Making Sense of it...

(Warning: Adult Content)


"It's the look".  At least that's part of it, I've told myself over the past couple of days.  Nina, over at the "Closer to Fine" blog had a posted about identifying as a femme, wanting it to be obvious to everyone that she's gay, her reactions to butches and theirs to her.

I found the post intriguing in and of itself, but what's had me thinking was one of the comments that was posted.  The comment-er was uncertain as to what may attract some lesbians to women that look like men; do femmes ever want femmes?;  do butches want butches?  I loved her entire comment, it was open and honest.. inquisitive, and it made me think.  

I mean we all know that everyone... gay, straight, white, black, brown, male, female... any mix of these combinations and hundreds more... are just attracted to someone for as many different reasons as there stars in the sky.  But still, there is something in the question itself that is so intriguing to all of us, and I'm thinking maybe it's because we rarely take time to tell one another what it is that draws us to each other, what makes our heads turn, what makes that someone special ... someone special.  

We want, or need, to hear these things as humans and sexual beings.  It's data, it's clues, its patterns, it's code to the dance we dance and the love we chase, to the flirtations and to closeness we gain.  

Nina's post made me think about what it is for me that draws me to women. What are those sweet subtle things that send me spinning when a certain woman is near by. What kind of woman is she that makes my heart race? And what are the parts that concoct the "chemistry". 

Starting tomorrow, in a series of 5  posts, I will tell what it is for me, a woman who identifies toward the butch side of center, that makes my knees buckle for a woman who identifies in the realm of femme.  

It will take 5 posts... because it's the look the touch, the sound, the smell and the taste...  it is all of those (and more).

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Part 1: The Look

Ahhh... the look of a woman. From her head to her toes, as a whole, or focusing on specific parts of her body...god… it's like watching a sunset and being able to freeze it at the peak of its beauty and just feel that hummm in your chest, letting you know this... is something amazing.

It's her hair when sitting on the patio at a cafe, and the shine of her hair catches my eye; shiny strands of copper pennies in a sea of auburn illuminated by the strip of sunlight that rests there. Or the way it wraps around her fingers as she concentrates on reading. The way it would look fanned across my chest if she would lay her head to rest there.

It's her eyes.  It's the look in her eyes when I...watch her... watch her children. It's the way they meet mine and then move on. It's the way they can find a SALE sign from hundreds of yards away. It’s the way they dance when she's about to do something devilish.

It's her lips. God those lips and the way her tongue wipes ice cream from them. It's the way her bottom lip gets caught between her teeth when she gets caught playing coy. It's the way her lips part... ever so slightly just before I kiss her.

It's her neck.  Specifically the line of her neck that starts behind her ear and runs to the top of her collar bone when she turns her head.  It's the view of her hairline, as I hold her hair up in back, as it ends and turns into the shadow of her spine.  It's her throat as she tosses her head back in laughter.

It's her breasts. The curve of her breasts beneath her shirt.  The way they look with droplets of water streaming across them in the shower. The pale pinkish brown color of her nipples erect from the stroke of moonlight.

It's her hands. The way a wine glass looks almost suspended in the curve of her fingers. The way her hand looks in mine.  To watch them grab the sheets like fist-fulls of sand.... and then flatten out on white Egyptians.

It's her curves. The curve of her waist leading to the curve of her hip with a downward line to the curve of her calf.  It's the curve of her ankle. It's the curve of her back when she arches and the curve of her arm when she reaches for me.

It's her legs. The way she crosses them when she wears a dress. The silhouette from behind the shower curtain of her leg as she gets ready to shave.  The inner lines of her legs that meet ... pointing the way to heaven.

It's her feet. The tops of her feet as she walks barefoot in the grass. Her heel as she slides it into her pumps.  Her toes... toe nails painted and happy. The curve of the arch of her foot that looks like it will fit perfectly in the curve of my hand.

From the top of her head to her toes....

It's the Look.

