would love to know if you’re calling me “dude” as a friend or if you’re in love with me

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@butchlovingfemme
would love to know if you’re calling me “dude” as a friend or if you’re in love with me
Everyone always talks about bold confident femmes, what about dorky femmes. What about the femmes that stutter or mess up their words sometimes when they speak, the femmes that are usually quiet but talk a lot when they’re comfortable, the femmes that overthink little interactions because they’re afraid of embarrassing themselves, femmes that are too nervous to join a conversation, the femmes that have to hype themselves up before speaking, femmes that get nervous about being stared at, femmes that are balls of awkwardness, femmes that feel intimidated by the people they are attracted to so they don’t even bother.
are there any other femmes that love having body hair but worry it makes you “not femme enough” or is that just me
happy butch appreciation day!!!! all butches deserve love and appreciation every day!! thanks for being you <3
"Q: Finally, putting this all together, what does femme mean to you? MBP: Femme means to me that I have a feminine gender expression as a site of resistance of old values. Those values say that I am not a fighter, I am not smart, I am not tough, or that I can't be sexual and be a mother too. There are a lot of these should-nots attached to the old way of being femme that I have cast aside. In making my life a site of resistance, I walk through life my own way and create a kind of power and defiance that says "You can't touch me unless I say yes." To me, femme means being powerful in myself, in my own body, with all her feminine ways. It means saying to myself I don't have to take care of other people or give myself up for somebody else. Femme means that I am conscious about what people are saying and doing around me, toward me, as a woman, and that I always maintain my dignity and power. [...] I do not think that femme means making your butch take the trash out for you. I do not think that femme means loving to shop. If loving to shop for clothes was femme, Leslie would be a femme. I don't think femme is having long fingernails. I don't think femme is not understanding how to deal with money. Those are old degrading stereotypes that establish femme on a foundation that is degrading to women. And I do not agree with that at all. For me, femme is a place of resistance to that degradation, a place to divest femininity of limiting stereotypes, and a place to assert the power and dignity of femaleness."
-- An excerpt from "Pronouns, Politics, and Femme Practice: An Interview with Minnie Bruce Pratt," as recorded in Fem(me): Feminists, Lesbians, and Bad Girls. Questions developed by Laura Harris and Elizabeth Crocker, the interview conducted by Tania Hammidi. (Emphasis in bold is my own.)
Year of publication: 1997
Ok I’m sick of yearning it’s time for me to fall in love
i like to think of myself as a femme lesbian. not just in how i love, but in how i exist, my sexuality is femme and my gender identity is femme. i don’t really see myself as a woman, not exactly. and sometimes, when a guy tries to flirt with me or someone automatically assumes that i am straight it painfully reminds me that i am a woman and im seen as a woman, and makes me so uncomfortable and upset lol.
i wish i could tell 16 year old me that you don’t have to “look more gay.” you’re perfect just as you are and one day you won’t just be accepted, you’ll be embraced for being femme.
Need a femme to rest her head in my lap while I read aloud to her
I love dressing up high femme and not shaving, it’s like a double fuck you to the patriarchy and men
Sure, femme with their butch’s initial on a necklace. But what about a butch with their femme’s initial on their chain?!
butchfemme. mutual spoiling and pampering, just soaked in complete devotion.
—
the femme presses money into their hand for tattoos, the butch saves every penny for weekends away she hasn’t even asked for.
the butch buys the shoes she pointed at once in passing, the femme polishes their boots when they’re worn from walking beside her.
the butch carries every bag, every box, every burden, the femme tucks little gifts into jacket pockets, finds ways to make heavy days feel lighter.
the femme buys the butch their cold brew, the butch orders her mocha with too much cream, and neither finishes their own drink— they swap halfway through, always do.
the femme covers the butch’s bruised knuckles in bandaids with little stars, the butch buys her earrings shaped like moons, and between them, they carry constellations.
the femme buys them hair products, runs her fingers through every curl, the butch buys her the good shampoo, says “your hair deserves better than drugstore.”
the femme covers the bed in pillows and flowers, the butch makes sure the windows are locked tight.
the butch buys silk sheets for her, the femme buys new lingerie she never really plans on wearing for long.
the femme pays for their hotel room, the butch carries her over the threshold, spends the whole night showing gratitude with rough hands.
the femme buys lace for herself, but the butch calls it theirs, proving it every time they tug it aside.
the butch spoils her with quiet strength, carrying her to bed when her legs give out, fixing the bruises they leaves behind themselves, hands gentle where they’d been greedy. the femme leaves marks—lipstick stains, fingerprints. leaving promises—deep sighs, whispered “mine”
and between them is devotion, heavy, wordless,
pressed into every ache, every stolen breath.
I think one of the biggest misconceptions about femmes who let butches take care of them through acts of service, or, butch femme couples who with an OFOS dynamic is that we are lazy, greedy, spoilt, and god knows what else. That we just let butches suffer by making them carry heavy things, be “tough” be “the man” and not allow our counterpart to be soft, or interact with their girlhood and femininity. The immense amount of guilt I feel letting my butch carry two bags of heavy groceries while I only carry our coffee cups, is insane. The amount of guilt I feel for having every door opened for me, to be on the inside of every side walk is ridiculous, when these are such beautiful acts of love and care. From the outside, sure, we look like we do nothing for our butches. But what people don’t see is how my butch lights up when I give in (after reminding her that she will be no less strong, or masculine to me if she lets me carry a bag). And FINALLY hand her the heavy bag. The relief she describes to me after I’ve eaten the meal she’s made for me after a long day. People don’t see the disappointment and confusion when I open my own door. It’s a terrified “why won’t you let me love you? Why won’t you let me care for you?” People don’t see the excitement on her face when I turn around in the shower and she’s waiting for me with a bottle of shampoo. To her, simply grabbing her femme a coffee in the morning and knowing that’s one less thing her femme has to worry about, is care. I wish our dynamic wasn’t so misunderstood, but when a butch looks at you, desperate to show their love and care for you, how could you ever shut them down?
shoutout to femmes who don’t shave !!! femmes who still wear mini skirts and micro shorts with unshaven legs. The femmes who wear low rise jeans and crop tops that show off their happy trail and feel so hot doing so. femmes with arm hair and unshaved pits that still wear tank stops. The femmes with bush and choose not to shave it because they feel the most feminine that way.
The femmes that know it’s natural and that having body hair doesn’t make you any less feminine!!!
sweet nothing by taylor swift is so butchfemme coded
femmes will just exist. like casually have lip gloss on and say something sweet and my brain just stops working.
she looks at me for too long and suddenly i’m forgetting how to speak.
she tucks her hair behind her ear and i’m like okay, yeah i’d die for you. and im ready to propose.
she asks me to come here, and I’m already halfway to her before the first word leaves her mouth
ugh.
And the beautiful part is we feel the same way about you.
the concept of wearing a butch’s boxers when we’re apart