Posts Tagged ‘feminine’

just to be sure

February 10, 2010

“If I could change the world; mould it to my own design, then I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t be the world anymore. What it is and what I want it to be are two very separate ideas and they can never be truly one.”


I feel like a liar.

Not to say that I’ve been lieing, but I have been compromising who I am.

I spent majority of the past two years alone and I never realised the affect that it had on me. I never saw myself through everyone else’s eyes.

I’m narcissistic and self-righteous, I want what I want when I want it and I’m boisterous enough to tell people that. I’m cold-hearted, I lack empathy or sympathy and I’m pretty sure my own mind works against me when I feel sad. I have little or no belief in anything or anyone. I’m paranoid and I believe it’s survival of the fittest by any means necessary.

I’m not sure if these are natural attributes that have just become recognisable over time but I’m pretty sure I wasn’t this blinded before my isolation.

In my time alone, when I worked and I studied and I did anything I could to get ahead and prove everybody wrong, I forgot what it was that I really wanted to do it. I’d forgotten what I had spent my whole life  doing, and that was telling stories.

Take it from me, someone who can blatantly with a smile on their face, stories are my forte. They twist and wind around my mind with barely decipherable plots that boggle even myself sometimes, but those are the stories that have grown over years of observation.

I’d forgotten in my haste to prove myself to others that I am just one person and that others will not always bend to my will. I can ask them, persuade them or even try to blackmail them, but whatever it comes down to I know that this, in itself, was my world that I was trying to pull others into.

Strong-willed and emotionally decrepit is who I am now, and I’m not so sure that I can find my way back to who I used to be.

I want to be the brave person I always thought I was. I want to fight the battles of the world the way I always have: with words and pictures and sound.

I want to prove to myself that I still know who I am, that the things that used to always matter to me, still do. I want to prove that my heart isn’t as cold as it’s sometimes percieved to be. I want to prove that I’m human, and that I feel that way too.

I’m confused and wondering how on earth I got here.

I love who I love.

I write what I write.

I am who I am.

I can’t change this but I can change my perception of the world I live in. I can fight oppression and I can bring people to their knees in a way that doesn’t leave my morals to suffer.

I am strong and I am brave.

I am an 18-year-old Media Arts student from the University of Canberra. I sometimes lock myself out of my room and I always find myself flustered in attractive company. I like women but have a certain soft spot for attractive, polite men. I am feminine and I can still appear that way even when sweaty and bruised from learning MMA. I am genderqueer and I’m learning to accept it, no matter what it takes.

I am who I am, and just to be sure, I’m going to check myself in the mirror.

This blog doesn’t say much to you, probably, but it says a lot to me. My own personal review of the way my life twists and turns without my direction from myself. I hope I don’t bore people because I know that sometimes, I even bore myself.

Confused and cornered but a little bit more graceful in defeat…

– Cal.


Tip toe-ing softly, nobody can hear

Crouched and waiting…

Are you watching me?

Watching me, watching you…

Hidden but sure.

Just to be sure.


double post: nudity and fear

January 22, 2010

“I have a funny feeling that Santa Claus is behind this.”

It’s a double post today. Why? Because I’ve got so much to say and so little time.

Okay, so yesterday, as I was avoiding the cover letter I had to write for a scholarship fund I somehow decided it would be a good idea to go through my old computer and have a look what’s on there.

Oh and behold, what did I find?

Pictures. Of me. Nude.

It seems my fascination with sexuality, gender and nudity goes back further than I can remember. Not to mention the need to express all my ideas in photographic from.

In my stumbling I found three hidden folders, each containing a photographic series in which I’m nude. Now if the time stamp on these such folders is correct then the first series, titled: Sex with Light was taken when I was 14 and I believe that it was also a joint project with a fellow photographer friend of mine, whom I haven’t seen in years.

The second series was: Bare the Truth and was taken when I was 15. It displays me and four of my friends either nude of partially nude with different drawn versions of the sign ‘Bare the Truth’ as it were.

