#when i do it it's drag. it's in a cross dressing way. it's gender bending.

[therevengeoffrankenstein]

when i wear make up it’s like. a drag act btw.

[latter-day-saint-nick]

My local library recently hosted a Drag Queen Story Time event, which was met with crowds of protesters. The following Sunday people were discussing this at church, though since I stayed home that week (it was 30 degrees Celsius outside and I didn't want to risk a heatstroke), I wasn't aware of it until Bishop talked to me a week later. Being the only openly transgender ward member, he asked for my thoughts and advice to deal with situations like this in a way that keeps the ward a friendly and welcoming place.

After taking some time to think about it, here's what I wrote:

For a start, it's worth remembering that what is considered appropriate clothing for men or for women depends on societal values and changes over time. In Shakespeare's day, men wore tights and earrings. A couple of hundred years later it was common for men to wear wigs and make-up. Even nowadays there are many countries in which it is normal for men to wear clothes we'd consider skirts or dresses. Jesus never wore trousers in His earthly life (as for His post-mortal life, I don't know – personally I hope to wear something a little more interesting than a white robe in the Celestial Kingdom, but maybe that's just me). Conversely, it is now considered fairly normal for women to wear trousers, but this wasn't always the case, and once upon a time women had to fight for the right to wear trousers. What I'm saying is that clothing trends are so fleeting that it seems pretty silly to me to judge someone as obscene for simply wearing clothes that you'd normally associate with someone of another gender.

One of the reasons for this outrage about drag queens and transgender people, I think, is that some people have it in their heads that cross-dressing and gender-bending is inherently sexual. But it's really not. Clothes are just clothes. A man wearing a dress is no more likely to be a predator than a woman wearing a dress. And me living as a man isn't any weirder or more inappropriate than any other bloke doing the same. Nobody is trying to indoctrinate your cisgender children and turn them trans either. That's not even possible. But if your children are already trans, seeing transgender and gender-non-conforming adults can help them survive. That might sound like an exaggeration, but about 40% of transgender youth attempt suicide at some point. This number goes down drastically for kids growing up in a supportive environment, so having family members and other adults in their lives supporting them makes all the difference.

The scriptures are full of examples of people receiving personal revelation that contradicts societal expectations: younger brothers taking on the patriarchal birthright that should belong to the oldest son, prophets preaching to people commonly considered unclean, a 14-year-old being told not to join any existing churches. Each of us is entitled to personal revelation, and when you listen to the testimonies of gay and trans Church members, they will happily tell you that they prayed long and hard for Heavenly Father to fix them, only to finally receive the calm, loving reassurance of the Spirit telling them that there's nothing wrong with them.

Jesus spent much of His time during His earthly ministry serving those on the margins of society: foreigners, lepers, tax collectors, women. If He were among us today, I believe that's what He would still be doing, helping the homeless, refugees, disabled people and people of colour. The LGBT community is more accepted now than it was even as recently as ten to twenty years ago, but we still experience oppression and discrimination on a daily basis. People mock us, spread misinformation about us, and frequently respond with violence to our existence. Politicians make laws that make it more difficult for us to get jobs and access healthcare, and in some cases even make it dangerous for us to simply exist in public spaces. The Saviour I know and love wouldn't be okay with any of this. He would stand by the most vulnerable of us, mourn with them, strengthen them, protect them and love them unconditionally. And if we truly take His name upon us, as we claim, then surely we should do the same.

Finally, I just want to quote Galatians 3:28, in which Paul writes: “There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female: for ye are all one in Christ Jesus.” What this tells me is that Heavenly Father and Jesus are far more interested in whether we are good, kind people than in things like race, nationality or gender.

[qvid-pro-qvo]

hi :-) maybe the prompts “Stay there. I’m coming to get you.” and "Wow." with Sonny please?

we’re back, baby! consider this a woohoo for season 22. sonny carisi x gender neutral reader.

word count: 2164

rating: e for everyone, for long-distance coming together once more (hurt/comfort. no trigger warnings. just love.)

-

It’s been one year, three months, and nine days since you’ve seen Dominick Carisi, Jr. in person. You would add the hours and the minutes, but you think that everyone you talk to gets the picture. When you mention your boyfriend, it’s the one who’s across a country, the one who you call every night, the one who works a tireless job as an NYPD detective. They know, because you can’t stop talking about him.

He’s incredible, after all. Decorated, dedicated, a sweetheart.

He’s incredible, after all. Decorated, dedicated, a sweetheart. You’re gonna marry him, you can’t help but gush, because there’s no one else for you in the whole wide world.

Your friends think you’re insane. After all, there’s something about long-distance that makes everyone nervous. But you don’t let them make you antsy, because you’re the one who gets a call from him every night, especially the nights he works.

Those calls get you through a lot. Those calls get you through good days and bad, those calls are a majority of the relationship now. Calls, FaceTimes, voicemails, texts, emails even… that’s all you both have.

And they go a little something like this.

-

The first call you make after you land in California is to his cell.

Leaving him had felt like leaving your heart and soul back in New York, it’d felt like getting torn apart, it’d felt like a lot of horrible things. But you’d had to, and Sonny’d known that.

You’d known it, too. But knowing doesn’t make packing up any easier. Knowing doesn’t make the plane ride any less lonely. Knowing doesn’t make unpacking a box and finding one of his shirts that accidentally traveled with you any less world-shattering.

It’s to his cell. He picks up almost immediately. You can hear the hustle and bustle of a New York street behind him, a few honks. It’s early, after all, and you’ve traveled back in time. Your body thinks it’s noon, when it’s really nine, and when you step off of the plane the sun hits yours eyes, bright and unexpected. You’re dressed too warm for California, since it’s perfect for the place you left.

You hate it here.

It’s not home.

“Hey,” he breathes into the receiver. You just let out a little gasp. The tears immediately spring to your eyes, but you do your best to keep your head held high, looking around for your luggage.

“Hey, Sonny. I made it. Just. Wanted to let you know.”

“Good. That’s… that’s good.”

The words aren’t enough. They don’t feel like they ever will be.

“So, how’s California look?” he finally asks, when the silence stretches on a little too long. You’ve missed your luggage on the carousel and finally snag it, balancing your phone on your shoulder as you pull off the stuff that’s waiting for you.

So many bags. Your whole life packed away. The rest of it getting shipped.

Your whole life except Sonny. Doesn’t feel like much, but you know it’ll get better. Eventually. With time.

“Sunny,” you finally say, and he snorts.

“Not too sunny without me, I hope.”

You manage a laugh. It’s watery, but it’s a laugh. “Never.”

With time.

-

The morning calls are for you.

He’s already up and at ‘em by the time you’re stirring, and his phone is usually what rouses you. It’s a brilliant alarm clock, one that has you sitting as upright as you can and pulling him close to your ear. His voice makes you want to pull yourself under the covers, settle in and listen for a few hours or days.

“Mornin’, sweetheart.”

You know by this point he’s on his second or third cup of coffee. It depends on how bad the cases are that day, how deep he is in paperwork. But even with the caffeine, the 7:00 AM for you is 10:00 AM for him, and he still sounds like he just rolled out of bed.

“Good morning,” you return, and he chuckles a little, because the sound of your voice is the same level of exhausted. And yet, with his call, you’re rising, throwing back the blankets, moving to the bathroom to start your routine. He’s got fifteen minutes, and you’ve got thirty-five before you have to leave, and you’ll spend the twenty without his voice in your ear thinking about his voice in your ear, and maybe texting him, too.

