I'll start by revealing a secret that almost no one (except lesbian femmes) knows. Butches are needy. We need attention, praise, taking care of. The big independent, island, rock thing is a myth.

Speaking of which, Deb and I were talking in bed last night with the lights out. Ready to call it a night. I had been talking about our individual strengths. Jake has her practicality. Sara has her brains. Deb has her nurturing nature. I was seeing it as each of us having a particular virtue that is the one aspect of our personality that we can always fall back on and depend on. I told Deb I didn't know what mine was.

She said, "Your stability. Your frugality."

I snorted. Okay. My cheapness. That's a good one.

She said, "You're my rock."

And before I really thought about it, I said, "And you're my lichen, baby." It was just the first thing I could think of that went with rocks.

She cracked up really hard. Which was good. I was afraid she'd read too much into it, but she didn't.

But back to what I was saying ...

My inner studliness is sometimes way too dependent on how those around me act. It's like I need that "hey hot daddy, you're sexy" response on a regular basis, like a bump of whatever drug (but I don't know which because I've never really done drugs or hung around with anyone who did). And I'm disappointed in myself for needing that so badly.

Of course, this upcoming weekend is part of what has brought back these crisis of confidence feelings. That and some other stuff.

For the last couple years, Deb and I have gone through some sexual relationship lows. She's less interested in having sex with me, and well, just less horny in general because of the perimenopause. It's different for her with Jake because there's still that newness factor and associated excitement. So she doesn't make passes at me, or grab my ass, or indicate that I turn her on on a daily basis.

I do those things for her, but in a milder way because she doesn't like the sexual attention; it makes her feel pressured to perform or respond.

But I crave that kind of attention. So I've come to rely on Sara to get it. Well, Sara has just been busy as hell lately. And we rarely see each other away from the rest of the family. So we've been playing it cool like we're supposed to. Very cool. Too cool.

No meeting glances with wanton lust in our eyes. No covert fondling. No kisses snuck on the sly. No teasing, sexy e-mails at work. And I'm feeling a little starved for it.

My response when I start feeling that way is to shut down, because if I hope for it too much, and don't get it, then it really feels like a kick in the emotional nuts. This stupid auto response is, I think, part of why I only come when I masturbate. I can't give up the protective barriers that I would have to let down to open up enough to do it with someone else.

There was a time a while back when Sara and I were really hot and heavy with each other. It was great. I had let down those barriers more and more. I anxiously looked forward to the next time we would see each other. I was more aware of and encouraged by my own sexual pleasure than I ever had been in my whole life.

It felt good to let someone do something to me instead of the other way around, which is my standard role. I'm the giving sexual partner, and I just sort of enjoy everything vicariously. I lavish attention and pleasure on the woman I'm with until she's worn out, and then we're done. There've been some exceptional occasions when I asked my partner to do something to me, but really not very often, and generally without great results.

But this was different. I would get Sare to fuck me. Or I would do things during sex that stimulated me as well as her. I was so excited to be letting loose a little for once.

And then we had a hiatus imposed on all of our frolicking. And there have been a couple more, for different reasons, since then. And every time I go through one of those, I pack another layer back up on one of those walls. Because if I don't feel something, or don't want something, it can't be taken away, and I can't be disappointed.

So what I'm saying is, without those private moments, without that attention, I stop letting myself feel horny or excited with anticipation. It's all calm and cool. Except for the times like now when I feel sad and mourn the loss of that one time when I wasn't such a stone butch.

When I wasn't too much like a rock.

Stone butch�n.�a butch lesbian who plays an active role in sex, but not a receptive one.

Postscript:

I just wanted to say that I still think that my family is the best, and that my problems are small and few. This is a sort of emotional depression that hits me from time to time, and it will go away.

A little, "I want you," goes a long way with me, but when I haven't had one for awhile, not even from Sara in anticipation of this weekend, it gets me down. And it gets to me more than it should. It's more about me being disappointed in myself than upset about how others are treating me. You know, one of those, "You're being so stupid, idiot self, stop it," but you can't moments.

The last couple times I've tried to arrange for a private moment between Sara and me, she hasn't had time for it. I mean, she hasn't had much free time at all lately, and Jake gets first dibs, and then the family. I have to try to snatch a moment when the opportunity arises. And it didn't bug me at the time.

Then yesterday, Jake left the house at about 6:50; she waved at me on the way to her truck. I could've gone next door, but I sort of talked myself out of it. Like, "I'm sure Sara's bleeding and grumpy and wouldn't want me to come bugging her and being annoying and wanting affection and sex." So I didn't go.

Yesterday afternoon when I got home, Sara and Jake were sitting on their front porch, so I went over to say hey. And in a matter of minutes I learned that Sara had been extremely horny that day, that she'd had phone sex in the early afternoon and sex with Jake in the late afternoon.

They were all happy and relaxed. Jake said she was surprised that I hadn't gone over, no matter what time it was. I explained about my rationalizations. Sara said, "Well, your loss, baby."

I would've given anything for a "I wish you had come over." Or, "I was thinking about you," instead.

And yeah, it was my loss. With nobody to blame but me. It's gotten to me more than it should. Now I have to wait it out.