Change Your World-NOT your Body

Monday, June 7, 2010

Exploring Brittain

 “Oh damn, my stockings just run” I mumble out load to no one. Besides the work week from hell, I get stuck covering for a lazy colleague on the weekend and now I have a run in one of my best pair of stockings. “Great!” I think. “Oh well, the perfect time to take a break” I say. Hmmm I’m not particularly hungry but I sure could use a caffeine recharge. Think I’ll make a coffee house run down the block and pick up a little something sweet and hot. I smile to myself at the thought of “sweet and hot”, imagining for a moment instead of my favourite latte, a gorgeously delicious, smart, sexy Butch! “If only” I whisper to myself.

My feet play a quick game of find and seek for my lost red heels underneath my messy desk. Shoes on feet, I get up from my chair, snatch the black Ann Klein jacket draped over the back, retrieve the red handbag from my desk draw, quickly reapply lipstick and head towards the office door. Once out of the building I thank the goddess I had grabbed my jacket, I immediately put the jacket on, taking the early chill of the fall from me. I clack! Clack! Clack! down the busy sidewalk towards my coffee destination. Chilly though it feels; it is a beautiful fall day, the sun bright if a little distant, with the tree leaves showing their first hints of transformation with multitudes of slight changes in colour.

I enter the coffee house only to find myself standing in a long line. “Fuck!” I mutter under my breath. The place is a sardine can of uni students doing homework, a table of elderly men I over hear discussing world politics, a colourful group of teens with multi coloured clothes and hair to match and to my complete surprise a Butch woman scribbling intensely in a notebook pad. I have a bird’s eye view of her from where I’m standing in line; suddenly I am no longer in a hurry. I giggle to myself at the complete turn around I’ve just made. “Calm yourself Lily” I think. “It’s not as though you’ve never seen a Butch before”. Granted it has been a while since I have enjoyed the company of a Butch, but I on occasion have seen them.

As I’m standing in the coffee order line I find myself studying this Butch; her slightly graying temples betraying her age, her lined forehead, a hint of crows feet, her lost in thought brows more weary than heavy, her lips neither thin nor plump pursed as she scribbles intensely. The line moves up a bit and by a pole now obscures the Butch from my Femme gaze. “Darn!” I think. “And I was so enjoying myself”. The line shifts again and it is my turn to order. After I put in my selection and pay, I move like a trained mouse in a maze and wait behind the other lab rats for my drink. “Mmmm” from where I’m standing now, I have a much closer view of Ms Mystery Butch. She appears stocky without seeming fat, and the hint of bicep peeking from her T shirt sleeve, muscular without being blocky, in the proverbial nutshell, a fine specimen of Butch womanhood.

If she, well not her specifically, but Butch women in general weren’t the abomination to all save for us triple A Femmes, us Femmes who appreciate, adore and applaud Butch women, she would be mistakenly be described in male gendered terms as “handsome”. As I pick up my drink, sneak one last look at the mystery Butch and make for the door, I recall a past situation with a new colleague. The Butch I was dating at the time had lovingly made and brought lunch to my work place for me. I introduce her to this new co-worker while she was there. After my Butch left, trying to be friendly and complimentary, this co-worker says to me “she’s quite handsome isn’t she?” To which I angrily point blank asked her “handsome?” “Why not beautiful? She is a woman after all!” Nothing makes my Femme blood boil more than hearing “handsome” applied to a Butch woman. Handsome is like a black mark struck through the female of every Butch, whose ink stain bleeds into and blots out the lesbian in every Femme.

I collect my drink and regretfully leave Ms. Mystery Butch to her scribbling and trotted back to work.
The next week races by with an assortment of work and sleep and the occasional meal in between the two. Saturday approaches and it looks as though again I’m going to have to put in at least a full morning at work. I go into the office early in hopes of leaving around noon. Being the only person in the office today I buckle down working without distraction and finish my tasks before noon. Then instead of leaving for home to the several loads of laundry awaiting me, I fetch the Nella Larson novel I left in my car and make my way to the coffee shop for a mellow cup of tea and a little wind down reading.

The coffee shop is sardine packed; I scout for an available seat while I wait for my drink order. No individual tables to be had, I look around to the large tables and see one with a group of three occupying it with one seat open, then look in the corner where the other large table has residence and to my utter shock and surprise I spy my Ms Mystery Butch from the previous Saturday sitting alone. Determined this time to make her acquaintance and while undoing a few buttons on my blouse for maximum Femme cleavage, I pick up my drink and head over in her direction. She is once again busy writing something or other, I place my book and drink down across from her, she looks up startled. “Mind if I sit here”? I ask. “All the other tables seem to be taken” I go on. “Umm sure” she replies shyly glancing in my general direction.

