Miriam

Observation was one of her favourite pastimes and so she was drawn to anywhere a multitude of people might gather, train stations, clubs, large events etc. It was entertaining to watch the interactions within existing groups when they were surrounded by strangers. It was fascinating to see how strangers reacted to each other and to make educated guesses about them. It was especially thrilling to be certain, to have that sudden absolute knowledge that what she saw in her mind, although outside the realms of “normal” behaviour, was true. It was these moments she craved, these moments she spent huge amounts of time waiting for, and they were always worth the wait. The sharp focused insights into other peoples secret lives were her drug, and her addiction was at its height.

Miriam was twenty seven years old of average height with long dark hair and green eyes. Confident in her sexuality she was well aware of her own attractiveness. She was often mistaken for an older woman, she didn’t take offence at this because she knew she had the maturity of a woman several years her senior. It was the maturity that people saw, the quiet knowledge and self confidence and because of that her age made no difference. She was who she was and it was her weird talent that made her that way. She had always been good at reading people but the major part of her talent had lain dormant throughout her childhood only surfacing as she reached sexual maturity. The first time had been a little frightening; she remembered it vividly even now.

She was having coffee with a few people from college, classmates rather than friends, one of the girls was distracted and it was obvious to Miriam that she had something on her mind. When everyone else had gone leaving only the two of them the girl had started to talk, overcome by the need to tell someone or so Miriam assumed. As she began to share suddenly the scene had sprung unbidden into Miriam’s mind. Vividly, crystal clear. As if she’d been there, as if she was there, right then and not just present in the room but also present in the minds and bodies of those involved. It was so clear Miriam could even see how many cigarette ends filled the ashtray on the bedside cabinet.

And she could see/feel the girls hands and feet where they were tied to the bed as she was being vigorously fucked by her boyfriend. And she was loving it, she was coming hard, squirting and screaming her pleasure while a voice in her mind told her it was wrong.

It was that voice she was listening to the next day as she offloaded her anxiety to Miriam except Miriam knew the truth, she’d seen it, smelt it, felt it, lived it alongside the girl and her boyfriend enjoying their sexual union as much as they had.

Despite being more than a little unnerved by what had happened in her head Miriam had managed to reassure the girl that as long as she was having fun it was fine. After that she had seen very little of her, she guessed that the girl was embarrassed by her revelations and that made her steer clear of Miriam. Which was fine because whenever they did bump into each other Miriam had similar flashes of her newly acquired talent which told her exactly what the girl and her boyfriend had been up to in their continued sexual exploration. So it had been since then, Miriam would unexpectedly receive visions of other peoples sex lives, that was her talent and her addiction.

At first she had tried to ignore it, pretended that it wasn’t happening, pushed it to the far reaches of her mind but eventually it had got the better of her by presenting visions of her own future sexual activity. It had happened a few months after the incident with the girl from college. She’d been sitting in a local bar, having been stood up by a friend, she’d decided to stay and have one more drink before going home. A woman had brushed past her and that’s when the flash had come, in the instant their two bodies had connected Miriam had “seen” herself.

Pushed up against the toilet door, jeans around her ankles while a strangers fingers invaded her knickers and cunt. Hot breathe on her neck, a hand at the front on her clit and another probing from behind, Miriam came hard and quickly.

She was instantly wet, the scene shifted;

and she was on her knees sucking and gazing up at a strikingly handsome woman whose hands were gripping her hair and pulling her forward so she had to take more cock in her mouth.

Flushed, Miriam barely heard the voice asking her if the stool next to her was taken, she turned and looked straight into the eyes of the woman whose cock she had just seen herself sucking. And it had happened, within two hours Miriam had been fucked and come in the toilets before getting on her knees to suck the woman’s hard cock. They were together for three months and in that time the visions kept coming;

naked from the waist down, bent over the cold hard metal bonnet of her car while she was fucked hard.

all kinds of visions,

the feeling of rope which was almost too tight at her ankles where it had been pulled taught to spread her legs. The embarrassment of so much exposure which just made her wetter and more turned on.

involving the woman from the bar.

her arms aching ever so slightly but supported by cuffs and chains above her head. Her breasts brushing against the cold wall and the persistent beat of the flogger against her bare flesh.

Every one of them came true, it was Miriam’s baptism of fire into the depths of her own talent and the world BDSM. She loved it, she thrived on it and allowed herself to become the sexual toy of a woman twice her age with a thousand times more experience.  All the time guided by her talent she was never afraid of the new experiences because she was always forewarned. But when the visions stopped Miriam called the woman, ended their relationship without explanation and moved on.

That was nearly seven years ago and since then Miriam had accepted her own weirdness and worked with it. She experimented, tried to figure out why it happened or when it was most likely to happen. She suspected that the visions involving other people were in the past, yet those involving herself were glimpses of the future. She thought it happened randomly, although if she was in a large crowd she could sometimes focus and intentionally pick up a vision. It seemed that sexual deviance was the trigger or perhaps the trigger was whatever turned Miriam on and she was simply a sexual deviant. Whichever way she never had visions of ‘straight’ sex, vanilla just wasn’t her (or her talents) ‘thing’. Since it had first happened the only thing she was absolutely certain of was that it happened, it was real and she had grown to love that part of herself.

Miriam sipped her coffee and turned her attention back to the people milling around her in the shopping centre. She liked it here, it was close to her home, mainly open plan and if she found the right seat she had a commanding view of the floor she was on plus the floor below. Which gave her more chance of getting what she came here regularly for, a fix of her drug. She didn’t have to wait long as she watched the group of young men in their early twenties a few tables away.

He was standing, hands cuffed in front of him and holding his cock tightly as he’d been instructed. With every strike of the belt he squeezed tighter, feeling the pain and it’s direct relation to his ever hardening cock.

