The Ups and Downs of My Lesbian Libido

I like the word libido for a number of reasons. I also like the word mojo. Both of these words bring a smile to my face for several reasons. Not only do they both have an interesting sound that makes the words sing in my ears like a nursery rhyme, but these words also conjure up memories of sleepless nights wrapped in curves so soft that I never wanted to leave the bed.

There were moans and whispers complete with shadows in candlelit rooms, where arms and legs embraced a warmth so primal, so instinctive, that I lost myself for hours and days in what I am certain is my truest purpose on earth, to love and be loved, in the flesh, in the mess, with hair flying and hot lips eagerly searching for acceptance in a world gone mad most of the time.

I am happy to announce that after a long drought of about two years, my libido has finally returned, roaring back to life. Who knew I would ever lose it. I would have never guessed it could happen to me. As it turns out, I think it drowned in sadness for awhile, got lost in despair over a terrible breakup.

I allowed my libido to be defeated by what seemed like a failure to me. How many more times could I trot it out, expecting the best, undressing myself, taking off all my armor for another woman, only to have them laugh at me, or worse, ignore me for some complicated reason I never fully understood. Her life’s disappointments became my life’s disappointments, until finally, I had to leave.

A voice in my head started as a whisper…”Save yourself. You’ve tried for seven years. You’ve tried everything. Save yourself.” The whisper grew louder and louder, until, one day after she screamed at me, “Get out,” I gave myself permission to leave. The facts are blurry. Rage affects me that way. Adrenaline takes over and I begin packing, or mostly not packing, deciding to leave most remnants from “our” life together where they are, with her, like the evidence in a crime scene.

When her sadness infects you and you care too much, your libido starts dying, gasping for breath. When you can no longer write it off as “her” problem because the kisses stopped and the sex became a passionless chore that no one wanted to sign up for like doing the laundry or cleaning out the litter box, your libido most certainly gets the message. The extraordinary deteriorates into the ordinary and finally into an obligation to be suffered through on Valentine’s Day, anniversaries and birthdays.

In spite of the lighthearted rhyme inherent in the word libido, I guess a person’s libido is a sensitive and fleeting component of a person’s psyche. No, I’m not a therapist. Although, I have paid a few for guidance. I always learn everything through experience. While this type of learning is painful, it does prove to make the lessons stick. What I learned through my last breakup is that when another person that I truly love crushes my spirit, my libido takes a leave of absence.

I have good news though. It is awake once again. As it turns out, I can’t kill my libido. It is a resilient part of my soul that seems to eventually resurface when I’ve finally cleared the way for new thinking and new people and new experiences. If I had to guess, I would say that my libido could be my compass, leading me away from the past, when the past threatens to suffocate me and no longer serves a purpose.

I am certain that lesbians will read this and disagree. As lesbians do, my friends have all weighed in, recommending therapy and to stick it out. I get it. We all long for “happily ever after,” with one perfect partner. That’s okay. I’m sure it is even possible. But, this is my truth. Maybe my “happily ever after” involves trying again instead of living in despair for another minute. I know now that my libido is smarter and more intuitive than what passes for my basic intelligence. Go figure. Carpe your libido.

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Lesbian Roles Be Damned

I know role-playing can be fun with the right woman on the right day. At least, that’s what I’ve been told. My problem is that I struggle with first impressions and defy typical roles myself. I look like the “girl next door,” or so I’ve been told. I’m okay with that until it gets in my way, pushing me in a corner by myself, unmatched and unloved.

Like most people, I would prefer a more interesting description. If people described me as sexy or edgy, I would definitely smile about that. Depending on what I wear and who I am with, those descriptions can be true. I have references. My personality is definitely more edgy than my looks. I have no tattoos, piercings or other markings that distinguish me from other people. Too often I am approached by total strangers who tell me I look like their sister, cousin, old classmate. I’m not sure what that means exactly, but it is weird.

While I never have trouble getting dates, I must admit to feeling some angst over the entire process. I actually went to a little party last weekend and only stayed an hour. I felt nervous and very quiet. I do much better one on one, unless I’m drinking. After a few drinks, I am much more talkative. But then I have to stress over getting UBER to pick me up and leaving my car. That is way too complicated. Besides, I want to meet people as myself, not the “buzzed” version of me that is much more dynamic, but much less genuine. That’s a subject for another post.

