Zaftig by Hanne Blank

Author:Hanne Blank [HANNE BLANK]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cleis Press
Published: 2012-03-21T00:00:00+00:00

ALPHABET SOUP

Helen Bradley

A is for attraction, I felt it in the bar that night, your gaze swept the room, laser light flickering across your face. Your eyes traveled past mine, stopped, returned, met mine, up, down, up again. You smiled. Five years ago.

B is for bump. I still think it was deliberate, though you still say not. The bar, same night, I was angry then—for those few seconds before I realized it was you and that I could rearrange my face from “get away” into “oh, baby!” and shoot you a look that promised eternity if we could make it through the first date.

C is for cunt, your sweet cunt, moist with your come as I go down on you. Musky smell (I’ll reuse that word again when I get to M), mmmm nice word, heady smell, my woman scent. Nah! I’m only teasing you, C is for coat, remember our first date? Remember how we courted each other, each unsure of the moves, sweetly romantic, so polite, hot and aching with desire underneath and covering it so well. C words: cunt, come, coat. Oh I forgot, it was cold as we returned to your car. You stopped, took off your coat, wrapped it around me and then wrapped yourself around it and kissed me, so gently, so softly under the street light. And stood back, your eyes dancing, a smile playing at the corners of your lips, deep breath and we continued on. Our first kiss.

D is for dyke. This one’s a no-brainer, powerful word, reclaimed word, we call ourselves this in celebration of what we are. I watch as its edge catches people unaware and they hesitate, pause, did she say that? before they smile tolerantly (or not) and continue. Dyke, I want to yell, Dyke, Dyke, Dyke—it’s what I am, for God’s sake—I don’t want pity, I don’t want you to treat me as if it’s a phase I’m going through. I just want to be me.

E. Eeek! I just realized that I messed up B. B is for butch. How can I have been so stupid? Wasted the letter B on the time you bumped me when it should have been butch. Strong big butch woman. Life partner, soulmate, lover, dyke. Shaven head, piercing, your smile, your stance, the way my heart leaps as you walk into the room. The way one look, one furtive sideways glance can register like a punch to my stomach and awaken deep inside me the urge to take your hand and lead you to bed. To have you pleasure my body, to press deep inside me, to fuck me until I scream for God. Why do we scream for God when we come? Even you, atheist that you are, you scream for him (or is it her?) as you come. Funny thing, I always think. You, butch lover, atheist, crying out for God. Always makes me smile, that does.

F. Well this one’s a gimme, don’t you think? Hey! I’m a dyke—I do it—I fuck.

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