Tears for Queers

Tonight I went to Madame Butterfly instead of Queer Al Anon.  And the experience was healing in a way.  I still cried and saw lots of queer folks.  Though in this context "queer folks" refers to creatively dressed elderly people.  My top three favorite outfits of the evening:

1. A woman draped so heavily in stinky fur she looked like a Russian czarina.  I think there were still mothballs in the pockets. 

2. A very wrinkley shirt made of paper.  It was tearible.  (haha, pun)

3. A woman in a magenta sequin minidress with a red plaid hunters jacket and granny glasses.

Now it's time to snuggle up with my pup for some post-opera recovery time.  That was a lot of emotion.  I’m pooped.  I wonder if suicide hotline hits spike when three thousand people leave a theater after Madame Butterfly.  Kelly Kaduce had me crying so hard my boobs are now salted.  

Incidentally, opera snobs: her name is pronounced kuh-DOOS not kah-DOO-chey.  Mispronouncing her name will not make her Italian and pronouncing it correctly will not undermine her authenticity.  She is a magnificently talented white lady from Minnesota.  Embrace it.        

Possible new tagline for the bloggy blog:

From rape fetish to opera seria, ladyface is your lady!

Inmate 12004

Hello world!  A close friend of mine is blogging for originalplumbing.com as Inmate 12004.  He's in jail for 3 months because he recently got his 3rd DUI.  He's an alcoholic and is currently in recovery.  He's writing to shed some light on the transmale incarceration experience and to open up a dialogue around the issue of substance abuse in the queer community.


I think of OP as a really supportive community but there have already been a couple comments from epic DBags who have made some unfounded and spectacularly inaccurate assumptions about him.  Regardless, what Inmate 12004 needs right now is love and support, not d-baggery.  Are you a transguy?  Or an ally?  Have you or a loved one struggled with substance abuse?  Please take a minute to contribute something meaningful and kind to the discussion.


lots of love (sans d-baggery),


a somewhat saddened ladyface


p.s. I'll go back to being ridiculous on Sunday.  I promise.  xoxo

Babyface

Update: the new years resolution is going strong!  Four days of no sugar and no orgasms.  But it’s no fun to talk about the delicious sex and chocolate cake I'm not having, so todays post will be about something else entirely.

Here are a few excerpts from a journal entry I wrote the night of my very first foot fetish party 5 years ago when I was a baby ladyface.  Enjoy! 

Alejandro:

Alejandro is a nondescript middle-aged Asian man.  He’s also evidence that it isn’t just the women who use pseudonyms when they play.  The session with “Alejandro” started out pretty simple with the two of us sitting on the couch with my feet in his face as he licked/sucked and kissed all over them.

Sometimes he’d close his eyes and leave his mouth squished up and his tongue slightly out and have me move my toes flirtatiously over that little oral anemone.  It looked ridiculous and tickled like crazy but I got the impression that “Alejandro” is the kinda guy who wouldn’t appreciate humor in a session. 

I moaned instead.

Arthur:

Arthur is a 60 year old, clean-cut East Coast academic. He was the first of the guys to really worship.  He touched, kissed and licked my feet as if they were fragile. By the end of our two consecutive sessions I was running my hand through his hair while he sucked on my toes and stared longingly at me.  Whenever my toes weren’t in his mouth he was murmuring compliments.  I laid back and enjoyed his vocabulary.  Apparently I am a “resplendent seraphim” with “tantalizing” toes and “luminous” eyes.  I should have been paying him for the GRE prep. 

Dillon:

My last session of the evening was with a 26 year old grad student from Prague named Dillon.  He was well-dressed and kinda cute for a boy.  Since he was more into tickling than oral play we got to talk throughout the session. And…I broke one of my boundaries with Dillon.  (already!  Oh geez.) 

He asked if I ever do footplay with boyfriends.  I said no and he was shocked.  He kept inquiring and after a moment of consideration I told him simply “I don’t date boys.” He got all excited, stuttered, recovered and said in his cute Prague-y accent: “Oh!  So you understand!  I like feet and you like girls.”  Luckily he was tickling me or I might have had to explain my laughter at his equating my queerness with his distinctive fetish.  The correct analogy would have been "I like feet like you like fisting" but I didn't go there.  I don’t regret outing myself to Dillon but I expect that it will become harder to negotiate to what extent my work persona resembles actual me and where her truth ends.

In conclusion, the only nervousness I experienced in the course of the evening was my concern that the teeth of a toe-nibbling client might chip my toenail polish, but as far as occupational hazards go that one is rather benign.  And I came home feeling sexy, powerful, at home in my body and untouchable.  (I recognize the irony of that last bit)  I’m glad I made the decision to do this for myself.  Go me.  

on feeling old

I don't drink much and I can't remember the last time I stayed out late on a weeknight but last night I got a call from a friend who had just broken up with his partner of three years.  He wanted to go out to a queer music performance thing at a local bar.  Of course I wanted to support him so I said yes.  


The show consisted of six women in shiny gold raincoats hitting things.  (drums, buckets, cowbells, bamboo, chains, cymbals, the wall, etc.)  I spent the evening looking around a sea of nodding hipsters and smiling queers trying to spot the other people who were also thinking "...what the fuck?"


And this morning, as I walked from the bus stop to work the sound of my own heels on the sidewalk made my brain throb with the force of a thousand honey badgers.  In that moment I began to wonder: 
if the majority of the people in the world are of legal drinking age... 


Why is the world not carpeted?