 stefanie's story |
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My name is Stefanie. I was born in 1960 in a surburb of Atlanta, GA.
I stand 5'6", and weigh 120 pounds. I measure out at 35C-23-33. I have brown hair and hazel eyes.
I am a programmer for a commercial airline. I have six cats, one rabbit, three goldfish, and several tropical fish.
I am single, and have never been married.
I am a graduate of the University of Georgia (1985) with a Bachelor of Arts in Theatre (yeah I know: a lesbian thespian).
I am a member of American Mensa.
I'm not into the leather girls or the dominant mistresses, the bull-dykes or the social femmes. I'm just a lady that prefers to be around other women. I am not trying to make a social statement, or trying to get attention. I do not march in queer rallies, and I have never been jailed for public indecencies. I am simply one human being that lives in a world that has little patience for those that are not exactly like themselves, or subscribe to century-old predjudices. 
From a very early age I knew that I had different feelings from the other girls of my school.
While the other girls tried to tease the little boys I always preferred to be with those of my gender.
I found girls to be more fun to be around. I enjoyed their company more.
I never felt any need to attract the attentions of boys.
That was OK until I got to high school. At that point I knew that there was something seriously different about me. All the other young ladies were vying for the attentions of the football players, while I was starting to feel inner stirrings towards other young ladies. It was difficult to hear them pour out their desires to be "taken" by the boy of their dreams, while I was wanting to touch them. I found myself spending a lot of time with myself, exploring my budding body and my confused feelings. I guess I was around 15 when I realized that I was a "lesbian", whatever that meant. 
I was 16 years old when a girl actually touched me for the first time.
We had just come back from a school event and she and I were alone in her car.
We were laughing about the evenings happenings, when we found ourselves to be sitting face to face, with only a few inches between our lips.
She leaned to me, and I felt this young woman's lips touch mine.
We kissed for a long time. We explored each other in a most private and pure way. We gave each other our love. And from that day forward I knew who I was. During my college years I explored my feelings as well as my body with several other women. I began to discover that my feelings were not a "fad that I would grow out of", or "just a phase". I got irritated whenever someone would say "you just haven't met the right man yet", especially when such words came from my own relatives. Before I left college I knew that, due to my family and church, I would probably never "come out of the closet", but I also knew that my feelings were genuine. For a long time I remained alone. An occasional "weekend trip", or "private party", but never a true home for me and my wife. 
I have accepted this, much to the anger of several that insist that I should come out and make my feelings public.
Yes, in doing that I would not have to sneak around with my emotions, and maybe one day I can actually do it.
But for now, my emotions stay inside of me, and they are released to a select few on rare occasions.
I accept this lifestyle and all the constraints I have placed on myself.
Maybe one day, all sisters can walk down the street with their heads held high,
holding their lover's hand and kissing them in public just like the heteros do.
For me, that time hasn't come. I pray for the day that it will.
I am committed to one special person. Her name is Jessica. I have never seen her face.
I have never heard her voice. We communicate only via the internet. But she holds my heart.
I love her with a strength that only a few know.
She's a 33-year-old blonde-haired goddess that I adore with all my soul.
If you're ever walking down the street and see the most beautiful woman you've ever seen, it will be her.
Just make sure you leave her alone when she's at the shoestring rack at the neighborhood drug store (private joke). |
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