Gym Grunts

Dear Butch,

I couldn’t workout next to you today, or yesterday, or the day before that.  Usually I would follow this statement with a steamy paragraph about how hot I find you and how you make my knees weak.  But that isn’t the case this time around.

I found it odd that the treadmills on either side of you were empty a few days ago.  You weren’t singing out loud with your ear buds in and you didn’t smell funky.  So I saddled up next to you and tossed you a “Hello there sexy” smile.  I pulled up my playlist and plugged in, happy to be anywhere but my office.  We started about the same time, going the same pace.  As the speed and incline got faster I heard a disturbing noise.  At first I thought I that there was something funky with my MP3 player, nope all seemed normal.  Then I heard the noise again and convinced myself for about two minutes that my machine was having a mechanical malfunction.  I slowed my roll and took off my ear buds, ready to abandon ship when I heard the noise again coming from your direction.  There you were, running with your eyes closed (which still baffles me), and making sex grunts.

What.the.fuck.

I understand getting deep into the moment of working out, losing yourself in the breathe…stretch…beat…whatever and not realizing what your body is doing.  I have had plenty of those moments during yoga!  However, I have never witnessed someone sex grunting on the treadmill.  While lifting, yes.  The combination of the sound and your face, eyes closed and skin dewy, caused me to bust into laughter.  You were giving that treadmill the best forty-five minutes of it’s life with a cigarette to follow.  I had to dismount in fear that my uncontrollable laughter would cause an injury.  You must of sensed my movement and opened your eyes, looking confused I tried to cover my giggles with a fake cough.  I waved and walked away, smiling.

I have seen you in the gym everyday since then, and as I see you head to the treadmills I place myself away from you.  I don’t want to interrupt your affair with the treadmill again.

Love,

Femme

Happy Heart

Dear Butch,

As I was sitting outside in the sunshine today, enjoying frozen yogurt and the company of my family and T-Rex, I realized how lucky of a lesbian I am.  Here I am, surrounded by those who I love and who love me in return.  Gathered in good health, sustained wealth, and free to celebrate our religious customs without prosecution.

I have immediate and extended family who loves me just as I am and has accepted my transgender partner with open arms.  We don’t have to hide who we are as individuals or as a couple.  There is no whispers from across the room or feelings of disconnect.  We are treated no different then the others members of the family.  We are just…us.

And for this and so many other reasons, I am truly blessed.

Love,

Femme

Inked Error

Dear Butch,

I know that you think it is a great idea to permanently imprint your partner’s name on your body.  As you said, “It is the ultimate symbol of love and commitment!”.  Well yes, it is a commitment that you will love…for now.

Maybe I am just a cynic.  Scratch that, I am a realist.

I get wanting to show your emotional blah blah blah.  You are young and hip, with the silly belief that your first (or maybe second) girlfriend is “the one”.  You celebrate each “month-a-versary” with pomp and circumstance.  You love each other, deeper and stronger then anyone else.  I have been in your cargo shorts, it is a wonderful feeling.  Hormones and flowers are flowing, until they don’t.

Women can cheat, lie, and be uber assholes.

I am not insulting you, your girlfriend, or your relationship.  What I am saying is that there is a really good chance you may not always want to remember this woman.  For example, when she cheats on you two months after you U-Haul because she thought that the living together bliss would magically fix her years of doubt.  Or when she stops to tell mid-fuck that she thinks you two should start seeing other people.

Okay, now I am being cynical.

I want to strongly suggest an alternative to a tattoo.  Get matching piercings, cell phone covers, bracelets, dildos, sweater vests, or cats.  All of these things can be removed quickly and with little pain.  A tattoo can not.  What seems like a wonderful idea now will most likely be a painful reminder later.  Even if you end in a very lesbian “mutual” way, do you really want your next lady to be seeing your ex’s name on your wrist as you are fisting her on your “month-a-versary”?  Hello, mood killer!

