Tag Archives: strong woman

Butch: My New Permanent (marker) Tattoo

Tonight, while writing our Christmas cards, my wife got bored and started drawing on my arm with a pen. What did she write? “Butch,” of course. Just like Lea Delaria.

Now, I would never claim to be as Butch as Lea. Nor would I claim to be as talented a singer as Lea. I would never claim to be as funny as Lea. And obviously, I am nowhere near as famous as Lea.

But then, I have interviewed her. I have had drinks with her. I am taller than her. And, I do drink better beer than she does…  At any rate, I am a huge fan of Lea’s. She is one of my heroes. Really, only one of a very few Butches that I look up to. So, when I saw the tattoo that Lea has on her arm on my own arm, I of course said, “Grab the camera!”

The following ensued…

  

  And, because I feel ridiculous when I try to “look sexy” or even “look extra Butch” for that matter, so did this…


  
I may not be as Butch as Lea, but I am Butch enough for me. It’s Butch to proclaim your Butchness in whatever way you see fit. Be Butch.  


Stop Gender Policing

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I started my day with an email asking me for an interview. The student addressed his email to “Mr.” I was nice enough to respond to him anyway – though I’ve been known to ignore someone who didn’t take the time to check this. I actually couldn’t help him (not an expert in what he was looking for) so there was no harm done. I got a nice apology note – though I didn’t call him on it.

Then, a little later in my day I had a conference call. It’s me, another legal beagle (“Kim”) and the woman on the other side (“Hillary”). When Hillary answered the phone, I said,

“Hello Hillary. This is Tristan (I can’t use Butch here because it will confuse you), and Kim from Blah Blah Corp.”

And Hillary says, “But not in that order, right?”

Kim and I are confused and I reply, “What?”

Hillary says, “Well, you said Tristan and Kim. Tristan first, but you’re Kim, right?”

“No. I’m Tristan.”

“But Tristan is a man’s name and this is a woman’s voice.”

“No. I’m Tristan and that’s Kim over there.” I point in wonder to Kim across my desk. We both look shocked as we realize what’s happening.

Hillary starts to sputter and apologize profusely, “But I thought – Oh I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to -”

Didn’t mean to what? Imply that my parents are idiots for naming me Tristan? Didn’t mean to imply that only a man can have a traditionally male name? What exactly didn’t you mean, Hillary?

Of course I didn’t say any of this.

Now, Kim and I laughed. Kim knows I’m a good sport. I joked to Hillary that at least we know she didn’t Google me. Ha ha ha.

This interaction left Hillary embarrassed (rightly) and befuddled (natch). Even though I’m a good sport, that’s not going to stop me from (anonymously) putting Hillary on blast.

I mean. What the hell? What on earth would lead a professional woman to be so desperate for gender conformity on a professional phone call that she would behave this way? It’s not a call set up by Match.com. It’s a professional meeting. To discuss contracts. And indemnity. And licensing provisions. Boring stuff for most of the world; not me, of course, I love that stuff.

Who the hell cares whether she is talking to two women, a man and a woman, a woman and a Butch, or – two aliens, for that matter?

Is she going to defer to the person she thought was a man? Is she going to ask me out on a date? What was she doing being so concerned? Maybe the man should be doing the speaking and if he’s not, then he’s clearly not on the call yet. Should we wait?

I’ve been on conference calls before with a bunch of men. I’ve no issue asking the people to announce themselves so I get a chance to place the voices. Occasionally, I ask if the person who just spoke was soandso. But, to get absolutely tripped up over the fact that I’m speaking and my name doesn’t match my voice? It’s a new level of gender policing.

Though I despise the bathroom double takes and mistaken Sirs, at least those have an explanation – however feeble or rooted in ignorance they may be. This one left me perplexed. Shaking my head, as it were.

News flash Hillary: Not all women are named womanly names and not all men are named manly names. Sometimes, a woman is named Pat, or Hunter, or Michael (grrrowl). Sometimes, a man is named Kelsey, or Michele, or Shannon. And sometimes, a Butch is named Tristan. A big ol’ woman-identified Butch. Get over it.

