[Image: The painting Where There’s Smoke There’s Fire by Russell Patterson, which depicts a flapper woman looking very elegant and holding a cigarette in front of a starry sky.

Text: When I was little, my father’s abuse had me convinced that if I were in anyway stereotypically feminine that it made me a whore.

I’m working past that now, and more and more I find myself wanting to be pretty, a “lipstick lesbian,” if you will.

But when I came out, a friend bought me a book of lesbian short fiction, and I noticed several of the stories mocked or belittled women who met societal standards of beauty. Does this really happen? There’s no queer community where I live, so I can’t know for sure.

I’m already insecure about myself…]