What Dykes Like


#lesbian#lesbian love


#lesbian#lesbian love

Topic of the Week: “Which one’s the man?”

Hey guys! So I should start off by apologizing because I CLEARLY don’t have the time/ attention span for this whole blogging shindig. I suck. I’m sorry.


Anyway, I just kind of wandered in from weeding outside and sat down at my computer and was like you know what? It’s time for a What Dykes Like post, because it’s been for-fucking-ever. (Also, I just realized I might sound like a 50 year old woman since I just wrote the word “shindig” and followed up by talking about weeding. I assure you I am only 20.)


Think less this:



…and more this:


Just kidding, I’m not that hot. I’m just more in her general age range. That’s the point I’m trying to make. Or something. Now I’m distracted cause damn, her cleavage. 


I really should do a post about boobs at some point. Except it would probably just go something like this.







What I’ve decided to write about is something that pisses me off to no end… that ridiculous, demeaning, annoying-as-fuck question that straight people ask lesbian couples all the time… “Which one of you is the man?”



I came out when I was fourteen, have been in numerous relationships with girls (or women, whatever) and I’ve been asked this question more times than I can count, and IT STILL MAKES ME MAD. 


It takes most of my self restraint to not yell “HAVE YOU EVER SEEN A LESBIAN COUPLE BEFORE? WE ARE BOTH WOMEN. THERE IS NO MAN. NO PENISES. WHATSOEVER. ABSOLUTELY ZERO PENISES” and slam them in the face with a pie.



God that is the most time I have ever written “penises” in my life. 


I get it if some couples want to classify one of them as “the man” or “the woman” or one of them as “the femme one” or “the butch one,” and I totally respect that. But I find it insanely annoying when people just go ahead and assume that, in a gay couple (gents or ladies) that there STILL needs to be a male and female figure to make it a legitimate coupling. You know?


And I mean, this has always bothered me, ever since I was in high school. At that point I was actually pretty sensitive about it, especially since I was usually told by others that I was “the girl” in most of my relationships. For whatever reason, I took serious offense to that. That probably stemmed from my coming out era, during which I was constantly told “But… you don’t look gay.”


My withering stare wasn’t quite as good as Santana’s but you get the idea. 


Well anyway, I found the idea of being “the girl” in the relationship completely repulsive and degrading, like people would think I was a wimp because I had longer hair, bigger boobs, a higher voice, or less athletic ability than my significant other.


One particular time in my senior year, I was dating a girl who I was really into (we’ll call her Peach because I’m looking at a Peach), and who I really wanted to impress. Like on the daily. Peach was really closeted/Catholic/thatsortofthing and I wanted her to think I was just the coolest because I wore plaid and knew all the lesbian ropes.



We had lightheartedly discussed who we thought was “the man” in our relationship, but decided we were pretty much equal. Except I had internally decided that I was still the man for whatever reason. I mean, I was older! I wore plaid! Converse! I had experience! And the whole lesbian ropes course thing!


So one night, Peach and I decided to go on a double date with our only lesbian couple friends, Chip and Salsa (again, not their names, but I’m looking at… you get the idea). Chip was one of those really annoying girls who thinks she’s the shit cause all the straight girls at our all girls boarding school would experiment with her. So it particularly irked me when she smirked stupidly over at Peach and said “So how does it feel to wear the pants in your first relationship?”

I raised my eyebrows.

Me: “Um what?”

Chip: “Come on, Peach is clearly the man in your relationship.”

Me: “Yeah? Who decided that?”

Chip: “We all kinda did.”



I looked at Peach, who was kind of trying not to smile, and I got pretty fucking annoyed. And I don’t know if it was hormones or pride or just being sick of Chip’s stupid, meddling little face, but I got up and left. The restaurant. I literally got out of the booth and walked out. Which was probably an overreaction. So was bumming a cigarette from the first person I ran into.


It wasn’t actually Jesus, this isn’t that kind of story. I’m just trying to explain how cool and angsty I was in high school. 

So in the end I smoked the cigarette in an alley so I wouldn’t get caught by the Dean of Students, went inside, washed the smell off my hands, and got the fuck over it. And what do you know? I’m still dating Peach two and a half years later. And neither of us is the man. Because we’re lesbians. 

