#stop the transgender movement

[gay-----pisces2]

TERF's will discriminate against trans people because of their gender without realizing its completely contradictory to the feminist movement.

[fandom-oracle]

Oh darling, for every Feinberg hit there’s a miss

excerpts from transgender warriors by leslie feinberg

[squidhominid]

So the National Park Service removed any mention of trans people from the page on the Stonewall National Monument. And removed the word 'transgender' from the page on Sylvia Rivera.

Hell no. Trans women of color built the gay rights movement. Full stop.

Check my Mastodon for a version of this at 300 DPI printable resolution! Take copies to a Stonewall protest and hand them out, if you're going to one!

[serotonincemetery]

Albertan Trans Movement

This movement isn’t supposed to be something that is overheard. We are students who need a safe space. And this bill that is trying to be passed only supports abuse and violence.

If this bill is passed it means that teachers and schools are forced to out their students to their parents. That it is mandatory for the parents to know and even the use of a preferred name or preferred pronouns are only to be used under parental consent. This bill means that schools are forced to out students no matter how that individual’s homelife is. Some students are under pressure and ridicule from their parents due to their own gender identity and overall makes home an unsafe place.

This bills also means that HRT is unavailable to anyone under the age of 18, and hormone blockers are unavailable to anyone the age of 15. Danielle Smith has no right to pass this bill as it puts so many youth at risk due to transphobia at home.

Not to mention that the suicide rates for said community, not even just the trans community, but LGBTQ+ as a whole has an inclined suicide rate and are more susceptible to peer victimization. discrimination and unsafe homelife.

Just because a few people have safe homes doesn’t mean everyone does. Every child deserves to be safe no matter who or what they identify as. We shouldn’t have to live under this fear that we are going to be beaten or homeless

As an albertan student. I just participated in my school’s walk out. This is an important movement of a choice that should be left up to us. And not anyone else. We don’t want anymore blood or death. All we want is to make our choices when we feel safe to do so.

We don’t need this choice taken from us and forcibly outing us to our family and people who may or may not be safe. We are already at risk as a minority, and at risk for discrimination and bigotry from our peers. Don’t make us at risk from our families.

More information if you want to read up

Danielle’s words about it

Suicide rates 2019

Suicide rates 2021

Trevor Project

Lgbtq youthline

lgbt hotline

I only barely touched the surface, I encourage that everyone learns more about this as this isn’t some small thing.

If you have anymore information, please consider adding to this. This is an important message that can’t be ignored.

[jorindasfate]

My university history course literature includes a book on women's history. Entirely written by two men. It has a whole chapter on "transgender history". The first person they bring up is Ulrika Eleonora Stålhammar, a swedish woman from the late 17th- early 18th century who started dressing as a man and took a male name to marry her wife Maria Lönman. After ten years or so she started presenting herself as a woman again. These men are SO confused as to why. Why would she ever stop living as a man? And if she was a lesbian, why bother living as a man in the first place, considering female homosexuality was never formally outlawed in Sweden? The entire time they refer to her as a trans man.

Why oh why could a woman in the 18th century possibly be uncomfortable living as a woman? Why oh why would a woman in the 18th century not just live openly as a lesbian? What reason could she POSSIBLY have had to pretend to be a man? Nah, no critical thinking here. She was obviously a man all along, that's the only reasonable explanation. This is what they're making university students read for history.

Stop discrediting these brave women. I know you think you're being inclusive and progressive by imagining they were Actually trans, but you're not. All you're doing is perpetuating the myth that all women are and were submissive and content in their role as second class citizens (if even that). If every female person who was gender nonconforming in the Olden Times was actually a man all along then the actual women didn't have it that bad, right? They never rebelled against their societal roles before the women's voting right movements, right??

[fuckyeahmarxismleninism]

Capitol police quickly issued a warning to the protesters — which included U.S. army whistleblower Chelsea Manning alongside author and activist Raquel Willis — to disperse or face arrest, including sexual misconduct charges. Following those warnings, they were arrested and escorted from the building by Capitol police. 

The protest follows Johnson’s announcement in November that transgender women are not allowed to access women’s restrooms and facilities in the Capitol and House buildings — an announcement that was not accompanied with any information about enforcement, or how such a policy would be carried out. The group called for elected officials to block Rep. Nancy Mace’s proposed bill that would ban trans people from bathrooms in museums, national parks and other federal property and for Democratic members of Congress to filibuster and block the bill if or when it comes to a vote. 

