Break It Down, Butch.

January 23, 2010

[5] Femmes, sex, knowing what you want.

Filed under: Uncategorized — DK @ 14:03
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Oof, busy week.

I met another pretty femme on Wednesday. As it turns out, going out with other gay people is fairly fruitful — and, y’know, fruity.

(You can groan at that joke. I just did.)

So, this femme. She’s from the Czech Republic, gorgeously accented, engaging as all hell, funny, sweet, athletic — she teaches break-dancing, and snowboards, for Christ’s sake. Even her name is exotic. It’s ‘Sharka’, but spelled ‘Sarka’ with a few accented letters. She’s blond, too, with that kind of urban-messy hair you just want to pull your fingers through. And she gave me her number.

But I just fell out of one big relationship, and I’m only planning to be in the UK for nine more months.


Where were all these women three years ago? When I actually wanted to date.

Okay, yes, I know: wah-wah, poor guy who has all these attractive people dropping in his lap. So sad. So painful. But, see, there’s this other element to it…

*drags hands through hair*

I’ve had one long-term relationship — which was also long-distance, and not precisely action-heavy — and one very short relationship with a friend closer to home. We’re talking one-week short. Other than that, I’ve dated a little bit; gotten drunk and kissed a fair bunch of people; and drop-kicked a guy for shoving his hands down my pants when I was sixteen. But that’s about it.

So, not really a whole lot of experience over here. Which tends to make me a little nervous with new folks when things get past the exciting flirt-sizzle stage and look like they might be heading anywhere… more.

Now, obviously, the thing to do to get over this is to get out there and meet people. Engage, bite a few bullets, and sleep around. Or hell, just sleep with someone. But — but — well, just but.

Sometimes I feel like it’s a little extra awkward for me. Because if you’re butch, talk a good game, strut like a champion, and come off like you know what you’re doing — well, obviously people expect you to know what you’re doing. Especially when you’re twenty-two. And in my (admittedly limited) experience, the average girl that looks at me twice also likes it when I take charge.

Which is great and all for the ego, but not exactly nerve-soothing when I don’t know what I’m doing.

If I could get a late Christmas wish, it’d be to run into someone who’d be willing to show me the ropes — maybe a few times over, because hot damn — and then I’d never have to see them again. I think that last bit is a pride-thing. Or a desire for privacy. Or anonymity. Something.

Also, if I’m completely honest, I don’t think I’m looking for someone who likes to go the slow-and-gentle route. I like a challenge. Like being challenged. Which puts my mind in more of a wrestling, grab-and-tussle place.

*amused* Clearly, I need another butch.

And yow, this post got a touch more personal than I intended. I guess that’s blogging for you.

On a sideways note: I’m still intending to get out there and comment. You bet. Any day now.

January 19, 2010

[4] Pants On Fire.

Filed under: Uncategorized — DK @ 23:19
Tags: ,

So, I’m a lying liar who lies. Instead of commenting around (why does that sound so much like ‘sleeping around’?) I ended up going to a seminar on gay civil partnerships at university instead. It was pretty damn interesting. Though I’d guess that Paul Burston’s photo was taken at a point in his life when he was better acquainted with either a gym or an air-brushing artist, or both.

Still, he talked at length about his own experiences of growing up gay in the Stonewall 80’s (in South Wales, of all places), and how David Bowie saved his life. And about his book, which is apparently fantastic. The section he read out loud didn’t grab me much, admittedly, but it might have been the endless pop culture references.

Anyway! I took a whole bunch of notes that I’m hoping to turn into a coherent post, but the most interesting part of the evening was running into my university’s LGBT student contingent. Which apparently exists. A transwomen and her lesbian pal took to me and my friend lightning-strike fast (it helps, I think, that I look so obviously gay — I got grabbed by a few people over the course of the evening), and sat with us throughout the whole seminar. Then they introduced us to the official LGBT group — an actual group! — who’re meeting tomorrow for a cinema run. We got invited. 😀

And it turns out one of the girls lives on our street, barely five doors down from us, in a house owned by our very own landlord! Small world, eh?

One of my old lecturers was there, too. A world-class femme, right down to the high-maintenence crazy. (Kidding! Kidding!) But gods, the woman is a knock-out. The last time I saw her, she had flame-red hair and a serious smirk. Tonight she had shorter, darker hair, and practically threw herself over to talk to us. Always exciting. I said something funny at one point, I don’t remember exactly what, and she gave my face a kind of playful half-slap/jaw caress.

Damn good thing I was sitting down, is all I can say.

Then I got button-holed by this really intense, older, blond-haired butch on the way out. It was a little weird. She sort of backed me into a corner, stared at me for a few seconds, then wanted to know if I was a lecturer (definitely not) or a student, and whether I was willing to take part in a study on lesbian/bisexual health services, which are pretty non-existent. And whether I could pass the word on to all of my gay friends.

“Sure,” I said slowly. “But most of them don’t live in England…”

She didn’t seem to hear this, but she did shake my hand heartily on the way out. Then my flatmate and I walked home with the girl who lives on our street, trading coming out stories the whole way.

Ha! My flatmate’s talking to the transwoman on Facebook right now (the amazing powers of the internet, man), and the lady in question thinks I’m hot. I tell you, it’s been a cool day.

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