The bosom of motherhood

For years I would dream of the comfort of a soft bosom to rest my head. As a teenager – in college, I fantasized about my female professors. We'd have these long intellectual, emotional discussions – and I'd leave her office feeling 'charged,' 'high' on the power – the energy we had shared.

Intellect – emotion – so powerfully shared with a woman. There is nothing stronger. I've never felt anything so intense. This is still my greatest and most accessible pleasure.

I can remember one professor in particular –Her subject: the philosophy of education. I would go to her office and sit, as so many had sat before me, listen to her theories –her voice, her confidence…Her words may have been important at the time, but it is the sound I remember- the feeling her voice invoked, the warmth, the safety the understanding and the softness. The soft sounds, the strength in the female presence of her voice and body together- the scent of her room, her body... All of these combined – and I knew then, all was right…The strength her presence aroused in me was something special. Exactly what that something was, remained a mystery at the time, and yet carried me forward… a few more days, months and years passed, and I was still able to continue on that borrowed strength.

I had many mothers. This is not an original thought –or even an original sentence but, it is the truth. I had many mothers; many contributing to the part of me that could never become whole. I always had my Gram- the mother of all the mothers in me. She was warm; she was loving; she fed me and nourished me; kept me warm -and tried to keep me safe. There was Sara, a friend, a mom, a counselor. She was the first to actually give me the mother love – the safety – the physicality, the holding and the touch.

Time moves on and on and forward. I am with Anne. Again… intellectual intensity with a woman; this time coupled with a verbal intimacy. I share parts of me with her that I have never dared share with any other. I have a feeling that is so strong and overpowering. I think that I love her more than I have ever loved another. I am confused. I think I may be in love. But, I do not understand how this could be possible. I am smart, but apparently not that smart. I didn't get it then. I c o u l d not comprehend. I turned it off instead. What would I do with it anyway?

Then my therapist -and therapy… She was brilliant, warm, and insightful and filled with emotion. Then my Shiatsu mentor – her touch!!  Heaven landed her hands on my empty body.

All brilliant women, all women; each one I loved, I still love. I couldn’t get enough love. And yet, I still didn't understand...

In all my fantasies – they hold me, they caress me, they take my cheek to their breast…and then the fantasy just stops, as though a button is pushed, the show, and the thought just ends where it is – stops and goes no further. If it wasn't for the brilliance of my therapist, my love for her would have kept me in therapy for a lifetime. But she was smarter than me. She understood what was still so well hidden, implicit in my stories. She opened me up, showed me what was there, taught me to accept and see myself as I was…She taught me and then released me.

The release was one of solitude, like a whoosh of wind on your cheek on a cold night. A release filled with expectation and uncertainty. I wandered about my daily life and wondered incessantly. I thought the release would let me live. But instead it left me alone and vacant. Alone…until I understood and knew. I needed to get up, get out, get free and find what I deserved. Someone, who could love me as I needed and as I wanted to be loved, someone, like me…like me…

And yeah, lucky me, I found my Someone and today we are the LesBosOnTheCouch…