Goodbye 2008, Hello 2009!

2009It was a year ago today that I was involved in a life-profound car accident.

Luckily, or should I say because of a higher power, I made it out an accident scratch-free that most people, including the officer that found me in my car upside down, said I shouldn’t have survived.

I won’t rehash the details, considering it’s still vivid in my mind, but I will say a prayer tonight that I’m still here. It set off a year that wasn’t my best, I can admit. From that accident, I had a lot of financial setbacks, including having to buy a car after living years without car payments. Because of it,  I realized that I needed to get my money situation in order.

The accident also reemphasized the importance of family. The night of the accident, I was riding in my car alone, following behind my parents in one car, and my sister’s family in another. Our three cars were headed to a family restaurant, and I remember being upset that no one took into consideration my feelings about riding with them. I had a small twinge of feeling left out, and everything was put into perspective after that night.

I say all this to say that this is a new year, 2009 to be exact. I want to leave all the baggage of 2008 behind me. There are some things I need to do and things I want to try, cause you only live once. I don’t really have any resolutions, per se. I just have this urge to be more involved in my community, and focus on something besides myself, you know.

It all began when I saw Milk a week and a half ago. (The movie was wonderful; you must see it). The film about the first openly gay man to be elected to public office inspired me. It will show you we need people who will stand up for us – and that things really haven’t changed that much when it comes to gay rights. Here we are in the same situation we were 20 years ago, when Proposition 6 was introduced to fire any gay teacher or their supporters in 1978 . Except Prop. 6 was defeated, whereas last year’s Prop. 8 won. Harvey was just getting started politically when he was brutally assassinated. It’s no telling what he could have accomplished.

The other thing I’ve toyed with is writing erotica. It’s been on my mind for a minute. I have a vivid imagination, and I should be putting this stuff down on paper. I hope to have a few pieces published this year, at least that’s my goal. I’ve been reading everything I can get my hands on to give me a little inspiration. Maybe Lebron can give me a little motivation, as well 🙂

Oh, I want to lose weight. Just though I’d throw that in for good measure.

I see many good things occurring this year. And I want to be the one to make it happen.

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Yep! Wanda's Gay!

Not that it comes as any surprise to me, but Wanda Sykes has recently come out. She says because of the recent passing of Proposition 8, she had to speak out by proclaiming herself as a lesbian.

“Now, I gotta get in their face,” she said. “I’m proud to be a woman. I’m proud to be a black woman, and I’m proud to be gay.”

She was at a gay rights rally in Las Vegas on Saturday, where she told the crowd, “You know, I don’t really talk about my sexual orientation. I didn’t feel like I had to. I was just living my life, not necessarily in the closet, but I was living my life. Everybody that knows me personally they know I’m gay. But that’s the way people should be able to live their lives.”

I am proud of Wanda. My gaydar was way high on this one, coupled with the fact you never saw her in dating men. I’m also glad that she opened herself up to her fans. Maybe that will inspire other black gay celebrities to come out. Hmm…Queen Latifah, anyone.

The Same Things You Do in the Beginning…

marriedDomesticity has become us. Us meaning me and my lover of two years, Lebron. After a year of living together, the mystery is gone. Perhaps this has happened to you; maybe the sweet nothings have taken a back seat to the day-to-day duties of running your household.

It’s not that you don’t love each other. Lebron and I still have fun as a couple, still laugh at the silliest things, still love being around each other. Our favorite pastime is laying in bed together, talking about our dreams and our childhoods, in that easy way we always had since first becoming friends almost six years ago. Or at dinnertime, when we catch up on our day and watch our favorite shows (which if it’s Saturday usually means college football).

But here’s the thing: We’re comfortable. I know that can seem like the kiss of death, one or two steps away from the dreaded lesbian bed death (thank God we’re not at that stage). That sounds bad, I know. Without children, it’s just the two of us, and the same things we did in the beginning of our blissful honeymoon stage, we ain’t doing now.

For instance:

  • In the beginning…I wore sexy matching underwear, something cute and involving a thong or boy shorts, showing off all my curves like my baby likes.
  • Now…I’m typically decked out in a basic black bra (for work) and Hanes panties (at least it’s hi-cut), with the matching sets and teddies saved for special occasions.
  • In the beginning…I got bi-weekly pedicures and was never seen too often without French-tipped nails.
  • Now…I’m lucky if I go once a month. Hey, it gets expensive.
  • In the beginning…we called each other five times a day, speaking all lovey dovey and saying we couldn’t wait to see each other.
  • Now…one phone call in the afternoon, with Lebron whispering such sexy phrases as, “What’s for dinner?” and “We need some toilet tissue.”

