Femme Friday — Kathleen Delaney-Adams

A highlight of my femme writing career was touring with Kathleen and other delicious femme writers as part of Kathleen’s BODY HEAT: Femme Porn Tour. Kathleen was an utter delight to work with and her determined yet calm and respectful energy had us writers giving it up over and over and loving every minute.

Along with being tour mistress supreme, Kathleen also loves cupcakes, writing porn, her butch husband, and helping rescue dogs – in other words, she is the essence of femme fantabulousness!

Deep gratitude to Kathleen Delaney-Adams and the sparkle she adds to our world!

            The rope smelled damp, like earth and dirt, a scent that made her pussy swell. She inhaled deeply, inviting her hunger to enter her holes, to chafe her insides, a burning need that bound her to him. eyes downcast as she had been ordered, she relied on other senses to guide and arouse her. Her nostrils fill of hemp, the thickness of its odor, and the sweaty scent of him, a whiff of his cologne, the musk of her own sex wafting up faintly to tease her. Her ears strained to catch a hint of him, his mood, his movements, his breath. She ached to anticipate what he may desire of her, what may come next, listening intently for a whisper of his own dark longing.

            An hour ago, she had wandered the dank rooms of the basement as if bored, pausing now and again briefly if a scene caught her eye, dismissing most. Hard to impress – she prided herself on it, imagining herself as a femme of vast experience, a heavy player among heavy players, and who the hell could top that? None here tonight, surely.

            It was rare to find herself without a play partner, yet tonight she couldn’t quite bring her interest to a peak, preferring to stay on the sidelines of the Dykes at Play party. Truth be told, and you didn’t hear it from her, the last few months had felt like rather a yawner, and she feared her pussy stank of desperation and loneliness. How damn unattractive. She was shaking her head in self-disgust when she turned and found him watching her.

            He exuded butch confidence, reeked of it, leaning casually against the wall, hands loose at his sides, salt ‘n pepper hair, gray-blue eyes perusing the room, packing bulge beneath his jeans. Yum. Her knees weakened and her pussy juiced up immediately. Damn if she didn’t blush like a schoolgirl. His cool eyes and tight jeans nearly incited her to lie down on her back and spread her legs right there in the main room of the dungeon. Sweet Jesus. Instead, she offered a smile, and held her ground when he pushed himself off the wall and crossed the room to her. Even his strut emanated experience. He took her hand smoothly in greeting, his smile warm, belying his hard swagger and the strong grip of his hand.

            “I’m Von.” Yes, confident. Swoon.


            “A pleasure.”

            She vaguely remembered an hour of small talk, escalating flirtation, negotiation. The feel of her hand in his, however, now that was embedded in her memory, as was the rush of wetness on her thighs as she slowly undressed for him before the scene began. His eyes burned her alive as she reached behind her to unzip her dress, letting it slip to her ankles before she stepped out of it. She wore nothing beneath save silk stockings with a Cuban heel and flawless back-seam, and a pair of classic pumps with a razor sharp heel. She decided to leave stockings and heels on for effect, possible rope burn be damned.

            She was a rope virgin, Delilah admitted laughingly, with a hint of fear and shyness, excited to let him pop that cherry, perhaps the last cherry she could claim. And the thought of being claimed by him left her giddy. His and his alone, even if only for a few hours? Divine.

 –from “Tart Cherry” by Kathleen Delaney-Adams, in Beloved

check out her other chapbook, Yield, and her blogs:



Every Friday, I showcase a queer femme goddess. Suggestions welcome!

Meditation for Queer Femmes — Do You Have This in Queer?

Over at Mombian, Dana recently wrote about representation of queers in children’s media, where last-minute reveals and extremely subtle hints of queerness are about all you’re going to get. It’s not much better in adult media, either. We all know about how queer characters are extremely likely to get offed at any minute (we’re usually just plot devices anyway), but even if queer characters are allowed to live, they get a seriously puny amount of screen time. In “Humans”, for example, hets get endless slobbery kisses, deep hugs and sexy time, all accompanied by meaningful swelling music, while the lesbos get maybe 2 minutes max to play out their romance, ‘cause who wants to get up close and personal with that shit?

