a plea to butch girls :: love, a femme


To my butches:

I had the opportunity to grab dinner last night with one of the most intelligent and versatile women I have ever met, and while we drank microbrews and chatted about u-hauling, stepkids, ex-girlfriends, and our overbearing mothers, we became stuck, even fixated on a recent plague overtaking our favorite queer city. It seems to be happening in other cities as well and is remarkably disconcerting. The problem? Rampant butch-on-butch crime in the LGBT community. It has to stop. Why, you ask? Simple. With all these cute butch women stealing my butch prospects, I may have to turn back to men…. shudder. Let me enlighten you on the roots and effects of this devastating epidemic, and then let’s try to solve this problem together.

First of all, readers, just to clarify, I like my women like I like my men: intelligent and slightly emotionally constipated with an uncanny ability to pull off Banana Republic khakis. Bonus points if you drive a pick up. That’s pretty much it. That being said, I am used to heteronormative bitches stealing my butch girls to “try it once” or “experiment”. You go on butches, you date those straight women. See how it pans out. You’ll be back. You always come back. And to be honest, I’d rather have my flat brim toting beaus leave me for straight women, because I know why they left. The straight girls look like me and act like me, but are bad in bed. Okay, okay… enough straight bashing… I will move on.

The challenge with butch on butch crime is that THERE IS NOTHING TO BE DONE. Sure, I could ace bandage my boobs down and invest in some man pants, but my chubby cheeks and Jewish mom hips will give me away in a fucking blink of a fake eyelash, and the stunt would be up. I’ve dressed in drag once before and it was messy… I’ll give you two words: Jordan Knight. Let your awful dragking imagination run wild on that one. I could try to fight binder with binder and butch it up, but to what end? Just the other week I had a woman hit on me at the gym . She saw me in gym shorts and a tank, yelling at a client to just do five more pushups. We flirted and she casually asked me out. I laughed it off but when we saw each other out at a lesbian nightclub, the look on her face was really quiet bizarre. I looked down at myself: I was in a tank top, a gold lame bra, boy shorts, and three inch heels. She looked kind of sad, and then I realized: SHE THOUGHT I WAS BUTCH! Her reaction was appropriate and I appreciated her respect for the butch/femme dynamic. I even sent her a bud light (which I assume was her favorite beer since I love stereotypes).

I am stumped to find a solution, but I urge all the butch women out there to give femmes a chance. Hell, I just might make that a t-shirt. Yes, there are some downsides… mascara on your pillowcases and make-up dust all over the bathroom sink, but we are worth it. Plus, c’mon, don’t you want to go out with a girl who doesn’t have the same softball hoodie as you do? Give us a chance. We will make it worth your while.

With all my love,

A chapstick lesbian.

5 thoughts on “a plea to butch girls :: love, a femme

  1. Preach, girl. Add to that: a butch walks into a gay bar. *crickets* A femme walks into a gay bar, all the bio men turns to stare because OMG WHAT IS THAT STRAIGHT BITCH DOING IN MY SAFE SPACE OMG!? Le sigh.

  2. Fear not! We’re still out there! I’m butch, and I absolutely adore femme women. I would never been attracted to one of “my own”, although it’a so nice to hear that femme women still love us!

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