Courted by a Cult Leader
I think I almost joined a cult, y’all — for realz!
Last summer I started hanging out with a group that I was told sprung out of the Black Lives Matter protests in Detroit. The first red flag was that in this group of woke BLM ass folks, I was one of two Black lives around the circle. It was bad enough as a Black-identified person in a majority Black city to be in a space predominantly White. More sinister was being invited under one set of pretenses (the false kind) and discovering I’d been misled. Bait and switch? A classic cult move.
Next, I noticed that each time we gathered, the very charismatic leader of the group (reluctant to wear the hat, yet never taking it off, and woe to challengers) would get up and make a speech about what “we” were trying to do. Shit, I had thought we were gathered just to eat some damn pizza. Still, there is nothing inherently cult-like about a group wanting to be intentional about how they want to interact…until the “leader” wrote a manifesto (that they introduced as a manifesto). It was about then I got nervous.
One of the big schemes of the “group” was that they would buy a bunch of city-owed properties in one of Detroit’s more neglected areas (through something called the Land Bank) and create a little commune. I know y’all, I should have run for the hills. A commune? Can you say “Kool-Aid?” If nothing else, it was a sure fire way too infallibly kick off some gentrification.
Being the tractable person I am, I went with the flow to see how things played out. I was even a little gung ho. I was jonesing to be part of a group after months of plague isolation. I was cool (if not a little triggered) when the leader/not leader came on to me. I was flattered and was down for it. They were also (I learned) coming on to another newbie in the group. I started to get full-on repulsed when I discovered they (the leader) was making their way through everyone in the group. I’m down with poly, but this smacked of something exploitative. Fortunately, for once, I kept my panties in place.
The shit hit the fan when I started asking questions and being critical. Y’all know by now, I am inclined to say what is on my mind and I will definitely call things out (not people, just circumstances). The sanctions came fast and furious. Suddenly I wasn’t being invited to gatherings (after hosting several of them in my back yard). The leader informed me they (which translated to the group) needed space from me.” Gradually all of the friends I’d made over about six months of hanging with these moonies, stop taking my calls and canceled all our plans.
If not a bona fide religious cult, it was sure as fuck a cult of personality. It didn’t help that a key member (who may have been the one pulling the strings—behind the curtain) had grown up in an actual cult. Maybe I am, as I already said being over dramatic. Every group of folks coming together to do “weird shit” is not a cult. People getting their community on like they feel like, as long as it’s not (narrowly) hurting other people, it’s none of mine or anyone else’s business far as I care. I’ll say this, if somebody comes at you with a slice of pizza in one hand and their manifesto in the other. Just keep walking.
BBC (Not British Television)
The dating apps are a breeding ground for racism and rudeness, y’all — for realz!
In a post-racial world (this is where someone in the back row coughs into their fist the word “bullshit”) I’m shocked at the level of ignorance (almost willful) about identity (specifically Black identity) that continue. People are not concerned, for example, about requesting “Whites only”, “Masculine only”, or “fit only” seemingly unaware of how hostile it makes a space that should be safe for folks already marginalized because they are queer and/or wanna engage in a little casual interaction (including sex) in an affirming space. I already made a list of examples I’ve spotted, but right now I wanna focus on the acronym BBC!
I ain’t talking about the British Broadcasting Corporation (whose programming has brought some damn fine entertainment). I am talking about the near slur that proclaims a preference for big Black [word starting with C that means penis]. There’s no way in hell you can’t know that expresses some offensive and racists mess. The perpetuation of the stereotype that Blacks are naturally well endowed might not seem like a bad thing, except for the fact that it is a fantasy of White people used to other (and often demonize) Black men. It’s lead to mass paranoia that White women where gonna abandon themselves to the carnal lust of Balckness. To prevent that (or at least that was the way Whote women were made the villains in sex-related Black subjugation. Also, a big penis on a slave likely meant they’d make a better stud (and that they probably enjoy the role!)
[Trigger warning].
I get images of violently abducted and enslaved Africans standing on an auction block (that shit is triggering AF). The term firmly establishes an understanding of Black people’s existence as objects for the use and amusement of Whites. I sure as hell have never seen a profile created by Black users of these apps requesting BBC. Neither have I seen anyone requesting BWC (although the term has come into use by White people describing their own endowment).
Specifying BBC is awful…period. It does, however, make apparent to anyone seeking to avoid the cluelessly (or insensitively) racists jerks out there. The horror for me is finding myself in an intimate moment with a non-Black person when, from the blue, in their “passion” cries out, “Give me that big Black c***!” That’s some f’ed up bait and switch bullshit. Imagine in the midst of engaging an Asian person in some carnal fun shouting out “Solve me Fu Manchu!” Consider sex with someone Italian and exclaiming, “Make me some spaghetti, Chef Boyardee!” It’s not okay. It’s demeaning AF.
In the realm of fantasy, it’s okay to play out the taboo. With sex-play and other kinks, acting out even a scenario that involves an actual “slave” revenging the selves (or even exploring submissiveness) against a White person is okay (at least I’ve engaged in such play). That’s, for me, a cool thing about kink: it is something out of bounds that both partners enter willingly with negotiation and clear boundaries. It’s cool clarifying what one wants in a sexual engagement. “I have a kink fantasy, where I’m being mauled by a Black person”, it empowers the other person to say “not interested.” I sure f*ckly don’t want to find myself in the middle of someone’s “fantasy” without my consent.
Even pursuing kink, there’s no need to use BBC. That’s just a way to avoid stating up front that they are into “race” play (not sure that’s a term, but it damn well should be). That would be cool in my opinion. That would give enough information to draw the curious to discover what that person is into, without singling out one particular group—one that is already, and often violently, singled out. So, yeah, stick up there in your profile, “I am looking for someone willing to help me act out my internalized racism through role-play.” I got no beef. Just call the shit what it is.
I made be out on the limb alone and I’m okay with that. Otherwise, please discuss. Have at it, y’all.
Privileged By Association
Friends with privileges don’t make you privileged, y’all — for realz!
When a so-called White friend (the friend goes without quotes and not just because the person reads my shit) and me were having a kiki about the silly and offensive words (micro aggressions) people be using. My friend made the curious (hilarious) suggestion that Whites subconsciously carry the attitude that their presence among Black people (and other non-Whites) elevates the Black people. Yes kids, there is an internalization that White people make everyone (everything) better—like Coke! We were laughing our asses off, but that shit smacked hard of truth. This person (the friend) had shared a cultural experienced they considered as pervasive as hot wings at Sunday football. It was the kind of proprietary secret that shows up in many cultures’ attitudes about people, places, and things. They aren’t typically shared in mixed company. They’d let a “family” secret out of the bag!
