“The Late Life Lesbian Diaries, pt. 3”

Here’s part three of our new feature written by RM, a later-in-life lesbian. Start with part one here and part two here:

Part Three

The person who woke up in my bed that morning after was not me. This person got up, started laundry, cleaned the apartment, and fixed a healthy lunch. All while she danced around with music playing.  She stepped into the bathroom and saw herself in the mirror. Fuck, it is me. My mind fell back to the previous night and to her. The face in the mirror said out loud the words that I’m thinking, “What the hell are you doing to me woman?” 

Ding. There is the sound I’m learning to love. She has responded to my first message of the day that filled her in on my morning and my light-hearted, happy mood. BG woke feeling peaceful and very naked. Sleeping naked is something she has avoided most of her adult life, and it was one of those topics that we talked about so easily. Our conversations ricocheted in all directions and I was energized by her.

Few people in my life have fully engaged me in conversation. I’m most often a passive observer, taking in all bits of the scene. The words, the nuances in body language entrap me in a quiet and content space. With her, I find myself in a rare state of being fully present and with more to say than I realize. There is no hesitation, no filtering in my mind of what I should say or how I should word it. The thoughts, ideas, and jokes tumble out and are received with precise understanding. We can bounce back and forth with multiple topics intermingled with each other and we keep up with it all.

I talk of a favorite day trip of mine and she responds, “We are so doing that when I visit!” Now five days into this online relationship and I do not flinch at her words. I remember this for when she does visit, a visit I am already craving. We talk of food and imagine ourselves spending a lazy afternoon cooking together, laughing, with music playing in the background.

And I want it, I want it all from a woman I have never met. A woman that I am slowly getting to know , but is still a relative stranger. A woman. I giggle to myself as it hits me for the first time. I am getting to know, flirting with, and beginning to imagine a life with a woman, as my partner. A friend, a lover, a woman. I step out onto my balcony and stare out at the mountains in the distance, absorbed in the comfort of how right it feels. I let the thoughts come and go in my mind. “I want her. I really like her. She gets me. I adore her.” Her, she, the pronouns fit perfectly into my desires.

I have questioned my sexuality for most of my adult life, but there is no defining moment when I knew. I found women attractive and as I passed through my 30s, into my 40s, I became more open to the idea of a relationship with a woman. My first time with a woman was a moment so out of character for me that I sometimes still don’t believe it happened. What I do know for sure is that being with her felt so natural, so perfect. At one point, with my head between her legs, I actually laughed, I was overwhelmed with the perfection of it all.  I wasn’t ready to date at that point, so I retreated back into my safe and solitary life until I began to feel the pangs of loneliness.

A message brings me present again.

“Can I just say that yesterday was unfuckingbelievable!”  Yes, yes you can and it was. We joked briefly about the state of her mind at dinner, which was distracted at best.  She had to leave for the airport, so we were left to our own dreamy devices.

An hour or so later I get a message, starting with a phrase that will begin to shape the relationship we both crave, “In the spirit of honesty…” She, like so many women in our Facebook group, is separated from her husband, but still in the process of divorce. The next six months will be a circus of paperwork, lawyers, negotiating living arrangement, and supporting grieving children. She gives me an out – if it’s too much for me to handle, she completely understands. But she continues to open her heart, “I think you are wonderful and we have the beginnings of something amazing. If it is meant to be, it will be.”

I tell her I am here for her and my wish is that we were closer so I could support her fully. In a couple months, I will learn this impacted her in ways she did not reveal that morning. My marriage taught me that it was safer to stay relatively silent, to not open up with full honesty. I had retreated into myself, forming a hard shell, learned to behave like those around me, and kept my emotions and thoughts protected from my ex’s ridicule and negativity. BG was beginning to chip away at that shell, and I let her.

We were giving space, time, freedom to each other- neither of us used to the feelings that brought with it. I told her to go sow her oats, she told me to pursue any opportunities that came my way. We established a friendship, right then and there. Perhaps travel companions. Way down the road, after we’ve traveled our own paths for a while, perhaps something more will evolve. Perfect. We settled into sharing our love of travel and most importantly, how we liked to travel.

Travel chemistry for me is right up there with the rest of the personal atoms and molecules that make up the chemistry between two people.  Emotional, sexual, intellectual connection are the cornerstones of chemistry, and individuals bring in their own needs and desires.  If those unique bits don’t mesh, the relationship is likely to fizzle. Get beyond the basics and those unique bits that mesh can fling a person into the flustered and unfamiliar state that I find myself in today.

