you're an odd one, aren't ya

I can still feel whispers of air against the side of my face while they came in close to ask questions. My arms remember the shape of theirs. I want to moan into the press of their lips and feel fingers grabbing at the curve of my waist.

She sat on a stool for most of the night, people-watching from the group over at the side of the room. I wanted to sink to my knees in front of her and take her fingers up to my mouth, curling my tongue around the longest and tasting her until she remembers to breathe again. I wanted to feel her eyes on me at that pool party they talked about, feel her watch me as I come up out of the pool. I'll ask for a towel: "Would you hand me one of those, so I don't have to stand in front of you dripping over everything?" She will, and I'll dry off: "Thank you. Now I'm just one kind of wet."

Straightforward, blunt desire. I got numbers and dates that night, and she offered me both, too. I took her up on neither because twenty years is too much of a difference, isn't it? It is. My fantasies are stuck on her, though. I felt hunger pulsing off of her skin and I knew we would both speak the same body-language. Two butches dancing together, the push pull of women used to a direct and focused way of moving through the world. I imagine her watching me come out of that pool again: "You are a tease." A light slap on my face, while I'm bent close to her. I would take it with a smirk-- I know where I prefer to be. Bury me offering pleasure to a bossy top of a woman and I'll be happy. "I prefer, madame, to be called an incorrigible flirt." How close can I be without my lips grazing her ear? Would she shudder or would her breath tremble just slightly?

I know it would be welcome. She made sure of it, before she knew my age. She brought it up first and I asked if she wanted to guess or if she'd like me to tell her. Said I'm older than I look and she laughed: "Me too." We both went silent, smiling. I caved first-- it didn't need to be a stand off. "36." She exhaled and shook her head. "May I ask yours?" She shook her head again, her voice huskier: "No." I looked at her while she groaned up towards the ceiling: "I'm over fifty." She made sure afterwards that I still felt welcome to the group in spite of her invitation to drinks. It was considerate, thoughtful. I could still feel the desire radiating off of her, even as she walked away from the concert noise. I imagine seeing her again: "Have you thought about me?" She might ask. I'd hold her gaze: "Yes."

There's largely a common theme on these shelves; all of my bookshelf-people have consciously crafted their lives to be outside of standard-issue expectations. They live colorfully, openly when they can. Some have to be secret and choose to find other queerfolk in secret. Some have written under pseudonyms, so they can create their own world where they can be safe and loved. They live as much of their truth as they are able to.

My little gay library has slowly grown over the years. It was secret for me at first, too-- tiny magazine clippings I'd hide in the middle of church approved biographies about missionaries. Amelia Earhart was one of those first clippings, mostly because she was cute as heck and also an Adventurer. My ten year old mind could think of no higher calling. Looking back it seems like she'd be easily deniable as a gay crush. Look, mom...a historical figure! But in all of my blushing flustered thoughts, that picture would have shown my parents that I was one of those fruity people. The sinners, you know the kind.

thank you very much internet

Sincerely,

This is how I am able to celebrate being a woman. I am muscular, I am tall. I dress in men's clothes and I like looking well put together. It matters a lot to me. It is the first time in my life that I can look into the mirror, smile, and recognize myself in who I see reflected.

I am most at home in being a woman when I have on freshly shined boots, a fresh fade, and a tailored shirt. I feel unstoppable, and I want that feeling of exuberance for every woman who wants that feeling, too. It's beautiful.

I am not feminine, but this is how I express my interpretation of the Feminine. I balance in-between because that's where I feel most at ease. I dress this way because it feels like I am being truthful, rather than living in a lie while wearing a dress. I don't want my life to be theater. I'd like it to be straightforward and honest.

If you're the lady from earlier, I overheard you talking. While I don't mind that you see my appearance as a political statement, it's not my original intent. I'm trying to help this body stay alive and this is one of the ways I help do that-- I need to feel at home in it. I do appreciate that you were able to see me for what I am, because you're right. The gays are everywhere now. You see more of us because it is sometimes, in some places, a little safer to be out and about. It's not a new thing, though. We've been around for a hot minute and have generations upon generations of history across cultures.

If you're one of the grandmothers who have asked me about understanding their lgbt+ grandchildren: please keep asking. Please keep being curious. It is such an incredible expression of love to want to understand someone so different from you. Your grandchildren will remember that and I hope they hold it close to their hearts.

To the children: it's okay to wonder. I am in fact actually a pirate. Pirates don't need to look like everyone else because those are just the pirate rules.

Y'all might never read this and that's okay. I needed to see it written out and if it finds you, I appreciate that it did. Thank you for reading it and thank you, most of all, for considering different perspectives.

Love,

Really they exist, and a lot of them.