I hike myself up onto the free stool, extend my hand and introduce myself, “Hi, I’m Lily by the way” I say with a friendly smile. Giving away nothing, Ms Mystery Butch expressionlessly looks up from what she’s doing, slips her calloused hand in mine and says simply “Brittain, nice to meet you”. Intrigued by her name I maintain eye contact and ask “As in the country”? “Umm no, as in Vera Brittain the British feminist” comes her ever more interesting response as she looks back down towards her writings. Still trying to create a spark I say “Her Testament of Youth I read in college”.

She looks back up but before she answers her mobile rings. She answers it motioning to me with her index finger and whispers “one second”. “No hurry” my bright red lips mouth back with an air of flirtation while my finger tips caress the ribbons on my blouse as I draw attention to my exposed cleavage. While waiting for Brittain to finish her call I amusingly muse on the general public Butch perception which automatically cast Butch women in the “male lead” when it comes to romance and relationships. I giggle to myself at the prospect of waiting for a Butch suitor to approach me and how, were that the case, I’d surely be a 35 year old Femme virgin! Femmes are notorious for making the first, second and sometimes third move and Butches are equally notorious for letting us. But it’s a beautiful thing, and I love every minute of it.

I inspect Brittain’s muscular build in glances while waiting for her to return to our conversation. I notice her strong forearms; the kind of forearms that could fuck you for hours and hours. I smile at the prospect. At one end of her forearms I observe a pair of well-worn hands, hands that look like they have been around the block a few times, strong but delicate; a perfect combination. On the other end of her forearms I see her well built biceps half sticking out of her T shirt sleeve, and up from there a pair of quire broad shoulders, solid shoulders made for holding onto while the world disappears in your pussy and shoulders to rest your head upon when the world closes you out.

“Sorry about that” Brittain says jerking me from my private thoughts. “Oh that’s quite alright” I smile. She glances momentarily at my cleavage before catching herself. “So Testament of Youth” she says questioningly. “Yes, required reading she was, for a British feminist course I took in college I explain. We wind up having a most interesting and pleasant conversation about feminism past, present (or lack thereof we both agree) and future for the next few hours. I discover she is a writer, has had multiple short stories published and has excitingly had her first novel accepted for publication. To pay the bills she works as a computer operator for a bank, imaginative and practical. Yum! I end our conversation due to a diner engagement with my baby sister, but get her number before I depart.

I call Brittain a few days later. I wanted to call her the moment I left her at the coffee shop. We chat briefly, then make dinner plans for Friday at my favourite Thai restaurant, turns out Brittain is as crazy for quality Thai food as I am. The next few days I swear I try on every combination of clothes in my wardrobe before finding a perfect dressed-to- kill ensemble armed with cleavage to die for. I arrive home from work Friday by five and spend nearly the next two hours showering, shaving, plucking, applying and dressing. I get to the restaurant nearly 15 minutes late. Brittain is standing outside. “Sorry I’m late, was needed at work a little longer than I expected” I fib. “Not a problem” she says, then continues “There’s a 20 minute wait anyways, I’ve got us on the wait list”.

Once seated at our table I suddenly feel a rush of quietness which is unusual for me. I can’t tell if it is a result of Brittain’s calming presence corralling the wild horse in me or actual nervousness; also unusual for me. We both make pleasing small talk using dinner to fill in the very few silences. We talk another half hour or so after we’ve finished eating; Brittain asks if she may pay while I leave the tip. We leave the restaurant and Brittain offers to walk me to my car, I accept just to spend a few more minutes with her. I’ve parked several blocks away. I follow her slow pace towards my car. Maybe she doesn’t want our first date to end yet either I think. She tells me the most hilarious story as we walk, which reaffirms what I realized at dinner, that along with smarts and a fab Butch body Brittain is wickedly funny. We get to the street where I’ve parked, I point my car out, we stop in front of it and I can’t stop laughing. We talk a few more minutes; Brittain’s face becomes very serious looking, she steps closer to me while staring into my eyes and asks “Would it be too forward of me to ask for a good evening kiss?”

I’m floored; my heart drops clean into my full belly from the sheer sweet romance of her request. Composing myself I say “Kiss away”. Brittain takes another step while maintaining our connected gaze, takes my hand in one of hers pulling my arm around her back and slides her other hand around me pulling me close enough I can feel her breasts against mine, then cocks her head slightly as she leans in to kiss me. I feel myself go under the waves once our lips meet, this first kiss is so gentle, she lingers her mouth on mine, pulls back a bit then repositions her head and kisses me again and again and again with heated passion. I am no longer just in the water, I find myself fully drowned.

Brittain and I see quite a lot of each other between a combination of coffee dates and dinner dates the next few weeks with each date fanning the flames of my Femme desire. As much as I enjoy a good masturbation session, call me a picky Femme but nothing can replace the taste and touch of Butch pussy on my strong, hot Femme lips and tongue!

I’m making dinner for Brittain tomorrow night, I’m not sure of my plan, but determined horny Femme that I am, I decide then and there to make my move tomorrow. I don’t mind going after what I want, it’s especially rewarding if I attain it. But I’ll admit; it would be nice once in a while to have a Butch make the first move. But considering the Butch climate out there with ever threatening clouds filling our Butch skies, a Butch risking the first move is highly unlikely. Oh the joys of Femme invisibility!

