whatcouldpossiblyhappen

[whatcouldpossiblyhappen]

It is deeply summer. The air is thick and heavy with the almost-July humidity. I went to a concert and met a group of lesbian women-- the first time in the last couple years that I have found queer community outside of a Pride event. I leaned in close with them and listened to stories pressed to my ear, their shoulders curled into mine as we watched rainbows float by in the dark room. The air was loud and colorful. I felt my body waking up for the first time in ages-- I felt desired, wanted. These gorgeous women were attracted to me for what I am. They saw my fade, saw the hair cropped close to my head, saw muscles and heavy boots, and they were pulled to me. Having someone drawn to me for these things feels like a foreign idea, but I've had a heat coiled inside ever since.

I can still feel whispers of air against the side of my face while they came in close to ask questions. My arms remember the shape of theirs. I want to moan into the press of their lips and feel fingers grabbing at the curve of my waist.

She sat on a stool for most of the night, people-watching from the group over at the side of the room. I wanted to sink to my knees in front of her and take her fingers up to my mouth, curling my tongue around the longest and tasting her until she remembers to breathe again. I wanted to feel her eyes on me at that pool party they talked about, feel her watch me as I come up out of the pool. I'll ask for a towel: "Would you hand me one of those, so I don't have to stand in front of you dripping over everything?" She will, and I'll dry off: "Thank you. Now I'm just one kind of wet."

Straightforward, blunt desire. I got numbers and dates that night, and she offered me both, too. I took her up on neither because twenty years is too much of a difference, isn't it? It is. My fantasies are stuck on her, though. I felt hunger pulsing off of her skin and I knew we would both speak the same body-language. Two butches dancing together, the push pull of women used to a direct and focused way of moving through the world. I imagine her watching me come out of that pool again: "You are a tease." A light slap on my face, while I'm bent close to her. I would take it with a smirk-- I know where I prefer to be. Bury me offering pleasure to a bossy top of a woman and I'll be happy. "I prefer, madame, to be called an incorrigible flirt." How close can I be without my lips grazing her ear? Would she shudder or would her breath tremble just slightly?

I know it would be welcome. She made sure of it, before she knew my age. She brought it up first and I asked if she wanted to guess or if she'd like me to tell her. Said I'm older than I look and she laughed: "Me too." We both went silent, smiling. I caved first-- it didn't need to be a stand off. "36." She exhaled and shook her head. "May I ask yours?" She shook her head again, her voice huskier: "No." I looked at her while she groaned up towards the ceiling: "I'm over fifty." She made sure afterwards that I still felt welcome to the group in spite of her invitation to drinks. It was considerate, thoughtful. I could still feel the desire radiating off of her, even as she walked away from the concert noise. I imagine seeing her again: "Have you thought about me?" She might ask. I'd hold her gaze: "Yes."

"More than once?" A small tilt of a smile, again, mine: "Yes." She might rock back on her chair and chuckle: "That's all I need to know."

[whatcouldpossiblyhappen]

le rêve: a small collection of imperfect dreams - dragone + jean-marie périer (2005)

[whatcouldpossiblyhappen]

I fucking love being a lesbian.

And I know that’s pretty much all I’ve posted about so far but it’s so true. I love women and my love for women bleeds into my love for myself and it’s almost a spiritual feeling. It’s like the water cycle, I pour out love and yet it is given back to me and I never run dry.

I also find so much comfort in lesbian titles. I’ve finally found people who can understand what confused me for so long. My desire to partake in “masculine” things and yet not leave my womanhood and connection to women behind in that process. I used to think I was crazy and I was told I was contradictory, and now I know I’m just a butch and I have thousands of sisters who understand me. I used to think I was strange and broken until I learned about Stones and now I know yet again that I’m not alone, and I can not only be begrudgingly accepted for my preferences, but desired and fulfilled in a relationship that makes sense for me. There are people out there who want someone like me exactly as I am and I don’t have to change, or hide things about myself, or put up with things I don’t like in order to keep a man around and I find it so beautiful. Lesbianism is beautiful.

[whatcouldpossiblyhappen]

I collect books. Two or three at a time, every couple months, whatever fits the budget. I want to read things written by women. Queer people. Trans people. Lesbians. Gay folks. I want to hold all of these beautiful books in my hands like I'm cherishing the conversation, and it honestly feels like a gift to be able to cradle these stories. I really and truly love it. I look over at my bookshelf to see lifeworks from people scattered all over the world, spanning generations, religions, and mindsets. I've brought them back in my luggage, found them online, in airports, library sales, and in dusty old stores where the keeper of the books is as creaky as the floorboards.

