visceral reaction to a woman in our neighbourhood while i was walking with buttertart. this woman literally took my breath away so flawless was her butch presentation. i think my head spun around on its own just so i could keep looking at her. buttertart had never seen me like this and laughed hysterically with pleasure.
this one could never have been accused of being a feminist. but when i laid eyes on her and heard her voice in the early nineties, her butchly audacity, out in the open for all of us to see was…breathtaking…and hot.
of course they surrounded her with scantily dressed wimmin gyrating and pantomiming compulsory femininity, as if everyone who looked on her would be horrified at the mere sight of her and need an infusion of the usual drab dull stunted patriarchally driven aesthetic gender role coding in order to appreciate her.
fools.
if what you’re reading here grips you, holds you, fascinates you, provokes you, emboldens you, pushes you, galvanizes you, discomfits you, tickles you, enrages you so much that you find yourself returning again and again…then link me.