-

The nighttime calls are for him.

Those, you get to see his face. After all, your 7:00 PM is his 10:00 PM, and some days he’s actually going to bed at that hour. Some days he’s at your shared apartment, sitting in bed with your pillows holding himself up.

Some days he’s in the office. Those calls are short, but sweet.

But what ends up happening is that you start your day with him, and some days, some blissful nights, he gets to go to sleep with you. Seeing you.

“Hey, baby,” you say. You’re usually just getting home at that point, tossing keys into a dish, shutting your door and locking it tight so that Sonny can hear it, see it. It gives him reassurance, the length of a country away. “How was your day?”

“Same old, same old,” he starts out, always, even when the day’s been thrilling, brilliant, a great time. “A day without you.”

And you coo and hum, and he laughs at the scrunch of your nose, and the two of you begin and end your nighttime routines, the days drifting away, another night closer to being reunited.

-

The last call you make from California is for the both of you.

“Wow.” It’s all he can manage. After all, the nights come with face time, and you’ve posed the camera perfectly. You’re dressed to the nines, and you can tell his eyes are scanning you from head to toe. “Jealous of whoever gets to see you at dinner.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “My bosses, Dom. They’re having a going away dinner. A week early, but.”

“I get it, I get it. You’re wanting to tease.” His voice is light, and you wink at him, reaching for your phone and pulling it close so you can see the details. There are bags under his eyes, and he looks a little ragged – it’s been a tough week, he’s told you, one case dogging them day and night. You’re hoping that you can cheer him up, when you get to see him, sooner rather than later.

“Tease you, Dominick Carisi, Jr.? I wouldn’t dare!” you say, and the two of you laugh, through the exhaustion.

“I miss you,” he states. It’s not an admittance, because the two of you have never hidden it. You miss each other, and as your scheduled return date edges closer you can feel the nervous energy. He’s never looked more drained, and you’d do anything to take it from him, the exhaustion.

“I’ll be back soon,” you assure him, and he nods. The conversation lasts a few moments more, and then he has to go, and then you have to go. And you leave with a promise, that you’ll be there before he knows it.

Sooner than he thinks, that’s for sure.

-

One year. Three months. Nine days. But today, that number falls back to zero.

It’s the first call you make once you land, stomp out your boots of the snow you weren’t expecting. You’re used to California winter, mild and warm, and so the New York chill takes you by surprise. Makes you blink, when you peer out from under the awning of the rental car pick-up and feel snow land in your hair. But it’s home, the snow on your boots, the way the wind whips up around your face. You hold your phone up to your ear and let out a shiver.

It rings. Once, twice, three times.

“Hey, doll.”

He answers, and his voice is weary. It’s late, after all, and you’ve lost a few hours, so the direct flight, while five-and-a-half hours, deposits you eight-and-a-half hours in the future with a stomach rumbling for real food and no sun in sight.

He answers. It’s with a yawn, and you realize that you’re hearing the sound of slamming filing cabinets, and you think that in the background you can hear his lieutenant’s voice. He’s living his life, in his world, and you’re so proud of him you can hardly speak. Because you know that he’s working hard when he works late. Working himself to death, it feels like sometimes.

“Hey, Dom. Is this a bad time?” you ask, immediately. Because your surprise is one that works just as well if you’re at the apartment, if you’re cooking him a warm meal or cozied up on the couch for him. But his noise is a negative.

“Nah, just finishing up a case. Took a perp into custody. Wanted to stay behind and see it through before I ditched.”

You’re not fighting exhaustion. You’re trembling from the cold, and shivering from the exposure, and vibrating with happiness as you hand over your credit card to the man behind the counter. The plane ride isn’t beating your delight as you grin at the sound of him. The way his words are lined with the effort of the whole team.

“Great, great. That’s great,” you say, and he must pick up on something. Because his answering hum is teasing, light.

“You sound like the cat that caught the canary,” he laughs. After all, you both have gotten intimately familiar with voices these long months apart, and you know he’s right. So you don’t argue it, just laugh, bite your lower lip as you take your card back.

“Well. Maybe I am,” you say lightly, and push your way through the lines of cars. You keep beeping, hoping to hear something, with no luck just yet. “Are you the canary?”

He chuckles, and you know he’s shrugging with it. “I sure hope so.”

Maybe he’s tilting his head back, leaning in his chair, looking up at the ceiling of the precinct as he talks. Maybe he’s bending forward, hand in his hair, elbows on his knees. Maybe he’s crossing a leg over the other, tapping his fingers on the armrests of his chair. You’ll know soon enough, won’t have to imagine for much longer.

“I think you are. After all, I’ve laid the perfect trap for you,” you say, and you make your voice light, airy. Your carry on and three suitcases are being dragged slowly and carefully behind you, and you finally hear the beep of the car you’re meant to drive for the next three days. It’ll only do a job for one, after all, but it doesn’t need to know that.

“The perfect trap. What’s that?”

“A stop on my way home.” The trunk of the rental beeps, pops open. “I’ve been thinking about it for five hours.”

A beat passes, and you almost think the call’s been dropped. But then Sonny clears his throat, and your grin stretches wide. “What?” There’s a shift in his throat, that you can hear. One that comes with him sitting up. You can see it, if you close your eyes, ignore the windiness of the parking garage.

“Well, you see, if I book it, I can make it that shop before they close. What it’s called… the one by our place?”

And you hear his breath catch. It’s a beautiful sound. It works perfectly with the sound of your luggage tossed in the trunk.

“Yeah, that one. And if I really hurry, then I might be able to pick you up from the precinct.” Your eyes close for a moment, dip your head as you pull back and close the back of the car. When you make it to the car, turn it on, you can hear something like a hiccup leave him, the shuffle of papers, his jaw pop as it unclenches.

“You’re – you’re back in New York?” And his accent is so thick the words run together. “You’re home?”  

And when you laugh it’s thick, too. For a different reason, one that has you wiping at your face, as the engine runs. You sniffle, and he sniffles a little, too, and you can hear his lieutenant’s voice again in the background, muffled.

“Just – just a second, lieu,” he mumbles. He sounds dazed. Confused.

“Stay there,” you insist. “Okay? I’m coming to get you, and then I’ll take you home, and…”

“And?” His voice is hoarse. Cracks, and you chuckle despite yourself. The thought of home. The thought of Sonny Carisi, after all this time. The thought of pulling him close and hugging him tight and leaning into his touches. His touches. The car’s engine is running, and one of your hands reaches for the wheel, runs your fingers along the curve.

“And be yours again, Dom. For as long as you’ll have me.”

[ineedhelpdotorg]

Ok this is for the upcoming recent event on obey me I have stated this in another blog this is my personal opinion as a trans person myself

I don't perceive how a genderbend is transphobic, considering I've seen NB genderbends, and I've seen transsexual genderbends, and I've seen a great deal of cis genderbends, and fundamentally, generbend craftsmanship is in a real sense everywhere.

For hell's sake, we should look at one manner by which genderbends are utilized in which your assessment is effectively unsafe: There are cis ladies who genderbend male characters from male character overwhelmed medias to add portrayal of ladies to the being a fan. This isn't terrible In any way.

Considering in excess of a little portion of trans people might want bodies that appear as though cis individuals, is it Truly dangerous to have genderbends that satisfy dreams?

Thinking of it as' difficult to discern whether somebody is intersexed by seeing what they're wearing or introducing as, this is absolutely difficult to be valid without some Entirely flawed generalizations being authorized.