Way back in the day, on butch-femme.com, there were threads where boy/girl jokes were translated to butch/femme, sometimes to comic effect, but mostly it just felt sad. Butches aren’t men and femmes aren’t straight women, after all, but we know why this happens: there just isn’t enough visibility and queer culture for us to find ourselves in, especially for those of us who don’t live where things queer are readily available. And especially for femmes, who tend to be even less represented than other flavors of queers.

We can just lose our queer femme selves as we labor so hard to get along in the straight world at work, in our families of origin, even with our oldest and dearest straight friends. It’s incredibly wearing to keep pretending that we’re fully included, when actually, we’re usually just invited in and are allowed to stay as long as we conform to straight norms. We femmes appear to look the part, after all, and sometimes it’s easier to just play along rather than explain, once more, that yes, we are queer even if you don’t think we look like we are. We get worn down. We reach a saturation point, and find ourselves depleted, with nothing left over to feed our queer selves and hearts and souls. We even forget these need feeding.

“We want to be somewhere where every other waiter, store clerk or passerby is queer,” a femme says of she and her husband’s retirement plans. They are tired of the relentless straight, cis culture in the suburbs. They are tired of unrepentant, compulsive straight people.

Are you tired, too?

This week, reach out to your queer friends. Say no to a straight event in favor of a queer one, even if it means inviting the one other queer in town over for tea.

Feed your fabulous queer femme selves and store up the love. Don’t let your queer tank run dry.

The world needs your queer femme love!

Every Monday (or Tuesday, Wednesday, even), I offer a Meditation for Queer Femmes, in the spirit of my maternal grandmother, Mimi, who was a fabulous straight femme, and from whom I inherited her Meditations for Women.

Femme Friday — Queer Femme Rising! An Interview with Sable Twilight

Sable and I met in the Radical Faerie Heart Circle at Creating Change, where we shared such lovely moments together. I am so thrilled to welcome her to Femme Friday, and am moved and inspired by her responses sparked by the following interview questions:

 “When first I found femme, I…” (thank you, Radical Faerie Heart Circle, where we were asked to complete the sentence, “When first I found a faerie…)

 Can you talk about how your understanding of “femme” has evolved over the years?

 Do you see femmes as being able to contribute something unique in this time of upheaval, danger and protest?

 Who are your femme role models?

Deep gratitude to Sable Twilight for these illuminating words!

 I am Sable. Sometimes Sable Twilight. A queer, femme, trans woman in Denver, Colorado. I currently work as a program manager for the transgender programmers a local LGBTQIA+ community center in fair sized Midwestern city Some of the additional identities I hold are white, middle class, temporarily able-bodied, born in the United States, college educated, mid-forties, and with English as my first language. And these are the lenses of understanding and relationship from which I approach my understanding of femme.

When asked to write about myself for Femme Friday, I was not sure how to approach it. While I had thought and read a bit about femme in terms of activism, visibility, and political, social, and spiritual dynamics, I had never really given voice or word for to how having a femme identity relates directly to me. I think, in a lot of ways, femme invisibility has been so strong, so powerful that it has been invisible even to myself for much of my life.

I think I have actively identifying as femme for about six years now, though reflecting back, I can see signs where I have always been femme. I consider myself more of a business femme, casual femme, witchy femme, and occasional pajama femme than high femme. I think one of the most empowering things I have done for myself, in relation to my femme identity, was to recognize how femme can manifest in many different ways and in many different dynamics. Initially when I started thinking of myself as femme, I would compare myself to other people I identified as femme. And I would often judge myself a bit harshly for not having enough of what I perceived as the femme trappings. Eventually I came to realize that, for me at least, femme was more about a relationship with myself, the world, and the universe. For me, femme about fluidity: in my relationships, in my identity, in just about everything. I think that is what makes femme such a challenging to define, because it can be such a fluid and unique for each person.

For me, my femme identity is as much a spiritual one as expressive one. As part of this acceptance of the diversity and fluidity of femme, I have sought to understand it’s diversity and fluidity in the universe and in the divinities I work with. As well as the above social identities, I do identify as a seidr worker, volva, energy worker and as such I have been feeling for a while there is sort of energetic shift I have been feeling in the world, a sort of rising femme energy. I have at times call it Queer Femme Rising, in recognition of the Queer Masculine or Homme energy which I saw developing from the queer (both literally and figuratively) creative movement of the 1950s, 60s, and 70s. In a similar vein, I have seen this slow manifestation and growth of a femme dynamic manifesting in the world in an ever-growing manner.