I shouldn’t have been all that awed by the idea. It’s not even a new idea. It ain’t like I haven’t seen it in action throughout my life. I just never had a way to express it like they (the friend) did. Whole institutions have been founded in that belief. It was the rationalization for colonization (even though that was mostly about wealth extraction). White people over the past 500 years or so have moved through the world wreaking havoc, in the name of saving savages. It makes sense that, along with the biases and baseless beliefs that sprung out of colonization, White people continue to experience their presence as a sign of advancements. It’s what gentrification is all about. It’s what a lot of cultural appropriation stems from: a desire to make things better for the enjoyment of White people, but understanding it as better for everyone.
I think of the Pygmalion myth where a man brings a statue to life expecting the “new” woman to be at his beck and call—a slave. There’s an even older reference—the Golem. Frankenstein is a man (Mary Shelly knew what was up) believing he could improve on nature using dead body parts. Colonists began with a process of dehumanization (of would be free labor and displaced natives) that amounted to turning them into dead things. Perhaps it was mentally impossible for Europeans to recognize other’s humanity outside of a Western context (different). Abducted Africans and the original inhabitants of this continent became things in Western eyes. It follows that psychological framing continues.
It goes the other way as well. Dehumanized beings begin to recognize their own humanity only through the gaze of White people. Proximity to Whiteness becomes a pursuit in itself among non-Whites who buy into a faulty perception. I imagine, even with people of color who have done work to decolonize their own minds, many African Diasporan folks still experience the residual effects of conditioning that subjugated all others to the White ideal. So much of our clothing, the way we wear our hair, the things we consider respectable, and a bunch of shit, is founded in the belief that if White people think its good, it must be good.
The contradiction that my friend’s inspired rant happened several cocktails in (booze will do that), inside one of those pervasive Detroit establishments that fail to attract any Black folks, is not lost on me. Hold on while I go check myself.
No Drama and Other Euphemisms
I wanna know WTF people on dating apps mean by “No Drama”, y’all — for realz!
[this is more than my customary five paragraphs. Subject too big. Still only scratching the surface!]
Before I go in, this is not sour grapes. Pink “gets it in” as they say. Still, I wanna unpack some of the shit that is considered acceptable in the virtual dating world for queer people. I get that these mobile apps for dating (and random other stuff) is bottom of the barrel when it comes to looking for any kind of meaningful connection, but does it have to be so shady and hostile? I get that the first impression is visual. An interesting face sure AF so get my attention. Does it mean everyone need try and look like they fell out of a 1980’s International Male spread (dating myself)?
In the midst of the objectification (often of self), that is all but enforced in those spaces, a system of code words has been developed to covertly marginalize certain people, while elevating others. These phrases tend to fall into general use by people I imagine don’t even know what they mean, but they want their profile to sound hip or relevant. Phrases that are the equivalent of a studio body shot, finely retouched in Photoshop. Think phrases like “Netflix and Chill” which was code for a booty call that was pretending to be a benign casual meeting to watch television. Yeah, right! I bet it was great free advertising for Netflix!
People will assume that No Drama encompasses no acting out scenes from Fatal Attraction. Of course no one wants a “crazy person” in their bed. That ain’t what it means though and I ain’t buying anyone who wants to argue different. No drama means don’t ask me for anything. It means don’t you dare have any needs emotions other than to please me, or that I want you to feel (ecstasy over my presence). It means don’t stop me in the middle of my good time to make a request, to tell me it hurts, that you’d rather not, or that you are getting a little overwhelmed and need a second to breathe.
No drama is the tip of the iceberg with its subtle homophobia (drama as acting gay in public), ableism (drama as having any special needs due to physical limitations or mental issues) and misogyny (only girls are supposed to feel emotional, or expect reciprocation). The phrase limits expression to only those things that meet the expectations of the profile owner. If I ask to put my penis in you without a condom, that is not drama. Saying no when I ask you to please wear a condom is drama. Inviting a stranger in my house for sex in the middle of the night is not drama. Asking to meet for a cup of coffee to verify the person’s who they say they are is drama.
No Drama is just one of many problematic code phrases used on “dating” apps. That’s right, bitches, I’m a spill all the tea. There will be no drinkable tea when I am done. Here goes:
Straight acting (homophobic?)
Fit/In-shape (not the same thing but equally vague)
Masculine only
Twinks (thin, appears underage, and White. I’ve never met a black twink!)
No fats or fems
PnP (party and play: code for doing meth and having sex)
BBC (a description of the penis of a well-endowed black person , which I think for some means any Black person’s penis)
DDF (drug and disease free. Do I have to explain why that is sickening?)
Clean (This one just makes me cry. It means HIV negative, meaning people with HIV are dirty! Really? From other queer people, many of whose sex practices will likely end then up in a similar boat, is depressing. Did ACT UP do nothing for the movement? Sick!)
Blow and go (come over don’t talk to me, let me get my rocks off and then you leave without talking)
“It’s [insert app name], we ALL know why we’re here!” Really? Do we?
FWB (friends with benefits, which really means, be available when I want sex. I could give a f*ck about you otherwise).
NSA (no strings attached, this also means, be there when I want something from you, otherwise please disappear).
Whites only please! (Yes! They put it right out there like that)
Professional (code for middle class and , likely, White only).
Give me a second to wipe the tears away. That really hurt to go through that list. Awfully, most profiles contain at least one of these insulting, shameless and hurtful terms/usages. Some of those phrases are simply slurs thinly veiled (so thin you can’t miss it), others are more subtlety problematic. Every one of them is worthy of a post on its own. I’m especially offended by any of the little slogans that get offered as conventional cruising etiquette. The “we know why we’re here” is one of my least favorite and triggering phrases. It’s those people who religiously watch television, who are shocked when they meet someone who doesn’t watch television at all. It assumes there aren’t all kinds of people with all kinds of expectations, needs and limitations.
I’m willing to bet these are mottos that started with white, cis-males, who have lots of disposable time and income—people who see life as one transaction after another (sex being just another transaction for which the customer is always right). I’ll prolly have more to say about the expectation these folks have about what others will be willing to be do for them for no pay (specifically, trans people). That’s another post.
Dating Trans
I have 20 of these post a few edits from ready to post. I lost track! Hope this isn’t a repeat.
