Dick Parts

sean said he’d win me a bear at some carnival thing

he better not be fucking around, I NEED THIS

My gender therapist once told me that more of her gay male clients opt for bottom surgery,

and at the time I wondered why,

but I totally get it now, and I fucking hate it.

I feel like so much of the gay culture that I love, and feel connected to is also super cissexist, and focuses a lot on penises.

And it’s hard enough with rampant femme-phobia, (not to mention body shaming for basically anything outside of thin, white, and cis) So I just feel kind of alienated and really just ashamed, for the most part.

It’s just very strange that I am very seriously considering bottom surgery, the more I pass as male, because the idea of anybody knowing that I am trans is really upsetting, let alone the idea of having to come out to a gay male partner as trans. Everybody seems to have this attitude of “Oh, yeah, trans people, totally so great for them!” until it comes to the idea of dating or fucking one.

I mean, it’s not like I get along with a lot of gay men, anyway, because a whole fuckload of them are white supremacist weirdos,
But there are some, you know. Some that I just want to kiss god damn it. Or at least have the promise of maybe kissing some day eventually jesus

i just feel like I am not enough????? you know????????? not like “enough of a man”, or “more than a woman” or whatever gross misogynist bullshit
Like, just, I’m inadequate, and undesirable, and i don’t know.

hnnnnnnggggggggggggggggggggggggggg

Homoerratic

i just need to thank Max, because “gay anxiety baby” has turned out to be the best ever term to describe me, and the people around me.

writing notes on gay semiotics at gay Bridgehead for a workshop on queer expression through fashion.

this is my life now.

~it gets better~

vacantgarde:

Art always had a mean streak, but he thought that shouldn’t stop him from having gay sex, with men. So he made a gay OkCupid profile and set up gay dates with gay strangers.

On his first gay OkCupid date, he met Guy. Guy was smaller than Art. That surprised Art because he thought he was the smallest.

Art didn’t have any body fat. That ought to have left just muscles and bone. Instead, there was also, compacted under the skin, appurtenant dust. The dust was appurtenant to his penis, that is to say, his ego.

Guy was smaller than Art not necessarily because he weighed less or was slighter in stature but because he was less hungry. His lack of hunger made him shrink a little every day. He might have had some appurtenant dust once, back when he was hungry, if he was ever hungry. He can’t remember. Over time, he digested and excreted it along with the memory of it, if ever it was.

Guy and Art met in a coffee shop, and Guy ordered just a coffee. Art of course was hungry and ordered a coffee and a sandwich. Art liked to eat in restaurants because cooking made him nauseous. Eating too made him nauseous, but it made him less hungry more directly than did cooking, so he considered it a necessary evil. Often the nausea made him resist altogether, which explains why he had no body fat, but the resistance only built up his appurtenant dust.

Guy and Art drank their coffee same way: they poured cream just until they could see a billow. Then they stopped.

Noticing that made Art’s mean streak come out.

“What is the meaning of the Patriarch’s coming from the West?” he asked.

“Meaning?” Guy said.

Obviously Guy did not want to penetrate Art.