I’m so excited I had an essay published in BiWomen Quarterly. Last time, they published a poem I wrote called “how I find it.” This essay is called “Threesome” and is vulnerable. I talk about wanting a threesome over the years, attempts at forming a larger family, and how all that feels. I mention heartbreak,
Queerness is valid, nothing to do with childrearing, being partnered, or survival of species. I’m natural aside from babies. The world needs my ideas, art, pleasure, love, interconnection, and good example. I remember long ago, hearing people talk about evolutionary reasons for gayness. Felt simplistic. Good LGBTQ aunts and uncles help raise others’ kids, I
I woke up in the hotel from a leg cramp and a dream about my best friend, who is an ex. Long ago when we were teenagers, yes. We were girlfriends. In the dream, she needed to do a stressful thing, and it would help if I left. But we didn’t actually want to be
That was the moment I would have touched your hand or asked if I could kiss you. We both wore pretty dresses, brick red and pink. I wanted to learn everything about your life north: splitting wood in your free time, community conflict, living in an RV. You said I was a role model of
“What’s a community, if it’s based on lies?” I asked. “A community of convenience. Gentlemen’s agreement. Fuckery–bullshit. A charade. A waste of time.” I was having a lot of feelings about communication issues in the community that I live in. Some friction had occurred, when I said something true but snarky in a meeting. I
“Hey, do you know what turns me on lately?” I asked. “What?” he asked. “Getting your semen in my hair,” I said. “Really?” “Yeah!” “We can do that!” “Yeah? Did you like it, when I was cuddling on your dick after you came, and your semen was getting in my hair, earlier?” “Yeah! I loved
My first girlfriend. Hmm, I was young, as was she–I was 16, when we met. We kissed, made out, talked, wrote poems for one another. The bruises all over my body were evidence that she was not good at respecting boundaries. She wanted the attention, my squeal of pain–she cared more about getting a big
I’ll be watching a movie on a screen somewhere–in a spaceship? in an underground place?–and the movie gets really sexy! I’ll be like, oh, I didn’t know this was a porn movie. I’ll see some surprising breasts, exposed, so gorgeous, and feel super-glad. My cunt will ache with arousal, and I’ll feel more involved in
insert image here I looked up BDSM public domain images to plop into this post, and what I saw had nothing to do with what I actually did. the stuff we did wasn’t costly–I didn’t buy any costuming or gear. I’m not a thin white woman with big tits, restrained and slightly grinning, suggesting naughtiness.
I asked a newish friend how many significant ex-es he had and the main reason he usually broke up with people. I found my own questions kinda rude. Most everyone has ex-es–how do you choose what’s significant? It seemed unkind to classify any ex as insignificant. But I have so many. Do they all matter?