There's largely a common theme on these shelves; all of my bookshelf-people have consciously crafted their lives to be outside of standard-issue expectations. They live colorfully, openly when they can. Some have to be secret and choose to find other queerfolk in secret. Some have written under pseudonyms, so they can create their own world where they can be safe and loved. They live as much of their truth as they are able to.

My little gay library has slowly grown over the years. It was secret for me at first, too-- tiny magazine clippings I'd hide in the middle of church approved biographies about missionaries. Amelia Earhart was one of those first clippings, mostly because she was cute as heck and also an Adventurer. My ten year old mind could think of no higher calling. Looking back it seems like she'd be easily deniable as a gay crush. Look, mom...a historical figure! But in all of my blushing flustered thoughts, that picture would have shown my parents that I was one of those fruity people. The sinners, you know the kind.

These last couple years have me feeling like it's awfully important to hold these books dear. This past 2024 election and these outrageous, egregious actions by the people in the US government have underscored that feeling for me. Media and AI can so easily change stories around to whatever narrative best suits those in positions of power. Books (specifically print books) are tangibly *here*. We can share them. We can offer them to each other and not worry so much if a filter has replaced someone's face.

Books are human-made and fallible, sure. Sometimes they have outdated opinions. But they give us historical touchstones on where people have gone before, so that we can guide ourselves through this new landscape with better understanding. They offer fully fledged discussion that goes deep into people's thoughts, rather than a quick thirty seconds of an abbreviated idea. Fiction and sci-fi offer us possibilities. They help us to feel immersed in worlds that could be true. The idea of hope is so important to foster, because it's the spark that ends up fueling how I functionally live my life. Books give me a little mangrove nursery where I can help that spark of hope grow just a bit brighter.

I wrote that last night, and then woke up this morning to read about someone in Syracuse who wasn't able to keep going. They died wrapped in a trans flag, on top of a hospital garage. I didn't know them and I don't know you either, dear friend, but this is what I do know; I'm glad you exist. I'm glad you're here and are walking, rolling, or sliding around with all of your differences. Did you know I saw three different queer people at the car dealership the other day, and just seeing them brightened my whole afternoon? We didn't even talk, I just loved that they were there with me, in the same space. I'm glad you're alive, too, even without having met you. These words are all I can offer to you. I know we can't all be in the same room right now, just like we couldn't be on top of that parking garage in Syracuse. But just for a minute, would you imagine we are? We can talk, or not. We can hold hands and curl up together, or not. It doesn't matter to me, really, I just want you to know that I am here with you and you're here with me.

I have no idea what the next four years will look like, but if you see a tall quiet butch walking around with a clean fade...ask me what's on my bookshelf. I'd be delighted to share.

Love,

L

[whatcouldpossiblyhappen]

What article would you recommend to someone just getting into queer history?

It would really depend on the person and what they are looking for in terms of queer history, but how about we do a choose-your-own-adventure type answer!

Are you looking for a look at how we got to where we are today in terms of queer history?

Read: Magnus Hirschfeld or Maryam Khatoon Molkara

Are you looking to find comfort in the fact that queerness has existed throughout history?

Read: Khnumhotep and Niankhkhnum or Sir Ewan Forbes 

Are you looking to have some of your preconceived notions about queer history to be challenged?

Read: The Golden Orchid Society or Rotimi Fani-Kayode

Does queer history intimidate you because you are afraid of it being a list of tragedies?

Read: The Ladies of Llangollen or Jackie Shane

Do you want to learn about the intersection of queer and disability history?

Read: Lou Sullivan or Victoria Arellano 

Do you want queerness that resonates with lesser-known/discussed identities?

Read: Kristina King of Sweden or Zinaida Gippius 

Are you looking for more information about names you already recognize?

Read: Sappho or Langston Hughes

Are you looking to be pulled into a rabbit hole of queer history?

Read: Edward Carpenter or Xulhaz Mannan 

Are you looking for someone within your region?

Read: Making Queer History by country

Just searching for an odd little slice of queer history to wet your appetite?

Read: Elmyr de Hory or Salim Halali 

Just want to know something new?

