#lesbians who festival

[hailieshapedbox]

win 3 day tickets to Miami Beach Pride next month. $600 towards travel too

[ethereallygay]

Tbh I think this is pretty hot of me

[breathe-rainbow]

❄️ feeling festive 🌈

[heyitscreeofficial]

my outfit for Cannes

[mmmkayla]

2023: My First Pride! 🏳️‍🌈

[nightly-ruse]

I have been puzzling over how to represent and show characters sexualities and gender identities in the bands. And finally found it in a spring of inspiration

So the bands have festivals twice a month and meetings four times a month. For festivals when all cats come together those who have found their identity will wear corresponding colors in a certain way to showcase this and “come out” in a way without making it uncomfortable. Here’s how they work:

Sexuality’s are depicted by necklaces which a cat will decorate with specific colors. A cat can have multiple necklaces like a aro necklace and bisexual necklace to show their feelings. This connects to their heart, as it hangs over their chest. Made from feathers, flowers, leaves, painted stones, painted bones, fish scales, or even glass if they are from the Coast.

Gender identity is expressed in a more complex system. A band, bracelet or crown is crafted and positioned in a way that corresponds with how a cat would like to be addressed. A crown on their head represents them wanting to be perceived more feminine, bands on their tails represents them wanting to be perceived more masculine, and bracelets on their legs represents them wanting to be seen as more neutral or androgynous. These bands can have the colors of any identity like trans, non-binary, agender, genderfluid, whatever!

I’ve also decided my cats have hrt bc I can. So those who want to transition can. All remedies were discovered by a few plant focused cats and have been built upon for a long time. I debated a lot on whether I would or not but yknow what? It’s my world I can do whatever I want and I say give them hormones! I just did a few random designs with the system and I really like how they all came out!

[if-you-forget-me]

Philly pride 🏳️‍🌈

[king-charlie]

Just a Look back at LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL in LAS VEGAS I LEGIT HAD A BLAST!! 

If you’ve never been, you should add it to your bucket list forsure! definitely going again next year!!

[babybluebanshee]

So I finally got my water heater replaced after more than half a year of it leaking and nearly destroying my floor, but that's not the story. The story is of the handyman that installed it.

Dude's name is Chris, and he's your typically midwestern schlub - friendly, apologizes too much, really likes the Cardinals, maybe a little younger than my parents. Hella nice tho, gets the heater installed quickly, and even offers to fix the floorboards it warped (after nearly tripping over the hump it made in the floor twice). Overall, a stress-free experience.

Then, as he's gathering up his tools - "So, I noticed your, uh, banner. Over your bed."*

*(The closet where my water heater is is located in my bedroom because I live in a mobile home, dude wasn't just wandering creepily into my bedroom)

He's referring to a giant pride flag that's hanging over my bed, with the words "Sounds gay, I'm in"

My anxiety spikes instantaneously, thinking oh christ I'm about to get hatecrimed or at least microaggressioned.

But then he says "Yeah, my daughter is gay, and I was wondering, like...where do you guys, ya know, meet up?"

What.

"Because she met her most recent girlfriend when she was in jail, and I keep asking why she doesn't just find a nice lesbian librarian or something and she said 'dad I know they're out there, I just don't know where'. So...like...where do you?"

So I ended up confessing to this nice man who installed my water heater that I don't know of any real gay culture in our mostly Baptist Missouri town of about 18,000 that routinely freaks out over pride displays in the library (I'm sure it exists but I'm lazy and haven't gone looking for it). My girlfriend lives in an area with a rather bustling gay community (we just did a face painting booth for their pride festival a few weeks ago), so maybe have her go out there with some friends, and also a lot of queers I know play dnd so maybe find a nice group of them and network. I then apologized that I wasn't more helpful in getting his daughter settled with a nice, wholesome dyke.

On the plus side, he was not deterred at all, and seemed to be very interested in the fact dnd was so popular amongst the el gee bee tees. I told him the names of some dms I know and told him to go to town. I do not know if the names will be given to his daughter or hoarded for himself so he can join a group and play like he did when he was a teenager and not be called satanic for it.

He's coming to fix my floor next week.

[every-aj-needs-an-angel]

Okay this one's been stuck in my head all day but I have absolutely time to write it so please share this vision with me

Try as they might, Steve and Robin couldn't get tickets to Chrissy Cunningham's arena tour, but they could get tickets to a festival she was playing.

The last thing Steve ever wanted to do was go and stand in a muddy field for sixteen hours while they waited for the headline act. But he was pretty sure Robin was in love with her favourite musician, and he wasn't about to deny his best friend a chance at love.

So he helped her make personalised t-shirts because honestly all the other bands in the line-up kinda sounded like they sucked.

His read, "Only Here for Chrissy" on the front and "I'm Steve" on the back and Robin's read "Chrissy, Will You Be My Girlfriend?" on the front and "If Lost, Please Return To Steve" on the back.

And it turned out, as they stood against the barrier in a not so muddy field, on a lovely, warm, but overcast, May day, that even bands that sucked could be fun. Even if it was only because they spent their day with earplugs in, so their eardrums wouldn't combust, bitching about each artist's lack of ability to put notes or an outfit together.

During the lunchtime intermission, the pair made friends with the lesbian couple next to them, Kayla and Jess, who were also eagerly awaiting Chrissy's set and similarly liked to mock those who committed crimes against sound and fashion. Steve was glad to have met them, they were really nice, and he felt better about leaving her to use the bathroom or to fetch food, knowing Robin was in safe hands.

He also felt better about letting her wander off, not that it stopped him from stressing out when she and Kayla had been missing for over fifteen minutes. He spread himself out to keep their places against the railing with his back to the stage, watching the crowd intently. Jess wasn't quite as chatty once they were alone, but she seemed content enough, bobbing along to the band that'd appeared on the stage.

Steve didn't turn back around to face the stage until he spotted the girls heading back towards them, he gave them a wave and turned around to look at the guys who hadn't been attempting to destroy anyone's hearing and was met with the face of the most gorgeous man he'd ever seen. Pretty face, long curly hair tied up in a bun, muscle tee showing off his many tattoos, piercings and chains and glittery Docs; Steve felt himself owl blink and blush.

God's gift to mankind was kneeling centre stage, guitar in hand making the most beautiful sounds Steve had ever heard as his fingers flew over the strings, and it was only when the rest of the band kicked back in that the man looked up, winked directly at Steve, and then jumped back to his feet, spending the rest of the song bouncing around the stage.

Steve only realised his mouth was agape when Robin finally arrived next to him and elbowed him hard in the ribs, giving him the same look she did whenever he was embarrassing in the club. He watched the rest of the Corroded Coffin, according to the backdrop, set in awe. Screaming and clapping along when they wished everyone a great day, throwing picks and drumsticks into the crowd and taking a bow; patting each other on the back as they wandered offstage.

As soon as it was quiet again, Robin wanted to know what the hell was wrong with his face and honestly, he couldn't answer her. He didn't even believe in love, not for himself at least, and he certainly didn't believe in love at first sight. It didn't stop him from spending the next couple of hours watching the faces at the sides of the stage, hoping to catch a glimpse of his new favourite guitarist, though.

As soon as Chrissy hit the stage, Steve got lost, between filming the set and watching Robin trying not to hyperventilate when Chrissy spotted her t-shirt, pointed to her, and giving her a coy little wink, blew her a kiss.

"An old school friend is here with me tonight, and I'd like him to help me out with this next track. Especially for the beauty in the front row, this is Girlfriend!"

The crowd went wild as the beat kicked in, but Steve was still watching Robin because it looked like she'd stopped breathing altogether. That was until she gasped loudly and started smacking Steve in the way she always did whenever she got overly excited; pointing wildly at the stage, and it was only when he looked over he saw Corroded Coffins guitarist bouncing up and down next to Chrissy.

Instead of the black muscle vest and skinny jeans he'd been sporting earlier in the day, he had changed into pale blue board shorts and a baggy white t-shirt that read "Hey Steve!" written in black sharpie with a giant winking smiley face underneath that could only really be seen when he swung his guitar around his back to copy Chrissy's dance moves.