So why did I get so pissed off at the prospect of being the girl? What does being the man even mean? Or wearing the pants? Do all the men in straight relationships wear the pants? Can’t everyone just walk around with no pants? All the time? 


That’s all I’m asking.

But seriously. If we could just live in a world where women could date women and men could date men without one of them being pressured into taking on a dominating role, that would be great. And if the dominating role wasn’t called being a man, that would be even greater. Cause like, it’s sexist. And— I’m gonna say it— heteronormative. Come on people. 


Okay I probably need to do another post about not “looking gay” or “seeming gay” at some point. Because the way other people label you is completely irrelevant, but if you’re a femme lady dating a dykier lady and people are constantly telling you that you’re not “as gay” as your partner, it can make you feel pretty fucked up. I know, it happened to me. So that will be my next topic of the week. And then BOOBS! I PROMISE!

I promise.

(Source: rusabrova)

pretty much!


the whole world has come together hoping that romney doesn’t win

romney has indirectly caused world peace

(Source: fangedevans, via yoursxoxo)

Anonymous asked: your blog is so funny! haha

thank you!

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Topic of the Week: Chicks in Uniform

Since I wrote about Tasha last week, it really only makes sense that I get around to my Chicks in Uniform post this week. Cause, in case you forgot…

…. gahhh so hot. But moving on.

So I’m going to tell you a story about my childhood now. You’ll understand when I’m done. I was ten. I was one of those super awkward, gangly, freckly kids who are so skinny that their heads look too big. I wore bell bottoms. And turtlenecks. 

It was around the time that my friends and I had all recently watched “When a Stranger Calls,” and were subsequently terrified that a serial killer would find his way into one of our houses in the middle of nowhere and murder us all.

To be fair, it was a scary movie for ten year olds to watch. His ears are so creepy… 

The point is, one night I was SO CONVINCED that someone was breaking into our house that I begged my mom to call the police. Let me also say that calling the police in our town, which consisted of 7,000 people, was pretty embarrassing. But, eventually, she did. Probably because I was so hysterical and annoying.

But I had a secret motive for calling the police. Her name was Anna . And she looked like Sarah Shahi (#Carmen).


You guys, I was obsessed with this chick. At ten years old, I still had the sense to brush my hair and wipe my tears away before the police arrived to search my back yard for axe murderers. BECAUSE LADY COPS ARE HOT. And I’m pretty sure that the uniform does like 40% of the work. 

This doesn’t just apply to policewomen: I’m talking all kinds of uniforms. Military. Sports. Catholic schoolgirls. DYKE FIREFIGHTERS FOR CHRIST’S SAKE. So hot. 

Obviously, each of these different types of uniforms carries a different meaning, therefore a different reason for being so hot. I can’t really put my finger on it (#Iwish). With some uniforms, it’s the strength factor. Take last week’s post about Tasha, for example. She’s gorgeous, ripped, and ready for action all the time. When you look at Tasha, you think, “She could protect me from strangers and axe murderers but she could also throw me down on the floor, pin my arms, and fuck me for hours and hours and hours…” #drool.

With Catholic school girl uniforms, it’s sort of the opposite. More like “I could show you the ropes if you wanted. For hours and hours and hours.”

You know?

And then there’s athletic girls. Which are my favorite, hands down. I’ve been obsessed with them since high school, dated two of my team captains, and one time got hit with a softball because I was staring at our really hot short stop. Like don’t even get me started on softball girls.

Athletic girls in general, though, I will get started on. We dykes are all sitting on the sidelines drooling, but why? Is it the toned muscles? The hand-eye coordination? The ponytails swinging back and forth? Or is it the uniforms?

Okay, fine it’s all of the above. But mostly it’s the badass uniforms with the knee high socks that really kill me. Cleats. Under armor. (Not sliding shorts, they’re wayyy too hard to take off… just sayin’.) 

Maybe this is just me. Cause like when I asked my girlfriend to wear her basketball uniform next time we had sex, she gave me a pretty weird look.

She did it anyway.

Anyway, lesbos, this is my point.