Don’t get me wrong, I love our life. It’s times when Lebron looks so sexy cooking dinner, I have to contain myself. And we still give each other knowing looks that speak more volumes that the love notes she used to email me. I guess after a while, all couples hit the old married stage, the one where you love each other, couldn’t imagine life without one another, but get used to each other’s daily habits.

Like Lebron’s routine of leaving the door open after a No. 2 session. Or my habit of leaving my clothes lying around the house. Or hers of eating and leaving crumbs everywhere (even on our beige-colored couch.) Or mine of leaving the toilet roll empty after using the last of the tissue paper.

It’s just one of those things that come over time. As much as I complain, it’s good between us. I feel a coziness I haven’t felt with anyone as I do her. I can let my guard down, and she can, too. That’s not to say we don’t have our moments. It’s times I want to choke a bitch from the annoying things she does, but when it’s good, it’s beautiful.

Except for that damn No. 2. Now that’s some damn shit.

I Kissed a Girl…

It’s hard not to like Katy Perry’s I Kissed a Girl, her ode to bi-curious experimentation. A monster summer hit, It’s catchy, it’s flirty, it’s girl-on-girl action. And who doesn’t love that? I find it hard not to sing along to the chorus, reminiscing about my own lip-locks from past.

Cause one thing Katy doesn’t do is give the kiss of a woman justice. It’s more than a cherry-chapped-sticked wet dream of a young girl’s fantasy, at least for me. It’s the feeling of soft lips on yours, a warm and inviting mouth, while touching the supple curves of her body. It’s also how I found the passion I’d been searching for all my life.

When I first decided to jump into the lesbian dating pool, I did what most women-seeking-women do: place a online personals ad. Yahoo! personals was the place to be then (especially since it was free in those days). I got a few responses, most not worth my time; lest I forget the girl I met who wanted to me to come back to her place, even though she had a live-in girlfriend.

Yet in those ghastly responses came the one from “Daisy,” a woman whom I seemed to have so much in common with. Both us intelligent, goofy girls with sensitive, no-nonsense attitudes, our first time exploring our lesbian desires. We clicked from the start, and spent most every night getting to know each other better.

After a while, Daisy and I decided our first date would be a movie. This was, of course, dependent upon if we liked what we saw once we met. (Pictures can be deceiving.) I met Daisy at a neutral spot on our campus, waited for her and we both broke out in smiles upon spying each other. (Yeah, she does look like the cutie from the photo! :-).  Fears relieved, Daisy and I embarked on our date.

Fast forward to later, and Daisy and I are sitting my car, chitchatting and not ready to go home yet. We’re talking. Finally that awkward moment comes when it’s time for the kiss but who makes the first move? Daisy leans in, and at this point, I don’t remember who asked who, but the kiss happens.

My first kiss with a woman.

I feel her full lips on mine, and I think how soft. Our lips part and I think she tastes good. I wrap my arms around her and I want to feel more. All the while in my head, I believe this kiss is it. This is what I had been waiting for. I had never felt this way kissing a man. Daisy’s touch was unbelievable.

Of course we had to stop, or things would have gotten out of hand in my vehicle. Let’s just say the windows were a little foggy. That night I went home dreaming of more kisses like that one — and from that day on I’ve had my fare share (not too much :-).

Now the kisses are not about experimentation, but for love. Like with Lebron I feel the same tingle, but it’s heightened because of the “in love” factor.

I’m far from curious anymore.

I Love Studs; Studs Love Me

tasha.jpgI love studs.

The masculine yet womanly paradox she presents is heavenly. Most of you might know her as the tomboyish girl you grew up with that never quite “seemed right” or the butch-looking woman sporting Timbalands and a short fade at your job. These examples are all her, and for a femme like me, she has just the right mixture of aggressiveness and sensitivity that I find extremely sexy.

Now, here come the questions…

If you date a woman who’s masculine, why don’t you just date a man?

Why use a dildo, when a live dick will do you better?

Don’t you miss men?

What does she have that I don’t?

All of these questions amount to pretty much nothing. It’s hard for people to understand that just because she looks hard like a man, that she’s still a woman. And just like I said here, it’s not so much about the dildo than the woman it’s attached to. If she’s working it out and we have a connection, it’s a beautiful thing. It all goes back to the misconception that a lesbian’s identity is attached to what she does in bed, not what kind of person she is.

We’re more than just what meets the eye.

