I love groups like bklyn boihood, and I wish I could find more organizations and spaces where masculine-identified queers can empower each other with great conscience and care. Femme was not a word I attached to myself because the period in which I wasn’t masculine-presenting was a time when I was hesitant to attach just about anything to my too-visible bones, but it was a word that was often slung at my backside in queer spaces.I don’t deny this time in my life, even if it is one of the more barbed memories I pull out of that dark bag. My hourglass figure hasn’t seen the light of day in years, but it looked damn good in a pencil skirt. “Because I wanted to fuck her first, and I’d think you would run it by me before you did anything with her.” My fellow butch was staring me down.“Oh yeah, that’s mine over there,” another butch said to me with a grin, nodding at the femme at the other side of the room.If there are women in the room, their objectification seems to be a bonding mechanism for the butches and men, laughing about who has the best ass, the best tits, who they’d fuck or not fuck.
I understand feeling very strongly about someone you love; some dynamics will always feel possessive by virtue of their participants’ natures.
When I was presenting in this way, I remember very distinctly the feeling of being passed between people.
My agency was taken away from me, and it was just as terrifying when done by fellow queers as it was when it was men. Desire makes us do strange things, and wanting someone a great deal is a slippery slope.
I’m not saying that butches are the only ones who are capable of this practice, nor am I saying that butch and femme relations by nature are slanted plays on patriarchal relations. I have been fetishized and sexualized as a butch and masculine person, and I know others of all identities who have felt the same kind of discomfort and anxiety within the queer community.
Here’s what I know: I know that butch can be an identity that is respectful, careful, tender, and good.