Have any of you ever experienced this kind of crazy policing on the phone?

It’s Butch to stop gender policing. Be Butch.


10 Being The Worst Pain You’ve Ever experienced in Your Life…

I posted this today on the Huffington Post, but I understand it’s hard for some of you to comment there, so I’m reposting in it’s entirety here. If HuffPost is your thing, please wander over there and give it a like. Thanks.

Sometimes I wonder if the pain is all in my head. If it really hurts or I just think it does. This is especially true whenever I find myself at a doctor talking about my “situation.”

You know the question, “on a scale of 0 to 10, 0 being no pain at all and 10 being the worst pain you’ve ever experienced in your life, what is your pain level?”

It’s a well-meaning question. I think probably useful for most people. It’s even useful for me for anything not related to my “situation.” But when it is related, as it has been recently, I am at a total loss for words. Why?

Because my scale is skewed. The worst pain I ever had was when I was crushed between a car hell-bent on making a left turn (in spite of me) and my motorcycle. I endured indescribable pain at that moment. I endured indescribable pain as I flew 75 feet through the air. The pain was indescribable as the fireman flipped me over, though I had turned myself over shortly after landing on my stomach. You see, both of my legs were so badly broken that it turns out I had only turned my torso over, not my legs. I still remember screaming in pain as they loaded me onto the gurney. Hearing the firefighters and paramedics debate whether they should wait for the life flight helicopter or drive me to the university hospital – which was only minutes away. They were afraid the speed bumps would be torture for me and cause more blood loss. I’d already lost 2/3 of my blood at the scene.

They were right. It was torture. I wish I’d passed out. It’s only fair that I should have. If life was fair, I would have. Actually, if life was fair, I wouldn’t have gotten hit to begin with. But it’s not fair. So I didn’t pass out and I did get hit. I asked for pain medication. They wouldn’t give me any – because I needed to make decisions. What?

I spit out my parents phone number repeatedly – desperate for them. Once they arrived, I finally got the elusive pain medication I was so very much in need of – not that it took away the pain. I remember my mom’s face as she told me it would be alright. I wanted so very much to believe her.

It was alright. I kept my legs. I died 3 times, but I’m here and I kept my legs. I could not be more grateful.

But, 11 leg surgeries later (12?), I have lots of pain. A lot. I’ve got arthritis and joint pain from the old injuries. Hell, over 15 years ago I was told I needed a knee replacement. How long will it last, I asked (still a young woman). I think the doctor said 15-20 years, but whatever the exact number, it meant I’d need another one in my late 40s. No thanks, I thought. I’d lived with pain that long, and I could live with it longer. It’s the same reason I have huge scars on my legs.

“We can fix those for you,” the plastic surgeon who came to consult with me said.

“Fix them?” I asked.

“Well, minimize them.”

“And how do you do that?”

“By taking skin from your backside,” he answered.

“But won’t that leave a scar on my ass?” He nodded. “Why would I want another scar on my ass just to ‘minimize’ these scars?”

Suffice it to say, I was unconvinced. I still have horrible scars on my legs. My ass however, is perfect (so to speak).

You can’t see them most of the time. Just like my pain.

I hide it really well. Indeed, this post is a challenge for me. I like for people to think me fit. Able. Capable. I spend a lot of time working to find myself Able. Capable. But there are the inescapable realities that I am a little less able than most. A little less capable.

So, when it comes time to answer the question about my legs – my hip, either knee, or my foot – I am at a loss. Today, I am not at a 10. I am not feeling the worst pain I ever felt. But I am indeed in pain, and the level of pain I am experiencing very likely justifies the doctor paying attention. It probably justifies whatever procedure or medication she is considering.

It’s my problem, of course. I need to advocate for my needs. They can’t read my mind. But it’s just so hard. How do I quantify this pain today? How do I put a number on a level of pain that I deal with daily? That I’ve actively tried to get my brain to ignore? To minimize?

