Butchfemme - Tumblr Posts
For me, it's about freedom from the expectations placed on transfems/trans women to sexually serve (especially tme) partners to a really high degree and very one-sidedly. It's about reclaiming my right as a trans woman to enjoy myself during sex.
On top of this it's about refusing to be fetishized for my genitals, I've had one too many interactions with chasers at this point and I was willing to top them out of desperation because none of them ever made me feel valuable outside of my genitals, and I believed doing that was the only way anyone would ever love me. Almost all chasers are focused on getting topped by transfems, so by saying no to that entirely and all other forms of giving sexual touch, I pretty effectively keep them away and put people who are unlikely to fetishize me at the forefront of my dating options.
It's also very much about stone tops, respecting them, respecting their boundaries always, showing gratitude for how they care for me, and allowing myself to be cared for in a world that has decided trans women don't deserve that treatment (partially because I want to be cared for and partially because I know stone tops want to take care of me and that it makes them happy too).
High Femmes: How would you describe your identity and role in your role in the butch/femme community or your relationships to someone who was questioning their identity?
sex is great and all but have u ever braided the pubes of a butch? i haven't .....pass me the beer
"Yes, it's true: I was the type of young femme who managed the girls basketball team in high school, just to be able to take in the sight of all those butches parading their muscles up and down the court. I found Girl Scout camp to be femme heaven and reveled in being able to explore my athletic self and still maintain my femmeness. And, to my horror, I have to admit pushing Tina away from my breasts in the back seat of a Buick while attending Mount Saint Mary Seminary. And then there was feminism... Although I came out as a "gay" woman before reading The Feminine Mystique, the seventies brand of white feminism had me trimming my nails and cutting off my hair. Soon I was outfitted in farmer jeans and high tops. And still I was told by my "sisters" that I didn't "look like a dyke" (read: I didn't look butch). I began to lead two lives- one as an outrageous, skirted, lipsticked femme while I worked in and traveled with carnivals, and another as an imitation butch back home in the women's community. Eventually, I pulled the pieces of my being back together and proclaimed boldly, "I am a working-class lesbian femme." So I had maybe six years reveling in unleashing my seductive femme self when, as lives go, mine changed: slowly at first and then more dramatically. Recurring back pain and limited range of mobility were finally diagnosed. Soon after came decreased mobility. No more mountain climbing. No long mall walks in search of the perfect piece of sleaze. No more standing against kitchen walls being gloriously fucked by some handsome butch. I stopped using alcohol and drugs, became ill with what is now known as CFIDS (Chronic Fatigue Immune Dysfunction Syndrome), and began to use a three-wheeled power chair. The more disabled I became, the more I mourned the ways my sexual femme self had manifested through the nondisabled me: cruising at the local lezzie bar, picking up a dyke whose eyes refuse to stray from mine, dancing seductively, moving all of me for all of her. Cooking: love and suggestion neatly tucked into the folds of a broccoli quiche. Serving my date in varying, sleazy clothing, removing layers as the meal and our passion progressed. And making love... feeling only pleasure as my hips rose and fell under the weight of her. Accomplishment and pride smirked across my face as her wrists finally submitted to the pressure of strong persistent hands. There are the ways I knew to be femme, to be the essence of me.
It's been five years now since I began using my wheelchair. I am just awakening to a new reclamation of femme. Yes. I still grieve the way I was, am still often unsure how this femme with disabilities will act out her seduction scenes. I still marvel when women find passion amidst the chrome and rubber that is now a part of me.
There have been numerous dates, lovers, relationships, sexual partners, and fliterations along the way. Cindy, Jenny, Ellie, Emma, Diane, Dorothy, Gail, June, Clove, Lenny, Cherry, Diana, Sarah I, and Sarah II. You have all reminded me in your own subtle or overt, quit or wild ways that I am desirable, passionate, exciting, wanted.
Yes I am an incredibly sexual being. An outrageous, loud mouthed femme who's learning to dress, dance, cook, and seduce on wheels; finding new ways to be gloriously fucked by handsome butches and aggressive femmes. I hang out with more sexual outlaws now- you know, the motorcycle lesbians who see wheels and chrome between your legs as something exciting, the leather women whose vision of passion and sexuality doesn't exclude fat, disabled me.
Ableism tells us that lesbians with disability are asexual. (When was the last time you dated a dyke who uses a wheelchair?) Fat oppression insists that thin is in and round is repulsive. At times, these voices become very loud, and my femme, she hid quietly amidts the lists.
Now my femme is rising again. The time of doubt, fear, and retreat has passed. I have found my way out of the lies and oppression and have moved into a space of loving and honoring the new femme who has emerged. This lesbian femme with disabilities is wise, wild, wet, and wanting. Watch out.
-"Reclaiming femme... Yet again" Mary Francis Platt, The Persistent Desire (Edited by Joan Nestle) (1992)
Butches... Femmes... Shoes... from FaT GiRL zine vol 7.
