I love everything about butch women, and I always have. More feminine girls just don’t do anything for me sexually- I can objectively admire their beauty and sexiness, but in the end, it’s when I see a woman who is androgynous, boyish, or plain out manly, my heart starts to pitter-patter. So let me sing an ode to butches here, because far too often all I see is “Eww, yuck, I like my women to look like women!”, and that’s so sad. I love butch hair. I like the way the women who wear it- whether it’s short or long- use their hair in a completely different way than do feminine women- they don’t flip it or toss it or curl it around their fingers, but sometimes they run their hands through it that special way. I love the way short hair looks so distinguished on a strong face that would otherwise be hidden by length, and I love the way a shaved butch head both reveals a butch’s masculinity in attitude, and femininity in the face and head that emerge. I love butch faces. I love the androgynous and tomboyish faces that are beautiful, elvish, almost- the girls who could be extraordinarily beautiful in femme drag. But more than that I love the butch faces that can’t do that- that look ridiculous when painted up and framed by a wig. I love strong, square jaws that are firmly held rather than slack. I love high foreheads and thick brows that other people would probably want to pluck and shape. I love butch eyes, that are always so extraordinary. Not hidden by tons of makeup or weighted down with the way femme women often look away, it’s like looking into their souls. I love the way a butch speaks with her eyes- those direct stares that say “I love you.” or make you break out in a hot flush from across the room. I love butch mouths, which are the ultimate combination: soft and sensuous girl lips that don’t act like girl lips- no pouting or worried thinning or other ‘femme’ signs. I love butch bodies, every way they come. I like the way that the butch female form is somehow hidden in its clothing- from the T-shirt and jeans to the sharpest cut suit, you can always tell it’s there, in the hips, the luscious curve of breast, but it’s not on display the way femme clothing screams “boobs here! butt here!”. I love muscles on a woman’s body, more than the average sporty femme should have, bulging, tensing. I love butches who don’t shave their legs or their armpits, who own the hair on their body, and how though it’s long, most people don’t realize it’s downy soft, too, a beautiful covering. I love butch boobs, because they are such a prize, alternatively hated and ignored by their owners. I love little butch t*ts and big butch t*ts- I love the shape they make on a boxy body and I adore the juxtaposition of hard muscle, soft breast. I love to see a butch unwind her binding and the breasts to spill out like presents, and then get wrapped up again for the world, a secret only I’ve had access to. I love butch legs and torsos- they are so often trunk-like, solid. Even when they’re scrawny, they have a centeredness, a strength. Muscled butch legs, smooth or hairy, get me every time. I love the way so many butches adorn their bodies, bodies that aren’t supposed to be, but get decorated anyways- butch piercings and tattoos- a ring around a bicep makes me melt. I love the way butches smell- not cloyingly, sickeningly sweet like femmes’ perfume or other body scents, but clean, fresh, sometimes musky and sour with cologne, but always different, always, somehow, natural. I love butch fashion- I am quite simply and utterly delighted by the way women wear what’s regarded as men’s clothing. For anyone who’s ever thought that butches are lazy dressers, I want to point out the woman who looks so utterly dashing in her suit and tie, or just a dress shirt and slacks, the boi who is able to rock a Justin Timberlake look, right down to the fedora, who makes a wifebeater look as tasty as it can be, who make men in theirs look sallowly concave at the chest. I love the studded belts that punk butches wear, the boys jeans that fit off-kilter around their hips just enough. I cannot begin to explain the heat it generates to see a butch in boxers, or better yet, boxer-briefs or boy’s underwear, those legs branching up to the three-pronged cut, the flap lying flat and empty, or maybe bulging with a packer. I love the fact that nearly every butch owns a pair of boots, solid, thundering boots that look so army powerful and commanding when they wear them. I love a woman in men’s clothing. I love the way butches act. I love the particular way a butch woman acts “like a man”, but with a woman’s way- gentlemanly ettiquette and all. I don’t know how to describe that it’s not hardly even the butch qualities (sitting wide-legged and spread out, standing tall and firm), but rather how comfortable and natural she is being that way that makes it so good. I love the way butches are playful and funny but not coy or manipulative- I love their straight-forwardness. I love that “bulldagger swagger” so full of confidence and seriousness, that peacock strut. I love the way butches feel a masculine sense of obligation and duty and protection, but it doesn’t translate into male ego. My heart squeezes at the way butches deal with their emotions- sometimes hiding it, swallowing it down, and that facade of pride and bravado. I love the way butches act- so confident, so gentlemanly, so tough. I love butch voices- the ones that are pitched too low, but refuse to take on the sort of drawl that would turn it into a throaty, sultry femme voice. I love the way butches can navigate the world- not in competition with men, but buddies and friends, and yet slide into women’s land and have that identity, too. I love the way butches have sex- how they know just what to do, and want to do it so very badly. I love the way butches use their hands like sex organs for delicate handlings. I love the outline of a strap-on contained in jeans or underwear. I love butches who can orgasm by jerking off their silicone c*cks, whose metaphysical erections are so strong in their minds that the touch practically translates. I absolutely am addicted to the faces of butch pleasure- the eyes rolling back in the head, the body shudders, the complete way a feminine orgasm rolls through a butch body, made masculine by it. I love butches who top but more I love butches who bottom or do both- I am drawn to butch women who know that being touched and penetrated and pleasured doesn’t invalidate her butchness, doesn’t feminize her, doesn’t equal submission. I love butches who are into BDSM, who look fantastic in leather and who take slow, careful deliberation in their acts, who wear that power like an easy mantle. I love butches who love other butches as well as femmes- those girls who know the true pleasures of same-sex relations, when the sameness is in two butch bodies banging together, mirror images, same intense ferocity and heat. But perhaps most of all, I love butches for who they are in this world. My heart aches and yearns for the strength I feel from them, how every day they walk the world looking the way they do and basically inviting- and then bearing- attacks for not giving up and conforming to feminine ideals. I love them for being who they are, and not letting anyone tell them that women do not have crew cuts, or women don’t wear ties, or women must be this, or must be that. Simply put, I am in love and lust with butches, and I don’t care if other people aren’t (you can’t control what you like), but I want them to understand that butches can be- and are- desirable.
Gwen B (via arms-of-her-sweater)