Miriam focused in on the boy whose experience she was sharing where he perched tenderly on his bruised behind. His thoughts were clear to her

take it all and he knew he might be rewarded. He prayed he’d be tied to the bed, forbidden to move while she sat astride him and pleasured herself on his cock. He hoped that after she would allow him to come even if it was in the corner of the room facing the wall while she taunted him. But please don’t let her send him home with instructions not to masturbate…

Miriam’s sexual experience in real life was extensive, she had never tried to avoid her own talent and had embraced every new scene wholeheartedly. Add to that the experience her visions gave her and she must have accumulated a life time of exposure yet she never tired of them or of real life sex. She wanted sex, always, in either form. While the picture involving the young man was nice it was not enough for her. Right now she was craving one of those visions involving herself because they signalled that soon she would be having real sex and she needed to be beaten or bound or fucked, she wanted all three, desperately.

And so she was disappointed when she saw the handsome butch buying coffee because there was no vision, a shame because she was very attractive. Not overly tall but broad and stocky, she looked powerful which was just what Miriam liked. She was well dressed but casual, good quality jeans and jacket with a plain t-shirt underneath. Miriam wondered if she was single or not, maybe that’s why there was no vision of future sex.

Miriam had learned that no vision meant no sex regardless of how much she wanted someone, so she tried to ignore the butch and get on with her survey of the other customers in the hope that one of them would end up in her bed. However she couldn’t quite pull her self away and when the butch had a hot coffee safely in her hands she looked directly at Miriam catching her eye and triggering a minor flush. Miriam tried to look away but her gaze was held by a wide honest smile as the masculine woman headed straight for her.

As she drew closer she gestured towards the empty chair opposite and asked “Do you mind?”

Miriam indicated that she didn’t mind with a nod of her head and a smile. Placing her coffee firmly on the table she held out her hand to Miriam and said “Harper”.

Miriam took the offered hand and responded with “Hello Harper, I’m Miriam” The last faint hope of a vision involving Harper disappeared with the touch of their hands, Miriam knew that touch was a sure fire way to trigger a scene if one was meant to happen. She sighed quietly and resigned herself to enjoying Harper’s company instead, not the same but all that was left to her now.

“You have a lovely name” Harper said as she settled herself at the table. “I hope I’m not intruding Miriam, please tell me if I am and I will leave you in peace without hesitation”

There was something very old style about Harper even though Miriam would have put her age as early thirties. It was appealling, very much so and again Miriam felt a pang of disappointment that there would be nothing more than pleasant flirtation.

“You’re not intruding at all” she replied “I’m happy to have the company”.

Harper smiled even more broadly as they both settled into light conversation and idle observations about their fellow customers. As they chatted Miriam felt very at ease and comfortable in Harper’s company, she was witty and attentive as well as being incredibly attractive. Once their coffees were finished Harper insisted on getting them fresh ones and while she was away Miriam indulged herself with fantasies that she knew wouldn’t come true.

In her head but without any of the advantages of her always realistic visions, Miriam daydreamed a sexual scene with Harper. She wondered about laying across strong thighs, being held firmly in place by Harper’s arm across her back while her bare behind was attentively spanked. She felt herself grow wet as she continued to taunt herself by wondering how quickly Harper could strip her bare, strap her down and spread her open. By the time she had moved her fantasy forward to the point where Harper was about to enter her, fill her and fuck her Miriam realised her knickers were filled with evidence of her mounting desire.

She stopped herself from going further, reprimanded herself for allowing a pointless fantasy which only left her wanting what she wouldn’t have. When Harper returned Miriam was feeling a little sour, but she pulled herself together and determined to enjoy what she could of their meeting. Time passed quickly, their conversation flowed easily once more and all to soon a second cup of coffee had disappeared. Miriam felt disappointed, she cursed her talent for not showing up and giving her the opportunity to be with Harper. She was so sure they could have a good time, have good, hot sex that would leave them wanting more, but no vision meant it wasn’t going to happen.

Eventually it was time to go and as they were leaving the shopping center Miriam was suddenly staggered by an overpowering vision;

a mess of bodies, entwined, tangled, spliced, all meshed together in one massive sexual dance. Arms, legs, hands, mouths, cunts and cocks, all eager and open and panting for more.

Miriam was drawn to a group of seven or eight middle aged friends who had just walked past them. Their recent sexual activities were strong in their minds and amplified by how many of them were involved.

Harper held Miriam’s arm to steady her, looking worried she asked “are you ok?”

Miriam nodded, gradually pulling herself together while Harper still held onto her arm allowing her time to regain control. “My flat is over the road, will you come with me Miriam?” Harper said with a tone full of concern.

“I’m fine, really” Miriam stood up straight and smiled at Harper “but thank you” she continued knowing she couldn’t go with Harper because spending more time with this woman she couldn’t have would be too painful.

“Come with me anyway Miriam. I know you want too, I can sense it” Harper wasn’t smiling or looking concerned anymore, she just looked straight into Miriam in a way that made her feel weak all over again. She wanted too, she wanted to give herself to Harper but she was confused by her absent talent. She’d never put herself this kind of situation before, she’d always known what would happen in her sex life before it happened, always had that security.

Harper’s eyes were boring into her soul and making direct contact with her desperate cunt and…

…she was on her back, naked, legs held open by Harper’s strong ha…

Just as abruptly as it came it stopped. It was brief, an incomplete glimpse of what she knew should have been a longer vision. It had been cut short. Miriam was left wanting more and her confusion was written all over her face.

“Trust me Miriam” Harper’s gaze held Miriam solidly…

…she heard the slap and a split second later registered the pain on her inner thi…

“This time you have to trust” and she starred at Harper slowly beginning to understand exactly who was in control both of her and of her talent…

…the head of Harper’s cock poised against her open cu…

Harpers eyes were full of hard, honest need and Miriam realised she would do anything she asked.