The song ended, and the friends hugged, Chrissy waving him off the stage and calling out, "Eddie Munson everybody!" letting the crowd go wild for her friend before launching into the rest of her set.

By the time Chrissy had actually left the stage, Robin looked exhausted, having screamed and sung and danced herself out. They hung around a bit, said goodbye to Kayla and Jess, wishing them a safe journey home, and they were just taking one last look at the now empty stage when he heard someone yell his name...

[sldlovescartoons]

Some Professor Widogast thoughts:

So, you know about how weird it is to see a teacher outside of a school setting? That’d definitely be a thing with the Academy students, but at least for most of the Professors it was at normal places like the market or at Balls or whatever. Not Caleb, though, or well yess also then but also other times.

Like you’re a fancy rich kid, you go to fancy wizard school, and you’re doing a rebellion by sneaking out to this underground club with these crazy new age bards and a bar and a fight ring. You feel so badass and then you get there and your Transmutation 101 teacher is there, drunk, getting playfully grinded on the left and right by a purple tiefling and a married halfling that’s husband is dancing on her- and you just leave. Just right away. You don’t even have time to notice Expositor Lionnet trying to get to second base with her wife right behind them.

One student is from a prominent land owner in the Zemni Fields, their family goes to Blumnethal’s festivals to set up stands to sell wares and have a good time. They go to a fight pit that they hear is really cool, they have a keg stand and everything, and they get there and their teacher who’s pushing 40 and teaches their ‘Advanced Components 205’ every Wednesday is doing a keg stand, being held upside down by a blue tiefling and a half orc dressed like they stepped out of smut book with a sea theme, while two scary looking lesbians and and Halfling in sundress cheer him on. And when they let him down, the whole group immediately jumps into the fighting ring and destroy the competition even though the Halfling looks like they are too drunk to see and none of them are in decent gear. The group gets bored right away, start a three way shoulder war/chicken fight, which goes to hell right way because they all try to cheat. The Monk has their Professor in some sort of leg lock when the student’s father drags them out.

A student’s family goes on summer vacation to Nicodranas. To their horror, they find out that Professor Widogast and his friends don’t believe in bathing suits when they go to the beach.

The best part? Everytime something like this happens, nobody believes it.

[literarylondonhq]

Ed Fringe 2022. The very start!

Nick Hennegan’s VERY rough Bohemian guide to the Edinburgh Festival Fringe, 2022. starts here. With Dr Who and a lesbian breakup.

Nick Hennegan’s VERY rough Bohemian guide to the Edinburgh Festival Fringe, 2022 starts here. With Dr Who and a lesbian breakup. I’m sitting in the Brass Monkey Pub, on Drummond Street in Edinburgh. And my first week at the Edinburgh Fringe is almost up.  I had a comfortable train journey up from King’s Cross in London on Monday. I actually have a numbered seat for both directions, which I…

[smuttysabina]

Drunk on Love With Dreamcatcher

(Male Reader x Dreamcatcher, 5.2k Words) Tags: Group sex, Multiple sex partners, Everyone gets some, Everyone is also sloppy drunk, Dear lord these girls can drink, Don't worry though, they would fuck you even if they were sober, Also rampant lesbianism, Oh yeah, the girls are getting it on too, Multiple positions, Not enough hydration, Remember kids, drinking is bad!

The lovely ladies of Dreamcatcher chatter and giggle as they sit around you, teasing and gossiping as they guzzle their potent drinks. Flanked by a gregarious Jiu and Siyeon, you tentatively sip at your own wine, as the seven idols mostly ignore you as they grow ever more sleazy and boisterous as the night goes on. The girls cuddle and tickle one another, jostling against you as they spasm and laugh at each other's rough horseplay; even the introverts of the bunch start to join in the fun as well! All the while your own glass slowly empties, whilst Dreamcatcher's are drained repeatedly, burning through bottles of beer, wine, soju, and even harder options. You stare forlornly at your crotch, hoping the girls you love so much will not notice the undying bulge in your pants. Then suddenly Yoohyeon's tits are out, as she yanks her shirt up to reveal her perky breasts and wiggles them enticingly at the other girls who howl and cheer in encouragement. The protrusion in your pants only grows more painfully large, how did a poor Insomnia like you end up in this delicious hell?

You had been overjoyed after winning the contest at the meet and greet, one lucky Dreamcatcher fan would get to celebrate the girl's seventh anniversary as a group with them, and that fortuitous fan had been you. So after a tortuous week that seemed to drag on for eternity, you had been allowed entry into the hallowed Dreamcatcher Company building. Led up the stairs to their living room, the girls had arrayed themselves around a U-shaped couch there and greeted you cheerfully. Bubbly Yoohyeon, troublesome Handong, mischievous Sua, bratty Gahyeon, aloof Dami, sultry Siyeon, and kindly Jiu; all of them beaming and waving for you to join them. The table before the Dreamies is covered with alcohol, glasses, and snacks, there is barely enough room to contain the sprawling cityscape of glass. You greet each girl in turn, bowing and shaking their hand before you squeeze in on the edge between Jiu and SIyeon, who smile reassuringly at you. A staff member takes several photos of you with them, as the girls pose in silly or sexy ways for the countless fans who were unable to join them for this event while you sit there with rigid awkwardness. Then the staff bow themselves out of the room, but leave a camera to live stream the festivities. Which go about as you might expect, Dreamcatcher modestly drinking as they joke and chat with their fans on the live stream, politely including you in the conversation when needed but mostly leaving to your own devices as a prop for their fans to project onto. After about an hour of stressful boredom, the girls wave goodbye to the camera and turn off the stream; it's time for the real celebration to begin.

Away from the judgmental eyes of the public, Dreamcatcher is able to let loose in a manner that seems altogether familiar to them. The girls throw back their drinks as if it were water, with Sua and Gahyeon especially keen on drowning themselves in alcohol. Now their banter is far more ribald and lewd, with so many innuendos and inside jokes you are unable to understand half of what they are talking about. Jiu nicely tries to keep you engaged, but as the bedlam continues she soon ends up mostly neglecting you once more; Siyeon didn't even bother chatting with you much aside from some humorous flirting. But as the night wears on, the girls grow ever more lascivious in their touch and games, with the lightweights of the group becoming flushed and indecent in their mannerisms. Handong, sprawled against Sua, dares Yoohyeon to flash her tits; and that was how you found yourself goggling at Yoohyeon's boobs as she shakes them about to the jeers and laughter of her friends. Your boner straining the fabric of your pants.

Sua lurches upright and latches onto Yoohyeon's breasts, groping them lewdly before sliding her hands down her toned abs to Yooh's perky ass; who moans outrageously at the other idol's attentions. The other girls titter and cheer at the pair's antics, and soon Handong, who was forced backward from Sua's rushing body, takes her own revenge and mauls Sua's vulnerable ass in turn. The triplet then collapse back onto the couch in a flurry of squeals, accidentally bumping into Gahyeon who squawks loudly in protest as her beer sloshes out onto her lap. She slaps at the squirming mass of idol flesh in protest, before standing up in indignation as she notices the size of the stain on her pants. Huffing in annoyance, she strips off her pants and underwear and tosses them aside before plopping back down again and refilling her glass. Your jaw drops at this casual stripping, Gahyeon's smooth pussy had been an arms length away from your face, and the rest of Dreamcatcher had hardly even blinked. Dami though seemed to have noticed, as her hand starts to stroke against the maknae's exposed thigh, causing her to roll her eyes and playfully drive her off with loud kisses. Meanwhile the chaotic three seemed to have devolved into an extremely sloppy make-out session, as clothes were tossed aside with careless abandon. Soon the other girls were pulling their outfits off as well, and before your brain can fully process the fact you are surrounded by seven fully naked idols; leaving you the only one covered.

