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c
o v e r s t o r y
Coming
out of the Queer Closet
by
Nedhera Landers
f e a t u r
e s
A
Response to Alix Dobkin's article "Queer & Present Danger"
by
De-Anna Alba
Living
Deliberately
by
Mowani Carter
The
Queering of Femininity
by
Susan Craigie
c o l u m n
s
Health
by
Dr. Lipstick
Wealth
by
Ms. Moneygrrl
Sex
by
SexySuzi
Advice
by
Victoria
Fashion
by
Fran Fatale
Femme
Perspective
by
Christine
Butch
Perspective
by
Daddy Rhon
Publisher's
Note
Letter
from the Editor
Contribute
to Femme
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 "I
went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately...to front
only the essential facts of life and see if I could not learn
what it had to teach, and not when I came to die, discover that
I had not lived. " (Thoreau)
I've
hung out in so many closets. Feeling naked and afraid, I have
covered myself with blankets of invisibility. I have walked sidewalks
of eggshells, wearing my closet like comfortable old shoes. Many
times I chose the beiges and grays of acceptance when I should
have blinded my audience with purples, reds, mauves and primrose.
Chicago's
African American Gay & Lesbian community spared me the trauma
of the butch/femme closet. Shielded from the disapproval of the
politically correct Lesbian Feminist movement, with its hysterical
outlook on "roles," I was free to be what I was born to be - a
femme. In my circle, stud (butch)/femme was a given. There was
no explanation/justification required or expected. If a femme
got asked for a slow dance, it was a stud doing the asking and
we ALWAYS knew who was going to lead.
Although
I've never lived in the "femme closet," I've had other doors to
open. I have lived most of my life choking on the bile spewed
from my community of origin; a homophobic community that taunts
and ostracizes its children with words like, "bulldagger," "funny,"
"hellfire," "damnation," and "abomination." It would take years
before my bloody and battered knuckles finally decided to hammer
away at that door. Coming out as a lesbian has not been easy,
but neither has it killed me. It has been my personal odyssey
from shame to pride.
When
I first poked my head out of the closet, I was literally SLAPPED
back inside. It would be 15 years before I ventured out again.
Ironically, the slap was from the hands of one who professed to
love me---my first female lover. I remember it like it was yesterday.
When I met Raynell, I was (un)comfortably married. She lived on
the second floor of our apartment building. My husband and I coexisted
on the first. I was an innocent, and had been turned out before
I totally realized what had happened. What I did realize was that
this whirlwind relationship was bringing me more excitement and
fulfillment than I'd ever experienced.
Living
in such close proximity to Raynell made for some scary moments.
She took for granted that I would spend time with her some way,
somehow. Yet these near misses from juggling a marriage and a
woman lover only added to the exhilaration. In the popular vernacular
of the day, we were "sneakin' and freakin'". Although I had
convinced myself that this was just an experiment, I wound up
leaving my husband. I got my own apartment and continued to see
Raynell. I even introduced her to my family who accepted my new
"friend" with nary a questioning glance.
continued
on page 2
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