Saturday, January 31, 2009

Prejudice - Part 1 - Race

Recently I was told that a comparison by Keith Olbermann, and a subsequent comparison by myself, of race and sexuality would be offensive to that person if he were black. This prompts me to write on prejudice - my definition of it and how it has affected my life.

For clarity:
1. I am white. All white. Not a hint of mixed race appears in my skin color, eyes, or hair.
2. I was born female.
3. I grew up in a small town in Tennessee where there are more Baptist churches than banks.
4. I was raised in the First Baptist Church of said small town.
5. I graduated from high school with approximately 192 peers, only possibly 10 or so of which were not white.
6. I have been more attracted to female bodied people than male since age 5. I say age 5 because that's the very earliest I can remember any kind of attraction, and it was to a girl.
7. I dated men and married one until only a couple of years ago.

First: Race

I grew up in a family of intellects. After the holiday big meals, my family spent time together discussing world events, reading National Geographic Magazines, working 1500 piece puzzles, playing chess, etc. We never watched football and I didn't even realize football games are played on American Thanksgiving Day until I was an adult.

My familial environment was always friendly and accepting to all types of people. I recall that my uncle had a friend or girlfriend who was of Asian decent with a child near my age. I remember the time they spent with my family, recalling specifically that I understood the child was no different in any way than I. No racial slurs were ever used, even though such words were perfectly acceptable in our community.

In fact I can recall a handful of times I came home from school and said called my younger sister a name I had heard at school which was actually a form of a racial slur. I was punished severely for it - even though I had no idea the words were referencing a race.

Around age 10 I started reading the works of Maya Angelou. Her words, especially the accounts of her own life, reaffirmed what I had always been taught: race is just part of who someone is, not something to distinguish them from others in a negative way.

So I continued on in school, treating everyone equally regardless of their race - although to be fair with the small handful of non-white kids in my school it wasn't hard for me to be nondiscriminatory.

I stayed in downtown Atlanta for about 3 months between high school and college. I do mean downtown Atlanta. Right near the Georgia Tech campus. I made friends with people of all sorts of color who had come from all over the world to study at GT. I walked or rode the MARTA everywhere. I never once felt uneasy or uncomfortable being one of only a half-dozen or so white people on the trains. I remember giving every stranger the same small smile of acceptance I still extend when eye contact is made. In fact, the only time I ever did feel scared was when a train pulled into a station and right as the doors opened, gun fire started. I suppose anyone would have felt scared in that situation.

Then I went to college in New Mexico. I dated a boy who told me one Saturday night that he had to get home early so that he could get up at 6:00 a.m. the next morning for his grandmother's birthday. I asked him what in the world he would be doing at 6:00 a.m. for his grandmother's birthday. He explained his family would be (word I cannot locate anywhere on the web). I questioned what that involved. He said they would be singing to her, having breakfast together, attending mass and a few other events. I asked if this was something he family made up to celebrate birthdays. He looked at me and said "No, this is part of my culture." I asked what culture - his response "I'm Mexican." We had been seeing each other for about 2 months and it never crossed my mind that he was Mexican, or of any other particular culture.

To this day I don't "see race." I've read that this is not necessarily a good thing, and to some extent, I agree. I am fascinated by people of all cultures and sometimes I miss opportunities to learn about those cultures because it doesn't even occur to me to ask.

I read books by authors of all sorts of races about all sorts of races. I am currently reading a novel about a romance between two black people who are from completely different backgrounds: One is from Brooklyn, the other from Côte d'Ivoire. The book is about cultural differences, even if the people have the same color skin.

(Actually, I know these cultural differences well because I am scared to death of some of the redneck people in my hometown and they are just as white as I - especially when I hear them speak of other races.)

When I look back at the history of the United States concerning the treatment of not only black people, but of all people of a different skin color than white, I am embarrassed and I feel badly for those who have suffered. I do not feel guilty or like I have to "make up for it." I just know in my heart that all people are people and the beauty of a person lies in his/her heart, not on the surface of his/her skin.

