Why I Hold Her Hand . . .

I remember the first time I held a girl's hand in public.  It was actually a woman's hand.  We were hundreds of miles away from anyone that would ever recognize me, but it still felt very identifying.  I remember how natural it felt.  I remember it felt like when I was a kid, running around without a shirt on . . . free and easy . . . shameless, before anyone told me that I was "supposed" to wear a shirt.

Then, that same woman and I, held hands in my hometown where anyone could see me "being gay..." where anyone at all could see ME being ME.  It did not make me want to run and put a shirt on, or run and hide.  I had done that long enough.  I was glad to be free and shameless, finally.

I don't believe that woman felt the same way about holding my hand unfortunately.

When S and I are near each other, we really can't keep our hands off one another.  It's her nature, though, she is a "touch-er" and I am craving to be touched.  We really fit well together.  We both touch people everyday for our jobs; we both love our jobs. 

When I am out with S we exchange hugs and kisses, long embraces, hand holding, and sometimes... more.  I rarely wonder what the public is thinking of these exchanges we are sharing.  I rarely even think about the public.  My energy and my focus is solely placed on her.  Most of the time.

I catch the dirty looks.  And that is why I hold her hand.  I hold her hand and I smile back at the Dirty Lookers as sweetly as I can.  Dirty Lookers are often of the male gender.  Their scowl is often accompanied with a disapproving look and a head shake (imagine a finger wagging too).  I want him to see me.  I want him to see S.  I want him to see me smiling at him with love and friendship and no hatred.  I just want him to see how true our love is and then find fault.  We are human, and our love is no different than his.

I hold her hand because the Other Mothers hold the hands of their husbands and why shouldn't I be afforded the same privilege?  Is it really a privilege to hold her hand?  Is it a privilege for them to hold their husband's hands?

I hold her hand because I can.  Because I don't have to campaign or march to hold her hand.

I hold her hand because it's soft and strong.

I hold her hand because it fits inside of mine.

I hold her hand because I want our children to see.  I want them to know love and affection of all shapes, sizes, colors, and flavors.  I want them to see and to know it's normal and visible and equal and fair.  I want our children to feel included... not on the outside looking in.

I hold her hand because of the girl that I saw in Old Sac yesterday who was probably 14 years old.  I'm guessing she was with her father.  She couldn't stop herself from looking at S and I.  We were sitting outside having an afternoon cocktail, sharing laughter, allowing ourselves to dream.  I noticed her.  She was doing more than noticing us.  I remember being her.  I remember studying women who I thought may be lesbian, and I remember studying gay couples that I very rarely encountered in my "real life."  I felt her studying us. 

We payed our bill and as we started to stroll again I felt my hand reach for S's hand... and there it was.  It just fits.

It feels undescribable.

But I will try anyway, to describe what femme feels like...  to me at least.

Femme feels like brand new baby skin.  Soft and a little squishy... almost like a puppy's skin, but brand new babies smell like fresh baked cookies for about a week.  Then the smell is gone.  Forever.  However, while finding my Femme, don't ever worry it will disappear in a week.  It's here to last.  Forever.

Femme feels pulled in a million directions.  Daughter-Sister-Mother-Friend-Lover-Secretkeeper.  Cook-Maid-Nurse-Therapist-Comedienne-Student.

Femme feels hard and soft at the same time. Femme feels like every emotion is right on the surface, but if I let them see, then I might be considered less than.  Femme feels good in the arms of someone strong.  Femme feels good to me. 

Femme feels like a cool autumn night, windows open, crickets chirping, sun-setting earlier and earlier each evening.  Femme feels like the chill on my sweat laced skin as the night breeze rushes through the room.

Femme feels invisible.  Unseen.  Unheard of.  In my very rural community to be Femme is an advantage probably.  Therefore, Femme... is isolating.

I don't know what the fuck Femme feels like, but I know that I'm the expert on whatever the fuck it feels like to me.  Femme doesn't really give a shit and is done wasting time wondering if you do too.