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Part 2: The Touch

Looking without touching... that was difficult. But now...

Now I can run my fingers through her hair and feel the silken strands, like ribbons, slide across my knuckles.

My hand can rest on the back of her neck with my thumb on the left side feeling her heartbeat and the other four resting gently on the right side, below her ear. From here, I can guide her; turn left and close to my body. I can pull her close and feel the heat of her breath upon my lips just before the wet, soft underside of her bottom lip slips...into my mouth.

The comfort of her hand in mine... fingers interlocked not able to tell by looking which are hers and which are mine and then she squeezes.  Mine collapse.

Now I can feel the breasts beneath the shirt as we dance and she can feel mine as they press together and give to each other.   My hand on the small of her back rocking with her hips as we lean, left and right.

I can feel the soft skin beneath her breast with the top of my index finger as we lay in bed, my cheek sinking into her ribs.  I can trace her nipple with mine and feel them both stand hard.

Her fingers sliding across my forehead and circling my temple as my head lays in her lap.

The smooth of her skin, razor on strap,  as I gently run my teeth down her stomach, below the belly button  above her hairline... and that specific piece of skin melting hot upon my tongue.

The feel of her back leaning into me and her head on my shoulder as we watch dvds.

The touch of her hand on my back as I wrestle my nightmares.

The feel of her inner thigh against my cheek.

Her wet upon my mouth.

Her pulse upon my tongue.

…and we have touched until we are pleasantly numb.

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Part 3: The Sound

It's a sound, or even sometimes a silence she makes that instantly mutes the world but for her heartbeat, my heartbeat, and the vibrations in between.

It's the short "hmm." with an upward twist that lets me know she's not paying attention. It's the lower "hmmm," when she's ready to engage her point of view, and it's the "h-mmmm..." that slides into nothingness when I rub her shoulders after she's had  a hard day.

It's the soft coo of her words that heal her babies’ bruises.

It's the sound of her shoes on the tile in the other room letting me know her arms will soon be around me, or the hurried click of her high heels on the street as she rushes to make our date.

It's the giggle and bashful sigh when I tell her she's sexy.

The sound of tiny bubbles popping as our tongues feel their way around each other’s mouths.

It's the sound of her voice on the phone when she wants to say "I want you"... but there are people around.

It's the sound of her hands against her skin as she applies perfume to her body.

Her whispering "hello" as she climbs into bed, and the sound of her lips lifting from mine.

The sound of her breath breezing past my ear as I slide up her body, and the moan as I slide back down.

It's the "unnh" that escapes when I find just the right spot.

Liquid suction release as our hips fight for a single rhythm settling into 4:4 time and a then...

her crescendo into silence.

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Part 4:  Then Scent

"Ooh, but I still smell her."  - Lt. Col. Frank Slade in "Scent of a Woman" (1992)

It's her skin in the mornings that smells of rain and lemons.

It's her favorite perfume behind her ear mixing with the soapy clean of her shampoo.

It's the smell of sun and coconuts on her back in summer.

It's the whisper of vanilla on her breath right before she falls asleep.

It's the smell of my skin on hers.

It’s the sweet smell of lust and sweat and protein in her groin.

It's the smell of heaven.

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Part 5:  The Taste

Here on the tip of my tongue, the final sense, the impetus of hunger and the bounty of being sated.

It's the blackberry of the Shiraz ... her lips to my tongue.

It’s tangerine squeezed fresh to her wrist and waterfalling to my mouth.

and it’s the sweet syrup of

her

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Just for tonight

let me lie down

nerves stripped and exposed

to feel the sweet pain of your breath

behind my ear

let me rest my cheek

where dreams and desire play

and let my fingers

dance in the shadows there.

Let kisses fall like whispers

from your lips onto my tongue

and I will repeat them back to you.

Let me die in your caress;

and then

just for tonight,

Let me kneel in front of you

and taste where life begins

-Gina