Dating trans is complicated AF, y’all — for realz!
I have always had a sufficient number of people from around the gender wheel (“cause gender is not a traditional spectrum IMHO—more in another post) express interest in me (I’ve had self-esteem issues, so have kept a life-long tally to confirm for myself I am attractive, and prove people wanna have sex with me). Of course the number of people willing to jump into bed with me was never the issue. They were, however, interested in a person who wasn’t the real me. They were interested in a disguise constructed (forged in the tyranny of the status quo) over many years to protect Pink (the inner Pink) from the scary world of transphobia (not to mention, racism, ableism and homophobia). No wondered I’ve checked out so much during sex.
Facts about the people who wanna jump my bones. I actually have more people (look up “trannie chaser”) trying to get into me. I had no fucking idea the desire for women who were assigned male at birth (AMAB) was so pervasive. I’d been objectified and fetishized plenty as a large Black, male-performing person. I’ll just say Mandingo and let y’all do homework. Now, these bitches think just because I pick attire “off the menu” they can make all kinds of requests assuming I am at their command. This all during the first few texts, foregoing greetings. They also assume I’m just gonna invite them over, sight-unseen (which ain’t gonna happen—I’ve seen that movie. Doesn’t end well). It’s like I’m being interviewed for a job. I actually have to tell people, “trans” does not equal (≠) “on call.”
I have to vet the people I date now with so much more care (check statistics for targets of violent crimes and see where Black trans women fall). I sure as fuck ain’t inviting nobody in my house, unless I’ve run a background check and had a mofo flea-dipped. If they bat an eye at my clothes when we meet (other than to say “Those shoes are lit!)—check please. If they ask if I have a “dick?” Block. Not only do I have to avoid being a fetish, I have to avoid people whose misogyny and/or homophobia needs a target. I’m also not interested in being somebody’s “on the low” (as in down low or DL). Ain’t no misconstrued about it! These motherfuckers are explicit as fuck about the role (or roles) they expect me to play and to what I will be consenting by agreeing to fornicate with them (without actually consenting to it).
It ain’t all bad. It’s actually mostly good. I get just as many proposals as before my gender liberation. The quality (and by that I mean the manner, attitude and presentation) of the people who approach me has changed. Presenting myself as full on gender-I-don’t-know-what-that-is, I get more attention (wanted or not) from “straight-acting men.” I was gathered with a queer group in the park, when brother (as in a dude of the diaspora) walked up to me and demanded I put my phone number in his phone! Lol!
A fortunate by-product of living out loud as trans is I get hit on (and enjoy the attention of) more trans people (or at least non-binary). It’s like I’ve joined a secret society of gender outlaws. It ain’t that exciting, at least not in the adrenalin junkie kind of way. So far, I’ve found it most effortless when I’m romancing other trans people. I don’t need to spend time explaining shit and, face it, gender-nonconforming is a sexy, radical and defiant act in the face of violent repression. Yeah, that’s a person with a force of will to which I’d gladly lose a wrestling match. Uncle (or Parent’s Sibling)!!!
I’ve only just put my toe in the waters of trans life in the sunlight, and have a hunch the water is gonna be fine. What’s in the water is another story. I hope there are more heirs to the throne than toads, if you catch my drift. Ribit.
Who’s a Taliban Again?
Who really knows about the Taliban, y’all — for realz?
If I’m getting it right, on about August 15 of 2021, Afghanistan fell to the Taliban. I ain’t giving a rundown (one, because I don’t know shit more than that). I think I’m supposed to be concerned. It’s like the worst thing that could have happened, right? This is some doomsday shit, right? I keep awaiting instructions how to react. Short of that, I’m left to pose and answer the question, “How does the Taliban running a country make me feel?”
I am not a fan of the Taliban. I really don’t know enough—sure as hell not from sources I can trust. Pretty much all I’ve heard about them is they’re horrible (except in the 1980s when the US was arming them against Russia). Now, though, they horrible. According to all sources, the Taliban hate women, queerness, all kinds of folks. There’s the shit with Al Queda. What’s painted by media and folk knowledge is that they’re a evil ass group of people.
Some of y’all are like “What’s a Taliban?” Bless your hearts.
I can’t judge people not knowing. I gotta consider my own ignorance, right? I mean, I haven’t studied the Taliban. I cracked open the Qur'an all of one time. Sharia who? I can’t verify Jack. I never even met a Taliban (not who admitted it). That don’t quit me from being anxious about the group. Much of my anxiety is based in “facts” (people lie) compiled in the West, and fed to me via media outlets. Info I swallowed wholesale.
The US and Europe throwing shade at anyone is the pot calling the kettle metal. My opinion of the USA is mixed at best. Get in my DMs if you know of a single country that don’t got problematic contradictions. Still, In half a century, I’ve seen a buttload of folks painted enemies of peace and justice—AKA democracy. The IRA, the Russians, the Chinese, the Black Panthers, immigrants. Black Lives Matter, Black people as a whole, trans people (the bathroom thing), Fidel Castro, and on, got mandated as threats to US citizen. It was presented as a given, and I never questioned it.
People be like “But, Pink, they are evil!” Fine, if that is how you and the rest of the world see things by y’all moral compasses. Evil is a great shorthand for a lot of shit. Questioning the projected image of the Taliban doesn’t mean I’m not deeply troubled by the very thought of it. I am. I am also deeply troubled that I don’t know anything about the Taliban (a group that seems to present a greater threat than global warming) other than what I have learned from a barrage of 3-minute segments on cable news shows (and YouTube).
Everybody gotta do what they gotta do. All I know is I gotta pay more attention to this and do some homework than a casual internet search. Any tips on some reliable books out there?
Aretha
Aretha wasn’t just the Queen of Soul, y’all — for realz.
Respect is the new biopic on the early career of Aretha Franklin. (This ain’t a revue. There will be no spoilers, which may be stating the obvious because it’s a documentary). I was floored learning how Aretha Franklin had to fight tooth and nail to be allowed to sing in the style she wanted—the style that change the fucking world. I was like, WTF!
Aretha’s father, renown minister C. L. Franklin, was the first to stifle her and did it tyrannically. C. L. was a big time preacher who provided counsel to the likes of Martin Luther King and them. He managed Aretha’s career from parading her at star-studded house parties before the likes of Sam Cooke, to putting her on revival tours. He made a ritual of slapping her down at every attempt to be independent or exercise her own voice.
