I’ve forgotten who I am. Did I ever know?

I am defined by what I was for you. I was yours.  Now you’re gone, and the house echoes who you were and that you were here with me.


I’m not a great person. I do my best when I need to. I needed to for you. I did it-you didn’t like it. I didn’t listen. I carried on.

You say I’m strong but , I was strong because of you. The stronger one in a relationship isn’t strong. They thrive off the fact you make them strong. You were where the strength came from.

Similar to sub/dom relationships. The dom may be what we think of as strong but, the sub gives themselves. If they’re not strong there’s nothing to give.

The love was magnificent I would have died for you.  Your happiness was the reason for my existence. I wanted to be that one who went above and beyond.

But you’re gone.

Believe me I know why you did it. And the fact that you’re happy now makes me want to live.

You won’t understand. Your mind is addled with drugs and your past.

You don’t get it. You know what love feels like when you’d sleep on me and I’d hold you all night, I would want to kill any bastard who’d hurt you. I’d try take you places you’d not been, I shared everything I had. My friends are now yours too, the life I showed you is who you are now. I wanted to show you you were worth a lot more than how you’d been treated.  It was who I was.

I am not angry with you. I am incredibly proud of you. I just wish you’d loved me enough. But that’s another story and you cannot put there what isn’t there with these sorts of things.

Now, I have to remember who I was not just before you, because  I don’t think I knew.


I have to work out who I am.

I think I am one of those dickhead dykes people go on about. I’m conceited, I’m malviolent. I am proud of things that I shouldn’t be proud of because I didn’t make them.  I get everything I want and succeed in all I go for.

I’m an asshole.

I get drunk and fall over and behave like a slut. I am untidy and lazy and lustful and greedy and I am the queen of dontgiveafuckism.


I’m fearless. I’m emotional. I’m wise, I’m cynical and I don’t accept things as they are-I question everything.

I believe in how much I can make change. I throw things out there to those who are knowledgeable, that I know nothing about, and I get results I make change. I go for things and I get them. If I am told to wait I tell them I can’t wait that long. If I am told no, I ask why. If I am told It’s the way it is I say change it. I get things done.

I have far more than I deserve in life and I make no apologies  I just share it with those I love who are less fortunate. I don’t need thanks or appreciation.

I just need respect and acknowledgment in any form.

I need attention and affirmation.

I need it from those I love.

I love like my life depends on it. I am emphatic to a fault, I’d lie awake with you asleep on my chest, drinking wine and chain vaping and promising you nobody will hurt you under my watch.

I get joy from giving joy.

I get touched by the smallest of things. I got my strength from you and I watched you blossom and you did that,  I didn’t. You have so much pride that you hide and so much

I am an asshole who fucked up, but I miss you.

And I know you think I am wanting to hurt your feelings when I tell you this, but I am not at all. I am proud of you and who you became while I held you. But I am allowed to miss you. And I said I wouldn’t tell you.

So I wrote it here instead.


On being a stripper. Just a waffly blog detailing some aspects of my experience.

I want to write about this because my experience of strip clubs is one not many people know about. I am not a stereotypical stripper (but then I’ve not met many who are) but I have had conversations with many a dancer who would corroborate and empathise with a lot of the contents of this blog.

I am queer, I don’t find flirting with men comes easy. ‘Of course most strippers don’t find most customers attractive anyway, but I feel there is still a difference for me. I’m also older than a lot of strippers. I am also not the type a lot of strippers are, and didn’t begin doing it for the same reasons as most do, so my being a stripper is probably slightly different.

I also want to write about it because, I’m in my late thirties. I still seem to look the part for business and there are strippers much older than me and still rocking it. But, I am old in the head. And It’s getting mentally tiring now.

By type I mean, I am not a strong hustler. I sometimes don’t know what to say to customers at all. Sometimes, I’m great at it. Usually  with older, intellectually focused   men who like to talk. I am not as so money hungry that I will dance for just anyone or put myself out pretending to be enjoying a conversation. I’ll walk off. I’ll leave them alone. I won’t try to the point it starts to piss me off. Sometimes I decline a dance JUST to annoy men who feel I am coin-operated.

