Honestly, because I have always found butches the hottest

people on the planet, it took me a long time to understand

how much shit they go through.

One of my butch girlfriends told me casually, "It's so much 

better here in California. At least, here people don't throw 

things at me."

"Throw things at you?!" I was shocked in a way that definitely

reflected my femme-ish, gender-conforming queer 

experience. 

"Oh yeah, all the time. Eggs, coke cans..."

I felt so tender toward her then, this woman who had grown 

up gravitating toward boy's clothes from the minute she 

could talk, who had to buy a Boy Scout uniform at Goodwill

and wear it alone every day after school because the actual

Boy Scouts wouldn't let her in. Who drooled over the Sears

catalogs of men's suits, because her parents would let her

wear jeans and t-shirts, but not dressy boy's clothes.

Who couldn't play with the girls in gym class because she

scared them -- they knew she wasn't one of them -- but

whose teachers said she couldn't be with the boys, either.

Who has taken so much shit throughout her life just for

being herself.

Who knew at age 4 that she would never want to marry a

man, but was still wounded when her grandma told her, "I

think your parents are making a mistake to let you go around

looking like that. No man will love you that way."

Whose first little girlfriend, at age 5 or 6, thought she was 

lying when she fessed up that she was actually a girl. 

But I digress. This is my story, not hers, though it very much

includes her, and all the other butches I've loved. 

The first time I kissed a woman, at age 18, it was an

experiment, but didn't do much for me. The second time, 

two years later, it was someone I definitely found visually 

attractive, but still, nothing happened.

The third time, age 20, was the charm. I don't know if Helen

identified as butch, but she was the most boyish woman I

had kissed, and the impact on me was unmistakable.

Years ago, a close friend of mine who identifies as bisexual

said, "I'd never want to be with a butch. If I'm going to be

with a woman, I want a feminine woman, not a wannabe 

man."

I felt so stunned, and shocked, and emotionally betrayed,

because she was someone I was genuinely close to, that I

started crying -- which led us into a heartfeltdiscussion in

which she ended up acknowledging the way the

homophobia she'd grown up with was playing a part in

how she saw butches. 

She isn't alone. I've heard quite a few lesbians confess that

they felt more comfortable being with someone who wasn't

as "obvious." 

It's funny -- but again, a symptom of the privilege I've had, 

even coming out in 1982, because of looking the way I look,

and living in the progressive places I've lived -- that I love 

walking down the street in an obvious queer couple. I love it

because it makes me visible. 

In lieu of walking down the street with a butch GF, I have to

put rainbow pride stickers on my hat, and I do. But when I'm

with a butch, she's my rainbow sticker. 

It didn't start out that way -- I mean, I didn't get turned-on by 

Helen's kiss because I wanted to be visible as queer. It just

turned me on. And then, on the strength of that powerful 

Eros, I learned to love being visible. 

I'm not alone in that. One of my butch girlfriends told me 

that back in the 80s, roaring through a military base on her

motorcycle with her GF riding shotgun, a man yelled at them,

"Dykes," and her GF yelled back, "You betcha!"

Fortunately, they got home safe that night. But sometimes, 

people don't, and in this celebration of butches, that needs

to be said, too. 

That same GF emerged from the lesbian bar more than once

and got jumped by men who lay in wait in the bar's parking

lot. She paid for her evenings of freedom with steel-toed 

boots in her face. 

I hate that this is true, but it only gives me more respect for 

butches who can't or don't or won't hide who they are, who 

take so much of the heat for the rest of us. 

And of course, everyone has an absolute right to their own preferences. But my friend's words touched a nerve in me

because of how thoroughly she misunderstood both 

butches, and those of us who love them. 

Here's the thing: for those of us who love them, butches are

nothing, nothing, like "wannabe men." I once told a butch

friend that in my opinion, butch is the crowning achievement

of gender. Of course, that was hyperbole and over-general-

ization. But it does seem to me that some butches combine 

the best attributes of both men and women in their gender.

Strength and emotional depth -- what's not to love? 

