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[ash5monster01]

Getaway Camp : Ten

Pairing: Charlie Dalton x FemReader

Warnings: 18+, smut, alcohol use, mentions of relations with older women, language, oral, p in v, dirty talk, lots of foreplay, heavy tension.

Summary: It’s the busiest day of camp and despite how daunting the day may seem, Charlie and Valerie finally find a way to get some alone time.

word count: 4.5k

Masterlist

Nine ←→ Eleven

July 4th 1961

When the camp bugle goes off in the morning, Charlie is quick to groan and pull his pillow over his head. Even though it was just another Tuesday, today was the Fourth of July. Every staff camper was required to work because they’d need all hands on deck. Everyone was guaranteed to be here, even the Bungalow Bunnies missing husbands. Campers would have extra family come in and the entire camp would be focused on celebrating the national holiday. Charlie always loved the Fourth of July, but right now he really wished this cabin would swallow him whole.

There was no point in stopping to see Valerie before his shift because she more than likely had been at the lake for an hour already. Today Charlie was only meant to be an extra set of hands, rowing not really a priority on a celebratory day. For Valerie though, they needed all the lifeguards they could get, the Holiday bringing more people to the lake than there had been all summer. So slowly Charlie got up and ready, hoping the day wouldn’t be to mind numbing or hot, yet maybe the heat would give him an excuse to visit Val.

“Hey Charlie” Chrissy greets from her and Valerie’s shared cabin when he steps outside. Charlie offers a small smile, waving his hand politely at her.

“Hey Chris, I’m assuming Val’s gone already?” he nods his head in no particular direction, knowing the girl would most likely be exhausted before the end of the day.

“Yeah, Levi and her left around 5am. Wanted to get a head start before the chaos” she tells him and Charlie finally notices the red, white, and blue outfit she has thrown on. With a quick glance it’s not hard to see that all the staff had gone out of their way to dress up for the holiday.

“Sounds like her, it’s about to be a busy day” and Chrissy nods, knowing he doesn’t even understand the half of it. With one more wave Charlie is off and in search of some food to fuel him throughout the day.

After being put on nearly a million different tasks throughout the day, Martha the camp director sets him free, and Charlie races towards the dock to see his girl. As soon as she’s in sight he’s the least bit surprised she has dressed up for the holiday as well. Star earrings dangling from her ears, a blue skirt pulled over her red swimsuit, and an American flag hat on top of her head. Beside her stands Levi in a white t-shirt with an American flag in the center, paired with just his regular red swim trunks. Funniest of all is Alex who stands in American flag overalls, his captain hat, and nothing else. Charlie isn’t the least bit surprised.

“Ace!” the girl cheers the second she sees him and Charlie can’t help the dopey grin that crosses his face as he watches her sprint down the dock and towards him. He never knew it could be like this, to always be so happy and excited around another person. He always just viewed girls as some convenience. He never knew it could be an actual and real relationship.

“Hey doll” he smiles once she’s barreled into his arms, body wrapped around him whole, and he’s quite sure he’ll never get tired of how warm she is or the way she smells. In just the last month her presence alone had become the place he felt the safest.

“You didn’t dress up?” She pouts once she’s pulled away and Charlie snorts, expecting this reaction completely.

“I would have if I had thought to pack anything remotely patriotic before I came here but I fear it’s only black and white t-shirts for me” Valerie raises her eyebrows and even though everyone around them views it as a teasing glance, Charlie knows it’s because the girl loves nothing more than him in a tight t-shirt.

“You can model those for me later, we can go to Levi’s cabin in a little bit and steal something” she tells him, hands squeezing at his sides and Charlie just chuckles because really who is he to complain when it comes to her.

“Happy Fourth of July man” Levi greets as they walk over. Alex smiles from beside him, bare shoulders and the curve of his chest peaking from behind the suspender straps.

“That’s quite an outfit” Charlie says and Alex grins with a shrug.

“Busy day for me, you wouldn’t believe the amount of activities I had to have planned. Guests always love it when I show a little skin” he flexes his arm, taking his job as a camp director and weird just a little too serious. Charlie just laughs and shakes his head until he spots Nate leaving the main lodge with two bungalow bunnies under his arms, wearing the most sheer red tights he’s ever seen.

“Put that thing away Fanning!” Levi calls out and Nate glares at him before bidding the two older women goodbye and stalking down the dock towards them. Charlie has to actually look away from how much is showing in Nate’s groin. He wonders if he actually even knew how to dance, let alone teach a class.

“Hey, complain all you want, but I could probably guarantee I made more tips than all of you combined today” he points a finger at each of them, a different kind of cockiness and confident persona than Charlie ever had. He’s almost thankful but then he wonders if growing up as a preparatory school kid really did affect him.

“Can’t argue there, Mrs. Thompson squeezed my ass during Simon Says today” Alex says, shivering at the thought of the older woman. Valerie can’t contain her giggles with that image now in her head.

“Nothing is worse than the time Mrs. Kellerman insisted I teach her mouth to mouth and then attempting to practice on me” Levi says, a hand wiping at his mouth as if the older woman’s lips were somehow still there.

“What about you Charlie, any older women hit on you yet?” Nate asks and Valerie instantly looks at him, eyebrows raised and patiently awaiting the answer to this question. Charlie turns fire truck red before a nervous hand rubs at the back of his neck.

“Only once, Mrs Turner took a morning class of mine a few weeks back. She sat in the front seat facing me and every time she leaned forward to row she leaned a little to close to my crotch” this has the boys laughing loudly at his sheepish answer and even Valerie can’t contain her giggles at the thought. Poor uncomfortable Charlie probably unsure what to do as the woman leaned closer and closer.

“Oh poor baby, I’m sure that was traumatic” Valerie says, voice full of amusement as she pats the boys chest and he rolls his eyes as the boys continue to laugh.

“Valerie, don’t pretend like all the guys here don’t ogle you everyday” Alex points out and Valerie just shakes her head before propping her hands on her hips.

“That’s only because men can never take a hint and I look damn good in a bathing suit” the boys laugh again but Charlie just gulps because that very bathing suit had haunted his dreams since he first got here. Now he was burning with jealousy over all the other men who did.