As I have been working through my own connection of my femme identity and how it relates to my spiritual path, I have been working through some of the ancestral and cultural trauma embedded within the femme experience. I have been examining the intersection of femme oppression, cissexism and transphobia, queerphobia, capitalism, colonialism, racism and white supremacy, and xenophobia as sort of an extension of a core anti-femme need for rigidness and absolutism. I have begun to understand how femme passion and sexuality, youth and aging, the womb and death, nature itself have been perceived as this uncomfortable threat to the dynamics of patriarchy, control, and exploitation.

I think femme and the sacred femme and the queer femme have a lot to offer during this time of turmoil. They empower and inspire an embracing of change and diversity. And I think from that embracing of diversity opens the possibility for understanding the world and finding new path. For me, femme inspires a certain sense of hope and deep down caring, compassion, and love for the world, as well as a recognition for the need for action.

I think one of the biggest challenges femmes face is femme invisibility. We are everywhere but sometimes is it difficult to recognize one another. This is of the reasons I have been looking at the concept of the femme spiral. As told to me by a femme friend, this is the idea of putting some form of spiral based art, such as a tattoo, on the inside right wrist. The idea is it become a means of recognition which honors the diversity of our experiences as well as the often-cyclical nature of our existences.

I think it is important we stop harming each other. Stop committing lateral violence on one another. And to recognize we are all carrying within us generations of collective trauma. I feel the greatest and most damaging harm committed to us through the burning times and colonization was the internalization of the oppressor and then using that internalized force to regulate and oppress one another. It is time we start to heal our wounds and reclaim our internal power.

I have so many femme role models. They range across the femme spectrum – the high femmes, the punk and working class femmes, the corporate femmes, the Goths, the pajama femmes, the hidden femmes and the public femmes, the queer femmes, the femmes who embody their identities as an act of femme resistance. Even those most handsome of dapper gender queer, trans masculine, and non-binary femmes. They all inspire me and empower me when I allow myself to honor and recognize them.

I do find a lot of everyday empowerment from the Goddess Freyja, who, for me, is a representation of fierce femme, empowered sexuality, internalized beauty, and shaper of one’s own world, path, and destiny. And Freyja is just one representation of femme empowerment. The power of the scared femme is transcendent in countless divinities, both cultural and personal, across time and cultures. Ultimate I seek to see each femme I meet one of my femme role models.

In between work and letting myself relax with the occasional video game (yes I am a proud gamer femme as well), I have been throwing myself into the online course “The Burning Times Never Ended: A Story of Disenchantment and Re-membering Resistance” (http://callingourselveshome.weebly.com/the-burning-times-never-ended-re-membering-resistance.html) as a way to reconnect with a queer femme past which forces of patriarch and capitalism tired eradicating. And as part of my own spiritual journey, I have working through the book “Lifting the Veil: A Witches’ Guide to Trance-Prophesy, Drawing Down the Moon, and Ecstatic Ritual” by Janet Farrar and Gavin Bone. I enjoy watching Steven Universe, and I think it holds a lot of value in terms of representation and empowerment. I look forward to the next seasons of Sense8 and HerStory. For femme inspired musicians, I am most definitely a fan of Miranda Sex Garden, Siouxie and the Banshees, Sleater-Kinney, La Roux, Carina Round, Ayria, Sopor Aeternus & the Ensemble of Shadows, Jill Tracy, and so many other wonderful artists.

sable twilight

“Just on the border, Of your waking mind, There lies, Another plain, Where darkness and light are one, And as you tread the halls of sanity, You feel so glad to be, Unable to go beyond, I have a message, From another time…”

-ELO “Prologue” Time

Every Friday, I showcase a queer femme goddess. Suggestions welcome!

Meditations for Queer Femmes — Dag, Noam!