I love my T-Rex, but I also know that nothing in life is promised expect birth and death.  We have matching (non-wedding) rings and cookie cutters.  I can’t promise that he and I will be together forever, I do hope that, but I can promise that I will never regret our matching metal.

Shit happens, don’t tattoo.

Love,

Femme

Flower Power

Dear Butch,

I hope others learn from your actions.

This weekend I watched as you walked into the restaurant I was at with a friend.  It was hard to miss you, clean modern crew cut and sharp navy blue blazer with brown elbow patches.  Your black glasses gave you an academic look, my thoughts went right to a role play involving a naughty school girl and a man teacher with a ruler.  I had to shake my head to clear the sexual fog.  You looked around, trying to find a familiar face.  As you turned away from us I noticed you had three distinct bunches of flowers in your soft leather work bag.  Each was a simple bouquet of monochromic flowers.  Of course my heart stated to pitter patter as hard as my clit.  Not only were you fucking hot but also a romantic.  You smiled and walked towards a gathering of tables, greeting a woman with a kiss on her cheek and then turning to the  rest of the party at the table, an older woman who looked like the mother of the woman you kissed and another younger woman who looked your ladies sister.  Your moments made it clear that you all had meet before, but that it is still new.  Not the relationship, but the involvement of family.  And then, you whipped out the dapper card.  You reached in your bag and pulled out the flowers.  The pink bouquet to your lady, the white bouquet to the mother, and the yellow bouquet to the sister.  All three woman were surprised in the most wonderful way.  I watched as the mother and sister smiled at your lady, the smile that women give when they are so excited but can not vocalize it.  The four of you then enjoyed a meal and laughter.

Spring is in the air, romance and flowers are in full bloom.  Make your lady smile.

Love, Femme

Left Hanging

Dear Butch,

There is a delicate balance of give and take that needs to happen in any relationship, romantic or platonic.  It is a rare moment that the emotional equilibrium is completely balanced between two individuals.  A good relationship should hover, for the most part somewhere comformatbly even.

Right now, there is no balance in your relationship.

You continue to take and take without a moment of reflection.  All the the praise is directly funneled to you.  Your lady raves about you to friends and compliments you continuously, yet you fail to return the favor.  You are so lost in your own head, your own life, or maybe our own ego that you fail so see how desperately she is reaching out for you.  Reaching for an ounce of appreciation or admiration back.  The glimmer of hope that you really do still love her, really do think she is the most gorgeous woman you have ever seen.  That you not only want her now, but want her forever.  That you choose to want to wake up to her every day, instead of doing it out of habit or comfort.

Something, anything.  She hangs for it.

This shouldn’t be news to you.  She has reached out, she has clearly mapped out her needs.  Yet, you trudge forth without missing a step.  You have no doubt she will always be there, that this void she is feeling is just a needy phase that she will get over.

What you don’t know is that each time you reject her advances, her heartbreaks a bit.  She starts to wonder what she has done to cause this change in your behavior.  Is it the extra ten pounds gained over the winter, or the extra hours she puts in at work.  Or maybe there is someone else, no shaking her head, it can’t be someone else.  Your lady is shedding silent tears in the shower, feeling your absence on her skin like hot needles.   She doubts and blames herself because she can’t find it in heart to pin it on you.  She keeps her feelings silent, not wanting to slip that things aren’t as perfect as they seem…that you aren’t as amazing as you seem.

Yes, every relationship has a honeymoon period.  The peak of romance and oxytocin explodes and then cools.  Form, norm, storm.  Basic group dynamics, but between two it can feel so much larger.  The echo is bigger, deafening almost, when there is less in it’s way.  She is not seeking for the old you to return, but for the new you to still want everything she has to offer.  People change and grow, together and individually.  But the you two as partners see the on going interactions of your relationship very differently.

Know that tonight, as she moves the sheets aside and presses her skin against yours, she is searching for recognition.  She seeks the love that you once provided.  She won’t ask, she just hopes.

How long are you going to let her hang?

