Well, the past couple of weeks have been interesting. This view from my patio is what I have been observing for sometime now. The birth of spring on these once wood stick hills. Eons ago these former mountains were below the ocean in a mass of rock that was undefinable, then they rose, and fell eroding with the retreat of glacierial edges and at other moments being tropical in scope. Now it is a world of tornadoes, where the warm mass from the Gulf of Mexico hits the shield of cold air cascading towards the coast from the Artic. They get caugt up more than once. A childhood friend just loss her house in Gallitin. She is a mother and a wife. I guess I missed that when I was in New York.
During the deadly storm, I was 40 miles away in the center of town. I stood in a bookstore because the radio said that funnel clouds had touched ground in Belle Meade. I was on Church Street. My friend the SpirituallyReformedConfederate (it is a mean alias, but that is what he is in a way) said that his friend saw a car go through the side of a bank's wall. People were killed while sitting in their cars as they were thrown every which way. The tornado landed in the area of Rivergate Mall. Why do tornadoes go to malls and Walmarts? Do they taste like chicken?
I guess the first thing that has happened is that I kissed WineTastingLesbian on the lips at Play on Wednesday night. I was not expecting it, and it was not a hot passionate kiss. It was a peck. And, it was a peck with a foretold promise of something more. I felt this in my spirit after we danced at theby the bar. I grabbed WTL by the waist and I felt her soft skin and firm body and as I danced with her I felt in her bones that she had been with men before and enjoyed it. She looked at me and said "You didn't know did you?".
I responded "WineTastingLesbian, I have known this about you for some time."
Truth be told, I did not know that she was that soft and her body felt that good against mine. It was that feeling of being a good match, a perfect match. She was working these distant but frictioned and rough grinds with her waist -- not aggressive -- but she knew how to grab my stick and shift my gears --figuratively.
So, I don't like this bisexual thing of not telling anybody what is going on. It makes me feel incomplete. So, I elected to tell my good friend, my good movie watching buddy. She is saved. And her future husband who she loves and who is much younger than her and saved also was there. I told her while he was eating pound cake in another room after we watched the first FRIDAY (amazing) and the 80's film BETTER OFF DEAD (those writers were on drugs). She looked upset after I told her that I had kissed WTL. I forgot her religious standing is starting to show in our relationship. I feel judgment and animosity to what she perceives as sexual ambiguity. There is something sad about not being able to tell your friends things. I have known her for 20 years, but for me to say "I kissed a girl" the foreboding of her face was long menacing and judgmental.
Gosh, red state living.
WineTastingLesbian is my drinking buddy. And there was something homoerotic about it honestly. Not dick and ball homoerotic, but male bonding homoerotic. Those first steps. I drink martinis with her. I talk about women's asses with her. She points out the men that are staring at me (I am totally oblivious to these acts). We agree on hot bodies sometimes, other times she picks out effeminate men for me that are not my type . . . blah, blah, blah. All of this is all the stuff I do with my straight male friends. Sometimes I kiss them too. And now I have kissed her. But the repercussions of this are different. She hugs me like a woman who wants to be held now, not just cordial platonic hugs from way back then.
3 weeks ago.
So we will see.
AngryBlackLesbian asked WTL if we were having an affair some weeks ago.
A woman's intuition?
Maybe.
I kind of like this feeling in a way.
It has been a while since I have been around people that are a bit more honest with how they feel about others sexually and not so caught up on identity politics or what moma thinks.
Well, I still worry about what moma thinks.
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