“Let’s just all agree it’s apart of the job” Levi starts and everyone nods. “And Nate just happens to abuse his power”

“Hey!” the boys begin arguing and Valerie just rolls her eyes before laughing and sliding her hand into Charlie’s.

“We’ll see you boys at the Tip later. Levi, me and Charlie are going to steal some of your clothes” and Charlie is quite certain the boys didn’t even hear her but Valerie is dragging him along anyway and he would never fight her on that. As long as he was with her.

It’s not long until Charlie is dressed in one his white T-shirts and a pair of flag shorts they had found in Levi’s cabin. They surprisingly fit even though Charlie’s crotch was now covered in stars and legs in red and white stripes. Either way it made Valerie happy and he found no point in complaining when she set her hat on his head and a kiss on his lips. He wore the patriotic outfit and drank a beer at the staff camp dinner before following her on a hike to the Tip.

It was a clearing on the side of one of the camps mountains, it apparently had the best view of the lake, and was the ideal watch spot for any staff who didn’t have to work through the firework show. It also was a well known hookup spot. Either way Charlie was still sat next to Valerie on the same blanket from their first date, a stolen bottle of champagne between them, and a sunset better than any he had seen this entire summer.

“Please tell me it’s not some random staff blowing off these fireworks?” Charlie asks after a beat, admiring the way Valerie’s hair cascaded down her back. How it matches perfectly with her tan skin and the red sundress on her form. He fears he’ll never be able to look at the color red for the rest of his life without picturing her in this dress or her bathing suit.

“No, thankfully. Samuel Adler hires professionals that put on this big show. It’s usually the only time of year I see him out and about at camp with a giant Eagle shirt on” Valerie tells him and Charlie snorts at the image.

“He seems very patriotic” Charlie says and Valerie shrugs, eyes cast out in the horizon.

“Yeah but Adler means Eagle. That’s why it’s our camp mascot. So I also think that has a lot to do with it” and Charlie laughs, picturing all the Staff shirts stuffed in his cabin closet that have printed eagles on them. It suddenly all made sense.

“Figures” Charlie adds and Valerie giggles, reaching for some of the snacks they brought. The sun was dipping behind the horizon now. The bright orange sky now a faded blue. The perfect backdrop for an array of colorful fireworks, but Charlie can’t pull his eyes from the girl. Slowly he reaches his hand out and brushes some of her hair away, revealing the bare skin of her back. Eyes holding something she had never seen before.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks with a soft chuckle despite how on edge she felt, the anticipation bubbling underneath the surface.

“You’re just so beautiful” and much to Valerie’s surprise, Charlie’s leaned forward and pressing a soft kiss to the back of her bare shoulder. His lips linger there a moment, arm keeping her hair pushed out of the way, and fingers grasped lightly around the base of her neck.

Goosebumps rise along her body the same time her knees push together tightly. She’s unsure she’s ever reacted in a such a way to a man’s touch before. He’s already got her worked up and he hasn’t even done anything yet. Just the idea of so much bare skin and soft lips has her nipples peaking underneath the fabric of her dress. There was no chance tonight would end and they’d have to be apart. She needed Charlie Dalton and she wanted him now. She was going to make sure of it.

“I’ll be right back” she says when he pulls away and Charlie’s eyebrows draw together in confusion as she scrambles up in search of Levi. When she finds him he’s stood with Alex and he doesn’t even see her coming as she tugs him back into the tree line. Charlie watches this but chooses to ignore it despite the uneasiness that now settles in his gut. They were just friends, right?

“What the hell?” Levi asks until he spots her eager and serious face. It’s not every day your best friend pulls you into the woods with a mad woman look.

“I need a favor” and that’s how the plan goes into motion. Why when they step out of the woods Levi is approaching Mia for the first time since the first night at camp. Flirting and convincing the girl the ask her roommate Alice if she could spend the night with Andy tonight so Levi could come over. Alice agrees and goes off in search of Andy while Valerie goes for the most pivotal part of her plan.

“Nate, can we talk?” the cocky boy, now free of the revealing tights turns to face her. His dirty blonde hair styled perfectly and permanent smirk wide on his face.

“What’s good Val?” he asks, sipping from the beer can in his hand. Valerie knows it’s a long shot but she’s desperate, never been this desperate before.

“I’m about to ask you something I know you’ll say no to, but I’m desperate” Valerie whispers and Nate ducks closer, making sure neither of them can be heard by the fellow campers.

“What is it?” he asks and Valerie sighs, wringing her hands together nervously as she accepts her fate. Putting all her hope into Nate, of all people, hands.

“Ask Chrissy to spend the night? Please, before you argue. Levi is staying with Mia tonight and Alice is going to stay with Andy, I was hoping to have Charlie stay with me, but with Chrissy in the cabin…” Valerie trails off, waiting patiently as the boy mulls it over. He recognizes what lengths Valerie has gone too, the detailed way of cabin swapping almost everyone within their friend group. Despite how much he wants to avoid Chrissy he can’t help but feel a little pride over her sneaky way of finding alone time to hook up. It’s something he wishes he was clever enough to do.

“Fine, but you owe me big time” Valerie can’t help but clap her hands together before jumping and pulling him into a hug. The boy rolls his eyes but accepts it anyway.

“Thank you Nate” and then she’s rushing off, leaving him to find Chrissy despite how badly he didn’t want to.

Charlie doesn’t expect the girls return, she practically barrels into him, knocking him back on the blanket. He goes to ask her what she was up to but her lips lock onto his the second the first firework lights off in the sky and now he couldn’t care less. She kissed him a few more beats before rolling to her back and looking up at the sky. Green, purple, red, and blue fireworks firing above them.

“Would you want to stay in my cabin tonight?” Valerie asks and Charlie’s head snaps towards her, shocked by the question. Yet she doesn’t seem phased, eyes cast on the sky above her, and all the pretty colors. Perfectly content.

“What about Chrissy?” he asks and Valerie’s head turns, Charlie’s eye line following to see Nate curled closely to the blonde girl on a blanket not very far from their own.