Honestly, I have no idea. I’m just sitting here with pain at a higher level than usual in my foot and I started to wonder, is it all in my head? If I just decide I am not in pain, will the hurt go away? Can I fix my occasional limp?

Wishful thinking to be sure. But writing is better than feeling sorry for myself. I think.

I’m not feeling very butch right now, so I can’t come up with a clever butchism to close. It’s butch to admit you are in pain? It doesn’t feel very butch, but so be it. Be Butch.


What to Buy a Butch for the Holidays

(Notice the clever, but oh-so-subtle use of “Holidays” instead of any particular December religiously-identified festivity.)

Alright, so you just realized that your daughter is a butch. Or you have finally realized that your mom, who you always knew was a lesbian, is a butch. Maybe your co-worker or boss is a butch and you want to give her a little something. Or, perhaps most worrisome, you are newly dating a butch – be you butch, femme, or otherwise… What to buy your butch for the holidays? Well, fear not dear readers. I am here to serve. In that vein, let me give you a list of the best gifts for a butch. Really, of course, it’s just a list of gifts that I think are super rad and worth giving to someone like me. Your butch may hate all of these things. Generalizations are only as useful as humor and light reading (i.e., my goal).

Note to my wife, kids, and parents: This is not for you! We’ve already covered our holidays. :o)

Now, given that I am not sponsored, I will not be referring you to any items that anyone has “paid” me to suggest – though I might happily create such a list next year, if any of the lovely people who make these items and items like these want to ask. This post is all me.

1.  Bow ties. Yes, the proverbial tie might be lame for your father (Right, Dad?), but butches (at least my kind of butches) love ties – bow ties specifically. The crazier the pattern, the better. Something I wouldn’t have picked out for myself. Something that reflects you, so that when I wear it, I will think of you. Maybe your butch doesn’t know how to tie a bow tie? Never fear, send her this link (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OoUre0ugkmI), tell her how hot you think she’ll look, and give her a cool bow tie. She will be motivated to learn how to tie it.

My goodness! This is a real knife ($1600).

My goodness! This is a real knife ($1600).

2. Multi-tool. A fancy Leatherman or Swiss Army one is great, but you can also do any multi-tool you find in any bin at any hardware store or market. Because, let’s face it, what butch doesn’t want/need/have to have a pliers, pocket knife, and awl in her pocket/bag/car/desk at all times?

3. Alcohol. I’m going to say craft beer or scotch/whiskey. (I realize it’s a stretch). Minis are cool. If you do minis, get some weird stuff your butch may not have tried, or a full-size sampler of Belgian beers. There is always a Beers of the World box this time of year, and many of the butches I know would appreciate such a box.

4. Craft Beer Tour. I love experience gifts, as long as the giver comes with me. Send your butch on a craft beer tour. San Diego, Portland, San Francisco, Denver and other brew cities will have lots of these to choose from. Substitute historic homes or flower gardens if that’s better for your butch. It’s about the experience.

5. Anything from REI. For my non-US readers, REI is an outdoor adventure outfitter company and pretty much everything they have there is rad. Carabiners, D-rings, knifes, multi-tools, biking/kayaking/spelunking/climbing stuff, compasses, cool flashlights, solar-powered chargers for all your electronics. I mean, the list goes on and on. Any trip to REI will result in many lesbian sightings, even for non-lesbian flooded cities. I find things there each trip that I suddenly cannot live without, even though I never knew I needed them!

6. Video Games. Whatever her gaming system is (PS3/4, Wii U, iPad, etc.), take a look at her games and get her the newest one that is like those other ones she has. If she is into Call of Duty, she might not like Ratchet and Clank, for example. (It’s like the difference between a violent shooting game and a Mario Bros. game). Any of the people at a good gaming store (GameStop, Best Buy) will be able to make suggestions based on what your butch already owns and plays.

