Everything was starting to come together.
My regular child free weekends meant that I was able to get to events and my evenings home with the boys ere filled with fun, laughter and late night rope. Add on to that M and I were rebuilding the friendship we’d had before we became a couple. He took the relationship he’d built with my boys seriously, and also wanted to see me having a social life. The plan was that he would come and babysit for me once a fortnight, and Tuesday was his preference.
It worked for me as a bunch of local kinksters made up a team (or two) at a local pub quiz.
Among the regulars were SL, MsD and LTM and there were others that I had heard of, or seen across events, who I very much looked forward to meeting. I’m not the best at general knowledge, but in spite of this I was made to feel very welcome by all, and as often as I was able to I made my way across town to join the group. The people who came along changed week in, week out. Aside from the three I knew there were others who were particularly kind. And others who would become important for a variety of reasons.
However, friendship wasn’t the only thing I found here.
When Sir and I had spoken about the community we had spoken about experts, and this was something I had witnessed on fetlife. I may have been on my way down at this point but I had the sense of self to spot One Twue Way-isms a mile off. What I hadn’t expected was to see intolerance seeping in. I had only seen positivity and open arms. But I wonder now if that was partly because I was a single female attending events (mostly) alone. I was introduced to a Domme, she was the first Trans woman I had met.
She was immaculately turned out and exuded femininity and confidence.
It was a little intimidating, for someone whose own femininity and confidence were still fragile at times. One day she gave me a hug, and I was shocked and slightly relieved to realise that her perfect breasts were not all I had expected. And as we spoke I noticed that her self-possession was less assured than I’d originally thought. It was sad to see, especially when it became clear to me why. It is sad to see that people can be so cruel. Some of her “friends” were outrageously unkind, intentionally and repeatedly misgendering, and blanking her for being “over-the-top” and “needy.” I spoke up, in the way that is mine. To question them and to comfort her. To learn from both sides.
By asking questions I always hope to educate myself.
Over the months that followed she and I became friends on facebook, and one day she popped up in my feed with her OOTD (I had to ask too. It means outfit of the day) My children were with me (my facebook is safe for children) and the exchange that happened when they spotted her. My oldest (9 at the time) asked “why was that man wearing a skirt?” Before I could respond my youngest (then 3) informed him that she wasn’t a man, and that ladies could sometimes be born in the wrong body, adding “she looks very pretty in her skirt.” The difference that just six years can make, on shaping our understanding of the world. I hope that my youngest never loses that innate understanding of others, and his ability to articulate what he sees, with kindness and compassion. Also that my oldest continues to be willing to learn all he can.
And I hope that I can maintain these ways of being too.
Have a look here for Every Damn Day in June posts.