Butch Femme Planet - View Single Post - Breaking it down

Ginger · 06-27-2012, 06:32 PM

Nomad’s post kind of gave me the spark to write this, because I too have felt some resistance to the question, What kind of femme are you?

I know there are categories of femme that I don’t belong to; I’m not a stone femme or a high femme (the latter I would have to say, not 24/7). I know my ethnic ID, my class ID. But I don’t know my femme ID.

Maybe a prompt will help: I’m the kind of femme that…

stops to pet dogs on the street.

But now all I’ve done is answer the question, What kind of person are you?

I picked up my new glasses tonight, and while they’re perfect, I couldn’t pretend I liked what I saw when I looked in the mirror. Maybe when I’m in this state of mind I block myself from knowing what kind of femme I am (shrug).

I'll try again.

I’m the kind of femme that...

loves smells and color but lives in her head.

Favorite recurring, comforting fantasy:

I live in a house deep in trees with moss, so it must be the south. There’s a front porch. It’s raining, but warm out. I’m barefoot. The planks on the porch are smooth and warm. The house is aqua, red and gold inside—my colors. It's dusk. There is food cooking on the stove, but I’m not cooking it. I’m watching for something, out in the woods. I'm calling to the person inside the house. I'm wearing shorts and I’m happy.

I’m not making up this fantasy, as I go along. I’ve had it for a long time, and it doesn’t make sense because I have no desire to live in the south, and I don’t know if I could live in the woods except on weekends (which I would love). I’ve lived in cities most of my life, and I like apartments with views of skylines, or on the first floor with access to a private garden.

In my last apartment, I could see the Chrysler building from the table where I sat to write at night and listen to music. It gave me a flash of happiness every time I looked up and rested my eyes on it poking up so hopeful and elegant in the midst of those stalwart, steep high rises.

Sometimes I think when I let myself drift into that fantasy of the house in rainy, mossy woods, I’m seeing into the future.

Is that the kind of femme I am? Clairvoyant?

Maybe. Or maybe I’m the kind of femme that lets herself drift intuitively in the right direction.

06-27-2012, 06:32 PM	#152
Ginger Senior Member How Do You Identify?: Femme lesbian Join Date: Mar 2012 Location: East coast Posts: 2,416 My Photo Gallery Thanks: 5,829 Thanked 12,298 Times in 2,057 Posts Rep Power: 21474852	Nomad’s post kind of gave me the spark to write this, because I too have felt some resistance to the question, What kind of femme are you? I know there are categories of femme that I don’t belong to; I’m not a stone femme or a high femme (the latter I would have to say, not 24/7). I know my ethnic ID, my class ID. But I don’t know my femme ID. Maybe a prompt will help: I’m the kind of femme that… stops to pet dogs on the street. But now all I’ve done is answer the question, What kind of person are you? I picked up my new glasses tonight, and while they’re perfect, I couldn’t pretend I liked what I saw when I looked in the mirror. Maybe when I’m in this state of mind I block myself from knowing what kind of femme I am (shrug). I'll try again. I’m the kind of femme that... loves smells and color but lives in her head. Favorite recurring, comforting fantasy: I live in a house deep in trees with moss, so it must be the south. There’s a front porch. It’s raining, but warm out. I’m barefoot. The planks on the porch are smooth and warm. The house is aqua, red and gold inside—my colors. It's dusk. There is food cooking on the stove, but I’m not cooking it. I’m watching for something, out in the woods. I'm calling to the person inside the house. I'm wearing shorts and I’m happy. I’m not making up this fantasy, as I go along. I’ve had it for a long time, and it doesn’t make sense because I have no desire to live in the south, and I don’t know if I could live in the woods except on weekends (which I would love). I’ve lived in cities most of my life, and I like apartments with views of skylines, or on the first floor with access to a private garden. In my last apartment, I could see the Chrysler building from the table where I sat to write at night and listen to music. It gave me a flash of happiness every time I looked up and rested my eyes on it poking up so hopeful and elegant in the midst of those stalwart, steep high rises. Sometimes I think when I let myself drift into that fantasy of the house in rainy, mossy woods, I’m seeing into the future. Is that the kind of femme I am? Clairvoyant? Maybe. Or maybe I’m the kind of femme that lets herself drift intuitively in the right direction.