EXTRACT FOR
Butch Girls Don't Cry
(Giselle Renarde)

I tore out of my bathing suit and tossed it in the direction of my bag before slipping under a hot shower.  Wringing out my wet hair, I wrapped the wet towel around my naked middle and figured I might as well cool my jets in the hot sauna.

It wasn't until I'd swung open the heavy wooden door that I realized there was somebody inside.  

And who do you think that somebody was?  

Yes indeed, it was the big bad butch who'd caught my eye by the pool and then rejected me.  

She was fully dressed, but her head hung low.  Deep moaning sounds fell from her full lips.  Between her feet in black flip-flops, tears sizzled against the hot wooden floor slats.  

My big strong butch was crying! 

Not whining like a girl, not whimpering like a puppy, but blubbering like a man.  Like her father or her dog just died, as Leonard Cohen put it.  

This mysterious stranger had suffered a loss for sure, but I was pretty sure it had nothing to do with a father or a dog.  It was a loss in love, that much I could tell.  I could feel it in my heart??"my heart, which expanded to house her hurt with every breath.  I knew just the type of dark-haired beauty who'd trampled her spirit with stiletto boots: deep red lips, bright red nails, short bangs and a vintage dress.  A vixen.  A tart.  

Oh, how many times had that beauty been me?