Eventually the cuddle puddle at the other end of the couch dissolves, and Dreamcatcher return to their drinking and joking, though now with a blatantly sexual tone overlaying their conversations. You continue to nurse your single glass, still unable to believe that your favorite idols were completely nude, bodies on fully display for you to feast your eyes upon. Gradually however, you started to notice that someone else was watching the girls as avidly as you, and was reacting in about the same way. Dami was surreptitiously playing with herself, her face becoming ever more flushed as she grows quiet and withdrawn; focused upon her own pleasure. Not that her masturbation session goes unnoticed, evidently this was a common occurrence at Dreamcatcher parties because Siyeon and Gahyeon start to kiss and suck on her neck. They fondle Dami's breasts and stroke her quivering thighs, naughtily whispering encouragement to her as she approaches her climax. Dami groans huskily as she spasms, her pussy emitting a wet sloshing noise as she fingers her drooling hole. The other Dreamies cheer at the sight, lewdly touching themselves to spur her on to yet another orgasm which leaves Dami shuddering with delight. Gahyeon turns away from the spasming pervert and is soon locked in an intense kiss with Handong, who wastes no time in working the maknae's breasts like udders. Meanwhile Siyeon had returned to her original position next to you, though she was now far closer than before, as was Jiu. The pair's hands covertly find their ways onto your thighs, staring at the other girls as they roam your legs. Jiu suddenly beams and looks at you as her fingers curl around your cock, her gentle eyebrows raised in mock surprise.

Then a hand turns your head and your lips are forced against Siyeon's as she lets out a sultry growl, leaving Jiu to haul your pants down and unveiling your erection. Her gentle fingers are soon wrapped around your manhood as she slowly strokes it, kissing your neck as she awaits her turn. You moan as Siyeon expertly devours you, her tongue roaming your mouth and hungrily pressing against your own; the combined stimulation enough to make your cock leak. Siyeon breaks things off with an intense stare before turning your head back to Jiu who greets you with a much more gentle kiss. Siyeon's hand joins Jiu's, and they stroke you together, taking turns to ravish your mouth until your head is spinning with desire. At one point they both get up to smother your face with their modest breasts, squishing and rubbing them against you, they laugh when you start to lick and kiss their flesh; patting your head affectionately. Eventually Siyeon breaks things off, and descends upon your upraised cock, taking it in her warm mouth. Your hips buck as she skillfully sucks you off, her tongue dancing along your shaft while she easily takes your length down her throat. Jiu leans back to enjoy the show, slowly rubbing at her pussy and allowing you to take stock of the rest of the girls. Gahyeon and Sua are doing shots together, while the lightweights Handong and Yoohyeon and blearily fingering one another as Dami takes her turn sucking on their perky tits. Gahyeon burps loudly as she spots you watching, before fixing you with a desirous stare and squeezing her breasts together pointedly. Sua notices her drinking partner's distraction, and joins in the fun, bending over seductively and spreading her cheeks so you can see her glistening folds.

Your balls are only beginning to pulsate from the overstimulating sight before, but Siyeon pulls off immediately, grandly declaring that your first load should go in their leader's pussy. The rest of Dreamcatcher howl their agreement, as Jiu scoots over and sits on your lap, your member bending up against her soggy slit. She grinds on you a little bit, before sitting up and smoothly mounting you, slowly sliding your manhood inside of the warm confines of her pussy. The Dreamies clap and shout encouragement, though your view is mostly blocked by Jiu's toned back so you are spared the more titillating visual support the girls were offering. Then Jiu lets out a soft gasp, and soon the room is filled with gales of laughter as the girls immediately recognize what had taken place, you were already cumming inside of her! You groan in embarrassment as your overexcited cock erupts into the idol's exquisitely tight hole, your sack pulsating as it desperately seeks to impregnate the goddess atop you. Jiu gently rides out your orgasm, allowing your seed to drain into her completely before unmounting and swiftly giving you a reassuring kiss. She pats your cheek, smiling kindly before moving away and is replaced by a giggling Sua and Yoohyeon. The pair have their arms wrapped around one another's' waists as they sashay up to you, smirking down at your shrinking member. Behind this captivating sight, Siyeon has a beer bottle shoved up her cunt, and is sloppily feeding a pouting Gayheon from it; while Handong is getting her ass eaten by an extremely drunk Dami.

You don't have time to watch the unfolding scene however, as Sua and Yooh lean down to peck your cheeks, before turning around and giving your eyes a health helping of their own. They bend over together, their pussies scandalously in full view, with Yoohyeon's butt noticeably perkier than her companion's, but Sua's cunt was far wetter. The pair sit on your lap, squishing your softening cock between their asses, sensuously grinding their dripping pussies along your thighs as they raise their arms gracefully. Then they start to dance, at first working together, their butts sliding against each other as much as your own body, seductively stroking one another as they move. Sua goes first, her tinier cheeks edging aside Yooh's and giving her enough space to give you a proper lap dance, her hips flying up and down in front of you and tantalizingly brushing her sex against your now hardening dick. She does the splits, forcing her pussy out even more until her slit is wrapping around your bulging erection, bouncing minutely to rub your cock with her sloppy pussy lips. Yoohyeon cheers in delight at the sight, slapping her friend's butt to spur her on as she rubs her back. Sua howls in protest at this sudden reversal, usually she was the one squeezing butts, and snaps her legs together before toppling to the side, leaving you clear for Yoohyeon to take her turn. Unlike Sua's excessive acrobatics, Yooh simply grinds on your dick, using her perky cheeks to stimulate your cock as she rubs up and down your length. Sua soon rejoins the fray however, chugging a glass of champagne before messily kissing Yooh, and pinching her erect nipples. The two moan as their embrace grows more passionate and the Yooh stops bothering to move and focuses solely upon Sua.

They only stop when you grasp Yoohyeon's hips and start to move her yourself, desperate for more sensation. The pair break off and giggle with feigned shock at your boldness, they were pleased to see you taking a more active role! So Yooh bends over the table wiggling her but enticingly before the much smaller Sua nimbly places herself on top of the other idol, their asses now stacked atop each other. Standing up, the pair look back at you as you rub your cock against their slits, relishing in the soft wetness of their lower lips. Sua has had enough teasing however, and loudly urges you to mount them already; but who to fuck first. Closing your eyes, you blindly thrust forward, meeting some resistance before plunging upwards and causing Sua to groan in triumph. Yoohyeon pouts as you plow Sua, slamming yourself into her painfully tight pussy and making it drool down your balls. With unimaginable effort you manage to pull out of Sua, who sighs in disappointment as you try out Yoohyeon's hole this time. Her bubble butt felt far more enjoyable slapping against your crotch than Sua's toned cheeks, even if Yooh's pussy was looser than the other idol's. You pump inside Yooh's pussy for a time, before Sua's blandishments convince you to return to her narrow hole. So you take your time, swapping between the two whenever you feel close to finishing, prolonging the situation for as long as possible before you have to cum. Gahyeon and Handong join you in the meantime, pressing their bodies against your sides as they give you lewd advice on how best to fuck the girls bent before you. Their breasts squish against your sweaty flesh, Gahyeon's prodigious bust in particular distracting you greatly as you pound Sua and Yooh's cunts. The stimulation was all too much now, and you groan unabashedly as your seed spews first into Sua's hole, before you pull out and slam your spurting cock into Yoohyeon's, creampieing both of their sopping pussies.

The pair croon in exaggerated amazement as they feel your warmth fill them, smugly wriggling their butts when you pull out as if mocking you for unloading so much semen inside of them. Then Handong is on her knees, sucking your cock clean as her fingers grope your sore balls; while Gahyeon pulls you down into a deep kiss. Sua and Yoohyeon scurry away, as Handong's head bobs in front of your crotch, and Gahyeon guides your hands to her impressive chest. She leans back to allow you enjoy yourself thoroughly, reaching over to grab a bottle of whiskey, as she teasingly purses her puffy lips. Gahyeon hops up onto the couch, shoving her weighty breasts into your face and uncorking the bottle. Licking her lips, she urges you to drink up as with lasciviously sloth she pours the alcohol down her tits, making you lap it up as the amber beads roll down her skin. The sensual moment is broken when Handong morosely protests from below, tugging on your flaccid cock in annoyance, get it up again already. Piqued, Gahyeon in turn starts yelling down at the other idol, who seems far from sober and more than happy to get into a screaming contest with the loudest idol of the Dreamcatcher. Luckily for the sake of your hearing, reinforcements arrive to soothe the squabbling pair, as Jiu and Sua drag the pair away, leaving you bleary from the sudden intake of alcohol as well as the absence of comforting heat. You blink away your confusion and notice Dami sprawled nearby, watching you with the quiet fixation of those truly drunk. She gestures vaguely towards the center table, now reduced to an unsightly mess, waggling her hand to guide you towards whatever object she seemed so interested in. You maneuver around Siyeon and Yoohyeon, the latter's lips locked tight around the former's cunt, greedily gorging upon her hole like a starving beast as Siyeon groans and holds her close. Eventually you find what Dami seemed to want, a small purple bottle with the Twice symbol curiously stamped upon it.

