Butchly Butchness

Been busy with life and work. Too busy to write, I guess. That's a shame to me.

I just get so overwhelmed reading other butch blogs and articles. Their writings speak out to me and I feel like I should respond.

Recently,Sinclair Sexsmith called for fellow bloggers to participate in her new project ButchLab. This is what she said:

The Butch Lab Symposium is meant to be a cross between a blog carnival and a link round-up, where whoever wants to chimes in on a particular topic around butch identity and we all have a conversation.

I strongly urge all the folks who participated in this to: a) re-post this roundup, in whole or part (I can provide the HTML if you’d like, contact me); and b) to comment on as many of the contributions as you can. Seriously, challenge yourself to read every single one and comment. Think about what is different or the same from your definition. Make note of a line that made you go “hmmmm,” or “yeah, that!” and tell them.

So, because this was the first Symposium, I figured we should start out with the basics. To get all of us on the same page, to come up with a common language and definition and structure for talking about this stuff. I’d really like to continue elevating the discussion around butch identity through this project, and this is part of that, to really dig our hands into the deep stuff and see what we come up with.

So the first topic was: What is butch? How do you define butch? What do you love about it? What does it mean to you?

I read many various bloggers' definitions on the word "butch." Many of the definitions were varied and interesting. Somehow, they all rang true for me. I have my own definition which is the basis for this blog. Victoria Oldham wrote at her blog, The Musings of a Lesbian Writer, that being a butch did not mean "passing" as a man, but just being a masculine woman without having to try to appease the social norm of two genders.

The thought of not trying to pass floors me. I guess I've always tried to pass. I thought I had to fit in to one group or another. Honestly, I thought I was trans. Perhaps I am not. I can just be butch, just gender queer, and not have to label myself as male or female. To not be either gender is what I feel more comfortable with.

I love being a butch. I love the masculinity. I don't want to have to part with that, nor do I want to try to make strangers around me comfortable by trying to pass as a man. I don't want to be a man. I want to be myself, free from the constrictions of social norms of gender and society. All I want is to come home to my femme every night and hold her in my arms. What is wrong with that?

Why sleep when I could stay with you all night? Sometimes deep, passionate kisses at 1AM in public places are more satisfying than nights of much needed release. Those kisses in the basement reminded me of when we first started getting serious together. I feel like we're falling in love again.

She Said Yes

So, she said yes. She surprised the hell out of me, but she said yes. What's weird is that I kept asking and asking. I was half serious, half joking but I asked. I meant it though. And apparently she knew that because she agreed. Does she know what she's getting into?

She knows I snore, she knows I am clumsy, a klutz, a ditz. I forget things all the time. I can tune people out with skill, I have a bad temper, I get road rage, I get terrible allergies, I am not a fan of mainstream culture. However, she knows all of this and still wants to marry me. I am in awe of this woman.

She knows how to fine tune me without manipulation, however. She knows all my faults and works around them, not without frustration though. She is wonderful in every sense of the word. She's incredible. I thank the luck that led me to her.

We have a magnetic connection, some irresistible pull to each other. I can't get enough of her. The sex is amazing. She is amazing.

The question isn't if I am ready or not. I know I am ready, or else I wouldn't have asked her to be my wife. The questions are many: when, where, how, what...etc. We are planning for the wedding, but the plans are just outlines until we graduate college. College is first and foremost. Marriage can wait.

We don't want a ceremony at all. We plan on driving up to D.C to get hitched unless another state closer to us legalizes gay marriage. After that, we will have our (small) reception. We don't plan on inviting a crap ton of people. Just close friends and family.

We're going to make most of our own decorations, cook our own food, plan our own music play list...I think we'll be able to pull off a small yet manageable wedding (with a small and manageable budget, haha).

To call her my wife fills me with such pride and joy, I really have no way to describe it. She'll be my wife, my lover, my best friend, my confidant, my rock, my guiding light. She's already all that and more to me. She's my heart. Asking her to marry me felt so right. I have no second doubts. I have no reservations about my decision.

The hardest part now is proposing to her properly and surprising her. She hates surprises, but, I think she'll like this one.

What is a Butch?

What is a butch?

A butch is the polar opposite of a femme. The yang to the femme's yin.

I take her arm and help her up. I give her comfort when she needs it. I lift the heavy things. I go to the store when she is lying naked in bed and doesn't want to get dressed. I fuck her like she needs to be fucked.

I can't stand it when she cries because I want to find out why she is crying and fix the problem immediately. I want to make her happy constantly. I am her rock. I have to be her rock. I guess my kind of butch is the rock butch. I am sturdy, I am reliable, I am stable, I have strength to offer (both physical and emotional). I want to marry my woman and give her all that I can and more. I want to do house projects and fix things. I want to build our dream house with my bare hands, yet I am no carpenter. But my heart wants to.

I want to fuck her hard and strong all night. I love making her cum over and over again until I lose count. I love the sounds she makes, from guttural to a high pitched squeal. She's wet like the Amazon River before I barely touch her sometimes. Her lust and scent drive me wild. My favorite position is right above her, supporting myself with my arms, staring down into her chocolate brown eyes and seeing the lust there. She's begging me to fuck her. Yet while she's begging me, she's daring me to make her cum as much as I can. It's challenge I relish and a challenge I win almost every single time we fuck.