I guess the whole butch/femme thing, which is supposedly yesteryear, seems all too prevalent to me. I am not attracted to extremes. Super prissy or masculine women do nothing for me. I’m not trying to step on toes. I guess my reason for writing about this subject is because I rarely meet women who seem down to earth and middle of the road. Maybe I am looking in the wrong places.

With that said, I have hope and continue to put myself out there. At some point, I will jump on a dating site, reluctantly….The Girl Next Door seeks The Girl Next Door. Any takers? I know. I need to work on that some.

Carpe your fears for they will set you free! (or so I hear)

Wordy Grl

Lesbian Romance: Shoulda, Woulda, Coulda

After a seven-year relationship, I am slowly considering my options. I am hopeful about my future. My previous relationship was marked by highs and lows, but mostly lows. We broke up so many times and got back together, that it should have been clear early on that the two of us did not work. We tried so hard to make it work. Love is not supposed to be that crazy. That was my final epiphany after seven years of uncertainty and cruelty. I am embarrassed how long it took me to wise up and move towards “the light.”

Shoulda, woulda, coulda is all I can say as I move forward trying to put my best foot forward. After 90 days since the final breakup, I am no longer playing that sad and depressing game where I try and figure out the whys of all the disagreements and arguments that finally led to the chaos that defined our days together.

Now that I have experienced how bad things can get, maybe it will be easier to seek out the peace and kindness I want in my life. “Friendship first” is my new motto. I will not jump into bed quickly, destroying my ability to trust my gut instincts. Hormones be damned. At the risk of sounding like a reader of far too many self-help books, I realize that I need to protect myself from my worst instincts driven by lust. I have no one to blame for my past mistakes, but me, myself and I. I’m owning it, she said with her face bright red and her eyes shifting away and downward.

The good news is that I am no longer in deep pain, feeling like I have failed. We had some good times and I learned more about who I am, my own limitations and how I need to better watch out for myself and set my standards higher. You can’t accomplish anything in life when you live in constant turmoil.

So I am easing into new romance, eyes wide open, and slowly. Physical attraction will not rule my life. Neediness will not guide my decisions. Coffee dates instead of long dinners with too much wine will be the way I start all new relationships.

I promise I will not preach. I am simply reaching out to all those lonely lesbians who might be in the same boat, looking for a cyber friend late at night when the darkness allows us to feel our vulnerability in a way we typically don’t during daylight hours. You are never alone.

Carpe your next lesbian romance!

Wordy Grl

 

Resist the Gravitational Pull of Bad Love

After the novelty wears off after “leaving your girlfriend” for all the logical reasons that made sense at the time, it is important to resist the urge to revisit the crime scene. There will be a night when you are missing her. You’ll think about the way you always ordered pizza and watched Netflix together on hot summer nights, and you’ll have to fight the insane urge to pick up your phone. It happens. Be prepared.

That’s when you need to remember why you left. Remember the words she threw at you like daggers aiming straight for your heart, and the look of hate in her cold dark eyes that chilled you to the bone. That memory will give you the courage you need to look forward and not backwards.

You have to use what you’ve got to keep your emotions in check. If you’re like me, my emotions rule me far too often. Try as I might, I am very sensitive and tend to suffer from noticing absolutely every thing, both good and bad. When I am missing her, I focus on sweet moments in time like the way she cocks her head at me when she teases me, the way she holds her fork with her pinky out in a dainty little pose, the little curls that dance on her neck after she showers.  On good days, I can be logical and write down the pros and cons of our situation. But there’s something about the evenings that always challenge my resolve.

Like a ping pong ball on steroids, I have been back and forth with my last girlfriend. I have always gone back in the past. We would kiss and make up, and then it would happen again. There is a point of no return though, when you can’t justify another chance to let her treat you like dirt again, to abuse you, to scream at you, or to demean you.  You can’t justify letting her take her anger out on you again. Abuse is never acceptable.

Carpe the opportunity to save yourself from madness. I know this sounds preachy, but your self respect hangs in the balance, and nobody is more important than you are, to you. Take care of the beauty that is you, and never let anybody tell you that you are less than a creature of God’s making who deserves respect and love!

