novices, newcomers, and beginners gently. I will not keep them isolated from the community so I can monopolize their attentions, and I will not take advantage of their enthusiasm or ignorance. I will give them the kind of introduction to the scene that I wish someone had given me.

21. I will treat vanilla dykes with courtesy, even while I oppose the attempts some of them make to censor me or take away my rights. I will remember that a lot of women who get upset about S/M will be leatherdykes someday. i will not make coming out more difficult for others by antagonizing or alienating them unnecessarily. Nor will I kowtow to their prejudice or keep silent when they speak ill of my sisters in leather.

22. I will never ransom my intelligence to someone else's charisma I will never take somebody else's word for the right or wrong of an issue. I will gather my own facts, weigh them in my own mind, and come to my own conclusions. My self-respect is more important to me then being popular or admired."

Single

I realized this weekend that I’ve been shaping this idea in my head for a while.  Things happen that way with me.  They percolate and steep up there until finally something comes out when I least expect it.  This time the words came rushing out of my mouth while the rest of my body was rushing with heady afterglow.  I’m not dating right now.  I’d been thinking about the subject of dating and how it relates to where I am in my life.  I’d certainly considered the option of throwing it out entirely.  But I hadn’t really said it with confidence and confirmation behind it before.  I said it, and I knew it was right.  That wasn’t all I said, though.  The second part really surprised me.  I’m not having sex.  Yeah, I know, that didn’t go all that well the last time I tried it.  I remember.  It feels different now.  My motivations are different.

The dating thing is simple. I’m in flux, I don’t know where I’ll be living in the next few years, I don’t know where I want to be.  I want the freedom to go and be wherever my heart takes me.  Getting wrapped up in an intense love affair that ties me to one location will defeat that goal entirely.  Am I going to close myself off completely and ignore if Mr or Ms. Right shows up in my life?  Hell no.  But I am not seeking out romantic life partners.  It’s just not the right time. 

Sex.  Oh, sex. 

If you know me, you know I like sex.  I’m not shy about it.  In fact I’m pretty much an outspoken proponent of sex.  I think people should have it, should enjoy it, and then have some more of it.  Casual sex is just fine.  Lord knows I’ve had plenty of it.  Here comes the ‘But’.  But…  the kind of sex I want now is different.  I want relationship sex.  I want the kind of sex where you know each others bodies so well that you can take it to another level.  Sex has always had an emotional component for me and I want the kind of sex where it’s ok for that to happen.  I want sex where the emotional bond is a good and natural thing that everyone involved wants to build and grow.  And so, I am abstaining from the kind of sex I’ve been having that isn’t really satisfying my cravings. 

You see, in addition to being a very loud proponent of sex, I am also a big believer in *good* sex.  Sex should feed the animal within you.  It should make your body catch fire.  For me, a part of that really great sex is the way it can build the emotional connection between me and my partners.  Since I am not currently building those sorts of connections, I’m setting aside sex with others for the moment.  I’m still going to play.  Play feeds other needs that I can’t ignore.  I’m still going to build strong friendships with my play partners.  Those are wonderful relationships of trust and affection.  For now, though, the sex is going to stay separate. 

So there you have it.  I am consciously choosing to be single and celibate.  I don’t know how long this little experiment will last.  I’m open to it changing over time as my needs change.  That’s the most important thing in the end, and ultimately the whole reason behind the concept, to protect myself and satisfy my needs.

The only one who calls me butch...

is my mother.

The past year or so has been a wonderland of exploration; gender, sexuality, submissive and service identities.  I’ve crawled up and down the spectrum of female gender expression.  I’ve dressed in drag (and passed for a boy).  I’ve worn high heels, corsets, make up and jewelry.  Most of the time, tho, I’m content in jeans, sneakers and a t shirt.  I only wear make up to go out for kink stuff and even then it’s only the big stuff.  Don’t get me wrong, I like wearing dresses and heels and make up.  It makes me feel beautiful, graceful and strong.  However, I’m finding more and more that the other end of the spectrum is just as powerful.  I like the strength of feeling grounded and solid when I wear my boots.  I like the way wearing masculine clothing changes the way I walk and hold myself.

Cutting my hair off was the most powerful change I’ve made.  While I’m not Christian it often makes me think of 1 Corinthians 11:14-15 “Does not nature itself teach you that if a man wears long hair, it is degrading to him, but if a woman has long hair, it is her glory? For her hair is given to her for a covering.” Coming from a region with concentrations of people with Christian values I know very few women with very short hair and more than just a few who keep long hair for spiritual or religious reasons.  The first time I asked for a cut so short that it required clippers I was literally shaking.  It was like I was having the veil I could hide behind shaved off bit by bit.  It felt wonderful, empowering and scary.  I fear the kind of homophobic violence so many I know have experienced.  I know there are no laws here to protect me.  So I made a choice.  The need to feel comfortable in my own skin, to feel empowered, sexy and unencumbered outweighed my fears of rejection, misunderstanding and violence. 

Of course, gender expression is more than just clothing.  It’s attitude, behaviors, actions and any number of intangible things.  Many of these things remain the same with me.  Many are in flux.  A lot of things are heavily tied into exploring my submissive and service identities.  I’m learning to bootblack from a very femme perspective.  I’m learning leather history and decorum from a butch, gentlemanly perspective.  I find myself more protective and nurturing towards some people in my life.  Others, I feel I could bare my secrets safely and be honored to serve them. 

I am happier in my own skin now than I ever have been before.  As I ride out these changes I do so knowing that there is a solid path for me somewhere.  I’m going to keep looking until I find it.