Mid-naked stuff, I tell TA “Sometimes I crave the taste of your cunt when you’re not around.” (It felt a bit weird using that word, but it’s the only word she likes her bits to be called.)

She swooned a little bit at hearing me say that. Then she started cracking up, and – between peals of laughter – just barely managed to ask “what does my cunt taste like when I’m not around?” I suppose that’s what I get for not choosing my words carefully enough.

I collapsed on her in a giggle fit. Then I used her “insolence” as a reason to slap her face a whole bunch, even though we both knew I would have done that anyway just because we both like it when I slap her face.


Post-naked stuff, I ask TA some things about what it’s like to have a surgically constructed vagina. Like: what does it feel like if a dilator or a dick “hits bottom” on her? Painful or just stretchy or…?

She thought about it and said “No, neither of those things. It feels…it feels…I can’t describe it.”

I suggested: “It feels like you’re fulfilling your purpose as a woman by being a good little dick receptacle and taking the whole thing, even when it’s too long to fit?”

TA has a thing for very specific types of humiliation and objectification, and this hit the mark for her. She got all breathless and forgot how to speak for a minute. Finally she said “I forget what we were even talking about.”

“We were talking about what a cocksocket you are,” I said, and she went all breathless again. 😀

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It’s so weird to be dating a woman after decades of assuming I could probably only be into guys. It’s like…I have ~30 years of dating experience, during which I tried like three times to be with people who didn’t identify as men and it didn’t work, and pretty much everyone else was a cis dude. Or at least thought they were when we were going out (like Minx). And not only that but my last two long-term relationships were with white dudes around six feet tall with blue eyes, long brown hair with an undercut, beards, and glasses. My brain at this point has certain expectations of what “partner” is supposed to look like carved into it real deep.

And suddenly there’s this woman naked in my bed and I look over at her and my brain goes “if partner, where penis? Why boobs!?” and yet I am attracted to her very much and am happy that we’re dating. It feels surreal and I’m just kinda waiting for her presence in my life to affect my neuroplasticity and carve me some new brain-paths.

Fascinatingly, I’m helping TA with her neuroplasticity, too, because she got a vaginoplasty about a year ago and (this is unfathomable to me, but) never masturbated afterward. And never had anyone else pay extended attention to her new junk, either, except for hitting and biting it. So she has no idea whether she can orgasm. Pain turns her on, and she says that’s fun and satisfying for her and she doesn’t feel a pressing need for release per se. So she just never bothered trying.

I expressed surprise at all of this, since if I got surgically revamped genitals the first thing I’d do is try to get myself off. But I didn’t push her to let me try to give her orgasms or anything. She said she didn’t care and would rather do ouchy stuff, and I didn’t wanna be That Guy. We’ve been mostly just doing sadomasochistic play together and that’s it.

But…two visits ago she said something about how she did briefly try a vibrator once and it did nothing for her, but that it was a small, buzzy little vibrator and maybe something more heavy-duty would be the thing that worked for her. The problem being that she didn’t want to shell out a bunch of money for a Hitachi or Doxy or whatever without knowing if she’d even like it. Well, I have a $200 Doxy that’s powerful AF and I offered to try it out on her and she said yes. Predictably, since it was a brand new sensation on a brand new clitoris, TA’s body wasn’t really sure what to do with it. She seemed kind of intrigued, like it maybe had potential, but obviously didn’t immediately have sixty orgasms or anything. And then she had me stop because our experimenting was making her itch. She said the itching was way down deep, nothing that the actual texture of my covered-with-a-clean-sock-for-hygiene vibrator could have done. She said she thought the itch was her crotch-nerves starting to connect up to her brain better!

And then on her most recent visit TA inquired about my massage gun – which punches rather than vibrating per se, so for most folks I would not recommend applying it to a clitoris because ow, but TA is a masochist, soooooo. We tried that out and she seemed to like it a lot but then the itch started up again so we stopped for the time being.

On another note: the very first time I ever made out with someone at age 17, my poly-but-in-denial-ass immediately thought “Now that I know how to French kiss, I could apply that knowledge to other people! I could – if they said okay – French kiss that guy, or that one, or that one over there. I have skills now!” And this is exactly how I’m feeling about dating a woman. Like…it opens up a lot of possibilities, now that I somewhat feel like I know what I’m doing. And of course not all women like the same things, but it does feel encouraging that (despite so many men on the internet whining about how women are soooooo hard to please and most won’t even grant access to their bodies to let you try) I have a woman who lets me touch her and likes it (and by “likes it” I mean vocalizes her pleasure with great gusto and grinds up on my leg). And to whom I can text or say sexytalk and hit the bullseye squarely basically every time. I’m almost preternaturally good at sussing out what people want out of sex or kink, and that intuition seems to hold up regardless of the gender I’m aiming it at. I’ll ask TA a couple of clarifying questions about how she approaches kink and then send her a text that completely melts her brain. 😀

And, like, TBH my kinks are bog-standard maledom/sadist shit for the most part. Grabbing someone by the hair, calling them a hot little slut, telling them they’re mine, blah blah blah. Like it’s all a turn-on for me but it’s all so fucking basic that writing it out is kind of embarrassing. But my point is, a lot of women seem to have those same kinks from the other side. So if I open my mind to being with women, I may be able to find some fun matches, and it might be easier than finding dudes who are into that stuff.

And boy oh boy. I do not identify as a man per se but my nonbinary ass is kinda dude-leaning and lemme tell you it is so gender affirming to, like, have a woman underneath me going all wibbly with arousal as I hold her down by the throat with one hand and squeeze one of her tits hard enough to hurt with the other while making direct, smouldering eye contact. It took me a while to work up to that stuff because it’s such stereotypical douchedom bullshit, but it’s clear that TA does like being manhandled like that and trusts me enough to let me. So game on.

No matter how turned on I am in the moment, though, I can’t fap to any of our play afterward. So the fear of coming off like an entitled douchebag seems like it’s probably messing me up a bit to where I can’t fully let myself enjoy things. Hopefully everything will align with time. TA tells me about cis dudes she plays with and they’re a lot more bold, objectifying, etc with her than I am and she swoons about how hot it was, so I know I’m well within her boundaries (well, that and she’s never had any problem speaking up when something’s not working for her). I just need to stop second-guessing myself.