…it filled her, satisfying her darkest self, she cried out Har…

She forgot all about her talent and the faith she’d placed in it all these years. She allowed herself to be guided across the road and up a short alley. She was inside the flat and outside of any experience she’d ever known. She relinquished all control and trusted.

Junction

This weekend feels like a junction. This year so far has felt a bit like I’ve been moving towards this junction. One reason is I finished my old job on Friday and will start a new one on Monday. I feel very ready for this change. I spent 7 years in the old job, sometimes full time, sometimes part time. It was long enough. I enjoyed it and got on really well with my colleagues but it didn’t offer any real challenge anymore. My new job will. Partly because I have to learn a completely new software system and then go on to train others in it’s use. But also because I feel like it will test my skills and offer me new ones that could lead to on to other jobs.

The past 3 years I’ve been working 2 different part-time jobs, one in an office and one teaching. This meant being in different places most days and working odd hours including some evenings and weekends. The variety was good but the lack of a continuous routine was starting to bother me. It also meant a bit of juggling to be prepared for each job, doing some work at home and switching between roles. The teaching particularly involved lots of preparation. I enjoyed this mostly and certainly learnt an awful lot but there were times when it felt like it consumed too much of my own time. I handed over all of the teaching a couple of weeks ago and actually feel very relieved that I’m not having to worry about lesson plans and handouts any more!

The new job is 9 to 5, Monday to Friday and I’m liking the prospect of a routine that leaves evenings and weekends free. In other words I leave work behind at the end of the day and I don’t have to worry about it until I go in the next day. It’s weird that on paper I’ll be working more hours but the fixed nature of those hours makes me think I’ll have more time free. In a nutshell I’m very happy about this job because it combines technical knowledge with training, the people seem nice and the hours suit me. It also makes me feel settled, I can do this for a 2 or 3 years and then hopefully move up to something else. I don’t feel nervous about the change (it’s within the same organisation anyway, just a different department). I just feel eager to get started, learn the ropes and move forward.

But it’s not just the job that is making me feel like I’m at a junction. My head is still full of the conference last weekend and the ideas, thoughts, feelings it raised. There are ways I would like to move forward more personally, both with actions and words. I have a couple of half formed ideas in my head for projects as well as notes for several bits of writing and some half finished short stories. I’m not sure where these will take me but I want to push myself to work on them because if I don’t I’ll regret it. The combination of a new fixed routine and the spur of the conference makes me feel positive about moving forward and that I’ll have the time and headspace to do it. I guess my point is that generally I’m happy with the way things are going so far this year and that is a really nice feeling.

Finding the right words (Lesbian Lives presentation)

Finding the right words: labelling my masculine self

This presentation will focus on my personal journey with labels. Including an exploration of the labels I choose as part of my attempt to define and describe my own female masculinity. I enjoy labels and all labels can have their definitions bent or re-defined making them valuable language tools. Whether used positively or negatively their impact can be massive on both individuals and communities. Certainly the labels I will discuss today have had a massive impact on me.

I grew up in the 1970’s in the North East of England, in a town that was essentially Conservative despite being a Labour stronghold. My father was a miner and my mother a sewing machinist. Their views reflected their own upbringings and their expectations for their children was limited and narrow. This was 30 years before the advent of the digital age, in a time when there were three TV channels and one TV per household. Access to knowledge about difference of any kind, was medieval compared to today’s standards.

In the beginning I had no choice about the labels I was given. I was born biologically female and therefore I was a girl. Biology dictated not only how others labelled me but also how I was brought up. It impacted on the choices and decisions made by my parents both consciously and sub-consciously. From toys, to clothes, to household chores, there was a definite biological split between those labelled girl and those labelled boy.

My brother and sister had very different experiences to me as children because essentially their biological labels matched their internal genders. Mine didn’t. Girl is not a reflection of my gender, it never was. But no-one around me recognised that or if they did they didn’t act upon it. Growing up I couldn’t name how I felt because I didn’t have the language or knowledge or role models. It would take a very long time to find the right words.

Instead I was socialised as a ‘girl’ while viewing from outside the ‘boys’ club that was the right of my male relatives. There were many times however when strangers saw what my family did not, I was frequently mistaken for a boy.

As I was growing up I knew I wasn’t quite the same as my friends and siblings, before I could name it I knew I was gay. When I did discover the words for my sexuality it was a revelation. I was still quite young when I learned the word lesbian but remember the relief that what I felt had a name. However the reality of being gay would take longer to get used to.

Quite quickly I rejected the word lesbian in favour of dyke, simply because I liked how it sounded much better. For many years I stuck with this label for my sexuality and used it as a ‘catch all’ for other parts of my identity.

As a teenager it was hard enough knowing I was a lesbian and scratching around for bits of positive affirmation without adding other complications. Yet there were other complications which I can see clearly now with hindsight. Back then I lumped everything together under a lesbian banner and struggled with or ignored the bits that didn’t fit. In some ways that was easy, there was no self examination, no learning, no progress. In other ways it was hard and I floundered for many years with no self examination, no learning and no progress.

Part of the problem was naming something that I had no language and no comparisons for. As I said access to knowledge was different then, there was no internet, no blogs or twitter or online resources. Any search for information meant going to the library and seeking out a very limited supply of books.

My local library in the 70’s and 80’s did not have a large collection of gay books, even the University library had very little. Television rarely offered anything and even when it did my parents were guardians of what we watched. My real source of knowledge should have been my community of other lesbians but there weren’t that many of them either.

So I reached adulthood with labels for my sexuality but no real language for anything beyond that. It is expected in our society that girls will grow into women and boys will grow into men. It doesn’t always work like that. I did not grow into a woman. I have never really identified as one although I have claimed it to make a point or in defence (usually at being told I’m in the wrong toilet). I love women, I admire them and I find them intriguing, but despite my biological make up I don’t feel like a woman.  And because of my biological make up I am not a man.

