She is both familiar and mysterious. I listen to her breathing, and am filled with desire. I want so much to make her feel what I just felt: the mind-blowing, powerful release of cumming so hard that time and space cease to matter.
But I can't.
Because she won't allow me to make love to her; she even previously left another femme who dared to try. Any attempts at conversation about it are met with a "that is just the way stone butches are, babe" response.
I know she wasnt born stone, but made stone brick by brick. She has very good reasons for the protectiveness of her body: unexamined butch shame; a long-term sexual relationship with a 34-year-old close female family member starting when she was 14 (she calls it an "affair"; I call it "abuse"); and many previous one-sided sexual experiences with a variety of dysfunctional straight "queer" women, further reinforcing her shame.
So she always remains in control now, sexually as well as in every other situation; to relinquish control would be unthinkably threatening to her.
So, I do nothing...as usual. I snuggle in closer, pressing my face into her tshirt, feeling her muscles begin to relax as the threat of my fingers wandering too far down passes.
I tell myself it is enough. After all, I must, and I do, respect her boundaries. I tell myself that they are boundaries instead of scars of pain. I tell myself that we are indeed intimate; that we are equals; that it is okay that my desire to make love to her is never met. I tell myself that the growing distance I feel between us is just an illusion.
And yet something constantly nags under the surface of these rationalizations. Something that tells me that it is possible to break through these barriers; something that knows that it would be amazing if we could.
But, for now, I drift off to sleep, still wrapped tightly in a blanket of denial.
by A/cute Femme