See first section on my reaction to "nonbinary deletion."There are genderbend artists who do non-binary interpretations.

Last point may merit examining, yet I don't trust it and essentially need some sensible breakdown of why you feel that is valid, might be worth discussing, but I don’t believe it and basically want some logical breakdown of why you think that’s true.Your alternative is cool, but isn’t necessarily going to hit the same points as a genderbend art?

Your option is cool, yet isn't really going to hit similar focuses as a genderbend workmanship? For what reason is it terrible to have BOTH?

I'm a trans individual who really LIKES genderbend workmanship. A Ton. It's one of my #1 components in being a fan, and has been for quite a while. Is there risky genderbend workmanship? Sure. Are their tricky craftsmen? Duh. Yet, that doesn't mean the whole class of fan works is an issues.

The facts demonstrate that NB sexual orientation personalities are much of the time disregarded, but at the same time it's presumably significantly more normal than individuals acknowledge (I've composed and drawn something reasonable of NB characters that I worship)

- Not really, particularly with respect to those that DO compose/draw/decipher a character as NB; and in any event, for those genderbends that do change somebody's actual highlights or even their sex, I have seen this done to investigate how the social effects on a person as such would influence the character as they matured and how society's activities towards them would possibly transform them (or not) personally, OR considered this to be similarly as a clarification for how things like chemical changes have influenced somebody (like how when you start T you shoot up like a weed, your voice brings down, and your fat is circulated in an unexpected way)

I think genderbends get shit they don’t deserve when they in reality have a lot of potential to make for extremely interesting character dynamics and social commentaries

Gender bending is fine. It's how I discovered my gender and it's destructive towards gender norms which is always a plus.

Also I’ve seen people talking about crossdressing yes but have you considered including the other lgbtq+ community In the theoretical, no. Truth be told, I'd invite most drag queens, cross dressers, men in skirts, fucking destroying baddass queens, kings, royals to break the fucking gender norms since they assist in breaking down cissexist standards for us all. Seeing individual’s not holding fast 100% to the cissexist sex constantly parallels helps in getting the overall population used to the thought, which ostensibly helps make us more secure. However it is, in any case, transphobic to accept that transsexual individuals are truly "extra-genuine drag queens" or something of that sort, or to expect to be that (for example) on the grounds that a cis fella dresses in drag as a lady however remains a man, that all trans ladies are likewise "truly men" as well. In all actuality, these aren't suspicions that drag queens themselves make (more often than not), but instead ones that different individuals from the overall population make.

I apologize for my English in advance.

[desmond-the-queer-dragon]

men in popular culture have been wearing dresses for decades and and even before that drag/“cross dressing” has literally been going on since Shakespeare when men would play female characters and before that in ancient greece. and i’m not arguing that black and brown lgbt people didn’t create the trends, they did. but harry is not hurting anyone by wearing a dress. he NEVER said he was the first to do so. it’s not his fault if someone else calls him a trend setter. him wearing a dress did not harm anyone in any material way, you just want someone to be mad at, and you don’t even know if he’s straight or queer, which shouldn’t even matter. kurt cobain and david bowie wore dresses too, and they didn’t hurt anyone by doing so either.

My original post focused on the issue of Harry being called a gender bending icon by the media, not Harry wearing a dress himself.

it may not be his fault if someone else calls him a trendsetter. But it is his fault that he does not even bother to give credit where credit is due nor correct the media on this claim of theirs.

The acception of queerness always fluctuates. In the Victorian England period it was accepted for the most part but overtime it became a huge issue once again, which you see when Britain gave its homophobic doctrines (aka new penal codes) in 1885, making homosexual acts illegal in the countries that they colonized in the Middle East. Greece wasn’t that much better because while men would have male lovers, those who were seen as “playing the woman’s role” were still treated like shit.

Let me ask you this: when has Harry wore a dress when it does not benefit him? The two people you mentioned wore dresses frequently, breaking the gender binary and being an ally when it was an unpopular thing to do. Harry styles only wore the dress once and the media said “here is our new gender bending icon” and he didn’t even say anything to correct them.

In a perfect world, his sexuality would not matter. But this is far from a perfect world and it does matter because you cannot simply sit here and say “I’m unlabeled” and then go and appropriate from a minority. Harry Styles benefits from a privilege that a marginalized community does not benefit from.

It does not matter if Harry never said he was the first person to do so. The media has claimed it to be such and that is the true issue here. The erasure of the advocacy of Latinx and Black queer people and trans people which stems from systematic racism and transphobia and homophobia. I have not seen Harry reject this claim of him at all.

[confused-android]

Day 11, Todd - GNC Fashion

-----------------------

It starts with Tina. She's visiting Farah for the weekend, and she's on a nail polish kick. She paints her nails orange and teal, Farah's a muted green, Dirk's purple, and then she moves on to Todd.

"Pick a color," Tina demands, and he shrugs and picks a deep, midnight blue. She bends over his hand, lower lip pinched between her teeth, and gives him a careful coat of blue. Then, at Dirk's urging, puts a layer of silver glitter down before the top coat. Todd doesn't protest, too occupied watching Dirk play Animal Crossing, and waves his hands gently to dry them while Tina tidies up the nail kit. He's got a younger sister, he knows the drill.

He wears a dark blue shirt and a silver collar pin when they go out to a bar that night, and he feels surprisingly good.

The nail polish lasts a full week before it starts to chip, and he does his best to match part of his outfit to the color until all that's left is bits of blue at the cuticles. Farah catches him brushing a few chips of pigment to the floor and steps into her bathroom for a moment before coming back.

"Here," Farah says, and passes him a half-empty bottle of nail polish remover.

"I don't want to take it off yet," Todd admits, after looking over his shoulder to see if Dirk is nearby.

"There's barely anything left to take off, Todd," Farah says, not unkindly. "Just repaint them."

"Just –" Todd blinks. "Oh." He hadn't  really thought about that as an option, but wow. It is an option, isn't it?

The next time he's in CVS picking up his prescription, he wanders past the nail polish display and grabs a few colors in the brand that Tina had brought with her. After he and Dirk get home from work that evening and split to their individual room, he sits hunched over his desk and paints his nails a desaturated purple. He's shit at it, and gets nail polish all over his fingers and the desk, but once he cleans everything with the nail polish remover, it actually looks really good.

Farah shoots him an approving look when he wanders into the office the next day, but says nothing. Dirk doesn't spot it for two days, then grabs his hand without warning while they're on the bus to talk to a suspect.

"What's this?" he asks, peering closely at Todd's hands.

Todd stifles the urge to yank his hand away and shove it in his jacket pocket, and instead says, "nail polish," opting for snark over sheer obstinance.

"Yes, I can see that, Theodore," Dirk says, pulling a face. "Why are you wearing it? Tina hasn't been in town for almost two weeks."

"It's not just a Tina thing," Todd says, while Dirk squints at his fingernails for long seconds. "I like it, too. Amanda used to paint my nails when she was a kid."

"That's unbearably adorable," Dirk tells him, and lets him have his hand back.

He wears every color in his small collection over the next few weeks, then winds up back at CVS to buys a few more colors, a silver glitter like Tina's, and a top coat. He ends up with more shades than he has patterned button downs, and eventually decides that he needs more clothes to match his nails.

