way back machine

June 24, 2010

Tonight I flashed on the name of the first butch I met, Sherry, which is funny because I’ve been forgetting names a lot lately, but also I’ve not thought of her in years and years and years. At first Sherry thought I had a crush on her. I’d been kind of following her around, like a little, baby, butch puppy, whenever she was working as the line manager during my shift at cafeteria in the dorm. I can imagine that I must have seemed  kind of doe-eyed and uncomfortably eager. So she was stand offish toward me. It sucked because I was trying to figure out how to come out and all I wanted was to be out like her. Sherry seemed so fucking fine with being butch. I wanted to say “How did you do that? I want to do that too?” I remember being so envious of how easily she joked around with these older dykes who worked full time in the kitchen. They tried to joke with me too which i was too receptive to at first, but eventually I joined in. And over time I think Sherry and me must have worked something out. I must have told her “look, I’m into cheerleaders and prom queens and other such femmes.” We never got to be close friends, but we got to be friendly enough. One time I sat in her door room and played my guitar while she and her girlfriend made out in their loft. It was like I was serenading them getting all hot and heavy, which seems very adolescent, but I was barely at the end of my teen years anyway.

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