proteanme

I’m part of a dinner group that I hooked up with via craigslist. Organic foodie dykes is what the founder calls it. It’s a very dyke/lesbian group, most of the members identifying as such. Crunchy or androgynous is how I’ve heard them actually describe themselves, although there is one self-identified femme. I helped her move this winter and she sent me a thank you email in which she referred to me as a stud (a nice little butch/femme exchange). Anyway, the food’s been good and the monthly company is nice. But sometimes I swear it’s as though my foodie dykes have never been on friendly terms with a butch before, because on more than one occasion I get these funny kind of hesitant and shy questions about dating femmes.

I’d guess as a butch I get the same kind of signal guys get from women when they are interested. If we’re on a date she’ll give me the green light for making a move later by initiating some innocuous physical contact, most commonly she’ll touch my leg or hand or shoulder as she’s telling me something. Me, I leave that there until later.  Then if I’m interested when we are on our way out of where ever it is we met, maybe I’ll put my hand on her back .

What’s fun and possibly torturous, but in a good way, is all that stuff that happens before the first date. How she signals her interest to me. One girl asked me to build a table for her, bought me a saw and then watched me build it. That was a good one. Another came back from her holiday break to work some extra shifts that happened to be at the same time I was working. Better yet she brought me a gift . Oh, just something she bought off a street vendor in the city. Nothing really. That was a good one too. Then there’s just the all the laughing at my jokes and sure I’m funny but not that funny. I especially love it when she bends her head down a little and then kinda looks up at me while I’m telling some story. Or there’s how she makes sure she always gets a ride with me when everyone’s making a plan to go the big game or the big party. And one of my all time favorites is her sitting by me at the bar and when it gets loud she leans in real close and whispers in my ear.   But maybe what I like best is how she’ll walk across a room, knowing that I’m watching her but acting like she’s not paying attention until I catch her eye and she’ll look away.

Ahh, being butch needs to get added to the list of things that make my life meaningful.

A song will come on in my headphones sometimes and I can barely hold it together. Cause it tugs so hard at this longing I have for all the nuances of love that make the acreage I need to be close to someone so much more manageable. Oh to see my shoes with hers, to leave behind some shirt of mine in her closet, to hear her say, “hey baby”, to know she keeps my key in her pocket. I swear that would be enough.

I met this girl a while back who I like a lot, but it’s complicated and she lives on the other side of the country. I’m not saying anything more than that. There’s nothing to tell here, really, just wishing I wasn’t so dang far away.

That’s right I’ve been dating. The more I date the more specific I get about what I’m looking for, which is frustrating because in general I’m just not finding it, except for this one girl (”girl” being her word) and I can’t really tell what’s gonna happen there. I know I want someone who’s got some details about ‘em that I can dive into. And I mean authentic details, not the kind that just get performed. Not that performance isn’t fun, it’s just there’s gotta be something going on underneath it. Obviously, I like my women willful, a little larger than life, sensitive, smart and quirky. And hot, of course. And now I’m thinking gimme some imagination too, but temper down that self-involvement with a little humility and still be ambitious about making being alive special.

I’ve been thinking about this music mix that this girl I like made for me, and it’s perfect in that it grabs my attention and pushes at me, but it’s not so greedy that I can’t get caught up in these kinda heartbreaking details, a cello coming in, a note extending just a little bit longer that I thought it could stretch, a piano line that builds on itself then fades. I think that’s what I’m looking for in a date.

I had this fantasy I was gonna turn myself out as a stud. Date and fool around. But without the right details I can’t quite get it up, so to speak. The last cutie who showed me any detail was working the check out at New Seasons on one of those foxy lady shopping days, and she noted how I put the heavy stuff first and then reminded the bagger to take notice and divide the heavy stuff up between sacks. It was almost kinda hot.