The next time Dirk drags him to a thrift store looking for yet another leather jacket, Todd breaks off from him to wander the aisles, picking through for anything in any of the handful of shades of nail polish he's got shoved in his jacket pocket. He pulls out a few shirts, one scarf in different shades of blue, a pair of gray and green trousers, and then a bit of orange lace catches his eye. He reaches into one of the racks to pull out a knee length pencil skirt.

Todd makes sure that he can still see Dirk's head bobbing a few racks away, then holds the skirt up to his waist. It looks like a pretty close fit.

"Do you know where the dressing rooms are?" a helpful employee asks him, passing by the top of the aisle, and Todd colors and shoves the skirt back onto the rack.

"I don't, I mean – I'm not here to, I'm just with a – a friend," he stammers, glancing over at Dirk again to make sure his attention hasn't been caught. Dirk is still only a third of the way through the display of jackets, and it seems like he's going to try all of them on.

The employee pauses, looks over her shoulder at Dirk, and looks back at Todd. She steps closer to him, and lowers her voice. "The dressing rooms are non-gendered, and in a part of the store no one would wander past accidentally. If you were hoping to try things on in peace."

Todd blinks. She smiles.

He gulps in a deep breath, then grabs the skirt off the rack again, and the two next to it for good measure. "Lead the way," he says bravely.

–––––––––

It's another two days until Todd gets a chance to wash his new clothes without Dirk peering over his shoulder, dictating how he uses the dryer sheets, and another day until he's in his bedroom, alone, with the door locked. He pulls off his clothes, dumps them in the hamper by his dresser, and looks in the mirror. Skinny, but not quite scrawny, bruised to hell from this week's case, and visible, palpably nervous.

"Calm down, asshole," he tells himself. "It's just clothes." Given how weird his life is, he almost expects the mirror to talk back at him, but it thankfully doesn't. He reaches underneath the shirts in his dresser and pulls out an orange and burgundy floral skirt, then grabs a matching deep red t-shirt. He turns his back on the mirror to pulls them on, takes two deep, calming breaths, then spins around all in a rush to take a look.

He looks –

He's –

"Oh," Todd says. His hair is messy and he's flushed, and the skirt highlights how hairy his calves are, but the outfit also makes him look – He swallows and looks away for a moment, but his gaze is drawn immediately back. It makes him look almost soft. A descriptor surely no one has ever used about Todd Brotzman. The flowers on the skirt match his nails, and the movement of the skirt against his legs is gentle and luxurious.

He wears the outfit for the rest of the evening, flopped on his bed and playing with his phone, and occasionally glances over at the mirror to take it all in again. It keeps being good – really good. 

Once he's having trouble keeping his eyes open, he carefully folds the skirt back away and falls asleep with a smile on his face.

-----------------

Link to: day one, Farah - Youth day two, Farah - Dance day three, Farah - Gore day four, Farah - GNC fashion day five, Farah - AU day six, Farah - Family (to be written) day seven, Farah - Pride (to be written) day eight, Todd - Youth (to be written) day nine, Todd - Dance (to be written) day ten, Todd - Gore

prompt list

[roswellwrites]

Kinktober Day 6 Fill - Spanking

Pairing: Brahms Heelshire/Reader (M/?)

Tags: Slasher x Reader, Brahms Heelshire x Reader, Brahms Heelshire, Spanking, Gender of reader is kept neutral, Kinktober, Kinktober 2019

Word Count: 1529

It had been a long day.

It had been such a long day.

You had woken up around eight that morning, not all that much later than usual, to find Brahms already waiting for you, dressed and impatient as he rushed you from the comfort of your bed. 

You made breakfast, washed the dishes, cleaned the kitchen, cleaned the living room, made lunch, and done the dishes a second time, all while balancing Brahms’s tedious schedule.

Brahms himself had been terrible, in a perpetually bad mood all day, frowning and scowling as he critiqued you endlessly on everything from your table etiquette to your cooking to your less than stellar posture.

What a brat.

“Brahms, get in the shower,” you said now with a roll of your eyes, lifting your coat from it’s hook by the front door and moving to slide your arms inside. “I won’t tell you again.”

“No,” he huffed, his arms crossed over his chest defiantly and his voice high and childlike behind his porcelain mask. “I already told you, I won’t do it unless you come, too.”

“I don’t have the time to play, Brahms, I’ve got to go out and empty the traps.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, drumming his long fingers impatiently against his bicep. “Well, when will you be back?” He asked. “That’s not all you have left to do.”

With how incredibly short his fuse was today, you wondered how long you had until this spiraled into a full blown tantrum. 

“Brahms, with the way you’ve been acting today, I don’t even know if I’m going to come back,” you snapped, doing up your last button and dropping the hem of your coat with a glare. “Maybe I’ll call a cab, head into town, find me a nice bed and breakfast to stay at...” you trailed off, brows furrowed in irritation. “Maybe they’ll let me sleep in.”

This, of course, was the wrong thing to say.

“You can’t leave me!” He screamed, voice cracking from the effort of it as he snarled suddenly from behind his mask. “I’ll kill you before I let you leave me!”

You could feel something in you snap, and you opened your mouth before you could stop yourself. “You know what, Brahms, you’ve been a real asshole today.”

“You can’t speak to me like that,” the man growled, taking a large step forward now, moving as if to cage you against the door with his body.

“I’ll speak to you any way I damn well please!” You snarled back. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks as your own anger began to build in earnest now, your hands clenching and unclenching at your sides. 

Brahms was a mess of an adult, quick to anger and quick to take said anger out on those around him. You had seen him shred paintings, tear down curtains, smash anything and everything he could get his hands on, leaving you to pick up the pieces after the storm of his anger had passed. 

He had threatened your life many times by now, something that had been startling to you at first, and before the two of you had really settled in with one another, you had spent many nights lying awake, fearful that your life may end at anytime.

You reached out, placing both hands on his chest as you pushed him away with a scowl.

If he was going to act like a child, you were going to treat him like a child.

“Bend over,” you snapped, slipping immediately into your most stern voice, your tone brooking no argument.

Brahms deflated immediately, whether it was the order itself or the tone you used with him, you weren’t sure. “What?” He asked, suddenly bewildered, his voice small as any anger he held left him like a candle being extinguished.

“You heard me, Brahms. Bend over.”

“I- I don’t-“

“Put your hands on the back of the sofa, spread your feet shoulder length apart, and bend over.”

“But-“

The first slap of your hand as it met his clothed thigh was a surprise for both of you.

Brahms froze, his entire body going rigid at the action.

You had thought about this, of course, fantasized about it even, itching to put the man in his place as he threw tantrum after tantrum without consequence or remorse. 

Brahms had grown up without discipline, that much was clear to you, his parents choosing instead to lock him away within the walls and attic rather than deal with his explosive anger and concerning attitude towards others, out of sight and out of mind.

You had been incredibly patient up until this point, tolerating the outbursts and occasional death threat, having yet to actually lay hands on the man with an actual punishment in mind.

The second slap was just as hard if not harder than the first, and you could feel your palm stinging.

There was no protest from Brahms, no whining, and you took this as a sign that you had gotten his attention. You brought one hand up to grasp the back of his neck, pressing him downwards until his chest connected with the ornately carved wood that made up the back of the vintage sofa.

Brahms was boneless under your hands, pliant as he allowed you to maneuver him where you wanted him. His breathing was hard, his chest rising and falling heavily, a noticeable blush creeping across his collarbone and up his neck to disappear under his mask.

Your hand slipped from the back of his neck to trail the length of his spine then, fingers dancing across the warm wool of his cardigan.