7. Lingerie. If you happen to be reading this as a femme in love with/married to/or dating a butch, consider giving your butch a lovely box of unmentionables that you will wear. I promise, your butch will think of this as a very special gift – even though you will be the one wearing it. Or get her lingerie for herself if she likes lacey things.

8. Kid Stuff. Kids take note, if you are of the age that you might need a ride to pick out a gift for your mom, think about making her something. Who doesn’t love a handcrafted gift from the kiddos? I, for one, absolutely cherish the painted cards, ironed crafts, and even the pottery gifts my angels have made for me. If you are old enough that you can drive to buy a gift yourself (but don’t want to make anything), think about getting your mum a gift card. If you know that your butch mom likes movies, music, or a particular store, you can get her a gift card for said store. No problem with that. Personally, I prefer that you struggle to choose something for me that you think I will like. But lots of people, butches included, love a gift card. If your mom loves going to Home Depot, then that might be a great gift card for her.

My new favorite. His shirts are so rad.

My new favorite. His shirts are so rad.

9. Her Favorite Dress Shirt. Parents, this is a great one for you. Think about getting your butch daughter her favorite designer shirt. Maybe it’s a little out of her price range (like my new favorite, Robert Graham), or maybe you found it on sale. Whatever the situation, one of the coolest things my mom and dad have given me in the past few years is dress shirts from my favorite designers. This falls into the category of things I might not have bought myself, and makes me feel very special. a) They paid attention to what shirts I like, and b) They took the time to go buy me something that they know I will wear and will make me feel great.

So there you have it, 9 ideas for gifts for the butch in your this holiday season. There are gobs of others, of course. Books, movies, food, tickets to a musical, concert, or ballet, candles, plants, tools, crochet kits. You get the idea!

Those of you who love a butch (mom, partner, friend, co-worker), It’s your turn to be butch. It’s very butch to give her a gift that shows you’ve been paying attention to what she likes and enjoys. Be Butch.


Lifting Myself – Full Piece Up

 

A couple of days ago, I posted a short excerpt from this piece. It went up at Huffington Post yesterday. You can read part of it below, and the full article at http://www.huffingtonpost.com/tristan-higgins/lifting-myself_b_3752947.html.

I have been lifting as part of my fitness routine for over a year, but in the past six months I realized how much I like it and started toying with the idea of doing a competition. A competition would make my training more real and give me motivation — you know, in the same way that training for a half or full marathon motivates runners. It gives them a goal, something to work toward rather than just running “another five miles today.” I cannot imagine anything worse than that, by the way. I am not a runner.

But I think I could be a lifter. At least, I want to try.

 

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So for the past five weeks I have been committed to a special training routine and program to help get me ready for a powerlifting meet in September.

Powerlifting means lifting as much weight as you can. There are three events: chest press, dead lift and the dreaded squat. I am doing powerlifting, not physique (the really, really pretty, lean bodies) or bodybuilding (also pretty but beefy bodies). I joke that powerlifting is the one that allows me to still drink my beloved craft beer. But even that I am doing in restricted moderation since I started training for the competition. See? Focus. A target.

Though I still have a ton to learn about lifting (pun intended), I have learned a few things already:

1. This is a very supportive community. There aren’t that many women who lift, at least not at my gym, and the one other woman who competes has become my hero and a little bit of a mentor (though I am not sure she knows either of those things). All the other lifting coaches in my gym call out to me during my workouts, supporting and offering encouragement. Before and after workouts, they stop me and my trainer to offer a tip here and there. It seems to take a village to lift that bar.

2. This is hard. If you think it looks hard to lift a lot of weight, you are right. All the equipment is hard. It hurts when you bump into it. It especially hurts when you bump into your limitations. I’ve learned that you can press through them — slowly — but knowing when to press through and when to listen to your body and stop? That’s hard too. My trainer, Janet, is amazing at knowing this. And there are strains, and pulls, and aches, and bruises.

3. The next point aside, femmes dig it. I am told that lifting is very sexy. Muscles, sweat and calloused hands, all a plus. I don’t have to agree to appreciate this.