Love,

Femme

Growing Up

Dear Butch,

T-Rex and I were having a serious conversation this weekend about our future.  In less a month, we will be celebrating two years together.  For as slow as I made us moved in the beginning … making sure that we didn’t fall into bad patterns too quickly, we have quickly made up the time in the past six months.  We are now living together, talking about engagment rings, and discussing having kids.

I can’t recall the topic of the conversation.  My guess is finances, that has been the issue at hand lately.  Joint checking account, budgeting bills, and saving for home improvements.  I had just gotten out of the shower and was sitting on the bed naked, except a towel on my head.  He was standing at the end of the bed, discussing budgeting worksheets and percentages.  I realized, that here we were, a loving couple, him on testosterone, me in the nude, and we aren’t fucking.

What the hell.

There is is a point in every relationship where the sex jets start to cool.  It doesn’t mean that that there a decline in love or lust, it just means you no longer feel the need to spend every spare second in the throws of ecstasy.  And, apparently, we have reached that point.  I felt a ping of sadness, feeling guilty for letting myself go and gaining weight, thinking that was the reason T-Rex wasn’t clawing his way on the bed to where I was sitting.  And then I I smiled, and realized that we have become a real adult couple.  We have real adult disagreements, we run real adult errands, and we have real adult love.  And all of this makes me more happy then I have ever been before.  I have done a lot in my short time here and have few cherries left to pop, but being this serous with a partner is new territory for me.

I guess all of these mushy thoughts caused me to smile stupidly as T-Rex was talking about the mortgage, which caused him to pause and ask me what was going through my head.  I shared with him my relationship epiphany.  He crawled on the bed, told me he loved me, and he fucked me until I became dizzy.

I am only lucky lady.

Love,

Femme

Finding Home

Dear Butch,

Since I was a wee little writer, I have struggled to solidify my place in the world.  I often found myself split between two equaled loved options: hockey and ballet, academics and athletics, work and friends.

I find myself in the same position as an adult, stuck between worlds.  I never thought that dating a transman would be easy.  I have my fair share of experience dabbling in the community as a fuck buddy and advocate.

But stuck, I am.  Between two unstable places.

As a lesbian, I fit right in because I have strong roots.  I have earned my place in the community.  As a lifetime, card carrying lesbian.  My identity has not changed since dating T-Rex, I am still really fucking gay.  I love being a femme queer lady with my whole being.  But when you have a partner who uses male pronouns, you get quite a few raised eyebrows.  Your sexual orientation goes on trial and the lesbian mafia serves as the jury.  For a group of people who fight so hard for equality and fair treatment, you wouldn’t except such judgment.

As the partner of a transman, I am seen as an advocate.  There is no doubt that I love, support, and celebrate my T-Rex.  But, when  gathering together for a dinner with the other t-guys, I am talked around and not talked to.  I have opinions about testosterone, binders, surgery, transphobia, and legal loop holes … but I am often looked at with bewilderment because I am not trans.  It is the school of thought that it is one thing to be the cheering change and another to be a player in the game.

So I sit in a juxtaposition between to worlds that often clash.  Lesbians fight against being seen as men and transmen fighting not to be seen as lesbians.  There is respect between the two parties, but underlining frustration that the other “sold out”.  Please note, this does not apply to all.

Where do I fit?  Who will take me in?

Love,

Femme

Spicy Surprise

Dear Butch,

The element of surprise is becoming a lost art.  It is the unexpected moments that make us catch our breath, skip a beat, and become totally engrossed in the moment.  We love that feeling while reading or watching a movie, so why aren’t we doing it more in our sex lives.

I want to be kept on my toes and I am guessing your lady does as well.  The surprise doesn’t have to be big, expensive, or elaborate.  There is no need to send your partner ay for a day so you can build a sex dungeon in your basement, unless you are really into that and have mad carpentry skills.  Start small and simple.  Keep the surprise to an element of your sex life that you both really enjoy, for example: your other half really enjoys her nipples being played with hard.  Surprise her with a pair of nipple clamps.  Or if you two are kinky, tie her to bed and blindfold her.  Then turn up the tunes so she can’t hear you as you move around the bed, then go forth with the raunchy activities you both enjoy.