With Columbia Records trying to “Whiten” her up, Aretha didn’t manage a single hit. She resistingly followed every direction from men around her. The more she struggled the more oppression they laid on. Only after walking away from all that shit—family, a major record label, boyfriends and husbands—was Aretha free to sing the music of her soul, when her “masters” had heard that miracle noise coming from her and said, “No!”
I cried drizzled all up in my popcorn—snot-sucking tears. I wouldn’t get out of my seat until everyone else had gone. My makeup was a Monet. The movie was honoring people outside the narrow (narrow, narrow, narrow) margins society sanctions. For me it was all the resisting fear and threat to be able to live (and love and look) a vision. Fighting for fundamental sovereignty, Aretha became Queen of Soul. Note to self: Do that!
Children are Not the Future…They are Children
Children are the future is the great American cop out, y’all — for realz!
People who follow my work closely already know my take on that weak ass phrase. Children are the future, my eye. Some of y’all are like “What you talking about, Pink? Children really are the fu…” I’mma stop you. That saying is busted on several counts. Pawning on young human beings the fate of civilization is an horrendous frigging practice that is keeping us stuck in the past IMHO (in my humble opinion). Secondly (duh!) if you mean to say, “My children will be alive after I am gone,” then say that. That is still asking a lot, since we’ve created a more and more hostile world for kids to navigate and they certainly don’t have nearly the resources to depend on. It’s more accurate to say, “Damn, I hope my kids get to grow old and have a decent life.”
Starting with the pressure on young people hearing “you the future, bitches!” and the cognitive dissonance they have to experience when they hear it spoken (even though they are usually being spoken of and not spoken to when it is spoken like the bullshit slogan it is) from the elders around them who seem dead set on fucking things up as much as possible in the present. It must also be a challenge knowing the future of the planet is in your hands, while being infantilized and restrained from expressing oneself as sovereign beings. That restraint often coming in the form of violent repression.
I don’t think I’m exaggerating when I make the above claim, but fuck, what do I know. I do think it’s time to drop rhetoric. Stop saying “children are the future.” Real talk: The way things are going they won’t have a future to be (or not to be). Let’s instead try saying, “our children deserve a future.” However, if that one makes your head explode, you could try “Good luck, kiddies! Lol!” That would be more in line with how we’re living (and yes that includes you and me).
Gender is Stupid
I’m beginning to think gender is just stupid, y’all — for realz!
I was talking to a budding acquaintance (with whom I’ve grown fairly intimate) who is also trans, about the struggles of defying gender and difficulty explaining what is happening in our brains about our own..blah blah. The topic turned to Michigan’s adding an “X” gender marker option on state ID’s. We recognized the progress in it, but also understood the implications of an “X” which was the signature of people who could not write even their own name. It is also used to strike something off a list. I was struck with the full on of it—all if it. The data collected about gender (and a lot of other basic traits) offers zero information about the person. Really, go in deep and think it through.
Let’s go through the list:
Appearance: A person’s gender tells us zero about what a person looks like. There are women built like NFL line-backers (trust me, I’m dating one at the moment). There are so-called men who have soft skin, high voices and child-bearing hips.
Behavior: What someone checks off as one of the limited options allotted for gender, tells Jack shit how a person will dress, walk, what speech inflections they will use, gestures, or responses to stimuli.
Orientation: Do I have to go into this one? Suffice it to say, no M or F will limit Who a person wants to get it on (or off) with. There are also more than two options when selecting potential partners (including how many at a time!)
Preferences: I’m gonna include clothing, hobbies, entertainment, and occupations. Gender won’t tell us anything about what a person desires. It doesn’t let us in on the aesthetics that attract a person.
Abilities: I’m willing to bet that if you disagree that gender doesn’t indicate a person’s skills or aptitude, you stopped reading my shit a long time ago. Otherwise, you likely accept that at face value, or won’t comment.
I could keep going. The list of possibilities go on and on and none of them reliably indicated by gender, regardless of how and when it was assigned. It might be true that society imposes expectations, society sucks when it comes to who is allowed to do what (not based on law, but on social rewards and sanctions.) Cross your arms all you want, but you’d likely unknot them with quickness if you found yourself in a room with Lavern Cox or Elliot Page.
Replace gender with other data points routinely collected, that don’t tell shit. We assign expectations based on race, able-bodiedness, first language, faith, wealth, country of origin, income bracket and on and on. We (yes, you too!) carry prejudices and beliefs we wouldn’t speak to someone of that group. We keep in check knowing we’ll be called out ( or canceled) for voicing our ignorance (not and indictment). Collecting this data is useful for keeping us in the little boxes the ruling class needs us in so they can live their chosen reality. Studying this data to see social impacts on individuals well-being, otherwise the information is most likely a tool of marginalization. Tell me, please, if I got this wrong.
The Last of Twelve Steps
Oh shit, I never finished writing on the steps, y’all — for realz!
Having fully immersed myself in writing a novel (a memoir, as much as a quasi-fictional being can have an autobiography) about recovery, my coverage of the topic slipped. I kind of left folks hanging at step 11. I’m gonna take a moment to bring some closure to the topic, though the recovery continues. I will still share about recovery. I’m now walking other addicts through their steps and that’s a whole other take.
Step 12 goes something like “Having had a spiritual awakening, we worked to share recovery resources with others , using them in all areas of our life.” I reworded it because the founders of AA seemed to have a tin ear when it came to sounding like a damn religious cult [reminder to write about recent incident with a cult]. No offense to Jehovah’s Witnesses and Mormons (y’all better evangelize!), but those are folks when I see coming, I close the shutters. Step 12 conjures images of people in saffron robes at the airport. One thing that is not required is adherence to any theology. God gets thrown around a lot (welcome to western civilization!) I think it’s lack of imagination. Feel free to insert anything you embrace as a powerful enough force to carry you through and be gentle on yourself for being a non-believer.
The steps are a daily practice. They are not very complicated, but take a shit-load of courage (yes, I am going to go ahead and honor my own courage). They invite walking away from situations that bring out the worst in me, or leave me lost in self-doubt. They require detaching from what I want, and seeking out what is best. It requires the humility to know that what is best is sometimes beyond my full understanding. The steps are little more than a lifestyle model of care, honesty, humility and gratitude. That may seem a no-brainer in terms of ways to live. I experience these qualities are rare. That is not to say I’m great and everyone else is an asshole. That would be the opposite of recovery. The world punishes those qualities (care and them), making them endangered.