In recent years I have become more aware of the intricacies of my own gender and learned to embrace those labels which feel right rather than living with the ones that don’t. Much of what I’ve learned has come from the opportunity to read the stories of others through a host of personal blogs, websites and twitter friends.

Without access to this cyber haven I’m not sure I would have come this far. Online I’ve discovered reflections of myself, role models, and knowledge. It has brought me finally to a point where there are a few select labels which I am happy and proud to claim.

Although I don’t use masculine as a label I have very firmly accepted that masculine fits me, my title today is ‘Finding the right words: labelling my masculine self’. Being masculine was the premise I started with, the labels I’ll talk about are ways to describe my version of female masculinity.

I am masculine and not feminine and it is not learned behaviour. I may have learned how to fasten my tie but the desire to wear one was there from the start. My mother did not socialise me in masculine behaviour. She did not look at me and think ‘this one is masculine leaning, lets give her the start she needs’. Instead she did her level best to turn me into her version of a lady. Her failure was inevitable because I was never going to be anything other than masculine. No matter that she insisted I got my ears pierced or bought me that ridiculous beauty tips book.

The stuff I really wanted to know I learned from the sidelines as I watched my father, grandfather and brother because they were the only role models I had. But my knowledge was bound to be incomplete because I was labelled a girl and excluded from the lessons of boys. The stuff I was taught deliberately I very soon forgot because I had no interest or desire to wear make-up, dresses and high shoes. I enjoyed woodwork and metalwork at school but there was no question I would continue on that path, girls ‘just didn’t.’ Yet it took me a whole year to make half a blouse in needlework, surely that must have told them something.

I am not ‘playing’ at being a man. I am just being me in the way that feels most comfortable and natural. I may be perceived as manly and there are times when I am mistaken for a man, that’s not my problem. If society, the media and those that pass me in the street can’t see who I am then it’s because they don’t have the knowledge or understanding. But I do now have the knowledge and understanding to choose my labels.

First on my list of labels is Butch. Identifying as Butch and recognising the word ‘Butch’ happened at vastly different times for me. Looking back I can say I was always Butch but it took a very long time to fit the label to the feelings. It was the same with being gay, I always knew but had to wait until I learnt what the word lesbian meant before I could say yes that’s me. It just happened a lot quicker with the labels for my sexuality.

I confused my butchness with ‘just being gay’ for a long, long time so I thought I’d already learned the right words. But actually I was confusing my sexuality with my gender and masculinity.

In the ‘80’s, the time of my youth, androgynous was the way to go, excessive masculinity was not. I’m not a political creature but I do understand how the idea of Butch, the reality of Butch was frowned upon. As lesbians we didn’t want to be like men or emulate men. It went against feminist beliefs and damaged the good work my sisters were doing. That’s not what I wanted, but I would have liked somewhere, somehow to see myself reflected back in a positive light.

In a world where there were so very few dyke role models, there were even less Butch ones. The few I saw were often ridiculed by others and the connotations surrounding ‘Butch’ were inevitably negative. There is of course history here, a whole lot of history that can’t be denied but is too often forgotten. The history of Butch and alongside it, Femme. I didn’t know much of that history. What I did know had no relevance to my life because I saw no parallels, Butch was a thing of the past. I don’t recall any lesbians, of any age, claiming Butch although it was used by some to describe others, usually with a derogatory twist. Butch was the past not the future and had no place in the ‘80’s.

Then I started to find other butches, mainly online and in the world of blogs. As I read what they had to say I recognised their words and found I could match the word Butch to the way I’d always felt.

So now I claim Butch. I am many others things besides but Butch is a massive part of me. In the past Butch was not me or not the visible me and certainly not a label I would have picked to describe myself. Back then I would have faltered and failed to describe myself in any adequate terms and none of them would have been Butch. Yet I still leaned towards it even without the language to describe it or the strength to reach out and grab it. But things change, opinions shift and common sense prevails; older, wiser, stronger, Butch to me now is entirely different.

In some senses I claim the word because there are no others that come close, it’s the best fit. Matched carefully with the other words I claim it deepens the definition and description of myself and aids my understanding of who I am. But most importantly there is the soul of Butch that speaks directly to something inside me recognising one of its own. It’s the past swinging full circle to become the future. It’s every negative connotation being up-ended and becoming positive in a fresh, clean light.

Butch for me is having the strength to be true to the inner voice which guides me while ignoring outside influences which try to dictate how I should be. It’s the name for all the feelings and desires which have been with me since birth. It’s the label that most completely captures the essence of who I am and who I want to be.

Queer and genderqueer, the two are separate but complimentary to each other. Queer as a word has been used to describe homosexuals for a long time, it has history and is being successfully reclaimed by the community. Switching negative connotations to positive ones is empowering, so is taking words that were once insults and using them with pride. That in itself is enough reason to enjoy the word and I always have but not as a descriptor for my own sexuality.

Mostly I have used the word dyke with reference to my sexual orientation. I like dyke, it is a strong and definite word however it is a female descriptor and since I don’t necessarily consider myself ‘female’ anymore I’m no longer comfortable with it. Queer fits because it can be used for male or female or any point in the non-binary gender universe so no matter where I’m sitting with gender at any particular moment queer still works.

Queer to me also equals odd, unusual, bizarre, strange, curious, I love all of these words and the claiming of them under the queer umbrella. It feels like saying “Yes I’m not what you expect, or understand, or even want to consider possible, but tough because I exist” So queer on its own describes my sexuality mainly because of its history but also because of its other meanings.

Genderqueer describes my gender, on a basic level it means I don’t fit the gender binary system that exists within society. The queer in genderqueer to me is more in line with the words ‘strange’ or ‘unusual’ therefore relating to an unusual gender. Except of course there are so many variations of gender that none of them are really ‘odd’ or ‘unusual’. They are simply not acknowledged enough.

