I know the only time you ever kissed my breasts. That night before your birthday– a safe feeling. A close feeling. This is where you kissed me. I had everything I wanted. You asked, and I said yes. Your mouth on my body was an unfathomable blessing. I’m crying because I remember it. I’m crying
The first time I ever came to the land, it was for the summer trans gathering you invited me to, two years ago. I was fortunate to have your help figuring out what was going on. My spouse and I stayed in Temperance. I was confused by the cracking black & white tiles; the floor
Dear lost one, I miss when you hugged me hard and made me tea– I felt like I belonged near you. Maybe I belonged somewhere. Those days were kind of brief. I miss when I brought you to the land because I was showing you what was most valuable to me, trying to give that
This is a letter to my lover, or to someone who was my lover, and I hope one day they’re my lover again. It’s about my chosen wound. Dear one, My chosen wound is partly about fatness. You know what the world does to very fat people. But it’s more about home and safety, and
Dear one, I want to tell you that paranoia makes sense. I’m not making a mistake exactly. I’m seeing what’s there after being gaslit by culture. The contrast between the truth and the official word is whiplashing. Like when my mom died. It’s bad enough to lose someone I need and all that entails–her unfathomable
Yeah, tops are great. But topping is nothing without bottoming. It takes energy to receive as well as to give. I have to be emotionally ready to be penetrated, to cum for anyone, to welcome anyone to use my body. I prepare the soil of my spirit for an important experience. And I need time
Dear one, Yesterday I was telling you, I want to go down on our mutual friendly acquaintance / acquaintancely friend. They’d mentioned that they weren’t going to the May Day event to work, but to get laid. “I’m not going to DJ unless someone is sucking my dick while I’m DJing,” they said. Surprised, I
Dear one, Years ago I was in love with my friend G who introduced me to the band Woven Hand. Yesterday I got a weird craving to hear them again but didn’t know the name of the band. I tried searching “dark country” and “dark country guitar” and finally found a playlist with a Woven
Dear friend, I was never young. In years, I was young; I was born as a baby and progressed as one does. But I was never young in the sense of needs met, well-being protected, spirit cherished. What’s innocence? I definitely wasn’t guilty. But life didn’t unfold in a stepwise way. Choices were denied me,
My spouse was upset that their friend was not getting back to them and not making time to see them. My spouse was upset to the point of losing sleep about it. “Is there something wrong with me?” my spouse asked. “No, sweetheart,” I said. “You’re a good friend–you’re amazing. There’s something wrong with the