I’m sitting in a lesbian bar having a beer. I am alone. I only came out to retrieve my Visa that I unceremoniously abandoned here the night before. I was, as you might imagine, having a very good time. I was drinking with a friend and chatting with a lovely femme. (A gentleman won’t share any more than that.) I knew she was a femme because she was here at this lesbian bar. Not out at a hip restaurant or bar in town. Not here with a posse of gay boys. Her presence here, combined with her eye makeup, clothing and generally pleasing girly appearance signaled me. This is a femme, and I knew she was interested in butches because she was “talking” with me.
But what about when I’m not here? What if I’d seen this lovely woman at a conference? At the airport? At Jimbo’s? Shopping at Nordstrom? Rock climbing at the gym? Would I have known she was an option, as it were? Maybe not. And, what a predicament that is. What a pickle.
How are we butches supposed to identify our beloved femmes when we are out and about? Obviously, this isn’t an issue when you are introduced by friends, know her as a colleague, or when the geography sends the signal. Like here at this bar.
Outside of those cocoons, though, I think it’s clear that we butches need your help. Femmes, make yourselves known. Reach out. Make eye contact a little longer than is generally considered to be polite. Touch us on the bicep and make a face that signals you are impressed with the massive (cough) muscle you find there. Lean into us a little when chatting. Flip your hair. Touch your face.
In short, you the much fairer species need to make the first move. I and my butch bros will drive from there. But you’ve gotta send up a flare. Throw us a bone. If you’re as pretty and girly as I’m imagining (and you are), I might look at you longingly and then dismiss you as a non-option. I’m sorry, but I might think you are, umm, straight. Not that there’s anything wrong with being straight, mind you. Some of my best friends are straight! But it does limit (although not entirely exclude) my ability to … take you somewhere more quiet.
You might even say, “Oh Butch, I can tell you work out. I bet you could press me easily.” No straight women would ever say such a thing to me, so we’ll be off to the races. [Note: Certainly, there are some straight women that like to flirt with butches, in particular, even though these women think they’re straight. I’ll leave it to you to decide whether you agree with them.]
This is not a post about femme invisibility. I’ve read plenty about how that’s crap. I see you. And so do the rest of my butch friends. You are not invisible. But, this is a cry for help. We don’t like being rejected (who does?). So, bat your eyelashes at me. I will take it from there.
It’s butch to make sure she is actually a femme (as opposed to a lovely straight woman) before turning on the charm. Be Butch.