I don’t have the confidence in my hustle with some customers  and it will affect me if I spend ages and still get snubbed.

Most dancers love working with a dyke. They find it amusing and flirt with you blatantly, trying to wind you up and you reciprocate even though they’re not your type, it becomes a thing for me to say ‘Jessica do fuck off I’m dripping’.

I’ve watched the inherent and contagious bisexuality between strippers. ‘Lesbian dances’ are meant to always just be simulation. They make people realise who they are.

Why would a picket fence educated girl like me strip?

Well let me tell you, I hate that question. It reminds me of the judgmental attitude so many humans have that, to do this job you have to be a certain type of person, and definitely not be another type. It’s silly, ignorant and annoying but I am going to answer it here because I am asked it so so often

I began stripping mainly because I wanted to see what it was like. Unusual reason of course. The sociologist in me was hungry. I did find out what It’s like.

It’s delivered me a few things;

  • Several friendships I believe have a great chance of lasting the length of my life
  • Laughter. SO much laughter.
  • Long periods of time where life felt very easy (14 hours work at the weekend only. No early mornings).
  • My partner
  • A great social experience
  • Awe at the sisterhood in some clubs.
  • An attitude I’ll never lose.
  • The ability to pole dance and all that comes with that, strength, a hobby, fitness, goals
  • Love. Support. Something that was all about me.

It has also lost me friendships. Some people assume if you’re a dancer, you’re a certain type of person. Luckily, for many years now, I have employed ‘Don’tgiveafuckism’ as the theory that dominates my brain. I’m pretty awesome, if you want to fall out with me over stereotypes, crack on love. It’s also made me see the worst of men. It’s made me do things that were stupid, downright dangerous, and out of character. It’s had me in tears and played on my insecurities. It’s got me into trouble.

Being a stripper means a lot of men come onto you. A LOT. I’ve always had attention from men which as a very young woman made me uncomfortable, and as a self aware fully fledged gay one either drives me up the wall or makes me gip, depending on the situation.

I kind of play a game with some customers sometimes.

‘So, you have a boyfriend’?


‘Ah yeh, it must be difficult with this job. No-one wants to date someone who takes their clothes off for other men’.

‘My partner doesn’t mind’

‘You said you didn’t have a boyfriend’

‘I don’t’

(Yeh, I’m easily amused).

Sometimes I tell them outright I’m gay. It depends on how I size them up. Some men find it a turn on. Others won’t spend money on a stripper who’s gay, because they feel they want someone they might have  a chance of going home with.

(I respect the latter guys more, their not spending on me shows their respect for who I am. I don’t think other strippers really understand this half the time, and I don’t blame them)

I adore women. I love the strength and fight we all have in us, the fire in our bellies, how we bust so many long-established myths and how we’re all so different with our eccentricities that make us smash our targets and be so much fun to be around. I like those who know themselves and do as they please and don’t think about what they’re told they should and shouldn’t do. This is the main reason I’ll never regret being in the strip club realm.

I adore strippers as a collective. I really do.

They’re a different breed. So many strippers I’ve got to know, from a scale of spending one shift with them to them being part of my circle, have certain things that I love in humans.

They’re savvy. They’re intelligent. They have no filter. They talk, they’re bubbly, they’re lovely, they’re energetic, caring and humble and so many of them, are fucking hilarious. They’re blatant, aggressive, arrogant, they don’t pander to men, they’re an absolute joy to be around.

They’re nuts, eccentric, witty and in your face. They talk in a sultry way about things other people won’t mention for risk of sounding vulgar. They’re beautiful, disgusting and just too much to explain.

They’re feminism wrapped in lace and pvc, devils in disguise, angelic faces hiding  shrewd, perceptive , intellectual minds. They don’t employ social boundaries. They can talk politics, religion, love, the universe while standing naked in a scruffy room straightening their hair.

I fucking love them.

Working in the shittiest of shitholes one night, and the glamorous, plush likes of Spearmint Rhino or similar, the next. But the strippers are the same breed.

This world is different. It’s something someone with illogical preconceptions about it, could never understand. It’s a bizarre underground community who all understand one another.