“This bathroom sit-in sets an example of the righteous defiance and solidarity needed under a second Trump administration,” Gender Liberation Movement said in a press release, citing support from transgender and cisgender participants. The group said survivors of sexual violence also joined the protest to demand that proponents of bathroom bills stop falsely accusing trans women of endangering cis women when they use women’s facilities.  

[gatheringbones]

[“Coming out was very lonely. I had very few friends. Most of the adult lesbians I knew were alcoholics, chronically unemployed, prone to violence, self-hating, apolitical, closeted, cliquish. Lesbians hated each other. If you found a lover you stopped going to the bar because you could not trust other lesbians; they would try to break up your relationship. My first woman lover went into the military, where she turned in other lesbians so she would not be exposed. One of my dyke friends got a job as a supervisor in a cabinet-making company and refused to hire lesbians because, she said, they were unreliable employees who were disliked by the other workers. The only thing that seemed worse to me than the apolitical lesbian community I came out in was the strangulation of pretending to be straight. I came out only because I could not go back; there was no place for me to stand in the het world. I was driven out.

Moving to San Francisco improved things somewhat. There was more public lesbian space there—six bars instead of one. But it did not alleviate the loathing with which my family viewed me. Nor was San Francisco in the early seventies any sort of gay utopia. We had no gay-rights law, queer bashing was a frequent event, and everyone had lost at least one job or been denied a place to live. It was a relief to be surrounded by other lesbian feminists, but only to a point. Bar dykes and feminists still had contempt for one another. Feminism rapidly became a way to reconstitute sexual prudery, to the point that it seemed to me that bar dykes were actually more accepting of and knowledgeable about the range of behavior that constituted lesbianism. In the bars or in the women’s movement, separatism was pretty much mandatory, if you didn’t want to get your ass kicked or be shunned. Separatism deteriorated into a rationalization for witch hunts in the lesbian community rather than a way for women to bond with one another and become more powerful activists. The lesbian community of that decade did terrible things to bi women, transgender people, butch/femme lesbians, bar dykes, dykes who were not antiporn, bisexual and lesbian sex workers, fag hags, and dykes who were perceived as being perverts rather than über-feminists. We were so guilty about being queer that only a rigid adherence to a puritanical party line could redeem us from the hateful stereotypes of mental illness and sexual debauchery.

What did I gain? I came a little closer to making my insides match my outsides, and that was no small blessing. The first time I met other dykes I recognized a part of myself in them, and knew I would have to let it out so I could see who I was. For a time, being a lesbian quieted my gender dysphoria because it made it possible for me to be a different kind of woman. That was an enormous relief.

For a long time, I hoped that by being strong, sexually adventurous, and sharpening my feminist consciousness, I could achieve a better fit between my body and the rest of me. Lesbianism was a platform from which I could develop a different sort of feminism, one that included a demand for sexual freedom and had room for women of all different erotic proclivities. I had a little good sex and discovered that I was not a cold person, I could love other people. It was as a lesbian that I began to find my voice as a writer, because in the early days of the women’s movement, we valued every woman’s experience. There was a powerful ethic around making it possible for every woman to speak out, to testify, to have her say. But there were always these other big pieces of my internal reality that lesbianism left no room for.

The first big piece of cognitive dissonance I had to deal with, in my second coming out, was S/M. I date my coming out as a leather dyke from two different decisions. One was a decision to write down one of my sexual fantasies, the short story that eventually became “Jessie.” At the time I wrote the rough draft of that story, I had never tied anybody up or done anything else kinky. I was terribly blocked as a writer. I kept beginning stories and poems that I would destroy. I have no idea if they were any good or not. My self-loathing was so intense, my inner critic so strong, that I could not evaluate my own work.

