public display of affection.

It feels delicious to walk through a crowd, my fingers intertwined with hers, and feel her thumb caressing the back of my hand. Or to stand next to her and feel her hand slip into the back pocket of my jeans, pulling me a little closer. To lean against her in a booth at some random pizza joint, and to feel her softness against my back and hear her voice in my ear. To sit next to her in the second last row of a darkened concert hall and enjoy the feeling of her arm around me. To turn my face toward hers and kiss her without caring or noticing or wondering if there was one person watching or if the whole world had pulled up their chairs for front row seats to the show.

It does not feel brazen, or bold, or even liberating to be with a woman in public. To be affectionate with her does not feel like a political statement or some sort of personal crusade. It’s not defiant or in-your-face and I don’t have a damn thing to prove. It just feels good, and right and so comfortable I wonder (once again) what on earth took me so long to get here.

I wasn’t always this comfortable. At first when we were out together I was a little antsy, cautious, unsure of myself. I didn’t realize until I took my wedding rings off that my reluctance had nothing to do with the act of showing affection to another woman where others could see, but instead had everything to do with my guilt.

Although I know logically that likely nobody but me noticed they were there, the rings felt like a flashing neon sign pointing directly at me saying “Look Here! Cheater! Bad Girl! Leaving-Her-Good-Husband-To-Be-With-Women! SHAME, SHAME, SHAME!” As soon as the truth was out and I stopped wearing my rings I felt the shift right away. All of a sudden I could be out with her, could BE with her without feeling that sense of anxiety – and then it just slipped neatly and naturally into something so undeniably right.

It is still a novelty to me to feel comfortable enough in my own skin that I’m not constantly wondering or worrying what other people are thinking of me. I have had many freedoms in my life, but the freedom from that debilitating self-judgment is brand spanking new. Never before have I been able to escape the need to define myself based on the opinions of others.

I once wrote a blog entry (that’d be on my old, straight blog ya’ll, the one my mama reads - so no linkage here) and referred to myself as an approval whore. That about sums it up. I not only cared what people thought, I based my entire sense of self-worth on what I perceived those thoughts to be, and I acted in order to cultivate the sort of approval that I was desperately seeking.

Now it doesn’t matter to me if the sight of two women holding hands and kissing bothers you and you think I’ve bought myself a one way ticket straight to hell. I could care less if you think it’s hot in a ‘girls gone wild’ sorta way, and you elbow your buddies and make rude comments. Perhaps you don’t even really see us because, like most people, you are so wrapped up in your own life that the actions of those around you are peripheral and barely warrant notice.

What does matter to me is that I am with someone I want to be with, and I feel free to be with her just as I would be with anyone. I finally feel free to be me.

And yea, that feels damn good.