by Bif Naked
The song reflected in part my growing up in the music business, and my independence. The latter was a theme many women can relate to. Really, it was about someone who finally believes in herself enough to step away from a relationship, or from a bad situation. It was about courage and telling yourself you mattered. It was my note to myself. Looking back, the entire album was a reflection of different chapters of my life with Peter. During this time, this era of touring, my long-time buddy and mentor from Rhode Island, Gail Greenwood, the former bassist of the Grammy-nominated American band Belly and of punk band L7, was playing in my band lineup. Gail and I were like sisters, and she provided the encouragement and support I needed during my and Peter’s breakup. Gail was the only straight edge I knew well and was the epitome of positivity.
I had always repeated patterns with guys. Those I was with before Peter were usually musicians in bands, and required just as much care and attention as I did, if not more. Predictably, I ended up being like a mother in the relationship. In contrast, Peter took charge, and he pushed me to perform better, to do everything better. But no matter how much he tried to make me a woman who stood up for herself, who stood on her own two feet, I just couldn’t do this while having a personal relationship with him. Honestly, I was probably just still too emotionally damaged to be able to blossom into a confident woman. I was drowning in my vulnerability.
Gail may have been my confidante and support, but it was George who was in many ways the catalyst for the changes I was making in my life. My soft-spoken, intelligent first boyfriend from childhood had come back into it. I was regularly playing concerts in Toronto, where he now lived. We’d hang out and then began to correspond. Eventually, I was reliving my first love all over again. He was very different from Peter, who was that tough, dark type of guy some women fantasize about, the bad boy. There was a sense of danger about him. Even his smile was dangerous.
George was safe, sensitive, and creative, and there was such important history between us. I gravitated toward him. I loved George, and when it all went down and Peter and I split up, George was waiting patiently in the wings to take his place. Peter eventually helped me move George from Toronto to Vancouver by loaning us his brand-new Yukon to drive across the country in. George and I lived together with his cat, Spasil, and my and Peter’s two dogs, Annastasia and Nicklas.
Despite our breakup, Peter and I didn’t skip a beat when it came to the business side of our relationship, that of manager and artist. In fact, that was like a well-oiled machine, and it was a relief to still be able to rely on him as my manager while my personal life could move in any direction I chose to take it. It was a bumpy road initially, but Peter isn’t the type to dwell on things too long. As Jonny Zazula once said, “Peter is like that commando guy in the movies that no one can stop. He just keeps getting up, no matter what happens.” That is Peter, and this was no different; although breaking up was not a happy event for either of us, it was something that we had to do in order to move on in our personal lives. I had been afraid of change for so long, but when our relationship finally did take a turn, it was for the better. It was time to purge, and with the album of the same name launched, we had to split.
THIRTY-TWO
Rumours of My Bisexuality
I’VE ALWAYS BEEN ATTRACTED TO WOMEN. I MEAN, who isn’t? Women are simply beautiful. And, truthfully, I have been approached by girls over the years, and some have really made me think about my sexuality and my sexual preferences, even question it. But I’ve mostly identified with heterosexuality because of my being, well, boy-crazy since the first grade. Except when I was dipping my toe in the pool of bisexuality. Sure, I’ve kissed girls, necked and experimented with girls who, like me, were partially or fully naked and caught up in the moment. For the most part, I enjoyed it. What’s not to like? Girls are soft, sweet, vulnerable, feminine, and sexy. Women are sensual, each and every one of them. But this was to be my first-ever date with a real lesbian. Not just some chick wanting to get her boyfriend’s or husband’s rocks off by having sex with another female. No, this was a woman who was well known and well respected.
I was very serious but also very nervous about the upcoming date. I was in love with George, but he was still living in Toronto, and I knew he would respect the fact that I felt strongly about investigating my “truth,” and seriously asking myself whether I could be with not just the wonderful Amie but women in general. Being with a woman was entirely my decision and something I felt in control of, finally—something I thought was important for me. And I was at a point in my life where I felt ready for women, disillusioned as I was with all the men who had broken my heart. I was determined to see if I could lean in the other direction.