Read: Bajazid Doda or Geoffrey Bawa

Just looking for a story to grip you emotionally?

Read: Emmeline Freda Du Faur or Zdeněk Koubek 

I hope you find something in this list that helps!

[whatcouldpossiblyhappen]

Anne Michaels, from "Infinite Gradation," originally published in October 2017

[whatcouldpossiblyhappen]

[whatcouldpossiblyhappen]

it’s so cute that you think you’re going to dominate me. Is it because you’re a stone top? is it because you’re butch? and people have always treated you that way huh. I can tell that deep down you’re sick of always being the one to make the first move, making all the decisions. It gets boring after a while. 

you won’t see it coming. you’d never guess based on the way I look. I look soft, like all the women you like, i look nice. your parents would like me. you’ll probably think I’m just being playful at first, when I push myself onto your lap, when your head is firmly pushed into the back of my headboard. You’ll laugh softly in my ear and push me right back. It’s only when we’re pressed forehead to forehead as i sit on your lap with your strap inside of me that i’ll tell you you’re not allowed to touch me until I say so. We’ve established boundaries are important, no? I won’t touch you anywhere you don’t like either, don’t worry, I don’t need to. It’s not necessary. 

I know you’re not used to it, though. You’re always the one doing all the touching. It’s ok, i’ll restrain your hands if you can’t behave yourself. I know you can, though, because you’re so good, always good. Just sit back and watch as I use your strap like my personal sex toy, it might as well be suction cupped to my floor, for all i care. I love how desperate you look under me, though, knowing you can’t put your calloused hands on my soft hips and control the pace, knowing you can’t grab my boobs as they bounce in your face. I bet it’s like torture, huh. I can’t help it, your frustrated groans are like music to my ears. I can’t help but giggle at the blush on your face, its spreading all the way to your ears. It’s ok, I won’t tell anyone you’re not as tough as you look. Is this all it takes? To break down your tough exterior? A femme bouncing on your strap? Some pretty moans? The sound my wet pussy makes every time I grind down onto you? It’s so easy. Touch me once and i’ll stop moving, I’ll take my shirt off the floor, and we’ll just have to try again next time. 

After I cum twice I’ll let you hold a vibrator to my clit. I’ll get up and get it, though, you’re still not allowed to do anything but lay there. You look pretty good like that, helpless and flushed in my bed, I have to take a second to stand over you and admire it. I know your hand is shaking because you want to touch me so badly, don’t worry, it only adds to the sensation. Only after I cum 3 times will I finally whisper in your ear that you can put your hands on me. It’ll be short lived, though, I’m too sensitive now, and much more interested in kneeling over you and seeing how far I can put your strap down my throat. I know you can feel the pressure pushing into your clit as it hits the inside of my cheek, the back of my throat, even through the fabric of your underwear. Touching you any more than this isn’t necessary to make you shake and beg me to keep going. Only when my jaw hurts will I climb back on top of you and let you really fuck me the way you want to, with your hands gripping my hips so hard it feels like they’ll be bruised in the morning. I want to shove my tongue back in your mouth while it’s covered in my own wetness, freshly licked off the silicone. I bet my eyes rolling back in my head will make you think you’re in control again, like you usually are, but you’re the one who’s boxers are soaked. It’s okay, i’ll let you think that, as a reward for being such a good boy. 

[whatcouldpossiblyhappen]

not to be a number nerd on main but 2025 (45^2) will be the only square year most of us ever experience. the last one was 1936 and the next one will be 2116

[whatcouldpossiblyhappen]

Leanne Franson

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“This reminded me of you” is such a tender sentence. Oh to have impacted someone so much that they find bits of your soul and hold the memory of you in things and places when you’re not around.

[whatcouldpossiblyhappen]

a non-exhaustive list of butch literature

a (very ad-hoc) list of butch reading and writing, (mostly) by butch authors. books I've read myself in bold; take the rest with a grain of salt. additions, addendums, and commentary welcome :)

