This blog is beginning to feel like some of my relationships. “I like you, but I need some space. You make me feel vulnerable and that makes me uncomfortable. Go away you fuckhead. I’m going to go find a different blog, one that gives me all the things you don’t. Wait, don’t go. I was in love with you once. I remember. Can we bring that back for a bit? Naw, nevermind. I’m indifferent to you. But…. I miss you.”
The question circulates through my head on a regular basis. What do I want to do with this blog? How do I want blogging to serve me? Because frankly, it has on occasion, served me very well. But recently, not so much. Probably because I’m not blogging. I blog almost every day in my head. I anticipate blogging and then when it comes right down to it I skip it for something else. Like bed. Or talking on the phone. Or watching America’s Next Top Model. Too bad they already kicked off the hottest chick they had. Well, actually, she quit. She had a drama moment and stormed off sobbing. That’s probably why I liked her. A very hot woman with masculine angles to her face and lots of intensity. Is there anything in the world that is hotter than that? I think not.
But I digress. Blogging. OK, so who the hell is Outspokenfemme? My “About” page tells you that as soon as I figure out who I am I’ll let you know. Well, there are a few things I’ve come to know since I wrote that. It’s not like I didn’t know these things before, it’s just that I’ve clarified for myself what I like to write about. So far anyway. It could change at any moment (I don’t like to be tied down).
Actually, its been a really long time since I’ve been tied down. Decades probably. So I don’t know if I like it or not. I was never really that into it, back in the day when it was all lesbian vogue to do it. Actually, I’ve always found verbal restraint to be so much more delicious. Although I don’t practice it myself. Hence the name, Outspokenfemme. “Outspoken” is putting it nicely. I have to restrain myself in public settings, and at work. But not here. Well, umm, there has been a bit of restraint on here, for reasons I’ve already spoken of (see “You probably think this blog is about you”). Wow, the last part of this paragraph is really tangential. I work in Psychiatry. We LOVE big words.
But again, I digress. One thing for certain: I am femme. Femme lesbian?
You decide. Every ten years or so a dude blows my skirt up. And most of the women I’m into, or the ones I’m into the most, or the ones that are most often in me…..are dudes trapped in women’s bodies. Well, some are trapped, others are happy to be there. So yes, I’m Femme. And I like writing about Femme stuff, Femme perspective, and The Butches, and the mother fucking Butches. And while we are on the subject, I love sex. Oh and submission. I have a bit of a fondness for that too.
Speaking of mother fucking butches, any butch that sleeps with me would qualify for this title. Because I am, indeed, a mother. A mother whose Baby Daddy happens to be… you guessed it…. a Butch. My ex-Butch, to be exact. Yeah, you remember that lesbian baby boom you heard about? Here’s a little news flash for you. One more subset of lesbian culture about to be introduced. The Lesbian Couple Next Door with the cute baby has occasionally turned into the Broken Up Pissed Off Lesbians in a Custody Battle. We are popping up all over the place, known best and clearly identified by the amount of venom we are able to spew at each other each time we realize we will be in each other’s lives f-o-r-e-v-a. We share the kids, sometimes amicably, sometimes not. We attempt to live together (for the child), we meet new partners (the replacements). We get vivid descriptions of our ex’s actions through the eyes of the child i.e. “I walked into Mommie’s bedroom and she was trying to fix something between the legs of her new “friend’ last nite.. they had a sleepover”. Other mothers (non-bios), sometime referred to as “Baby Daddy’s” (it just makes sense), live with the fear that the bio mom might just up and disappear with the kid one day. All sorts of crazy shit can happen. Jerry Springer comes to mind. Or Rickie Lake maybe. I am a Lesbian Baby Mama. And I like to write about that.
Oh and here is one little twist for you. I am a psychotherapist. I would just say “therapist” but then you would ask, “What kind, Physical?” And then I would say, no, “Psycho”. Being a therapist puts me in a unique position to talk to lots and lots of people about their problems. People are fascinating. I learn so much from this work. I think I’m pretty good at what I do. I don’t have any fancy statistics to show you to prove this. Call it a hunch. Most of what I’ve learned about therapy I learned from doing my own work. I’m a classic tortured soul. And just a titch proud of it. And I like to write about that.
So there you have it. The Femme who loves sex with Butches and packs a hidden ice pick (I’m kidding!). Sorta. The Baby Mama with drama. The Psychotherapist who contemplates suicide. Do you see my problem? I need three blogs!