His pants and underwear came down easily, and you dragged them to rest halfway down his thigh, rubbing an appreciative hand over the swell of his ass. You could hear his breath hitch as you flipped the hem of his cardigan up so it rested on his lower back, heard his breath stutter in his throat as your hand dropped lower, scratching up the back of his pale thighs with sharp nails. 

This was the Brahms that was your favorite, the submissive one, docile and still like a kitten that had been caught by the scruff of its neck.

You moved to his side, one hand finding the unruly tangle of his greasy curls, content merely to run your fingers through it for a moment before gripping it suddenly, hard enough to have him gasping and moving his head in your direction to loosen the tension.

The steady rise and fall of your hand as it connected again and again with bare skin of Brahms’s ass was loud, completely drowning out the sound of the grandfather clock as it ticked some ten feet away, the only other sound in the room besides Brahms’s harsh breathing.

Your entire hand was red by now, aching, perhaps more red than than the flesh of Brahms’s ass as he remained bent obediently, fingers clenching the back of the carved sofa in his white knuckled grip.

This continued for some time -a glance at the clock had told you that it had been nearly fifteen minutes at this point- the sharp slap of your skin on his enough to have him writhing under you.

After a particularly hard strike, you watched as the man cracked finally, diving long fingers between him and the furniture to wrap his hand around his leaking member.

“Ah ah~” you said, catching his wrist easily in your hand and stilling his movements. “Naughty boys don’t get release.”

He made a broken sound then, twisting his hand within yours and bringing long fingers to your wrist. “Please,” he begged desperately. “Please, I’ll be good- I’ll be so good for you, I promise.”

“Will you get in the shower?” You asked. Your hand found his hair again and you jerked him back against you none too gently, his back pressed now to your chest and his neck arched backwards.

“I’ll do anything!”

“Good boy, Brahms,” you cooed. You reached around his body then, wrapping your fingers around his length. pleased when the man made a strangled sound low in his throat and arched wildly, thrusting forward into your hand. You began to stroke him slowly, teasingly, your body draped along the length of his back as he pressed backwards against you. You moved your hand from his hair then, sliding it against his throat and pressing your palm flush to his Adam’s apple, using the action as leverage to pull him closer.

He came suddenly and with a groan, hips stuttering forward as his slick seed coated your fingers. 

There was a moment then where he simply stood there, shoulders still hunched over the back of the sofa with his chest heaving as he came down from his high. Brahms gave a sigh behind his mask as he turned to you, arms wrapping around you to pull you against him as he buried his face in the top of your head. 

You allowed this, standing patiently as he nuzzled and pressed against you, needy.

But only for a moment.

“Now, about that shower, Brahms.”

[misstinfoilhat]

Whumptober 2019 #11: Stitches - Bungou Stray Dogs

“Osamu-kun,” Yosano exclaimed sternly as she threw open the door and entered the Armed Detective Agency offices. The bandaged man looked at her, wide-eyed from his work station in mock-surprise, trying to put on an innocent fasàde in front of the intimidating woman.

“What, Yosano-sensei?” he gasped over-exaggeratedly, pausing his writing on the keyboard in front of him.

The dark-haired doctor crossed her arms exasperatedly and sent him a venomous glare. “Don't try that with me. I told you to meet me in the infirmary when you came back. That knife nicked your arm pretty good. It's going to need stitches.” Dazai grabbed his upper arm protectively and frowned deeply.

“It's not that bad. I had already forgotten about it,” he argued matter-of-factly and shrugged his shoulder, suppressing a winch as the motion tore painfully at his wound.

“Mhm,” Yosano hummed, not at all convinced. He could try to fool her all he wanted, but his slightly paled skin and clammy cheeks couldn’t tell any lies. Not to a medical professional with as much experience as herself. The dork had been bleeding hard for a while, and probably not only from the visible wound on his arm. If she didn't get to examine him, it was likely he would suffer from anemia pretty soon. “You're bleeding through your jacket though,” she calmly deadpanned, nodding towards where his hand was clutching a little above his elbow. It had started to turn bright red from fresh blood.

With a sheepish smile, Dazai looked down at his sleeve that was indeed coated in crimson red.

“Oh, would you look at that? It seems you're absolutely right, Yosano-sensei. I'll make sure to do something about it as soon as I'm done with my report,” he sing-songed in complete ignorance, continuing to type away, staining the keyboard with his now bloodied hand.

That was the last drop for his blonde partner who was seated on the desk across from him.

“What the hell is wrong with you? That's so unsanitary! You're going to make the entire office sick!” Kunikida growled infuriated, instantly reaching for the small bottle of anti-back placed handily on his desk.

“Hm? Oh, didn't you know?” Dazai waited for a moment to make sure he had his partner's full attention before he continued, “My blood type is AB, and it actually strengthens your immune system. It's healthy for you,” Dazai lied easily.

The bespectacled idealist assessed him intently, clearly processing this new information. “Really?”

“Yeah,” the dark-haired man confirmed, nodding vigorously, “You should probably write that down.”

Kunikida bobbed his head energetically and started scribbling down these new sensational facts, only to be stopped by a strong grip on his shoulder. He peeked up bewilderedly to meet Yosano's unimpressed expression and immediately understood that he had been deceived.

Dazai sat and watched, beaming with satisfaction and pride, but before Kunikida was able to lay his furious wrath on him, Yosano had grabbed the lanky man's coat, and dragged him away towards her infirmary.

Only when she had shut the door behind them, she let go.

“Aow, Yosano-sensei,” Dazai whined pitifully and rubbed the place the doctor's long nails had dug into his skin. “You're being too rough.”

“And you're being a brat, so I guess we're even,” she retorted tiredly, locking the door and removing the key as one last power-move.

Dazai huffed his dissatisfaction, and looked around uncomfortably. He wasn't sure what to do with himself now.

Yosano sensed his insecurity, so she gestured towards her examination table, and Dazai followed her hand movement with his gaze.

Something in his expression changed. Serene, dark brown eyes looked back at her while his eyebrows furrowed. The crease of his lips turned into an anxious, crooked smile.

“Really though, it's not that bad,” he tried to reason again, without making any move towards the cushioned table.

Yosano felt herself getting fed-up with Dazai's reluctance to cooperate. No one in the agency liked being treated by her, but they usually had a very good reason for it (being that they would be half-dead so she'd be able to use her abilty to heal them). This was only the first mission they had been on with their new bandaged coworker and if this was the dance she'd have to dance with him every single time he got injured, they would have a serious problem.

“Are you like... afraid of needles or something?” she sighed dejectedly.

The small scoff that escaped Dazai at her approach was almost enough to send her over the edge. She took a deep, steadying breath before she allowed herself to talk again, albeit between tightly gritted teeth.

“What is so funny? I'm trying to help you.”

“I'm not afraid of needles,” Dazai explained calmly.

“Then why won't you just let me take a look at you?”

Even Yosano was surprised by her own tone. Was she really nearly begging someone to be allowed to check on their injuries? She was a damn good doctor, and anyone would be lucky (except for the fact that they were hurt, obviously) to be treated by her!

Dazai was unfazed by her pleading but after a couple of seconds of her intense, questioning staring, he softened a little bit.

“I... I'm just uncomfortable,” he finally said, not losing the slight smile he bore.

“What is making you uncomfortable? Is it because I'm a woman?” she asked desperately, not even able to be offended by the fact.

This time, Dazai actually laughed out loud.

