Flagging Confession

Dear Butch,

We sat across from each other in the coffee shop, chatting for over three hours.  About writing, butch-femme dynamics and work.  We were amazed that our paths hadn’t crossed before this chance meeting.  It doesn’t matter why we were meeting, just that we should have some how done it years ago.

I must confess, I arrived well prepared.  After getting an email from you, telling me that you would like to met and that you would be in my city I did a little rearch.  I found everything I was hoping to find, an attractive butch who knew how to rock a hat and a resume.

Prepared to flirt my pumps off, I agreed to meet.  You greeted me, bought me a beverage, and checked out my tits…I couldn’t be more pleased.  For the first part of the evening, I thought you were just being a gentle butch.  Responding to my questions, being witty, and letting me into parts of your world.  I didn’t think you actually were interested until we started to discuss flagging.  And then my head spun.

I was discussing femme flagging (I have a previous post about this).  Nothing uncommon for me, I am always attempting to spread the word about lesbian flagging…femme flagging specifically.  And that is when you caught my breath.  You looked ay my nails and guessed what I was flagging and then processed to tell me what you flagged…and showed me that you were in fact flagging at that very moment.  I felt a rush of intimacy rush over my body.  Knowing that we flag the same colors but on opposite sides caused me to blush.  I never discuss what colors on what sides I wave my freak flag, and there I was…with a perfect stranger…being read.

You threw off my whole game, with one colored hanky.  Excellent work my dear.




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