The fact that she’s a woman is definitely playing into this a bit. I never knew that I’d internalized the shit society tells us about how women are delicate flowers and you should never ever hit one and etc, but apparently I did. I find myself feeling more mean than I did when I played rough with men. I mean I always started slow and checked in with men, too, but once they said it was okay to do a certain thing, I did it with impunity. It felt like “meh, he’s a guy, he could forcibly overpower me if he wanted, therefore the fact that I’m doing this is because he’s letting me.”

TA was goofing around with me one day and playfully grabbed my wrists and I could not for the life of me twist out of her grip, so she seems like she’s at least as strong as I am. She’s also taller than I am, which helps me not to feel like a German Shepherd chewing up a Barbie doll when we play. But still. She’s been on estrogen for long enough that she’s got the subcutaneous lady-fat; she’s all soft. Cis dudes usually have this armor of muscle all over. Hitting them just feels different. Their bodies seem a little less vulnerable. Also, the last time I guys that I played with, I myself was estrogen-based and pretty physically weak. Now the tables have sorta turned.

I dunno. It’s an adjustment.

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Body talk

I’m gonna be going in-depth into my body measurements and how I feel about them. If this will be weird for you for whatever reason, this is your warning to skip the post.

So, in a case of unfortunate bad timing, right before my gender crisis I had a phase where I ordered a shit-ton of dresses from, which does made-to-measure. I have anxiety issues about spending money but after a lifetime of trying to make do with off-the-rack clothes made for someone with drastically different proportions than mine, I bit the bullet. I probably spent over a thousand bucks on dresses in two years. Annnnnd then I started transitioning and my body almost immediately changed in such a way that the dresses don’t really fit anymore. Plus I don’t want such a girlie aesthetic anymore. Maybe the dresses were me trying to steer extra-hard into my assigned gender in a last-ditch effort to make it work, like all the trans women I’ve seen who once had full beards and worked out until they looked like a pile of boulders.

Anyway. One unforeseen benefit of all this is that eShakti has a bunch of my body measurements on file – a sort of snapshot of how I looked about three years ago – and now I can compare those numbers to my current measurements and get an idea of how testosterone has changed me.

My waist back then was 33″. I think it may have crept up to 34″ by the time I decided to start T. Within a few weeks of starting hormones, my waist measurement jumped up to 38″. It’s one of the very first changes I noticed; that, and my fingers got thicker. My index and middle fingers are like two sizes bigger than they used to be; the other two fingers are maybe half a size bigger if at all. (The other thing I bought tons of right before transition was rings, so I’m kinda pissed off.)

My underbust back then was 35″. Now that, too, is 38″. The fascinating thing to me is that when I first reached my adult height (and was probably underweight), my bust measurement was 38″. Like…my underbust is now the circumference that my entire tits used to be, and I was probably a C-cup back then, not super flat-chested or anything. But I don’t understand where these extra underbust inches are even coming from; I palpate the area and can easily feel my ribcage, front and back. I’m not like swimming in extra fat or anything. Even muscle seems like it should feel like something more than what I’m touching.

My bust measurement, before, was 42″. Now it’s a whopping 46″, and again I am unsure where that’s coming from. I don’t think my tits themselves have gotten bigger (and it might be weird if they did, on T – but on the other hand I have gained some weight and even men get chest-fat when they gain weight); I still wear the same bras as before and the cups don’t look like they’re overflowing. Or, like…I may have gained a cup size. But the rest must be…back muscles? I dunno. I do feel that I have way bigger pecs than before, but if that accounted for all four inches of difference, you’d think my bra cups would overflow.

My hips were 48″ back then, 50″ by the time I decided to go on T, and remain 50″ now.

My upper arm was 13″ before and 14″ now, which bummed me out at first because bigger arms was one of the things I wanted most and they’ve only gained an inch while my stomach gained four. But then I remembered that arms are teeny compared to waists anyway so proportionately, I gained at least as much girth there as anywhere else, probably. Plus the arm gain is definitely muscle. Best I can tell I lost fat from my arms (and legs); my arms definitely have more definition than before, and when I move them I can see the muscles moving around. And the muscles themselves are definitely bigger (as they goddamned should be; I’ve been working out as best I can).

And I dunno if I have some kind of body image disorder or if it’s a fun optical illusion that everyone can see, but despite being so much bigger in the waist, I don’t think I look that much fatter than before. You’d think I would. But I think the fact that my chest and arms are also bigger kinda offsets my stomach. Also, I have man-fat now: it’s marbled into my ab muscles rather than sitting on top of them like lady-fat. So my gut is firm. Before, it was softer and more wobbly and I think that contributed to my midsection looking fat. Now I’m just, like…thick? Or I’m delusional and everyone else sees me as fat.

At some point I’ll try to recreate that one photo I took pre-T in the fishnet dress and put them side-by-side for a direct comparison. Right now I’m too lazy.

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Soooo the last time TA was over we were lounging in my bed and she point-blank asked “are we dating?”

I shyly said that I would like to call it that if she was okay with it. And she was. So now we’re dating.

And can I just say, it’s so nice to have someone who’s the brave one for a change. Like, I was the first one to drop an “I love you” in at least my last three relationships (and none of those three guys said it back immediately, despite two of them feeling it at the time and me having eliminated all emotional risk for them by going first). And I was the one who addressed problems in my relationships because my partners were too chickenshit to. And I was the one who ultimately broke things off because they were too chickenshit to. And I don’t mind being the brave/forthright one sometimes, but I’m just so fucking tired of being the only one.

But TA initiated our first meet; she straight-up told me a couple visits in that she had a crush on me, which put some of my anxiety to rest; and now she’s initiated the what-are-we-doing-here-exactly talk. And thank god for all of that because dating a woman (and doing it as an out nonbinary person!) is new territory for me and it’s making me uncharacteristically reticent.

Oh also the last time TA was here she ended up naked. I’m all weird and dysphoric so I stayed fully clothed, but she stripped down during play and just stayed that way for the remainder of her visit. On some level I’d never really expected to have NakedTimes with someone again (and definitely not with a woman) so it felt kind of surreal. But nice.

I’ll admit that I’ve had my reservations about interacting with a vulva. And the fact that TA’s is surgically constructed was a bit of a thing to get my head around, too. But I realized a while back that one of the things that icks me out about vulvas is the wetness factor, and, well…that’s not an issue here. Also, if you think about it, TA’s junk was upcycled from the kind of junk I’m familiar with and enjoy. So it’s not so scary. 😛


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More progression

Things with TA are still going well! Here is a random assortment of moments/memories I want to write down for posterity.

