Butch women are my favorite type of boy.
I am a 5 on the Kinsey Scale.
So. I am incidentally heterosexual, meaning that there's off the chance that I might be mildly attracted to a male. But my inner dyke always wins out.
"Whatever, he's just a gross boy, why bother when he's just going to end up criticizing you, cheating on you, and not caring about your feelings."
I understand that's a stereotype. Plenty of my heterosexual friends are living very fulfilled lives with wonderfully respectful men. Where did they find them? Hellifiknow.
Bois on the other hand. Now that I can deal with. My favorite part is when you butches put your hands in your pockets and lock your elbows so you look like a 15 year old boys in your long shorts and plain t-shirts When you smile, your eyes betray the woman inside. That's the secret, that's the joke you play on the world. Boy on the outside, girl on the inside. I like how you remind me of my brother, you're familiar like that. And I can chuckle when you start going on about car parts, the fight on tv, or the hottie you passed on the street. Wanna go girl-watching at the mall? Come on, let's go make fun of straight girls!
Have I mentioned how I'm 99% bottom? I like to talk. I like to be a little bit held down. I'll take the whip, the hand, the belt, whatever is closest in case I misbehave and try to get away. I love how your cute little sideburns feel when I rest my hand on your cheek. I love when you put your arms around my waist and squeeze me tightly.
Getting back to the hands in your pockets thing. Your hands are so distracting! It's like a sex organ just hanging wide out in the open for all to see. I stare at the soft fingertips and the nails clipped bitten torn so short. The first knuckle, the second knuckle, the third knuckle, the length of the fingers, the width of the widest part of your hand, they're so distinctly unlike my hands... I catch myself staring half the time. Face pointed down toward my text book, my eyes wandering from desktop to desktop looking for your hands.