Lesbians: sexualizing workwear since the 1940s and being iconic while doing it
From boots of leather, slippers of gold
OK which spoiled doe eyed femme princess will marry me and live the rest of our days in a townhouse in Italy please
ok so when is a hot vampire butch going to come tear up the side of my neck
The dream 🩸😷
for a long time i convinced myself i was bi because i thought timothée chalamet and saoirse ronan as kyle and lady bird were the hottest couple in cinema... no baby, thats a butchfemme relationship.
i cant see anything normally anymore its all butchfemme
redesign of a photo from a 1971 issue GAY Magazine
click for quality (instagram) (my shop) (shirts & other merch)
I'm tired of being a girl kisser with no girl to kiss ðŸ˜
When we wake up together in Brooklyn, we are three thousand miles away from our daily lives on the West Coast, and I already know that I am in love with her. We have slept facing East, and sunrise, Jerusalem, farther; the morning light streams in through thin curtains, and when I open my eyes I can see her smiling at me. We have grown close to one another, and then closer; I look at this smile of hers, and I think that maybe she has started to see her future in me. That night we celebrate Shabbat with her family, and then we return to bed, to celebrate with each other.
This is a simple jewish story and a simple love story. A nice Jewish boy meets a nice Jewish girl in the woods, and they start what seems to be a summer camp romance, only it holds, and through the campfire flirtation, they become an us. But the story here is also between two queers, and this infuses each layer: My butch self ot her femme self, my tattoos against her bare skin, the glasses that we each have to take off when we kiss, my white T-shirt against her black slip, and my palms, pressed into hers, fingers entwined; all of the ways that love has threaded itself between us, the most simple and complex revelations.
Before we know each other well, and before we tell each other our stories, and before I am hers, and she is mine, there is the beginning, and in the beginning I walk across the room to talk to her. She is on one side, and I am on the other, and I am immediately drawn to her, compelled. And then there is also the act of standing near her: there is this deep flash of recognition between us, this low hum just below the surface. There is this feeling of familiarity, and ease underneath all the words that we are saying, and all the words that we are not saying -- and this feeling between us is like speaking a second language, like speaking the language of our homeland, uncovered. Right from the start, this standing near her, it leaves me wanting more. "
"What We Know To Be True", Sasha T. Goldberg, On Butch and Femme: Compiled Readings, (edited by I.M. Epstein) (2017)
i dont talk about being genderqueer on here nearly enough but it is a part of my life and im hopefully starting a low dose of t in the next year or so!
so i guess here is your reminder that femmes can have just as complex and nuanced a relationship with gender as butches do
a 50 year old butch bodyslammed me during my soccer game today i almost forgot we were on opposite teams
pspspspsing at all the tumblr butches pspsps please come to my blog i will make you cookies and maybe we could h*ld h*nds or something...
slow dancing in the kitchen with cookies in the oven and soft warm lighting when
When we wake up together in Brooklyn, we are three thousand miles away from our daily lives on the West Coast, and I already know that I am in love with her. We have slept facing East, and sunrise, Jerusalem, farther; the morning light streams in through thin curtains, and when I open my eyes I can see her smiling at me. We have grown close to one another, and then closer; I look at this smile of hers, and I think that maybe she has started to see her future in me. That night we celebrate Shabbat with her family, and then we return to bed, to celebrate with each other.
This is a simple jewish story and a simple love story. A nice Jewish boy meets a nice Jewish girl in the woods, and they start what seems to be a summer camp romance, only it holds, and through the campfire flirtation, they become an us. But the story here is also between two queers, and this infuses each layer: My butch self ot her femme self, my tattoos against her bare skin, the glasses that we each have to take off when we kiss, my white T-shirt against her black slip, and my palms, pressed into hers, fingers entwined; all of the ways that love has threaded itself between us, the most simple and complex revelations.
Before we know each other well, and before we tell each other our stories, and before I am hers, and she is mine, there is the beginning, and in the beginning I walk across the room to talk to her. She is on one side, and I am on the other, and I am immediately drawn to her, compelled. And then there is also the act of standing near her: there is this deep flash of recognition between us, this low hum just below the surface. There is this feeling of familiarity, and ease underneath all the words that we are saying, and all the words that we are not saying -- and this feeling between us is like speaking a second language, like speaking the language of our homeland, uncovered. Right from the start, this standing near her, it leaves me wanting more. "
"What We Know To Be True", Sasha T. Goldberg, On Butch and Femme: Compiled Readings, (edited by I.M. Epstein) (2017)
reminder : lesbians adhering to traditional values and traditional gender roles doesn’t make our relationships patriarchal, oppressive or anti-feminist. butches and femmes who engage in a traditional lifestyle do it for the love of giving, for the love of each other. butch-femme love is sacred, always — and so are our traditions and our history of courtship, love and devotion.
no thoughts, just imaging a puppy butch whining to eat me out while rutting on my thigh, waiting for my permission to drown themselves inside and have my nails scratching their head, gripping when I'm close to cummimg.
Don't stop I wanna know
Femme lesbians have more in common with drag queens than they do cis women. In this essay I—