She has a girlfriend, whom she lives with and whom she intends to be with forever. The stories she has of them taking care of each other just melt my heart (and make me wish I had a partner like that…but I digress). Anyway, they’re both masochists who love to go get beaten by other people and then show off the marks to each other. So one time while TA and I were lounging around in my bed post-playtime, she said she was looking forward to showing off her marks when she got home. And I got an idea and started laughing uncontrollably.

TA is not into knives or needles. But my idea was: what if she was into that sort of thing, and I did some knife play on her back, and unbeknownst to her, I was writing things? So then TA would go show her girlfriend the marks I left, thinking they were just random cuts, but instead it was the words “Hi, [girlfriend]! You seem really cool. I hope you’re having a good day! Say hi to your cat for me! Okay bye.” And TA would only realize she’d been a vehicle for a friendly letter when her gf told her.

I dunno, I just think it’s hilarious. I told TA and she thinks it’s hilarious, too.

TA is really into how people smell. Especially men. The first time we hung out, she indicated that she’d been hoping to get a whiff of dudely testosterone stank off me but I’d showered and deodoranted so effectively that she couldn’t pick anything up. She’s talked about smell a few times since then.

So at one point I thought, I should try to get my sweat and pheromones onto something and put it over her mouth and nose while we play. Maybe I’d be able to get her to form a Pavlovian association between my smell and the fun things I was doing to her. Maybe a t-shirt I’d exercised in? Meh, too big, I’m not trying to blanket her entire head. If only there was some kind of contraption made of fabric that would cover just her mouth and nose. Maybe you’ve guessed where this idea ended up. It took me longer than it should have to remember that covid masks exist and could be repurposed.

I did eventually figure it out. And I dug up a clean mask, the kind that’s just a pleated rectangle of cotton with elastic straps, and I went on my recumbent exercise bike for half an hour with the mask pinned between my back and the vinyl backrest so it got all wet with sweat. Then for good measure I used the mask to wipe up the sweat from where my leg meets my crotch.

But then I started worrying that just slapping the mask on her face during play without any previous discussion might be overstepping. Maybe when she said she was very attuned to people’s scents, she meant just the smell of their neck at the end of a totally sedentary day in a nice climate, not like actual sweat or stink. Or maybe she’d be fine with my strongest smells but would find it too objectifying if I sprung them on her like that. And I realized that as much as I love surprising someone with a devious idea, getting them revved up by a thing ahead of time can also be fun!

So the night before she was slated to come over, I explained what I’d planned and said if that was presumptuous, now was the time to tell me, but if she liked the idea, now she could spend the rest of the night in anticipation.

And she texted back “fuck that’s hot. I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep now.”

It pleases me how well I nailed her tastes. Except in practice TA said the smell of the mask itself overwhelmed the smell of me, so it didn’t quite hit. But I was on the right track.

During that visit she talked about some stuff other play partners had done with her, like one of them gave her a drink of water when she asked for it and then threw what was left of the glass in her face, dismissively. She loved that. “So, objectification like that is okay, then?” I asked. She enthusiastically said yes.

The next time we played, I was straddling her and her biting her and stuff and then I sat up, reached into the pajama pants I was wearing (slowly, so she’d have time to intuit what I was up to and say no if she wanted to), swiped my fingers through my junk to get them wet (it’s a goddamned ocean down there the moment we start fooling around), and slapped her in the face with my wetted hand. And also brushed a finger across her upper lip so she’d have to smell me for a while. She seemed to like this.

A bit later in the proceedings she asked me if I was enjoying myself and I was like “…I mean…” and wetted my fingers again and slapped the other side of her face. It seems likely she said that specifically to get that reaction. I know she puts a lot of thought into evoking reactions from people.

On a side note, during that same play session I had her strip to the waist. Before that there had been no nudity; I would just move her clothes aside a bit if there was someplace I wanted to hit or bite. I’m kind of back to that high school mentality again of everything being new and nerve-wracking, so I was progressing slowly. …Ish. I’d spent a good amount of time groping her crotch through her pants and also hitting it with a riding crop before this, and in the high school hierarchy that may have been skipping a level or two. 😛

And I dunno if it was the fact that some nudity had finally happened or what, but it felt like things with her kind of changed that day, like she felt more confident that I liked her or something. When I walked her to the bus stop she held my hand; while we waited for the bus we embraced. Suddenly she was making eye contact with me, which she had only ever really done during play before (she may well be autistic and it’s the “eye contact feels too intimate unless someone’s really special” thing; I’m just guessing).

And can I just say, maybe I got performance anxiety from years of hearing men (and sometimes women!) act as if women are aliens with mysterious, weird sexualities and it’s impossible to please them, but I’d gone into this thing with TA worrying that I wouldn’t be any good at…stuff. But, unsurprisingly, my instinct for figuring out what someone wants to hear or how they want to be touched works as well on women as it does on men, cats, and dogs. My SM play and trash talk had TA f l o a t i n g.

Also: OMG boobs. Boobs are fun! TA’s in particular are spectacular and she let me touch them and slap them and bite them. 😀 That’s the other thing – the messages we hear about women (from men) are all about how it’s so hard to get access to their bodies. And so it’s miraculous to me that this woman lets me touch her intimately. It’s a little miraculous that anyone does; I think about this all the time when I’m partnered. It’s such a gift. It’s lovely. But yeah it seems extra surreal that a woman is letting me.


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Ooof, right in the feels.

My friend V came over yesterday and it was really nice except for at the very end when I walked her to the bus stop. While we were standing there waiting for her bus home, she asked if I might like some help cleaning my apartment. For context, this was out of the blue. I had not, at any time during that visit or in the recent past, remarked that I was going through a rough patch and the clutter had been overwhelming me or anything. The apartment is messy. But I never indicated that this bothered me.

I sort of rolled my eyes and said “Okay, what part of the apartment is driving you crazy?”

“The area with the cat bowls,” she said. “I personally really like the area where my cat eats to be clean. I can help you out with that if you want.”