The key to working the steps and 12-step recovery is offered explicitly in what are called the traditions. These are the fail safe that prevents people from becoming recovery tyrants. One tradition states “our public relations policy is based on attraction, not promotion.” You won’t find people in 12-step recovery handing out flyers. The point is paying it forward. Someone twelfth stepped me (yes, it is a verb!) when they saw me struggling. Now it’s my turn to do the same. Hit me up if you need a little support.
The Other Child Abuse
I wanna chat a little about [trigger warning] pervasive practices of child abuse, y’all — for realz!
I was at the Field Museum in Chicago with my little queer/trans/kink posse. I’d broken away from the group for an exhibit on indigenous history in the Great Lakes region (and to have a little face to face with my charming Brazilian friend who is teaching me Portuguese). A little person (7 y.o., I’d guess) had succumbed to curiosity over the exhibit. They pointed things out all “what’s that?” The guardian (that’s a safer assumption than “the mom”) was clearly fed up and yelled at the young ball of enthusiasm, “Stop asking questions!” I was like, “Damn!”
I call “soft” abuse behavior/language that brings immediate relief from a trying or uncomfortable situation, while effectively cutting off the emotional, intellectual and social growth of the target. Did that adult want that child to stifle their curiosity? I don’t imagine that was the outcome expected. People seem to forget that a child that age is still latent and extremely impressionable and desperate for approval and unconditional acceptance from those they depend only to live!
I’m not going to compare the kind of verbal abuse and psychological manipulation enacted on young people, to the physical abuse to which kids are subjected. Both types of abuse cause the target to retreat for safety and self-protection, once they realize that their caregivers are dangerous. You may call it exaggerating, but imagine living in a world where most of the humans you encounter are 2 - 3 times your body mass and capable of serious acts of harm. I witness people with a well developed intellectual capacity, using that superiority to brutalize young minds…and it’s pervasive and widely accepted.
My shrink compares the warfare on young bodies to [trigger warning] slavery. Even the language of that kind of punishment (I will whip your ass) is fraught will allusion to Black bodies hitched like beasts while the overseer gives them lashes. How have people missed that as the origin of the practice, specifically in Black descendants of captured Africans, is kind of beyond me…or maybe it makes perfect sense. The sense of humanity—what it means to be a human being —was forged in a culture where the people enacted violence on dehumanized “property.” It goes back to the notion that children are owned by their parents as opposed to living under the care of the people responsible for them.
I can go on about it, but it seems so obvious as not to require too much evidence or explanation. Don’t fucking beat your kids…ever! Don’t undermine that person in your care in developing into a fully realized, authentic, and self-sufficient adult. Don’t do it! Just frigging don’t. Feel free to disagree. I promise not to flame you. I can’t speak for anybody else, I encourage all positions. How else can we learn from each other?
Coming Out in Opposite Land
Coming out as trans to family can be a nightmare, y’all — for realz!
My gender liberation is one aspect of my lived experience. It’s been central as I continue to learn about what’s to come. Coming out to family was a big hurdle. Whatever resentment or denial, my family knows me fundamentally—suppress the truth as they might. That’s an indictment of all families regarding their kids. Working to mold your children, you have all the information you need to support and encourage authenticity. Why you fucking it up?
For decades my family resisted the fact of me. They must have been terrified, and the response to my radical uniqueness, was to strike out at it: the fear. It didn’t help they were—and still are—coping with their own generational trauma. Regardless of the historical PTSD (or as Dr. DeGruy calls it Post-Traumatic Slave Syndrome) they didn’t do a lot to nurture the pink in Notorious Pink. Fortunately, as an adult, I get to nurture myself.
I told each family member separately—braced for impact. They surprised me. There weren’t scenes or prying question. They were on point. My busted ass family (in that we’re nothing like a “traditional” family) could have written a book on how to be loving and supportive to trans loved ones. My father gave the oh so played out “As long as you’re happy.” I didn’t expect the biblical. He didn’t get all grave like it was a terminal disease. His face actually lit up.
“Look,” he said, “I tell people I have five kid—three sons and three daughters. I let them do the math!”
The most surprising reaction—among dad and siblings, one niece and my mother’s best friend—was my brother who is closest to me in age. The family was gathering for the family photo—the last I’d be in as brother, son, uncle… Posing, my brother put a hand on my shoulder firmly. An instant later he moved his hand as if his had touched something hot. His hand returned, resting on my waist. It was like a different hand. His touch so gentle. It was so subtle, but the physical adjustment transformed years of trauma into a feeling of comfort and safety.
I entered that situation confident of my own value. I know I’m precious. It was thawing to be embraced by them all. As much as I need family connection, my family is incomplete without me living and loving then authentically. Of two generations of family around me, I was the one openly queer, and the only person openly trans. Now, four dozen people, representing four generations, witness queerness and my gender evolution as a possibility, for themselves and the world around them. My work, as I grow to understand, is to make the fact of being trans mundane.
Big ups, fam!
Ups for Batwoman
I’m on vacation and still trying to keep a posting schedule! Forgive the typos. I’ll edit this better from home. It’s Friday Fluff!
I’m so annoyed that nobody told me about Batwoman, y’all — for realz!
A show about an androgynous, queer, likely lesbian who identifies as a woman (a bat woman to be precise). She, Kate Kane, happens be cousins with Bruce Wayne (who is secretly the Batman for those who don’t follow pop culture). Bruce and Batman have been missing for three years. Kate puts on the suit and cape (after a fleek tailoring) to dip into some criminal shit. After sightings, people assume Batman’s return.
Batman’s enemies crawl out if the woodwork. To stave that Kate dons slick ass red tresses and paints the bat-shaped chest plate (and lush mouth) bright red. Actor Ruby Rose, rocks as the lady in bat-clothes.
[!!!Spoiler Alert!!!]
Kate’s father, Colonel Kane, runs the private militia (Crows) on contract to keep the city on lock. She don’t seem to like him that much. He won’t let her be part if the the militia, which turns out to be pretty effective, other than the blatant terrorism of their posturing with heavy weapons. It’s still problematic when there’s no apparent oversight for these hired guns. Kate was raised by a single parent (the aforementioned Colonel) after her mother and twin sister died in a horrible car crash (I warned about the spoilers). The Colonel blames Batman.
Kate had a romantic relationship with Sophie, who is a Crow (and, by extension, the Colonel’s) agent. Sophie gets kidnapped by the villain of the piece, prompting Kate to put the suit on. In other words, the romance aligns with the romantic track of every other superhero. The gender of the characters is not part of the drama or discussion. It doesn’t avoid the reality of being queer (there are assholes who try to diminish Kates value). There’s also the bullshit that anyone who is not cis, straight, White and male face in the workplace. It’s not what Kate is even trying to care about. She’s Batwoman. She rolls her eyes and bat-cables the f*ck on.
