Thursday, December 08, 2005
September, 2003
Since I've been with my partner D for fifteen years now, people are curious why I decided to jump back into the Woman Thing again. After having been absent for some years from feeling a need to be linked with other women. Frankly, I thought I was done with women. The last experience had been so unrewarding and treacherous to my mental health as well that I never thought I would feel a need to visit this place again. It had all been burned out of me.
But I guess I was wrong. D says he noticed subtle changes in me, he had always hoped I would try to find a woman friend. But I did not realize it fully until the month of September, 2003.
A series of events happened in that rather short space of time that brought me back.
Firstly, I reconnected with a dear friend I have known since the late 60s. She has turned 70 now, and is in many respects more of a real mother to me than my own mother. We were never intimate, but the opportunity did come our way, once. But we witnessed the comings and goings, mostly goings, of other people in our lives. Finding her again made me suddenly hungry to find other women who could be part of my life.
Seeing the film "Mulholland Drive" again also reawakened my interest. The film seemed to encapsulate all the complicated, fearful emotions I had regarding my own sex. I just could not stay away.
The deciding event was my backpacking trip into the eastern Sierras, something I have done for over thirty years now. This trip brought forth a number of interesting events.
Something about that altitude, I guess. I found myself dreaming odd dreams.
I was in a seafood market of some sort, looking at the shellfish section. Several women were working there. I was fascinated by the crabs for some reason. They were crawling all over one another, in a jumbled heap of limbs. The women were definitely in charge here. Their energy pervaded the place. That was all there was to the dream, but I woke up feeling charged, as if I had just had an orgasm.
"I'm in an all-girl orgy," I said to myself, as soon as I woke up the next morning. All those crabs, so round, their organs safely protected by their shells. It's the sign of Cancer, and it is a female sign in astrology. And to me, crabs are very female. The idea of a herd of women crawling all over one another....well, I know my little mind was quite boggled by the thought.
A few months later, I in fact met someone who turned me on to a lesbian sex club in L.A. Small world, I thought. Those crabs are going to get a workout yet.
As happy as I was to dream such a dream, the backpack trip also warned me of the perils involved. I remember hiking along a stream, it was nearly noon, the day was quite warm already. I looked into the water, and found it very inviting. Should I set my pack down, strip my clothes off, and just dive in, I wondered. No one was around for miles, probably. I studied the waters to find out where I should dive, how shallow I should dive, how to aim my body through the rocks so I could reach the deeper water, where I wanted to be.
Later, it dawned on me that this scene was a perfect metaphor for how I felt about women. They are so inviting, but they are surrounded by rocks and other dangers. I have to be careful, or I will dash myself on the rocks.
I did not jump in. Instead I resumed my hiking. At the top of the pass, another odd but wonderful event took place. I saw someone coming up the trail. It was another woman. A woman all alone.
Since I have been backpacking, I have never seen another solitary female on the trail. Ever. I was completely floored. And she looked like something out of a dream. She was very tall, and even thinner than I am. She was also a blonde, with a shock of fine long hair pulled back. Her face was tanned and weathered like mine, obviously a girl who had spent much of her life outdoors. Probably mid 40s, Scandinavian, I said, judging by her look. Her English was quite accented. Swedish. I run across lots of Swedes. They take one look at me and say, "Oh, she's a real Swede." We end up talking like we've known each other forever. She reminded me a lot of the Swedish woman I had met and worked with in film school. With that air of reliability, steadfastness and practical intelligence. Same look, same accent.
Right away she and I seemed to recognize each other as kindred spirits. We both stopped, set our packs down and chatted for about fifteen minutes there. Two scrawny-assed blondes up above the world.
The usual talk. Where have you been, where are you headed, what does your map say. We bitched about the new policy that hikers must now lug bear cannisters up the mountain to keep their food stash in, so the bears can't figure it out and get too familiar with the human crowd.
We both agreed that travelling companions were nice, we weren't dyed-in-the wool lone wolf types, not quite yet. But they had to be the right companions. Nearly perfect, it turned out, if she and I were to gamble on going out with them.
I studiously avoided the obvious questions, like what's your name, where are you from. I did not want to know. I felt this was such a special meeting that I didn't want to gum it up with tiresome, noisy questions.
Her presence was enough for me.
Our meeting wound down. We both knew when it was time to move on. And move on we did.
From the vantage point of now, two years later, I look back on that trip with an air of amazement. Can't exactly say I was touched by the Hand of God.
But certainly his Old Lady got her fingers into the pie.
And here I am to tell you the tale.
- - - - - - -
But I guess I was wrong. D says he noticed subtle changes in me, he had always hoped I would try to find a woman friend. But I did not realize it fully until the month of September, 2003.
A series of events happened in that rather short space of time that brought me back.
Firstly, I reconnected with a dear friend I have known since the late 60s. She has turned 70 now, and is in many respects more of a real mother to me than my own mother. We were never intimate, but the opportunity did come our way, once. But we witnessed the comings and goings, mostly goings, of other people in our lives. Finding her again made me suddenly hungry to find other women who could be part of my life.