Dami sluggishly smiles as you had her the bottle, uncorking it with some difficulty before chugging a measure of it. She pauses, before her pupils suddenly dilate and she breathes heavily for a few seconds before calming once more. Her eyes have changed however, now they gleamed with feral sharpness as she lithely sits up and yanks you down onto the cushions with her. Dami lets out a chuckle at your surprise, her off hand snapping out and grasping your softened member, while she dangles the purple bottle proactively. Noting your confusion, she sighs huskily and explains somewhat unsteadily that it was aphrodisiac, and if you wanted some well... Dami was in the mood for some fun. You readily agree to her terms, one gorgeous goddess was better than none, considering the current state of you manhood. Dami grabs a glass and carefully measures out a small portion for you, before guiding it to your lips for you. You drink the oddly sweet liquid, and cock your head at the idol, wasn't this supposed to do something? She rolls her eyes at your impatience, and resumes fondling your genitals with aplomb until you feel a sudden burning spreading from your stomach to your crotch. You groan as your cock grinds upwards until you are staggeringly erect, your brains succumbing to the sweltering sensation wracking your body. Dami's lips part with anticipation as you fill her hand with throbbing meat, she leans back and spreads her legs for you; well?

In a flash you are ravishing Dami, your cock buried fully within her pussy before you could conjure the thought to do so. You rut like an animal, snorting and grunting as you pump between her lithe thighs, forcing her legs back until you are mating pressing her with abandon. Dami for her part responds in kind, the aphrodisiac mixing dangerously with the alcohol. leaving her lethargic yet still possessing some of the sadism she reserves for male fans. Her nail rake your back, she gnaws at your neck, she hoarsely hisses foul imprecations in your ears as you fuck her; all of which drives you further into a mating frenzy. You can dimly register baying laughter and raucous encouragement coming from nearby, but you are unable to focus upon it as your brain melts until it is solely fixated on breeding Dami. So it is to little surprise that you do, howling as your seed pours into her sopping wet cunt, your balls aching as they spend themselves inside of Dami. Who moans as you inseminate her, shuddering as she climaxes from the sheer pleasure of getting bred by a filthy man like you. The fog roiling your mind seems to drain away with your semen, leaving you cognizant, yet still undeniably aroused. When you gather your wits enough to glance down to see how Dami is faring, you find that she is already fast asleep, snoring even as her pussy burps your load out onto the couch.

You turn to find yourself presented with the surprising sight of an upraised ass, it's owners head buried in a trash can and blubbering in torment. Yoohyeon and Siyeon lounge nearby, both of them now thoroughly flushed from both their sex, as well as the alcohol, taking turns languidly slapping the unknown butt. They nod encouragingly as you step closer, blithely urging you to mount the idol, even as you hesitate. Then Handong's head pops out of the trashcan, and she groggily demands you fuck her asshole, slurring as she happily welcomes you inside of her. Siyeon and Yooh chortle at this, obviously used to Handong's eccentricities, and you are further fortified as Jiu joins the pair and endorses the plan; just stick it in her butt already! So you do, pressing your slick cock against the surprisingly unresisting anus, sliding into the stuffy heat of Handong's asshole. Her moans reverberate out of the can as you start to thrust, moving slowly so as to not hurt her more sensitive hole. The trio watching you copulate with their fellow member, pass commentary on your technique as they pour out yet another round of drinks, liberally drinking as they masturbate to the sight of you fucking Handong's butt. Then a familiar softness squishes against your chest, and the reek of whiskey tickles your nose, as Gahyeon presses herself against your back; and whispers slyly to be rougher with her roommate. Unconsciously, your pace increases, causing Handong to grow even louder, her slit now slick enough to wet your balls when they slap against it. She whimpers, less from the pain of having her ass violated and more from the colossal headache she is currently enduring. Finally though, Handong lets out a weak shiver, before going limp as she passes out, her asshole losing any semblance of tightness as her consciousness fades.

The awake members of Dreamcatcher cheer as they drag Handong's head out of the trashcan and lay her on her side, letting her sleep off the alcohol coursing through her veins. Not that your erection had gone unnoticed however, Siyeon and Yoohyeon had staggered back to you and were already fondling it playfully. This time Yoohyeon is the one to take you in her mouth, sucking you enthusiastically as Siyeon toys with your nipples and makes you grope her perky breasts. Gahyeon pouts jealously from next to Jiu and Sua, but her elders are soon soothing her by suckling upon her swaying breasts and fingering her skillfully. Siyeon forces your head back to look at her as she kisses you as lustfully as before, except this time she means to seal the deal. She pushes you back onto the couch, causing Yoohyeon to let out a gasp of inebriated confusion as your cock suddenly flies out of her mouth. Siyeon bites her plump lip as she clambers atop you, rubbing your tip against the soaking folds of her pussy as she prepares to mount you. With a drawn out groan she shoves your now bulbous manhood into her greedy cunt, relishing every inch that slides inside of her. Yoohyeon meanwhile staggers over and starts to grope and kiss Siyeon, playing with her clit as her fellow idol awkwardly attempts to ride you while bearing Yooh's weight. So she settles for a more primal grinding, which was less satisfying than a rough pounding, but still hit her sensitive spots quite nicely. The constant rocking seems to be getting to Yooh however, as her stomach sloshes its contents around precariously until she finally unlatches herself from Siyeon and collapses backwards with a nauseated groan. Which frees up Siyeon for the final stretch as she unleashes her pent up lust upon your cock, twerking and bouncing wildly as she approaches climax. She moans sweetly as her pussy convulses, her folds clenching tight around your manhood and causing it to join her in orgasming, unloading your turgid sperm into the idol. She blows kisses at you as your seed leaks slowly out of her cunt, slowly rocking her hips in the afterglow of sex before gingerly unimpaling herself. Siyeon curls up next to the now resting Yoohyeon, cheerfully uncaring of the mess her sloppy pussy was making on the couch, and promptly joins her cuddle buddy in sleep.

Which leaves the Mom and Dad of Dreamcatcher, as well as their most tumultuous Daughter. Jiu and Sua though appear content to simply lay back and finger one another however, passionately embracing as their perky breasts press together. Gahyeon on the other hand... Gahyeon had been glaring lustfully at you the entire night, and now she could finally slake herself upon you. Gahyeon drains the tankard of beer with a single gulp before sauntering towards you, her face flushed from more than just the massive amount of alcohol she had consumed. Her nipples were fully engorged, her skin slick with sweat and fluids, her pert lips pouting provocatively, her hips swaying seductively as she approaches, her lower lips swollen with desire. Gahyeon doesn't even need to say anything, growling with desire as she forcefully kisses you before getting on her knees before your still undiminished erection. She nuzzles against your hardon, still sticky with Siyeon's cunt juices, as she licks your ventral shaft from root to tip, cleaning it with her tongue. You hump needily against her face, your cock desperate for a hole, causing Gahyeon to smirk knowingly; so she takes you in her mouth. What starts as a sultry blowjob swiftly descends into a furious face-fucking as you treat her throat like it was her pussy, relentlessly fucking it until your balls feel fit to explode. Gahyeon's eyes tear up as she gags and chokes, even an idol as experienced as her unable to breath with the ferocious pace you were setting. Then you suddenly pull out, stroking furiously as she instinctively opens her mouth and unrolls her pink tongue for you to aim at. You groan as thick reams of cum slop out onto Gahyeon's face, your tip pressing against her tongue as the thicker loads leak down into her waiting mouth. She swallows it all of course, before presenting you with her empty maw as proof that she had not wasted a single drop, even as her face remains painted with your seed.