I will be so so sad when I have to hang up my thong and I admit, I am not wanting to be referred to as the ‘grandma’ of the ‘girls’, I will go out while still winning.

Of course, there are bad times. There’s the odd stripper nobody likes or who doesn’t like anyone else. There’s emotion, too much booze, too many drugs*, bad nights where nobody makes money. Rumours about why Sophia did make money and what she did for it. Extras, entitled customers, rude ones, dark times, dark energy. But this is not how I’ll remember it, because these times are few and far between.

What made me fall in love with stripping?

When I first dipped my toe in it, I wanted to write a book. I still do, but being me, I’ve never got around to it. I wanted to see if I could do it.

I had no idea it would become such a huge part of me, but it did and this remains over a decade later. I will miss it forever when I finally quit. But I am not sure why this happened. I think It’s because of the eccentricity and culture of it, and the fact it brings out a side of me nothing else does. I am sensible and something of a crepehanger in my other life forms. I care too much, I worry, I want to be perfect. Stripping became an outlet for my silly side.

And as above, strippers themselves, I am fascinated with them.

I have always been a favourite with strip club bosses. I have at least three female strip club owners in my phone who all fall into the same category of women in their fifties with enough glamour to rival Honor Blackman and enough sass to wipe out anyone who gives them shit. I’ve been to their dinner parties, joked with their husbands and spent sunny days watching my partner work in their (often huge) homes and gardens.

Ending up in a sawdusty nightclub after work, with too much testosterone in it, no doors on the toilets wondering what happened to your life but enjoying the carefree-ness of it so much you don’t want to leave. Experiencing the collectivist aspect there with your colleages, now standing out a mile in their tracksuits and baggy jumpers amidst everyone else who’s dressed up for their nights out.

Sitting on a train station at 6 am. Reminiscing about good times with another dancer, eye make up smudged, extensions tangled, odd socks and high heels watching early commuters with their briefcases, oblivious to how the other half live.

Laughing, I can’t emphasise how much I have laughed sometimes. When a girl looks upset and is asked what’s wrong and says ‘I just can’t get over how pretty I am’. Girls sipping vodka out of a container clearly not designed for it, so management won’t find it and continuing to drink from their hairbrush while he talks to her about his day. Girls getting bored on stage and doing the hokey-cokey dance instead of pole dancing and watching to see if anyone notices. Girls with much common sense but who’ve never been educated asking about if you can get pregnant from anal sex. Lavvy doors always open ’cause let’s face it we’ve seen everything, and then an unsuspecting female customer walks in. Captain ‘save a hoe’ walking in and being surprised that nobody is grateful and everyone’s eyes roll when he says ‘You’re far better than this’. Being told you’re beautiful and riding on the wave when a customer is surprised at your reply ‘Er, yeh. I know’.

When a customer goes too far and is surprised when an angry 8 stone lycra clad broad has no qualms nor difficulties with manhandling him out of the room. Laughing at customers and who got too drunk the night before. Laughing at one another. Laughing at wardrobe malfunctions and people malfunctions and life malfunctions.

The caring side.

When girls get too drunk and the others, often near strangers, dress them and ensures they will be home safely at the end of the night. When someone collapses in a heap of giggles on the floor because someone points out that she’s squiffy and can’t walk in her 8 inch heels and the rest of the dancers hoik her up,do her shoes and laugh with her. When you go into work upset and realise very quickly that there’s no way you’ll reach the end of the night in a bad mood, these women have your back, they’ll pick you up, make you laugh, carry you, remind you all that’s good in life.

You can’t be miserable here. It isn’t allowed.

The lifelong friendships based on serious mutual understanding. The babysitting, money lending,  exchanges of clothes, someone forgetting something and knowing it doesn’t matter, someone will have some. The lifts home, the love, the cuddles, the crying and the tiny stripper having a muscular one threaten to take a customer out if he dares ignore the formers requests to not do whatever he’s doing, (that may have been me on occasion) one more time. The support, the rapports and the wiser older dances letting others know they’re not in the right relationship, they deserve better, they’re beautiful, they’re intelligent and they can excel in life. The driving across the country to work somewhere new and sleeping in your car until It’s daylight. This culture deserves more understanding because it has so much beauty, but paradoxically, if it did have, it wouldn’t work.