Back to why this came up:
Skin color is a genetic code, and most scientific evidence I have read points that sexuality is not. I know a handful of people who are of mixed races such that their skin color is a lovely blend of carmels (definitely not white.) A couple are from non-U.S. countries and have a different cultural background than I. The rest were raised right here in the good ole U.S. of A. In fact, one of them tells me he is "more American" than I because he loves his Ipod, laptop, and all other sorts of gadgetry that I haven't even heard of. (To date, I cannot use an Ipod to save my life.)

People of mixed races often choose what to call themselves: be it African-American, Mexican, whatever label they pick. The laws of the U.S.A. prohibit discrimination against them based on the label they pick.

I am"white" and I pick "queer." Why do many of the laws of the U.S.A. promote discrimination against me because I pick "queer?" Yes, I could choose to live my life straight, but it isn't who I am.

So in other postings when I compare the fact that I cannot, by virtue of prejudice, marry another woman, to the fact that black people couldn't legally marry in some U.S. states until 1967, I mean no disrespect to non-whites. I am simply pointing out that the U.S. is still discriminating with prejudice.

Friday, January 30, 2009

Inspiration - Thanks CK!

Thank you CK. I've been all yucky for a couple of weeks because I cannot afford health insurance to pay for bipolar medication I need. Diet & Exercise aren't cutting it - just for the record. Now you've given me fuel and passion to address something. (Notice I'm not linking to your blog.)

The discussion was involving the State of California ruling that a private Christian school can expel 2 girls who had an "alleged" homosexual relationship, arising from dear Roland's blog. My response:

Let them be expelled, but also make absolutely certain that school is getting ZERO tax dollars. If you want to keep church & state separate, please do so. I would just rather my tax dollars not support a "school" where intolerance is being taught and where I would not be allowed to attend.

CK's response to my response:

But then you have to make sure that money doesn't go to things that violate the conscience of others. Rejecting homosexuality violates yours. Paying for abortions violates mine.


Of course "rejecting homosexuality" violates my conscience. DUH. It is PREJUDICE.

prejudice Definition

preju·dice (prejə dis)


  1. a judgment or opinion formed before the facts are known; preconceived idea, favorable or, more usually, unfavorable
    1. a judgment or opinion held in disregard of facts that contradict it; unreasonable bias a prejudice against modern art
    2. the holding of such judgments or opinions
  2. suspicion, intolerance, or irrational hatred of other races, creeds, regions, occupations, etc.
  3. injury or harm resulting as from some judgment or action of another or others

And now to quote Keith Olbermann, in part, from his extraordinarily articulate discussion of Prop 8:

If this country hadn't re-defined marriage, black people still couldn't marry white people. Sixteen states had laws on the books which made that illegal... in 1967. 1967.

The parents of the President-Elect of the United States couldn't have married in nearly one third of the states of the country their son grew up to lead. But it's worse than that. If this country had not "re-defined" marriage, some black people still couldn't people. It is one of the most overlooked and cruelest parts of our sad story of slavery. Marriages were not legally recognized, if the people were slaves. Since slaves were property, they could not legally be husband and wife, or mother and child. Their marriage vows were different: not "Until Death, Do You Part," but "Until Death or Distance, Do You Part." Marriages among slaves were not legally recognized.

You know, just like marriages today in California are not legally recognized, if the people are... gay.

One day CK's comparison of homosexuality and abortion will be just as accepted as segregation of black people on the bus is today.

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Totally Fuckable Tuesday - Michael Rosenbaum

I love geeks & nerds. Always have. BUT

Something in me likes the bad guy/girl. The villain of the movie/show. Lucky for me Smallville has gone from one totally hot bad guy to a totally hot bad girl

Michael Rosenbaum as Lex Luthor. Seriously one of the only men on the planet that makes me tingly in the panties... but only as Lex Luthor. :)

In case you don't watch Smallville, you should be aware that Lex Luthor has "disappeared" and now Tess Mercer has taken over as the villain. Cassidy Freeman is just delicious as the bad girl. I love her flaming hair and flashing eyes.

Both evil. Both Totally Fuckable.

Friday, January 23, 2009



So I've been tagged by Sienna in this 7 things memo.

Rules are:

Link to your host tagger
Write 7 things about yourself.
List the rules.
Tag 7 new people.