She’s helped me clean my living space before a couple of times, when I had said it was too much for me. And I appreciated that. But this time around I was feeling kind of attacked. I mean, V seemed to be implying that The Dandy and I weren’t caring for our cats properly. And that the kitchen was disgusting. It wasn’t, particularly. I’d done a load of dishes that morning; the counter had the toaster sitting on it and some crumbs but that’s about it. Plus we hadn’t mopped the floor in a while and Dickface likes to pick chunks of wet food out of the dish and throw them on the floor so she can eat them there, leaving a bunch of residue or crumbs or whatever. So yes, that part of the floor looked gross. Dickface can make it look that level of gross within like three days.

I said “we do clean the kitchen, you know. You just caught us at a time when it wasn’t spotless.”

She chuckled and said “that’s what you said last time” and I’m sorry but that’s…that’s fucking rude, right? Implying that The Dandy and I are just filthy swine 24/7 but we lie and say that we clean periodically?

V must have seen a look cross my face despite my covid mask. She said “I’m not trying to be judgy.”

“But you are judging, though,” I said (maybe not judging me to be a bad person for letting the apartment get messy, but definitely judging that the apartment looked as though someone negligent and/or mentally ill lived there and that it was potentially dangerous for our cats. And insinuating that I was lying when I said that we do clean it!). V kept sorta backpedaling and my feeling of upset started building momentum and I said something about her triggering a whole motherlode of old guilt about me not being able to adult properly and then the bus came and she got on it.

She texted a very nice apology from the bus and I’m trying to get past this but TBH it really fucked me up and I don’t know how to stop feeling shitty about it.

First off, look, I’m probably not someone who can weigh in on what’s normal for humans to do, but I’m pretty sure for most people cleaning goes in cycles? Like you have a while where you’re busy with work and/or just want to have fun in your down time, and a certain amount of mess accrues, and then at some point you have the energy to tackle it so you do and then it’s clean for a while, repeat ad infinitum. At the very least I really don’t think very many people are mopping their floor and scrubbing their kitchen to surgical levels of cleanliness before they go to sleep every night. Which means if you didn’t mop there might be some fucking crud on the floor. But that doesn’t mean you never ever clean anything.

And I flashed back to when I was a kid and my mom said that the state of my room reflected on her and that’s why she made me clean it for those rare occasions when we had guests over – so the guests wouldn’t see my mess and think she was a bad parent. She ascribed morality to tidiness.

And I flashed back to the time when I was a pretty little kid and my mom demanded I clean my room and I worked hard at it and when I said I was done, she came to inspect it and coldly said “there are still things on your floor” like the work I’d put in was nothing; like I’d failed. I had left my slippers and the book I was currently reading by my bed, where it would be logical to leave them. Those were the things my mother deemed unacceptable. Her idea of a properly cleaned room seemed to be “make it look like an Ikea showroom; like nobody has ever lived there before.” I remember her angsting before family came over because there was a magazine on the coffee table and if our guests saw it they would clearly believe that she was just the shittiest housekeeper.

I flashed back to the time that Minx was being an asshole to me about the state of our apartment (which, to be clear, she also was doing absolutely nothing to upkeep) and I think she whined that it didn’t look like her parents’ place, which her mom likely scoured up extra well when she knew we were coming over (but even if not, Minx’s mother was a stay-at-home housewife; cleaning was essentially her job). And I said “it’s not normal for someone’s living space to look as perfect as a fresh hotel room all the time” and she looked at me pityingly, like she couldn’t believe I was so naive, and said “yes it is.”

I flashed back to the two (2) times that a landlord threatened to start the eviction process on me/me and my ex husband because people could smell my/our cat’s litter box from the hallway. And there was another time when my ex husband’s and my landlord got up our ass for not picking up our dog’s shit from the communal back yard. I just generally have lived for years under the impression that I’m such a disgusting, messy (therefore bad) person that I barely deserve a place to live.

But since moving in with The Dandy, and especially since he took over paying my expenses and I don’t have to work, it’s been a total game changer. Turns out I was mostly messy before because I was too fatigued to do anything but languish on a couch or bed most of the time (exhausted from autistic masking and anxiety and physical health issues). Now I’m doing so much better. I have more energy. And a dishwasher. I clean and tidy on a more regular basis now than I ever could have back then.

I’ve been a bit depressed for a while recently and this set me back a bit, but the day V came over I tidied the kitchen beforehand (except, as I said, for mopping the floor). The day before that I’d tidied my room. I was coming out of my slump and starting to get back into a routine. I was feeling proud of myself for it. And then V had to go and say the shit that she did.


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It’s my birthday soon and TA brought over a gift the last time she was here: cat toys! I guess you could say that her birthday gift to me was the joy of watching the cats go nuts over these things. It was pretty great. The toys are skinny oblong pillows full of catnip and crinkly stuff, and they’re long enough for a cat to do that hug-and-rabbit-kick thing, which is always hilarious. TA said she has one of them for her own cat and has given a few others as gifts and she’s found that cats can’t resist them. This appears to be true. Well, Bastardcat is a bit more low-key about his toy because he’s super old and doesn’t really play anymore per se. But Dickface is absolutely in love with hers.

TA is – as I’ve probably mentioned – a big painslut. She’s trying to cultivate a group of regular play partners to beat her up; she meets up with several people per week. She says she likes men best for this because they never seem to have any baggage or hesitancy around SM play; they just smack her around with impunity.

Nonetheless, she and I have delved into SM a little bit. And when she said recently that a few of her plans with guys had fallen through and it had been too long since she had a good beating, I ventured to tell her that she can tell me if she’s feeling backed up and I can probably help her out. She thanked me and said she’d been holding back on that sort of thing because she figured I’m sorting some things out right now (I’m in a weird place with my body because transition, I’m not used to dating women, etc) so she was giving me space to do that. I’d assumed that was the case, and I told her I appreciated that very much, it was what I needed, but I think I’m ready for her to request ouchy things if she’d like.

I get a sense she’s also giving me space sexually. We snuggle when she comes over, and she pets me – at this point she’ll put her whole hand up my shirt, even. But she’s never touched my actual tits. Her hand may slide up the middle of my chest or up the side of my ribs, but she’s kind of not acknowledging that I have breasts. She’ll also dip her hand into my pants to caress my lower stomach, but has never tried to touch my junk. I’m sure this is just in case I have dysphoria about my “girl parts.” I don’t think I would feel dysphoric if she did touch those areas, actually. But I’ve been too shy to invite her to go further.