My gender is neither male nor female and it doesn’t fall neatly into one of those categories therefore it’s queer. Or more accurately it’s queer according to societies accepted norms, there are groups and communities where my gender is accepted without question. Gender outside the binary is only unusual because the rest of society hasn’t caught up (or caught on) so it is considered strange when actually it isn’t and never has been. But at the moment we’re stuck with the binary so there has to be a way to describe ‘other’ genders, to articulate what is so easily overlooked by the majority and genderqueer does that so well.

Choosing to describe myself as a gentleman is very deliberate and it fits much better than it’s opposite of lady. I have already rejected the word woman despite being biologically female but that does not make me a man by default. It also does not exclude me from claiming proudly my masculine self and finding words which reflect that pride which is where the word gentleman enters the equation.

There are in my head three gentlemen who I admire and respect. These three gents make up the essence of the gentleman who I strive to be.

The English gentleman, the one who is evident in films of the ‘40’s and ‘50’s who is always well dressed, oozes good manners and has a very “stiff upper lip”. This gentleman is capable, resourceful and unflappable in ANY situation. He knows when to be firm and when to provide a strong shoulder to cry on. He is able to go anywhere and do anything without losing any of his gentlemanly qualities; even in the face of death good manners will remain intact. He is of course often devoid of any discernable emotion, but he will always be ready to catch a fainting lady. The nostalgia and blurred reality of observing this gentleman through old film and grainy images make him all the more appealing.

The Butch gentleman is chivalrous in an innate way, socialised as female she has an instinctive ability to care for her lady and others around her. She conforms to the accepted notions of being a gentleman but simultaneously her very nature is non conforming. The butch gentleman has the guts to buck against society while maintaining (to a high standard) some mainstream societal values. She is gentleman performed in different way, more controlled and thought out, deliberate and not just because it’s expected. She anticipates rather than reacting to the needs of others and is almost one step beyond good manners. She will endeavour to control her emotions and hide her feelings, but unlike the English gentleman in the right hands it will all come flooding out.

The Working Class gentleman is effectively my father, my accidental role model, who taught me so much without ever intending too and without society or any of my family intending it either. He is my symbol of honesty, patience and loyalty. Hard working and stoic, he taught me to do the best you can, support your family and be strong in every situation. He worked hard for everything he had and enjoyed everything he gained. He also taught me that a sense of humour, even a slightly wicked one, can do nothing but good when used wisely.

I may not always fulfil my desire to be all or any of these three gents but I do try. The word gentleman and the meanings I ascribe to it reflect and contain most of my value system and moral code. I want that value system to influence and determine my actions on every level so I constantly strive and aspire to be a gentleman. But it will always be using my definition of the word.

I first heard of the word transmasculine a couple of years ago and have seen it used mainly as an umbrella term for those whose gender could be described as masculine or masculine leaning.

As an umbrella term it encompasses other labels such as Butch. The word feels big, with scope for inclusion of all kinds of masculine genders regardless of their origin’s or owners. To me it holds a sense of community and of brotherhood.

The trans in transmasculine conjures up various possibilities.  There is the possibility of transition which for me would mean moving more firmly into the male side of the gender binary. This may happen in a purely psychological way with the passage of time, just as over time I have accepted more and more of my masculine self. As I grow older there will also be physical changes which will influence my masculinity, I do wonder where I will be in terms of gender after the menopause.

I also like to think of trans as meaning transversing or transcending. Transmasculine to me crosses and exceeds the limits of recognised genders encompassing far more possibilities than can be conceived. Regardless of where my gender exploration takes me in the future I cannot escape the past and the way I was socialised as a child. I will always carry that female socialisation with me. So even if I become more firmly ensconced in the masculine side of the binary I will always have crossed over or gone beyond the gender that I was labelled with at birth. For this reason I can see transmasculine staying with me for a very long time.

Where I stand now is with a set of labels that collectively describe, more fully than ever before, my female masculinity; Butch, queer and genderqueer, gentleman, transmasculine

Labels have power, what we call ourselves and what we request others call us is vitally important. It leads to understanding, knowledge and pride. By claiming, re-claiming, manipulating and sometimes rejecting labels I have come to a greater understanding of who I am. But the exploration doesn’t stop there, the future may bring new labels and new meanings for old labels. What’s important to me in defining and claiming any labels is how I feel about them. If I hear them, see them, say them, what do they stir in me. That’s why I’ll keep examining, re-defining, rejecting and accepting labels.

In the end and as a new beginning I choose one final and very personal label. I was given names by my parents at birth, names I never liked very much, that did not reflect my female masculinity. So I discarded them and I (re)named myself.

Lesbian Lives 2011

Friday and Saturday saw us attending the Lesbian Lives 2011 conference. It was an amazing experience in many ways and I came away with lots of topics I’d like to write about. But first I just wanted to summarise the conference.

I first heard about the conference towards the end of last year and with the encouragement of my lovely wife and daughter submitted a proposal for a paper. I wasn’t expecting it to be accepted but it was. The other attraction of the conference was one of the keynotes; Joan Nestle.

I’ve never presented a paper at a conference before and I’m not an academic (the papers at the  conference were predominantly academic) so I was nervous to say the least. I don’t want to talk about the actual paper in this post. (I will put it up here, I really just brought together stuff I’d already written anyway). But I do want to talk about the experience, both of speaking and attending.

In the lead up to the conference I think I was either trying to forget it was happening or entirely focused on getting my bit done and out of the way. I was in one of the first two parallel sessions so I was literally focused on Friday morning between the hours of 9 and 11. I couldn’t shift my brain further forward than that so I guess I didn’t really get excited about it until I was actually there.

The conference opened in the main theatre with a short welcome. The theatre wasn’t full but there were a decent amount of people. I really can’t remember much about the opening comments but I do remember hoping I would get through my bit in one piece. After the introduction there were two sessions, one of which was ‘Dragging Gender’, where I would do my presentation. And that session was in the main theatre, a bit more intimidating than I’d hoped but at least there was a big lectern to hide behind!