“No. No, not at all. It's just...” he closed his eyes tightly and sighed heavily, before dragging his hands across his face. Once his hands were gone and his face was once again reviled, his expression had turned a lot more worried. He shook his head in defeat and looked up at her.

“There's doctor-patient confidentiality here, right?” he asked honestly.

“Of course.”

He pondered for a while, before slowly, finally, taking a seat on the table. He painfully shrugged his coat off, giving up on keeping up his fasàde at this point.

With the thick coat now off, Yosano could make out several more cuts that needed to be attended to. They weren't bleeding enough to soak through the heavy woolen fabric, but in the light material of his light blue dress shirt, it was obvious that they were pretty ugly.

He undressed from that too, now wearing only a white t-shirt on his upper body, revealing that his bandages were running all the way from his wrist to his shoulders. Several gashes were scattered all over both of his bandaged arms, leaving the bandages torn, disheveled and dirty.

Trembling hands started to carefully unravel the wrappings, and Yosano finally understood what this hassle had been all about.

His bare arms were a truly brutal sight, completely covered in (mostly) old scars. A variety of thin and thick lines in red, purple or different shades of paled nudes ran across every inch of visible skin. There were also explicit burn marks, some that were typically the results from flames or hot items, and some that looked like they were caused by electricity. As a doctor, specializing in people with abilities, having experience far, far, beyond her 22 years, she could honestly say that she had never seen anything like it on anyone, except for maybe a few dead bodies that had been tortured to death in her youth.

She definitely took pride in not being thrown off by anything, perhaps overcompensating a little for her gender and age, but this was her coworker. Her friend.

Dazai was shrinking under her peering eyes, so undoubtedly uncomfortable with the situation that she had to admit she was impressed that he hadn't fled the clinic yet.

With a shaky puff of air, she breathed out the tension from her stomach and sat down on a stool in front of him. He was careful not to meet her eyes and stared pointedly at his lap.

She had the strangest need to actually comfort him. To say something reassuring, but she came out empty-handed. 

So instead, she started to ready a syringe with local anesthesia and started to squirt a little of the numbing substance on the skin where she was going to prick him.

He had been truthful when he told her that he wasn't afraid of needles. Not once had he flinched while she stitched up three large gashes on his arms, with perfect precision.

Finally, as she was getting ready to re-bandage his arms, mentally trying to remember how he held them when he came in, Dazai finally spoke.

“Your stitches look really nice,” he said silently, looking dejectedly at the new seams that now held his body together.

Normally, she would scoff at that kind of remark from one of her patients, and tell them that ‘of course, they're impeccable every time.’ But, she couldn't make herself answer like that this time.

“Thank you, I'm glad,” she heard herself say, frowning lightly at the soft tone that was so unlike her to use.

“They'll probably hardly leave any scars,” he muttered, chuckling tenderly, finally looking at her. His dim eyes were undecipherable as they peered up at her, filled with sorrow and whatever else they were charged with, that she couldn't quite recognize.

“They usually don't,” she agreed sedately and started to gingerly wrap his arms back up.

With a sad, yet grateful smile, he nodded his head and watched in silence as she firmly bound the soft fabric all the way from his wrist to his shoulders and fastened it with a couple of clips.

“There, all done;” she declared, instinctively assisting him with bending his arms in different directions to be sure the bandages weren't sitting too tightly. It seemed to be fine.

Dazai's pallor was slowly turning back to normal, and he looked a little healthier now than he had about an hour earlier, so she felt comfortable letting him leave the infirmary on the conditions that he would go home and rest, and to call her if he felt dizzy or sick.

Turning back to his normal self, Dazai brushed it off to only being a vague proposal, but reluctantly agreed to take the rest of the day off. She made a mental note to stop by and check on him when she was off work.

Getting dressed back into his bloodied clothing, he was getting ready to head off, but stopped before exiting through the door.

“Yosano-san,” he said, voice finally steady and confident like it ordinarily was. It was encouraging and reassured Yosano greatly.

“Yes, Dazai-kun,” she answered as she cleaned off bloodied cotton pads from her work-station.

“Thank you,” he uttered, taking her by surprise and she turned around, not able to hide her astonishment very well.

“I- I really appreciate it. I know how this all looks, and... and I... I just appreciate it.”

She smiled at him, in a genuine way that she hardly ever did. She didn't usually show such a sincere part of herself, because, well, simply, she knew. She knew where he was coming from because she knew that life was cruel and hard and sometimes you just needed someone to shut up and leave shit be.

Leave the shit that belonged to the past to stay there, hidden and buried and on a distance.

She continued cleaning, deep in thought. It was clear that Dazai needed someone to let him deal with his own shit in his own shitty way. He had Kunikida to tell him all he did it wrong, Fukuzawa to tell him how to do things right, Tanizaki to possibly actually show him how to do it right and Ranpo to... well, Ranpo was there too.

A small ruckus behind her shook her out of her sentimental musings. Startled, she turned to check what all the noise was about.

Dazai was rubbing his forehead bewilderedly, with his other hand turning the door handle to the locked door. Yosano remembered the key she had pocketed to trap him at the start of the treatment, and she hurried over to unlock the door for him, realizing that their tender moment had already broken miserably.

She apologized awkwardly and returned the key to the lock and hurridly turned it for him, leaving him to exit the infirmary in a slight daze.

Wearily, she slapped her hand to her face, leaning heavily against the door after having closed it behind the accident-prone detective.

Apparently, it was a good thing they had gotten this horribly difficult step over with already, if this was how things were going to be from here on out.

Something told her that the novelty of his scarred body was going to wear out really quickly. -----------------

I think I started to write this story three times. Each time it just felt like a story I had written already. I guess that's going to be the challenge going forward. Also, even if I'm really behind at this point, I'm still going to finish all 31 days. Some days I have inspiration, others I don't, and that's okay. Even if I might not be 100% satisfied with everything I post (which I never am anyway), I will hopefully be able to dish a couple of stories out with time, that will be good enough to give someone a short break to escape from the stresses of everyday life, enjoying a short story from their favorite fandoms. As always, I'm super grateful for anyone taking the time to read, and I appreciate all feedback (as long as it's constructive- which people usually are really good about). Seeyallaterbye!

[fipindustries]

my experience with my gender and my sexuality

because i think it is about fucking time i talk about this somewhere. this is a cheerful post, intimate sure, way too oversharing, certainly, but i like to think of it as joyous sharing because i feel like i can finally talk about this stuff freely and gosh ive been keeping so many things on the inside and now i just want to shout them to the world, consequences be damned

for years i have fantasized about becoming a woman. i will say it here now: i want to be a woman, i want to try it, i want to know what is like to look like one, to dress like one, to be called one, to be treated as one. if after a while i get bored of it, or tired or figure out its not my true self, or it just doesnt fit me for whatever reason then i reserve the right to back off and try something else. but for now this is my state of being and im going to share the story of how i got here.

my earliest memories of dealing with this confusion are about me reading a magazine talking about trans issues and me watching the movie “ma vie en rose” and “boys dont cry”. i was too young perhaps to be exposed to these ideas in such a candid and direct way. perhaps not mature enough to fully process or understand what i had seen, to the point that for most of my childhood i had this irrational fear that i would become a woman when i hit puberty. that my dick would just shrink into a vagina, that i would start growing tits, that i would get pregnant, etc.

