shout out to the femmes who moan when they suck butch dick
Oh. Wow. I am having so many feelings about this and most of them are making me blush. Damn.
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shout out to the femmes who moan when they suck butch dick
Oh. Wow. I am having so many feelings about this and most of them are making me blush. Damn.
i’m having one of those nights where i remember that nobody thinks butches are like, attractive enough to give visibility to. every famous or prominent wlw ship is at least somewhat feminine. none of them have butches at all. yesterday i saw “butch” used as an insult in a book that was marketed as “good for the lgbt community.” basically what i’m saying is can we please get some goddamn love and respect for gnc women i swear to god
radfems/freaks don’t touch this post
As an extension of this thought...this is what ultimately made me give up on porn entirely. Not seeing anyone that looks like me or fucks like me or the people I want to be with...being reminded that our world is viewed almost exclusively through the eye of cishet men is sometimes disheartening when you fall into the category of ‘gnc women.’
I’ll stick to my imagination, I guess.
These were burly, big shouldered butches who carried their womanhood in work roughened hands. They could playfully slap you on the back and send you halfway across the room. Their forearms and biceps were covered with tattoos. These powerful butch women were comfortable in work chinos. Their spirit roared to life when they wore double-breasted suits.
Stone Butch Blues, Leslie Feinberg (via butchthoughts)
I’ve been slowly rereading Stone Butch Blues (in between ‘A Tree Grows in Brooklyn,’ which is also breaking my heart). I think about how I’ve found people like this delightful for so long -- the rough hands, tattoos, masculine and proud of their strength. But I shy away because the stereotype is ‘butches and femmes,’ and I can’t figure out how to believe a butch would find me an appealing match in my androgynous way.
There is the part of me what wants to be someone’s treasured princess without the performative femininity. If it ever happens that I remarry, I wouldn’t want to wear a dress this time. But I don’t think I’d wear a suit either.
I try not to fantasize too much. I don’t like making assumptions about my future like that. But sometimes I can’t help it. And in that haze, I see myself with someone masculinely feminine-ish. Someone butch or a transmasc-enby-type. And it always makes me happy.
the only ‘guns’ american needs are butch womens’ powerful, strong arms
Oh shit. YES. This is the one kind of ‘guns’ I can get behind. Or in front of. Or...you know what I mean.
Almost a poem
He tells me he’d love to see me in a sundress. Says I’d look nice. There’s a world of difference between looking good and feeling good, I tell him, but he isn’t listening.
“So find one that you’d be comfortable in, and I’ll do the same.”
He minces no words before reminding me that he is a MAN and that MEN don’t wear DRESSES. Now, I’m no man but I don’t wear dresses either, so what does that make me? I hold back the words as he continues his persuasion.
“They take getting used to, I guess,” he tells me. Then he calls me stubborn when I point out I wore a dress every day for my entire school career. I like to think I’ve put in the time.
He later tells me that it was strange to him that so many women seemed to just TRUST him, and what a weight that is.
I believe him about the weight. I can feel the heaviness laid on top of him, the exhaustion of having to be careful with their trust so he can’t be lumped in with OTHER MEN, but I refuse to lift it even a little.
What I don’t say is: it’s not that anyone trusts you implicitly; you are yourself so openly that people know exactly HOW they can trust you and how they can’t.
I think this over and over, debating opening my mouth to let him know that nugget of truth, as I stand firmly between my identity and his denial.
Ultimately, I say nothing.
I’ll keep my secrets and he’ll keep on thinking of me in sundresses, and maybe then I’ll be safe.
I'm starting to feel uncomfortable and like something is wrong with me since I'm a masculine presenting wlw attracted to other masculine/butch women. I just don't see this dynamic at all and when I do it's rare. Also it really sucks when I'm into someone who is masculine presenting, but they clearly state they only date femmes. I'm just not all that attracted to femmes and now I am feeling pressure to start dressing feminine again which also makes me feel uncomfortable and dysphoric. advice?
don’t waver in who you are! in the end, trying to be feminine when you’re not will just hurt you that much more and lead to the most unfulfilling relationships, because you won’t feel truly seen or appreciated, and your relationships will be based on a performance.
there really are a lot of masc for masc women, i promise. it can take some time to find the right person, but just have patience with yourself and with the world. remember that many people have unique attractions and everyone struggles with unrequited love. i know it’s hard, but your butch soulmate is out there, probably struggling with the same things as you and waiting for you to walk into their life. it’ll happen.
I just started re-reading Stone Butch Blues today and I know I’m going to get to the scene where Jess finds out her fellow butch is in love with another butch. It breaks my heart into a million pieces as someone androgynous whose experience with non-cishet-men has been limited to bisexual feminine women. Nothing wrong with them! Ever! They’re lovely! But...as someone attracted to butch/androgynous types...it’s hard. Very hard.
I haven’t slow-danced in years. Over a decade, I think, since someone led my body in a mutual sway on a dance floor. I daydream about it, though. It makes listening to music hard because of how strongly my heart yearns for that kind of touch.
I would never count myself among the graceful. But moving to music brings a peace I cannot manufacture otherwise. And to do so with someone’s arms around me? It sounds like heaven.