Yesterday on Democracy Now!, Noam Chomsky was telling it like it is, in that familiar, deeply exhausted monotone. I listened to his devastating illuminations until I just couldn’t anymore and I had to turn him off. Not because I don’t believe him, not because I’m trying to hide my head in the sand, but because listening was very rapidly having the effect of immobilizing me. And I refuse to be immobilized.

Before I turned on the radio, I had already done some really hard listening. Earlier that morning at the homeschoolers QSA, a new member had begun opening up and sharing a bit about their life and struggles. I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that I was listening to this young queer with every fiber, every atom of my being.

A millennial friend recently told me that she is turned off by the climate justice movement because the predominant energy is punitive: if you don’t drop everything and fight for the earth in the particular way they demand, all is lost and you’re an asshole. How familiar that is to me, rabid anti-nuke activist that I was in the 80s. I am remembering those times today, and also hearing my mother’s voice. When I demanded she use her prestige and position as a respected archeologist to join me in anti-nuke protests, she said she wouldn’t be good at it. What she was good at was teaching, and she told me that she was going to keep teaching undergraduates, and if just one student in her Intro to Anthro class learned something about the way human beings interact, if just one student then went on to be inspired to do the work that they are good at, then she would have done her job. I hated hearing that at the time, but I am now repeating it here. Doing the connecting, loving work that you are good at cannot help but have a positive effect on the world.

[Trump’s] extremely unpredictable. But this—the relations with China are an extremely serious issue. China is not going to back down on its fundamental demands, concerning Taiwan, for example. And if Trump—a lot of what China is demanding, I think, is—it shouldn’t be—is not acceptable. It shouldn’t—it’s not internationally acceptable. But the reaction through use of force is just extraordinarily dangerous. I mean, you cannot play that game in international affairs. We are too close to destroying ourselves. You take a look at the record of—through the nuclear age, of near—of accidental—sometimes accidental, sometimes kind of irrational actions. It’s almost miraculous that we’ve survived.

Then he started talking about the Doomsday Clock, and I turned off the radio.

Dag, Noam. I love you and I love Amy for your brilliance and your persistence; I deeply appreciate Democracy Now!’s mission to deliver non-corporate news, but I can’t live there, and I can’t pretend my time would be better spent doing something other than what I am called to do.

And you, my femme sisters, my dears. I see you. I know what you’re doing. You’re confiscating your butch’s purple socks, the ones hy’s inexplicably fond of, because you’re not going to let hym go out in public looking that girly. You’re rocking your baby; you’re walking the dog, going down to the Climate March, going to the Black Lives Matter meetings; showing up how and where you can, from cleaning the catbox to doing your duties as an elected official, to smiling at your cantankerous and judgmental neighbor.

I know that it all connects up.

You and I, sisters, are part of something bigger. All the millions of acts of queer femme caring we make contribute to the love the world so desperately needs.

Every Monday (or Tuesday, Wednesday, even), I offer a Meditation for Queer Femmes, in the spirit of my maternal grandmother, Mimi, who was a fabulous straight femme, and from whom I inherited her Meditations for Women.

Femme Friday – Literary Femmes: Yvonne from D. Alexandria’s short story, “When She’s Mad”

D. Alexandria is the deviant storyteller…

the revolutionary someone should have warned you about…the woman whose words will conjure images that make you shake your head and squeeze your thighs together…

Jamaican descendant, D. Alexandria, is the author of the Lambda Literary Award finalist “This Is How We Do It: A Raw Mix of Lesbian Erotica” (2010). A Gemini-born native of Cambridge, Massachusetts, her work first appeared on Kuma2.net, a nationally recognized site for lesbian erotica featuring women of color. Her stories have also been published in Tristan Taormino’s “Best Lesbian Erotica” series from 2005-2009 and “Sometimes She Lets Me: Best Butch Femme Erotica”, Nicole Foster’s “Ultimate Lesbian Erotica 2006” and Laura Antoniou’s “No Safewords: A Marketplace Fan Anthology”.

from http://www.dalexandria.com/home.html

“Always Unapologetic” is how D. Alexandria signed my copy of This is How We Do It: A Raw Mix of Lesbian Erotica, but the butch in the story “When She’s Mad” has got a lot of apologizing to do for having openly flirted with another femme when out dancing with her femme, Yvonne.