i was a very unmasculine child, i didnt like sports, in fact i didnt like most typically boyish stuff. i thought muscles where gross, i thought violence and fighting was scary. i thought most boys played too rough for my taste. i was meek, shy, and a huge nerd. but i also had a strange rejection for most girly stuff. it was too soft and frilly and silly and pink and yucky. on top of all that, my understanding of trans people was mostly shaped then by drag queens and outrageous transvestites whose aesthetic, to this day, i find garish, over the top and unpleasant to look at. sorry, is just not something i identify with.

during this time i started to engage in all sorts of strange games as a child. i would start trying on my sister’s panties or my mom’s panties in the shower. i would created these elaborate scenarios where i would have all the stuffed toys in my room “kidnap” me, force me to give birth to them and then breast feed them.

cartoon shows that dealt with themes of gender bending held a powerful fascination to me, i particularly remember the fairly odd parents episode “the boy who would be queen”. i had this strange sense of love-hate relationship with it and anything on that topic where i just couldnt help to be obssessed with it but at the same time feel like it was illicit or transgressive for me to watch it.

then i hit puberty and a light switch went off. where instead of being scared or unnerved by those ideas i just kept obssessing more and more over them. i started googling everything i could about gender bending, about gynecomastia, about how to grow breasts with certain herbs or supplements. it was specifically on the breasts that i was fixated, i kept promissing myself that i would get them no matter what.

at the same time on the outside i was more than comfortable presenting myself as a boy, a geeky boy sure, but a boy all the same. i liked wearing high waisted pants, tucked in shirt and tie. i liked having short hair. i fantasized about growing a mustache. what’s more i definetly identified as a boy. i went to an all boy’s high school where we were taught stereotipicaly male things like working with heavy machinery, welding, general workshop engeneering stuff and i enjoyed all of it. i was still a huge outcast and not the manliest person but back then i figured it was because i was just a huge nerd.

i had no rejection of my body or the changes it was going through, i grew hair, limbs, genitals, etc and didnt thought much of it that i can recall, beyond a vague sense of not wanting to look too adult because it made me look too much like my dad, with whom i never had the best of relationships. beyond that socially i was a boy and had no issues fitting there.

i masturbated a lot, and a lot of those fantasies involved gender bending. usually boys growing breasts, boys being subjected to forced feminization, etc. there were other fantasies but those dont have a lot of bearing on the subject at hand. one of the things that excited me the most back then was to call myself a woman. to insist over and over that i was a girl. like the feeling that i was brainwashing myself into femminity was a huge turn on (this is why for the longest time i was convinced i was an autogynephile, and honestly, jury’s still out on that account). then, as soon as i finished i would quickly tell myself “im not a woman” as a strange way of “no homo” myself from my fantasies. i was still doing ocassional crossdressing whenever i was alone at home with my mom’s clothes, again, usually for the purposes of masturbation

i have been attracted to girls for the large majority of my life, it wouldnt be until college that i would experiment with boys too and found that i could enjoy that as well, but my main interest has always been consistently girls. yet a lot of the time my attraction towards girls would come from a place of envy. of apreciating how pretty they looked and wishing i could look that pretty myself. once i started college most of these fantasies came with me, i kept researching about gender bending and about ways i could try to gender bend myself. some times it was because of fetishistic reasons but a lot of the time was because i just found the subject inherently fascinating. it was like this that i came across a lot of information about trans people, back in like 2011 and when i first started to really understand them as a community and grapple with concepts such a gender dysphoria and such. back then i reached the conclussion that while i understood and sympathized with trans women, i was just a crossdresser because i didnt experience gender dysphoria and because i had never experienced anything even close to the feeling of “being a woman on the inside”.

what was more, it was around this time that identity politics really started to get traction, things like “die cis scum”, “yes all men”, “white men tears” etc started to be thrown around and, as someone who had been identifying as male for his entire life, i felt personally attacked by most of it. an immature reaction on hindsight, but a reaction that cemented in my mind the idea that i was a man and there were no buts or ifs about it.

i kept crossdressing, i kept fantasizing, i kept fetishizing. i even experiemented with auto hypnosis because i was realizing more and more that i was never going to be able to truly make my fantasy about becoming a woman real so was was willing to try anything that would get me even close to it. i cross dressed because i liked the way i looked, i liked the way the clothes felt against my skin, i liked the feeling of trying on a different role, one that was forbidden to me. as time went on i stated doing it less and less because of the sexual gratification and more for its own sake.

then the crisis came.

i wrote about this before, i saw a bunch of people i knew coming out of the closet at an advanced age, people like jacob chapman, the wachowsky sisters, even reading about the story of how allison bechdel. the idea of someone figuring out their identity way into their adulthood shattered my world view and it introduced me the possibility that i might be in the same situation, which led me to panic. all the crossdressing, the fascination with gender bending and with trans issues were strongly suggestive if nothing else, but back then i was just not ready at all to confront those possibilities so i supressed like a mad man.

three years later, here i am. during those three years i slowly and gradually came to grips the possibility, slowly losing my fear of what i might lose if i came out of the closet, slowly examining my self and comparing my story with the story of others in the community. finding differences but also finding a lot of similarities. for the longest time my trans ex girlfriend would insist that i was very much not trans because a lot of my experiences were very different from hers, such as the fact that i never had issues inhabiting the rol of a boy whereas her dysphoria had been strong enough to the point of suicidal tendencies for most of her life.

one of my biggest concerns had always been the fact that i had heard from many trans people that their dysphoria hadnt really kicked in until after they started transitioning. as in, once they started trying to look like women then they realized how far away they were from truly being one, making what until then had been a vague feeling of discomfort into a true rejection of their own body. but then on the other hand there was also the real possibility that i would end up having a mental breakdown once i hit my fifties after years of repression and by that point i would look like just an old man in a wig

i think what finally made me tip over the edge were the contra points videos and the reddit community egg_irl. i just identified too much with what i saw there, and breaking up with my gf had left me free to explore those feelings without fear of ruining my relationship. so where does that leave me?

still confused, but no longer scared of the answers. willing to give this and honest go and see where it takes me. im still not ready to call myself a trans girl with all the letters. i understand that gender is complicated but i would really appreciate a unified theory of gender to help me make heads or tails of what i am and what i am feeling beyond vague notions about “the spectrum” and “social roles”. i guess i could be considered gender fluid as of right now but honestly that label doesnt mean that much to me on a practical sense considering i am still presenting my self as a boy in my every day life with one or two exceptions

i have a lot of work ahead of me and for once i am excited about doing it right.

[walking-true-to-style]

Snow Days || B.M.

Pairing: Uni! Brian May x Reader

Warnings: Nothing but fluff

Words: Around 1.7K

Gender: unspecified

Synopsis: School was cancelled today, and Brian didn’t want you to waste it inside.

Light poors into your window, causing you to wake up earlier than you wished. You received an announcement that class would be cancelled today. Thank goodness. You were not at all looking forward to your labs today.

You roll over in bed and try to just go back go sleep to catch up on hours missed from doing work the night before. You definitely wanted to use this day to relax and not worry about the upcoming midterm. As you are about to finally fall back asleep, you receive a not-so-welcome knock on your door. You cover your face with a pillow in hopes that whoever is knocking will just go away.

Knock knock knock.

You groan, stretch, and get out of bed. Obviously whoever it is was not going to let you have your beauty rest. You make your way the door, letting out a big yawn in the process.

“Who is it?” You ask, trying to shake the sleep from your voice.

“It’s Brian. The snow is beautiful outside. You should come out.” the soft and familiar voice speaks through the door. Your demeanor brightens at the sound of your best friend. You open the door and let him in.