I briefly share my travel philosophy–loose agenda with sights to see and things to do, but also with ample downtime to absorb the world around me. I want to feel as if I am living in a place as I remove myself from the role of tourist, leave the tourist-heavy areas, dine in cafes with mostly locals, and learn to cook local foods in a local’s kitchen. As I type these thoughts into messenger, my chest tightens at the thought that she will wholeheartedly disagree and oppose my travel philosophy.  She responds after landing. She loves my way of traveling. Rigidity, for her, is a way of the past. On the road, at home, a schedule to keep, a need to spend 12 hours in a museum in order to absorb it all. What else is happening on the streets, in the cafes, and  in the homes of people while one hides away in the darkness of the past?

“…lots of spontaneous exploring…” with those words, I continued to fall for this woman. I wanted this to be my new life. Spontaneous exploring of life, with her.

The first significant difference between us is revealed through a story of her flight home, sitting next to a trainee Catholic priest. She decided to “…throw the cat among the pigeons…” and asked him about gay marriage. Two hours of the flight was consumed on the topic, including her asking about girl on girl sex and the validity of an orgasm based on how it is achieved. A new image of this woman is formed in my head.

We are so similar, yet different is such beautiful ways. Her bravery is sexy as hell, I cannot deny. She reveals to me that she is Catholic, and I, in turn, reveal that I am an atheist. My heart sinks. I say nothing, only worry that religion will divide us. My brain is a bit of a fatalist, ready to jump off a high bridge to avoid any small pebbles life throws at me. I push the thoughts out of my head and allow the conversation to go its own way. Meanwhile, the priest is praying she will go back to her marriage, and I am asking the universe to bring her all the women. Me included.

The Catholic v. atheist concern begins to weigh on me. What am I worried about? Would religion have not already played a part in getting to know each other if it was strong enough to be a deal breaker?  I fumbled with the thoughts in my head as I baked brownies. Baking cures all. Chocolate and caramel quiet the fatalistic mind. Or at least puts it on hold for a while. Oh hell, who am I kidding? I feed the bastard with sugar.

My phone dings and BG asks about my brownies. Out of the oven, but still cooling. I tell her I tasted the salted caramel topping, and that sent things down a familiar path. Caramel dripping and drizzling.  Our self-diagnosed pathetic ways of turning to the sexual within minutes are confirmed and noted. This time, we tip-toe around it gently. Acknowledge and then move on.  Sexuality is a crucial aspect of a relationship. And it’s fun, but I had to get to know this woman on all levels. She was now all I could think about, the person I wanted to share everything with. The silly, mundane everyday stuff that I have, for 47 years, amused myself with.

Memes come across, making me laugh and make me question her sincerity of wanting to get to know me, that it’s not, in fact, all sexual. Humor and sexuality, two well-practiced vices for a shy person.  BG shy? I could not have listed that as a quality of hers. She is active in our Facebook group, is clearly adored by many, and if it wasn’t for her sending the message, and continuing to chat with me, we wouldn’t have gotten past a few days of conversation. She admitted to the fact and how she hides behind humor. Our masks start to peel away. She says it first- she is letting her guard drop, her vulnerability show. I am suddenly aware of how naked I’ve become with her.

I tell her, “You are safe with me”, and thus is hatched another phrase that shapes our relationship.  We are safe, vulnerable, naked, and alive.

“I feel alive finally.” Her words increase my heart rate and make me look into myself and how I am feeling. I revisit my happy mood this morning, then admit to now feeling tired and quiet. It is nearly midnight my time. We both comment on how we wish to be quietly snuggling together, in the presence of each other in which the feeling of what that feels like, is left to our own imaginations.

“The Late Life Lesbian Diaries” (pt. 2)

Here’s part two of our new feature written by RM, a later-in-life lesbian. Start with part one here:

The chatter of those first couple days quickly settled into a back and forth banter that was reminiscent of a friendship cascading back through the years.  She was out shopping with her kids, sending pictures of things that brought me to mind–stores bearing my name, girl’s bedding that would in a few days spawn a nickname. Me at work, yawning through my work day, responding with silliness and sarcasm, and letting my work float away unnoticed.

I got a message telling me she is flying out that night, across country for work, but will also be meeting another woman from our group.  The words pass through my eyes, up the optic nerves into my brain. Suddenly my stomach is involved, my skin joins in moments later. WTF is this sensation once again taunting me and my rationality? I crack a joke, “Don’t have too much fun! Totally kidding, go get it girl!” Truth be told, I didn’t really mean that second part. Or did I? I decided to roll with it, enjoy the banter and let it take us away to a land of Subarus, flannel shirts, Birkenstocks, toaster ovens, and U-Hauls.

“…but I wish I was having dinner (and other things!) with another woman.” U-Haul – reserved.