Last time she was here we revisited the idea that she thinks she might be able to orgasm from being smacked in the crotch. I asked how she’d feel about me smacking her there, and she said she was up for it. We got to fooling around a bit and I moved her shirt aside and bit the tops of her tits that were visible above her bra and then knelt between her legs and slapped her in the clit a few times through her leggings and underwear and punched and slapped her thighs. Every time we’ve played – including this time – I could feel an energy building up that’s sexy and fun but also a bit scary so I kinda ramped things down before they went very far. This was no exception. But it’s a turn-on that she was willing for me to touch her in these distinctly sexual places. I think I might want to, like…see her naked and stuff. And get each other off. But it all feels so new and scary that I’m taking it slowly so I don’t get overwhelmed.

And on the dysphoria front, the idea of us both being naked at the same time gives me a queasy feeling of “TOO MANY TITS.” So that’s interesting and kind of hilarious.

I’ve been seeing a bunch of stuff on TikTok about “comphet” – compulsory heterosexuality. Meaning, heterosexuality is the default in our society and everyone is kind of funneled toward it/assumes that this is where they’ll end up. And because of this, apparently a lot of women who were actually bi or lesbian just assumed that they were attracted to men and only men. But what they were actually feeling was just happiness that men were attracted to them – because women are socialized to believe that appealing to men is a vital part of womaning correctly. Or some of these women actually felt uncomfortable about the idea of dating or fucking men, and somehow convinced themselves that that’s what attraction is supposed to feel like. And I guess they assumed that their attraction to women was, like…friendship feelings, or jealousy of how hot they were, or something.

It really got me wondering about my own sexuality. I am absolutely attracted to men; I have no doubt about that. But I’m wondering if comphet made me ignore or rationalize attraction to other genders. Like, on some level, as an AFAB person who assumed they were a woman for a long time, maybe comphet had me believing that genders other than men simply weren’t an option for me so there was no reason to pay attention to how they made me feel?

Often, when someone is keenly into trans issues or gay issues but isn’t trans or gay themselves…they actually are but just aren’t ready to come out yet. It’s a cliche at this point. I think there are memes about it. And indeed, I obsessively read and watched stuff about the transition process for years and told myself it was just interesting to me for some reason, not like actually relevant or anything. I was also keenly interested in gay (male) stuff – romantic movies about guys getting together, stuff like that – and ultimately I think it’s because I myself skew toward the masc side and am also attracted to men, so I was living vicariously though these men. Wanting to be with a guy and also be perceived as one myself, or at least as not-a-woman.

But I was also always interested in movies about women dating/falling for other women. And later went through a phase of writing short stories about dating and romance that were from the POV of a straight guy who was with a woman. And now I’m wondering if my subconscious was trying to tell me something.

There’s something with TA. It doesn’t feel like my attraction to men has felt. But there’s something.


The first time TA ever visited and we did a bit of snuggling, she abruptly asked me if I wear women’s or men’s deodorant. It felt like there was probably more to this question than what she was actually asking, and eventually I worked out that she’s very attracted to people’s scents but all she could smell on me was my Secret brand deodorant in Cocoa Butter Kiss (I’ve always felt that I accumulate armpit stink way faster and worse than most people do, so if I’m gonna be close to someone I scrub up really thoroughly and put on assloads of deodorant and a clean shirt).

The other day the subject of smell came up again during a text convo and I said I have a t-shirt I recently wore for several days in a row and then went on the exercise bike in and sweated my ass off, and I could set it aside for her if she wanted. I was kidding; I didn’t expect her to say yes. But she seemed really into it. So when she came over I tossed her the shirt (which wasn’t as absolutely defiled as I’d assumed, perhaps because it’s a men’s XXXL and doesn’t actually touch my armpits that directly. So mostly it probably had exercise sweat soaked into the back of it) and she huffed my sweat smell and said it was really comforting and nice. I joked about making a concerted effort to sweat up a shirt for her in future and she seemed kinda turned on. So I might actually do it.

On a whole other note: snuggling with someone who has tits is new and kind of hilarious to me. Like, I’d do that thing of cuddling up to the side of her and resting my head on her shoulder-nook – a classic position I’ve adopted with tons of guys – and there was a boob in my face. I lie on top of her and…boobs. And they’re firm as hell and she wears padded bras so it’s just these nuggets pushing into me.

I motorboated her. 😀 It worked a lot better than trying to motorboat a cis dude. My face locked right into her cleavage and there wasn’t any hair there to interfere with making a good seal.

Oh and! When we’ve played – when I’ve straddled her and slapped and bitten and lightly choked her – she’s touched me back. She would caress my back and stuff. It feels pathetic that I’m amazed by this very basic thing. But every woman but one that I attempted to do sexual stuff with before this was an absolute starfish; The Pedant literally liked to be tied up during sexytimes, so his hands weren’t even free; and The Dandy would lie there with his hands behind his head and his eyes scrunched shut like he was willing himself to teleport out from under me. I am not accustomed to sexual partners who act like I actually exist and they want to make me feel good, is what I’m saying. And I especially assume that women won’t ever want to touch me. So this thing with TA has been…revelatory.

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Still having fun. :D

So uhhh I don’t mean to sound totally selfish and self-serving (and yet, I am fully about to) but this woman I met through FetLife may be exactly what I need during this weird transitional part of my life.

She probably needs a proper nickname. Let’s go with The TA, or maybe just TA for short, because she works as a teacher’s assistant and in all honesty I think I’m learning things from her, too.

TA likes snuggling and petting me, and actively tries to touch me in ways and places that I enjoy. And she initiates that closeness! We’ll be lying on my bed and she’ll just take my hand and pull it over her body so she can caress my arm. I feel really out of my element being intimate with a non-man, so I’m uncharacteristically shy about asking for what I want and worried about overstepping by mistake. So this is really lovely. TA wants to touch me! And she demonstrates it! Imagine that.

TA embraces ambiguity; she’s not demanding that we give a name to whatever it is that we’re doing, or that any kind of relationship look a certain way. She actually has a long-term girlfriend (they’re poly, obvs) whom she believes is her absolute be-all and end-all soulmate and yet they haven’t had sex in a few years now, despite neither of them being asexual. This doesn’t bother TA or make her feel as though the relationship is less valid; she’s just letting the relationship take whatever form it organically wants to take. Similarly, I think if I wanted to do overtly sexual things with TA, she’d likely be up for it, but she’s not pushing or hinting, just going with the flow.