So I decided to write this one piece, under the condition that I never had to publish it or show it to another person. I just wanted to tell the truth about one thing. And I was badly in need of connecting with my own sexuality since I was in the middle of what would be a five-year relationship with a woman who insisted we be monogamous, but refused to have sex with me. So I wrote about dominance and submission, the things I fantasized about when I masturbated that upset me so much I became nauseated. Lightning did not strike. As I read and reread my own words, I thought some of them were beautiful. I dared show this story to a few other people. Some of them hated it. Some of them were titillated. Nobody had ever seen anything like it before. The story began to circulate in Xerox form, lesbian samizdat. I found the strength to defend my story when I was told it was unspeakable or wildly improbable.

In October of 1976, I attended a lesbian health conference in Los Angeles and went to a workshop there about S/M. In order to go to a workshop, you had to sign a registration sheet. I was harassed by dykes who were monitoring this space to see who dared sign up for that filthy workshop. On my way, I had to walk through a gauntlet of women who were booing and hissing, calling names, demanding that the workshop be canceled, threatening to storm the room and kick us all out of the conference. The body language and self-calming techniques I had learned when I had to deal with antigay harassment on the street came in very handy, but how odd it was to be using those defenses against the antagonism of other dykes. Their hatred felt like my mother’s hatred. I am so glad I did not let it stop me.

When I got home from that workshop, I knew that I was not the only one. Not only were there other lesbians who fantasized about sadomasochism, there were women who had done these things with each other. I decided to come out again. If there were other leather dykes in San Francisco, they had to be able to find me, so I had to make myself visible. This meant that I often did not get service at lesbian bars, or I was asked to leave women-only clubs and restaurants. I was called names, threatened, spit at. I got hate mail and crank calls. But I also found my tribe. And because I had already experienced my first coming out, I knew we were not going to be an ideal, happy family. I could be more patient with our dysfunctions, and see them as the result of being scared, marginalized, kicked around. Being a leather dyke took me another step closer to dealing with my gender issues. I could experiment with extreme femme and extreme butch drag; take on a male persona during sex play. I gave up separatism because I needed to take support from any place where it was available. Gay men already had a thriving leather culture, and I wanted to learn from them. I also wanted to have sex with them. It still wasn’t okay as far as lesbian feminism was concerned to be bisexual, to be transgendered, but I could bring those folks into my life and make alliances with them. I could defend them in print. There was even more good sex, and people who loved me and received my love despite the fact that it was dangerous for us to show ourselves to one another. I faced my sexual shadow, and she bowed to me and then danced beautifully in profile against the white walls of my consciousness. My writer’s voice was unlocked.”]

pat califa, from layers of the onion, spokes of the wheel, from a woman like that: lesbian and bisexual writers tell their coming out stories, 2000

[fuctacles]

I don't have the brain to write this one but I had enough brain to come up with it so here's what I'm not writing for the third @stevieweek prompt "it looks so realistic!" 

There's a new neighbor in Hawkins, surrounded by a slew of creepy rumors, fro the house appearing in the middle of the night to its resident being a witch that eats children. So of course, the party has to go there trick or treating. But since none of their parents would let them, they ask Eddie instead, and he's just curious enough himself to agree. 

"It looks so realistic!" he says, poking one of the sceletons decorating the front lawn. They all seem frozen mid-gardening, trimming hedges, or mowing the lawn.

The doors are opened by a gorgeous woman, very unwitch-like. She hands the kids disappointingly normal candy, and when they turn to leave, and Eddie compliments her lawn decor, she hands him a tiny bottle of liquor. 

"Got something for the big kids. A love potion," she smiles with a wink.

Eddie amps up his charm to the max. 

"I don't think it's needed," he says, only for Dustin to ruin it by yelling for him to catch up. 

As he walks back to the sidewalk, he catches a movement with the corner of his eye, but when he gets poked it startles him enough that he yelps. A bony hand is turned in his direction, a small card between its fingers. He pulls it out gingerly, eyeing the skeleton. It doesn't move. 

Come back at midnight, loverboy.

When he looks back, she's standing in the window, watching him. He raises his hand and she waves back with a smile. He skitters away, both terrified and aroused. 

He doesn't drink the alcohol while with kids, and then he's driving around and he's promised Wayne he'll never drink and drive again. So he forgets about the bottle but doesn't forget the note, and shows up at the new neighbor's house on jittery legs. He eyes the skeletons, who have now moved to lazying around the garden after a long day of chores. 

The woman, Stephanie, introduces herself. She asks him about the drink and is surprised that he came there of his own volition. He reminds her that it wasn't needed since he'd been drunk at the sight of her from the very beginning.