To dance in a quiet kitchen before bed? Heaven.
To twirl briefly together in the middle of checking the mail? Lovely.
Just suddenly finding hands and fingers intertwined, the gravity of need pulling us together, chests touching, cheeks brushing, hips swaying in time. It’s a need.
I want to feel the air as it moves through your body, the inhales and exhales to-ing and fro-ing your chest against mine. I want to feel the warmth of your skin on cool nights. Let me smell your scent like it’s the only air I breathe: your hair, your skin, your lips.
It isn’t even about passion and the heat of lust; it’s the intimacy, the connection. The closeness. Wanting to make the world spin around *us* for once.
One day. One day we can have this. If not, I’ll just keep holding on to hope just in case.
Hand Painted Glassware
Steklo Craft on Etsy
I saw these and immediately sent a link to the other gay cousin in my family. These and plants are two things we want to surround ourselves with. Mustn’t forget. NEED THESE.
I had a weird experience yesterday -- I came out as nonbinary to the guy who has been in my life longer than basically anyone else outside of my family. We were best friends from fifth grade on but he moved away, got married, had kids, and we don’t talk as much as we did when we lived within walking distance and saw each other several times a week.
He sent me a meme that involved the word ‘pussy,’ which turned into a conversation about how I would hear from men on bdsmlr who hated that I like to use the word ‘cunt’ to describe/talk about my genitalia. I told my friend that talking to these guys who get weird if I show any sort of non-stereotypical preferences makes me feel more gay than normal.
I should clarify that I came out as being bi twenty years ago. So this is not new information. But he hasn’t been around on Facebook much over the past few years as I post lots of non-binary and trans-related articles and whatnot. I realized that I was nervous about it.
This is a guy who, for many years, was one of my closest friends but also someone who I figured wouldn’t understand me or like me anymore as I watched him go through some weird shit. His whole college career seemed to make him dive straight into frat culture, taking on this weirdly edgy Jim Norton/Joe Rogan vibe. So here I am, talking about the core of my being and waiting for him to make fun of me or call me a snowflake or something.
But no.
I was being kind of weird and roundabout and hemming and hawing, and he just went, “Oh. So you’re non-binary.”
And I just stared at my phone and blinked a bunch. “Just having a vagina doesn’t mean you’re a girl. I got you.”
Oh.
Well, shit.
Considering my gay dad ignored me when I came out as bi and my mom said “no you don’t” when I told her I ‘liked girls,’ this is a vast improvement. And here I figured he was going to be shitty. Awesome.
My queer little self was feeling needy for a while and it led me to spend a lot of time over on bdsmlr. I knew there was a potential to get attention from people, and ultimately was right -- but it was all from men. But not enlightened men. No queer people of any variety.
Just...unenlightened straight men.
Men who liked to invalidate my identity by telling me I’m not trying hard enough to “just be a girl.”
Men who wish I’d shave my body so they can see my worth, something found exclusively between my legs.
Men who refuse to not call my underwear ‘panties’ and then get upset if they see the “TOMBOYX” across the band of my briefs.
Men who only think of women who are thin and pale and whose labia barely exist. All breasts and lips and clit plus a few holes -- and they so seldom notice if that woman is wet in the first place.
Men who take the need for lube personally.
I minimized my size and my androgyny as much as I could for them, so touch-starved and lacking some sort of connection. Eventually it’s all just too much and I start to tear myself down, shred myself to ribbons, because I can’t quite fit in -- something I’ve never been able to do without some sort of failure along the way.
“You look like a man in that dress.”
“You need different shoes.”
“You should grow your hair out.”
“You really need makeup.”
Fuck.
I want to see more people like me -- first, for validation, and second because I find androgynous people and butches to be absolutely stunning. So I guess that’s why I’m here. I want someone to find me beautiful without the lens of the male gaze. I want to believe there’s a place for me in this world that doesn’t stop once someone realizes I’m not a stereotype for them to make assumptions about.
The fact that I can search for “butch” and find the types of people who have been making my knees shake for years makes me think I’m in a much better place than before. Here’s hoping.
I’d like to list a few things that have happened recently that are weighing on me, beyond the looming shadow of COVID-19 and all that entails:
my housemate’s grandmother is in the hospital again due to cellulitis
my childhood best friend is away from his wife and kids in order to watch his beautiful mother die of cancer
another friend’s mother was diagnosed with breast cancer only a few years after the loss of father/husband to pancreatic (i think?) cancer
my spouse’s best friend/potential new partner lost her father abruptly after a heart attack
one of my father’s aunts died suddenly; she was a sweetheart and I always enjoyed morning coffee with her and my grandmother when I visited (albeit infrequently)
My heart feels quite sore right now. It’s bad enough that my head has been in pretty dark places recently. But in a lot of ways, I was stuck in that place quite by myself. Now there are pains and sadnesses to be shared, and I wish this wasn’t the case. All I can do is hold space open for them if they need it. But all I want to do is sink into my own little bit of depression and not make anything worse for anyone else.