There is a love triangle that introduces a penis into the mix, but gender isn’t the focus as much as the romantic betrayal. Instead of tripping that her former girlfriend is a little closety (but mostly just bi) she moves on to someone else who identifies and a queer woman (at least they jump right into the bed without a second of conflict). Yes, Kate is a player like most other wealthy bachelors are portrayed in action movies (my name is Kane…Kate Kane).
It’s a frigging action adventure that passes the Bechdel test. Two women who have names…not talking about men. Even the use of cosmetics is a conscious choice by a character who generally could give two flying ducks (quack quack) for outward appearances. She breaks out the wig (Kate wears her shit cropped close) and throws on the bright lipstick to Telegraph that she is not Batman. Her mouth and chin are all you can see of her. The red hair is basically a second cape. One might call Kate “butch,” but her “male” performance is really gender non-conformance.
The villain is also female. She is in fact Kate’s sister, who was believed to have died years before. What? There are few cis male characters and the most prominent of those is BIPOC (web search it) and of unspecified gender and orientation. By default that makes this character queer. They are the “Alfred” (the “sidekick”). As far as action adventure TV shows go, it hits all the notes. It’s not brilliance, but as much as can be expected from a network series. Where’s my Buffy fans? Why has the show been around for three years and no one told me we had that representation?
The point is, queer and trans people get almost zero screen time where our gender and sexuality aren’t half (if not the whole) drama. If anything, we get erased. If we don’t uplift the few examples we have of queer in the mainstream, who will? Sorry to put this in the shoulders of queer people and their allies, but our girl needs us. Act right!
To E*, or not to E
To E*, or not to E, that is the question, y’all — for realz!
Since coming out as trans (in my case, as gender-nonconformist, but still shifting gender), I’ve become part of a secret society. It’s not exaggeration. Suddenly, people who have been right in front of me have let down there guard to inform me of there trans identity. It never occurred to me that my bank-teller, that electrician, that physician and so many of the people I encounter daily are trans. I’d like to say it doesn’t matter. Only someone who is not trans would consider that.
Trans folx, especially trans folx of color are the number one target of violent crimes, including murder. Who would want to telegraph that? Who would intentionally put up with the blatant hostility and ignorance of the general public over the issues of trans people (the bathroom thing is just the tip of the iceberg)? Trust, no one is trans who doesn’t have to be. I guess it’s no different than any other “calling.” It is an unrelenting voice that can only be silenced by full acknowledgment, regardless of external inputs.
I feel ill-equipped to talk about being trans, that’s a feature of the system that violently suppresses anything that doesn’t fit this far-fetched dominant narrative. That’s the reWe are meant to feel alienated from each other. We are meant to feel alone. We are meant to feel fear about being who we are. I’ve been claiming my identity since I was five years old and have the bruises to prove it. I’ve been privileged as male-presenting. That doesn’t help when one is trying to shed that identity.
I will always have been conditioned in an environment that elevates masculinity (whatever that is — to be masculine). Regardless of what I might do to transform my appearance, my carriage is that of someone who can intimidate without even thinking about it. When I walk into a space, I’m am conferred authority. I’ve cultivated a voice and manner that shield me from the shit other trans people might experience. Still, that person is not me. I’m not my height, my skin color, or my gender presentation. I am the person I have forged in spite of how the world sees me.
I was literally born for this. I’ve always expressed myself outside gender expectations. When I was a kid that was just being a “faggot” or a “sissy.” The rhetoric around being trans, is that one is simply a cis-person who is broken or confused. That message gets internalized early, so that I constantly interrogate everything around my queerness. It’s being gas-lit every second of my life. “No, you are not who you say you are!” I’m sure that attitude is encountered by most people to some extent. To be met with that regarding something as fundamental as gender, was devastating.
Corrective treatment, regardless of how much fear I’ve experienced around it, is not about other people. I don’t need approval or understanding. Living trans is as essential as breathing. For taste of life in denial of one’s true gender (as I experience it) , hold your breath for 30 seconds, breathe for 30 and then hold your breath again. Do that for 50 years, then tell me about the experience. Okay, go! Transitioning in what manner I might (name, attire, hormones or surgery) is “to be.” The alternative is “not to be.” Denying myself the opportunity to explore corrective treatment is turning off the respirator on my life.
To Be Fit at Fifty-Five
Staying fit at fifty is no joke, y’all — for realz!
First, all you folks that fear fat shaming, or even the thought that you might actually benefit from eating healthy and exercising, I got your back. Yes, fat shaming is real. Fitness shaming is also real. If you’re aging (as we all are) you will likely (unless you die before) will go through major changes. Not everyone is ready for those changes. The are coming—ready or not.
I was informing someone of my preference for a little extra something something in certain areas. I was proudly describing my favorite features and the person was shady enough to use the ever-inept retort, “How’s that working out?” I left them with a “Spectacular!” That’s easier said than done and I know it, but part of the work of shifting culture is to present ourselves as who we are right now and love it! Eventually, fitness stops being a choice. The time to start accepting every fiber of who we are is right now, wherever we are.
If someone ain’t got time for what I have on offer today, they don’t deserve any version of me whatsoever. Ever! Changing myself to meet anyone’s preferences other than my own, is unacceptable. As I say over and over all day 365, “My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard!” I know not everyone drinks a tasty shake. Their loss. And I mean that. My juice too, is the juiciest and there are plenty of folks who are thirsty for it.
All that said, my 50+ ass has a bunch of health concerns that recommend I keep fit, eat well, and get sufficient exercise. If you are 25 and weigh 400 pounds and your doctor gives you a clean bill of health, you better work all 400 delicious pounds. If you are genetically predisposed to heart disease, diabetes, arthritis and all the shit that sneaks up on you with age, this is for you. If you don’t have any health issues, you may still relate to this.
My mind, spirit, and the kid inside all love exercise! I live to run, go for long walks, and ride my bike. My body is like, “Who are you kidding?” My body and I have disagreements. My hip joint hurts like a bitch if I fail to warm it up enough before a long ride. My knees require wrapping and a big stretch before they will do anything strenuous. I get dizzy spells and I swear I must have had a stroke somewhere along the way. I don’t know for sure, and my doctor hasn’t said anything to alarm me, but still.