The third series, and probably the most dastardly for someone of the age 15 was… Erotic Language. Yikes! What on earth was I thinking at young, clean age 15?!

Then I realized that I’d  been watching porn since I was 13 so it didn’t really matter that somewhere in my fifteen year old mind I found it alright to pose erotically using the aid of sign language to actually point out the differences of male and female sexual culture.

But, that was then and this is now. I like to think I’ve gotten a bit more subtle. Apparently not. You see, looking back I can tell that majority of those messages I was trying to send, they’re about all the same things that I’m currently fighting for.

I had thought I’d evolved (and sure my technical photographic skills have) but the way my mind processes such issues as sex, sexuality, gender, eroticism and society seem not to have changed since that tender age. (Though I do use tender in reference to my buttocks which seems a little bit fuller in some of them photographs than it is now. But then again I can’t swivel my head 180 degrees on my neck either.)

Seeing these earlier expressions made me realize that I wanted to show these to the world. Young, and counting as child porn, yes but I feel it was the most untainted view I had on some issues back then.

Right now my focus is on sexuality and gender, trying to fill in the gap between normal and abnormal (in society’s dictations). But some of the ideas I must have had back then were just… well a little mature of my age. Seriously, what 15 year old things about eroticism in terms of sign language? (I believe I was influenced by a young deaf girl I had met on one of my many travels in those days.)

It’s a little unnerving, but it also gives me a sense of certainty. I’ve been doing this for awhile I’ve realized. Sure, awhile is four to three years but better than nothing.

And the fear…

I’ve written something similar to this before, in my very first post as it were, but I don’t know how many people and read that and for starters, if I don’t self-express somewhere soon (why does that sound so dirty to me?!) I’m probably going to end up screaming at some inanimate object.

And nobody wants that.


What on earth would I be afraid of?

Um… Life in general actually.

You see in my ‘practically-a-new-years-resolution-and-goal-post’ a.k.a. Wanted: Dead or Alive, I set myself many standards and many things to achieve.

I’d almost forgotten the fact about why they were still undone.

Self-doubt, not the ‘oh-i’ll-wake-up-in-the-morning-and-it’ll-be-gone’ type but the crippling, ‘please-don’t-take-the-covers-off-me-I’m-dying-inside’ type.

I’ve written majority of this before but I’m writing it again because it never really disappears for me. No matter how much I talk about it, try and get over it, think I get over it, realize I’m not over and fall flat on my face again, I can still never seem to anticipate it.

My self-doubt is an odd beast I think.

I’m terrified of not having my dreams come true.

And I’m terrified of having them come true.

So how does self-doubt fit into this equation?

I doubt that if I get everything I want that I’ll be happy, and I doubt that if I don’t I’ll probably still have the same feelings.

I want to change the world, but I also want my life.

I haven’t yet figured out how these to mix evenly enough to coincide in my heart yet, and I figure it’ll take a little bit more time.

But now, being in the questioning society that I am, other thoughts have begun to seep into my mind and further feed my fear of the future.

“What if I turn out not to be queer?!” – Kind of stupid really and even the thought of kissing a guy is kind of gut-wrenching, no offense to them or anything.

“What if I decide I don’t like what I’ve done to my body?!” – Another stupid one really, it’s a bit too late to go back on several tattoos and many piercings. But then again, with the rate of plastic surgery, who knows?

“What if I hate what I’ve become?!” – This is probably a more legitimate one. I’ve always promised myself that I would be a righteous person. Fight for the little people. Bring perspective to an ignorant world. But what happens if I turn out to be my own worst nightmare?

That’s what stops me from falling asleep at night.

It’s officially a week till my 18th Birthday, so it’s also officially a week until I move into my Uni accommodation.

Suddenly my future is right there and my door and all I want to do is turn on the TV or pretend I’m not home.

But since, knowing myself and my huge ego, I won’t ever admit this to anyone vocally. I’ll admit it to this blog because well, I don’t know if I’ll ever meet any of you in real-life, unless of course you’re reading this as one of my few friends who know the truth about me.