This is where it really gets good! Hop over to http://www.huffingtonpost.com/tristan-higgins/lifting-myself_b_3752947.html to read the rest. Thanks!


Lifting Myself – Excerpt

This is my newest piece submitted to the Huffington Post today. It should be up in a couple of days. In the meantime, I wanted to post an excerpt here…

I have been lifting as part of my fitness routine for over a year, but in the past 6 months I realized how much I like it, and started toying with the idea of doing a competition. A competition would make my training more real, give me motivation. You know, in the same way runners decide to do a half or full marathon. It gives them a goal, something to work towards rather than just running “another 5 miles today.” I cannot imagine anything worse than that, by the way. I am not a runner.

But I think I could be a lifter. At least, I want to try. So for the past 5 weeks I have been committed to a special training routine and program to help get me ready for a powerlifting meet in September.

Monday's inspirational photo was to inspire me. See the help?

Monday’s inspirational photo was to inspire me. See the help?

Powerlifting means lifting as much weight as you can. There are three events – chest press, dead lift and the dreaded squat. I am doing powerlifting – not physique (the really, really pretty lean bodies) or bodybuilding also pretty, but beefy bodies). I joke that powerlifting is the one that allows me to still drink my beloved craft beer. But even that I am doing in restricted moderation since I started training for the competition. See? Focus. A target.

It’s butch to stay tuned for the rest. Be Butch.


Monday Inspiration

Trying to feel inspired today. That’s 315lbs, by the way. Someday…

20130812-080517.jpgIt’s hella butch to lift something heavy. Be Butch.


She Found Me

Butch is single. Isn’t she? I committed in a post late last year that Butch would stay single. It’s easier, I thought. After all, I need to keep some things for myself. Right? Plus, it is a lot of fun to flirt. No harm or anything. Just fun. Only it’s getting harder for Butch to be single. Butch has always been close to me. Not exactly me, but close. Butch is more confident than I am. More flirtatious. More fun, too. But, as Butch, I talk about things that really happen in my life. About thoughts that I really have. About my kids. My parents. My friends. Always. And yet, Butch is separate. I did that to protect myself. And my kids. My parents. My friends. And any woman I might be lucky enough to date.

But, I also put out a call to the Universe asking for what I want in my next partner. It was a pretty detailed list. I said I hoped I’d be lucky enough to find her someday. Well, I did. Or rather, She found me.

I haven’t wanted to share this, and so I’ve really not been sharing much at all. I haven’t posted anything in over a month. That ends now. So… I am not single. And, neither is Butch. I won’t tell you about her, though.

But, oh my gosh. I wish I could tell you about her! If I could, I would probably start out by telling you that she is beautiful. Gorgeous, really. She has style and dramatic flair. Everyone sees her. She turns heads when she walks anywhere. Men flirt with her. Butches would too, if I wasn’t standing there (trying to look even taller and bigger than I am). My friends all tell me how gorgeous she is – in that way that reminds me she’s out of my league. (I’m sure they don’t mean it that way, but my rampant insecurity, well, you know.)

She has curves. And freckles. Sigh on both counts. She is funny, and charming. Thoughtful and considerate. She is kind. Like so kind that I sometimes think she must be teasing me – but, she’s not. She is the nicest woman I have ever kissed. And, adorable. When she smiles and laughs it melts my heart. She is smart. Scary smart. Fiercely independent. Strong. Sassy. And sophisticated, well-traveled, open-minded, but not full of herself. Just a touch of uncertainty which makes her gorgeousness and brilliance tolerable.

I would also tell you that her friends call her a mermaid. She loves the water. She is crafty and likes to sew. She likes to go out and have fun. Wants to travel the world with me, and cuddle on the couch. She loves to play with my kids and that goes a long way. My kids adore her. And she them. I am pretty much over the moon.

Butch & Femme Hands

Butch & Femme Hands

So She found me. For the life of me, I don’t know why She did or what She sees in me. It’s definitely a Beauty and the beast thing we’ve got going. (She corrected me, “It’s not a Beauty and the Beast thing, it’s a Beauty and the Butch thing.”)