I had met Amie through Peter’s girlfriend at one of my concerts in Toronto, and was basically set up with her. What could I say? She was an amazing, gorgeous woman. It was our second date. The first one had been outstanding: dinner at a fabulous restaurant, with conversation that was completely seductive, spicy even. This time, she wanted to make me dinner. I was certain she was anticipating our having sex but I planned to not stay the night, no matter what happened. I wasn’t comfortable with sleepovers. I wasn’t inexperienced, but I was unpractised and self-conscious and worried that I’d be undesirable. Or get night sweats and wet hair. Or worse, be a disappointment.
I wanted this date to be perfect. Not for me, really, but for her. I had to try to impress Amie and not just be some straight girl she was getting into bed with. I figured that hot queer girls must use dildos. Like most women I knew, I had experimented with vibrators, and this was a positive experience but generally came about because of an adventurous boyfriend instigating it. I was never the initiator, instead just following along with whatever my lover wanted to do. Dildos were unknown territory for me. From what I knew of them, they were made of hard plastic, silicone, or latex, and that’s a rash waiting to happen. So I had decided that dildos were not for me. Until this date with a woman, that is.
I had picked up flowers at the flower store and a dildo at the dildo store that afternoon, and I was wearing my good bra. We never even made it to the appetizer, never mind dinner. Amie was faster than any guy I had ever met, and extremely skilled: she had me pinned against the wall at “Hello.” She grabbed my face and put her mouth around my mouth and part of my nose. I was shocked. It felt like she was doing CPR; she was devouring me with her mouth, and her hands were everywhere on my body. I began to sweat. I had to think fast. What could I do? I needed to act cool. This was not how I had envisioned the evening starting. I hadn’t even taken my coat off yet.
I kissed clumsily with her all the way down the hall as I tried to take off my coat, banging off the wall as she pushed her pelvis into my belly. She was taller than me by almost six inches. I think she thought she was grinding into my pelvis, but it was my abdomen, just below my belly button.
If Amie were a man, well, it would have been over-the-top sexually aggressive. Truth be told, she was forceful, and much too fast, but I never said anything. I was just trying to keep up—my typical M.O. I rarely said anything to guys who were pushy, so why would I stop this beautiful woman? And she was beyond beautiful, like a painting. Like Titian’s Reclining Nude, or a da Vinci. Amie took her shirt off and her beautiful breasts came out of her bra, first one and then the other, staring at me, singing songs in white and peach. Her skin was luminescent, and the softest I had ever touched, like silk, just like poems are written about. She was a big girl, tall and curvy, with deep brown eyes, the colour of chocolate. She had a hypnotizing, pale face and a pale neck, pale breasts, pale legs, and a pale back. Her dark brown hair fell over one side of her face. Her beauty was timeless.
Amie pulled my head into her sternum, right in between her breasts, practically giving me a head butt. I tried to break the seal and pull my head away, but she clenched both hands on the back of my hair, nearly cutting off my airway. Choking, I pulled back and broke her grip. I tried not to cough or gasp for air.
This was my first real woman sex. Despite the roughness of it, I very much wanted this very real experience with this beautiful woman.
Real, that is, in that finally there was no boyfriend or husband lobbying for it or arranging it. No tour bus scene where this would be encouraged as good party fun. No boyfriend giving me the threesome of my life as an anniversary gift, or as his own birthday present. It was simply me and her—my decision, her instinct. I needed this. It was time. I mean, what if I was meant to be with women? What if all my relationships had failed because I was meant to be with women? What if I had been queer all along? I had to find out. After all, I was aroused by women. And I was definitely attracted to Amie. She was funny, with an easy laugh, and intellectually skilled, a science nerd, and I was very hot for that. I was starved for fresh intellectual stimulation. Despite my successful career in music, I still harboured thoughts of going into medicine, and this was a topic I could discuss with Amie, as she tutored students studying for medical school entrance exams. It was perfect.