But anyway, there it is. Fear of the future and what I might become, but a fear that nobody will ever know because my pride eats up the air I breath it’s so domineering.

I’d like some thoughts about this… Or at least some advice.

– Cal.

femme is not a gender

January 20, 2010

Today I had the unwelcome experience of being question by another member of the small LGBT community I belong to.

I was asked how could I be both genderqueer and a femme.

I’ve stated this before but I’m going to reiterate: my queerness in terms of gender takes two forms; a. the days I feel particularly masculine and exert this physically to society and b. the days I feel without a gender, like I’m floating in the middle of a giant gender ocean meeting no harbour.

What pissed me off about this question was that after I answered, they told that I wasn’t correct.


I’m not correct about what labels I choose for myself?

I was told that someone who associated to society as a femme could not be genderqueer.

I swear I could almost hear my knuckles cracking on their own accord.

You see, it took me a long time (a year at the most, which is a long time for me in regards to my ideas of time) to coalesce myself into the person who states proudly: “Hi, I’m a genderqueer kinky bottom femme who sucks at cooking and anything domestic.”

I, myself haven’t met any other genderqueers, and I have yet to stumble across a genderqueer femme, so I guess that lends to the theory that we might not be very common.

But for me, the gender association of ‘femme’ in which I present a more feminine approach to society is a choice. I wasn’t forced to suppress my gender because of it. I chose to be a femme because I liked the way it makes me feel.

Now I admit, some days, I wish that I could just be cis-gendered. I wish everything was just laid out plain and simple for me to understand. But it’s not, and that’s one of the things that makes me who I am.

Not understanding my own gender took a lot of understanding and researching on my part, it look a lot of exploration in regards to what felt comfortable to me and when.

‘How would I change my appearance to suit the gender assignment of the day? ‘ was a common question in my mind and slowly I fashioned myself an identity that allowed me to accept my gender, however I was feeling at the time, and still maintain the femininity in my outside demeanour.

So what made this person so openly question who and what I was?

A lack of knowledge I’m hoping. They barely knew me, though they did know of me, but I found it hard to consider judging someone and even second-guessing them before I even knew them. The thought is incomprehensible to me, and yet it happens a lot more often than I would care to know.

So this is my little rant session, trying to vent all my anger at being, not discriminated against, but misunderstood in my own ‘supposed’ community.

I might also stress the point that I ran into a horny teenage boy in Omegle today. Omegle of course being the latest internet chat craze where you talk to complete strangers for no reason.

Anyway, he stated something that worried me: ‘Yeah but all lesbians are bit a bi, aren’t they.’

It looks like the youth still have a long way to go in terms of sexuality and gender understanding.

But that’s me for today.

Over and out.

– Cal.

all about sex

November 24, 2009

“Humans are essentially animals that have become too smart for their own good.”

PRO-SEX is the best SEX!

Sex. Who doesn’t want it?

Sex, it’s a strange issue in our society. It’s overtly promoted but if do actually let go and give in to the marketing then we’re branded.

So, I have several issues with sex currently. One of them being that I’m not getting it (joke). But some of these are issues that seem to hinder me at times, because well, I can take the sexiness out of sex.

Let me take the sexiness out of sex, my own way.

You see, I have one further problem when trusting people in my sex life and it centres around the fact that I have a little something called hyper-sensitivity with my epidermis.

Aside from finding someone I like, eventually getting them naked and figuring out what it is we both want I have to do some pre-planning.


Is there are fan in the room so I don’t overheat?

Have I tested the lube against my skin for a reaction?

What type of material would any toys be made out of?

Are there clean sheets on the bed?

These questions seem kind of insignificant, but if you’ve ever had to put up with me attempting to tear away the top layer of my skin, you know it can’t be fun.

Heat-rashes, allergic reactions to lube or the material some toys are made out of when used with friction or even just that lack of clean sheets that rub against my body. I suffer for a week at least.