Both charmed and baffled by how easy he was to lure in, she comes clean that she is a witch and she wants something from him. His stupid ass thinks it's just more weird foreplay until she swaps their genitals. 

Turns out they are t4t and she's been looking for a consenting donor and then they test out the new gear together and I need o stop coming up with all the horny transgender shit goddamnit. 

[prototypesteve]

Transgender rights are our rights.

I’m an aromantic asexual, cisgendered GenXer, so what do I stand to lose if younger, probably-allosexual, transgendered people get stepped on by a government who doesn’t even know I exist? Everything.

Everyone’s freedom to be their true self is tied to everyone else’s freedom to be their true selves.

Everyone’s inherent dignity is tied to everyone else’s inherent dignity.

If a principled stance doesn’t appeal to you, then take a cold, pragmatic stance. If you want to build a world where asexual and aromantic people can be themselves without being forced to undergo treatment for our “disorders”, then build a world where trans people can be themselves, too. Trans people today’s easy target. We’ll be tomorrow’s easy target¹.

¹ “We need to talk about the growing movement attempting to stop an entire generation from having kids. They’re trying to wipe out the species with their no-sex agenda!” You know they’ll do it once they have a solid win against our transgendered friends in the books. Aspec people fit perfectly into their batshit conspiracy narratives about race-replacement and and and.

[socialistexan]

I think people need to stop asking trans people "what gender feels like," because that framing was devised by cisgender psychiatrists and doctors who to try to explain (and maybe even pathologize, invalidate, or trivialize) being transgender. It's not our phrasing.

Because I never "felt" like any specific gender. For me, there is not feeling that is "woman." Or "man" or none of the above either. We have our internal sense of self, but you can't boil it down to a general "woman" feeling.

I have a better way:

Imagine you are one day transported into a someone you don't know's body. They don't even have to be a different gender than you, just anyone you don't know.

Imagine how it feels to open your mouth and someone else's voice comes out. Imagine how it feels to look in the mirror and see a stranger staring back at you. Imagine feeling like the body you're in doesn't match how you know internally it should be, and I don't just mean sexual anatomy. I mean height and limb proportions among other things, too. Imagine feeling like the very blood in your veins feels wrong. Would you want to find a way to correct this mistake in any way you could? What if you were stuck and the only options given to you are expensive medicine and surgery and require years of psychiatric care just to be able to start to access it?

Now, imagine being told you're wrong or crazy for trying to tell the world what's going on with you. Imagine being pathologized and given therapy to convince you that you aren't actually you but this stranger. Imagine that state governments across the country and globe are specifically legislating your rights away because your existence disgusts them. Imagine living in fear of even walking down the street, even in your own neighborhood, because people have been trained to want to hurt you for living as you know you are. Imagine entire social movements and Internet shows dedicated to mocking and harassing you and people like you.

Now, think about how you would feel. Would you feel good? Would you be brave enough to face the world every day while doing this? I doubt it.

But, y'know, that's just my experience. The beauty of being trans, and human experience in general, is that it's all different. That's why I scoff at the term "trans ideology" because none of us can even agree on what being trans is! Ask ten trans people on what being trans is like and you'll get 10 different answers. You think we're that cohesive and organized? A bit of "tell me you've never met a trans person without telling me you've never met a trans person," y'know? What binds us, really, is the people that hate us more than anything else.

Anyway, I think it's time trans people reclaim our own narrative. It's way past time.

[nateconnolly]

“I have tried to show you what I am,” says Barb, the protagonist of one of the most controversial short stories ever written. “I have tried to do it without judgment. That I leave to you.”