I’m sure that sounds awful. I don’t know. But I am sad for the people that I love who are dealing with so much in the midst of all of this. Life is bad enough without the extra addition of this crap on top of it.
Narrowboat at Pontcysyllte Aqueduct on the Llangollen Canal, the most spectacular aqueduct in Britain Narrowboat at Pontcysyllte Aqueduct on the Llangollen Canal, the most spectacular aqueduct in Britain (by Baz). Source: http://visitheworld.tumblr.com/post/31459130519/narrowboat-at-pontcysyllte-aqueduct-on-the
I spend a lot of time looking at tiny houses and narrowboats and container homes. I am a fan of efficiency and the notion of “just enough,” and hope to one day get back to smaller living spaces with less clutter and better arrangement of rooms/furniture/etc.
I’ve never been much of a traveler. Spontaneity feels like chaos to me, so not having a plan means I cannot prepare properly. It just feels *off,* which makes it hard for me to regulate my emotions at a given time. So the fact that I kind of daydream about one day living on a narrowboat and traveling the UK a little bit at a time is very out of character for me.
There’s something kind of romantic about it, though. Not romance-romance, but...idly dreaming of greenery and ducks and cool air and being on the water...it’s a romantic notion. Add to that the balance between being alone in a boat with the community of narrowboaters...it sounds kind of perfect for someone like me who likes the option to be quiet and alone but also in the midst of, you know, other people -- but in somewhat small doses.
From Pleiades to Eridanus
I think about the sky a lot.
Living in the city means too much light pollution to see more than a smattering of stars. It’s been over a decade since I saw the sky in all its glory, and I miss it every day.
There is something breathtaking about seeing the sky fully. It gives a much better idea of how big the universe is and how expansive the sky really is. It’s hard to truly appreciate it when your view is always obscured by a halo of trees and buildings and other human-built structures. While these things deserve appreciation and awe in their own right...being able to see the sky and stars stretching out over your head in every direction is magical.
Especially if you aren’t used to it on a regular basis.
So I’ve started getting into Tiktok -- watching it, not making videos, as I’m not clever enough or good enough at makeup to really want to share myself with the world. But I’ve been enjoying the hell out of gayTikTok a lot.
The problem is, I keep seeing attractive people who I debate the merits of thirst-following...and then I click on their profile and see they are basically half my age. This is not the ideal way to be reminded that I’m almost 40. Fuck.
I really don’t want to ever come across as a creepy older queer, even to people I’m not trying to thirst-follow -- which then keeps me from doing much commenting and whatnot because I’m afraid I’ll make someone uncomfortable, even if all I want to do is be supportive and whatnot.
I *know* they’re not looking at the profile of every random commenter to judge appropriateness, but *I* know. And part of my issue is I’m not used to having any sort of access to a community of women or non-cis-men and it’s delightful and slightly overwhelming.
So I stay quiet on the app and do my fair share of laughing otherwise. But for any of the younger LGBTIA+ folx on TikTok: I really appreciate what you’re doing because I can really use the laughs right now. Keep up the good work.
“A rainy day is like a lovely gift – you can sleep late and not feel guilty.”
― Elizabeth Jane Howard
So this quarantine/shelter-in-place thing isn’t bothering me because I don’t leave the house anyway. My routine hasn’t really changed, even if my body seems to think it has and is reacting in weird and unpleasant ways. But the truth is, I spend my day in a 10x10 room with artificial light and a window behind me covered in a dark curtain.
Being able to have rain and a bit of wind through the trees (the ones not anywhere near my house because my property is strangely devoid of them)...I think this would improve my mood immensely. Let me wear a nice warm sweater and comfy pants and just enjoy the dark green as it casts a lovely pall over my entire life. I want to smell the mix of wet earth and coffee and feel the wet air on my skin as it makes me shiver ever-so-slightly.
It isn’t in the cards for today, but maybe it will be again.
Ever-necessary first post
I’ve had a headache for several weeks now. I know I’m dehydrated and I know I’m not eating the way I normally do and I know I’m feeling stress in ways I usually don’t. But I’m also stubborn and hate taking pain medication unless I feel like I’m dying.
Basically, what I’m saying is that I’m having a lot of fun right now.
A year ago, I’d have assumed I’d be knee-deep in Animal Crossing right now. But I’m so wound up that I am having trouble enjoying myself. On top of that, everyone around me is playing it, and it feels like they’re playing to WIN. It’s been stressing me out so I haven’t been able to really dive into it and lose myself at all.
Part of me feels like I need to take a few days and just stay in bed as much as I can and let go of whatever judgment I have holed up inside me. But it seems like such a waste and like I’m giving up...and then I sit at my desk and state blankly at my monitor (which I only recently realized was TOO BRIGHT and was one of the things triggering my headaches...fixed that right-quick) and just feel listless and unable to do anything.
No one is really going to see this, but it felt worth mentioning that I want a place I can feel like me. I’ve been bored and lonely and not feeling well for so long that I keep going places that make me hide some aspect of my personality and identity in order to fit in. It’s lousy and exhausting. So I just want to be the best queer artsy nerdy weirdo that I can be without having to pretend I’m not one or all of those things.
Yay.