Papa Don’t Preach

For years I’ve heard my femme friends and acquaintances complain about butches’ not being free of heterosexist misogyny for something as stupid as a butch joking about “regular minutes” and “femme minutes” when a femme says “I’ll be downstairs in a minute.” I always thought “girl, you are tripping” or “you have read one too many gender studies essays. Lighten up!” Now I’m afraid my friends were on to something because I have been getting a high volume of condescending emails lately and I’m not too happy about it. I don’t know if it’s my Taurean stubborn nature, being an only child, being a smart ass femme, or simply not liking to be told what to do in real life (as in “not in the bedroom,” “not by my butch/stone butch girlfriend/boyfriend,” “not by a play partner,” “not by my top, master, syr or whatever you want to call them”). Maybe I have become a sour puss and I don’t know it yet.

Most of these emails are from butches who have taken offense to some of my blog posts – especially those with a laundry list of butches to run away from. I have written similar posts about femmes that butches should stay away from but somehow femmes never feel I’m talking specifically about them or take offense. It’s always the butches/stone butches who feel the need to (why not say it?) put me in my place.

Butches who haven’t gotten the memo about my NOT dating all the butches I write about and feel the imperative need to tell me they feel sorry for me because I have so much advice to give about relationships going bad.

Butches who feel the urge to psychoanalyze me and tell me it’s time to reconsider what attracts me to a butch in the first place so that I can find the link to the bullshit (they think) those bad apples are bringing to my life.

Butches who see me as a damsel in distress and gallantly offer themselves to take me out on dates, cook for me, give me a massage, show me a good time, and, in sum, show me what a real butch is like.

Butches who start off by telling me they are great fans and avid readers followed by telling me that building friendships first is important before romance is involved so that I can avoid “extreme measures” like going No Contact. Funny that such great fans and avid readers haven’t read what I’ve written about NOT sleeping with my friends. Ever.

Butches who project (putting their own shit on me) and write me long emails telling me they think it’s sad I can spend that much time with someone and then break all ties… How much time? Where in this blog have I given a timeframe?

In other words, I thought today was a good time to remind butches and stone butches who read this blog that if I am looking for help, advice, a good time or a good fuck, I will ask for it plainly.

4 thoughts on “Papa Don’t Preach

  1. Smack!

    I love me some butches. There is nothing more pleasurable than being taken care of by a good butch. But I concur with the sentiment in your post. There are times when even a good butch crosses the line and becomes parental.

    Last week I was in a kids’ clothing store agonizing over the perfect white t-shirt for my offspring. Like many femmes, shopping is, of course, sport for me, and my current butch is really good at keeping up. Just as I was about to get in line at the store, something caught my eye and I wandered over to it. My butch was ready to go home and she looked at me sternly and pointed to the checkout stand and said, “Let’s go!”

    I found myself dutifully responding by getting in line, while in my mind I was thinking, “Whaaat….?”
    I shot her a look that said, “Are you fucking kidding me?” and then said, “I thought my Dad was here for a minute!” I wasn’t angry, our relationship is too new yet to have built any storehouses of resentment.

    She instantly realized what had just happened and collapsed into laughter and then I did too.

    I just read her this comment and we both just had a good laugh about it again.

    As usual, I love your attitude.

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