bitchard

subdividing and labeling every millimeter of your attraction is not productive, healthy, or beneficial to you or anyone else.

that’s how we end up with young lesbians spending hours on the internet trying to decide if they’re biplatonic abrosexual queerromantic instead of learning to just love themselves and love girls. that’s how we get kids stuck in mogai hell for years.

that’s how we get modern lgbt organizations dedicating entire webpages to taxonomizing sexualities instead of manning suicide hotlines.

that’s how we end up being exclusionary to people who don’t like labels or people who don’t feel comfortable discussing the minutiae of their attraction

that’s how we lose validity and voices in politics and the world.

and that’s how we throw another layer of stress over lgbt lives.

the lgbt community was never about microlabels and split attraction so stop trying to make it so.

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hey y’all - all my artwork is 40% off rn! I just lost my job so any little bit helps🫶🏾

Now it’s just us. The air feels heavy with everything we haven’t said. Her legs are crossed tight, her lip’s caught between her teeth, and my hand’s resting on her thigh, sliding up inch by inch.

She looks over at me like she’s already undone. Cheeks flushed, chest rising a little faster. And fuck, she’s beautiful. I don’t even know if I can wait until we get home.

Her thigh’s warm under my palm, and I can feel the tension in her like she’s holding her breath, waiting. I lean in, my voice low, rough.

“You’ve been teasing me all night, haven’t you? Acting like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing.”

She swallows hard and nods, eyes on my mouth. I don’t even think. I pull over, throw the car in park, and tilt my seat back.

“Come here,” I tell her, voice tight.

She climbs into my lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world, legs straddling me, dress already riding up. Her skin is soft under my hands, and when I slide them under her dress, she gasps.

“No panties?” I whisper, grinning against her neck. “You really were ready for me.”

She starts to move, slow at first, hips grinding against the bulge in my jeans. And fuck, she’s already so wet.

“You want it, baby?” I murmur. “Want me to pull the strap out and ruin you right here?”

She nods, breath catching, hands fisting in my shirt. But I don’t give in yet. I bring my lips to her ear, voice barely a whisper.

“Beg for it. I want to hear you say how badly you need me. Right here. Right now.”

Hello Dear Asker!! a bit of a long post incoming.

Funnily enough, I too was extremely boyish in my youth. My father raised me like a son and wanted me to be as far removed from femininity as possible. I was also transmasc for a time! (i dont identify with the term detrans or bs like that. I was what i was and it was right for me where I was at.)

Being femme is so much more than just looking femme, you’re correct. I can’t lie to you and say i’m feminine all of the time. My most comfy outfits are running shorts and cut up t shirts, and I’m on day 5 hair and haven’t worn make up in god at least a week. That’s not what being femme is at its core.

To me, the core values of being femme is using your privilege, as someone who is visibly feminine-aligned to protect others in our community. Our butches, our trans lesbians, our gnc brothers and sisters in dykeism depend on us, to protect and care for them, and to be a shield against those who do not understand or are bigoted against what it means to be a lesbian, in all shapes, colors and sizes.

Being femme is finding a home in what can be best described as a deconstruction and recreation of traditional femininity. For me, I have things that help me feel more femme. sometimes it’s an intense skin care routine, or a long long bath. Wearing fresh cleaned clothes or doing my nails. Femme has never meant pink and frills, it is what you need it to be. What feels best for you.

I’ve known femmes in bell bottoms and a tshirts, femmes of all different subcultures, femmes who do drag, femmes who wear makeup and femmes who won’t leave home in more than chapstick. It might seem like a lame answer, but i think being femme physically is something you’ll come to understand your self. there is no right or wrong way to be!