Meeting my partner

I met my other half when I worked in a place unlike any other in  a small town I’d never heard of until someone recommended it to me as somewhere where the money was good.

She started on a winter night behind the bar. I learned of her gardening skills and employed her. I drove her home and discovered it was difficult getting her out of the car, because I wanted her to stay in it, She was butch as ken, spoke like a gruff middle aged man and smoked like a chimney. She was rough, and I wanted her.

Being only attracted to butch is probably a blessing as a stripper. Had I been attracted to femmes and constantly surrounded by some of the most stunning women I’d ever seen, I’d have probably had some sort of permanent wide-on condition by now.

After a few too many wines  I beckoned her over with my index digit and said ‘Hey I just made you come with my finger’.

And then we’d spend many an hour in her small shared house bedroom, eating junk, supping wine and vodka and having endless sex. I was a posh bisnich with high standards, a Master’s degree, rental properties and a subscription to ‘National Geographic’. I’d not experience this level of slumming it before, and the nihilistic aspect of it and the fact we were cocooned in this little space together with nobody bothering us, felt amazing.

Good times.

She enhanced my strip club experience as we were together while both working, her on the bar me as a dancer. She made me feel safe and special and I was a clutch to her as I felt supported there. My earnings went down as  I felt uncomfortable hustling in front of her. I’d be in a complicated move on the pole and catch her winking at me and have to remember what gravity does, the hard way..

Ain’t love grand.

I could write a book (see above) with the experiences I’ve had. But for now, women please at least once in your life, exercise the right to say the sentence ‘Fuck off, I wear heels bigger than your dick’.

It helps.


*I’ve never done drugs.




A nice man molested me the other night


What a stupid thing to say, huh?

Nice men don’t molest women! Nice men don’t want to upset anyone. They know It’s wrong to touch a woman sexually without consent. Hell if a man touched their wife/girlfriend/daughter/female friend like that, there’d be hell to pay! How dare he!

No man with an ounce of respect for women does things like that do they? They hear the females in their life relate stories about it happening, or see it on TV and react to it with contempt and shock, what a scumbag! Not a nice man, nice men don’t do things like this.

Apart from when they do.

This happened to me in my own house.

The man who did it is someone I regard as a friend. Quite a new one but, my family have known him longer.I don’t know many people around here. This man is someone I pay to do work I need doing, and we got along, and me and my partner and this man’s then-girlfriend all met for drinks one night a while ago and had a good time. I learned he did a pub quiz and me and my family went and did it.  In short, he became someone we sometimes liked to hang out with, my other half liked him too. All good.

For a bit of a synopsis of this man, he has a great job. A great relationship with his adult children. He is well liked, friendly, popular, personable, generous, generally thought of as lovely.

I learned recently he had had some bad news. He’s lost a close family member. I paid my condolences and felt for him. He came around for a coffee and me and her sympathised and said pop in any time. So when he asked if the kettle was on the other day I said ‘sure’.

Only I’d ran out of coffee. I also realised I needed to walk the dog, and said rather than coffee shall we go have a couple of pints.. It’s lovely weather, why not.

After that we walked back to my house and he came in for another drink. After a while and a chat, I said okay I am sorry to end the evening here but I really must go to bed. I am tired, I’ve been up since 4:30 am. I was tipsy and did not want to drink more. I told him to see himself out, or sleep in the spare room if he wanted.

I had no reason why I should have believed I was in any danger. 

Looking back, the slightly tipsy and very tired me must have had her guard up.. I don’t remember it being a conscious thing, but I didn’t undress. Why not? I guess because I don’t trust men fully no matter what.

I woke up some time later, with a hand up my top at the front and two wandering hands caressing me. I hate to use that word, but literally that’s what they were doing.

What they were ACTUALLY doing, was molesting me. Touching my breasts and upper body without my consent, while I was sleeping. Unconscious. Unable to give (or not give) consent. I did not react. I pretended to be asleep. I was not shocked (sadly!), or scared, and  simply froze and said nothing. This man had come upstairs, seen me asleep, and somehow thought this was an okay thing to do. The hands then pinched my nipples, hard. Causing me to screw my eyes tighter closed in pain, and then they stopped. I remained still until I felt him move away and heard him leave the room. My main thought process at the time was

‘Oh for fuck’s sake.’

