dori's guy tom asked me if i thought homosexuality was nature or nurture. i am probably doing him an injustice here. probably his question was more nuanced than that. perhaps it was more along the lines of: where do you think sexual orientation comes from.

i said that my own experience suggested it was a matter of personal courage. a willingness to live one's life by one's own lights, with a minimum of deference to social expectations.

in my humble opinion, we fall in love with people, not their genital attributes. we love whom we love, then figure out how to express that love. those who buy the social conditioning, that we are to love passionately only those whom society considers appropriate, limit themselves (again imho) unnecessarily.

tom offered that he'd just never been so moved by a guy. i shrugged. he pursued my point. asked if i meant, then, that heterosexuals are essentially cowards.

i hedged a little, considered what i'd said, then agreed that i suspected there'd be a lot more out of boundaries sexual behavior if people listened to themselves harder and censored themselves less.

i imagine the goddess was laughing one of her dry little laughs. she likes it when i make sweeping statements, because she knows i'm going to have to live them or eat them. (or both. both is also always an option.)

so now here i am. i lived eighteen years with cara vaughn, light of my life. i nearly killed myself caring for her over the last year of her life. i was more than willing to go with her, but this sturdy peasant body wasn't. i lived more than twenty years as an out, defiant dyke. i was a lesbian separatist for some time. i wrote a book called "lesbian love poems," for pity's sake.

and then ... i dunno. something i said over thirty years ago came back to bite me.

i believe that we love whom we love. i believe that history is dead, that expectations are otiose. i believe that when my heart moves me, i must acknowledge it, or i might as well drill a hole in my skull and stir my brains with a fork.

over thirty years ago, somebody taught me everything i needed to know about love. he taught me that i was special, that i was supposed to be treated well, that i was imminently worthwhile. that anyone who didn't love me and treat me well was insignificant and unworthy of my consideration. in my heart, i knew that wherever i was, whatever happened to me, if i needed something from him, if i could find him, he'd help me.

he equipped me to go out in the world and get my heart broken and pick myself up and go on. i'm sorry to say i gave him no such gifts. even though i broke his heart, he kept me in it. he did not have the good fortune i had. he never found anyone to love him as cara loved me.

we reconnected at a high school reunion, and it turned out he was living ten miles away. (we went to high school a thousand miles from here.) during cara's last year, he was one of the people who helped the most. he was the one i knew i could call at 2 in the morning, and he'd say yes, i'll do that. he helped at cara's memorial service. his heart broke when cara died. he loved and respected her.

and if i'm to have the courage of my convictions, if i'm to be honest about my heart, i have to admit i love him. still. again. whatever. he's part of my life. he has a place in my heart. i owe him much, and i like him too.

so, weirdly, i find that the stick i've brandished in the direction of unswerving heterosexuality has two ends. i'm following my heart. genital attributes are irrelevant.

i'm not a lesbian any more. i'm still queer as fuck, but i'm sleeping with a guy.

go figure.