Wordy Grl

 

Missing Xena

The mention of the name Xena brings me back to a simpler time, before mass shootings and terrorism were a way of life in this country. Granted, I knew bad things happened in faraway places before 9/11. I had the decency to recognize that fact and feel terrible about it, without the horror of it staying in my head all the time like some barely audible electronic hum that continues to irritate you for years with no relief in sight.

Our culture seems more focused on the horror of these things than on contemplating the cause and admitting our own hand in those broken relationships that breed such contempt and violence. If peace and love beget peace and love, then we must decide where the breakdown is and own our part in it, taking steps to build bridges instead of walls. I know…I have turned to clichés for my argument. But, in my defense, sometimes clichés hold nuggets of truth. Please, somebody stop me before I get stuck in this mode.

What was exciting about Xena Warrior Princess and her world was that the good guys and bad guys were so recognizable. These days I feel like life has become so gray that I believe that people in this country are having a difficult time distinguishing the good guys from the bad guys. As I watch the presidential election and see Trump running as President, I have to wonder if a large segment of our society has truly lost their mind.

Hillary does not make me feel much better. While I generally give women more of my attention, expecting them to be the voice of compassion and practicality, I am left distrusting her. With Clinton’s obvious connections to Wall Street and her absolute arrogance as it relates to her irresponsible handling of emails and her lack of passion to make any real change, I don’t view Hillary as one of the good guys either. I see her as the lesser of two evils, but a sellout just the same.

The problem is, I grew up watching TV and going to the movies as my favorite way to unwind and escape. As a lesbian, it is probably no surprise to anyone, that Xena stood out as my favorite “all-time” fighter of evil. I miss that clarity. Label me nostalgic, but I long for a hero or heroine that stands  outside of the political fray brandishing a sword, or maybe a book to take down the evil doers. (I know – nerd alert)

Xena and Gabrielle live large in my mind as what I like best about women and life in general. We all need a complement, to soften us or toughen us up as we move about in the world. Depending on the day, I can fall on either side of that equation. I have been lucky enough to spend time with a few Xenas and Gabrielle-types myself. The best women I know embody strength and sweetness wrapped up in stylish thick glasses and intellectual wit.

I know I have wandered all over the place in this blog. Thank God nobody is grading me on sticking with my title or supporting my arguments with clear statements to back up my suppositions. It is no surprise that I love poetry too. The less structure the better. Academics beware.

I’ll stop whining now like an old geezer who wants easier choices. Can’t we simply ask the good guys to wear white and the bad guys to wear black so we know what to expect. It would be so helpful.

Carpe the next Xena when she shows up in your life.

Wordy Grl

Permission to Wallow in Self-Indulgence Granted

Self-indulgence is really all we have that is all our own. The term has gotten a bad rap, compelling us to almost always apologize for it, or worse; feel guilty about it. This blog represents my favorite compulsion. If you don’t like it, don’t read it. That’s what I love about writing. Only the followers who feel a connection will continue reading, right? How perfect is that arrangement. As dynamics in relationships are evaluated, it’s hard to find a better set-up.

Little girls keep diaries with tiny metal keys to keep their siblings from reading their most private thoughts about their hopes and dreams. Big girls create blog entries late at night when they finally settle down enough from the day to be honest with themselves. I am trying to break my “people pleaser” tendencies that interfere with my ability to truly be honest about who I am underneath my need to be liked and accepted. Finally, I want to live an authentic life that makes sense to me, even if others don’t agree or approve.

I am in search of my tribe. Writers and people who like to connect on a deeper level, who like to study life; those are the human beings I enjoy being around. Philosophy majors are my favorite. Who cares how marketable their skills are? Not me. People who collect stuff as a way to fill up their time bore me to tears. Capitalism is exploitive at its core and needs to be reconsidered if we ever want to live in harmony instead of as a world divided.

As a newly single lesbian, I am having some exciting thoughts about how I want to live. I think I need two homes, or at least a main home and a getaway to escape the extreme weather that I hate. While I love Atlanta in the spring and fall, I hate it in the winter and summer. I love the beach during off seasons, when all the tourists all long gone and you can walk the beach in relative peace accompanied by the seagulls and the sound of the waves greeting you at the shore.

Somebody might threaten to take away my lesbian card over this next proclamation, but hey, that’s okay. I never want more than two pets ever again. After living in a zoo for 7 years, I truly appreciate the limits of my patience relative to dog walking, kitty litter and all things related to the loud noise of multiple dogs barking at once. I love animals, but I believe being outnumbered by more than one is asking for more aggravation than I am willing to manage.

