Tag Archives: femme

Femme Friday

Rainbow heartSo said the butch. And so it was.

Thank you for:

* Curves like a stainless steel rollercoaster track.

* Calling me “Baby.”

* Telling me I’m beautiful. And handsome.

* Singing “Ring of Keys” in the shower.

* Complimenting me on my necktie when we are out on a date.

* Allowing me to open the door for you, even though it’s the 21st century and you are a modern, self-sufficient woman.

* Letting me carry your bags, even though you could easily do so yourself.

* Escorting me to the ladies’ room when I feel unsafe or uncomfortable.

* Asking me what I’d like you to wear, even though you look divine in everything.

* Wearing all that silver jewelry that makes you sparkle like stardust.

* Buying another skirt with a long slit down the side.

* * *

Your turn.  When it comes to your girl (or boi), what are you thankful for?

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Strong

WelderLast night W apologized for being weak.

I told her she is the strongest woman I know.  Even though she has trouble lifting the 40-pound boxes of cat litter into the cart at Target.  Even though I am the designated pickle jar opener.

She didn’t believe me.

When W and I were dating, I first fell in love with her hands.  They are not slender, porcelain model hands.  They are the hands of a real woman.  A capable woman.

W wears silver rings on her fingers.  I like to watch her sew or write or fold sheets.  I like to watch her fingers busy in task while light sparks off her rings as if she is a welder.  It is so sexy it takes my breath away every single time.

Hers are the hands of a doer, a survivor, a finisher.  They are the hands of my lover.

She is strong in all of the places in which I am weak.  When I see myself reflected in her eyes, I feel whole.

She said ‘yes’

We went to W’s family reunion today.

It’s pretty much the same every year — picnic food like hot dogs, potato salad and chips; dollar store prizes; a family picture; catching up with everyone.

But this year I added a twist.

I asked W to marry me.

We had a commitment ceremony almost three years ago. I had proposed back then on one knee with a diamond engagement ring in my hand and rose petals in the background. Like any good butch should.

We had a shindig, sent out invitations, hired a band and a caterer, exchanged vows, smashed cake on each other’s faces.

It was the best we could do in 2011.

And then same-sex marriage became an option in our home state of Pennsylvania last month.

The m word scares the hell out of me.  (We’re not talkin’ menopause or mudflap girls.  Especially not mudflap girls.)

xx

Half-eaten cupcake with capsule and special request.

Today, at the family reunion, I brought two dozen gourmet cupcakes. I had a special cupcake for W. Inside was a little plastic capsule with a special request. Marry me?

She said yes.

I was nervous this morning. My son said if anyone else accidentally got the special cupcake, I would have to marry him/her. So there was that.

And I was worried about pulling the whole thing off. What if W didn’t want a cupcake? Or wanted another flavor? What if the cupcake melted in the hot car? What if she said no?

But now? I’m not so nervous.

It feels right.  It feels good.

Sure, I’m still scared.  No one can see the future.  What can be scarier than that?  But I’m willing to take the leap with W.

I told W today that I would make an honest woman out of her yet.

What I’ve realized writing this post is she’s the one making an honest woman out of me.

Thoughts on lesbian erotica

The Harder She ComesW got me a book of lesbian erotica for Christmas.

The Harder She Comes: Butch/Femme Erotica.

Now, I’m not a huge reader of erotica of any kind.  I’d much rather tuck into my own imagination instead of a book when I want to get turned on.

I’m definitely a less-is-more kind of girl.  Sometimes a slight sliver of skin is sexier than, well, the full monty.

Case in point: Last night, I was casually browsing for lesbian content on WordPress.  Paging through pictures of rainbow flags, Jodie Foster, studs, bois, butches, femmes.  And there it was.  It looked angry and shocked.  All pink and exposed.  I thought it might be useful for teaching the finer points of  female genitalia to novice gynecologists but certainly not for turning on this lesbian.

I chalked it up to a lesbian post for guys and not for actual lesbians.  It’s never very hard to tell the two apart.

Random thoughts on erotica:

  • Erotica is very personal.  What might float this butch’s boat, might not float yours.  So, an anthology containing 20 or so stories might only have two or three that get my motor running.
  • I'd rather read books by this woman than books about naked women.

    I’d rather read books by this woman than books about naked women.

    It’s not always the most well-written prose on the market.  If I have to choose between Joyce Carol Oates‘ newest novel and Lesbian Samurai Zombies (real title), well, Oates will win out just about every time.  I often think that I could write lesbian erotica  that’s just as good as, if not better than, what’s currently available.  Maybe I’ll give that a shot this year.  I’ll need to start working on a  pseudonym pronto.

  • I can only remember one erotic story from over the years.  It didn’t even involve any actual sex.  Just some sexual tension. But it had a great ending image involving a woman clad in a pair of tall black leather boots.  (This butch has a thing for women in high leather boots.)

Anyway, The Harder She Comes is pretty good as far as lesbian erotica goes.  I find the whole butch/femme dynamic fascinating.

I’ve found myself evolving over the years from tomboy to lesbian to soft butch to butch.  I’m thinking that this year I might want to butch up a little more.

I’ll no doubt blog more about my quest to become a butchier butch, but I thought I would plant the seed in this post.