I’m Not a Stud-I’m Just Stud Curious

I had way too much fun as a stud last night.

First we had to go the costume shop. As I helped my friend with Tina with some last-minute costuming, I noticed the costume girl smiling at me a little flirtatious, giving me that “extra” smile. It’s hard to know when a woman is smiling at me if she’s just being friendly or if she likes me, usually I don’t know if she can tell I’d even be interested. In this case it was such a knowing, friendly look that I knew she knew I was into girls…then I realized how I looked.

I realized that, dressed as I was, anyone could look at me and just know that I’m gay. And what a liberating feeling that was.

***

I rolled into the club with my girl Tina–I had my fitted cap cocked to the side and my street strut on. The first place I hit was the men’s room (you can do that on a Lesbian night.) As I washed my hands the boi next to me fiddled with her hat.

“I can’t wear ball caps.” She complained. Her green cap was on backwards over her long blond hair. She had that clean-cut college boi look going on.

“You’re wearing one now.” I observed.

“Yeah, but you don’t understand…I don’t usually dress like this.”

“You look good.” I said. “What do you think of mine?”

“Well yeah, you look good!” She replied with a tinge of exasperation, “But I can tell you wear a cap all the time!”

“Actually I don’t.” I said, smirking slightly. “I’m a femme.”

“Really?” She looked me over skeptically.

“Yeah. This is my costume. I call it my ex’s worst nightmare. Actually–she’s probably here tonight–well, she wasn’t really my girlfriend.” I amend hastily as Carlotta, a woman I know steps out of one of the stalls. The pseudo boi I’m talking to gets distracted talking to her and I slip out to join my friend by the bar.

Now the thing about Carlotta is that shortly after I started talking to Mena (the stud I used to have a thing with) she was talking about a Spanish girl she was considering, but decided against fucking because she was bi and too boyish. (Or maybe she did sleep with her, would she tell me?) Every time we went out to the club Carlotta was constantly either trying to dance with Mena, or dancing seductively with a slender white femme in front of her. Me she either glared at or favored with sickly sweet smiles. Finally I introduced myself to her, and she said she was a “very close friend” of Mena’s. Even after it ended with Mena, I always dreaded seeing Carlotta at the club.

So imagine my feelings as Carlotta stood next to me at the bar ordering a drink–and my shock as she favored me with a genuine and flirtatious smile.

“So how are you doing tonight Carlotta?” I asked her gamely.

“Oh my god!” She replied. “How do you know my name?” She really didn’t recognize me as a stud! I guess the clothes really do make the man.

***

Tina and I headed to our usual corner at the edge of the dance floor. As we walked my ex caught my eye where she sucked the light out of the opposite corner: a small thick dark stud dressed in green-embroidered black. Smoke swathed the room. Multi-colored lights danced off women all colors, shapes and sizes in a riot of costumes. Strong thick studs strode the room in hard scary costumes. Curvaceous femmes swayed in slinky costumes that revealed just too much booty.

Tina and I danced. It was strange dancing in my stud clothes: the baggy pants constricted my movement, while at the same time I felt I had to be harder, more aggressive in my movement. I definitely felt that dressed this way I could act out parts of myself that I normally repress or try to conceal.

I also wasn’t entirely focused on dancing because my attention kept being pulled like a star ship to a black hole towards Mena.

After we danced for a while I wandered the floor, dancing either by myself or with the women there. At one point Carlotta and I had a very sexy go on the floor. She obviously liked me as a stud, and I liked her as a friendly person.

Finally I wound up near Mena. After dancing not far from her for a while, somehow we ended up face to face.

“I miss my friend.” She told me. We talked a bit, and danced. She laughed in a friendly way at my costume, giving me a dap like a man.

I agreed to drive her home and Tina and her seemed to hit it off. Walking home we talked dirty and checked out all the scandalously dressed women roaming the night.

***

I woke up the next morning with a deep feeling of peace.

My Ex’s Worst Nightmare

I’ve decided this Halloween to dress up like my ex’s worst nightmare: a stud. What? but I thought she was a stud? –That’s right, every stud’s worst nightmare is that their femme  will go butch! I think I’ll text her a picture in my costume. (See, totally over her, not thinking of her at all.)

So, being the broke bitch that I am, I headed down to the Roxbury Goodwill to raid the men’s department. I know, if I really wanted to get in the spirit of this, I’d buy new–no self-respecting stud shops at Goodwill. They could be living in they mama’s basement, but everything they wear has to be new and name brand–preferably payed for by they girl. (I know some of you might take this wrong, but some of these studs are just as bad as the black men they emulate. It’s a damn good thing they can’t reproduce the same way or they’d leave a string of fatherless children behind them too.)

It’s not the first time I’ve shopped in the men’s department, but it’s been a while. (The clerk at Tello’s called his friend to tell him about the white girl trying on hoodies last time I did.) I can tell from the looks some of the men shoot me that I’m not entirely welcome either.

I went through a period some years ago where I wore all men’s clothes–a period that was also the (coincidentally?) the first year of what would be a three year stretch of involuntary celibacy. With my shaved head, felt hat and baggy pants hanging low (so much more comfortable that way), I was often called sir during that time. Although I was not really trying for that effect–I just wanted to be comfortable–I learned to smile and shrug off the apologies I inevitably got when I opened my mouth. I didn’t want to be a man at that time, nor did I want to be treated as a woman, I was just me.

Finally I realized that aside from the occasional girl kissing me in front of her boyfriend, people found me much more attractive with hair, and grew it back, but it would be another two years before my drought ended.

So back to Goodwill. I’m going through the men’s clothes in a state of semi-shock. there is so much in my size! And look how well constructed the clothes are! What is wrong with women that we let stores sell us so much cheap clothes that fall apart so easily? And they make us shop in special sections or stores that usually have even cheaper, uglier clothes if we’re “above average” in size?

I find some salt-stained Reeboks that should look okay once I put them through the wash and a stack of jeans and shirts that I take into the women’s changing area to try on. I find a nice pair of jeans that look appropriately baggy when I wear them around my hips, but look good belted around my waist too–I’ll wear these jeans on other days besides Halloween. I want to find a long, baggy hip hop shirt, but end up with the kind of striped, collared shirts I see a lot of studs wearing.

Most of the shirts fit–but there’s a problem. Most of the reveal way too much of my unbound breasts and muffin top. I am not built like a boy! I settle on one that doesn’t show off too much, and decide that once I get a sports bra and some boxers–and my friend lends me a lid–It will work out.

Still have to work up the courage to actually go out in this outfit…