I sing all the time. Even if I don't know the words and my voice sounds like a prepubescent boy. I also dance constantly. Music I enjoy moves through me as another heartbeat. One of my favorite places to be is a local club on Saturday nights. The music is hot, the people are hot, and everyone is moving with the same sexual energy.

Speaking of music – everything goes (much like my sexuality) EXCEPT COUNTRY. Seriously. Take your Kenny Chesney back to planet Moron and leave he and his friends there. I'm really into dance music because I'm dancer, but I also love Tool, The Killers, Paramour, The Veronicas, Stone Temple Pilots, Jet, Yeah Yeah Yeahs.

I use only all natural organic products to clean my home. Vinegar and hot water can clean the smell out of almost anything and make your floors super shiny. :)

I'm a Gemini. Lust for life, living passionate, with no less then 2 sides of personality.

I'm told I have a “plethora of various sarcastic looks” which pass on my face at random times. Hmmm.... My motto: Better to be a smart ass than a dumb one.

I'm the smartest airhead you could ever meet. I remember everything I ever read or learn, but I can't find my sunglasses on top of my head. I'm a GEEKY NERD!! I LOVE to read, love school, love learning. Now... where were those sunglasses?

I have the very greatest real life friends, especially 2 of them. I've have known them both for over 20 years – we grew up in the same small town and attended the same schools. We were not friends with each other, but not enemies. Then, thanks to a social website, we reunited at a birthday party. We have been inseparable since. I will die old with these people.

I tag: Kyle, Militant Ginger, Eliot, SaintChick , Sleeping Dreamer ,
Syntaxual , and last BUT definitely NOT LEAST, Sroxy

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

HNT - Opportunity

I love the way the sun feels on my skin. I'm like a flower who withers and dies without some sunshine on my skin on a fairly regular basis.

I take every opportunity to get sun - including when riding in the car. I love to be in the front passenger seat, tilt the seat back and prop my feet up on the dash. I get lots of sun on my legs and the appreciative honks of passing drivers are nice too. :)

(This was taken in the fall, when it was still warm)

Appreciate the others at Views from the Back Row


Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Totally Fuckable Tuesday

Thanks to Beautiful Dreamer (via Sienna) for reminding me of a wonderful topic I can use today when I have seemingly lost the ability to write anything original...

Totally Fuckable Tuesday!

Since she's my favorite actress ever:

Neve Campbell. Oh my.

The way her eyes squint a little when she grins, those fabulous dancer's legs, her porcelain skin... not to mention she has an amazing talent with acting. She radiates natural beauty, with an ever-present smoldering sensuality.

neve Pictures, Images and Photos

(I hate her clothes in that pic... but it is one of the best shots of her smile.)

Ok... and seriously – who didn't like “Wild Things”

Wild Things. Pictures, Images and Photos

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

HNT - In Honor of Shoes

Sparkling, strappy high heels, my favorite pair.

Here's to you, my femme lovers. :)

Appreciate the others at Views from the Back Row



A lovely date. Glances back and forth with knowing smiles. Greatly enjoying the fact that no one at the bar even suspects what's really going on. (Silly small minded people can't even imagine what's going to happen.)

Getting in the car, finally being able to kiss. Riding home, I turn on music to stay focused on driving, just to make it home without straddling him. We sing along, my hand on her leg, resting in her hand - A soft thumb stroking my forefinger. The heater isn't on, but the heat is building in the car, causing sweat to start trickling down my chest under my sweater.

“Gimme gimme more, gimme more... you got me in a crazy got my permission”

I stare straight ahead, realizing it isn't the two beers I drank, but his intense focus on me that is making is harder and harder to concentrate on driving. He starts pressing my hand down onto his thigh, sliding it closer and closer to the heat coming from his pants. I can't look over or I surely will wreck the car.

Years of moments later, we are finally home. I'm pulling the parking brake while being pulled to her precious lips. Tasting for so long we start getting cold. I climb over into the passenger seat just to keep from breaking physical contact as we get out of the car.

“I want this”, taking my bra is undone and I'm not sure when that happened. Sneaky. It's tossed with the sweater. My mind is planning ahead. This time I'm going to get what I want first. Not easily done with him, but I know his naked and then surprise.