“She won’t be a problem” and it finally occurs too Charlie what exactly the girl had been up to while she was gone. He can’t help the way his face heats up when she turns back to look at him, the suggestion heavy and looming, and the wait finally over.

“I’d love to stay”

It’s the first time he’s ever seen Valerie say no to a party, dragging him into the woods while everyone stays at the Tip, drinks in hand and music playing from the radio someone had brought. The hike is practically terrifying in the dark but Valerie’s hand in his own as she drags him along gives him a thrill he never wants to lose. Even staff camp is dark with everyone gone, only a few lanterns along the walkway lit as they go past each of the darkened cabins. It isn’t until they reach their own does Charlie finally feel his heart stutter in his chest.

“Do you need anything from yours?” Valerie innocently asks and Charlie gulps, eyes flitting between the two cabins.

“Yeah, why don’t you go in and I’ll be right there” he urges her away and Valerie flashes a smile before Charlie lets go of her and and walks to his own door. Once inside he scrambles for an old Welton shirt and some boxers, stuffing them into a bag along with condoms he never thought he’d have to use. Before leaving he takes a quick swig from one of the liquor bottles on his desk, hoping the liquid courage would bring back the same seventeen year old Charlie that once seduced a woman in a cave. He could do this.

Charlie sees no reason to knock when he steps into Valerie’s cabin, the shades a hazy yellow now lit with life inside. Yet he freezes when he finds the girl standing in only her bra and panties, red fabric pooled at her feet. Valerie is sheepish but hides it well as she flashes him a pretty smile.

“Sorry, I was just sick of that dress” she tells him, reaching for a stray staff shirt on the chair of her desk but Charlie holds a hand up, stopping her while his other hand clicks the lock close on the cabin door.

“Wow” is all he can say and Valerie blushes, her head dropping to look at her feet, arms wrapping around her front. It’s the first time she’s felt self conscious and beautiful at the same time. Charlie walks over, dropping his bag along the way, before grabbing her arms and pulling them away. “You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen V”

“Oh please” she tries to shove him but Charlie’s grip is strong, right hand leaving her arm and gripping the bare flesh of her waist. He pulls her close, close enough that for the first time she actually has to strain her neck a little to look up at him.

“I mean it, I knew it the minute we met” Charlie says and Valerie smiles before responding with a soft kiss. Her other arm escaping his left hand as she wraps them around his neck and pulls herself flush against him. Charlies hands slide to her back, every trace of his touch lighting her skin on fire. It doesn’t have to be rushed, it’s just them. The tension slowly unwinding, the itch finally being scratched. So it’s a surprise to no one that when Valerie’s tongue slips into his mouth and hand tangles in his hair, his hands are gripping at the dough of her ass.

Valerie breaks the kiss for only a second, pulling the tight white tee up Charlie’s form. Revealing the happy trail and the defined pecs from the past month of rowing. He’s so handsome and she has to try not to whimper at the sight. She never knew it could be like this, so intimate, so meaningful, so desired. Charlie’s eyes gaze deeply into her own, a need burrowing in him like never before. This time he attached to her more hungrily, guiding her towards her bed and gently laying her back down on it while his mouth kisses her feverishly. This time it’s fast, desperate, excited, and it’s already making Valerie wet.

“Shit Val, you’re so soft” Charlie mutters, lips trailing onto her neck, more than likely leaving deep crimson marks she couldn’t hide. Valerie just giggles, legs wrapping around his waist before grinding herself into him. He’s already hard, tall and proud against her, and she can’t help but guide her heat over it again.

“And you are not” she whispers in his ear and the hair on Charlie’s arms rise, involuntarily rutting his hips into her and that’s when he hears it. The softest and sweetest moan leave her lips and suddenly he’s ten times harder.

His lips trail from her neck to her chest, once over her bra, before his fingers are digging into the cups and pulling them down. Her breasts spill free from the top, her left nipple getting caught in his mouth. She writhes underneath him, whining as he sucks harshly at one and gropes the other. It’s a sensation she’s never had before. Hands tangled in his hair she moans as he switches between them, sucking and biting softly into her flesh before unclasping the bra and freeing it from her body.

Charlie sits up, eyes catching her own before dropping to her bare breasts again. Valerie watches eagerly as his hands reach out to grope her, grabbing at her chest and pinching her nipples softly. The action has her hips shimmying against him, searching for friction. Charlie complies, grinding into her heat and trying desperately to ignore the wet patch that has formed on her panties.

“Has anyone gone down on you before?” he whispers, words coming out in a soft pant, and Valerie shakes her head quickly. The idea scaring her, to many horror stories from her friends saying how men said it was disgusting. The last thing she wanted was to scare Charlie away.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to-” the words catch in her throat, freezing the minute Charlie’s hand cups over her pussy, rubbing slow circles over the fabric.

“I want to” is all he says and she chokes over the words, trying to fight it but his large fingers feel so good and then suddenly he’s on his knees. Staring at her like the most magnificent thing on this earth.

Valerie keeps her mouth shut, watching as his fingers slide under the hem of her white panties and begin to slowly pull them down. She’s almost embarrassed by how wet she already is but when she’s on full display, Charlie blows a soft breeze against her core and her head is already falling back into the sheets. He trails slow kisses along her inner thighs, her legs shaking with anticipation as his arms hook under them. She has no warning when his lips finally press softly onto her clit. Kissing it for good measure.

When his tongue dips into her folds she has to grip tightly at the sheets, a heavy whimper leaving her lips as he explores her. When his tongue slips inside at the same time his nose bumps her clit, she can’t help the way her legs begin to tighten around his head. Charlie doesn’t seem to mind, he just keeps devouring her like a man starved. He’s sporting his own wet spot through his borrowed shorts while he does so. Needing to be inside her more and more.

“Wait, Charlie, I’m gonna-” she doesn’t finish her sentence, the orgasm washing over her, legs clenching tightly and Charlie using his own strength to hold them open while he eats her through her orgasm. When her body finally stills he stops, the girl breathing heavily against the mattress.