This one is shy on tips and tricks for being older and staying as healthy as possible. I was hoping to get a lot of pointers from y’all. I am at my wits end and it’s time to ask the elders (of which I officially became one this year with my senior discount eligible ass). How are people in the forties, fifties and sixties managing to stay fit? If you are older than that and still have a health and care routine, please fill the rest of is in on how you stay active and at your best?
My Poor Colonized Mind
I wanna know what people mean by decolonize, y’all — for realz!
I’m about to go in for several posts on this, so you may wanna have a seat. Over the past few weeks I have been lovingly called in by colleagues about ways I continue to think with my “colonizer” brain. I’ve used terms I’d no idea could be construed as derogatory, and I question how they are even seen that way, as I didn’t know the connection those words had to the persecution of certain groups. A term like gyp, for example, which turns out to be a shortening of Gypsy which is a derogatory name given to the nomadic Roma people.
Don’t get it twisted, I wanna be clued in on ways I might be maintaining oppressive thinking about targeted groups. The problem is that in order to have a full understanding of many of these terms, a person either has to have direct contact with a person from that group (although it hasn’t worked for me with the word “crazy”), or has to have the privilege of an education that reviews the broad history of campaigns waged against ethnic groups by a mostly Western ruling class. The oppression via colonization that is directed at one ethnic or cultural group, often prevents the opportunity for shared knowledge and understanding with other folks on the margins. In other words, oppression limits opportunities for groups in struggle to connect and communicate with each other (intergroup) about the issues they face.
Hence representatives of that ruling class (usually the children of wealthy families) get to be the keepers of progressive knowledge in a world of exploitation and inequity they have had a hand in maintaining. (Are you feeling a bit charged by that? I am!) It is often the very presence of these “woke” folks, that mark the entry of colonizing forces into communities that regularly find themselves displaced, criminalized, killed, and otherwise targeted by the violence of gentrification, foreclosures, and bully-policing. Yes, kids, the supposition that knowing shit (being woke), means you are making a stand against that shit (an ally), is bullshit (no clarification to be given). The people who feel the material negative effects of colonization don’t even get to coin the language that is used to talk about the violence they experience. It reminds me of how the colloquialism “wil’in’ (pronounced WHY-lin) out” became “wilding” when a single NY detective decided it was so (research “Central Park Five” or watch the miniseries When They See Us). Same shit on the flip side.
I can get real resentful real fast, when a well off, White-passing, young recent graduate, shuts down a conversation to tell me how I got something wrong. It’s quite demeaning. I don’t even know what that means, got it wrong. Those are the words that have been levied at me occasionally when I have taken up a topic that was new to me. People are so busy giving corrections on my semantics (or, heaven forbid, my tone) while the spirit of my question is ignored. The topic shifts from the point at hand, to questioning my qualification to speak (or be accepted...or live). That’s the problem with the rules about “wokeness” as I experience them spread. I am often being Man-splained about my very own experience. I’m being told the term for it and then pointed in the direction of more information. People might try, instead of assuming they have it so right they are in the position to correct others on political correctness, sharing the context in which they were given information and, perhaps, share it as the changeable and interpretable perspective it is. Your facts aren’t always facts, and just because you said it, doesn’t make it true or give you authority on the matter.
I’m glad there are people out there trying to be allies. Clue: when you find yourself educating the people with whom you are aligning yourself, about the very conditions they are experiencing and against which they are struggling, stop, look, and listen. You may very well be engaging in further marginalizing people as you step in as the authority on other people’s issues. Often this wisdom is shared without any room for discussion, exploration of nuance or clarification. I appreciate the effort, but the impact sucks.
Super Hero Movies
Super hero movies are kind of lit, y’all — for realz!
I dedicated several days binge-watching all of the movies in the Marvel Universe in chronological order. I thought I had seen the best of them, and planned to leaves the rest alone. Then, I was like, let me not practice contempt without more investigation. These films (I’ll explain my use) hold a prominent space in the collective American psyche. Perhaps even beyond. Super heroes have been assembled into a pantheon, and these icons are worshipped on film to tune of 30 billion dollars. I was ready for a snooze fest.
Hero worship ain’t new. The archetypes have been the teaching tool of many a civilization. A lot, if not all, the Marvel world was modeled on existing mythology. The stories of these beings from across the galaxy have been handed down and, as happens with myth, modified to appeal to the modern masses. Please don’t object to my crush on The Incredible Hulk (follow the development of that character from early films through Endgame). These movies give the people what they want. They are the beacons of hope, morality, and a bunch of cherished qualities.
The Marvel Universe has been cast with surprising diversity (is that the word for it now?) They’ve cast from around the globe. They’ve assemble a ridiculous lineup of some of my favorite actors across generations. Characters defy gender. The omnipotent Captain Marvel (Marvel’s equivalent to Superman) is played by female-presenting Brie Larson). There’s some queer baiting. There are characters whose orientation has been left open. I haven’t found it alienating. All of the characters show an array of emotions. They do lean heteronormative and patriarchal. In that way they are pretty basic religious doctrine.
The final installment (and if you’re going to only watch one watch Endgame is the one that does it best) defies so much of what we define as heroic, what heroes are supposed to look like, and whether they are “super” or mortal. If you’re gonna dive into more you might watch the first Avengers film (Marvel’s The Avengers, 2012), and get an extreme before and after experience of the characters. If you wanna go real deep, watch the whole Avengers in order (order is crucial).
Of course, you can go the distance and watch them all. I found a link to a website that them all up to and including Black Widow (which was awesome). Before you trash them, be sure you know what you’re talking about. Yes, they cost a lot of money to make and they make a lot of money. They fake AF. They expend a lot if the mental real estate of society. I don’t know what essential focus their existence supplants. Religions galvanize vast numbers around a shared ideology. That takes work. What religion hasn’t gone to great lengths to establish and maintain itself?
Get you some of that new-time religion! Don’t forget the snacks.
Is Polyamory Just Cheating?
I need to get something straight about polyamory, y’all — for realz.
“Cheating is cheating,” he said.
He was super sure if himself. Like a lot of people, he was convinced that his worldview was how everybody else saw the world: Can you imagine? That’s some privilege for you. Taking it completely for granted that the world believes what you believe or, at least you figure, would benefit from a little indoctrination! This is really true around relationships.