“Take your clothes off,” she said. I felt like I was twelve again, like when I was in Hibbing with my grandmother’s nurse, Jim. Although feeling embarrassed, I complied, then reached for my handbag, which I had dropped by the door. It held my fancy surprise, my treasure, the dildo I had purchased that afternoon at Womyns’Ware. The sales clerk had recommended I get a double dong for the date—it was all the rage in lesbian sex, she said. And I wanted to be current, after all. I wanted to be all the rage in lesbian sex for Amie. It was a top-of-the-line silicone dildo that retained body heat and could be sterilized and was pliable and odourless and all that stuff.
This impressive device was expensive, but the clerk promised it would be worth it. The special thing about a double dong is that it is made for women by women. These devices were in the shape of a V, so that women could embrace, the clerk said.
“Embrace?”
“Yes, so they can embrace while they make love.”
“Got it,” I said, quickly pulling out my wallet. “I’ll take one.” I couldn’t wait to impress Amie with this. I was pleased with my pragmatism, and pleased with myself. I mean, that’s what chicks do, isn’t it?
Amie saw my dildo come out of my bag and leapt across the bed. “No!” she shouted as she pulled the double dong out of my hands. I was speechless. Then, to my horror, she threw my two-hundred-dollar device across the room. It hit the wall with a thud and landed on the carpet. “You’ve had enough cock in your life!” she proclaimed. “You don’t get any more cock!” Without warning, she shoved her fingers deep inside me. I grit my teeth as searing pain shot up me like fire. Then her fingers went all the way down, then in, then out.
I couldn’t believe it. There was absolutely no difference between her and some dude. I tried to stifle my gasps of pain, to muffle the sounds with pretend enthusiasm as we kissed. She then grabbed my head with both hands and pushed it down, down, down until I was reliving an experience from when I was much younger. A head pusher? This woman? I couldn’t believe it; I felt like I was in a sitcom. I started necking with her underpants, relieved to be going down on her, as she forgot herself completely and stopped with the finger penetration.
It was a huge lesson for me. I never thought it could be the same with a girl as with some aggressive guy. What I hadn’t counted on was the one common denominator: me. I was very much a submissive girl and easily taken advantage of. This was a fact throughout my life, and I should have known that it would cross genders and gender preferences too. The worst part? I never did use my double dong dildo. After five hours of Amie climax-yelling, her post-coital almost-drowning snuggles in the bathtub, and my trying desperately to satisfy her intellectually, she bid me adieu. I happily went home to my dogs. I was grateful to Amie for my education and revelations that night. It was an important milestone for me.
THIRTY-THREE
Tony Blair—The Honeymoon
POWER MAKES EVERYONE STUPID, INCLUDING ME. For example, I like to fantasize that I could have become rather snuggly with the handsome prime minister Tony Blair, having vacationed with him in Isla Mujeres one January. Well, maybe not with him. More like beside him. We were at the same resort.
I was with Peter and his new bride, the exciting and exotic Naz, on their honeymoon in January of 2003. Naz, commonly referred to as “the beautiful Naz,” was a stunning Persian woman who turned heads wherever she went. She was a sweet yet dangerous individual, with a warm, infectious laugh, and military weapons training. She also had her real estate licence. She was the perfect match for Peter. They were soulmates. Naz and I had become very good friends during their twelve-month courtship leading up to the wedding, and it felt completely natural for Naz to invite me, along with my new neurologist boyfriend, to join them on their honeymoon in Mexico, where we headed the day after their massive wedding.
My boyfriend was a brilliant man, fresh out of a long relationship, and very innocent from my point of view. My own heart was still broken after splitting for the second time with my childhood sweetheart, George. What was worse was that I had broken his heart for the second time. George and I had been going in circles for some time, doing the helpless dance that soon-to-break-up couples do, unable to repair what we needed to repair. We were drowning, just like in school when we first dated. It was a lonely time. And, in the end, I was once again attracted to a man who was the opposite of the man in my previous relationship. I was a girl who just couldn’t be happy and, suddenly, my new neurologist boyfriend swooped in and took me away. I know it’s clichéd, but I assumed my parents would be pleased that I was dating a successful doctor. But I was wrong. My father’s response was “Beth, when are you going to be true to yourself and be in a relationship with a woman?” My father was convinced that I was a lesbian and not living my true life.