This is the point. I wasn’t traumatised, upset or deeply affected in any way by this incident. I wasn’t shocked either-I’m still not. Why? Because to me, this has become something men do. I sort of expect it. Even ones we see as nice people. They don’t do it because they’re not nice, they do it because THEY THINK IT’S OKAY. The way this man was touching me, at least until he hurt me, was in a way I would like my girlfriend to touch me. But when it’s none consensual, unprovoked and unwanted (and in my case, from the wrong gender) it is not a nice feeling. And It’s very wrong.

When this happened, I posted about it on a large forum I frequent using various different usernames. I like to keep anonymous online most of the time. I wanted strangers unbiased opinions, and I got them. What I found disturbing but not shocking, was that so many women responded by sharing their experiences of when something similar (or worse), had happened to them. This sort of thing is not uncommon. I knew that already, and they affirmed it.

As I write about it, I recognise my own symptoms of social conditioning, deeply internalised theories I have, which make me want to blame myself.

This sort of thing.

‘I should have made him leave before I went to bed’

‘I shouldn’t have got tipsy around a man I don’t know so well’

‘I shouldn’t go out for a drink with a man by myself, he may have read more into it’

‘I shouldn’t have dressed the way I was’ (I was wearing a tight top and a short skirt, albeit with thick tights and flat boots, I wasn’t dressed especially provocative, not that it matters).

There are some things about this situation, generated by me, that if I had done differently would have ensured this couldn’t happen. If I hadn’t have ran out of coffee, I wouldn’t have been tipsy and perhaps would have been more guarded. When I am already tired, alcohol just makes me sleepy, maybe I shouldn’t have had any.

If I hadn’t have let him come in for another drink.

If I hadn’t have been  a friendly or sympathetic person.

If I had have locked my bedroom door.

If I hadn’t have made friends with this man in the first place.

If I wasn’t a person who appreciates friendship and likes to enjoy company of people I get on with

I can go on forever with this.

However, the reality is, what he did was very wrong. It would still be wrong if I was wearing a PVC minidress, a push up bra and stilettos. It would still be wrong if I was pissed out of my head. It would still be wrong if I had have flirted with him all night. It would still be wrong if I had have fancied him.

Another thing worth mentioning is, I actually told a male friend about this.  His reaction was;

‘Well you invited him in, he probably thought he was in there’.

Aside from being disgusting, this is a huge part of the problem. There are people out there who believe that it is a woman’s responsibility, to stop men from behaving like this.

In this particular case (I must stress I don’t apply this to all such situations) I also think he did it because he fancies me. He fancies me because he finds me attractive, and he thinks this means he is allowed to touch me. This again is, a huge part of the problem. I know why he finds me attractive. I have a stereotypically attractive look, blonde hair, I dress in a way he likes, I keep myself in reasonable shape.

He thinks because of that, I DO IT FOR MEN.

And this is what makes him think It’s okay. This type of thinking (in my opinion) is Neanderthal, unintelligent, and dangerous. I don’t think he would have done this if I was butch, overweight, or his idea of ugly or unnatractive in any way.

It doesn’t occur to some men that a woman who makes an effort with her looks in a way that they  like, do  it for any reason other than because she wants to attract men. And if she wants to attract men, touching her is okay isn’t it? That’s what she wants!


And if she does she will make it clear.


In my case, the above assumption is made even more bizarre, but more blatant due to the fact this man ‘knows’ I am a lesbian. I put ‘knows’ in inverted commas because, this is irrelevant to him. My sexuality is erased because he believes his wants and assumptions trump it. 100% . He believes my appearance negates this. I look like I do for men, no matter what I say. What I say about who I am, doesn’t count. My girlfriend doesn’t count.

Do I think he would have done this if I was straight?


If I was dating a man?