Deep gratitude to D. Alexandria for the gift of strong, sexy Yvonne – do not fuck with her!

            Yvonne turned in her seat but I kept my eyes on the road, not needing to look at her to know she was scowling.

            “You’re gonna tell me you weren’t watching that skank-ass blonde bitch while we were dancing? I caught your ass when I turned around.”

            “What blond bitch?” I asked, inwardly kicking myself because I knew exactly what blonde bitch she was talking about. While Yvonne was in my arms, behind her another couple was dancing just as heatedly as we were. The stud’s back was to me, but her girlfriend clearly had me in her sights, eyeing me up and down appreciatively. She had blondish dreads that fell around her shoulders, at times masking her face and hiding the motions she was making towards me with her lips and what apparently was a very skillful tongue. I hadn’t realized I had been so obvious in noticing. Normally I’m much better than that, ‘cause I knew that as confident Yvonne was in her status as my girl, no woman wanted to catch her stud checking out another chick. It was my fuck up.

            “You know exactly what blonde bitch I’m talking about, Lee, don’t play dumb. I’m surprised her ass wasn’t on some pole. Sure ‘nuff know yours would be there, dollar ready.” She added.

            I sighed, “Baby—,”

            “Don’t ‘baby’ me. I would never disrespect you like that and you know it. You’d be ready to get in a fight if you caught me doing what you did with another stud.”

            And, of course, she was right. We both knew I was hot-headed and more than a few times I’ve had words with other studs who weren’t respecting my place. And a couple of incidents came to blows. “But Yvonne–,”

            “But what?” She interrupted.


            “What? What do you have to say?”

            “But I’m sayin’–,”


            “Yo, let me talk!” I snapped, taking my eyes off the road for a moment to glare at her. “How you gonna come at me like that and not give me time to say anything?”

            She sucked her teeth, crossing her arms and stared ahead, “Talk.”

            I rolled my eyes and tried to relax, my mind racing for words that could soothe the situation, because truth be told, I was getting aroused. Call me insensitive if you want, but whenever Yvonne got heated I got excited. I can’t explain it, but when she gets angry there’s this energy that surrounds her and all I want to do is bend her over and tap into it the best way I know how. This, of course, is hard to do when we’re in the middle of an argument and the last thing she probably wants to do is look at me, let alone be intimate. But with every passing minute as her voice gets louder, her words become rawer, and her eyes are blazing the most intense heat, all I can think about is subduing her with the lash of my tongue.

            And right at this moment, as the animosity in the air grew thick, I was thinking of how good it would feel to have her thighs around my head as I pressed my face into her.

            “I thought you had to talk.” She said suddenly, jarring me back to reality.

            “Listen,” I began, trying to keep focus. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t even really paying attention to what I was doing. But for real, it was nothing. You know she don’t got shit on you. You ain’t got nothing to worry about, boo.”

            As soon as the words left my lips, I knew I had made a mistake. What a fucking rookie move. Never ever assume your woman felt insecure, because even if she didn’t, the fact that you mentioned it will make her think there’s a reason she should be. Worse it just makes your ass look conceited as all hell. If I could, I would have physically kicked myself.

            “Let me out,” She said.

–D. Alexandria, “When She’s Mad” in This is How We Do It: A Raw Mix of Lesbian Erotica


 Every Friday, I showcase a queer femme goddess. Suggestions welcome!


for Liz

 Although the mean-spirited, straight, cis prurience of Diane Wood Middlebrook is the main thing that has stayed with me from her biography of Billy Tipton, I also remember the poignancy of how eager, shy and proud Billy was to finally have someone witness a queer life lived in so much secrecy. Billy can finally say to someone, “This is what I did; this is how I did it; these were my triumphs; these were my questions; these were times when I was lonely, troubled, didn’t know what to do, but somehow I got through…” In this case, Billy’s witness is cravenly untrustworthy, but at least she was a witness.

Yesterday, I kissed my sweet hubby goodbye at 4:30 am and watched as she was carried off in the cab for the first leg of her trip to Texas, where she will be keeping her mom company through hip surgery. Luckily, given I was immediately very lonely, I had a femme lunch scheduled with Liz Nania at my favorite queer café, the Diesel.