I want to be the one to take care of things. I want to make enough money so we can live comfortably without worrying. I want us to have a little cushion in case something goes wrong. And I want to be the one responsible for fixing whatever problems come along. Of course I cannot fix all the problems by myself, but, I'll try my hardest to. I just don't want her to worry.

I sound almost sexist when I say that, but, it's true. I just want to be her provider. I want her to know everything will be taken care of. Of course, in all likelihood, we will have a partnership, an equal relationship where we both would take care of things. That would be the correct thing to do. But I just want her to know that no matter what, I will be her rock.

I imagine in our kitchen, she'd be cooking wearing nothing but an apron. That thought makes me tingle all over like nothing else. Just the fact that she'd be in our kitchen being naked for me. Why would she be in the kitchen? Because she loves cooking and I can't. I love her cooking though. Afterward, I would clean up the mess and do the dishes because that's what I do best.

Being a butch, for me, is all about being a rock: A solid, unmoving pillar of strength and unyielding patience for my girl.

A Heart of Gold

In the past, I've always fallen for the wrong women.

I used to fall for the unattainable, the emotionally unstable, the users, the manipulators, the liars, the backstabbers.

Perhaps I am being too harsh. However, my past experiences have been nothing but heartache.

I have fallen for women who wanted to use me in some way and I let them. I let them use me because I was afraid to open my eyes and accept the truth. I've had past girlfriends use my naivety against me, who lied to me and then denied it.

I've been mocked for caring too much. I've had my feelings dashed against the wall.

I've tried to save sinking ships only to drown. I thought it was my duty to save those sinking ships. I thought that if I could save her then she would be happy then it would make me happy. My own happiness was not a priority. For that, I am at fault.

They tried to change me and make me deny what I was. They dressed me up and played with my puppet strings, making me dance for them. I let them only because I didn't know better. I thought if I let them play me and make me dance then they'd be happy, and then I'd be happy with them.

I was at fault too, I am sure. I am not completely innocent. But never did I try to manipulate. Never did I lie, never did I use.

But, perhaps being through those gauntlets helped me to realize the gem I had found. Knowing manipulation helped me to realize when I wasn't being manipulated.

My heart of gold is a rare find. My happiness is apparent to all those who meet me. We are hailed as a cute couple. People say we are right for each other.

It's so refreshing to not be jealous, anxious, or worried all the time. A heavy weight has lifted off my heart. It's refreshing not to have to keep my feelings in check.

It's refreshing to fall for the right woman.

A Declaration of Love

Marriage.

I know that word scares her. This is her first real relationship. Truth be told, the word scares me too. With my past girlfriends, I thought of spending the rest of my life with them. I honestly thought I would. But I never wanted to get married to them. Marriage was something I had never wanted. I was pretty sure I would never want to get married.

But she makes me want that bond. She makes me want to take that next step. I don't know what it is about her, but, I feel so comfortable. I feel like she knows me, knows all of me. I feel like she can look inside of me and know what my heart is saying. I haven't felt like that about anyone.

She knows what I want to say when I cannot find the right words. She knows when I am angry before I even open my mouth. She knows how to soothe my rage and temper before I go too far.

She understands and likes my ridiculous sense of humor. She even matches my humor. She calls me on my lack of common sense and makes me pay attention to the world around me. She made me want to write again.

With one word, one gesture, one look, I can turn into putty at her feet and she knows it. She knows exactly where to touch and kiss to make my knees buckle.

A woman like this is not one I am willing to part with. She has a heart of gold that I haven't been able to find anywhere else. Her love is true. I've been with so many manipulators and liars. Her heart is genuine. I do not worry with her. All my walls have been beaten down by her gentle wear. There is no more resistance.

I love calling her mine. I love lazy Sundays after a crazy Saturday night of fucking. I love bringing her coffee and peanut butter toast in bed. I love waking up before her and just watching her. I love watching her wake up, those beautiful mocha eyes fluttering in the morning light.

I love her pouty lips and how fights between us never last longer than a day.

She has strength and confidence, if only she could temper it and master it. I love bringing them out of her. I love her bedroom eyes. I love our passion and lust.

I know I don't need marriage to be a declaration of love. But the feeling can't seem to leave me. I know what I want.

Maybe...

Perhaps the problem lies within me.

I've chalked up past relationships ending badly to my ex girlfriends. Manipulative, selfish, indecisive, just using me, and the list could go on. I was just quick to say that I was the good guy in the whole ordeal.

But, perhaps, I am wrong. I am immature, yes. I have a problem doing things that I shouldn't have a problem doing. I can't figure out what I want sometimes. I can't voice my problems unless provoked. I am a major procrastinator, though I do some of my best work under pressure.

Relationships are definitely two way streets. I see these problems in me and ways to change them. I always say it's important to at first identify the problem. But perhaps that isn't good enough right now. I need to take the next step in the problem solving list. I need to actually address my issues and attempt to change them.

I just feel like we've been fighting more and more recently and it has to do something with my hang ups, my immaturity. She wants security, maturity, stability, reliability, and strength. I can give her all of that if I try. But perhaps I am not trying hard enough. Why?

What am I afraid of? Am I afraid of success? Or am I just really fucking lazy? That's what scares me. She is definitely worth it. What is holding me back? I wish I could figure it out.