Liebster? But I Barely Know Her!

Liebster Award--shiny!

My twiiter-buddy Bren at Buzzcuts and Bustiers nominated me for a Liebster’s award! Thank you Bren! I didn’t do anything right away because I thought people have to vote for me and kept waiting to be approached by the “Liebster Commity. But no! Apparently it works a bit like a chain letter, like this:

The “Liebster Blog” award it given to up-and-coming bloggers who have less than 200 followers.  (“Liebster” is German and means sweetest, kindest, nicest, beloved, loveliest, cutest etc.)

The rules for the Liebster Award are:

1. Thank the giver and link back to her/him.
2. Reveal your top picks and leave a comment on their blog.
3. Copy and paste the award on your blog.
4. Have faith that your followers will spread the love too!

I can do this! (I think–I have no idea how many followers my favorite blogs have, but I’ll hold off on nominating some of my fav more well-known blogs: The Bloggess, Card Carrying Lesbian, and Butchtastic.)

So, without further ado:

1) Butch Wonders A new blog that quickly became one of my fav–she’s currently writing her very moving “Coming Out Married” series. She writes about life, relationships, and of course, butch style!

2) South Carolina Boy The blog of an unnamed Transman in South Carolina–thoughtful, articulate, and always willing to go into lengthy responses in the comments sections!

3) Butch Enough A new blog by an author who is butch enough– but doesn’t write enough! 😛

4) Netrois Nonsense Maddox writes engagingly about being netrois/asexual, top surgery, and the lack on non-gendered pronouns in the Spanish language.

5) Stud With Swag I was drawn to this blog initially because Knowledge writes about interracial relationships from the other side, and I stayed with it for the sensual poetry, politics and unflinching self-reflection.

Honorary Mention 6) Hot! Damn! Femme! I’m hoping that nominating this blog will encourage this wayward Femme to post more often!

Okay, that was six–I’m bad at following rules!  I’ve barely scratched the surface of all the blogs that I like with this post. Please, browse my links for more!

More FTM Saturday

An adorable chubby transman

Not the actual FTM

Start the day here.

No sooner had the guy left, then a vaguely Latin man gave me a big smile and waved me onto the floor.
“Come dance with me!?” He requested genially.
“Okay.” I replied, drawn to his positivity despite myself. “As long as you know that I’m a lesbian.” I did not feel like getting hit on by anyone else–especially a man that night!
“Oh that’s okay–I’m FTM.”
I commenced to dancing with him–wondering if it was, indeed, okay because he was FTM.–I mean, of course for dancing it was okay if he was an FTM, I would have danced with him as a straight man too–It’s just, for anything beyond that–I’m not sure. How far can a woman go into masculinity before she becomes a man? And isn’t that the whole idea? Why do FTMs pursue lesbians? How “should” I feel about it? Was I attracted to him? I wondered.

“Don’t mind this.” he said, gesturing to the neat ring of facial hair around his mouth. “Two years ago I was named Hannah.”
I tried to assimilate this information as I followed him on the dance floor. It was really hard for me to see him as female when everything about him screamed “male.” I can’t imagine what it must be like to spend so much energy convincing the world that you’re male–only to have to turn around and convince the females you’re interested in that you’re still, somehow, inherently female.

“It’s my birthday!” He informed me with a smile.

“Yours too?” I responded ungraciously. I was having trouble believing anything anyone said that night.

Finally, as I matched him beat for beat, I realized that I believed him about being FTM. He still smelled like a woman–like a woman, and yes, like my favorite complementary odor, cocoa butter!

Did it matter? I wasn’t sure, but I relaxed into the dance. He was a good dancer with an engaging smile.

He thanked me politely when the song ended, but didn’t try to engage me further or try to get my number. I felt a little disappointed, although I guess I was less than encouraging.

It was time to go home anyways, I had a long drive ahead.

The Reluctant Femme

If I was to write a blog with a less confrontational name, I would call it “The Reluctant Femme.”

I’ve never felt such pressure to be feminine since I’ve been actively engaging in the lesbian communities. I know I bring a lot of this on myself, since I seem to be attracted to bois, tombois, and–my favorite–studs. I’m attracted to women right up to the razors-edge of Trans. (I don’t think I’d want to date a woman who was actively trying to turn herself into a man. I support his right to do it, but I think that the chemical and physical alterations would turn me off.)

Of course, I’m also attracted to femmes. But the thing is, I can pull both dressed as a femme, and I can only pull femmes as a butch.  (And I don’t think I would be attracted to the kind of butch who likes other butches.)

I’ve been having dramatic gender-identity swings: I feel like a femme to a butch and a butch to a femme. But I do have a preference for butch women, and they want femmes!

I keep being told I’m a femme, and  I dress very femme when I go out to the club…but then the next day I wear my baggiest jeans, boots, a big T and chain. I’m a big woman with broad shoulders, and never learned the lady-like thing all that well, so trying to be femme can actually be harder than being butch…but I don’t yet know which side I’ll end up coming down on. If I come down…

After one of my “boi day’s” as I call them–which happen about once a week–I’m tired of the hostile looks from other butches (hilariously, the butch at my office practically hisses at me like a cat guarding her territory when I dress butch, but is totally friendly when I’m dressed femme) and some men–tired of, I don’t know–the type of energy I’m putting out…and I settle back into my normal girl jeans, blouse and necklace–my  low-key femme thing.

I can’t help it if I like auto mechanics and knitting

Fixing computers and fixing dinner.

That I worked for years as an adult to teach myself how to apply make-up–only to have my date ask why I don’t wear any!

The closest thing I had to a successful relationship was a totally non-sexual arrangement I had with a male friend of mine: he cooked and cleaned and took care of my kids, and I went to school and worked, paid the bills and shopped.

Which makes me think I should cut my hair and find a nice femme to settle down with.

And then I see a sexy stud across the room, and just want to giggle and twirl my hair.

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.

Paganism, Bisexuality and Transexuality

If you believe in past lives, then bisexuality and the desire to trans-gender become more comprehensible. Maybe a Trans Man was male last life? Or is about to transition to Male in the next life? If you can identify the source of your feelings, I think one can come to terms with it without surgery. Why go through all that when death is a most effective gender alterer?

Of course, if transitioning makes a person happy, then Bevakesha, Go ahead!

Sometimes I can feel my male selves stretching back into the past. Or filling me in the present.  At certain parties I become a guy, holding a beer, hanging out and watching the pretty ladies. Some nights I fantasize doing things with certain ladies that I can not presently do with my current equipment.

At other times I am very grounded in my female self, fully satisfied with my female body, female urges–both towards men and women.

Still it surprised me when my Dad’s old roommate told me she was going from Pam to Mike. Growing up I always thought of her as embodying womanhood–not femininity, but a certain strength and power that I think of as uniquely female. She always seemed unabashedly herself and very comfortable in her body.

What did I know, right? How can I know what experiences she’s had in her life to make her want to pursue that path?

Still it’s not for me. My body, my hormones, are what I’ve got for this lifetime. Next time maybe I’ll be born a guy–nah, I don’t think so, I like being a woman too much!