Barb comes from I Sexually Identify as an Attack Helicopter by Isabel Fall, a science fiction story about gender and imperialism. It was Fall’s first published story. There was no backlog of stories to analyze, and her author’s bio was sparse. Readers weren’t given any information about Fall’s gender identity, but that didn’t stop activists from speculating. “… this reads as if it was written by a straight white dude who doesn’t really get gender theory or transition,” complained Arinn Dembo, President of the science fiction writers’ collective SF Canada. The author Phoebe Barton even compared the story to a weapon against trans people: “Think of it as a gun,” she tweeted. “A gun has only one use: for hurting.” N.K. Jemison joined in, tweeting, “Artists should strive to do no (more of this) harm.” But Dembo and the hundreds of thousands of others were mistaken about Fall’s supposed cis identity. The publisher responded to the backlash by taking the story down and posting a statement about the author’s identity. Isabel Fall was a transgender woman, and self-identified activists for trans rights bullied her so mercilessly that she attempted suicide. Dembo later adjusted her criticism, saying “a lot of people might have been spared a lot of mental anguish” if Fall had made a statement about her gender identity. Meaning, Fall had a moral obligation to out herself as a trans woman. Both of Dembo’s comments reveal a preoccupation with the author that distracts from the text. The recent obsession with author identities is one of the great failures of contemporary liberal movements. In order to win liberation for any given group, liberal activists must focus less on who speaks and more on what is spoken. 

Roland Barthes’ 1967 essay The Death of the Author argued that an author’s intentions and life experiences do not make the “ultimate meaning” of their text. The author might as well “die” once the text is in the reader’s hands. The text is “a multi-dimensional space” that one cannot simply flatten with biographical details about the author. Barthes has largely been vindicated among literary critics and theorists, but his idea has not been well-received among liberal activists. It is easy to refuse to acknowledge multiple dimensions of a text. Moralistic groups like liberation movements might even be tempted to sort texts into a simple dichotomy—“good” or “bad,” without any gray areas—on the sole basis of the author’s identity. That is exactly what Dembo tried to do: she suggested that Attack Helicopter was bad simply because of the author’s (supposed) gender. 

I Sexually Identify as an Attack Helicopter is not a transphobic story. Although an in-depth analysis would be beyond the scope of this essay, I can confidently say that Fall critiqued American imperialism, not transgender people. I think that would be clear to anyone who reads the story. But apparently, reading a story is no longer a necessary step in the process of interpreting it. Barton—who suggested her fellow trans woman was a “gun”-wielding transphobe—had not actually read the story. Jemison also admitted she had not read the story before tweeting that it was harmful. We now have a complete reversal of Barthes’ idea: this method of moralistic interpretation is nothing less than the death of the text.

Fall is far from the only queer storyteller to face backlash for allegedly not being queer. Becky Albertalli, Kit Connor (who was still a teenager), and Jameela Jamil all came out of the closet because they were harassed for telling queer stories as “straight” and “cis” people. It is a common talking point in activist circles that the government should not compile lists of queer people or forcibly out them. Why, then, do activists engage in the same behavior? It simply is not always safe to admit that you are gay, or trans, or autistic, or epileptic, or that you have had an abortion. The reason that we need liberation movements for these groups is the same reason that people might not want to publicly claim these identities.

You can read the rest on Substack

[just-queue]

Call me (cursed) crazy but I think people’s criticism of the Stepmother and Stepsisters in Starkid’s “Cinderella’s Castle” should be heard while simultaneously enjoying the production.

Trolls have historically been used to push anti-Semitic values, especially in the original Grimm Tales. Edit: SHIT SORRY I WAS THINKING GOBLINS=TROLLS. I retract this point, so sorry about that. However my other points still stand.

Having the villains be monsters parading around as women trying to seduce and subsequently kill innocent men? Yeah that’s a transphobic troupe that we see a lot in media. Another example is the main villain in Silence of the Lambs. Once you see it it’s hard to unsee, similar to the “Bury Your Gays” and “Born Sexy Yesterday” troupes.

These criticisms can and should be stated so those who didn’t know them can learn and thus avoid letting those underlying harmful themes become integrated in their subconscious and so they can recognize them in other forms of media.

WITH ALL THAT SAID

You can still like the musical! As long as you are aware of the harmful themes that CAN be taken, you can also understand that they weren’t intended by the production. Starkid has been consistently aligned with progressive and inclusive movements both on and off stage. I find it hard to believe they all of the sudden wanted to start spouting anti-transgender propaganda, especially when the inspiration is a retelling of a Grimm fairytale. Like the source material was tainted, and I can totally see them using the source without full understanding of the rot.

Basically I’m trying to introduce nuance to the discussions I’ve been seeing, which is the antithesis of the internet but I digress. I want people to see this as a learning opportunity to critically consume their media, but I don’t want those who enjoyed it to stop enjoying it ya know?