Your head snaps up as Sua cheers your performance, gaily waving a bottle of wine as her fingers churn up her asshole. Jiu now fast asleep next to her. Gahyeon preens at her senior's praise, chugging a bottle of vodka as she leans back and presents you with her chest, with what she had been teasing you with all night long. Her massive breasts wobble precariously as you hesitantly reach over to touch them, shyly at first, but soon you are lustily groping those fatty spheres. Gahyeon gives you a perversely demure look as you maul her tits, her own hands busy at work between her squatting thighs. When you bring your throbbing erection closer however, she smugly takes over for you, squishing her breasts together to form a fleshy cavern for you to fill; spit dribbling down to lubricate her already slick skin. Moaning, you mount Gahyeon's cleavage, your cock swallowed up almost completely by her boobs as you pump between them; your bright red cock head peeking out during your deepest thrusts. She nods frantically, urging you to plow her fat fucking tits as hard as you can, to defile them with your thick cum, to use her body for your own pleasure. With such salacious words in your ears, your balls quickly rise to the occasion, and soon sloppy globs of cum are fountaining up over her rosy breasts, filling her cleavage with sticky fluid as you empty yourself between her boobs. Panting, Gahyeon falls back onto her knees and cleans you off, her cheeks hollowing as she slurps your cock back to its original length.

Gahyeon leaps to her feet, and hops back onto the table, scattering empty bottles as she opens her legs for you in wordless need. You rub your tip through her sopping folds, her slit beyond soaking as it gushes onto your cockhead. She whines in annoyance at your teasing, her legs snapping around your waist and pulling you against her, desperate for your manhood. You both groan as you finally push into her warmth, her pussy gluttonously devouring every inch of your rigid cock. Her legs quiver as she orgasms from this initial thrust, so pent up with arousal that she is unable to contain herself once you are finally within her. So you plow Gahyeon's dripping cunt, violently rocking the table as your sweaty bodies slap together, with the idol exhorting you go fuck her harder and faster. Her arms curl around your neck, your foreheads pressing together as you lock eyes, unable to look away from one another. Gahyeon lets out another deep moan, as once more her pussy spasms around your dick, holding you tight as yet more of her juices leak out onto the table. Trembling, you slowly pull out of her pussy, releasing a gush fluids from the idol's gaping hole, your cock now as messy as it had been before she cleaned it. You haul her off of the table, as Gahyeon gives you a bemused look before you turn her around and bend her over it instead, you want to go deeper. She gasps loudly as you mount her from behind, the staccato clap of her ass hitting your crotch reverberating around the room as you pound away. She claws and grasps at the table as you go into a frenzy, your lust as fired as it had been with Dami, plowing her so hard her voice becomes shrill and piercing. You spank Gahyeon's already ripe-colored cheeks until they burn bright red, clenching tight around her nubile waist to hold her steady as you violate the depths of her hole. Your strokes gradually begin to slow, becoming harder and deeper, causing Gahyeon to harshly shriek for your seed; the idol's brain gone blurry in her need for sexual gratification. Her folds grip your cock like a vice, making every movement painfully enjoyable, forcing you to stay deep inside of her as your sore balls pulsate once more. Gahyeon howls as your semen sputters into her fertile cunt, her own cries easily drowning out your own as she screeches in triumphal pleasure as her pussy is at last doused with cum.

You stagger backwards, followed by Gahyeon who unsteadily wobbles to the couch and collapses next to Siyeon, exhausted from both the sex as well as the alcohol. And you are much inclined to join her, but loud applause comes from the other side of the couch, as Sua cackles with delight from the show you had put on. Though it seems as if the idol herself had been engaged in a performance of her own, judging by the wine bottle currently buried halfway up her ass. You trudge around the table to crumple down next to Sua, who greets you cheerfully enough, though she does seem a touch disappointed as she fondles your now flaccid cock. She congratulates you for cumming inside all of Dreamcatcher, even if you needed a little chemical help to do so. She pulls your head onto her modest breasts, soothingly rubbing it as she woos you to sleep; just rest for now you can get cleaned up in the morning... After all, you will need you strength for tomorrow when Dreamcatcher release the video of you fucking them all senseless.

Oh did they forget to tell you that? Well don't worry, Insomnia is a relatively tame fandom, unless you just porked all of their favorite idols of course...

Sweet dreams!

[faggy--butch]

I'm still not over that "NO TERFS" Lesbian group with "Cis and trans men should be used as our meat shields" I saw the other day. I mean, the irony Malte, a trans man in Germany who was murdered last year at a pride festival protecting cis lesbians comes particularly to mind. It makes me physically ill to see people who are supposed to be our allies say this stuff about us.

we're never going to get better until queers stop thinking "terfs are when mean to trans women"

[vavandeveresfan]

Jenny Watson: "We can do it, so let's do it." Jenny outlines her plan for a female-only, lesbian space.

For my lesbian, bisexual women, and radfem Followers. Via Graham Linehan's Substack.

For many decades, London was considered the global capital for lesbian nightlife. But you’d never know it if you visited the UK today. It’s not for a lack of British lesbian culture: I’m a lesbian, I’m involved in our country’s lesbian social scene, and I can assure you, it’s alive and well. What we lack at the moment are our own dedicated spaces. I think the UK needs once more to have lesbian-run, female-only community spaces. 

I’ve got an idea about how to make one such space a reality. And I believe I'm in a position to make it happen.

Over the past seven years, I've had the privilege of organising a range of lesbian social events in London. Throughout this time, I've made many connections in our community, gained an increasing understanding of our needs, and created social spaces that I hope go some way to meeting them. 

And in those seven years working to coordinate part of the the UK’s lesbian social scene, I’ve come to see how badly we need a dedicated, strictly female-only event space — now more than ever. 

Men have been encroaching on the lesbian community, and the problem is only getting worse. There’s been a sense of inevitability, that this is just something we have to learn to live with.

But I’ve had it.

In June, I skipped London’s official Pride festivities and instead visited an alternative, independent event at the Hampstead Ponds. It was a female-only picnic. Hundreds of women of all ages were gathered, from their teens to their eighties. And the sublime joy that I felt that day led me to a eureka moment:

We need this. We deserve this. This is our right. As lesbians and bisexual women, we have a right to social spaces that are entirely our own.

So, earlier this year, I decided to implement a women-only policy at my events. Although this sparked controversy, we ultimately received recognition from the UK’s largest pub operator that it is legitimate to hold women-only lesbian events - a real victory!

And then it suddenly dawned on me: we need more and not only do we need this, I can do this. I feel I have a good sense of the UK market for lesbian social events. So I crunched some numbers and developed a business proposal. I gauged interest and studied feasibility. And I’m excited to tell you: I believe this can work.

My plan involves establishing a private members’ club and securing a prime physical space in London. By day, this space will operate as a versatile hybrid workspace, becoming a venue hosting various social events in the evenings and weekends. Alongside these, we'll provide online events, and collaborate with service providers for health and wellness advice, fitness guidance, group trips, and more. Revenue will come from the events, partnerships, as well as from membership dues.

To the lesbian and bisexual women reading this: you’re welcome to get in touch with me if you’d like to learn more. There's an opportunity to invest if you’re interested, too. I’ve got a pitch deck I would be happy to show you and a fully fleshed-out, 50-page business plan. And I’m happy to report that there are already investors who have given the thumbs up. 

Following my announcement and inspired by the community's heartwarming response, I decided to introduce an early-bird membership programme. This includes a personalised QR-coded membership card for exclusive updates and access to a members’ discussion space. Joining early also signifies your part in accelerating our community's launch. 

Which brings me to another issue, and it’s a big part of the reason I’m writing this now: online critics. There’s a small but vocal group of people online who’ve been saying some pretty nasty and completely unfounded things about me. This group of people have taken to personal insults, and accusations that I’m a fraudster and a grifter.

I’m not entirely surprised to encounter pushback, but at the same time, the level of vitriol has been eye-opening.

But I try to put it in a bigger context: Lesbians have faced so much abuse, and for so long we’ve had to settle for having social spaces conditionally, on terms set by men. There’s a climate of distrust and fear looming over the lesbian community as a result. So much so that today the idea of even having one single space fully dedicated to lesbian and bisexual women seems so radical, some people’s initial reaction is that there’s got to be a catch.