“Such a good girl” he praises and Valerie wonders how that’s already made her wet again. As Charlie stands she finds the strength to lift her head, watching with wide eyes as he pushes the shorts off his form and his length snapping up against his pelvis. Just barely grazing the happy trail she had become so obsessed with. Her mouth waters at the sight and it makes sense his cock is just as pretty as him.

“You sure you’ll fit?” she asks as he reaches for a condom and Charlie smirks, a real Charlie smirk as he rolls it along his length. He doesn’t answer her question but instead dips his tip into her folds, gliding it up until it taps against her bundle of nerves, and that’s enough to answer her question with a yes.

“I’ll go slow” he promises, lips meeting her own in a sweet kiss. When she starts to grind against his length he uses one hand to line himself up with her entrance, sinking deeply, and doing his best to keep control. He was desperate not to cum within the first thirty seconds. Valerie winces lightly but her hands reach for his sides, guiding him deeper. Charlie takes his time, sinking slower and slower. Valerie can’t believe it hasn’t ended and finally, after what feels like forever, he’s flush against her. Already hitting a spot she didn’t know existed until now.

“Are you okay?” Charlie asks, brushing some brown hair from her forehead where it had began to stick and her heart somersaults. Something so romantic and gentle about how he was checking on her despite how deep inside of her he was.

“Yes, move. Please move” she begs and Charlie nods, pulling halfway out before rutting back into her. The moan she lets out he tries to memorize and keep locked away forever, encouraging him to do the action over and over again. When he finally finds his pace he reaches to grip her breasts, the sight of them bouncing mesmerizing. He squeezes at them gently before pinching her nipples and feeling her walls flutter against him. His hips stutter for only a moment before continuing.

“Charlie, I’m close” Valerie whines and Charlie removes his hands from her boobs, moving to hold himself steady while his free hand reaches for her clit. He rubs messy circles into it, pounding faster, and watching the way her face twists while she moans uncontrollably. Whimpering his name and making it impossible to last.

“Come on baby, finish for me” and as if Charlie’s words had flipped a switch she’s clamping down on him tightly, milking him for all his worth. The sensation has Charlie finishing right behind her, stuffing himself so deep as he fucks her through it. Her moans and whines make his heart race and when both of their orgasms are over he’s falling safely against her, panting out heavy breaths.

“Wow” Valerie repeats his words from earlier. Charlie chuckles against her, wincing when his cock brushes up inside her again. Slowly he slides out, trying not to get hard at the sight all over again.

“Agreed” he says and Valerie smiles, wrapping her arms around him and cuddling close. She’s quite sure Charlie has ruined every man for the rest of her life. Now not only did they have all night but they had the rest of summer.

“I never knew it could be so….. exhilarating” Valerie finally finds the right word and Charlie smiles, lips pressing against her own.

“Me either” he tells her and Valerie smiles, kissing him again, and secretly wishing to keep him forever. Just like this, wrapped in her arms.

“Think we could go again?” she asks and Charlie laughs, a piece of the old him returning to his soul as he looks into the girls hazel green eyes. Shining with adoration and something else he recognized as love. A word he was all too familiar with but not comfortable with throwing around. Either way he knew he was falling hard and fast for a girl he couldn’t keep.

“I don’t ever plan on sleeping again”

Taglist: @eden-punk @octaviasdread @pursuedbyamemoryy @poetsinnyc @linmichea1

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Transgender models:

Ariel Nicholson:

Nicholson, a writer, activist, and model, was featured in the September edition of American Vogue. at the shot, she and a few other high-profile models, including Bella Hadid, are seated at the Vogue headquarters in New York. The cover was the first time a transgender person featured on the cover of a fashion magazine.

"I've been put in this box, 'trans model,'" Nicholson said to Vogue. "Which is what I am — but not the only thing I am." It's obviously a major event to be the first trans woman on the cover of Vogue, but it's difficult to quantify how big a deal it is when the ramifications are so intangible."

She has also featured on the cover of Italian Vogue and was the first transgender model to walk in a Calvin Klein fashion show, which she did as a sophomore in high school.

Valentina Sampaio:

Sampaio made history in 2017 when she became the first openly transgender model to appear on the cover of Vogue Paris. She followed up her historic moment with covers of Brazilian Vogue and German Vogue.

"The world has taken huge steps for transgender people in recent years," Sampaio told Buzzfeed in 2017. "My cover is another small step — but an important step — in demonstrating that we have the power to be Vogue cover girls." The fashion business is a tool for raising flags for diversity in a world where things are more flexible and beauty develops. Fashion is a more liberated world."

Sampaio confirmed in 2019 that she was working with Victoria's Secret, less than a year after the CMO stated that they would not employ a trans model. In 2020, she achieved even another milestone by being the first trans model to feature in Sports Illustrated's Swimsuit Issue.

"The team at SI has created yet another groundbreaking issue by bringing together a diverse set of multitalented, beautiful women in a creative and dignified way," she told Vogue in the year 2020. "I am excited and honoured to be part [of this]."

Leyna Bloom 

Leyna Bloom's modelling career began shortly after she came out as transgender. It was 2014, and she was on the cover of Candy magazine, which featured trans women. She has since appeared at New York Fashion Week, the first time the festival has accepted such diversity. The Filipino and African American model was the first trans woman of colour to grace the cover of Vogue India the same year.

Bloom made history again in 2021 when she became the first trans woman of colour to model 12 swimsuits for Sports Illustrated. On Instagram, the model stated that the achievement was "bigger than my wildest infinite dreams."

"Everything that we want, need, and seek is inside of us," Bloom told Essence in 2019. "We need to look inside ourselves for things we don't see in the world and then go out and create them." We live in a world where we do not belong, therefore we must build one where we do. That is our obligation, the gift we must pass on."

[anthonybialy]

Casual Embargo

I’m not buying that.  Commercial opposition happens as quickly as it does naturally during an era where every purchase seems political.  Reacting to harangues has replaced bagging items as the transaction’s last step.  Democrats got just the economic system they wanted.  You’ll have to seek riches internally.

