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Old 05-09-2013, 12:22 PM   #1
Ascot
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Preppy Butch artist
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She’s wild about me.
 
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Default Butch visibility

As I start to write this I'm wondering if it might become something of a companion piece to the threads about femme invisibility. Of late I've been thinking a lot about this topic and to be frank, I've no idea where this post will wander as I drag it through my outfield. No doubt it will pick up bits here and there as it goes.

It it my hope that other butches will offer their experiences. I'd like to see what commonalities we share, how we vary and maybe shed some light on what it's truly like living in butch skin. I also invite femmes to participate. By all means, please feel free to share anything that comes to mind.

There is no mistaking that I am butch. Pretty much anyone who looks at me can see that. I could march down Main St. in a prom gown and tiara (don't hold your breath) and still read butch. While it might not immediately register that I am gay to some, that I am clearly far to the masculine side of the female spectrum is undeniable. Every day, many times a day, I out myself simply by existing. There are instances when my visibility is a good thing. That cute girl who flirts with me every time she sells me a baguette, the clearly present camaraderie with the butch who works at the recycled building supply place, the chuckle I get every time the check gets put down in front of me when I'm out with a more feminine woman, the straight guy who mows my lawn and refers to me as "dude"; in those circumstances it's really nice to have such open, comfortable acknowledgement, free of negativity, judgement and backlash. Then there are the other times. The guy at the locally owned hardware store who seems to tighten up every time he sees me, who waits on me because he has to but who cannot ever seem to completely suppress his derision. I can almost hear it bouncing around in his head like a ball bearing in an empty can, " fuckin' dyke...". The look of surprise upon meeting a new client with whom I've only spoken on the phone prior to that face to face moment. The boyfriend/husband/male friend who protectively takes the hand of his female companion if I happen to dare to smile in her direction, regardless of her response to me. The guys who look at me askance when I'm at the barbershop, wondering why a woman has invaded their man place. Sometimes I almost pity people for their reactions. Other times I want to lash out, say something like "What the hell are you looking at, fucktard?" I don't, though. I've come to a point in my life of finally, truly understanding the merits of picking one's battles. Were I so inclined, I could expend copious energy railing against any number of perceived slights, but really, it would be little more than shouting into the void. It wouldn't change anything and it would only serve to drain me. It also won't change the fact that I am butch, that I will never melt into the straight world in a way that would make some of the crap disappear. So, I shoulder it. Every time I leave my house. Every time I get out of my car. Every time I open my mouth. I shoulder it and I embrace it. I also revel in it because my being butch has brought into my life some of the most amazing women, both butches and femmes; people I might likely have not had the joy and privilege of meeting and coming to know and count as friends and lovers.

Yeah, it's really hard sometimes. Other times it outright rocks. Please...tell me won't you...what is it like for you?
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