In Praise of Young Butches

There you were, legs spread, sitting on a low wall, lean body relaxed, eating a snack, watching me as I loaded groceries into the car. I glanced up, and saw you, a slight smile on your face, your eyes boldly meeting mine, staring frankly at me. You were in jeans, a t-shirt, your hair short, your eyes dark, a clear and beautiful face, in your early 20s. Having had a bad last few weeks full of insecurity about my sexual desirability, I didn't quite believe you were looking at me, a middle-aged femme, dressed casually in black t-shirt, khaki shorts, and black sandals, keys hanging around my neck, bouncing just below my tits. I loaded more groceries, and looked up again, and there you were, still watching me, you openly eyed my body, stopping at my tits, then moved back up to look me squarely in the eyes, still smiling. Cocky, I thought, and sexy.

I wheeled the empty cart back to the cart station, 15 feet from you. I moved the cart closer, a smile pressing at my lips, I glanced back at you. Our eyes met, and lingered, we smiled, and I turned and returned the cart and walked back to the car, knowing you were enjoying my ass.

As I drove away, I turned to see you, and there you were, cocky smile still on your beautiful face, watching me. You stretched your neck and turned your head, so we could hold that gaze a little longer.

Ah, young butches. Thanks, baby.