I completely understand that a good dose of scrutiny, of tempering optimism with some degree of caution, is reasonable. It’s healthy. And it’s entirely welcome.

But personal insults and unfounded accusations are not. I know that emotions are running high, and we as a community are feeling beleaguered right now. But that’s no excuse to target my Irishness in personal attacks, for example. Or to target my business supporters with lies about me.

I'm not here to push or persuade anyone who doesn't feel the spark for this project. However, for those who do, our project investors' safety and security are crucial — capital funds are securely placed in escrow and I've teamed up with a business consultant who's right here supporting us until opening day. We’ve put together a solid business plan.

If anything, the tenor of some of the criticism I’ve faced only hardens my resolve: it just highlights how badly women need a space to unite us, to heal us in this difficult time.

It’s been upsetting to endure the smear campaign that a small online group has thrown at me… but my mind keeps going back to that Edenic afternoon at the Hampstead Ponds, where hundreds of women were gathered in serenity and harmony.

This will heal us. This will unite us. And it will make us all stronger. Lesbian strength comes through unity.

There are various ways you can help, but the most crucial one is spreading the word - our message is the most important part of this project. 

Other than that, as I mentioned earlier, if you are a lesbian/bi woman, there is the option to join as an early-bird member (however, this is not compulsory; you can wait until our opening). Additionally, there's the opportunity for investment or donation. I've prepared a comprehensive 50-page business plan and pitch deck available for those who are interested.

For a deeper understanding of the project, feel free to visit our website or you can email me at contact@lcommunity.co.uk 

Any form of support you can offer is immensely appreciated as we work towards making this a reality.  

We can do this. So let’s do it!

[ohgaylor]

In 2006, the year Taylor Swift released her first single, a closeted country singer named Chely Wright, then 35, held a 9-millimeter pistol to her mouth. Queer identity was still taboo enough in mainstream America that speaking about her love for another woman would have spelled the end of a country music career. But in suppressing her identity, Ms. Wright had risked her life.

In 2010, she came out to the public, releasing a confessional memoir, “Like Me,” in which she wrote that country music was characterized by culturally enforced closeting, where queer stars would be seen as unworthy of investment unless they lied about their lives. “Country music,” she wrote, “is like the military — don’t ask, don’t tell.”

The culture in which Ms. Wright picked up that gun — the same one in which Ms. Swift first became a star — was stunningly different from today’s. It’s dizzying to think about the strides that have been made in Americans’ acceptance of the L.G.B.T.Q. community over the past decade: marriage equality, queer themes dominating teen entertainment, anti-discrimination laws in housing and, for now, in the workplace. But in recent years, a steady drip of now-out stars — Cara Delevingne, Colton Haynes, Elliot Page, Kristen Stewart, Raven-Symoné and Sam Smith among them — have disclosed that they had been encouraged to suppress their queerness in order to market projects or remain bankable.

The culture of country music hasn’t changed so much that homophobia is gone. Just this past summer, Adam Mac, an openly gay country artist, was shamed out of playing at a festival in his hometown because of his sexual orientation. In September, the singer Maren Morris stepped away from country music; she said she did so in part because of the industry’s lingering anti-queerness. If country music hasn’t changed enough, what’s to say that the larger entertainment industry — and, by extension, our broader culture — has?

Periodically, I return to a video, recorded by a shaky hand more than a decade ago, of Ms. Wright answering questions at a Borders bookstore about her coming out. She likens closeted stardom to a blender, an “insane” and “inhumane” heteronormative machine in which queer artists are chewed to bits.

“It’s going to keep going,” Ms. Wright says, “until someone who has something to lose stands up and just says ‘I’m gay.’ Somebody big.” She continues: “We need our heroes.”

What if someone had already tried, at least once, to change the culture by becoming such a hero? What if, because our culture had yet to come to terms with homophobia, it wasn’t ready for her?

What if that hero’s name was Taylor Alison Swift?

In the world of Taylor Swift, the start of a new “era” means the release of new art (an album and the paratexts — music videos, promotional ephemera, narratives — that supplement it) and a wholesale remaking of the aesthetics that will accompany its promotion, release and memorializing. In recent years, Ms. Swift has dominated pop culture to such a degree that these transformations often end up altering American culture in the process.

In 2019, she was set to release a new album, “Lover,” the first since she left Big Machine Records, her old Nashville-based label, which she has since said limited her creative freedom. The aesthetic of what would be known as the “Lover Era” emerged as rainbows, butterflies and pastel shades of blue, purple and pink, colors that subtly evoke the bisexual pride flag.

On April 26, Lesbian Visibility Day, Ms. Swift released the album’s lead single, “ME!,” in which she sings about self-love and self-acceptance. She co-directed a campy music video to accompany it, which she would later describe as depicting “everything that makes me, me.” It features Ms. Swift dancing at a pride parade, dripping in rainbow paint and turning down a man’s marriage proposal in exchange for a … pussy cat.

At the end of June, the L.G.B.T.Q. community would celebrate the 50th anniversary of the Stonewall Riots. On June 14, Ms. Swift released the video for her attempt at a pride anthem, “You Need to Calm Down,” in which she and an army of queer celebrities from across generations — the “Queer Eye” hosts, Ellen DeGeneres, Billy Porter, Hayley Kiyoko, to name a few — resist homophobia by living openly. Ms. Swift sings that outrage against queer visibility is a waste of time and energy: “Why are you mad, when you could be GLAAD?”

The video ends with a plea: “Let’s show our pride by demanding that, on a national level, our laws truly treat all of our citizens equally.” Many, in the press and otherwise, saw the video as, at best, a misguided attempt at allyship and, at worst, a straight woman co-opting queer aesthetics and narratives to promote a commercial product.

Then, Ms. Swift performed “Shake It Off” as a surprise for patrons at the Stonewall Inn. Rumors — that were, perhaps, little more than fantasies — swirled in the queerer corners of her fandom, stoked by a suggestive post by the fashion designer Christian Siriano. Would Ms. Swift attend New York City’s WorldPride march on June 30? Would she wear a dress spun from a rainbow? Would she give a speech? If she did, what would she declare about herself?

The Sunday of the march, those fantasies stopped. She announced that the music executive Scooter Braun, who she described as an “incessant, manipulative” bully, had purchased her masters, the lucrative original recordings of her work.

Ms. Swift’s “Lover” was the first record that she created with nearly unchecked creative freedom. Lacking her old label’s constraints, she specifically chose to feature activism for and the aesthetics of the L.G.B.T.Q. community in her confessional, self-expressive art. Even before the sale of her masters, she appeared to be stepping into a new identity — not just an aesthetic — that was distinct from that associated with her past six albums.

When looking back on the artifacts of the months before that album’s release, any close reader of Ms. Swift has a choice. We can consider the album’s aesthetics and activism as performative allyship, as they were largely considered to be at the time. Or we can ask a question, knowing full well that we may never learn the answer: What if the “Lover Era” was merely Ms. Swift’s attempt to douse her work — and herself — in rainbows, as so many baby queers feel compelled to do as they come out to the world?

There’s no way of knowing what could have happened if Ms. Swift’s masters hadn’t been sold. All we know is what happened next. In early August, Ms. Swift posted a rainbow-glazed photo of a series of friendship bracelets, one of which says “PROUD” with beads in the color of the bisexual pride flag. Queer people recognize that this word, deployed this way, typically means that someone is proud of their own identity. But the public did not widely view this as Ms. Swift’s coming out.

Then, Vogue released an interview with Ms. Swift that had been conducted in early June. When discussing her motivations for releasing “You Need to Calm Down,” Ms. Swift said, “Rights are being stripped from basically everyone who isn’t a straight white cisgender male.” She continued: “I didn’t realize until recently that I could advocate for a community that I’m not a part of.” That statement suggests that Ms. Swift did not, in early June, consider herself part of the L.G.B.T.Q. community; it does not illuminate whether that is because she was a straight, cis ally or because she was stuck in the shadowy, solitary recesses of the closet.