Pushing away, “I've got to go to the bathroom, seriously.” Laughing in my mind. He scowls, but lets go. I go into the bathroom, strip off my shoes, socks, jeans, panties and wait. And wait some more, knowing he is getting impatient. Giggling, I go back to the bedroom.

He's really annoyed and grabs me roughly, trying to push me down onto the bed. I sit on the edge of the bed, legs spread, and start lightly stroking myself. When he steps back to watch, I stand up, pressing my chest against his. I start running my hands all over him, swaying my body against his in a defined rhythmic pattern, with no music playing. Dropping to my knees, I pull his belt buckle and pants open, pulling his boxers down to kiss the inside of his hip bone. He moans, pushing my head toward his throbbing cock, but I stay at his hip bone, with kisses and bites.

I circle around her on my knees, kissing her hip line, using the opportunity to pull her pants completely down and off. Slowly I start rolling my body up the length of her legs and back. I shove him to his knees on the edge of the bed, working my hand everywhere into his boxers.

There's no resistance as I start scratching patterns in her back, holding her down, while swirling a single finger around her ever swelling clit. Her moans are soft, but he has dropped his head, giving up the last of his arrogance to my touch. Plunging two fingers into her while digging my nails into her shoulder brings a low guttural moan that nearly drives me into frantic heat, but I restrain myself into a steady in-out pulse.

I push her further onto the bed until I can rest my knees between hers. In, out, in, out, biting her back, she's clamping down on my fingers so hard, so wet. I feel my own juices dribbling down my leg. I pull my hand down from her shoulder to circle her clit. She's struggling to hold on, still resisting the complete release.

“You know I'm not going to stop”

No audible response, only pushing against my hands. Slipping a third finger in, I turn my hand so that my knuckles are rubbing her spot. The headboard beats the rhythm of the fucking against the wall. Her body betrays her, giving in to me, shuddering and spasming.

Suddenly he's flipping me onto my back. Plunging into me with absolutely no warning. My cunt is so ready the sting is momentary.

“You knew doing that would only make me want to fuck you harder bitch.”

“Yes Sir.”

Gathering me into his arms, he flips me again so that I'm riding his cock, his hands pulling my head to touch our foreheads. I'm barely moving as he thrusts into me from below.

“Turn around”

Facing away from him, on my knees, riding him, nearly lying on the bed between his legs. I spread my legs and bend my head down to watch. He is looking too, our eyes meeting where his cock is sliding in and out of me...exchanging the same knowing smiles.

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

This Person

This person:

There was a woman waiting in the line to the ladies restroom who gave me a dirty “don't come in here” look, but I couldn't use the men's because there was a man coming down the hall who gave me the same look.

Is the same person as this person:

I can't show myself but I can't hide myself. And the pressure of holding it all in to protect everyone else just builds and builds.

... And I'm working on it. The whole self respect thing. Because I deserve it. I know I do. Just so damn hard sometimes. So hard.

It is sad that I'm laughed at and called too nice by men for treating women with basic courtesy when they should take notes.

So many lack the capacity, compassion and most often even the desire to understand, let alone comprehend difference. And even then some still can't accept it on a base level, let alone embrace it.

I would be fine for the rest of my life conforming on the outside when need be to be able to have one person who accepts me.

How is it that they judge?

What makes them think they know an inner heart from a physical appearance?

Some of the most physically “beautiful” people are ugly inside. Yet they can go anywhere they please in public without swift judgment on their characters passed upon a single glance.

The same person who notices I forgot my coat when we go outside to smoke, so he brings his, wraps me in it – his own arms bare to the freezing temperatures.

Sunday, January 11, 2009


The crowd diminished while the bar closed. Seas of eyes and faces blurred before me. Then I blinked and there he was. Standing with his friends, talking to woman. A shudder passed through me, but I knew I couldn't leave without saying something.

I walked up behind him and stood, his essence permeating my senses. Waiting until he had a pause in his conversation, I stood up on my toes and whispered in his ear, “I'm not trying to get in the middle of anything, but you should know how hot you are.”

(I am so into you)


“I mean, if you aren't single or something I don't want to cause trouble, it's just that I couldn't leave without telling you that.”