That’s my general problem with sex. I love sex. It’s fun and you burn off calories but in my past experience, one night worth of wild, hot, fun sex does not fit the bill for a week of itchiness and agony (at times).

So there’s my way of taking the sexiness out of sex.

Welcome to the kinky side of the rainbow.

I’ve said it before I’ll say it again: I’m kinky.

Give me whips, chains, clamps and cocks. Rope, stilletos, violence and anger, is what I want.

But it seems that being young counts me out. Ah… Excuse me?!

I always seem to sound mildly up-myself when I say that, ‘I’m mature than most people sexually’ but I find it true.

Pornography (god love the internet and has been my best friend since I was 14, of course when I was watching majority of the “for hetero-man porn” I found it boring. Let’s queue it up to my 16th B’day when I decided enough was enough. Coincidently I stumbled upon and ordered my first real dyke pornography and… He-llo world.

Whoever knew sex could be so damn sexy?! Of course Syd Blakovich (or Shawn depending on what you’re watching) and Jiz Lee are stars in their own right, but my oh my, what’s a dyke to do?

So now, I make no excuse for what I like. I make no regards to my age. I make no regards to anything. Why? Because well, I fucking like it and it gets me off. Isn’t that enough?

“Is it alright if I jump you right here and now?”

I admit it right here. I love butches. Any type at any time. But I also have a love of wobbly bits and natural redheads. So what happens everytime I see one and can recognize then as a dyke? Well, sadly, I don’t ask if I can jump them.

But I was trying to think about what exactly it is about them that I like, and this is what I came up with:


I love their hair. Yes, their hair. Not on their heads, not on their face but on their legs. When I can lean back while sitting on top of them and tug at it or run it through my fingers. I love the leg hair.

I love their clothes. There are times when I see a butch (very rarely it happens) and all I want to do is steal their clothes, not for the point of making them naked, I just want their damn clothes. Everything looks that much cooler on a butch.

I love their cocks. Yes I know that femmes can be Sir-Thrust-A-Lots too but a butch with a cock? Who the hell could resist?! It’s even better when they’re packing.

I love their chivalry. Open the door for me? Aww, you’re so kind! Just letting your hand rest on my lower back as you guide me through the crowd? I think I’m about too swoon. The best to get into my pants, be chivalrous.

I love their hands. Have you ever actually looked at a butches hands? You know, just sit there absentmindedly playing with them? I have, and for some reason they’re the perfect relinquishment of feminity. The way that unlike my hands the nails aren’t perfectly rounded and polished, they aren’t quite as soft or the grasp is just a little bit bigger than my own*. Perhaps the fact that they’re also touching me with those hands make them a bit sexier?

What else do I love about butches? Everything else. The strut, the way their eyes can lock onto a femme instantly and the way you get the gist of what they’re thinking when they’re just looking at you, all over.

I’m probably generalising, but well, it’s too early in the day. I swear.

*I’m putting this as a side note, so if you have no idea what the asterix is doing, just ignore this. But for the record, I have tiny hands so the fact that majority of people have bigger hands than me is kind of necessary.


It’s feminine. My preference for this probably comes from the fact that I am a bony little runt. Curves? I’d love them!

The wobbly bits are my absolute favourite thing about some girls, the way their just give this unimaginable figure of a woman. I can wrap my arms around them, sometimes even grab some in my hands and I can just feel the beauty. It’s the way it makes me wonder what she looks like underneath, the way my hands tingle when I imagine cupping their waist. It’s just the feel of them underneath my hands. It’s so feminine.

Now, redheads. God forbid I ever find out how I got this fascination but I have it. Show me a redhead and I’ll show you a salivating dyke in an instant. There isn’t much I can say besides the fact: they’re just hot.

Now, I know I didn’t praise as much with the femmes as I did with butches but that’s because I’ve only ever dated a butch before, never a femme, but my sincerest apologies.

So that’s my sex view today. Maybe not as ambitious as I would have liked it but I’m tired and have a mountain load of work to do today.

And remember, PRO-SEX is the best SEX!

– Cal.