In any relationship, there’s always a masculine/submissive matrix involved. Someone is always the more dominant personality, while the other tends to be more passive. That’s just the truth of it, whether it’s a male/female or female/female affair. In my case, a stud provides me with that forceful swagger that makes me swoon and allows me to let her take control–but she also realizes her strength in being a woman that can also transcend the comprehension of any man.

I love that.

Did I say that I love studs? Maybe you didn’t hear me.

I SAID I LOVE STUDS.

Just ask Lebron, my current flame, who is all stud. She wears the pants–literally. A loose jeans, Polo-shirt wearing tomboy whose bark is worse than her bite. As her woman, I keep it feminine cause that’s the way she likes it. We balance each other out. Though I see nothing wrong (at all) with femmes, I could never see myself with woman like myself. I need that dominance, that strength.

There’s nothing like it.

Or like her.

Ask Me Anything!?

questionmark.jpgYes, ladies and gentlemen, I’m giving away my secrets.

Not all of them, mind you, but I’ve decided to open up a dialogue. One that might just lead to understanding and tolerance. In this life, that’s all we can ask for.

Here’s the deal: you can ask me questions about almost anything, whether dealing with lesbian/gay issues, sex or relationships, and will post my answers on this blog. Step right up and ask whatever it is you’ve always wanted to know (nothing too personal, I hope). I’m not an expert or anything, and of course I don’t speak for everyone in the gay community, but I can try my best to answer honestly.

Either post your question as a comment (you can be anonymous) or email it offsite to my address at the top of this blog.

I would love to hear from you.

Don’t be shy.

Questions and answers are under the “Ask A Lesbian Anything” tab at the top of the page.

Diary of Mad Black Lesbian: It’s Nunya Business

diary21.jpgAs I said in my last post, I’ve been dating someone new. It’s still fresh, in the “getting to know all about each other” stage, that fragile, fun time where learning everything about her is exciting.

In my exuberance, I’ve been telling one of my friends, “Fancy,” all about my new crush. Gushing at certain points, but telling her how I like this woman. I preface this by saying I’ve only recently come out to her.

Like only a month ago.

Granted, Fancy’s known about my preference for years. Although most discussions about it have been behind my back and not to my face.

At 19, when I first decided I would pursue dating women (after a few years of self-denial), it wasn’t something I shared with anyone. My dating life was my own, mainly because I was still coming to terms with it myself. I began talking to women online, meeting them only when I was truly comfortable with doing so. It was when I first kissed one of these women that I knew I couldn’t deny that I loved women. That first sweet kiss told me everything that I needed to know.

Telling my friends, however, was another issue entirely. Even though I knew being gay was something I couldn’t get out of my system, I was still struggling internally. I knew my friends would understand (or some of them would), but I still had to figure out some things for myself.

Which lead to the talk about my romantic life.

To them, I guess, it looked suspicious how I never seemed to have a boyfriend all four of my undergrad years. But I was dating…just not telling them about it. I wasn’t alone. Now this was college and everybody experimented, and I wasn’t the only one who wasn’t spilling his cup of tea. Several of my other friends were right along in that closet with me, us splitting the rent in that tight space for years.

It lead to many gossip sessions amongst each other, one of us cracking jokes about how Charlie sure spent a lot of time with his “cousin,” who then later became his “friend,” then eventually his “partner.” The gay jokes were flying fast and furious, and I’ll even admit I participated.

Eventually after college, I fell in love. With a woman. “Malibu” was the first woman I truly felt love for, a person I almost considered spending the rest of my life with. It was my first serious relationship, and I kept it very guarded. My friends knew I was seeing someone, but I just hadn’t told them who. At least not yet.

That’s when the gossip about me began. I found out, years later, after coming out to several people close to me. Fancy wasn’t the last one on my list to be told, but to me, it was simply an understanding. She knew, so what did I really need to confess?

The time it takes for person to come out varies. For some, they come out of the womb screaming, “I’m here, and I’m queer!” (One friend immediately comes to mind). For others, it’s a long process. I can’t comment on any else’s experience, but it was something I always knew but tried to regress. I knew being a lesbian wasn’t readily accepted by society, and tried to put thoughts of loving a woman out of my mind. It never worked, though. This is who I am.

But I wasn’t about to be put on anyone’s timetable with my sexuality. It was too important for me. Certain friends got told when it was right for me to do so. Not like some others. Because of our blabbing, a couple of people’s tea got spilled before it was even poured.

I’m of the belief that you shouldn’t have to drag anyone from the closet, it’s whenever they feel it’s time for them to open the door.

Until then, don’t try to come in. It’s dark in there.