I’ve been thinking about eunuchs for a few months. I briefly dated a transgender person who was Italian-American, a witch, and had undergone bottom surgery to remove their dick and get a vulva. They related to the eunuchs in Rome long ago, some witch eunuchs. content warning: violence Well, honestly I’ve been thinking of eunuchs
My local closest friend is a hot trans lady. We are very close–best friends. We met last summer, and I see her almost every day. She’s close to my spouse also. I want to have sex with her–this hot trans lady. She is not planning on fucking me. My whole body says a huge YES.
“I think you’ll do,” my spouse said, inspecting me as I stood with my hands tied behind my back. “Yes, I accept you as my bitch.” We were at a vacation rental, doing some kink. It got loud, so I’m glad we had noise privacy. That morning I had a vivid fantasy about being chosen
I wrote about what happened last summer, when my spouse and I briefly lived on a small farm where the farmer witch wanted a sister wife. Writing helped me realize again: there can be such a large gap between what we want vs what we say we want. sister wife How much truth will fit,
“I realized I made a mistake, when I wrote that craigslist ad about what I was looking for,” she said. “When I wanted someone to come to the farm. I didn’t really need help with the farm work. What I actually wanted was a sister wife.” We were standing in her yard, between her farmhouse
This poem “bitch” is the artifact of intense longing. Much reverence to the feelers of big feelings, truth tellers, and kinkster sexonauts. bitch I wanted you to turn your vehicle around, take me to the forest, pin me down on the earth, and see how many times you could make me cum. on the dirt
“If I was hugging him while he was wearing a suit, and I was getting off on that, what would that mean?” I asked my spouse. We were talking about money, power, and sex. “I would think you were getting off on safety,” my spouse said. “The suit is a way to be safe.” “Yeah,
Dear housemate, I was surprised and thrown off balance when you told me at dinner, announced in front of everyone, that the weird thing about me is how I don’t recognize how powerful I am. Wow. It was a vulnerable, extra-honest thing to say. Not that you were wrong. But I’m trying to figure out
You know that kid you met on the train and wanted to save? She was a runaway. The secret was she had escaped from sex work. You wanted to help her, but how? It was a bad situation. How much was she playing you? I was trying to understand the severity / immediacy of the
Is it possible that a family has something rotten at its core? My family has something like a horror movie woven into the cloth. I don’t want to use the word “evil.” More like diseased. But that sounds like an ableist metaphor. Is this rotten-ness real, and if so, what do I do about it?