TA is a big ol’ painslut. She prefers pain to more vanilla kinds of stimulation, and (this is absolutely wild to me) she had a vaginoplasty like nine months ago but doesn’t know if the new vulva is capable of orgasming because she hasn’t tried. She likes sex and she likes pain play and although these things both turn her on, apparently she doesn’t need to get off in order to feel like she’s satisfied or “finished.” And she thinks that if someone was going to get her off it would more likely be by whapping her clit repeatedly with an impact toy than via any conventional vanilla sexual activity (which – *cough* – is a regular wank fantasy of mine, and was since before I met her…). She says when someone fucks her or plays with her she prefers that they do what they like (and if she hates something they do she’ll have no problem saying “nope, not that, something else)without obsessing on giving her pleasure or orgasms. Partly it’s that a lot of the fun for her lies in seeing what someone’s natural sex/play style is like; partly it’s because she’s one of these weirdos who doesn’t think she could have an orgasm if she was “chasing it” so she’d rather just let it happen, or not, on its own (I’m not seriously judging this as weird. I’m being facetious. It’s just a very alien line of thinking to me; I always chase my orgasm and would not have any, ever, if I didn’t. But tons of women have the same thought that TA does of “if I focus on it it goes away” so maybe this is, generally speaking, a gendered difference?).

Now, I always kind of assumed I was into cis men only. I wanted to have a broader palette of attractions, and at times I thought maybe I felt a pull toward someone AFAB and/or not-man, but it never worked out and also I’m a bit squicked out by vulvas. Being on testosterone seems to have shifted things a bit and I’m more into the idea of fucking people with vulvas than I used to be (d’you know the “kombucha girl” meme where in the first frame a woman’s making a yuck-face and in the second one she’s making a “wellll, maybe?” face? That’s me, pre-T and post-T, being confronted by a spread beaver pic on FetLife). But I’m still not ready to dive into someone’s vag face-first, y’know? And this is where I sound like an opportunistic asshole pleased that they have someone to experiment with but for obvious reasons TA’s preferences kinda work with where my head is at right now.

Which is not to suggest that I’m using her to figure myself out and then I’ll dispose of her. I’ve deliberately suppressed my ADHD urge to Try All the Things, because this can lead to me forming an attachment based solely on someone being new and shiny and doing what I want in bed, with no underlying rapport, and then the whole thing just collapses on me because there was no foundation. I’m building a foundation. We’ve been PMing/texting each other every day since she first contacted me (trading cat memes and talking about our lives and stuff, not flirting or sexting) but only seeing each other once a week. We’ve engaged in a little BDSM play, but I’m holding back a little bit. Just wading in bit-by-bit, y’know?

TA says that she has rock-solid boundaries and is completely unafraid to defend them. She says even during BDSM play, even if she’s flying on endorphins etc, if something’s not working for her she’s still able to vocalize it; she doesn’t get into the kind of “subspace” where she forgets how to speak, and she doesn’t put up with shit she doesn’t like in order to impress someone or avoid confrontation. I’m still flinchy af about initiating stuff with her, but I think she may in fact be presenting herself accurately in this. We did a little impact play yesterday and even though she immediately develops a bad stutter during pain play, she was able to let me know that I was striking a bit too high on her butt, where her pelvic bones were, and that I should stay a little lower (Christ, what a rookie mistake. I’m embarrassed. I was even thinking about her butt-bones and how to avoid them – I just didn’t accurately estimate where they were!).

So things are good so far. I like TA a lot. I don’t know where things with her will go – maybe nowhere, maybe we’ll continue being ambiguous friend-ish people who snuggle and talk and sometimes I choke her a little bit and nothing ever progresses per se – but I like her and find myself hoping that she sticks around a long time.


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Someone messaged me out of the blue on FetLife a week or so ago and it wasn’t a fuckboy. She’s a trans woman who said I seemed cool and she’d like to get to know me and she actually lobbed a conversation topic at me to respond to (fuckboys never do that. They just say “you seem really interesting! Let’s talk” but somehow don’t provide a single topic from my Super Interesting Profile to talk about. If pressed about why they find me so interesting, they’ll keep repeating vaguely that I just seem cool and then finally admit that I listed a kink on my profile that they’re into.)

Anyway, it was a lovely ego boost to have someone actually interested in getting to know me. And she’s smart and interesting and we messaged back and forth a whole bunch. She’s a masochist, and during the course of talking about all sorts of different things we touched on some kink topics and I noticed that we sound somewhat compatible in the way we view pain play. But she’s super into cis dudes right now, so I assumed she was only looking for friendship with me. I’m not usually into women, anyway. But, like…I noticed that it sounded like we could potentially mesh well on a kink level if things somehow went that way.

I mentioned that I’ve historically dated dudes but I’m feeling pretty disillusioned about men lately (plus I’m transitioning, so a lot of dudes won’t be attracted to me now even if I wanted them to be) and I might just give up on them. But I get really strong skin hunger so I’m trying to cultivate sources of platonic snuggles.

To my surprise, she then said to me – someone she hadn’t even seen a photo of – that she’s up for platonic snuggles, within perfectly reasonable boundaries (basically no expectation of sexual stuff, anyone can say no to anything at any time, etc). I said I was amenable to her terms.

And then she said “Great. So let’s make plans to get together,” and said I was welcome at her place or she could come to mine(!!!). Which kinda cemented for me that she did mean platonic stuff and wasn’t fishing for anything more, since, again, she didn’t know what I looked like whatsoever. I was somewhat surprised that she didn’t factor Stranger Danger into the mix and prudently ask to go to a coffee shop or other public place for our first meet, but maybe I gave her good, nonthreatening vibes. She gave me good, nonthreatening vibes. Also she’s 6’2″ and that’s gotta lend a person some confidence. Like..I’m 6′ and I think that’s made me willing to do some stuff that most AFAB folks would find way too risky. I’m not particularly strong and don’t particularly have any fighting skills but people are intimidated by my height and I’m too heavy to easily kidnap, as they say.