A relationship is “boy meets girl” then they get married, then they get a house, then kids, then grow old then one dies while the other grieves until their own death. Okay, probably way more people accept that boy meets girl is an old-fashioned assumption. I hope so, at least. Some may go as far as to say the marriage part is just a formality. Still the model is widely accepted as the normal, average way people connect. The test of a “real” and successful relationship is one that concludes in the death of one of the devoted and faithful pair.
The fact that half of all marriages end in divorce—not even counting the people who start a relationship and break up without ever getting married—proves that model as faulty AF. Even in relationships where the couple managed to stay together (one of the “lucky” 50%) another 20% cheat, according to a study titled America's Generation Gap in Extramarital Affairs. In spite of all that reality, people respond with suspicion—or outright derision—when I discuss my polyamory.
Non-monogamy is practice in a large percentage of couples. Much of non-monogamy is practiced without the consent of one of the partners. That nonconsensual extra-relationship activity is often referred to as cheating. That cheating is done across gender. My contradictory friend (who was more than happy to have sex with me, the whole while knowing I was in a polyamorous relationship) losing their shit on me later (leaving me sitting at the restaurant table, wishing he’d waited until dessert), was a demonstration of how ingrained that thinking is. Even when engaging in polyamorous behavior, his cognitive dissonance set him off on a self-righteous tangent.
There are and have always been relationship models, and lots of them, outside of the lifetime monogamous model, also called the escalator model as it is assumed that every relationship is aiming to follow a certain path to completion. Research it and find out. Read books like The Ethical Slut, Pleasure Activism, Opening Up, and More Than Two. In the meantime, stop beating yourself (and/or) other people for living ethically, according to their own cultural standards and/or inclinations.
Love People— Hate Crowds
I cannot stand crowds, y’all — for realz!
I love people. I usually am willing to sacrifice a lot for the opportunity to be around people I like, or when I feel needed. Truth: For me being around people has a lot to do with the desire to be accepted. I understand that humans are social beings. I have social urges. Once I am around people, the trouble starts. I start picking up on other people’s energy. That’s not always bad, except as I connect to other’s moods and emotions, I lose myself.
Not complaining. This is a description of something I encounter. It’s subtle. It ain’t Syfy (I really hate that nomenclature). I don’t notice it until it’s too late and I’ve gradually become the other person. There’s no way to talk about it that doesn’t sound like I am describing a superpower. I’m not bragging about it. I don’t even think it is unusual. Some people, especially people with personality disorders (another word that’s getting old fast), don’t have enough of a sense of themselves to hold onto. I’m an extremely tractable person, who is just easily influenced. Now I sound like a personality parasite!
Suffice it to say, I’m highly attuned and a natural mimic. It served me as an actor well. If it could be described well enough, I could become it. It also goes for people around me. People with strong personalities or people who are experiencing strong emotions become subliminal directors and I step into the role of them. Before I know it, I’m bouncing off the walls with anxiety, or deeply depressed, or furious, just because someone else in the room is experiencing it.
Imagine having that kind of sensitivity and that response when you are at a party. Now imagine it happening during a concert. I’m a sponge in the bathtub. Crowds can be dangerous. In the book Crowds and Power, Elias Canetti explains the tribal nature that emerges in crowds as well as some of the origins of our crowd behaviors. They explain the origin of laughter, comparing it to the other species that laughs—Hyenas. Hyena laughter expresses their desire to consume dead flesh (again a shared trait with humans). Laughter is the subconscious baring of the teeth at the object of humor. Laughing at each other replaces eating each other. Laughter is a form of cannibalism. So goes Canetti.
The primal energy is what I tune into in crowds. I understand it as an inherently dangerous place. I’m not alone. Check yourself, you may be one of a small percentage that is finely attuned enough to your surroundings to be debilitating: Not a pity party. I get that it’s unique. I also think it’s necessary. It’s what makes me essential. It’s likely all the traits that make me feel like an alien are the very traits humanity requires of me. The Universe needed me to be this way. Anyway, apologies for any time I told you I’d come to your party and then bailed. It wasn’t you. Think of it as part of the divine plan.
Gay, Straight, or…Purple?
We gotta break sexual orientation out of the binary, y’all — for realz!
When I grew up there was gay, straight (and sometimes bi, the sexual unicorn). My idea of sexuality was, of course, based on the bi/nary way I was taught to think about both gender and sexual orientation.
I’m gonna start with what seems simpler to me, even though ain’t nothing simple about it: orientation. I just assumed everyone was looking to get laid and all that needed figuring was who they wanted to screw. Obviously, that is an oversimplification. Easy to understand that there are people who want more or less sex. There are people who don’t want sex at all. There are folks who see sex as more than a penis in whatever available opening. Let’s call the last one their “kink.” Yes, you have one!
Because there is so much to do with another person that is considered erotic, there has to be a way to talk about that orientation other than gay, straight or bi. We prolly should consider the number of sex partners a person enjoys best. That is not necessarily connected to kink. For some people, the number (even the exact number) of people is as essential to their ability to get off as the type of people they want in that group. For yet other people the bodies don’t matter at all. Sapiosexuals are turned on by intelligence. For others, the language used, or the silence of the person are key. I’m sure you see what I’m getting at there.
Then there’s the question of gender preferences. This is where the waters can get really murky. Because gender is not binary. It is unlikely attraction can be binary based on gender. There are people assigned a gender (male or female) at birth who, by chance, are only into people who were assign the opposite of two available genders. Identifying with the gender you were assigned at birth is called cis (as in ciswoman or cisman).
Understanding gender as way more fluid than male and female, one gotta accept that attraction is equally fluid. I might be attracted to anyone male passing regardless of the gender they were assigned. That is my personal leaning, however those qualities, as they exist in people of whatever sexual designation, means that I am attracted to women. I’m dating someone in the process of medically aligning their body to their gender. The change is cosmetic. They are who they are regardless of how my eyes want to see them. I also have a crush on a man who was born with a vagina.
There’s a lot of people out there assuming they are straight when, if the truth were known (if the truth were accepted), they would understand that they have gone far afield of their so-called preference. There’s the dramatic trope of a “man” engaging with a “woman” for sex and discovering she has a penis. It often intended as humor or shock. It’s real life and it’s the kind of situation some of us find ourselves in everyday of our lives navigating the treacherous waters of physical connection.
Before y’all go looking down people’s pants, perhaps you might want to give more consideration to your own proclivities. You may discover it’s not about body parts at all. As everyone has a right to enjoy their body erotically in the way that suits them. It doesn’t require a label or even a model. You can make it up. Just get consent. I’d say stay safe, but even that is a vague notion that will be the topic of another post.