A boycott sounds a bit too involved.  Will there be meetings?  I’d rather keep pace with the DVR than gather to review who’s presently been red-flagged.  I’ll just not purchase from any storefront whose primary product is gender dysphoria.

Liberals can’t comprehend lots of things, which in this case specifically means personal decisions about procuring stuff.  Like everything else, indignant liberal preeners think empty aisles at social justice-pimping stores are organized artificially.  But the audience is simply responding to incentives, which stands in defiance to one party’s platform.

Appealing to the public now applies to brands who’ve decided they need to flaunt ideologies.  Make a quality commodity available at a fair price and consumers will decide it’s worth the exchange.  By contrast, bottle a beer not fit to serve raccoons endorsed by a dude prancing around while flaunting the lamest stereotypes of women imaginable and wonder why delivery drivers don’t seem as busy.

Condescension takes different forms depending on bank balances.  Americans are officially fed up with a sermon accompanying buying.  Exhausted virtual mall walkers who look at stupid junk a company puts on exhibition and just decide they will keep credit cards holstered have made a loudly quiet statement.  Notice what isn’t being bought.

An organic process frightens control freaks who demand political oversight over every transaction for peace of mind.  You wouldn’t understand what good insurance includes, so economic wizard Joe Biden will select a caring plan on your behalf.

Present examples could be taught in business classes.  Bud Light says it’s a real beer, and I believe that as much as I do that its most prominent spokesperson switched sides.  The frat swill’s value remains diluted to the point that you’d think they had brewed it.

Meanwhile, Target just can’t stop stocking merchandise that guilt those looking for throwback t-shirts into tolerance. A display that’s designed to hector and not hawk leads to fewer dollars per customer than anticipated.

Your Doritos dealer wants to shame you for believing gender is predetermined.  Companies never realize that they could sit out divisive culture wars initiated by lunatics who oppose the one we presently have.  This particular battle can be waged by not fighting back.

Ignoring tantrums is the most peaceful path too victory.  Curiously self-righteous dry goods purveyors simply must share opinions about how the Supreme Court voted.  Making it slightly harder to kill babies outraged some vendors to the point they alienated those in opposition.  Enterprises that should welcome money from anyone instead ask that you take what keeps them afloat elsewhere.

Opponents of political lectures to those pushing shopping carts emphasize knowing your audience.  But avoiding forcing baffling notions should be universal.  Your business’s new fans won’t be expressing their fondness with acquisitions.  As with pretending an invasive government causing harm actually helps, the support is symbolic.  Leftists believe in patronizing of a different kind.

Entrepreneurial entities haven’t been harmed enough.  Ridiculous wages to stack shelves with costly goods that aren’t even available was just the start.  Chronic protesters never create anything worth advertising themselves.  Trying to shut even more storefronts is how Democrats finish the job.

The nastiness of organized assaults on particular commerce stands in contrast to getting socks somewhere other than the gender-bending swimsuit peddlers.   Blacklist hobbyists engage in perpetual maneuvers against Chick-fil-A for the crime of being Christian.  Picket any family member who attends regular church services while you’re at it.  Not splashing a rainbow over a logo through June is the woke religion’s unforgivable sin.  It takes quite a bit of vitriol to oppose alleged hate.  Giggling during the sermon will get you damned.

Simply resisting unscientific pernicious frenzies is labeled an act of defiance.  But we were just shopping.  Liberals hate open bartering because people decide what and what not to buy.  You’re not being guided by a carefully-elected professional, and such unhinged chaos leads to angry right-wingers driving past places that sell creepy reflections of grotesque adult delusions to kids.

Retailers are not obligated to offer anyone anything, which is the most offensive idea of all to leftists.  Your subversive autonomy prevents humanity from enjoying unity through very optional forced compliance.  Pesky dissent means a conglomerate could go the entire month without sharing a rainbow.  The worst blasphemy possible is permitted because of some amendment.  Legalities prevent us from all being eternally blissful through undisputed tolerance.

You can’t have your brats read anything different than what older whippersnappers once did, you book-burning censor.  Changing one’s mind about a reading list equals incineration.  Alleged bans are simply editorial discretion.  Deciding a different title may be more appropriate for a certain grade is the free market in action, and schools want to avoid teaching their charges to think for themselves.  Government is supposed to be the only option, which is the whole furtive point of public education.

Smirking about the right to not buy something is the only response from those who actually loathe the process.  The only time fans of the Cold War’s wrong side are interested in voluntary trade is when they can exploit it.  Such inherent selfishness explains why control freaks are so distrustful.  Possessing no useful skills to create something in return will drive the affected to compensate by dragging down others.

Everyone’s presently confused about how buying works on account of how there are so few examples on shelves paired with the de facto worthlessness of the paper slips used to obtain them.  But conglomerates should still know better.

Equating buying things with sanctimonious social media replies will not increase sales.  Swapping currency for woke approval better help the balance, as appeasing people with no earning power who’d never shop there fails to enhance profitability.  Leftist advocacy will never go far enough for anti-consumers who don’t believe in the process at all.  No longer carrying parachute pants is just one way to dodge playing along with cultural fads.

