Women’s only dating spaces have such different energy than places which admit men

The Sapphic Sea of Tranquility

When I was first out, female spaces eluded me.  In part, this was me, not seeking them out.  In part, I was afraid to appear at my most vulnerable on the threshold of my own deepest desire, acceptance in community.

At the risk of being offensive, and you, my dear reader, has already seen just how offensive I can be, even to my own, I opened up to my voice coach a set of feelings which are not really as inclusive as they should be.  On this blog I have vented the worst of me.

Some choice examples?

I have said I don’t like gay men.  That they make me feel uncomfortable.  That they are like an echo-box of manliness, and overdose.  This feeling is echoed a thousandfold when a gay man is obviously attracted to me, or worse, touches me.  I have written about how I don’t like drag, drag performers, and the whole camp gay femme schtick as disrespectful to women.  I don’t think I have written about struggling with male sissies, the taffeta and pinafore set, for much the same reasons of respect for the feminine.

I might not have posted but feel very deeply about not liking humiliation.  I don’t seek it out, I don’t want to be humiliated, and I don’t to humiliate people.  Even as a domme, this is something I avoid.  Gentle teasing, yes, but humiliation, no.

I bring these things up in a post about something completely different for one main reason.  These feelings I have, these phobias, these “distastes” for things which are not my own, stem from one unhealthy place.  The self.  My own fear.  It says something about me to have these feelings.  Not about anyone else.

Being judgmental is timelessly unfashionable.  Three things that I seek to avoid both consciously and unconsciously: out-of-touch, stuck, and opinionated.  What a foul cocktail.  

Why is this relevant?  Well, standing on the outside looking in, longing for what was on the other side of the threshold, membership in the sisterhood, is a mirror image of this funk I have just described.  What I see in women is the best.

Now, you can tell me that women are toxic, jealous, no more capable than men, or just as capable of being turkeys as anyone else.  That isn’t the point.  The essence of femininity and the divine purpose of female energy is to forgive, to kiss the booboo and make it better.

I went on a date with a gorgeous trans woman many moons ago, somewhere post transition, and she dragged me towards the door of the ladies’ room.  I stopped and woulnd’t go in with her, despite her pulls.  There were differences to me.  I was still packing, and my legal documents had my dead name and my dead sex on them.  I later discovered that she was still packing too, but to see her you would have never known she was born male.

My voice coach asked me an existential question which I often wonder about but have never explicitly articulated.  At what point did I become a woman?  Am I even a woman now?  What defines a woman?  What will it take for me to feel that I am a woman, without hesitation, purely from that which is inside of me?

She probed.  Was it when you were a child and you realized you were trans?  When you realized that becoming a girl, female, a woman, was more important to you than life itself?  When you came out?  When you started on hormones?  When you tripped Ayahuasca and made a firm commitment?  On the operating table?  When my birth certificate was changed?

The easy answer was when my legal documents changed, and when I came out of the operating theatre.  Those things together where what gave me the confidence to pee in public.  That was about me.  What is also about me was my dysfunctional post about a fellow trans-woman who appears to me in every way to be a woman who has simply adopted female pronouns.

And I am struggling with the right answer.  If there is one.  But what I do know is that there can only be one place for that answer to come from, and that is inside me.

When I first contemplated going to social events by and for lesbians, I had extra trepidation.  The lesbian community has a reputation in the trans-female community as not always being welcoming.  This has not been my experience.  But it was a certainly a fear.

I went to a lesbian social event.  The way it was advertised, and my pre-existing baggage made me feel like it would be a tiny group of hairy women wearing frumpy clothes and open-toed sandals.  All poor, and hanging in some dingy pub.  So, I double-booked myself so that I would have and feel a good excuse to leave and not feel I had slighted anyone…its important to me to be honest, rather than just fibbing to beg myself out, I construct my life in such a way that I really do have to go.

On this occasion, I was really glad that I had double booked, but not for the reason I expected.  No.  The opposite.  First, the hostess was glam, beautiful, and so welcoming.  Second, every woman in the place was achingly gorgeous.  Third, it is hard to describe what it feels like to be surrounded by over 200 beautiful women who love women, and who just want to be surrounded by women and away from male energy.

I was overwhelmed.  It was so beautiful for me, that I almost felt like crying.  I still do as I think about it.  Part of me didn’t want to leave, but another part felt I had to, had to go because it was too much of a good thing.

It was so different to just start talking to a woman and not have it be weird as it would be in the hetero dating scene.  Girls could touch each other, say nice things to each other, and not have it mean anything other than just being positive and supportive.  I got hit on in the bathroom of all places.

I did leave but filled with so much joy.

Another one of these events came along and I thought, now that I know what’s coming, I’ll go.  I dressed in line with what I expected, and found a much intimate evening, equally achingly gorgeous.  This time the hostess grabbed me and guided me to the bar and was so welcoming, embracing me.  She introduced to people, and I fell into conversation with one wonderful person after the next.  I had an extraordinary evening.

Flirting.  Gabbing.  Smiling.  Laughing.  Just having a good time.  There is one word which described the whole experience even if it was loud, crowded, and that is gentle.  It was such an utterly gentle evening.  The absence of the male gaze, the difference of desire between women and men, made this space not only safe, but also serene and calm despite the hubbub.  It was pure magic.

Never mind that the only straight woman in the place is the one who hit on me, but her friend said, “she thinks she’s straight, but don’t worry, she’s a dyke.”  When I finally left I had a real bounce in all of me.

I am so cautious of my own feelings, of being open, of daring to feel when I know I can be hurt in ways that would really hurt.  So it was a bit like I was a little girl playing hide and seek, peering out from my hiding place, into a room full of beautiful women, and they were all smiling at me.

A few days later I found myself at a more intimate setting.  A small, private play party for women.  Not really lesbian women, just women.  Women who wanted to play and be intimate without it being weird.  And it was a very intimate evening.  We were all in lingerie and various states of undress.  There was some gentle, exploratory touch, some impact play, some kissing, some bondage…but never anything which felt anything other than loving.

It was beautiful.  And all these experiences combine to be life changing.

At the root of them all lies this existential question.  What does mean to this woman to be a woman.  How am I am woman.  What makes me a woman.  What do I need to let go of?  What do I need to embrace?

And I have my answers, have the things I need to work on.  As a small example, I have never worked with a man doing shibari.  It is “too intimate”.  I will be open to this.  But mostly, the biases and prejudices that I outlined at the beginning, need to be examined for what they are, and understood for why they exist in me.  And they need to be let go of.

This process of letting go is perhaps the strongest step I could make to embracing my own divine feminine.  It is a merciful act.  It is the kissing of the booboo.  For myself.  For others.

What do you need to let go of?  And why?  Why was it there to be held in the first place?  How did it protect you?