“Talk to me about queer culture,” Liz said. What a treat to get right into it with another femme artist, deep thinker and generous organizer of queer community who had just scored the cutest bag at a neighboring thrift store!

One of the things that surfaced in the following conversation was family. Running through queer history is the theme that we do our best to take care of each other, with whatever resources we have. I’m thinking Contact Dykes from Lesbian Connection; Houses in ballroom culture; rainbow flags, pinky rings, pierced ears and hankies and so many other signs and signals helping our people find each other. Finding each other, most of us know – especially those of us who’ve been around a while – is essential. Finding each other is life saving.

For several years, our library has run a Queer Book Group, a delicious mix of queers of all ages and so much fun that Tex and I recently started holding an offshoot at our house: Historical Queer Book Group. One of the core members of both groups is in her early 20s. When she emailed yesterday that she needed a temporary place to stay due to a break up, there was no hesitation from me or from the other home-owning dyke couple she’d reached out to: of course you can stay with us! We understood that her friends were unlikely to have room for a sudden guest. Here was a moment when we older queers could step in, be there in our successfully married, 30-years-down-the-line queer lives. And be there to witness.

So this morning, I got to talk literature over breakfast, and last night, I heard a little about the breakup and talked a little about my own experience in queer love and heartbreak.

“This is why I love the intergenerational part of QBG!” she said at one point.

My house guest is at work right now, and I’m working from home. Tonight we’ll meet up at QBG and then she’ll ride home with me in the Femmemobile.

I just know we’ll have a lot to talk about.




Aaaaand…I know you wanna know what we’ve read in QBG and HQBG! Here it is:


The Well of Loneliness by Radclyffe Hall

The Faggots and Their Friends Between the Revolutions by Larry Mitchell

Zami: A New Spelling of My Name by Audre Lorde


QBG (a very partial list)

Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal? by Jeanette Winterson

A Queer and Pleasant Danger by Kate Bornstein

Fledgling by Octavia E. Butler

Blue is the Warmest Color by Julie March

Rubyfruit Jungle by Rita Mae Brown

Fingersmith by Sarah Waters

Under the Udala Tree by Chinelo Okparanta





Published in: on March 29, 2017 at 12:26 PM  Leave a Comment  
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Femme Friday – Femme Klatsch! With Constance Clare-Newman

Femme Klatsch is a new feature, where queer femmes chat with one another on all themes femme. Sweet femme sisters – chime in!

 What does femme mean to you?

Who are your femme role models?

How did you find your femme?

Today, we begin a conversation with Constance Clare-Newman

The Total Femme:

Can you talk about how your understanding of “femme” has evolved over the years?


When I first accepted my femme identity I was so excited. Yay! I could admit to loving butches. They could admit to loving my femme being. It was San Francisco in the early 90’s and butch/femme love was being celebrated. So many butches and femmes out on the streets, that it almost seemed the norm. I think it has never been the norm in lesbian society, but during that brief butch/femme renaissance, we were the trend of the moment. We were leather dykes and activist dykes and corporate dykes. Working class or downwardly mobile (it was San Francisco), we femmes were girly in our tiny skirts with Doc Martens for day and shiny heels for night. Lots of cleavage and glitter or sleek in leather. Butches in their Dickies and chains with keys. Butches in biker jackets with stickers all over. Butches in suits and ties. Dressing up for each other and appreciating the Otherness. In love with the otherness, which had been hiding in lesbian circles for a while.

Some percentage of us lesbians have always been drawn to the difference butches and femmes love in each other. I’m sure since the time of Sappho, some of us have loved and been turned on by our similarities, and others by the differences. The particular way butches and femmes enchant each other with their differences is unique.

When I first came out, I loved butches and felt desired in a particular way by them, but felt ambivalent about the dynamic. In the 80’s, in my small town, no one talked about being butch or being “feminine” without a little derision. We were all supposed to be equal, and tender, and womyn-loving-womyn. While aspects of that were delightful, the overall desire to conform, so as to belong, certainly hampered my own deeper desires. Growing into my femme identity was something that came with little bits of acceptance over quite a long time. Of who I was as a child, as a young woman, as a lesbian who desired lesbians who were on the “butchy” side, to who I became as a femme clear about her need for a butch.