On Aug. 22, Ms. Swift publicly committed herself to the as-of-then-unproven project of rerecording and rereleasing her first six albums. The next day, she finally released “Lover,” which raises more questions than it answers. Why does she have to keep secrets just to keep her muse, as all her fans still sing-scream on “Cruel Summer”? About what are the “hundred thrown-out speeches I almost said to you,” in her chronicle of self-doubt, “The Archer,” if not her identity? And what could the album’s closing words, which come at the conclusion of “Daylight,” a song about stepping out of a 20-year darkness and choosing to “let it go,” possibly signal?

I want to be defined by the things that I love,

Not the things I hate,

Not the things that I’m afraid of, I’m afraid of,

Not the things that haunt me in the middle of the night,

I just think that,

You are what you love.

The first time I viewed “Lover” through the prism of queerness, I felt delirious, almost insane. I kept wondering whether what I was perceiving in her work was truly there or if it was merely a mirage, born of earnest projection.

My longtime reading of Ms. Swift’s celebrity — like that of a majority of her fan base — had been stuck in the lingering assumptions left by a period that began more than a decade and a half ago, when a girl with an overexaggerated twang, Shirley Temple curls and Georgia stars in her eyes became famous. Then, she presented as all that was to be expected of a young starlet: attractive yet virginal, knowing yet naïve, not talented enough to be formidable, not commanding enough to be threatening, confessional, eager to please. Her songs earnestly depicted the fantasies of a girl raised in a traditional culture: high school crushes and backwoods drives, princelings and wedding rings, declarations of love that climax only in a kiss — ideally in the pouring rain.

When Ms. Swift was trying to sell albums in that late-2000s media environment, her songwriting didn’t match the image of a sex object, the usual role reserved for female celebrities in our culture. Instead, the story the public told about her was that she laundered her affection to a litter of promising grown men, in exchange for songwriting inspiration. A young Ms. Swift contributed to this narrative by hiding easy-to-decode clues in liner notes that suggested a certain someone was her songs’ inspiration (“SAM SAM SAM SAM SAM SAM,” “ADAM,” “TAY”) or calling out an ex-boyfriend on the “Ellen” show and “Saturday Night Live.” Despite the expansive storytelling in Ms. Swift’s early records, her public image often cast a man’s interest as her greatest ambition.

As Ms. Swift’s career progressed, she began to remake that image: changing her style and presentation, leaving country music for pop and moving from Nashville to New York. By 2019, her celebrity no longer reflected traditional culture; it had instead become a girlboss-y mirror for another dominant culture — that of white, cosmopolitan, neoliberal America.

But in every incarnation, the public has largely seen those songs — especially those for which she doesn’t directly state her inspiration — as cantos about her most recent heterosexual love, whether that idea is substantiated by evidence or not. A large portion of her base still relishes debating what might have happened with the gentleman caller who supposedly inspired her latest album. Feverish discussions of her escapades with the latest yassified London Boy or mustachioed Mr. Americana fuel the tabloid press — and, embarrassingly, much of traditional media — that courts fan engagement by relentlessly, unquestioningly chronicling Ms. Swift’s love life.

Even in 2023, public discussion about the romantic entanglements of Ms. Swift, 34, presumes that the right man will “finally” mean the end of her persistent husbandlessness and childlessness. Whatever you make of Ms. Swift’s extracurricular activities involving a certain football star (romance for the ages? strategic brand partnership? performance art for entertainment’s sake?), the public’s obsession with the relationship has been attention-grabbing, if not lucrative, for all parties, while reinforcing a story that America has long loved to tell about Ms. Swift, and by extension, itself.

Because Ms. Swift hasn’t undeniably subverted our culture’s traditional expectations, she has managed, in an increasingly fractured cultural environment, to simultaneously capture two dominant cultures — traditional and cosmopolitan. To maintain the stranglehold she has on pop culture, Ms. Swift must continue to tell a story that those audiences expect to consume; she falls in love with a man or she gets revenge. As a result, her confessional songs languish in a place of presumed stasis; even as their meaning has grown deeper and their craft more intricate, a substantial portion of her audience’s understanding of them remains wedded to the same old narratives.

But if interpretations of Ms. Swift’s art often languish in stasis, so do the millions upon millions of people who love to play with the dollhouse she has constructed for them. Her dominance in pop culture and the success of her business have given her the rare ability to influence not only her industry but also the worldview of a substantial portion of America. How might her industry, our culture and we, ourselves, change if we made space for Ms. Swift to burn that dollhouse to the ground?

Anyone considering the whole of Ms. Swift’s artistry — the way that her brilliantly calculated celebrity mixes with her soul-baring art — can find discrepancies between the story that underpins her celebrity and the one captured by her songs. One such gap can be found in her “Lover” era. Others appear alongside “dropped hairpins,” or the covert ways someone can signal queer identity to those in the know while leaving others comfortable in their ignorance. Ms. Swift dropped hairpins before “Lover” and has continued to do so since.

Sometimes, Ms. Swift communicates through explicit sartorial choices — hair the colors of the bisexual pride flag or a recurring motif of rainbow dresses. She frequently depicts herself as trapped in glass closets or, well, in regular closets. She drops hairpins on tour as well, paying tribute to the Serpentine Dance of the lesbian artist Loie Fuller during the Reputation Tour or referencing “The Ladder,” one of the earliest lesbian publications in the United States, in her Eras Tour visuals.

During the Eras Tour, Ms. Swift traps her past selves — including those from her “Lover” era — in glass closets.

Dropped hairpins also appear in Ms. Swift’s songwriting. Sometimes, the description of a muse — the subject of her song, or to whom she sings — seems to fit only a woman, as it does in “It’s Nice to Have a Friend,” “Maroon” or “Hits Different.” Sometimes she suggests a female muse through unfulfilled rhyme schemes, as she does in “The Very First Night,” when she sings “didn’t read the note on the Polaroid picture / they don’t know how much I miss you” (“her,” instead of that pesky little “you,” would rhyme). Her songwriting also noticeably alludes to poets whose muses the historical record incorrectly cast as men — Emily Dickinson chief among them — as if to suggest the same fate awaits her art. Stunningly, she even explicitly refers to dropping hairpins, not once, but twice, on two separate albums.

In isolation, a single dropped hairpin is perhaps meaningless or accidental, but considered together, they’re the unfurling of a ballerina bun after a long performance. Those dropped hairpins began to appear in Ms. Swift’s artistry long before queer identity was undeniably marketable to mainstream America. They suggest to queer people that she is one of us. They also suggest that her art may be far more complex than the eclipsing nature of her celebrity may allow, even now.

Since at least her “Lover” era, Ms. Swift has explicitly encouraged her fans to read into the coded messages (which she calls “Easter eggs”) she leaves in music videos, social media posts and interviews with traditional media outlets, but a majority of those fans largely ignore or discount the dropped hairpins that might hint at queer identity. For them, acknowledging even the possibility that Ms. Swift could be queer would irrevocably alter the way they connect with her celebrity, the true product they’re consuming.

There is such public devotion to the traditional narrative Ms. Swift embodies because American culture enshrines male power. In her sweeping essay, “Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence,” the lesbian feminist poet Adrienne Rich identified the way that male power cramps, hinders or devalues women’s creativity. All of the sexist undertones with which Ms. Swift’s work can be discussed (often, even, by fans) flow from compulsory heterosexuality, or the way patriarchy draws power from the presumption that women naturally desire men. She must write about men she surely loves or be unbankable; she must marry and bear children or remain a child herself; she must look like, in her words, a “sexy baby” or be undesirable, “a monster on the hill.”

A woman who loves women is most certainly a monster to a society that prizes male power. She can fulfill none of the functions that a traditional culture imagines — wife, mother, maid, mistress, whore — so she has few places in the historical record. The Sapphic possibility of her work is ignored, censored or lost to time. If there is queerness earnestly implied in Ms. Swift’s work, then it’s no wonder that it, like that of so many other artists before her, is so often rendered invisible in the public imagination.

While Ms. Swift’s songs, largely written from her own perspective, cannot always conform to the idea of a woman our culture expects, her celebrity can. That separation, between Swift the songwriter and Swift the star, allows Ms. Swift to press against the golden birdcage in which she has found herself. She can write about women’s complexity in her confessional songs, but if ever she chooses not to publicly comply with the dominant culture’s fantasy, she will remain uncategorizable, and therefore, unsellable.

Her star — as bright as it is now — would surely dim.