(you can find my list of femme literature here)

general/literary fiction:

mrs s by k patrick

stone butch blues by leslie feinberg

boulder by eva baltasar

running fiercely towards a thin high sounds by judith katz

tipping the velvet by sarah waters

a crystal diary by frankie hucklenbroich

godspeed by lynn breedlove

cha-ching! by ali liebegott

the ihop papers by ali liebegott

greasepaint by hannah levene

lucy and mickey by red jordan arobateau

the bull-jean stories by sharon bridgforth

development by bryher

notes of a crocodile by qiu miaojin

america is not the heart by elaine castillo

the slow fix by ivan coyote

the swashbuckler by lee lynch

old dyke tales by lee lynch

sci-fi, fantasy, and horror:

gideon the ninth by tamsyn muir

the unspoken name by ak larkwood

vermilion by molly tanzer

metal from heaven by august clarke

scapegracers by ha clarke

the unbroken by cl clarke

fire logic by laurie marks

the seep by chana porter

these burning stars by bethany jacobs

feast while you can by mikaella clements and onjuli datta

non-fiction, memoir, and autobiography:

hijab butch blues by lamya h

gender failure by ivan coyote and rae spoon

fun home by allison bechdel

butch is a noun by h bear bergman

female masculinity by jack halberstam

burning butch by rb murtz

when we were outlaws by jeanne cordova

leaving isn't the hardest thing by lauren hough

odd girls and twilight lovers by lillian faderman

another mother tongue by judy grahn

boots of leather, slippers of gold by elizabeth lapovsky and madeline davis

the persistent desire ed joan nestle

persistence: all way butch and femme ed ivan coyote and zena sharman

dagger: on butch women ed lily burana

[whatcouldpossiblyhappen]

Hi internet hello where are the other butch women who love butch women and are 35-45y, athletic, and who prefer peaceful conversations

thank you very much internet

Sincerely,

Quietly Romantic

[whatcouldpossiblyhappen]

To the people who have never seen a butch woman before today,

This is how I am able to celebrate being a woman. I am muscular, I am tall. I dress in men's clothes and I like looking well put together. It matters a lot to me. It is the first time in my life that I can look into the mirror, smile, and recognize myself in who I see reflected.

I am most at home in being a woman when I have on freshly shined boots, a fresh fade, and a tailored shirt. I feel unstoppable, and I want that feeling of exuberance for every woman who wants that feeling, too. It's beautiful.

I am not feminine, but this is how I express my interpretation of the Feminine. I balance in-between because that's where I feel most at ease. I dress this way because it feels like I am being truthful, rather than living in a lie while wearing a dress. I don't want my life to be theater. I'd like it to be straightforward and honest.

If you're the lady from earlier, I overheard you talking. While I don't mind that you see my appearance as a political statement, it's not my original intent. I'm trying to help this body stay alive and this is one of the ways I help do that-- I need to feel at home in it. I do appreciate that you were able to see me for what I am, because you're right. The gays are everywhere now. You see more of us because it is sometimes, in some places, a little safer to be out and about. It's not a new thing, though. We've been around for a hot minute and have generations upon generations of history across cultures.

If you're one of the grandmothers who have asked me about understanding their lgbt+ grandchildren: please keep asking. Please keep being curious. It is such an incredible expression of love to want to understand someone so different from you. Your grandchildren will remember that and I hope they hold it close to their hearts.

To the children: it's okay to wonder. I am in fact actually a pirate. Pirates don't need to look like everyone else because those are just the pirate rules.

Y'all might never read this and that's okay. I needed to see it written out and if it finds you, I appreciate that it did. Thank you for reading it and thank you, most of all, for considering different perspectives.

Love,

L

[whatcouldpossiblyhappen]

Spending time around couples who genuinely enjoy each other's company is so refreshing. I hear them raise their voices and some deep part of me braces to prepare for yelling and cruel words. I watch-feel it happening over and over, but turns out they're having fun. Or maybe they're being frustrated and talking about their day, but their partner meets them and holds their face with gentle hands and a soft heart. Maybe they're reenacting something silly they saw on the sidewalk earlier that morning, the point is that there are kind people.

Really they exist, and a lot of them.

So don't go back to the familiar uncertainty. It feels familiar to always be on your toes, to use that tipping-tumbling feeling as a start to momentum in life. But I swear on the ocean that you can have momentum without tiptoeing through eggshells of being scared all the dang time. It might be slower, because usually adrenaline-fueled sprinting is pretty speedy, but slower is probably healthier. Look for those people that feel safe, kind, the ones where you enjoy who you are when you're with them. That's what home will feel like.

[whatcouldpossiblyhappen]

This comic makes me so stupid emotional. She might have never known.

[whatcouldpossiblyhappen]

"what is it about her?" Quim Magazine, 1994 issue 5