We talked for a while, and when the music changed to something familiar, I asked her to dance. As we did our best 80’s moves, I motioned for her to lean towards me, as if I had something to tell her, and when she got close enough, I kissed her. And she kissed me back.
From that first kiss a la femme, I knew that everything I had thought of myself in childhood was true (influenced by movies, commercials, ad campaigns, and music) . I definitely liked girls. I also realized that my comfort zone was equally as correct. It felt good to be “butch”.
With experience and time, I also learned that I liked a little “bad ass” in my ladies, even in their looks. The Bad Ass Blonde (BAB) with wit, brains, a sense of humor and just a touch of sport (the Sporty Femme) was perfect. But did such perfection exist? In my heart, I knew that I could not be happy with anything less, but I was told that this would be my problem: I was searching for a fantasy. No woman could be all that. She didn’t exist. Ah, but that didn’t mean I didn’t try to find her.
En route, I rode the butch roller coaster, going from tomboyish to hard core dyke (aka “is that a girl or a boy?”). Not only in dress but in existence. The only time I can recall being passive is the first time I met a “real” lesbian. I was at a birthday party in all my just-out baby butchness, wearing a black tank top, Bugle Boy cargo pants, Polo boots and a Members Only jacket. If memory serves, the cologne of the moment was Grey Flannel. My cologne choices were largely influenced by my mother. I studied her choices of gifts for the men in her life with enthusiasm and incorporated them into my personal style.
Her name was Selena, and once she spotted me, obviously with some sort of “lesbian virgin alert” beaming brightly around me like neon lighting, she pursued me with enthusiastic vigor. By the end of the evening, I was claimed and branded (but didn’t quite realize what had happened). By the next date, she proclaimed us girlfriends and by the end of the third date, I knew what “all the fuss” was about. We lasted a whole three months. However, in that time I received quite a schooling, and by the time the second lesbian I had ever met became my second girlfriend, I not only knew what “all the fuss” was about, I knew how to cause it. I also learned that I much preferred to cause it, becoming a Top and taking much pleasure in giving pleasure. I found out that orgasms come in many forms, one of the most powerful being mental and emotional.
Over the years, I would say my personal definition of being butch is perpetually evolutionary. At times it’s been a fashion statement. At other times it’s been a state of mind, attitude, sexual position and even a sexual boundary (refer to “stone butch” and “untouchable”). I know that the real butch in me has grown and evolved more in the past three years than in the past three decades. The adventure continues in new and exciting ways thanks to my partner. Being “butch” has never been better….