A picture of her in her hotel room jumps onto my screen. My heart twitches, the forbidden zone tingles. Shit. On our first night of chatting I had already let things go further than I ever intend to. Society and years of fighting to gain the attention of a man has taught me to use my sexuality. Boobs, flirting, and being quick into bed worked in the past and also reduced the need for conversation, of which my skill can rival the storytelling of a four-year old.  That first night, she jokingly asked what I was wearing after I told her I’d moved from the couch into bed. I immediately sent a photo showing my bare shoulders peeking out from the sheets and told her that was indeed an inappropriate question to ask this early in the game. I began to talk about my first time with a woman as the urges and desires rumbled under the sheets. The conversation stopped for a few minutes and when we returned, with a new sense of relaxation and release, we picked right up and continued on. For another hour.  Was this life with a woman? We didn’t need confirmation or validation at what had happened behind the screens of our phones. We continued on with the playful banter and became two teenagers in lust, “No you hang up! No you hang up!” We eventually did  and now my mind wanders back to the present moment. She is in her hotel room and we send a few pictures back and forth. Before things go any further, I ask the question I need answered – “Are you interested in just flirting or also getting to know each other? Because I’d love to do both…” I wait.

“Ditto. I see us being great friends with the delightful possibility of added benefits at some point.”

I smile. We begin to talk about the two places we live, me in the western U.S., her in Australia. We talk about how we first knew we were not living our authentic lives, and when we knew we wanted to explore life with the ladies. We shared the stories of our ex-husbands and divorces.  The conversation continues to be comfortable, familiar, and most importantly, vulnerable. I don’t want to be her first, I already know I want more than that. She has yet to even kiss a woman – “go sow your oats and then tell me about it,” I tell her.  She promises to do just that and then a couple videos and voices files cross the ocean and we hear each other for the first time. I listen over and over, her voice trapping me, sucking me into a place I hadn’t intended to go. I mention another woman who had recently joined the group and was from the same city as BG. An answer, that I will soon learn is classic for her, comes back, “And throwing you up against the wall and kissing you among other things…Yes, a newbie here in town!”

We start to jump in and then immediately pull back. Instead we begin to talk about body shapes and sizes, our own and those we are attracted to. I allow the rolls and bulges of my belly to relax and unfold as she tells me how much she loves curves on a woman – soft, cuddly curves.  She tells me how beautiful I am and even with the distance, I still feel the the deep buzzing sensation I get when someone looks at me with adoration and attraction. Shame and unworthiness absorb the warmth and kindness, shielding my heart from being fully open. I tell her this, because I know I don’t have to pretend or hide my true self.  We knew this immediately, both of us feeling a warmth and familiarity we were attempting to comprehend. The gushing of compliments tapers off and the conversation meanders back to getting to know each other. The silly little things that make us US, like we both dislike talking on the phone, and we both love to communicate in writing. I live in a weed-legal state and we laugh about marketing edible THC underwear. BG heads out to explore and I settle into bed, mind overly active and unable to rest. It’s the weekend. I have nowhere to be the next day and I allow my mind to wander. Would I move out of the country for someone? How the fuck can I feel such a strong connection to someone I’ve never met? Will she still like me once we meet? Will I still like her once we meet? Can I take my cats with me? Do I need a more lesbian style? Will her kids like me? Her family? Will my friends and family like her? I worry that I’m not as funny as she thinks I am. I worry that we will have no chemistry. I worry that we’ll have too much and I’ll fall for someone half a world away.

She was pulling me – hard and fast – I couldn’t explain it. My brain needed a break, it needed to stop thinking and allow this crazy fuckery to unfold, organically. I glanced at the world map on my wall and stared at the vast ocean that separates us.

I attempted to read, but then she sent a picture, and then another. I respond and questions pour in. Siblings, favorite movies, celebrity crushes, to shave or not to shave, top travel destination. Each question leads down another path to further discovery and I am enamored with every bit of it.

I mention that I was in bed and what I was not wearing and we head down a very secluded and intimate path taking us both to a place that neither of us knew existed. Pictures and words are exchanged as my mind and body drift away to a place 8,000 miles away. Rationality attempted to pull me back, but the forces of a libido in the wrong hands for far too long, left rationality standing alone and silenced. I imagine her, lying in her hotel room, hopefully in a similar state. When I recover and can type again, I tell her this. “OMG. Me too” is all I need to hear. And then, “In the beautiful foreplay of minds, then the body just explodes.” I sink deeper into a state of beautiful bewilderment. Without hesitation, the chatting continues and we open ourselves up even more. I share Pablo Neruda quotes and question if this is what girl sex is like. The easy balance of sensual and cerebral, by way of giggling and chatting that picks up easily after our pleasureable interludes.

We cannot hold out for long and we are back to describing, in much more detail, the things we imagine doing to each other. I remember that moment clearly. I was sitting up in my bed with my laptop, reading her words, imagining her doing to me the things she was describing. With both hands on the keyboard, contemplating my next move, I froze and tossed the laptop aside. What happened next left me confused and unsure of my surroundings.