Femme feels like soft, warm skin ... fresh after a bubble bath. 

My favorite part of this is when I can finally stop.  I can stop everything I'm doing and the world seems to stop too, and S is there to make sure of it.  Without fail, she's there...with her oil and her strong hands.  And I can just be.  I can stop.  I can be.  I am Femme.

Femme is wearing that because I like to.  Femme is taking care of myself.  Femme is taking care of her.  Or all of us.  Femme is the smell of the laundry that I've taken off the line... Sunshine.  Femme smells like sunshine.  Femme is doing her fucking laundry every week because I WANT to, not because I have to, or because she asks me.  There is something incredibly satisfying about doing her laundry.  Especially when I can dry it on the line.

Femme is sitting in a salon chair and not a barber chair.  This is complete torture for me.  The two and a half hour procedure of "getting my hair done" requires me to premedicate with xanax or ativan or both.  I'd rather sit in a barber chair.  I have nothing to say to the women there.  They have nothing to say to me.  Usually, I try to talk about my job, because... oddly.... we all birth the same.  (Note that is sarcasm.)  But I like my long chestnut hair and without the said procedure my hair is less than spectacular.  So off to the salon I go.  I dream of the day I can take my son to the barber - just for the experience alone.

Femme wears her girlfriend's cowboy shirt when they are apart.  S's shirt on my skin, nothing else.  I can smell her, and smelling her is remembering her.  Sometimes I wear the shirt out and about and sometimes I wear S's shirt to bed.  She doesn't know this.  Sleeping alone, in that huge bed, feels very lonesome when I can smell her so close to my body.  I shut my eyes tight and make myself come, alone, but in her shirt.  And I wonder if the next time she wears it, she will know.

Femme is wearing heels, all year, and yes... sometimes when the weather determines one might should wear other shoes.  I've worn heels with the usual skirts and dresses, but also with jeans, capri pants, and even shorts.  I've worn heels to bed (and kept them on).  I've worn heels while 9 months pregnant (which probably looked ridiculous... I'll give ya that).  I've worn heels in airports and at at the zoo.  I have high heeled sandals and boots.  I will never own enough high heeled shoes.  If S is smart, she will never question my choice in footwear.

S has asked me, a few times, about how I came to understand the world in certain ways, or how I became who I am based on where I've lived my entire life.  This is a compliment.  Really.  The only thing I can tell her is one of my strongest memories from childhood... is my mother's voice telling me, 'You can do anything you want to so long as you set your mind to it and work hard.'  Other values she instilled in me were that of equality.  Equality between genders... races... etc.  I grew up feeling equal and of value... that I had something of worth to offer the world.  My mother made sure to tell me that there were others that did not believe this were true and that someday I might have to fight for equality.  I learned about others before me, before us, that did fight that fight.  I grew up feeling pretty proud of my mother.  I grew up feeling very goddamn proud of womanhood.  THAT feels like Femme today.

Don't we have more important things to worry about?

Today Illinois State Rep. Deb Mell addressed the House regarding legalizing gay marriage in Illinois and specifically spoke about her own engagement to Christin Baker.

Legislation to legalize civil unions passed in the House committee nearly a year ago (yay!!) but apparently 60 votes are still needed to send it to the Senate according the Chicago Tribune article posted on April 28, 2010.

I think it's fantastic that we have such an outspoken female leader and gay rights advocate representing "us" in Illinois.  Rep. Mell has even been arrested for protesting her inability to get a (same-sex) marriage license from the Cook County clerk's office (that's my favorite).

Now, may I direct my reader's attention to the Chicago Tribune article, and if you could all just scroll down to the bottom... go ahead... a little further... to the "Comments" section.  What the fuck is this bitch Nancy talking about, "Don't we have more important things to worry about?"

 I mean REALLY!  Equality is really no big deal.  Sheesh.