Anyway, she came over yesterday and ended up being here for around seven hours and there was snuggling. 😀 I was shy to initiate anything but luckily she was bold enough for both of us. Within a half hour of hanging out on my couch and talking, she asked “may I?” and lay her head in my lap. So for a long time we kept on talking and I petted her hair. I felt a little sad at being the “top” – what I was really craving was feeling like the one receiving touch – but it just felt too scary to ask this virtual stranger to do stuff for me. Especially since she is emphatically not submissive; there’s no chance in hell that me making demands would push any sexy-buttons for her or be fulfilling particularly.

But at one point she looked up at me from my lap and said “I trust that if there’s anything you’d like from me, or if you don’t want to be the active party in the snuggling the whole time, you’ll say so” and I ventured that I really like being lightly stroked, basically everywhere, but my inner elbow (which was currently right near one of her hands) was a particularly nice spot. So she started petting me there, but not quite in the way that works for me, and I emulated the sort of touch I wanted on her shoulder, and she started trying stuff and seeing what made me react the most.

Eventually, she pointed out that she was lying diagonally across the L of our couch and therefore a lot of her was awkwardly suspended in mid-air, and she asked if there was some other configuration we could do. I suggested moving to my bed. And so we did.

And somehow we ended up playing, just a little bit. She’s a huge pain slut and gives lots of reactions and you know I’m a sucker for reactions. I didn’t go too far with things, for a bunch of different reasons. We fell into a pattern where I’d experiment a bit with grabbing a fistful of her hair while biting or scratching her, and when the intensity of things built up to a place that felt potentially scary to me I dialed it back and spent a while starfishing while she caressed me.

But let me tell you one of the best things about her visit: she slid her hand under my shirt and was touching my midriff a lot, and at one point – after having touched my stomach quite a lot – she chuckled and said “I can feel your tummy-fluff.”

Because, here’s the thing: I’ve been on testosterone for over a year and for all intents and purposes I still look like a woman – but I have stomach hair now. If you took a photograph of just my gut, I think you’d assume it was a man’s; I’m not furry like a carpet or anything but there’s a light all-over layer of dark hairs.

It gives me gender euphoria that this tiny section of my body looks like it could belong to a man. I don’t want to shave it. But when I imagined hooking up with someone in my current state, I could only picture two options: 1) they feel repulsed by the hair, ignore/avoid it, and never hook up with me again because eeew; or 2) they fetishize it. I don’t want either of those things.

But suddenly, thanks to this woman I met, a third option presented itself: acknowledging the hair fondly as a part of my body without being icked out or obsessed. Holy shit that was revelatory. This is why I need to stay the fuck away from cis men and focus any dating energy I have on fellow trans people.

Anyway I feel like the pandemic lockdown has made me weird – I’ve forgotten how to mask my autism plus being mid-transition is making me feel undesirable and prone to blurting out self-deprecating things – so I was worried that this new person was mostly just powering through the visit as best she could but once she was free of me she wouldn’t want to come back.

But she’s friended me on FL and continues texting me so I think maybe it’s okay.

tl;dr someone seems to like me and my body and I didn’t think that was possible in my current state, holy shit.


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The Dandy and I went to his 80yo aunt’s place for dinner last night. I like her – or thought I did – but she got onto some conversational topics that were super difficult for me. Most notably (I have no idea why or how) at one point she started pearl-clutching about how sensitive everyone is these days and how just one accusation of sexual assault or rape can “ruin a man’s life.” She said in her younger days she went skinny-dipping with a mixed group of friends a few times and there was sometimes “some touching” involved and it would be just appalling if someone came out now to accuse someone in the group of having committed sexual assault back in the day (I pointedly said “well, if everyone was okay with the touching, there wasn’t any sexual assault so it’s fine”). At some point during her pontificating the aunt admitted that she doesn’t even know what the definitions of “rape” or “sexual assault” are. God only knows what she thinks accusing someone of sexual assault actually means. “I had a consensual thing with this guy once and now I want him pilloried for it because I’m capricious like that”? I dunno. She was sounding ignorant af and also bringing up a ton of baggage for me and I was stuck in her apartment with no way home and the subject matter was making me feel like I might have a panic attack.

And look, I hope to be in this living arrangement with The Dandy for the rest of my life. And that means I’ll be exposed to his immediate family for – well, not the rest of my life, he sees his mom and aunt the most often and they’re likely to die soon-ish. But a while. I would like to keep the peace and I would like to not be infuriated or even triggered by the conversations.

There were other convos last night that got under my skin, too, besides the sexual assault one. The Dandy and his aunt got to talking about what to do about the housing crisis and, later, whether paying reparations to indigenous people makes any sense (She said, “Well I never did anything to indigenous people so I don’t know why I’m supposed to feel guilty!” I tried to step in and educate her – it’s not about feeling guilty, it’s about acknowledging that as white people we benefit from a racist system, and trying to use our privilege to dismantle that system so things are more fair – but apparently talking the fuck over me runs in the family).

Oh and on a side note, as far as his family is concerned we’re still a couple; we never told them about the breakup because reasons. Last night The Dandy seemed to be agreeing with a bunch of the misinformed stuff his aunt was saying. If I’d tried to call him out and it had gone the way it always does at home (he impulsively volleys loud bursts of additional information at me whether I was currently talking or not, I repeatedly try to interject but can’t, I get to a point where I’m ready to either cry in frustration or stab him in the face or both and say “I need to not discuss this with you anymore,” he ignores this and keeps on spewing his horrible, damaging, bullshit opinions at me, I start screaming “STOP. STOP. STOP.” at the top of my lungs) that’s gonna put a pretty big dent in my otherwise quite convincing “loving, supportive partner” act.

I read up on a lot more SJW stuff than either of them from what I can tell, and I’m a lot more marginalized than either of them, and basically I spent a chunk of the evening watching The Dandy and his aunt have a spirited debate about things that don’t affect them the tiniest bit (but some of them affected me) and that in many ways they’re clueless about. Like they were just saying some of the dumbest, most presumptive bullshit at each other in such a self-congratulatory tone.

But they’re both really forceful speakers and know more about how political stuff works than I do, so the only way I could have gotten a word in edgewise is by fucking screaming and once I did that The Dandy (and possibly also his aunt) would have just started hectoring me about “well where would the tax dollars for your idea come from, huh? HUH?!?!?” and I don’t fucking knooooow, I just know they could probably come from somewhere if we changed up our priorities a lot and shifted some shit around.