“That was beyond words. You are touching me, without even being here. What the hell are you doing to me woman?!?”

“I know, me too!”

We continue again with the easy banter and chatting until she has to relent and head out to dinner. With eight minutes to put herself together. It’s 3am my time, I say goodnight and snuggle down to attempt sleep.

Her words pass through my mind, “what crazy fuckery is this?” It will become our mantra.

New Feature: “The Late Life Lesbian Diaries” (part one)

I’m excited to present a new feature on the blog called “The Late Life Lesbian Diaries.” This feature is written not by me, but by another later in life lesbian in our support group who wants to share her story. She goes by the initials RM, and I’m happy to showcase her work.

Part One

What was I doing that night when I first clicked into a world of unknown? Sitting on my couch, laptop warming my thighs, cats curled up next to me. Maybe an episode of “Frasier” playing on Netflix for background noise. I’m pretty sure I was lost in my thoughts – thoughts that spill into Google searches. “Coming out after divorce,” “married to a man now I love women,” “I’m old and I’m a baby dyke,” who knows what search terms I used that night, the night I found this blog and launched myself off the safe shore of who I’ve always been. I send my introductory email off to Andrea and waited. A day or so passes, and my overactive brain stumbles through every conceivable scenario. My brain is highly fertile, and it worked hard those couple of days. It turns out, that was only a warm-up for more questions. Will I fit in? Will I find love? What kind of lesbian am I? Do I need to know? Will I find that although I’m terminally attracted to females, I feel completely out of sync with everyone in the group?

Ding Facebook notification, I have been approved and am now part of the Later in Life Lesbian group. I scurry into the group and poke around, getting my bearings, seeing if anyone I know is already a member. I read a few introduction posts and click my first likes, make my first comments. What I find is a group of women in all stages of transformation and transition. I read posts that are cry-worthy, a lot that make me laugh, and a more than expected number of posts that make me realize I am not as alone as I previously thought. I had found a safe place, a place for new friends, a home.

This is a place for us to be our true selves. There is sarcasm, bantering, inappropriateness, compassion, support, and wholeheartedness. I am overwhelmed and the doubts of fitting in swell. I currently live in a city known for people who are friendly but painfully slow to let you into their circle. I could pick out the women who had been in the group for a while. There was familiarity among them. I worried about jumping into their banter. I stepped away to open my email, and copy and paste my original email to Andrea. A few edits and I had my intro to the group. Cut and paste again, and I’ve tossed myself out to 200+ women.

Ding. Ding. Notifications keep coming, I’m reading through them as new ones pop up. I am welcomed, I am home. Most of all, I am understood.

Ding, new friend requests roll in, after little to no interaction with the women wanting to be my friend. Having Facebook friends I don’t know in “real life” is something I’ve always avoided. Feeling like I was home now, I accepted the requests. Transformation, change, and growth all require some variance of risk. I was sick of sitting still, doing nothing. I left my husband for many reasons and a big one was that he is happy being stagnant. I am not.

A few days pass and I comment here and there, mostly click ‘Like,’ continue to get a feel for the land. There is a flower theme in the group, and I see lots of posts about them. Being in the veterinary field, I post about some flowers being toxic to cats, and I threw in another word for cat to show my humor and inappropriateness.  Within minutes, I get a comment from a woman I will call BG. She takes my post and carries it, unabashedly away, followed by a meme post noting her status as that friend who turns everything sexual. My response, “I love you already BG!!” An innocent comment that 6 weeks later snaps back, flipping me into an unruly pile of emotions, with each one of them having a different say in how I should proceed. Romance is sticky with the unabashed sappiness. Rational’s stern face tells me that Rational and Romance will be the fight to watch this year.

I check in with the group everyday, read posts, but am not a frequent commenter/poster. Lurking among the familiar strangers satisfies me. I am absorbing, learning, and gaining insight to where I am and where I want to go next.

Ding. A new FB message from BG. A simple, “You are so funny!” GIFs come flying across my screen, irreverent comments come and go. It was easy – fun, and flirty. I was funny, cute, attractive to someone. To a woman. I was giddy with the fun, lightheartedness of it.

She is on another continent, across far too many time zones. The chatting starts late for me, early for her. My usual time for bed comes and goes. “WTF time is it there?” she asks. “1:30am,” I answer, but I don’t care. I want to keep talking to her, and I find that I’d rather have her next to me, in my bed than through a computer screen. What crazy fuckery is this?

Finally, we sign off. I sleep fitfully, waking up frequently, and look at my phone each time I do. I wake up to her, hold her throughout my day, and take her to bed the next night. This continues, day in and day out, across an ocean, and far beyond my understanding of rationality.