I’ve had a ton of queer sex, including intense gender-y experiences. I remember the first time I ever went down on my spouse’s ass and all I learned doing that: so tender. I felt like a gay man, which isn’t what I expected. But recently I had very trans sex for the first time, and
When I soaked black lentils on the counter at the same time you marinated tempeh on the counter, I pretended you were my friend. I hope your meal was as delicious as mine. I dodged you in the kitchen as well as I could, no longer crying about your leaving. I’d memorized your departure date,
“There’s only one way to comfort a slut,” I told my spouse. “Open up,” he said. “Yes, I need my holes stuffed,” I said. heartbroken Yes, I was heartbroken and in need of deep comfort. I tried to love a man who I found so beautiful, brilliant, and charming. The gentle way he touched me,
I thought you and your girlfriend were so much better than me. You seemed super-competent, great at being social, and got so much done. You both seemed like real grownups. Yes, you and your girlfriend were a power couple. Both so vibrant and good at life. At the time, I felt like a fuckup. It
The manipulative email you sent me, after three years of silence, has been bothering me. I’m thinking about what you lost when you chose to treat me like shit until I finally successfully broke up with you. I can’t believe you harmed me so harshly, yet you’re still knocking on my door. It was so
I never told you what happened when the man I loved touched my back for twenty minutes, in the bed where two nights before, he had used me for my body, hurting me in a deeply harmful way. What happened was a spiritual journey I’d not planned or bought a ticket for. It was quite
“I don’t want to be the executor,” I said. It was ten years ago–my mom was making her trust. “Honey, please,” she said. I imagined myself incapacitated by grief, trying to sell the house. Being executor sounded like a horrible idea. On the best of days, it’s difficult to take care of myself. No way,
I loved a woman who was younger than me and thin. We were friends in person, and then we didn’t see each other for a long time. But we txted, sent mail to one another, and talked on the phone. We became closer over the years. I treasured her–I met her halfway, or more than
“I’m doing something I don’t like that I’m doing,” I told my spouse. I’d emerged from the bedroom and was in the kitchen, washing my hands. “Ok,” he said. “Can I tell you about it?” I asked. “Yeah. Please do,” he said. breast opinions “Well, remember when I told you long time ago, I think
The conversation didn’t go how I thought it would at all. I thought we were going to talk about relationship options, and I felt excited. Beforehand I’d imagined possibilities we could try. It was fun to dream. I was unprepared for how “no” you seemed. Wow–why have a conversation, if the answer is just that