For the first time in my life, I am very open to having a deep relationship with a woman without living with her. That does not mean that I would never consider cohabitation with a woman I adore, but if she is a slob, has a bunch of pets or is a control freak, I don’t want to live with her. Who could blame me?

I have heard you should never say never, but what can I say, I’m a rebel at heart. l will never move in with anyone until I have known them a full year, have taken a long vacation with them and have met their relatives. We also must have at least three good fights, to see how well we handle disagreements. Some lesbians don’t fight fair. I will not ever again do mean. Why should I? Why does anybody?

I have given up on wanting or needing to please others. That does not mean that I will not serve others in the ways I can. I know how important it is to connect with people and to help out. As far as I can tell, being of service to others may be our single most important reason for being on the planet. But I will no longer try to change who I am at my core to be accepted by anyone else.

Until next time, embrace the life you want. Don’t settle for somebody else’s version of what your life should be. Be true to yourself. You are already good enough and deserve all good things.

Carpe Diem

Wordy Grl

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When the Kissing Stops, “Check Please”

When in doubt, I write. It’s easier than talking and choking on my words. I can send this out to the universe and the right person will read it. Like a note cast out in a glass bottle into the cyber ocean filled with lost souls trying to reach out to one another, I can sleep tonight believing that somebody will find my message and I will no longer be alone with my thoughts, unheard and uncelebrated.

It’s a leap of faith, for sure. It is easier to share with total strangers than burden friends with my many words.  The word verbose comes to mind. But, I am not without hope now, which is an improvement over where I was mentally before the breakup.

I have been lonely for a long time now. I broke up with my girlfriend 2 months ago, but I had been lonely for years before the end. She stopped caring and then I stopped trying, so the breakup was simply a formality. The odd thing is I still miss her in some twisted, dysfunctional way.  As weird as that sounds, it’s true. Some of the rhythms we had as a couple were comforting. Now, I am making up new rituals and finding my own way, and it’s lonely, but it’s authentic.

The fight we had before we finally broke up, she told me she didn’t love me anymore. The next morning she begged me to stay. I could not run away fast enough. While she was at work, I packed up everything I could in my Toyota Celica and drove 500 miles to Atlanta, my hometown. She’s in Florida, a place I thought I would love after moving there only months earlier with her. It will be a long time before I go to Florida again.

In true lesbian fashion, there was drama at the end. It’s funny how relationships tend to both start and end with drama, or at least mine do. Inches from my face, she screamed….”Get out.” I had forgiven her so many other times when she screamed or yelled, insulting me or complaining about this or that, but I finally got to that point where I could no longer see any love in her eyes, or feel any warmth in her touch, and I knew there was no going back.

I deserve better. I told her several times that “I don’t do mean.” Apparently, she was not listening. A part of me believes that she didn’t believe she deserved me or anybody for that matter. There was a power struggle always. Friends thought we’d get back together, but I knew we never would. I could not remember the last time we had kissed, besides a lifeless peck not worthy of the beautiful sentiment expected in such a sweet gesture.

I love women. I keep trying. Evidently, I am not terribly good at relationships. I have many stories to tell and have been fortunate enough to love many wonderful lesbians. If you lined up all the woman I have loved, it would be hard to understand “my type.”

My lineup of lovers includes tall, short, white, black, younger, older, Christian, Pagan, Jewish, heavy and skinny women. About all they have in common is me. The funny thing is I loved them all with everything I had. Unforeseen things always happened and the love never seemed to be enough in the end.

I am not quite ready to hop on the dating sites. I started to, then I didn’t pay, so I am waiting for something. A sign maybe. For the first time in my life, I feel a bit frightened by the process. I am no longer the fearless, confident woman I was. Something has shifted. People who know me would not believe me if they heard me say that.

Everybody meets online these days. But, I guess I want something more romantic, an organic love affair borne of physical chemistry and a mental connection shared over time, instead of puked out on a dating site like a resume meant to attract attention. Granted, online dating offers expediency, but there is something to be said for seeing her across the room and finding a way to meet her, watching her until you finally have the chance to speak to her.

Until we meet again. Sweet dreams. If I’m lucky, I’ll see you there.

Carpe the wet kiss!

A Wordy Grl