When Anna the hot policewoman who looked like Carmen in my ten-year-old brain sat me down after checking the property, gave me a pat on the back and told me not to worry, I almost passed out. Because she was talking to me. And she was gorgeous. AND she had a gun right in it’s holster on her belt. I was too young to know what a crush felt like, but I was obsessed with this chick.

Words of wisdom: The uniform adds 40%.

That’s all for now. Oh and…

Hottie of the Week

So I realize that I have been seriously slacking on HOTW and I’m sorry about that, but I am totally going to make it up to you. Right now. 


I’m assuming at least 90% of the people reading this watch/ have watched The L Word, and if you don’t then get the fuck out. Just kidding. But sit your gay ass down and watch it! I mean sure, it’s poorly written most of the time, it’s a little unrealistic that there are a million lesbians piled into one neighborhood, and let’s all admit it, watching Bette and Tina have sex is sort of uncomfortable. Other than that… IT’S AN EXCUSE TO WATCH LESBIAN PORN. AS A TV SHOW. 


… Anyway, getting ahead of myself. I guess I’ll have The L Word be topic of the week pretty soon since it is obviously great. But the topic right now is Tasha. 

She is definitely one of the most badass characters in the entire show. You can’t help being jealous of Alice every singe episode.

It’s not even okay, she’s so attractive. And she always has her game face on. It’s a little scary. In a hot way.

I’m pretty sure we all remember that episode where she goes to Alice’s apartment and they’re arguing about the military and Alice just WILL NOT shut up (what else is new… her voice is like a freaking parakeet) and Tasha’s like “Just shut up and let me fuck you.”

I would have passed out. On the floor. Then woken up and said “Yep, absolutely, noooo complaints here!” WHY ISN’T SHE REAL?

And why do her and Alice have to be so grotesquely cute? 

It’s not fairrr. 

If you have no idea what I’m talking about because you don’t watch the show, seriously just do it. And don’t be that person who’s just like “Shane’s the hot one” because yes she is hot and she’s basically a superhuman sex machine, but there are soooo many hot girls on this show who are looked over because they have to cower in Shane’s skeletal, sexy, messy-haired shadow. 

(Damn she’s hot. But not this week…. not this week.)

Thank you and goodnight.

jdmie-deactivated20130601 asked: I need more to read! I'm not even gay but I find your blog great! Update please!!

Hey thanks! I’ll post this week!

Hottie of the Week

Anyone else have a thing for blondes? What is that about? I literally find myself checking out blonde girls over brunette girls every time, probably explains why my girlfriend is blonde… Speaking of which, I recently started watching Mad Men. (Okay, that wasn’t really a “speaking of which,” but it kind of was. You’ll see.) And of course, within the second episode, I was completely head over heels, drooling, make-her-picture-my-screensaver obsessed and in love with THIS CHICK.

January Jones. AKA Betty Draper. Holy shit, you guys.

I never really paid attention to January Jones until this year, but now I think she’ll permanently be starring in all my fantasies. (Just kidding…. sort of)

Betty is just so adorable! She’s demure, she’s polite, she’s literally flawless….

….and she’s a total fucking badass. I mean I’m only on season 3, but so far, aside from smoking cigarettes in her kids’ faces (“Mommy my eyes are burning!”…”That’s impossible, Bobby), not leaving Don when he cheats on her with every brunette tramp with a bad hairdo (spoiler alert…), and being a terrible driver, she is my ideal woman.

And another thing about January Jones (besides her name which I’m a little jealous of, not gonna lie) SHE WAS IN LOVE ACTUALLY? DID YOU KNOW THAT?

You probably did, but I sure didn’t until my roommate reminded me that she is in THIS SCENE RIGHT HERE.

Remember?? Collin goes to America in search of sexy ladies who think British guys are the shit and the first bar he goes to he meets Betty. I mean January. I mean…. what is her name in this movie? Jeanie I’m pretty sure. Anyway, if you don’t remember this part go back and watch it, if only to hear the way she says “He’s from England” like “He’s from Mengland.” You’ll see what I mean and you will die because she is the cutest.

BTW guys, feel free to send in suggestions for HOTW (hottie of the week)! Enjoy these pictures but make sure to clean up that drool when you’re done.