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A HISTORY OF COMING OUT: IRENE, 25 YEARSOF LESBOS: Sapho and Saphiqes stories <3A HISTORY OF COMING OUT: IRENE, 25 YEARSSome say they have always known it. Almost as naturally as knowing how to breathe since birth. Others evoke the decisive encounter that rocks their lives. As often, what I lived is between two waters, in the nuance. My homosexuality was both obvious and very heavy to bear.At the nursery school, I see myself playing the role of the prince, mustache blue and crown screwed on the head. The role of the princess did not suit me at the time. I also remember kissing during nap one of the little girls in my class who will become my best friend as a teenager. I try to catch the girls' eyes in the yard. I am one of those who run the fastest, enjoy the recreation to see me in the guise of Marie-Jo Pérec, hoping to impress them.While lying on the papers, these words seem to impose the evidence of my attraction, the preadolescence is very quickly responsible for throwing disorder in the head of a girl in the making. My first years after puberty are masked by short summer romances in summer camp. But the college becomes the arid place of my desires, once the adolescence installed in my body and my head.It is the women professors who then concentrate all my hopes. I secretly think that it is their intellectual stature, all in all modest, but founder for me by the yardstick of my fifteen years that animates me. No report of course with any physical attraction for girls. As if to reassure me, I hasten to mention by name to my girlfriends every boy from the college who could please me. Some kind of response to peer pressure probably. It's istanbul escort true, though, that I look at boys. Sometimes I even find some that might please me.When I think back to that time, I realize how much my feelings were mixed with convenience, the refusal to deviate from the norm, how the boys could be an outlet when I dared not go to the girls.After the bac, I leave my family to go to study in another city. Twenty years ago, the age of all possible I read at the time under the pen of Judy Blum. Age in any case where I manage to intellectualize my attraction. I fall in love with a pretty blonde. She subjugates me. For the first time in my life, this attraction is reciprocal. It is no longer a fantasy. This relationship could take a love dimension if I took the first step. Almost paralyzed by the story that opens before me, I do not know how to react. I am at once the most ambiguous possible without really daring a physical rapprochement. For fear of what that would mean? Saturated each of our desire side, none of us dares to go to the other. Today, I can say that I probably missed my first love.I’m going abroad at twenty-one. Freedom from elsewhere. I thought about my long months, a lot written about the one that made then beat my body and that I missed. I finally dare to say to one of my friends that I am attracted to girls, as pushed by an external force. I remember the v******e of these few words to me: “Maybe I’ve gotten something done. I think that girls please me. “My friend, kind, happy, relieved to hear me talking about a situation that was becoming avcılar escort obvious to those around me, delivered me that day of immeasurable weight. By saying so, I made my homosexuality tangible.I start to go out a lot. Thirsty to discover me, to understand the codes of a world that I do not know. But I always stay behind. To the girls who come to see me, I never fail to answer that I accompany someone. The step of a relationship is too difficult to jump. I force on alcohol in the mad hope of succeeding in taking the plunge. Too many barriers are still erected in my head. I mate more than I act, as external to my own desire.When I return to France, the Manif for everyone from Montparnasse to the Eiffel Tower is in full swing. As if to protect me from this stream of traditionalist words, I slowly begin to come out, to make sure that those I esteem do not belong to them. A year zero in some way in my lesbian life. I remember the confusion in my head during the pro-marriage marches for all. I wondered if the protesters were homo or hetero come to support a reform which seemed to them of common sense. Could they see if I was a lesbian? Was it on my face?The following summer, I have my first sexual experience with a girl. We turn around for two weeks. Before I leave, we spend the night together. Alcohol helped a lot, unable to take the step without an adjuvant that disturbs my senses and my mind. For a dark train story, we do not have the opportunity to say goodbye. Each too embarrassed of what had happened, we preferred to avoid the words and the caresses of a sad departure. A one-night sexual şirinevler escort relationship with a highly alcoholic girl leaves me with better memories than anything I’ve ever had with boys. Those with whom I slept, both out of curiosity and to do like other girls, have left me no significant memory. Only a big blur in my head.I continue to go out a lot. I flirt, I give appointments. But I do not want to do as with boys. Sleeping for bed does not interest me. I do not want to waste that. I want to fall in love with a girl. One day, I finally feel ready. I tell my brother who, too, seemed to suspect it. I then talk to my mother. I remember his reaction, very embarrassed, becoming all red in the restaurant. She does not understand how she could not see anything, convinced that I spent all my time in libraries, thus justifying the absence of friends forever. A few days later, she holds me tight and reassures me. I am his daughter, no sexual preference will ever change that. She loves me and wishes my happiness. A screed of lead rises from my shoulders.Another effort and we are almost there. A few months later, I finally meet a girl, those who attract and whose eyes do not let go. Me, so modest on the evidence of love in public, embarrassed that we can show us the finger, becomes the same in the street as in intimacy. We are not a couple of women; we are only two girls who love each other. When I come to my new job, I talk about her. It’s part of my life and I do not see what I should put aside or hide what makes me happy.When I remember these memories, I see that I passed by someone who could have made me very happy for fear of the eyes of others. This is probably one of the worst regrets we can have. With hindsight and if I adopt the position of the one who wants to give advice to girls looking for, I would say that we should not let others choose to decide our own life. To live under a bell, we end up suffocating.To be continued…Xoxoxo from Tokyo, Nina your sweet lesbian geisha ^^ <3
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