“I am single. Very single,” a big smile spreading across his face. He turned away from his friend to look straight down into my eyes.

(I wonder how it will be to have you in me.)

The first kiss was shockingly soft, her lips perfectly closing on mine with the sweetest taste of desire. We broke apart, exchanging unmistakable looks.

“My place is a wreck, a real bachelor's pad.”

“Does that mean we're going to fuck on the floor?”

“No,” smiling.

“Well then it doesn't really matter to me.”

More of those lips. Those exquisitely soft lips. Lips, hands, arms, hair: everything tangling fiercely, urgently.

Pulling back, she stopped everything, caressing my cheek looking at me with innocent eyes. “Are you sure you want this?”

My body responded. He pulled my sweater off, smiling at the decoration on my bra, then shoving me back down. He was on top of me. Hands, teeth, muscles pulsed over every inch of my skin. I felt him getting hard against my leg.

Again, the pull-back, this time so forcefully I fell completely onto my back. “Is this what you want?”, her eyes daring me to respond.

Looking straight into her eyes

“Yes Sir.”

The grin of a man who has a woman for putty in his hands. Somehow I no longer wore pants or panties.

“Close your eyes.”

Trusting a stranger, I closed them.

“Now put your hands over your head.”

Quivering, I raised my hands to behind my head, clasping them together, fingers intertwined. I heard the unmistakable sound of a belt buckle, but I didn't dare open my eyes. I knew I wanted it.

The belt stung into my wrists as he secured my arms to the couch's wooden arm.

“Can you get out?"

“No... Thank you.”

“Thank you what.”

“Thank you Sir.”

“That's better. No more talking.”

After what seemed to be hours of torturing me with her tongue, he finally said, “It's time for me to fuck you. Open your eyes”

A huge grin spread across my face and I responded, “Oh yeah. Please baby.”

Darkness flashed in his eyes. “You aren't to be speaking. For that you will have to wait.”

Dammit. He sat back between my legs, just staring and running one finger up and down the inside of my right thigh, and then barely tracing the very outer edges of my clit.

My body trembled like I had a fever. I couldn't stop shaking. I needed him more than I ever thought I would. Needed him to fill me up.

“You are the dirty little slut aren't you? There you are, shaking, ready to cum and you haven't even had my cock yet. When I come into you I expect you to cum right away. No bullshit. I can see you are ready and I'm going to be very pissed if I don't feel your cum all over me immediately.”

Staring up into her eyes....he plunged into me with no regard for the belt restraining my wrists. I arched up to meet him, the belt scalding my skin, soaking the couch as he had asked.

Saturday, January 10, 2009

My Identity

I am a feminine woman. Seriously. I love to get dressed up, preferably in skirts or dresses, with high heels, sparkling adornments, makeup, perfectly coiffed hair – the whole deal. I love purple. I like stupid chick lit novels (well, to some extent.) I also love gardening, hiking, and other getting dirty activities. Still, I am at my very core a feminine woman because when I get done with those getting dirty activities, I always want a shower with my fluffy smelling soap, moisturizers, etc.

Because of my love of sports and general knowledge about things straight men find interesting, I've always had a bunch of straight male friends. In fact, until not long ago, I had more straight male friends than any other type. I also have this “guy” attitude about lots of things that I suppose kindles these friendships.

My physical attraction to other women has existed for as long as I can remember. Way back in middle school my friends loved the New Kids on the Block. I thought they were gross. I secretly crushed on Tiffany.

I found myself more attracted to feminine women than butch. I loved the way a femme's hair sways when she dances. The glint of a bracelet on her delicate wrist. The hint of pretty panties flashing under her skirt. The way the straps of her high heels cross on her ankles. The curve from her shoulders down to her back. I identified with femme women.

Then some big-deal things happened in my life. I was forced to spend time just reflecting on my life.

Not long after my “vacation” I started participating in an online sex community. It started as reviewing sex toys. I started reading about male-identified female-born people, learning terms like pansexual, femme, and many others. I started following the blogs of several people who are “different.” I had heard and read about the “in-between” genders, but I had never read their personal thoughts.