I wake with a knot of nervousness right smack in the middle of my tummy. Finally a Saturday I don’t have to work, but work I must if I want tonight to go off without a hitch. I don’t bother showering, just brush my teeth, toss on a baseball cap along with jeans, a T shirt and my favourite sweater and head out. My first stop is the grocers; I check my bag making sure I have the shopping list I made last night. Tonight’s dinner is a cross between gourmet and practical. Once through with the grocers I dash over to the department store having a big sale. I’m hoping to pick up a new fall dress for this evening. I get the feeling this just might turn out to be one awesome day, between easily finding everything I needed at the grocers, to only having to try on three different dresses before finding ‘the perfect dress.'

Since I have to pick Brittain up because her car is in the shop I slide by the car wash and get the works inside and out. I make it home around lunch time, fix myself a little something to eat while mentally planning dinner, getting ready, collecting Brittain and making my Femme move. By the time I need to pick Brittain up everything seems to be going according to plan; salad is chilling in the fridge, dinner is cooling on the stove top and if I do say so myself I am a vision of Femme loveliness “or a close as I’m going to get” I laugh. I slip on my new leopard print heels then make the 15 minute drive to Brittain’s. She’s waiting for me when I arrive. She hops in and gives me the shy kiss she’s becoming famous for.

We make some small talk on the way back to my house, pull into the attached garage, closing the garage door behind us. Brittain gets out and comes around to my side of the car. I fumble trying to retrieve my purse from the back seat. Purse in hand I get out and close the car door. I don’t know exactly what was, perhaps Brittain standing in front of me looking so beautifully Butch but I can’t keep my hands to myself a moment longer. I drop my purse and reach out to Brittain, pull her close, we kiss a kiss for all time. Brittain moves both her hands down clutching my ass in each of them, then pulls my body closer into her grinding her pelvis into mine. I want her right here; right now, my Femme heat and desires will wait no longer. I maneuver her so that she has her back against my shiny black car. We continue kissing. I break our kiss so I can kiss a trail of light kisses from her lips to her cheeks, down her neck to her collarbone hiding beneath her white T shirt and shirt collar.

I go back up to her soft full Butch lips, kissing, kissing, and kissing as I undo each button of her olive green dress shirt. I pull the ends of her shirt from their tucked position in her jeans, once unbuttoned take her dress shirt off and lay it onto the floor in front of us. I kneel down locking Brittain’s eyes with mine, I undo her black belt, unzip her pants and we both let them drop to her ankles. Still holding her gaze I kiss the waistband of her boxers. Brittain runs her strong fingers through my thick hair as I move down kissing directly over her pussy ushering a small moan from her mouth. I break our gaze as I pull the middle of her boxers down far enough to reveal her Butch pussy. Her smell is divine its precious aroma captivating me for a moment till I can no longer wait to taste her. I slip my tongue into and around her already aroused clitoris. An “oh god!” escapes her.

I alternate my tongue between light and hard strokes around her clit; with each hard stroke she pushes my head into her while thrusting her hips forward. I don’t want her to come too soon, so I slow things down by sliding my tongue the length of her slit, licking and lapping up her saltiness as I go while I give her clitoris a little breathing room. I can tell by the motion of her hips she wants to come. I move back up to her clit pulsating it with more pressure. I can hear her moans catching in her throat. I glance up to see her eyes looking towards the ceiling lost in the deepest pleasure. A few more quick thrust of my tongue sends her somewhere beyond reach as she lets go of a low, loud moan while she comes. My tongue still on her I can feel the muscles from within her contracting right up through her clitoris. When the contractions stop I pull her boxers back up, then her pants. I pull her pants around her T shirt tucking it back in as I fasten her pants and belt.

I get to my feet, pick her shirt up from the garage floor and say
“Sorry about the shirt”
She kisses me grinning and says
“I’m not”.

dirt
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5 comments:

  1. A terribly chauvinistic (though I didn't see him as such at the time) teacher of mine once told me, "The great thing about being a writer is that you can get the girl in the end."

    He actually might've appreciated this story.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Hmmm I would add along with "chauvinistic", pedophilic sodomite.

    dirt

    ReplyDelete
  3. !! OMG - Love! Yes, beautiful! When I see a butch woman *that* is the word that comes to my mind, not handsome. Beautiful. And what is it with Femmes & cleavage? LOL.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Anonymous,

    Unlike heteronormative dating rituals the Femme is the huntress that captures her Butch. The Femme always gets her Butch well I got mine you can tell by the 'dirt' under my nails.

    DD,

    Glad you like, and yes, seems we Femmes love flashing that bit of cleavage as is best tactic to stun a Butch; a bit a deer in headlights...LOL

    FA x

    ReplyDelete
  5. I'm confused...in almost every story the butch is using a strap, why? And only a couple of them is there any physical contact sexually with the femme doing something to the butch.

    ReplyDelete

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