Probably. But the point is I’m not. This is because I don’t want men to touch me ever. I obviously sympathize with anyone this sort of thing has happened to, regardless of their gender, sexuality or any aspect of who they are. But I believe the fact that It’s obvious and often made obvious to him that I’m not into men and don’t want them to touch me, makes what he did worse.

I was unable to consent because I was asleep. He knows this. This man isn’t stupid.

If any men read this, I hope you read it and think ‘What a wanker’ and not ‘Ugh, what he did wasn’t THAT bad’.

But if it is the latter,  you know what,  I agree with you, it wasn’t. I am not traumatised by it or especially upset even. I am not in shock. I am not injured or incapacitated by it.

That’s not a good thing. I should be traumatised by it. I should be shocked. I should be overly upset about it because it should be the sort of thing that’s unheard of and never happens.

The reason it isn’t ‘THAT bad’ is because we think ‘He could have done worse’.

I also have absolutely no doubt in my mind, that had I put loose pjamas on, or slept naked, he would have done ‘A lot worse’.

Men,  please do your gender a favour and don’t do things like this. If you’ve read this and are thinking ‘I did something like that once’  or ‘He didn’t do anything so bad!’ Have a think about this.

This could be reported to the police. You could lose your job

You could lose your friends

You would be made to look like a wanker to anyone who finds out you’re labelled as a sexual predator.

Your reputation could be tarnished.

Your daughters could find out

Your female friends could find out

Does this illustrate to you that It’s wrong? I won’t go down the route of It’s illegal because It’s wrong because frankly some things are illegal that if pressed I might think shouldn’t be.

But it is illegal regardless. What he did was a crime. And it has reinforced my misandry which I struggle with already because of many experiences with men me and my female peers have had.

I don’t want to dislike men. I don’t want to label them all as the same. I don’t want to be afraid of them, careful around them and disappointed in male friends like I am with this one, who I will now never give my business to again, socialise with again, or sympathise with again. I don’t want to be a man-hating lesbian. I have men in my life who I love.

But when they do things like this, it makes things difficult.


Thank you for reading.









I wonder

Why you’ve not been in touch

If you wonder if I am ok. That’s a lie, deep down I know you know I am not but you don’t care enough and/or aren’t up for checking. Maybe if I say no, it’ll be too much for you.


I wonder if you’re cold or tired or hungry. I think It’s normal to wonder these things after living together for so long.

You don’t.

That’s okay. As people with no personality say, ‘The world would be oh so boring if we were all the same’.

The point is really, I wish we were.  I invested time and love into you. I half wish you were asleep next to me or I was asleep in your lap. I half with you were looking at the same view out the window as me with the sun coming up behind the ‘elephant’ shape the trees always make.

The other half of me knows we never had the same view.

It doesn’t bother me that I used to date men*, so why does it bother straight people?

*Okay, it does a bit. But not for the same reasons it bothers them.


I guess I feel a little disappointed in myself that I wasn’t one of those people who knew myself earlier in life. I knew I was queer from an early age but, I didn’t know I was gay.

Thinking on this though, if I had never dated men, I wouldn’t have had a lot of the good times I’ve had, I wouldn’t have my excellent business partner who remains my best friend 15 years on, I wouldn’t have had the experiences I have had, and I am betting I wouldn’t have avoided being in more scrapes than I managed anyway 😉

However I don’t understand why such a substantial number of straight people in my life (and not in my life per se but whom I’ve met) seem to have an issue with it. They seem to think that my sexuality isn’t valid because I used to date men. And don’t get me started on straight men with whom a conversation can go one of two ways depending on my mood;

‘So, have you never slept with a man?’

‘Yes, I have’

‘If he was the right man you wouldn’t be gay OR you’re not gay then OR was it a bad experience and that’s why you’re gay?’

Huge fuck off to ANY of those responses.

OR, sometimes I lie.

‘No, I haven’t’

‘You can’t know you’re gay then’

My playful side emerges, with  this when approached with this question and is something I get a small amount of enjoyment out of . If I tell this lie, and put it back on them. I ask;

‘Have you ever slept with a man?’

‘No’. (Usually accompanied by a lot of ‘eeew nos’ and/or ‘ugh why would you even ask that’s.

‘How do you know you’re straight then’.