It’s too bad I can’t tell you about her. She really is amazing, but you’ll just have to trust me.

So, not only am I not single (and neither is Butch), I am in love. And so is Butch… With an amazing, sexy, gorgeous, brilliant, kind, funny, charming, adorable, independent, passionate Femme.

It’s Butch to be found by the world’s most amazing Femme and to recognize you’ve been found. I hope you are as lucky as me. Be Butch.


Hunting for Valentines: Interview with Kiyomi

 

Kiyomi is talented... and hot.

Kiyomi is talented… and hot.

 

I broke my interviewing cherry with Kiyomi McCloskey from Hunter Valentine. Now, don’t worry. I already know that I am not a journalist (surprise!), nor do I write for Rolling Stone, so I decided to just talk to Kiyomi — and, of course, ask questions that I thought people who read my blog would be interested in: things about beer, fashion, travel, dating, and being butch. If you want more of the “who’s your musical influence”-type questions, go check out Hunter Valentine’s website. Oh, and Google them, as many journalists do. Read the rest of this interview on the Huffington Post:

Hunting for Valentines: Interview with Kiyomi.

Let the Huffington Post know you like ButchOnTap

Let the Huffington Post know you like ButchOnTap

While you are there, would you please hit the “like” button next to my name at the top of the page? This is to like me as an author, rather than liking the particular article. Of course, you can do that too. ;o) Thank you!


Why I Love Butches

Recently, I asked all of you to share the reasons why you love butches. It was a really interesting list and some of you suggested that I needed to compile it and share. One note is that this was grammatically challenging. Most of these are tweets and so not full sentences, but I tried to edit as little as possible. I did make them readable outside of Twitter and Facebook, though, and even though they aren’t all complete sentences, I added periods. Also, I’ve never cursed in a post, but a few of these need the expletive, I think, so I have left them.  Well, here you go!

Oh, and if you are a baby butch, take note. It was mentioned on more than one occasion that some of you could use a few of these tips.

OUR HANDS & ARMS

  • Big, giant, strong hands to pick me up and fuck me. Number one reason.
  • Looking at her strong hands and knowing where they can take me…
  • Strong hands on the small of my back guiding me through a crowded room.
  • She runs her fingers through my hair, gently pulling my head back, and kisses my neck.
  • The contrast of her big rough hands on my smooth skin.
  • The way she holds me and the way she takes my hand in hers.
  • Butch hands, butch style, butch lips!
  • Arms strong enough to carry me to her bed, hands strong enough to pin my wrists even when I arch my back.
  • Strong hands that silently promise to always keep me safe.
  • The safety that can always be found in their big strong arms.

Butches: Femmes are loving how strong we are. Also, they notice our hands, so maybe keep them clean?

OUR FASHION

  • How amazing she looks in a 3 piece suit with a bow tie and how that bow tie comes in handy after dark.
  • How she looks in a made-to-measure three piece suit.
  • She’s not into suits, but she knows that you have a thing for them and so she wears them for you.
  • Suits and boobs!
  • A surprise trashy bra under her suit.
  • Purple dress shirts and vests.
  • Three words. Ties. Cufflinks. Vests.
  • Bow ties that I can untie…
  • French cuff dress shirts & cuff links.
  • Ties, button down shirts, blazers, belts, shoes, watches.
  • Ass kicking boots!
  • Short, well maintained hair.
  • Nothing quite as appealing as a dapper butch.

Butches: Get the picture here? There is major action to be gotten by dressing up, buttoning down, and tying that bow tie.