Then I went to a local gay club. It is a mostly a male club, with a few transmale performers. I found myself physically attracted to people I knew to be born male, yet who identified & dressed as female. It was very natural and also very comforting. I've always loved people of all different varieties and that physical attraction confirmed what I've always felt in my heart: I'm not attracted to gender.

One day on an Eden forum, people were talking about Twitter. I thought, “YAY! A chance to somewhat converse with these people who have so much insight into human sexuality & who don't necessarily live in the fishbowl I do.”

Since then it's like my eyes have been opened. I see people in a whole new light. I read blog posts about things I had never even heard of – yet are as familiar to me as white bread. I interact with people who, like me, just like people and are respectful of those who are not exactly the same as they. In fact, it is a community where difference is celebrated.

Not long ago I saw someone whose presence demanded my attention. I gathered every bit of confidence in me, walked right up to him and used a cheesy pickup line. We have since had many conversations about identity/gender/sex. As he opens up more to me about identity, I find I am more comfortable with my own. The struggles I have had to be open about my sexuality pale in comparison to what he goes through on a daily basis.

His struggles hurt my heart. He's given me permission to write about what he is going through, but it is too hard to write without tears just yet.

For now, I am happy to say I am just peachy with my own identity. :)

Friday, January 9, 2009

I can't keep my eyes off of You

“Work was so hard today. I hate it there. It's too much for me any more. I don't know how I'll make it.”

“You'll make it. You always do. But you don't have to think about that right now. Just come here,” with arms open and a smile.

We cooked dinner together and ate at the dining room table. My heart was so burdened with work: the clients who needed me but I couldn't help them. The coworkers who didn't care the way I did. The boss who was just as frustrated as I. He had limitless conversation topics to keep my mind from work and it's harshness.

At one point I stopped eating, placing my fork on my plate and my hands in my lap. He said, “Please eat. You aren't doing well and not eating won't help.” I said I had no appetite. He'd already finished eating.

He stood, reaching his hands for mine, pulling me into his arms. All the stress and pain of the day came flooding from my eyes. I felt his hand pull my head closer to his chest, holding me close to his heart. I said that I just wanted to lay down.

He picked me up, carrying me to the bed. He went to his computer. I asked what he was doing. He said, “I want you to know something.”

The opening notes began. Then I heard,

“What day is it, and in what month, this clock never seemed so alive. I can't keep up, and I can't back down. I've been losing so much time. Cause it's you and me and all other people.”

He gathered me in his arms and whispered “There's something about you ... Everything you do it beautiful. It's just you and me.”

Thursday, January 8, 2009

Oh How I Miss You (HNT)

After having 2 children and wearing lots of "mommy" gear, I finally treated myself with a little trip to Victoria's Secret. Then one fateful night, one of my favorite bras disappeared. I have my suspicions is was taken as a souvenir. Either way, I miss it.

If you feel like helping me out by replacing it, I'll be happy to go with you to a VS to try some on. :)

Appreciate the others at Views from the Back Row


Friday, January 2, 2009

Fill in the Blank

Dear _______:

Please do not ever say the following things to me:

1. You don't look like you would be interested in _____ (anything other than men).

2. You can't call yourself queer because sometimes you date men.

3. I didn't intend to insult you, you just took it the wrong way.

4. Someday you will have to chose a gender.

First: Who are you to decide what I should look like based on my sexuality, my choice of dinner entrée or anything else?

Second: I will call myself whatever I please. You should call yourself a jackass if you think otherwise.

Third: If I ever say anything that insults you, please tell me. I will promptly apologize, even if I didn't mean to insult you. I will do this because it doesn't matter what I intended if I hurt you anyway. You see, that is how people who care for each other act.

Fourth: Someday I will likely fall in love. The one time I was really in love before I didn't feel as though I made a gender choice. Furthermore, who are you to decide what type of relationship I will chose to be in at a future time?

***I won't be falling in love with anyone who says any of those things to me.***


Since I know most of you reading this wouldn't say those things to me anyway:
I am so thankful I have found you, my unique online community. Even though I am physically living in a very small chlorinated fishbowl, you have welcomed me into a warm sea of acceptance. You each inspire me in your own ways to be even more myself and to cast aside those negative & hurtful judgments.

Peace, hope & love to you.

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