thelesbianlifestyle.com

Ah, the coming out story. I probably have one of the most anti-climactic coming out stories of anyone I’ve ever met who was gay or lesbian. Of course, coming out “officially” when you’re 45 is a lot simpler (at least it was for me), than when you’re 15, or even 25. I had, however, been out to myself for much longer than that. I can’t even say for sure when I “realized”. I remember having a TREMENDOUS crush on one of my camp counselors when I went to Girl Scout camp in the summer of the 6th grade. “Sarge” her name was, if that wasn’t butch enough! Of course, there was nothing sexual in it, but man, I wanted her to notice me, to SEE me, I wanted to be special to her, just to hang out with her. I thought she was just the coolest person I’d ever met. I had a tough time at camp–I was fat, clumsy, wore thick, heavy glasses, and was pretty much the antithesis of any kind of “outdoors” person. And, as you all know, 12 year old girls are NOT kind. Sarge actually did befriend me, and treated me with kindness when it seemed like the rest of the camp was trying to make my life a living hell. Sarge, where ever you are today, I’ll never forget you!

I moved around a lot as a kid, and really didn’t settle in anywhere till high school, and was still fat, buck-toothed and nearsighted. Guys, forget it. Oh, I had crushes, I desperately WANTED a boyfriend, but I got all my support, love, encouragement and emotional needs met by my girlfriends. It was like I got everything I wanted or needed from women, but there was this little area off to the side labeled “sex” that was what the men were for. Of course, I didn’t realize that till later.

Cut to 1992. Thanks to a friend, I get online with Prodigy. I meet a guy in Colorado via e-mail. We start corresponding, talking on the phone, etc. Feelings grow. At the same time, I am finding all these wonderfully intriguing bulletin boards about “butch/femme”, “s&m”, etc. I am entranced. I begin e-mail correspondences with GASP, “real-life lesbians”. See, I had known lots of guy GUYS from high school on, but had practically NO knowledge or experience with lesbians. That I knew of.

But at the same time, the guy in Colorado has asked me to marry him, and I say yes. This is my 2nd marriage, the first being to a man I met while working for the circus (another story for another time, ladies), and so on Labor Day, 1993, I packed up my Ryder truck, along with my 10 year old daughter, and headed west to Colorado. I fell in love with the place, got a job, and realized belatedly that my love was, and had been for a LONG time, an absolute alcoholic. A very passive and rather gentle alcoholic, but an alcoholic nonetheless. He, did, however, keep a job and pay his bills, so we managed for 8 years, 6 of which were totally celibate, and gave me lots of time to think, to discover more lesbian culture online, to talk to people, to learn, to grow, and to know just exactly who and what I was.

In the fall of 2001, it all came to a head. My daughter, who had gotten pregnant at 16, and was living in our house with her baby, decided to move in with her boyfriend. My husband was sinking lower and lower into alcoholic hell, and I knew it was just a matter of time till it killed him. So, shortly after my daughter moved out, so did I. I was very honest with him, and he knew why, he just couldn’t admit that he had a problem. (Side note, he passed away from alcoholism in August, 2002, age 44).

So, there I was, living alone again at age 45, working part time, hoarding my savings, and realizing finally, finally, I was at a place where I could be and do what I wanted to do. By this time, I had no desire for any kind of relationship, I just knew that I wanted to be around women, plain and simple. I mean, you live in a town for 12 years, and you realize one day that you don’t know ANY men, other than your mechanic, that’s gotta tell you something, right????

Then, my friend Liz says she’s going to throw a birthday party for me at a local Mexican restaurant. Lots of my friends show up and a new aquaintance of Liz arrives with a new friend of hers. And that was HER. Long story short, the attraction was there, and after some maneuvering and finagling, we finally managed to be alone together for dinner, and really haven’t been apart since. She is my love, my soul mate, everything I could ever want in a partner, friend, lover and wife. And I never had a problem telling anyone. Even my mother. I called her back in Atlanta, where I moved from, and told her I had met someone. She asked who “he” was. I said, “Well, actually, mom, it’s a “she”.” And I told her that I was happier than I had ever been, that for the first time in my life, I felt “normal” in a relationship, that I felt like I could have the kind of love that all my other het friends had found with men, but I could not seem to. And she said, “Well, you’re 45 years old, and I’m 70. What am I going to do, run out in the road and shoot myself? More power to you!”

And everyone else (including my daughter) said, “Well, sheesh, what took you so long?”

So, anticlimactically, here I am.

Happy St. Paddy’s Day (a bit late),

Grumpy Granny