Whether she is conscious of it or not, Ms. Swift signals to queer people — in the language we use to communicate with one another — that she has some affinity for queer identity. There are some queer people who would say that through this sort of signaling, she has already come out, at least to us. But what about coming out in a language the rest of the public will understand?

The difference between any person coming out and a celebrity doing so is the difference between a toy mallet and a sledgehammer. It’s reasonable for celebrities to be reticent; by coming out, they potentially invite death threats, a dogged tabloid press that will track their lovers instead of their beards, the excavation of their past lives, a torrent of public criticism and the implosion of their careers. In a culture of compulsory heterosexuality, to stop lying — by omission or otherwise — is to risk everything.

American culture still expects that stars are cis and straight until they confess themselves guilty. So, when our culture imagines a celebrity’s coming out, it expects an Ellen-style announcement that will submerge the past life in phoenix fire and rebirth the celebrity in a new image. In an ideal culture, wearing a bracelet that says “PROUD,” waving a pride flag onstage, placing a rainbow in album artwork or suggestively answering fan questions on Instagram would be enough. But our current reality expects a supernova.

Because of that expectation, stars end up trapped behind glass, which is reinforced by the tabloid press’s subtle social control. That press shapes the public’s expectations of others’ identities, even when those identities are chasms away from reality. Celebrities who master this press environment — Ms. Swift included — can bolster their business, but in doing so, they reinforce a heteronormative culture that obsesses over pregnancy, women’s bodies and their relationships with men.

That environment is at odds with the American movement for L.G.B.T.Q. equality, which still has fights to win — most pressingly, enshrining trans rights and squashing nonsensical culture wars. But lately I’ve heard many of my young queer contemporaries — and the occasional star — wonder whether the movement has come far enough to dispense with the often messy, often uncomfortable process of coming out, over and over again.

That questioning speaks to an earnest conundrum that queer people confront regularly: Do we live in this world, or the world to which we ought to aspire?

Living in aspiration means ignoring the convention of coming out in favor of just … existing. This is easier for those who can pass as cis and straight if need be, those who are so wealthy or white that the burden of hiding falls to others and those who live in accepting urban enclaves. This is a queer life without friction; coming out in a way straight people can see is no longer a prerequisite for acceptance, fulfillment and equality.

This aspiration is tremendous, but in our current culture, it is available only to a privileged few. Should such an inequality of access to aspiration become the accepted state of affairs, it would leave those who can’t hide to face society’s cruelest actors without the backing of a vocal, activated community. So every queer person who takes issue with the idea that we must come out ought to ask a simple question — what do we owe one another?

If coming out is primarily supposed to be an act of self-actualization, to form our own identities, then we owe one another nothing. This posture recognizes that the act of coming out implicitly reinforces straight and cis identities as default, which is not worth the rewards of outness.

But if coming out is supposed to be a radical act of resistance that seeks to change the way our society imagines people to be, then undeniable visibility is essential to make space for those without power. In this posture, queer people who can live in aspiration owe those who cannot a real world in which our expansive views of love and gender aren’t merely tolerated but celebrated. We have no choice but to actively, vocally press against the world we’re in, until no one is stuck in it.

And so just for a little while longer, we need our heroes.

But if queer people spend all of our time holding out for a guiding light, we might forgo a more pressing question that if answered, just might inch all of us a bit closer to aspiration. The next time heroes appear, are we ready to receive them?

It takes neither a genius nor a radical to see queerness implied by Ms. Swift’s work. But figuring out how to talk about it before the star labels herself is another matter. Right now, those who do so must inject our perceptions with caveats and doubt or pretend we cannot see it (a lie!) — implicitly acquiescing to convention’s constraints in the name of solidarity.

Lying is familiar to queer people; we teach ourselves to do it from an early age, shrouding our identities from others, and ourselves. It’s not without good reason. To maintain the safety (and sometimes the comfort) of the closet, we lie to others, and, most crucially, we allow others to believe lies about us, seeing us as something other than ourselves. Lying is doubly familiar to those of us who are women. To reduce friction, so many of us still shrink life to its barest version in the name of honor or safety, rendering our lives incomplete, our minds lobotomized and our identities unexplored.

By maintaining a culture of lying about what we, uniquely, have the knowledge and experience to see, we commit ourselves to a vow of silence. That vow may protect someone’s safety, but when it is applied to works of culture, it stymies our ability to receive art that has the potential to change or disrupt us. As those with queer identity amass the power of commonplaceness, it’s worth questioning whether the purpose of one of the last great taboos that constrains us befits its cost.

In every case, is the best form of solidarity still silence?

I know that discussing the potential of a star’s queerness before a formal declaration of identity feels, to some, too salacious and gossip-fueled to be worthy of discussion. They might point to the viciousness of the discourse around “queerbaiting” (in which I have participated); to the harm caused by the tabloid press’s dalliances with outing; and, most crucially, to the real material sacrifices that queer stars make to come out, again and again, as reasons to stay silent.

I share many of these reservations. But the stories that dominate our collective imagination shape what our culture permits artists and their audiences to say and be. Every time an artist signals queerness and that transmission falls on deaf ears, that signal dies. Recognizing the possibility of queerness — while being conscious of the difference between possibility and certainty — keeps that signal alive.

So, whatever you make of Ms. Swift’s sexual orientation or gender identity (something that is knowable, perhaps, only to her) or the exact identity of her muses (something better left a mystery), choosing to acknowledge the Sapphic possibility of her work has the potential to cut an audience that is too often constrained by history, expectation and capital loose from the burdens of our culture.

To start, consider what Ms. Swift wrote in the liner notes of her 2017 album, “reputation”: “When this album comes out, gossip blogs will scour the lyrics for the men they can attribute to each song, as if the inspiration for music is as simple and basic as a paternity test.”

Listen to her. At the very least, resist the urge to assume that when Ms. Swift calls the object of her affection “you” in a song, she’s talking about a man with whom she’s been photographed. Just that simple choice opens up a world of Swiftian wordplay. She often plays with pronouns, trading “you” and “him” so that only someone looking for a distinction between two characters might find one. Turns of phrase often contain double or even triple meanings. Her work is a feast laid specifically for the close listener.

Choosing to read closely can also train the mind to resist the image of an unmarried woman that compulsory heterosexuality expects. And even if it is only her audience who points at rainbows, reading Ms. Swift’s work as queer is still worthwhile, for it undermines the assumption that queer identity impedes pop superstardom, paving the way for an out artist to have the success Ms. Swift has.

After all, would it truly be better to wait to talk about any of this for 50, 60, 70 years, until Ms. Swift whispers her life story to a biographer? Or for a century or more, when Ms. Swift’s grandniece donates her diaries to some academic library, for scholars to pore over? To ensure that mea culpas come only when Ms. Swift’s bones have turned to dust and fragments of her songs float away on memory’s summer breeze?

I think not. And so, I must say, as loudly as I can, “I can see you,” even if I risk foolishness for doing so.

I remember the first time I knew I had seen Taylor Alison Swift break free from the trap of stardom. I wasn’t sitting in a crowded stadium in the pouring rain or cuddled up in a movie theater with a bag of popcorn. I was watching a grainy, crackling livestream of the Eras Tour, captured on a fan’s phone.

It’s late at night, the beginning of her acoustic set of surprise songs, this time performed in a yellow dress. She begins playing “Hits Different.” It’s a new song, full of puns, double entendres and wordplay, that toys with the glittering identities in which Ms. Swift indulges.

She’s rushing, as if stopping, even for a second, will cause her to lose her nerve. She stumbles at the bridge, pauses and starts again; the queen of bridges will not mess this up, not tonight.

There it is, at the bridge’s end: “Bet I could still melt your world; argumentative, antithetical dream girl.” An undeniable declaration of love to a woman. As soon as those words leave her lips, she lets out a whoop, pacing around the stage with a grin that cannot be contained.

For a moment, Ms. Swift was out of the woods she had created for herself as a teenager, floating above the trees. The future was within reach; she would, and will, soon take back the rest of her words, her reputation, her name. Maybe the world would see her, maybe it wouldn’t.

But on that stage, she found herself. I was there. Through a fuzzy fancam, I saw it.

And somehow, that was everything.