GENERAL

  • I like how how attentive she is when I make her breakfast.
  • When she let’s you ramble on and on about your day…and actually listens.
  • They use the word asshats to make sad femmes laugh out loud.
  • How intently she listens to me when I speak.
  • Her patience while I get ready.
  • When a straight man says, “why not date a real man?” I can say, anything you can do, she can do better!
  • They’re so smile-inducing to consider that I’d rather stay here typing why I love them, than finish getting ready &going to work this morning!
  • The softer side only shown in the safety and confidence of a loved one.
  • The dynamic that can only be shared between a butch and a femme.
  • Attentive, appreciative and creative..
  • The way she embraces the butch-femme dance in a way that respects us both.
  • The way butches interact with children when they think no one is watching: let go, act silly and carefree! *swoon*
  • Strong facial features with a hint of softness.

Butches: Listen, be patient, and let those lovely femmes see your softer side. Apparently, they like it. What a relief! It’s hard to be tough all the time.

PUPPIES (Yes, really.)

  • They get puppies for their little girls..
  • They give a puppy-less femme a late nite puppy fix.
  • She selflessly offers to share adorable puppy to serve as mascot.

Butches: If you can pull it off responsibly, there are points to be scored here.

SWAGGER

  • Confidence, because she’s out every moment & has to deal with things I never will.
  • Her unapologetic presence and self confidence.
  • Outward self confidence and undeniable presence.

I have to say that first one almost makes me cry. It’s true, and it’s exhausting. So nice to be appreciated for it.

CHIVALRY

  • Having a butch find out no one has ever bought you flowers before & them being more pissed off than you.
  • She is gallant enough to allow an inattentive femme to save face.
  • Old-school butch style, old-school butch manners.
  • The way she makes me feel like the only woman in the world worth noticing.
  • The silent possessiveness of her presence when we’re on a date.
  • Gentlebutch manners. Attentive. Femmes first.
  • How she opens the door for me, closes my car door, all those little things.
  • How she guides me with a hand on the small of my back as we walk.
  • I love butch gentlemanly attention, tenderness, tough demeanor, lovely manners to start…
  • The effort she makes to ensure I don’t get wet from puddles and the way she walks.
  • Chivalry in the most genuine and loving display.
  • The way she bravely kills the spiders while pretending they don’t terrify her.

I am so glad the femmes notice! Young butches: Open the doors for your femme – unless she tells you not to.

SEXY

  • Making her growl.
  • How your special butch knows just how to please you.
  • Knowing that submission is strength, not weakness.
  • How they blush when teased playfully by a femme.
  • Walking out in heels, corset, suspenders, stockings with red lips and her being left speechless.
  • Because they know how to put the biggest grin on your face, right before bed. *swoon*
  • The way she undresses me with her eyes.
  • Unexpected romantic streaks.
  • Her absolute need for me there and then…
  • How I can make her distracted by being girly & flirty.
  • Role playing :o)
  • When she pretends like we have never met and find that connection all over again every time.
  • How they always give a femme what she wants and needs.
  • They are super attentive and giving.
  • How I can get her cool facade to slip by being provocative. 
  • The way she makes me melt with a demanding kiss. 
  • The way she treats me with respect & charm, until we’re in the bedroom.
  • The look on their face when they realizing I’m packing under my skirt.
  • The way she bends down to gently remove my stilettos before giving me a massage. 
  • The way they please their lover!

Butches: Well done! We are sexy beasts! Keep up the good work, and the growling.

POWER

  • Big and strong to pin me down while she fucks me. 
  • When she ties me up with her bow tie.
  • The look on her face when she says “I may hurt you, but I’ll never harm you.” 
  • Obedience… *fanning myself* and the look in her eyes when she does submit.

Gulp. No comment.

SMELL

  • Butches are so intoxicating.
  • The way she reacts to my perfume.
  • The way their skin smells, even without cologne or body spray.

Butches: This doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t shower. Keep it fresh.

And, my favorite comment was from JaJaButton: “Someone bring me ButchOnTap. Please? Yum. Butch is best.” Thanks JaJa! You made me blush.

Coming soon, the same inventory for Why I love Femmes. Given this list, it is obvious the femmes and sometimes butches love us for all that makes us butch. So, I guess that means that it’s Butch to Be Butch. Be Butch.


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