The Dandy is very into defending the status quo. He’d like it if housing was more accessible (for instance) but unfortunately there’s simply no way to make it happen, according to him, and here’s his dissertation on exactly why the system is what it is and it’s pointless to even speculate about changing anything.

But y’know…even setting aside my borderline panic attacks over their shitty conversations, I think it was rude of them to keep having these political convos. I was clearly unable to contribute to them, and at times spaced out or started outright surfing my phone while they were talking. My parents always taught me that it’s super rude to have conversations that exclude someone – the thing to do is find pleasant common ground where everyone can participate. And that wasn’t happening.

Anyway by the time we went home I was exhausted and thoroughly messed up. Feeling trapped and powerless has always done that to me – made the world go gray and given me flat affect and a hard time speaking. I felt like a wind-up toy that had…wound down. Like HAL in 2001 wonkily singing that “Daisy, Daisy” song.

I waited until we were home to address the issue because I suspected The Dandy would be shitty about it and I didn’t want to be trapped in the car with him at the time.

So we got into the apartment and I said “Hey, in future during family gatherings if someone starts talking about any social justice-type topic, would you endeavor to deflect? Like just see if you can change the subject.”

He went off to his room to change out of his going-out clothes and didn’t respond to me whatsoever. A few minutes went by.

“I asked you a question,” I prompted. He still didn’t say anything.

All in all I must have prompted him and/or repeated myself five times before he told me in an annoyed voice that he would try but he couldn’t promise that it would work.

I said “Yeah, I know, I’m only asking you to give it your best shot.”

And he protested again “I can’t control what other people talk about! I can’t guarantee anything!”

And I was like “I FUCKING KNOW THAT. I am literally asking you to just attempt to deflect as best you can, because sitting there as a sexual assault and rape survivor listening to Aunt NameRedacted delicately flail about how difficult it must be to be a rapist was fucking my shit up and if I’d had my bus pass with me I probably just would have stood up and screamed that I have to go and then gone home, which would be awkward.”

The Dandy never expressed any kind of empathy or understanding or pledged to do his best to make sure I wasn’t trapped in someone else’s living space getting emotionally triggered, because of course he didn’t. He just kept acting huffy/pissy that I would ask him to intervene whatsoever. You’d think I was demanding that he leap to his feet and go “THIS SHALL NOT STAND! I DEMAND WE TALK ABOUT SOMETHING ELSE FORTHWITH!” or actually call his aunt out on her bullshit instead of doing the absolute most subtle and non-confrontational thing.

And this is where I rant about what an absolute spineless piece of shit he is.

When I was in the process of moving out of my old place and moving in here (since The Dandy and Dandette already lived here I was able to shift my stuff over the course of a month or two instead of having one big Moving Day) my old landlady was making my life difficult and trying to demand unreasonable things (if I hadn’t stood up to her I think she would fully have bullied me into renovating the apartment on my own dime before I left). I would tell The Dandy about this and he would barely let me speak; I’d get as far as “welp, the landlady just emailed me telling me I need to move my stuff out immediately so someone can take photos of the place for -” and he would impulsively bellow “she can’t do that! You gave notice for the end of the month so the place is under your possession until then! You should call the Landlord Tenant board and report her!” Real strident and passionate and clearly knowing a lot of shit about landlord tenant laws.

So when my landlady insisted on meeting up with me in person to discuss stuff, I asked him to come along and back me up. Surely the moment she started asking for unreasonable things he’d be all over that with “Nuh-uh! The Landlord Tenant Act says X, Y, and Z!” Right? No. He agreed to come along and then sat there like a meek little wallflower and didn’t say a single fucking thing. She wasn’t his landlady; she had no power over him at all; and yet his irresistible impulse to scream over someone with a pedantic deluge of legal facts was somehow missing.

When Dandette was living with us – and The Dandy completely financially supported her and thus had all the power in their relationship – he was too chickenshit to address her obvious alcoholism or to, like, tell her it was bad that she sexually assaulted me. I ended up addressing it my damn self.

A few months back I had an incident with an online acquaintance that resulted in…somewhat of a vendetta, for a while. And maybe I’m overly paranoid but I got to wondering whether the acquaintance would escalate his activities to stalking me in person. I asked The Dandy what he would do if this guy showed up to our apartment and was pounding on the door yelling that he was gonna kill me or something. He said he’d call the police. Which, I mean, yeah, obviously, but the police don’t have fucking teleporters so we’d be waiting for god knows how long. I asked The Dandy what he would do in the meantime. He’d at least, like, yell out “fuck off” or something, right? Let the stalker know that I didn’t live alone, I had a potentially threatening man here backing me up? He repeated that he would call the police. I said “You wouldn’t even yell something from behind the locked door?!?” He repeated “I would call the police.”

This man is probably three times stronger than me, fifty times louder, and as a cishet middle aged white man he has the whole damn patriarchy on his side, but he’s hypothetically too chickenshit to raise his voice at someone who’s wanting to murder me. And apparently the thought of delicately deflecting a conversation to a different and less controversial topic makes him shit himself so hard that when I ask him if he’ll do it he’ll freeze up and avoid answering me unless I persist and persist and persist.

And it wouldn’t be so bad if he wasn’t so willing to effortlessly talk over me all the time. Anytime we get into a discussion of basically anything, he fuckin’ steamrolls me without even thinking about it. Except I guess on some level he is thinking about it, since he won’t “unthinkingly” bellow at a home intruder or his eldery aunt who has him in her will. I am reminded of my father’s temper tantrums, which my mother attributed to him “losing control” but which oddly never happened with anyone but his financially dependent immediate family. He never “lost control” at a cashier who gave him the wrong change or his boss at work or a cop who pulled him over. He never even “lost control” at my mother or I when there were people within earshot. What a lucky coincidence, amirite?

Meanwhile, as much as I hate awkwardness and confrontation, I will stand up for people I love and cut people out of my life who are awful. And the only thing keeping me from being more outspoken last night was knowing that it might have negative repercussions for The Dandy. (Well, that and the fact that I don’t know a lot about indigenous issues or how housing works, either, so all I could have said there was “I feel like you’re saying inaccurate things” but I couldn’t have backed it up in any authoritative way.)

And if it came down to it I would straight-up murder someone to protect a loved one.

The fact that I have the backbone to stand up for people even with my history of abuse and trauma and Mr. Patriarchy McLoudface doesn’t just irritates the living shit out of me.

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