Idk I’m rambling, hopefully I made some sense.

[quasi-normalcy]

I know that this is the "Turning social problems into matters of individual virtue" website, but here's one change that you can make to yourself as an individual that I honestly think will have beneficial collective effects:

Stop Thinking You're Better Than Other People.

Do I mean that you should go through life thinking that you're the lowliest and most wretched scum who's ever lived? No. I mean that there exists no meaningful criterion by which one human being can be said to be absolutely 'better' than another. And even if there was, you don't know enough about other people's circumstances and interior thoughts to meaningfully judge them in these absolute terms. So don't even try! It's a futile endeavour.

"But what about fascists? Surely I'm better than them!"

Okay, so let me preface this by saying that fascists are dangerous, they're misguided, their acts and intentions are evil, and they need to be stopped, including through physical violence. But you're not better than them. I know that this is a difficult pill to swallow; I myself used to pat myself used to pat myself on the back because, well, at least I wouldn't have been a Nazi. But you know what? If the circumstances were right, I could have been. We all could have been, just as we all could have joined a cult at some point.

Looking at myself, for example: there was never any serious possibility that I could have been swept up into the alt-right movement. Why? Because I'm transgender, and I was raised to be a socialist. How easy it is to *not* become a fascist when you're one of their scapegoats! How much harder it would be to avoid if you're one of the people they flatter and groom, if you're raised by people who are sympathetic to fascist ideals, if you grow up in a community where such ideals are common! The fact that fascist movements can seemingly emerge amongst every nation and people--including those who have historically been victims of fascism--confirms this. What if I had lived a hundred years later, at a time when transgenderism was a complete non-issue, and they'd moved on to some new scapegoat? What if they had approached me on my absolute worst day and told me that all of my problems were caused by moochers and parasites, and that I could fight back and claim my birth right by joining them? Can I really say that I wouldn't? Can anyone?

But even beyond that, what is a fascist but the ultimate example of someone who needs to feel superior to others? What is scapegoating but the act of selecting an entire group of people and declaring them to be inferior to you? And if you just refuse to believe these things; if you refuse to accept the premise that some people are better than others, and call it out whenever it comes up; then you're cutting these movements off at knees! The ideological force of fascism comes from imagining humanity as a strict hierarchy, with the master race on top and the degenerates on the bottom. Simply refuse to believe in such a hierarchy! Refuse to even entertain it!

"But then how can I feel self-esteem? How can I feel that I matter and have value?"

You have value just by existing as a person! But if that's not enough for you, then try this: instead of trying to increase your sense of self-worth by finding people to feel superior to, increase it by being of value to others. Help them! Make their lives better! Contribute to society! Not even in a way that you can (necessarily) put a dollar value on, but in any way you can! Create art! Plant a pollinator garden! Tell a joke! Make someone happy! If nothing else, you can at least give someone love, and I guarantee you that that will be of value to them. The universe is so vast and we're all so small that any value we can ever have will only ever be to each other. And surely it beats spending your life trying to be king of the microbes.

[elliesspacewalker]

Imagine Ellie asking you out and taking you back to hers.

Warnings: transgender!Ellie, weed usage, sub!Ellie, oral! (E- receiving), lmk if I forgot anything

You, Ellie, Dina, and Jesse all sat outside in a park near the college you all went to together. You had a joint in hand with Ellie.

Dina and Jesse had fucked off somewhere else (probably to make out in the bathrooms) and left you and Ellie alone on the swings.

You and Ellie had never really talked; you wanted to talk to her, but you were shy; she was as well, and you never knew how to talk to people. You've seen her at parties, working at Starbucks.

When Jesse and Dina invited you to have a session with them, you immediately agreed, knowing that Ellie would be there. What you weren't expecting was for her to look so fucking hot; she was wearing gray track pants that showed her slight bulge in her dick.

You and Ellie rocked back and forth on the swings when Dina and Jesse went to the bathroom. “So,” Ellie spoke into the comfortable silence, making you snap out of your thoughts.

“Yeah?” you speak, taking a long drag from the cone you held between your fingers.