There were two others papers before mine in the session;
‘Reconstructing the Drag Scene: Drag Kings Fighting Oppressions and Social Issues’ – Erica J Friedman
‘Unsettling the Borders of Gendered Belonging: Dark Play, Monstrosity, and the Performance of Lesbian Desire in Split Britches’ Dress Suits to Hire’ – Elisavet Pakis

I particularly enjoyed Erica’s and was very happy to meet her.

So the stage was set so to speak and I spent 40 minutes sitting at a table on the stage listening to the other papers and trying not to think about having to stand up myself. I could see my wife and B in the audience but generally avoided looking their way. I was also conscious of the fact that Joan Nestle was in the audience. I hadn’t even considered that she would be and well, basically I pretended she wasn’t. I got up to speak and I did actually get words to come from my mouth. Actually it wasn’t as bad as I expected and I even quite enjoyed it but I was happy when it was over.

After a keynote by Sarah Franklin we went to a session called ‘Leisurescapes’ covering women in sport’, sexuality and surfing and queer Salsa, then another keynote by Davina Cooper. We finished the day with ‘Performing an Erotic’ which covered Burlesque Striptease and Affective Labour in Queer/Feminist Porn Cultures. Both interesting papers that made me think and something I’d like to write about.

The highlight of the day has to be presenting in front of Joan Nestle and that several people approached me after to say they’d enjoyed my presentation. That was very validating for me and I’m really happy I did it.

I was looking forward to Saturday much more than Friday (I was certainly more relaxed!). The programme offered some interesting sessions. We started with the films and generally I enjoyed them, particularly Loud, Proud p/Politics by Carolyn Reid.

I did however take us all to the wrong room to start with, we had to make our excuses and leave. But not until we’d heard about 30 people introduce themselves (including us), I was taken off room finding duty after that. Rose Collis was the first keynote on Saturday and told some great stories.

Unfortunately the next session was cancelled and it was too late for us to attend a different one so we went for coffee instead. That was nice and gave us an opportunity to chat about what we’d heard and seen so far. (B also revealed she’d started a blog, if you get a chance go and say hello to her).

Then of course it was the (highlight) keynote of the conference, Joan Nestle. It’s hard to describe the atmosphere in the theatre as we waited. It was expectant, respectful, excited, the general feeling was reflected in the chair’s introduction and her obvious admiration. As Joan stood and made her way to the lectern there was a standing ovation. Then she began with a complaint that she dressed for the occasion (in a low cut top) which we wouldn’t see because of the lectern, so she came to the front of the stage and showed us anyway. In her talk Joan covered liberation, events in Egypt, her life and those she’d met along the way. All the time images from the Lesbian Herstory Archives filled the screen.

At the end she received another standing ovation but it was much longer and louder. She was gracious, warm, funny, generous and Femme. I don’t doubt that she touched everyone in that room and that we’ll all carry what she said with us for a very long time.

The next session (attended by B and myself) was about dress, gender and sexuality. It was really interesting and I was particularly impressed with what Campbell X had to say. The conference finished with several readings from favourite poems and books. It was a great way to finish and each reader obviously felt very strongly about their selection. Fittingly the final reading was from A Restricted Country by Joan Nestle.

As we left we took the opportunity to say thank you to Joan who was sitting with her partner Dianne Otto. My wife got to hug her heroine which brought tears to my eyes. Then Joan said she’d enjoyed my presentation and told me I was a gentleman. A perfect end.

Still Here

It’s been far too long since I wrote something here and there’s no excuse really other than I’ve been lazy and unfocused. Life however has been ticking along quite nicely. We had a lovely Christmas full of laughter, family and good friends. I love how full of life the house feels when we all get together and watching the interactions that take place between all the different characters that make up the family I’m blessed to be part of. It really is quite special.

The Christmas holidays also involved a healthy amount of down time where we did very little and it was bloody marvelous. I think we both needed the break away from everyday life and relished the opportunity to spend several days just being with each other. New years eve came and went without any fuss which is just how we like it. New years day we had a chance to ‘chat’ to some special friends for the first time (you know who you are) and that was a great way to start the new year.

So far 2011 is going pretty well. I have a job interview this week and am hopeful that I’ll be successful. I know I stand a pretty good chance of getting it, I think it will all depend on who else is being interviewed. We’re  going to be attending the Lesbian Lives conference in early February which we’re really looking forward to. There are a lot of great workshops and speakers  which look really interesting. I’m also presenting a paper at one of the workshops which both terrifies and excites me at the same time. But it does mean I have to get my act together and write the best presentation I can.

We’ve got a trip to see my mother lined up with an overnight stay in a hotel on our own with no kids or cats at the end of the month. That’s followed by a weekend where all the kids will be home and the whole family will be together for the first time in ages. It will be loud and boisterous and brilliant fun.

I am intending to be more focused about writing and get back into the swing, I really want to write more often here. I’ll also be back to posting at Pop My Cherry Review at the end of the month as well as continuing to contribute to Butch 360 at “can i help you sir”. I just need to be a bit less lazy and a bit more organised so wish me luck with that one!

Butch Lab Symposium#1

A little while ago Sinclair Sexsmith put out a call for bloggers to participate in a Symposium for her new project ButchLab. There are some great contributions to check out (links below) and this is what Sinclair says;

————————————————————————————————-

The Butch Lab Symposium is meant to be a cross between a blog carnival and a link round-up, where whoever wants to chimes in on a particular topic around butch identity and we all have a conversation.

I strongly urge all the folks who participated in this to: a) re-post this roundup, in whole or part (I can provide the HTML if you’d like, contact me); and b) to comment on as many of the contributions as you can. Seriously, challenge yourself to read every single one and comment. Think about what is different or the same from your definition. Make note of a line that made you go “hmmmm,” or “yeah, that!” and tell them.