Pretty simple right!  Yet, so easy to forget as we all get wrapped up in the daily grind.

As you become more comfortable and capable of crating a sex surprise, up your game.  For example, have a trail of ribbon great your partner at the door with a note that says “Follow Me”.  Wind the ribbon around your home until it ends at the bedroom door, where instead you wait with roses and massage oil or handcuffs and a blindfold … whatever fits your lifestyle.  The investment is minimal, but the outcome is amazing.  If you two enjoy a public play, command your lady to wear a butt plug or keep a small remote control vibrator on her clit while at out for dinner, attending the opera, or cheering on your favorite sports team.  Build upward and onward as you both see fit.

Keep the your sex life spicy, one surprise at a time.

Love,

Femme

Call Me…

Dear Butch,

Some dead white guy who I was forced to read several times over once compared names to roses.  As much as I detest this individual and his work, that in anthology form cost me well over one hundred dollars and weighed about fifty pounds, I have to give it to him … he was right about names.

Some couples have special bedroom names.  That may be the chest line I have ever written in the history of this blog, but I am going with it.

Whether it be Sir, Ma’am, Slut, Daddy, Mommy, Bad Girl, Naughty Boy, Master, Mistress, Slave, or (fill in the blank here).  These are all names that hold social and sexual stigma.  Assumptions about the name holder and name caller, with a strong dose of judgement usually attached.  Just because a woman is called “Sir” does not mean she wants to be a man.  Calling your partner “Mommy” in the bedroom does not mean you have mother issues or are into age play.  Wanting to be called “Lord of Darkness and Unicorns” is not an indication that the couple is into Dungeons and Dragons.   Having a given name between the sheets that is used on a regular bases is a carefully discussed and decided upon.  And, if that name (or a variation of it) is used in public is a whole new can of lube.  We may dance between sweet names for our partners, a mix of “Honey-Baby-Sweetie-Darling-Love” is tame and safe.  Calling your other half “Ass Whore” during sex is not as delicate as “Muffin”.

Is sex with a partner less kinky, intimate, or loving without a special name?  Hell to the fuck no.  A partner by any other name would fuck as fabulous.  But, if that is what you are into, scream it loud and proud.

Love,

Femme

Kick Start

Dear Butch,

You have no idea what you have done.  Shaken everything up in one swift and suave move.

I was at the gym and found that they had recently replaced the recumbent bikes.  Lost on how to adjust the seat and frustrated by how late I was getting to my workout after a tough day at work, I was frazzled.  There wasn’t an ounce of sexual thought in my head, which is rare.  I went to find one of the trainers and came face to face with your delectably dreamy butch self.  You are the softer side of the specturm, hair down to your ears and women’s running shoes on.  I found myself lost for words, until I clumsily stuttered “Can I have some help with the bike seat?”  You looked up and smiled.  That is all it took, that smile.  You not only helped me with the bike, but we ended up chatting for thirty minutes.  A tornado of toddlers could have run through the gym and I don’t think we would have noticed.  You checked me out from every angle, brushed a strand of hair away from my face, and made me feel your quads.  You asked me all the right questions and laughed at my cheesy jokes.

I have been in a pretty low sexual slump this winter.  Major life changes, planned and unexpected, have dominated my core.  I have been struggling to meet the needs of my partner, wanting to cry out in sorrow verses shout out in pleasure.  But your flirtation kicked my mojo back from its death bed.  Thanks to you, I haven’t been able to keep my hands (and other parts) off of T-Rex.  In fact he tapped out today before I could, yes, I outlasted the man on testosterone shots.

See you tomorrow night for our first training session, I am ready to get my ass back in shape.  In and out of the bedroom.

Love,

Femme