Another good friend who had formerly identified as bisexual

got involved with a butch and never looked back. Later, she

mourned her lost decades in what she described as "the

Bermuda Triangle of heterosexuality." Now, she calls herself

queer and says her sexual preference is butches.

By the way, for anyone who doesn't know this, there are 

butch trans women, too. Some butches have female parts 

and wear their masculine, or their masculine-feminine mix,

on the outside. Some have male parts and wear their 

masculine-feminine mix on the outside, and then maybe 

change their parts to female. Butches are butches, 

regardless of anatomy. 

Sometimes, I see a person walking down the street and think

they're a butch. If I get closer and realize they are actually a

man, I'm always disappointed. It's the combination of

masculine and feminine, not the masculine alone, that 

turns me on. 

My girlfriends have been short and tall, fat and thin, lean and

curvy, shy and gregarious, older and younger, conventionally

attractive and not, white, Black and Puerto Rican -- but the

one thing they all had in common was that they felt like they

were in drag if they wore a dress.

Why do I love butches so much? Well, attractions are always

a mystery. For me, it makes more sense to ask, Why doesn't

everyone?

When I first realized my lesbian/queer attractions were

on the androgynous to masc to soft butch to butch or stud 

spectrum (btw, for those who don't know, the Black lesbian

and queer community generally uses the term "stud" rather

than "butch,") it freaked me out, but only because I thought

that meant I had to be femme -- and I didn't feel femme, nor

did I want to have to be anything.

Fortunately for me, it turned out that the butch ecosystem is

large enough to contain butches who aren't into the typical

high-femme presentation, which I most definitely do not

offer.

My favorite online profile was by someone who described 

herself as butch in appearance and mannerisms, looking for

someone who looked more femme than her, but had non-

binary energy. I wrote her back right away!

I've never been with a stone butch or what is these days 

called a "touch-me-not," but my butch-to-androgynous lovers

have had a variety of preferences in bed. Some loved to fuck,

some loved both to fuck and to be fucked, and one preferred

me to make love to her chakras -- which I was happy to do.

But whatever we did together, we were never, ever "aping 

heterosexuality." We were utterly queer. 

None of my butch GFs were "into roles." They did what they

wanted, which varied, and so did I. Some of them especially

liked me in my hippie femme attire; others truly didn't

care what I wore. One admitted she was turned on by my 

turquoise toenail polish. Some wore only men's clothes and

boxers; others would never have worn an article of men's

clothing. One wore a black lace bra under her button-downs;

others, two layers of t-shirts so they could get away without

a bra.

Some of my butch exes identified as women. Others felt 

they were just butches, not butch women. One transitioned

to male, and wishes he had done so sooner. One considered

transitioning, and is very glad she didn't. 

I hope I'm dismantling some stereotypes or assumptions in

what I'm saying here. But mostly, what I hope is that I'm 

celebrating butches, and also my GFs who didn't use the

word but had some of that "je ne sais quoi" non-femme,

gender-non-confirming savoir-faire that seems to turn me on.

Since I'm using two French phrases in a single paragraph, I

really should know the French lesbian term for butch. OK, I

just googled it. Apparently, it's "lesbienne butch." Anyone

who has spent time in France want to confirm or deny?

These days, far fewer people seem to call themselves butch.

Some go with "masc" or MOC. Others decide their masculine 

aspect means they want to transition and live as men. For 

many butch-lovers I've spoken to, that feels like a big loss, 

a butch-sized hole in the lesbian community. For others, it's 

just fine; their butch sexual preference flexibly extends to 

include trans men in its embrace. 

But some younger lesbians and queer women/people are 

reclaiming the word butch, and personally, I'm happy about

that. Butchness has a power to it that shouldn't get eclipsed.

It might be an island in the same sea as genderqueer or 

non-binary, but it's also distinct. One of my butch GFs really

disliked the term "masculine of center." Why, she said, should

her boxers be called masculine?! She wore them -- wore 

them well, I should add -- and she was not a man. 

Like this article? Please share it! Butches deserve our love. 

And join our classes and membership if you're a lesbian or 

adjacent queer person, butch, femme, androgynous, none or 

all of the above, who wants to learn how to prevent heartbreak,

date wisely, and love well.