“You like dinosaurs?” She blurted out, instantly regretting the stupidity that just left her mouth. Truth be told, you made her nervous, and the fact that Dina and Jesse have fucking left her alone with you doesn't help. And the fact that your eyes kept glinting towards her crotch as you squeezed your thighs together, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, definitely didn’t fucking help.

"Uh," you chuckle at her odd question. "They're alright, I guess. Why?" She glances away, trying to avoid your gaze. "I was going to watch Jurassic World if you wanted to, y'know? Come over"

So that's how your day changed from sitting in a park with your friends to being next to Ellie watching Jurassic World.

You took a drag from the joint Ellie had given you after you set foot in her dorm as you watched Ellie avoid your gaze, eyes glued to the TV, her face flushed under your watch, fiddling with the drawstring of her gray sweatpants that had your eyes on the bulge on them since you walked in.

"Ellie?" You mumbled quietly, almost so quiet that she couldn't hear you. "Mhm?"

"Where's the bathroom?"

"Second door on the right," she smiles, with her big, puffy eyes. You get up from your seat and notice Ellie fully lying down on the couch with a pillow over her crotch. You slightly giggle to yourself as you find her bathroom and make your way out swiftly.

"You going to sit up or?" You tease her, "Oh shit," and she attempts to sit up, but you cut her off. "It's okay. I'm kind of cold, can I?" She bites her lip and nods, moving the pillow so you can slightly see the tip of her cock tucked upright inside the waistband of her track pants. You could see the slight vein that ran to the tip of her dick, the head so desperate for release.

You laid down on Ellie's stomach, slowly moving your hips up to straddle her waist. The veins that danced up her arm in unison with your own throbbing pussy drove you fucking insane.

Listening to her heartbeat and breathing, you started playing with the drawstring of her hoodie. You slightly moved back to hit her cock. This movement produced a whimper from Ellie's mouth.

"Sorry," she says quietly, "it's okay, it's cute."

After this, you slowly started to roll your hips to grind into Ellie's dick, feeling the pre-cum on your thigh. Ellie, on the other hand, was dying on the inside, trying everything in her power not to fucking moan.

You sit up and look down at her; she's slightly moving her hips upwards. You move her shirt up and bite your lip as you look at her throbbing dick. "If you want me to stop, I will," you say, and she nods embarrassingly fast.

You pull down the waistband of her track pants and wrap your small fingers around the base of her cock and slowly start stroking. Her breath hitches, and she moves her hips upwards to get more friction. Her cock was pulsating, and it got impossibly harder once you started stroking.

"Can I suck your dick?" You ask her, as you start to speed up the stroking, to watch her buck her hips upwards and her eyes roll back, "Please fuck."

You chuckle at her response and put your mouth to her tip and start to suckle slowly. Her hand finds its way to your hair, producing the loudest moan you have heard. The show is long gone by this point as you move your right hand to start stroking her cock while you suck on her tip, feeling the pre-cum bubbling in your mouth.

"Shhh-shit, fuck-baby... Fuck," she says, your doe eyes looking at her as she tilts her head back, hitting the sofa.

"Don't stop, don't stop, I'm going to cum. F-fuck," she groans, bucking up into your mouth and hitting your gag reflex. You allow her to hold your head down on the full length of her cock as she groans and cums in your mouth.

You giggle, opening your mouth and letting her see the cum on your tongue. Moving up to kiss her and spit the cum in her mouth, she allows you to and swallows her own cum.

You and Ellie are going to be good friends.

Hope y'all enjoyed <333

[thesevro]

[nanami kento] a man of yours, tonight

[Nanami Kento x FTM/Transgender Male Reader Smut] CW: Contains scenes of explicit sex below the cut

Walang plot for real

He has noticed your shy smiles, the exuberance in that glint in your eyes every time he gives voice to the praise you deserve. He'll give it to you no matter the time, the place, or the hour.

—

He has noticed your shy smiles, the exuberance in that glint in your eyes every time he gives voice to the praise you deserve. That color makes you bloom, he said as you headed out the door to start the car. Hmm, new shampoo today? Your hair smells wonderful, he murmured into your ear as you scooped him into your arms to settle in for bed. You’re always using that brain of yours, hm? He told you as you settled the accounts for Jujutsu Tech on a whim, manipulating the arithmetic and algebraic behind accounting with ease. 