Without decking myself out in top shop, getting a lot of botox and remembering how to giggle as I used to before I became a cynical old crone, I have no chance of participating in some covert observation of adolescence and knowing for sure how much things have changed. I know they are changing for the better in western culture at least, however if I wasn’t so adverse to talking to the twunts who spout the crap I have just written down,  may spend some time explaining the following.

I had never heard the word ‘gay’ ‘lesbian’ or any words relating to queerdom until I was about 13. My friend said Jason Orange’s new haircut made him ‘look like a poof’. I naively thought she meant a ‘puff’ as in something puffy that you may find in a make up bag or on a sitting room floor, and laughed (because it was quite true).

Gay was NEVER mentioned before that, at school, at home, or anywhere else I frequented. It wasn’t a thing.

Society may be changing slowly but surely now, yet remains to have an underpinning ideology of straight being the norm. For most people of my generation, older and slightly younger, this wasn’t an underpinning ideology for us, it was the way it was.

There was no social media but had there been, I think it would have reflected this. Advertisements on TV never reflected anything other than straight couples. Films seldom featured gay characters, unless they were for the purpose of ridicule or to add an ‘edge’.

Forms to fill out didn’t have options for different sexualities. In short, there was never any mention of any sexuality other than straight, and this was reflected in EVERYTHING a human being would see, unless they frequented the covert bars, clubs and societies that were squirrelled away in the undergrowth.

Being gay was weird, it happened to abnormal people. It was a bit odd. It was something that happened to ‘others’. It was something for teenagers to joke about. It was something I, aged about 7, never knew about my uncle. I knew he was different and I knew my family made incomprehensible (to me) digs behind his back, but I didn’t know why and I would never had dared approach the subject.

My one feeble attempt at approaching the subject that I remember, was mentioning my feelings aged about 11, to my Mum, in a way that was humour masked as reality. She just laughed back. She had caught  me looking at Linda Evangelista posters and smiling!

Society is less accountable for one aspect that affected me, but for me personally, it simply was not an option to be anything other than straight.

Nobody ever discussed the possibility. In fact nobody ever really spoke to me about relationships, hetero or otherwise. My Dad wasn’t involved much with me despite living in the same house and my Mum  I guess thought I’d do what teenagers do and go out and snog boys and be daft etc etc. But that was about it, there was little input or guidance.

I developed feelings for girls as a teen, with hindsight. I was particularly protective over girls younger than me. I looked at girls I thought were pretty and was in awe of the tomboyish, confident ones. I developed an attachment to friends which was more than friendship. It was obvious or would have been if I was my parent or a prominent adult.

Hindsight is underrated. I remember my feelings back then but, being a loner and an only child, had nobody to share them with, and I perhaps wouldn’t have anyway given I didn’t realise they had a meaning I was unfamiliar with.

So I was caught in a sort of crevice between ignorance (if nobody tells you chocolate exists, you won’t know  you like it) and not realising what feelings mean because I wasn’t brought up with the self-esteem or awareness to understand them. Eventually I  knew I had feelings for girls/women, I didn’t know this meant I was gay. I thought it meant nothing at all. Or that I was weird and a bit quirky, which I knew already (and this WAS validated often enough)!

What I *did* realise, is that I had these feelings. But I had no way of validating and invalidating them, until I was much older and had shaken off he indoctrinated values we have placed on us.

If I had those types of reasons to not recognise I was gay in my young years, others have the same reasons.

Others have different reasons of which there are so many I would break wordpress if I tried to delve into them all.

To briefly revisit what I wrote in my first sentence, yes, I wish I had have realised and acknowledged my feelings sooner, of course I do. I feel that, had I known myself well, I would have, but I didn’t. And I can’t blame myself for this, I can blame society, wider, as well as the immediate society I was brought into.

As a result, I dated men. I dated girls too. I was queer I knew this. It actualy scares me that, despite the bad times I had with men, I didn’t realise sooner. Indoctrination is a powerful thing.