As I have mentioned, I love anything medical—medical language, hospitals, doctors, yes, especially doctors. My relationship with the neurologist was still very fresh when Peter and Naz married. I had taken him as my date to Peter’s opulent second wedding. Peter and Naz were married in a Catholic ceremony, the sacrament performed by the family priest despite Peter being divorced. I think the Church figured that since his first wife was not a baptized Catholic, that marriage could be annulled. Catholic stuff is so weird. I wouldn’t be surprised if Peter negotiated this point with the Pope himself. Peter’s ex-wife, Nadine, and their daughters, Riley and Brittin, attended the wedding. Riley, his eldest, was his best “man.” Then there was me, with my doctor boyfriend, and approximately two hundred other guests, most of whom spoke Farsi. What a scene it was! My Big Fat Greek Wedding had nothing on this production.
Peter and Naz had asked me to make a speech at their wedding reception, held at a restaurant overlooking the Pacific Ocean. I toiled over the speech, which included lines from Hafiz and Rumi. I delivered it in both Farsi and English, and to my great relief, pulled it off. Afterward, when Peter spoke from the podium to Naz, surrounded by hundreds of guests, it was as if the two of them were the only people in the room. Naz just smiled her sexy smile, and my eyes dropped to the floor. Naz was pure sex and everyone around her blushed. She was gorgeous and radiant.
On their honeymoon, the four of us stayed in an exclusive wing at Villa Rolandi. It was one of those resorts with a private lagoon filled with yachts, and a restaurant with guest chefs and a few stars. An opportunity to stay at a resort on Isla Mujeres is not to be passed up! Like many resorts in the area, you could walk out of your room onto the terrace and into an infinity pool overlooking the Caribbean Sea. You could have all manner of things delivered to your beach bed should you decide to go to the private and topless beach. But people generally lounged by the pool, for hours and hours. Gorgeous, stylish people eating ceviche and drinking fancy champagne drinks under the hot sun. Among those around the pool was a Spanish actor and his lover, a writer from Boston, and several politicians from the United Kingdom, one of whom was rather dashing. Yes, his name was Tony Blair.
/> It was a carefree day. The sky, as always, was a perfect blue, and the breeze drugged you with its warmth. I lay poolside for long afternoons with unobstructed views of the lovely Tony. Me with my shiny black hair and shiny black tattoos and a shiny black bikini. Naz would laugh and laugh, watching me pretend to try to grab his attention. The more she laughed, the more I adjusted my small bikini top, to her delight. My bikini had little effect, as did the telepathic messages I tried to send as I squinted at him from behind the rim of my large black sunhat. He was completely unaware of my existence the entire trip. I was respectful of his privacy, of course. I totally understand politicians.
Thankfully, my boyfriend was also completely unaware of my attempts to send mental lust notes to the chic Brit across the pool. My boyfriend loved to drink away the days and nights, sampling from the vast selection of fine wines on the property, and leaving me poolside with the bride. Naz’s amusement at my attempts to catch Tony’s eye only encouraged me, and I continued to try anything and everything to make her laugh, including doing silly walks and throwing drinking straws. I loved Naz and was moved by the romance she and Peter had. Indeed, I was captivated by her. Maybe my father was right after all.
THIRTY-FOUR
Superbeautifulmonster
“ABANDONMENT," "LET DOWN", "FUNERAL OF A GOOD GIRL," “The World Is Over,” “The Question Song,” “That’s Life.” This was the soundtrack of the past few years of my life. After Lava released Purge, I had a lot of success in Canada, but things did not happen in America the way Lava wanted them to. The result was that I was dropped, abandoned, a letdown. Just like the songs on my new record following Purge, titled Superbeautifulmonster.