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Jean Paul Gaultier and Y/Project Reunite for More Illusion Prints "The List" is PAPER's monthly roundup of the newest arrivals, capsules and collaborations. Scroll through, below, to see March's biggest fashion news.Jean Paul Gaultier x Y/Project's Second CollaborationGlenn Martens first introduced his Jean Paul Gaultier capsule at his Fall 2022 show for Y/Project (he would later design a couture collection for the brand) which featured Gaultier's signature Trompe l’œil prints. The two brands are reuniting for a second capsule collection featuring more of the 2D illusion knits on mesh dresses, tank tops, turtlenecks and skirts.Available now at fashion.jeanpaulgaultier.comGUESS Originals x Real TreeGUESS Originals tapped Realtree for their latest capsule, using the brand's canvas fabrics and prints to rework core styles including the Carpenter short, jean, trucker jacket and belt skirt. The campaign was shot on a ranch in Katy, Texas with GUESS Originals ambassadors Ish Cepeda, Robert Neal, Kevin White and Alex Midler.Tommy Hilfiger x Shawn Mendes CapsuleTommy Hilfiger x Shawn Mendes CapsuleTommy Hilfiger x Shawn Mendes CapsuleTommy Hilfiger is teaming up with Shawn Mendes on a new capsule collection titled Tommy X Shawn Classics Reborn, a take on on pre-'90s prep highlighting relaxed fits, comfort and sustainability. The campaign sees Mendes (pre-buzzed haircut) modeling pieces from the collaboration including American flag shirts and denim jeans.Available starting March 15 at tommy.comAdrien Brody Is Releasing a Collection With BallyThe actor Adrien Brody, who made a surprise front row appearance at Bally's Fall 2023 show in Milan, is teaming up with the brand on a collaboration set to debut later this year of men's and women's ready-to-wear clothing, shoes, bags and other accessories.Puma Launches Second Collection With Palomo SpainThe second Puma x Palomo Spain collection is inspired by surf culture ranging from the 60’s and 70’s to the early 2000's memories of beaches in Spain. “Surf culture was an angle Puma had never really taken on before. Filtered through Palomo Spain’s gentle, couture-inspired lens, it immediately took on an exciting, innovative perspective," said Puma's global creative director Nils Moersch.Available now at Puma.comBurberry Debuts Self-Titled Book by AssoulineWith a new creative era for Burberry in place (Daniel Lee just showed his first collection for the brand during London Fashion Week), the company is releasing a new coffee table book to celebrate its 165-year history and British heritage. Titled Burberry, the Assouline-published tome features five chapters and 200 archive illustrations depicting its evolution from a family-run company to renowned global luxury brand. It was written by journalist Alexander Fury with a foreword by Carly Eck, Burberry’s Brand Curator.Available for pre-order now at Assouline.comVilebrequin x The Woolmark CompanyVilebrequin x The Woolmark CompanyVilebrequin x The Woolmark CompanyVilebrequin x The Woolmark CompanyVilebrequin x The Woolmark CompanyFrench swimwear house Vilebrequin announces a 5-piece capsule of immaculately tailored swimsuits in extra-fine Merino wool. For their second summer with The Woolmark Company, they've added two new men’s suiting references into the mix: safari-inspired khaki and the emblematic Prince of Wales check.Available now at vilebrequin.comBUTT Launches 32nd Issue With Bottega VenetaThe pioneering queer magazine BUTT, which returned last year after a 10-year print hiatus thanks to a partnership with Bottega Veneta, launches its 32nd issue today featuring the tombstone engraver Roman Hanak on the cover. Inside the issue: the writer Eileen Myles gets off on poetry with Brontez Purnell; sex professional Sharok details his passion for pigeons, politics, and porn; Wolfgang Tillmans drops by hitmaker LSDXOXO’s flat for a quicky; pop star Oliver Sim poses for drawings in London; Daisuke Nakashima snaps shirtless men in Tokyo. BUTT 32 is available now in shops and online.UGG x Telfar Debut New Shopper Bags in Baby Pink and Baby BlueUGG and Telfar are back with a new drop of their collaboration. In addition to restocking Chestnut and Black shopper bags, the brands are introducing Baby Pink and Baby Blue shoppers in sizes small, medium, and large that lend a nod to a nostalgic UGG color palette. Available starting March 5 at TELFAR.NETALTU Releases Its Third CollectionALTU Releases Its Third CollectionALTU Releases Its Third CollectionThe third installment of ALTU blends late nineties and early aughts teenage style with a fluid approach to identity, sexuality, and presentation. It features exaggerated proportions, neon colors, and playfully subversive detailing. Knitwear has delicate cutouts with tiny ring piercings at the collar and hem. Cargo pants reference varsity athletic wear with cinched hems and zip sides. A cropped motorcycle jacket and leather biker pants with denim crotch detailing are introduced for the first time.The first drop of this third release is available now at ALTU.world, Ssense.com and Bergdorf Goodman https://www.papermag.com/march-2023-fashion-news-yproject-2651365982.html

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17 May 2022

An Autogynephile in the Wild

"You are trapped in the wilderness with a man who won’t stop talking about his penis. This is not good. This is not normal."

Susi Quinn

“Atthe big spa in town, you have to shower naked,” says our guide, Helga, with some relish. “The tourists don’t like this, especially the American women, and sometimes they try to shower with their swimsuits on. Now, I’m a big lady, and I put on my deepest voice, and I bellowed at them to take their clothes off. You should have seen them scurry away!”

Helga and Jackie burst into raucous laughter. There are some polite chuckles from the men in the group. I say nothing and look away.

Helga is not a big lady. Helga is a tall, rugged man who has had his eyebrows plucked and his penis cut off. I don’t need to speculate about this with terfy prurience, or perform the fabled genital inspections, as he has told us all about his operation a great many times already. It’s day two of a wilderness expedition in Scandinavia, and we’re reliant for our safety on a man who will not shut up about the contents of his pants. I grit my teeth and give thanks once again that the group is small enough that we don’t have to share tents.

There are five of us on the trip—two youngish men so far removed from gender discourse that they don’t even recognize the trans flag; Jackie, an older lady full of Not Like The Other Girls energy; and Claire, a fellow fortysomething who hadn’t followed gender issues closely, but whose discomfort with the situation almost matched my own. All we were missing was a beardy bloke to tell us ladies what to think about the issue, and it would have been an almost perfect reflection of society in microcosm.

Iwasn’t quite sure what to make of Helga at first glance. He picked us up from the bus station wearing tight capris, a tight shirt, and a ponytail under a baseball cap, and I didn’t catch his name; was this some unfamiliar men’s Euro-fashion or was he trying to dress “as a woman?” Were those eyebrows just a bit too neat and unnatural? Is he wearing foundation or just sunblock? Regular moobs or the estrogen variety? Is he making that weird pouty face on purpose? I didn’t have to ponder for long; within about ten minutes, he had declared his identity as “a transgender woman” and started telling us about a local documentary that had been made about his bravery and unconventional life.