Now he moans your name in pleasure, his heartbeat speeding up to match the symphony of your own. Your legs have locked around him. Every time he feels your thighs around his waist and your limbs wrapping around him his brain explodes with pleasure and a delicious throb courses through him. He is yours; you own him, and you are his to breed.

“Kento,” you groan deeply, head twisting to the side as his fingers reach between your thighs to finger the tip of your little cocklet. “Please—wait.”

“No, no, love.” He slides his middle finger up the sensitive tip of your bulging clitoris, shuddering through a breath as you clench tight around him. “Keep using that handsome voice of yours. Make sure everyone hears how good I fuck my beautiful husband.”

Your head tilts up to force a kiss to his lips. Your tongue slides against his. He knows all your tactics, all the ways you try to stop him from saying all the things you like only because you’re too shy to hear them. He parts his lips from yours to suckle kisses along your jaw, gentle enough to leave no bruises but with enough insistence to have you shivering with delight. His cock stretches you inside as he thrusts. 

For a time, he had been shy himself. Making love to you for the first and every time blew his mind, though the words of praise he wished to share with you would catch in his throat. It was when you had made love to him, moaning words of sweetness into his ear with you between his legs that cracked him. He will always remember every second of those moments: the skillful shift of your hips to angle into his sensitive, neglected prostate, the pleasured shudder of your musculature even as he knew your pleasure was derived only by the sight of your sex meeting his. After, though spent and panting from three drawn-out orgasms, he had wrestled you into bed to slip his face between your legs and drag his tongue along your slit. You had already removed the prosthetic and had drawn a bath for the two of you, but he would not heed your call for a bath and simply moved his tongue around your still-hard cocklet. He remembers the way you fought till the end, telling him to leave it be, that you could take care of it yourself, until your body had sagged with each expert movement of his desperate tongue and your wetness gushed from your hole to spill into his starved mouth. He remembers licking into you, past your overstimulation with you clawing at his shoulders, until he’d broken you into giving him a second, your moans deep and borderline exhausted.

“Kento,” you cry now, voice high-pitched. Ah, you’re close. This sensitive cocklet of yours… how he loves it. 

“Mm, let it out, lovely.” 

Cum on my cock, show me what it feels like. Give me your pleasure. Perhaps, one day, he will hear you say these things with your own length pumping inside him.

Your body twists as he draws an orgasm from you. “That’s it,” he moans, his thrusts slowing, deepening as his cock pulses with his own need. “Good boy. Good boy.”

Though his pace has slowed, he falls over the brink easily. His body loosens and he hunches over you to cradle you in his arms as his cock throbs to fill you up with his cum. He groans into your neck, unabashed, holding you close while your lips kiss his ear to tiredly murmur your own praise. 

“Fill me up Kento,” you groan. “Fill me up.”

After, though spent, he draws a bath. He grabs the two towels designated solely for cleaning the both of you up after sex and returns to the bedroom to wipe bewteen your legs, as you have done so many times for him. You give a squeeze to his hand and murmur your thanks. 

“Of course,” he says, kissing the corner of your mouth. “I’ve always got you.”

[vaspider]

Hey Spider, hope you're doing well! I've got kind of a weird question but I was hoping you and your followers might be able to offer some insight. I have encountered a relatively high number of transmascs who are converting or have converted to Judaism. As in, half of the converts I've met (and all of the ones who are currently under 60) are transmasc. Now, my sample is probably not representative, but it did make me wonder: is there a particular reason why transmasc people would be more drawn to Judaism? Or is this just sampling bias due to my being a transmasc Jew myself?

I know a lot of trans Jews full stop. I think a lot of us are attracted initially to Judaism bc most of the American movements - Reform, Reconstructionist, Conservative - are explicitly trans-affirming and have been for a long time. (Reform has been trans-affirming for so long that at the time the responsa was issued about it, the phrasing used was "transsexual and transgender" because at the time, transsexual meant what we would now refer to as a binary trans person* and transgender was used for what we would now call "everybody except for binary trans people.")

I also think that trans people are used to wrestling with difficult concepts - I mean, figuring out your gender is hard stuff - and honestly after spending decades shaking my gender until it made sense, Torah study felt like second nature.

But really, I think it's probably more than a little bit confirmation bias and that trans Jews find trans Jews.