I speak to a lot of people about a lot of things. One thing that stands out to me that relates to my own personal experience is, some people, no matter what their background or upbringing is like or, whatever myriad of other factors is at play, find the confidence and assertiveness to be themselves. I didn’t. .I didn’t know who I was.  This isn’t anyone’s fault (including mine) and all I can be grateful for is I did when I was relatively young, and let me tell you, the feeling of liberty, I am sure it made a huge noise as it whirred through my brain.





This place I am in

I’ll start by bragging about something that is an unpopular opinion it seems, although Karl Marx may be proud.


In the words of one of my heroes ‘I never desired for work. I was born with a silver spoon up my ass* and I intended to keep it there’ (Henry Miller * I doubt he said ‘ass’ but that’s how I heard it).

I’ve never wanted to be a wage slave. It’s one reason I strip for money at weekends (do not get me wrong, there are many). I like passive income and I have it. I like life too much to want to spend it making someone else rich.

I’ve never wanted for anything material. This is due to two very simple factors 1 I don’t like many of these things and 2  I have been lucky.

I now find myself in a position where, despite all of this I am becoming twisted in the way I think.

I walk with my head high. I don’t compare myself to others. I operate my life from a place of autonomy and pride. I’ve served myself well. My number one job on this planet, is to improve the lives of others and be a good example to my friends and those who suffer. I have believed this even before I knew I did.  My job as a therapist has always been my job before it was. I volunteer with disadvantaged teens. I rescue animals. I function best this way.

But, something is missing. And despite being who I am, I cannot figure what it is.

My girlfriend, I adore her but she doesn’t give me what I need. And that is paradoxical as I have just admitted I do not know what that is? Perhaps but perhaps not. Perhaps what I need is someone to show me it.

It’s the miserable outlook. It’s the lack of lust for life. I am about to sound like the worlds’ most selfish prick and I will own that and admit it, I feel like one too. But I want someone who is happy that I am with them. Who appreciates my qualities and embraces my quirks. Who knows that I am a good person and when I inevitably fuck up as all humans do, it is not with purpose. I want someone who is proud of me, as I am of myself and of her. I want her to be proud of her strength and of the way I’ve served her for so long or at least I feel I have. I want her to dress up take me in her arms and tell me she wants me. I want her to enjoy life and live it, and take me with her.

I am a very sensible person despite what may be on the surface. I like someone to pick me up and let me feel wild and appeal to my sense of humour, remind me It’s there. I want to not make the effort all the time-precisely because, that is what I naturally do.

I have not achieved all I want to achieve, but I feel life is passing me by.  I feel single when I’m not. I’m hungry for something I’ve not tasted. My girl is butch and I want her to act it, to step up, to take care of me for a change.  I might not need it, but I want it. Or at least to know she wants me.



When things are in limbo

I have a job interview for the police on the 14th that I really really want to succeed in. I want to work for them part time, and use days off for my counselling.
It is half-term this week and given the college I studied at was utter crap, those on my course who submitted their work all failed and have had to resubmit. This usually costs money but the college have accepted responsibility and said they will pay for it. I didn’t submit mine. It was ready, but the lecturer cancelled tutorials and I hadn’t got to do mine up until that point. There are three of us in this position and nine who submitted their work and failed.

So in short I am not fully qualified yet. I am waiting for my work to be checked by new tutors , as the one who was in charge of my work has now been sacked. I am too tired of it to be furious, I am more annoyed and frustrated and due to it being half term, I just have to wait until the tutors are back and can check my work, and give me the get go to send it to the exam board. Really annoying. I cannot wait until I have that certificate on my wall but it seems to be a lifetime away for now. It seems as if I will never get it!
I’ve had visitors and been busy, I’ve also had a horrible bug that had me on my ass for a couple of days.

I’ve remortgaged one of the tenant’s houses and will now save about £80 a month on the mortgage so that’s good.

I had a little in savings, which was necessary. Upon moving (which obviously has costs in itself) I had to buy a new ‘phone as mine was rubbish, and had to take out a new contract which is costing me more per month. Then I have to pay for the internet now, which I didn’t before. And as I moved out of a house I owned into a rented one, I now have to make the mortgage payments on that place and pay my rent and bills for this place.


I am earning a little money working part time but it isn’t enough. It’s this limbo I do not like. Job interview on the 14th let’s hope I get it!