Seeing the film "Mulholland Drive" again also reawakened my interest. The film seemed to encapsulate all the complicated, fearful emotions I had regarding my own sex. I just could not stay away.
The deciding event was my backpacking trip into the eastern Sierras, something I have done for over thirty years now. This trip brought forth a number of interesting events.
Something about that altitude, I guess. I found myself dreaming odd dreams.
I was in a seafood market of some sort, looking at the shellfish section. Several women were working there. I was fascinated by the crabs for some reason. They were crawling all over one another, in a jumbled heap of limbs. The women were definitely in charge here. Their energy pervaded the place. That was all there was to the dream, but I woke up feeling charged, as if I had just had an orgasm.
"I'm in an all-girl orgy," I said to myself, as soon as I woke up the next morning. All those crabs, so round, their organs safely protected by their shells. It's the sign of Cancer, and it is a female sign in astrology. And to me, crabs are very female. The idea of a herd of women crawling all over one another....well, I know my little mind was quite boggled by the thought.
A few months later, I in fact met someone who turned me on to a lesbian sex club in L.A. Small world, I thought. Those crabs are going to get a workout yet.
As happy as I was to dream such a dream, the backpack trip also warned me of the perils involved. I remember hiking along a stream, it was nearly noon, the day was quite warm already. I looked into the water, and found it very inviting. Should I set my pack down, strip my clothes off, and just dive in, I wondered. No one was around for miles, probably. I studied the waters to find out where I should dive, how shallow I should dive, how to aim my body through the rocks so I could reach the deeper water, where I wanted to be.
Later, it dawned on me that this scene was a perfect metaphor for how I felt about women. They are so inviting, but they are surrounded by rocks and other dangers. I have to be careful, or I will dash myself on the rocks.
I did not jump in. Instead I resumed my hiking. At the top of the pass, another odd but wonderful event took place. I saw someone coming up the trail. It was another woman. A woman all alone.
Since I have been backpacking, I have never seen another solitary female on the trail. Ever. I was completely floored. And she looked like something out of a dream. She was very tall, and even thinner than I am. She was also a blonde, with a shock of fine long hair pulled back. Her face was tanned and weathered like mine, obviously a girl who had spent much of her life outdoors. Probably mid 40s, Scandinavian, I said, judging by her look. Her English was quite accented. Swedish. I run across lots of Swedes. They take one look at me and say, "Oh, she's a real Swede." We end up talking like we've known each other forever. She reminded me a lot of the Swedish woman I had met and worked with in film school. With that air of reliability, steadfastness and practical intelligence. Same look, same accent.
Right away she and I seemed to recognize each other as kindred spirits. We both stopped, set our packs down and chatted for about fifteen minutes there. Two scrawny-assed blondes up above the world.
The usual talk. Where have you been, where are you headed, what does your map say. We bitched about the new policy that hikers must now lug bear cannisters up the mountain to keep their food stash in, so the bears can't figure it out and get too familiar with the human crowd.
We both agreed that travelling companions were nice, we weren't dyed-in-the wool lone wolf types, not quite yet. But they had to be the right companions. Nearly perfect, it turned out, if she and I were to gamble on going out with them.
I studiously avoided the obvious questions, like what's your name, where are you from. I did not want to know. I felt this was such a special meeting that I didn't want to gum it up with tiresome, noisy questions.
Her presence was enough for me.
Our meeting wound down. We both knew when it was time to move on. And move on we did.
From the vantage point of now, two years later, I look back on that trip with an air of amazement. Can't exactly say I was touched by the Hand of God.
But certainly his Old Lady got her fingers into the pie.
And here I am to tell you the tale.
- - - - - - -
Comments:
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I had a conversation with my wife last night about her bisexual escapades 25 years ago. She reminded me how sleazy and tawdry the experiences were, though admitting that she had many orgasms. I tried to tell her that, just because something isn't postcard perfect doesn't mean you have to reject the whole thing. Enjoy the fact that you connected sexually and occasionally emotionally with a few of these women. Being married to me and deeply in love perhaps prevented her from fully developing that side of her, but it shouldn't mean that she has to reject the whole thing.
Hello Tom,
I couldn't agree more with your comments, but maybe she will segue back into women again, as I did after many years. She probably finds, as I do, that dealing with women is a lot tougher than men. Hopefully she won't look back with regrets. After all, "sleazy and tawdry" have places at this fine table too. Nothing wrong with a little S & T!
Thanks for responding, glad you enjoy the columns!
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I couldn't agree more with your comments, but maybe she will segue back into women again, as I did after many years. She probably finds, as I do, that dealing with women is a lot tougher than men. Hopefully she won't look back with regrets. After all, "sleazy and tawdry" have places at this fine table too. Nothing wrong with a little S & T!
Thanks for responding, glad you enjoy the columns!
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