Quite likely he’d misinterpreted our scrutiny as a form of “Is that a man or a woman?”, that proverbial bad-faith question asked by homophobic grandparents in the 70s and 80s during Top of the Pops. His sex, though, was never in question; even Jackie, who tried her hardest to “validate” him at every turn, first greeted his appearance with “Oh, I was expecting a woman!”.

I made some quick calculations about the male/female numbers in the group, and set to worrying about what the sleeping arrangements might be, and whether I’d need to make a fuss. The travel company had promised we’d be sharing rooms on a “same-gender” basis—did they mean same-sex? I hadn’t even thought to check.

In the back of the minibus, the group made introductory small talk. Is this your first time in the country? Have you been on this type of adventure before? The two men were quiet and conventional; Claire was friendly and asked more questions than she answered; Jackie was talkative but mostly about herself. More than the rest of us, she looked the part of a rugged adventurer, and I was hoping she’d make a fun travel companion, but there was an edge to her conversation that gave me pause. As if her identity depended on being The Most Rugged Lady Adventurer In The Village, she always had to top our tales with a boast of her own. Only mine and Claire’s, of course. She deplored the existence of “women’s” outerwear, and was proud that she bought hers from the men’s section. She mocked Claire for needing to check in with her teenage son on the phone. Had Jackie been forty years younger, you can bet there would have been pronouns.

“Back at the camp, Helga has changed back into his miniskirt, which he wears around the campfire while cooking.”

She wasn’t the only one to keep talking about herself. During the long drive to our destination, Helga spent less time telling us about the sights and scenery than about himself, his life and his achievements. Not his genitals, not yet—those conversations would wait until we were a genuinely captive audience. For the moment, there were enough nuggets dropped for me to piece together a picture of almost textbook autogynephilia—there was an ex-wife somewhere, and a child or two that he’d ditched to follow his fetish; an ultra-macho hobby and an obsession with how he was perceived. A litany of dull, dull boasts, me me me me me. I looked at the blonde ponytail coming out the back of his baseball cap. Dollars to donuts there was a bald patch under there. He never took the cap off.

Helga’s adventure-guide credentials clearly hadn’t prepared him for some of the less rugged aspects of guiding, such as knowing the itinerary, communicating unexpected changes, or remembering that we needed to eat. Instead of the central hotel and restaurant meal we’d expected for our first night, we were eventually dropped off late at a remote self-catering lodge, petrol-station hotdogs in hand, to ponder the events of the day. The five guests gathered in the corridor to chat before we turned in; all of us had been on small-group trips before, and this one was unusually amateurish. And Helga himself? Awkward silences, awkward platitudes. We’d all been on enough small-group trips to know that it was a bad idea to alienate your companions by spouting political opinions; we were diplomatic and guarded. This was no time for terfing. Tiptoeing around the trans question, we gave him much more leeway for his failures than we otherwise would have; there was an eggshell brittleness to the topic, and nobody wanted to put a foot wrong.

The organisational failures continued well into the next day, but it was with great relief that we were eventually issued with a tent each, and there was no question of anyone being asked to share. As we packed up the last of our equipment, Helga reappeared, brandishing a small plastic bottle with a large hole cut into the side. This, he explained, was his homemade she-wee. If you make one yourself, remember to sand down the edges, or you might get a nasty cut in an unfortunate place, haha! We nodded politely, really not wanting the mental images. Why was he telling us this?

To reinforce how convenient this device was, he wandered a few yards away, turned his back, and made use of it. We hadn’t even left the depot yet; there was a real toilet just indoors, and there he was, pissing out in the open, with a flimsy excuse that stretched “plausible deniability” to its breaking point.

“Was he taking advantage of our isolation and dependency and general British politeness to override our obvious discomfort with the subject?”

Several strenuous hours later, we’d reached our campsite—beautiful, wild, bleak, and utterly, utterly remote. In other words, we were now a captive audience. Helga ramped up the trans talk almost immediately, dropping in references to his castration wherever he could manage it. Often this took the form of jolly anecdotes that we were clearly expected to laugh along with.

“Some old men were complaining about how women make all the drama, but I told them that all the drama in me was taken away with my balls!”

“The first time I wore a drysuit after the operation, I forgot I no longer had a penis, and when I unzipped my fly to pee and went to grab it, there was nothing to grab!”

“After my operation, the doctor told me that in some cultures, trans people were considered to be almost gods!”

He approached Claire, walking alone on the beach, and told her how, as a teen, he’d hated his penis so much he almost cut it off with a knife. Uh, good for you, I guess? How do you even respond to something like that? Why should anyone have to?

Early in the Trump administration, commentators had exhorted us to keep hold of our expectations of “normal,” so we would see how far from normal things had become. This trip had started strange and become stranger; I had to dredge out my memories of other tour leaders to realize how abnormal this behavior was. 

No other tour guide I could think of would have so much as mentioned their genitalia, not even once. They wouldn’t have told us all about any other medical treatment in such detail. They wouldn’t have pissed in front of the group. Nothing about this was normal. And yet nobody was saying anything. I wasn’t saying anything. Did Helga move in circles, online or off, where this topic was so normalized as to have become regular small talk? Or was he taking advantage of our isolation and dependency and general British politeness to override our obvious discomfort with the subject? To override it and even enjoy causing it? I felt grubby, all the time.

Look at what’s in front of you, don’t be distracted by the glitter. You are trapped in the wilderness with a man who won’t stop talking about his penis. This is not good. This is not normal.

Day 3. Jackie has now become openly hostile towards Claire, with mean-girl behavior quite incongruous from a woman in her 60s. We find jellyfish washed up on the beach, which Claire deems rather upsetting and disgusting; Jackie picks one up and throws it at her, she and Helga squealing with laughter. And there it is again—dominance and power plays, using our discomfort to jostle for status and reinforce their own perceived superiority. Towards Helga, Jackie now affects a chummy gal-pal sycophancy, which Helga quite laps up. Except on the very frequent occasions when Jackie slips and calls him “he,” far more often than anyone else does, a hilarious Freudian slip which serves to illustrate which dynamic is really in play here.