So, because this was the first Symposium, I figured we should start out with the basics. To get all of us on the same page, to come up with a common language and definition and structure for talking about this stuff. I’d really like to continue elevating the discussion around butch identity through this project, and this is part of that, to really dig our hands into the deep stuff and see what we come up with.

So the first topic was: What is butch? How do you define butch? What do you love about it? What does it mean to you?

Thirteen bloggers wrote in, four of them not butch identified but are interested in this work.

Ulla writes on Boxer Shorts & Bras:

I am a butch woman, a butch lesbian, a butch dyke – so my interpretation of butch stems directly from that. Beyond that though, butch is an adjective I use to describe the way I look, the way I walk. For me it’s about style, not gender. It’s the hipster jeans, the sneakers, the wallet chain, the watch, the heavy silver rings, the fact that I wear men’s clothing but refuse to accept masculinity and femininity as my gender labels. It’s my reclaiming of stuff that society says is just for boys and men. It’s liberation. It’s boxer shorts and bras.

Kyle at Butchtastic:

I love the word butch, it looks and feels exactly the way it should: tough, masculine, a little hard. For me, ‘butch’ evokes images of blue jeans and leather jackets, sturdy footwear and strong hands. ’Butch’ is strong, handsome, capable, ready to help, there to back up a friend or a stranger in need. And while I realize it’s not true for all who embrace the term, for me, butch is all the great things about being a woman, wrapped in the great things about being a man.

Holden from Packing Vocals:

I love taking what I perceive to be the best bits of masculinity and putting them into practice, such as chivalry and courteousness. I love opening doors, carrying bags, being called a gent and generally attempting to display as many ‘old fashioned’ good manners as possible. I also love the clothes and accessories, suits, ties, cufflinks, waistcoats etc. It’s all of that which makes the blood in my veins run thicker and stronger.

Roxy at Uncommon Curiosity writes about butch from the perspective of loving someone butch:

Butch is that red-and-white, candy-striped, aftershave-and-razor hair cut, the hand you wish you dared reach out to feel those strong, ripped shoulders, that neck that slides up, close-cropped, under the fabric, like she was born with that cap on, like they were made for each other, lookin out at the world like it’s one big fight or maybe just last night’s lay. The way she shines those boots that have known the ground, walked miles outside this town, out of her house and never looking back, marching and dancing with her girl, but always easy, hips that were built to press up close when her girl sways and leans her head back, stretching out her neck, long and graceful, inviting her inside.

G at Can I Help You Sir:

Being a butch is complex, and I dig it. When I think about what I love about being a butch, it’s easy to think tactically – “What things do I do that make me a butch?” I shave my face and wear my ball cap backward when I watch sports and love manual labor and open doors for my date, but anyone can do that. I went a step further and thought, “How do those things make me feel?” (Ew, feelings!) I can tell you this: I know what my life felt like before and after I came out as a butch, and the difference in my comfort level is astounding.

Victoria Oldham wrote at The Musings of a Lesbian Writer:

I am a femme. To me, butch is the other half of my equation. … There’s a swagger, a sureness, a sense of yeah, that’s who I am, so what? to her walk. A sense of comfort in her own body, of knowing who she is and what she wants out of life. A defiance of pronouns. An ability to take up space like a man, without every having to be one. She is in-between and everything, all at once.

EST from A Lesbian Christian writes:

Though it might be how others identify butch individuals, for me butch has very little to do with clothes and hair. Butch is an attitude. I think above all Butch means embracing your protective instincts. Holding a door open for a woman…or a man. Standing up for others who can’t stand up for themselves. Butch means not being afraid to get dirty especially when others are involved.

Wendi at A Stranger in This Place:

No matter how much I am against putting myself in a box by claiming the title of ‘butch’, I have learned to be much more ok with it after attending the conference and talking to others about the term and what it means to them. You see, the thing about words and titles is that you can mold and define them for yourself. … I am just me. A boots, jeans and t-shirt wearing, motorcycle riding, butch lesbian with a buzz cut. I like to think of myself as mostly a guy but I’m not. I’m a woman.

Jenni from Butch.org writes:

Having grown up as a gender non-conforming child, and navigating life as a gender-trans adult, my butch identity has been a way of naming myself and proclaiming who I am — so that I might embrace these qualities and think of myself as a hero instead of an awkward, self-conscious mistake of nature.

Ali at Made of Words doesn’t identify as butch, but chimes in:

I think you’re butch if you feel butch. I don’t think you need to claim the title every day. I think short hair my be a visual clue, but long hair doesn’t exclude you. I think gender identity and butch can be completely separated from each other, that it’s just an adjective for power, pants-wearing, and planning really great dates. For being swanky and taking care of yourself and being unafraid to get dirty. For occasionally getting “Sir” on the street, either accidentally or intentionally.

Jolie writes at This Side of Changed:

Butch is an adjective. Butch is a noun. Butch is a compliment, an acknowledgement, a performance, an attitude. Butch is an insult, an attack, an assault. It’s flattering and pejorative and honest and undeniable. Butch is a body born female and worn male. Butch is a title. One that must be first accepted, then adopted, and finally fulfilled. … Butch is the strength to grow up female and then choose for yourself – it is the strength to walk out the door every single day looking like everything you shouldn’t and making it work.

Lesbian Dad (Polly) writes over at Lesbian Dad:

Whether or not “butch” is the first term I find myself using to describe my gender, it is an umbrella I find shelter under. At the Butch Voices conference my breath was taken away: a room after room, hallway after hallway of people like me. I’ve got years of familiarity at being called “sir” (“six of one, half dozen of the other,” I usually reply, with a smile and a hop of the eyebrows); I am resigned to forever fluster/ disorient/ alarm women in public restrooms (at forty some-odd, I still avert my gaze and head for stall or sink, in mute attempt to convey I’m “just here to pee, ma’am; just here to pee”). Yet being surrounded by so many mannish women showed me how inured I am to aloneness in public.