For me, that need is for a woman who looks like a guy, who has the emotional accessibility of “female,” and stands in her power as Top/Daddy/Dyke. Who loves and is enlivened by my sexy girly or elegant lady ways of looking and being. Who is empowered to be who she is in the world by my love, admiration, support, protection. Who responds to my femme sexuality with her butch sexuality, and nurtures our differences.

Lately, with gender blowing up in all our faces, I see lots of young people exploring non-binary ways of being. Still, whether in San Francisco, LA or Provincetown, I do see a percentage of young butches and femmes together in the mix. I don’t know how they identify today, but I do see them, openly drawn to each other’s difference and turned on by the unique frisson that has always been.

Deep gratitude to Constance for sharing her eloquent femme story!

 Every Friday, I showcase a queer femme goddess. Suggestions welcome!



Meditations for Queer Femmes – First Day of Spring

No matter when we femmes come out, no matter our age, we share the exhilaration of coming in to our truer, more genuine self. We feel so good, so full of love and comfort, so juicy and sexy now that we’ve found our femme! That moment of pure joy, of uplift, when we know who we are and feel it from soul to toes; that sweet enlightenment – how we wish to shout about it! Look world, a brand new femme is born!

But that same world we’ve moved through until now rarely shifts to accommodate our shining, genuine selves. At our most vulnerable and ecstatic, we are shut out. Sometimes the rejection is immediately apparent, sometimes the awareness creeps up on us: we are no longer considered a part of the normal progression of things, despite the fact that we are finally where we are meant to be.

We all confront this according to our natures and our resources. We may go back in the closet, if that’s the only way we can keep our jobs or our families. We may fight tooth and nail. We may pull a certain amount of denial around us, murmuring, “Oh, she didn’t mean it like that!” and “He’s really not a homophobe – he was just joking!” We get angry, depressed, astonished, bitter, and frustrated. Dealing with this heartbreak, we are distracted and pulled away from our human birthright of being allowed to deepen our self-knowledge and act on that knowledge to bring our unique gifts to the world.

But not today! Today, dear femme sisters, on this first day of spring, meditate on your truest, deepest selves.

Blow on the embers.

Rekindle your sacred femme fire.

Illuminate. Regenerate. You are a blessing, you are blessed.

You are exactly who you are meant to be.

Every Monday (or Tuesday), I offer a Meditation for Queer Femmes, in the spirit of my maternal grandmother, Mimi, who was a fabulous straight femme, and from whom I inherited her Meditations for Women.


Published in: on March 20, 2017 at 5:00 PM  Comments (2)  
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Femme Friday — LaSaia Wade

IMG_0093.JPG“Calling all femmes!” the workshop description began. I was in Philadelphia for the Creating Change conference, and my head was spinning with the variety and amazingness of workshops, plenaries, and day-long institutes, but this one was a definite: “#CCFemme17: Our Bodies are Powerful”. All the same, when I walked in and saw that I was maybe the oldest gal in there, I hesitated. I need not have. LaSaia Wade and her co-presenter, Alison Amyx, skillfully invited each and every beautiful femme in the room to connect with our heart’s strength and physical power, and connect meaningfully and genuinely with each other. At the end of the too-short time we had together, LaSaia enfolded me in a loving femme hug, a gift I will always carry.

LaSaia, whose name is pronounced ” LA-SY-ah WAYD,” and whose pronouns are She, They, Goddess, shares the following bio:

LaSaia Wade is an open Afro  Puerto Rican Indigenous Trans Woman, she’s the founder of TNTJ Project member of Chicago TGNC Collective, Trans Liberation Collective and Director of Brave Space Alliance. She graduated in 2010 with a BBA in Business Management; as coming out as trans she has 10 plus years in organizing and advocacy work with black, indigenous, trans and gender nonconforming folx around the world. She is the current Director of Brave Space Alliance, business owner of Mystical Bee Hive, while facilitating trainings across the U.S.  

 Deep gratitude to LaSaia for the brave and loving work she brings to the world!

 Check out an honor bestowed on LaSaia this month here:


and this timely and important statement:


Every Friday, I showcase a queer femme goddess. Suggestions welcome!