Back at the camp, Helga has changed back into his miniskirt, which he wears around the campfire while cooking. The rest of us are still wearing the grubby hiking trousers and multiple woollen layers that we’ve been sleeping in for two nights. I can’t tell if he’s touched up his makeup again, but his performance of femininity still includes that peculiar expression that I noticed on the first day—a sort of wide-eyed, open-mouthed pout that is familiar from the many selfies and avatars I’ve seen in the trans regions of Twitter and Reddit. Is this what they think women look like? Do they think we also laugh alone at salad? He obviously missed the memo about how women don’t typically blow snot out of their noses into the bushes, or how we generally go behind a rock to piss. Even the men in the group go behind a rock to piss. Helga still just takes his she-wee a few yards away and turns his back.

In the evening, he gets us to watch the documentary he’d mentioned on the journey up. It’s on a small laptop screen, subtitled in English; we strain to read the captions. The adventurous scenery sections are thrilling and beautiful. The interspersed discussion of his life and his transition are not. In equal measure tawdry and uncomfortable, a string of family and friends pop up in well-worn talking-heads format to offer support, astonishment, bewilderment, praise, to a stirring stock-music soundtrack. It’s all very Lifestyle Channel.

“Do they think we also laugh alone at salad?”

I tick off my day-one assumptions as they are confirmed, one by one. Yep, there’s the bald patch. There’s the poor ex-wife, love-bombed into a quick marriage and then gaslit as he resumed his teenage obsessive crossdressing habit. The secret meetings with other crossdressing men. The eventual divorce, leaving her to raise their child—seems that his fantasies of womanhood didn’t include the boring babysitting parts. He was quite handsome as a man. No weird pout in those older shots. Onscreen, he complains bitterly about an extremely mild “misgendering” incident, and swears he will leave the country.

He wasn’t harassed in the incident, he wasn’t discriminated against, he wasn’t obstructed. He was merely observed to be male, and that was enough to provoke a tearful meltdown. As if we weren’t already walking on eggshells enough, monitoring our own language to avoid naming the obvious fact that we could all see! The sight of this burly man having an onscreen tantrum at his inability to control others’ perceptions… it was a reason to tread even more carefully.

Claire and I go to gather firewood; away from the group and out of earshot, she makes tentative reference to how strange this all is. I sense a proto-terf, let rip a full stream of gender-critical invective, and the relief is glorious. It’s like a touchstone for reality. She’s already been having her doubts about the ideology, and can recognize odd compulsive behavior from having a diagnosed OCD family member; we compare notes on the weirdness of the trip, and reassure each other that we are not imagining it, that our discomfort is merited, that this is really not normal. It was the trans widow in the documentary that really did it for her; we both feel for that poor woman.

Having a woman ally makes it so much more bearable, but also throws a harsh light on how we’re being used to validate the fetish of this penis-obsessed man. We vow to ditch the rest of the group as soon as we’re able and try to salvage some joy from this bizarre situation we’re currently trapped in.

“We’re being used to validate the fetish of this penis-obsessed man.”

On the final day, Claire and I manage to wangle a shortcut, and beat the group back to town by a few hours. In clean clothes at last, we find a restaurant, fill our faces with pizza and wine, and laugh, and laugh, and laugh. We spot Helga through the window, driving the minibus to a fast food place over the road, and we hide behind the curtains, peering at him through a gap, hoping he won’t spot us. Is he just getting hotdogs for the rest of the group again? No, he’s getting a kebab for himself, because he just seems to subsist on junk food and energy drinks. Where are the others? We don’t care. More wine please!

We befriend the waiter and a German documentary maker at the next table, and regale them with tales of how utterly strange our last few days have been. There are no taxis to take us back to the lodge, so the waiter flags down some boy-racer mates of his in a passing car, who give us a lift. They have a tampon dangling from the rear-view mirror. We stumble back to our rooms, still laughing.

The journey back to the capital is uneventful. Helga greets an old acquaintance at a gas station, and makes a point of telling us how they had previously met—apparently he had told her that he used to be a man (apropos of nothing?), and she had been ever so surprised, much to his delight. Cool story, bro. Just a couple more hours and we never have to hear about your penis ever again. At least this is one holiday where going home is less of a wrench than a relief.

Back home, I’m still walking on those eggshells. My friends hear a heavily redacted version of the tale, where Helga is merely a creepy bloke and an incompetent tour guide. The power of pronouns becomes very apparent—consider the vastly different threat perceptions between “she kept talking about her genitals” and “he kept talking about his.” My friends are in the “be kind” camp, and would have attempted the mental gymnastics to frame this as a strange but harmless woman.

“But what did he say about his penis, exactly?”

“Oh, you know, just finding excuses to mention it all the time…”

I think about how we feminists are popularly assumed to hate trans people, to treat them far worse than we would “cis” men. And yet here I am, playing down my deeply uncomfortable experience, hiding Helga’s trans status in my anecdotes, and watching an entire tour group allow him to get away with dangerously unprofessional behavior on that basis. Even when I wrote a complaint to the company, the penis-talk was only a footnote beside his other incompetencies, rather than the front-and-centre issue it would have been from a regular man.

I think about Grace Lavery, about Owen Hurcum—these men who spend a vastly disproportionate time talking about their parts. I think about the power dynamic, of how Helga used us as a captive audience to talk about and demonstrate his castration fetish, ostentatiously brandishing that she-wee. I think about Jackie, cosying up to the man with the power and pretending to validate his delusions to gain a share of that status for herself. I think about the pall this cast on my first holiday since a year and a half of lockdowns. But mostly I think about how Claire and I escaped, our drunken pizza escapades, and the joy of making a female-only space to laugh about the whole ridiculous business.

4W provides paid writing work for over 50 women in countries spanning the globe. This work is made possible thanks to your support on Patreon.

I think I would rather live through an episode of “These Woods are Haunted” than this. Cheap shots aside how many articles like this have to be written before gender cult allies accept that people don’t hit peak trans because J K Rowling said sex is real. We hit peak trans because we see this behavior in trans people in person and the community doesn’t want to acknowledge that they have a problem from within.

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