Sinclair (um that would be me) over on Sugarbutch Chronicles:

So here’s what butch is, for me: Permission. Permission to be myself, that little solid stardust shiny nugget I feel somewhere in my core, like a diamond lodged between L5 and L4 of the lumbar spine vertebrae. Permission to wear what I like, to love who I desire, to play how I crave, to decorate and adorn my body how I choose. To experience all the things this world has to offer, without guilt or obligation, but with curiosity and an open heart and experimental hands. Permission to be right where I’m at, regardless of whether that’s where I was yesterday. Permission to explore and seek pleasure, to connect and create friction, to question and make change. Permission to be exactly who I am, doing exactly what I’m doing, to have bright burning faith that everything I do works toward the greatest liberation for everyone, as much as possible, all the time, in all ways.

Here’s a list of all the posts by link, if you’d like to copy & paste it onto your own blog.

Symposium #1: What is Butch? on Butch Lab:

• Ulla from Boxer Shorts & Bras
• Kyle from Butchtastic
• Holden from Packing Vocals
• Roxy from Uncommon Curiosity
• G from Can I Help You Sir
• Victoria from The Musings of a Lesbian Writer
• EST from A Lesbian Christian
• Wendi from A Stranger in This Place
• Jenni from Butch.org
• Ali from Made of Words
• Jolie from This Side of Changed
• Polly from Lesbian Dad
• Sinclair from Sugarbutch Chronicles

The next Symposium topic will be announced soon.

Protected: The Beginning

This post is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Password:

Symposium #1

Sinclair Sexsmith (Sugarbutch Chronicles) is launching a project centering around masculine of center gender identities. Sinclair says it is

to promote a greater understanding of masculine of center gender identities, expressions, and presentations, through encouraging: 1. visibility, because we feel alone; 2. solidarity, because there are many of us out there, but we don’t always communicate with each other; and 3. an elevation of the discussion, because we have a long history and lineage to explore and we don’t have to reinvent the wheel.

She invited writers and bloggers to participate in a symposium on butch identity.  The questions for the first symposium are: What is butch? How do you define butch? What do you love about it? What does it mean to you?

I’ve written about being butch before but I think it’s always useful to periodically re-visit labels and write out their meanings in different ways. It makes them deeper and fuller as well as giving me a better understanding of who I am. So my answers to the questions are;

What is butch?
Butch for me is having the strength to be true to the inner voice which guides me while ignoring outside influences which try to dictate how I should be. It’s the name for all the feelings and desires which have been with me since birth. It’s the label that most completely captures the essence of who I am and who I want to be.

How do you define butch?
There are moments when somehow everything that’s right for me comes together, attitude, clothes, emotions, the whole works. Those moments are when I’m at my prime, when I’m being me at my best and when I feel almost invincible. That’s how I’d define butch.

What do you love about it?
I love taking what I perceive to be the best bits of masculinity and putting them into practice, such as chivalry and courteousness. I love opening doors, carrying bags, being called a gent and generally attempting to display as many ‘old fashioned’ good manners as possible. I also love the clothes and accessories, suits, ties, cufflinks, waistcoats etc. It’s all of that which makes the blood in my veins run thicker and stronger.

What does it mean to you?
It means being me and showing the world that it’s perfectly acceptable and right to be me without apology or explanation. It means freedom.

Hello and welcome

If you’re reading this (today) I’m guessing you came via the other Packing Vocals or from Twitter. Thanks for popping by. Just so you didn’t have a wasted journey (and as it’s taken me so long to switch blogs I haven’t any energy left to write a real post!) here’s a photo.

I particularly like this outfit, the tie is one of 2 given to me by our two daughters which I love. If you’ve read either of my other blogs you may recognise part of the picture, I use it as my header image.

You may also notice that Packing Vocals has become Packing Vocals the holdall because I hope this blog will hold all my shit!

Interview Attire

I have a job interview coming up soon which has got me thinking about the way I present visually and how other people might interpret my presentation in a formal situation. I have always had difficulty reconciling what I want to wear in formal situations with what I think society thinks I should wear. I’d bet I’m not the only butch who’s struggled with this either. The last time I attended an interview I had not identified as butch and so went for the ‘smart andro with a hint of girl look’. I also wasn’t packing or binding. This time I’m going to wear a man’s suit, shirt with cufflinks (but not the naked lady ones), maybe even a waistcoat. I will also be both packing and binding.

Over the past couple of years my masculine presentation has been fine tuned to the point where I feel most powerful and confident in a suit. In a formal situation like an interview that’s exactly how I want to feel so I’d be doing myself a disservice by dressing any other way. But there’s a dichotomy. In order for me to be at my best both in dress and attitude I’m potentially confusing, alienating or at worst antagonising the very people I want to impress.

The interview is at what should be a forward thinking institution so I would be surprised if I did actually antagonise anyone. I guess I’m actually just analysing how I feel about it in a way I wouldn’t have before. I would have worried that the interview panel would ‘expect’ me to dress a certain way (like in a skirt!), as well as feeling uncomfortable because I’d modified my style and therefore the clothes weren’t ‘me’. This time I’m going with what will make me feel good and I’m not going to try to match what I think their expectations will be. This is progress.

I must confess though that I’m not going to wear a tie. When my wife asked me why I said it was because I wanted the job. In some senses this is true. There is a part of me that thinks turning up in a suit and tie with an ‘unusual’ name might be just a step too far. But there is also still a hang up from the past where I wanted to hide and not present as I really am. I’m aware that this is stupid, the tie wouldn’t make make any difference to the panel’s opinions when everything else is taken into consideration.

But I’m allowing myself this concession because on the day it will mean I’m being as true to myself as I can without jeopardising my confidence. In other words it feels like the right balance, for me, not for anyone else and the balance is much more firmly on my side than it ever has been before.