“Sorry if I woke you...”

“No, no. It’s okay. Once I have my morning tea, I’ll be golden. Did you want any?” You ask, trying to smooth out your hair. The bed head is real.

He nods with a light smile. You turn on the pot of water and start to get ready, brushing your hair out, getting dressed and doing everything in your normal routine.

Right as you finish, the kettle begins screaming. You take it off the heater and poor it into the mugs on your desk.

You sit and enjoy tea with Brian, exchanging a conversation about the weather. Once finished you throw on your extra layers and head out.

_____

You were planning to just spend the day inside, taking a me-day the one time school allows you to, but you’re sure glad Brian dragged you out of your “lair”. You gasp at the sight of the wonderland that has overtaken your university. Icicles are hanging from buildings, the roads and sidewalk are nowhere to be seen, just blankets of white powder. Several other students were enjoying sledding, snowman building, and snowball fights. Some are even attempting to snowboard down a flat hill. You laugh, pointing it out to Brian.

“I don’t think that’s going to work.” You jest while shoving your hands in your pockets.

“Perhaps not, but you do have to give them credit for trying.” Brian replies

You are so preoccupied with watching this guy hopping with his snowboard attached, trying desperately to go down this flat hill that you fail to notice Brian looking at you with admiration.

As you and Brian are walking to the mess hall to get breakfast, a mischievous gleam in your eye appears. You hang back for a moment as Brian talks on about something his roommate, Roger, had done the night before. Something about how he brought home a girl, mistook her for another.... you aren’t exactly paying attention. You are more focused on your evil plan.

“Hey, Bri?” You say in a sing-song tone.

“Yes, lo-“ before he turns around fully, you hurl the snow mound at him. He flinches and freezes for a moment. Snow sticks to his hair and coat. You worry for a moment that he is mad, but he starts giggling uncontrollably. He shakes off the access ice, best he can, but the pesky ice crystals are stubborn.

“Well, two can play at that game, love!” Brian snorts at you. He gains the same glint in his eye as when he’s thought of a brand new song. It’s one of your favorite looks. For a moment, that’s all you can think about-

You don’t have much time to take in his features whilst he bends down to pack a few snowballs and chucks them at you. You try to run, but they hit you square in the back. You shriek as you feel the cold wetness of the ice hit your neck and travel down your spine. You shiver as it slithers down. Revenge time.

“Oh, you are ON, Isaac Newton!” you yell.

“Bring it, (y/n)!” Brian shouts back.

You both get to finding shelter behind snowbanks and making as many snowballs as you can, pelting one another as much as you can. You shake the cold off and get ready to hurl another snowball. However, you notice his tall figure is no longer behind his shelter. Instead, he is clumsily running at you, arms filled with soft, powdery snowballs and throws them as hard as he can. He continuously slips around and you can’t help but laugh hysterically. You get up and run again, giggling and shrieking all the way. In spite of his sliding, Brian manages to catch up to you and picks you up, spinning you around and then plopping you into a snowbank.

“Hey! No fair!” You laugh, getting up and brushing off the ice. Brian laughs and offers a hand.

“I think I’ve won, wouldn’t you say, love?” he says and offers a hand.

“I suppose....”You take his hand and, instead of getting up, you pull him into the bank. “...NOT” Brian lands on top of you with an “oof!” He wraps you in a bear hug giggling like a school boy and attempts to get up. As he straightens out his arm, Brian’s face is just inches from yours. You could feel his hot breath fanning in white steam smelling of your morning tea and mint onto your face. There is a moment of silence after the giggling dies as your eyes lock. You avert your gaze to something down and to the side, feeling rather warm all of a sudden.

“Sorry, I....” you start, particularly flushed.

“No, it’s uhm... it’s quite alright.”

Whether it’s from the cold or from the close proximity of your faces, you aren’t sure, but both your cheeks grow even rosier than before. He licks his lips and your eyes shift back to them. You never realized how nice they look. You find yourself wanting to know what it feels like to have his lips on yours. Without thinking, you close the space between you two and place a tender kiss on his lips. He tenses up, but eventually melts into it. There are a few whoops and hollers from on-passing students, but you drown them out. It feels as if you and Brian are the only two in the world.

The kiss is slightly cold given the temperature outside, but it makes your body heat up immediately. Your eyes flutter shut as Brian places a gloved hand on your cheek...

Quickly, you pull back and stare at him wide-eyed, realizing what you just did. His lids are half-closed, still taking in the moment.

“Sorry, I uh, I don’t know what came over me.” you ramble, just as you usually do.

He cuts you off by saying, “I don’t know why you stopped.”

“W-what?”

He chuckles lightly and stands up, brushing the snow off him before offering you a hand for the second time. This time, you actually get up. You brush off the snow and bring yourself to look up at him. His eyes twinkle under his now messy poodle hair.

“I mean, I was enjoying it.” He states rather sheepishly.

I’ve uhm.... I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now. I just didn’t think you had any interest in me. I was planning on asking you to go steady over breakfast, but... well, here we are.” he looks down at the ground with a smile on his face.

“Well,” you adjust your scarf and shrug. “I’m definitely interested now.”

“I’m delighted to hear it, (y/n). How ‘bout we get something to eat now, eh?” Brian raises his brows at you, and sticks out his hand, meaning for you to take it. At the first mention of food, your stomach whines at you. Obviously Brian hears it, too.

“I’ll take that as a yes?” he teases, bringing out an arm. You nod, embarrassed and press yourself to him, his arm snaking around your shoulders.

“Well then, shall we?” He flashes you a breathtaking smile- full of love and childish glee. Off you go then with your newfound love.

_____

Epilogue

“What’s all this about?” A blue-eyed boy, cocks a brow at the sight of you and Brian giggling and holding hands as you sit at the table. The other person, Tim, your mutual friend, at the table just sits back with an amused smile on his face and crosses his arms.

“Well, Rog, Tim. You know (y/n) and I have been best friends for some time.”

“Yeah...?” They both say in near unison.

“You finally decide to grow a bloody pair and ask (y/n) out then?” Tim snorts.

“Well, actually, I made the first move.” You butt in jokingly, looking up and Brian. He looks at you lovingly and turns back to the other two.

“Ah, well that bloody well figures!” Roger says. “Glad you two finally got together. Tim, I think that means you owe me about 10 quid.”

“10 quid?” You ask.

“Well,” Tim starts sheepishly “we had a bet on who would make the first move. I said Brian would-“

“And I said he was too much of a chicken to do it!” Roger interrupts, a childish gleam in his eye. “That means I won!”

“You bet on us?” Brian scowls, though, he can’t say he would expect anything more of his band mates.

“Well, of course we did. Does this surprise you at all?” Roger giggles as he places the money Tim had fished out into his coat pocket.

“Not in the slightest.” Brian says flatly. “I’m going to go get some food. (Y/n), love, care to join?” He stands up.

“Sure, Bri.” You smile. As you and Brian walk off again in search of something at one of the stalls, Tim and Roger mock gagging at you two clinging to one another.

A/N: this is our second snow day in a row so I got inspired.

[ultralullstuff]

Is Paris Burning?

There was a time in my life when I liked to dress up as a male and go out into the world. It was a form of ritual, of play. It was also about power. To cross-dress as a woman in patriarchy -then, more so than now - was also to symbolically cross from the world of powerlessness into a world of privilege. It was the ultimate, intimate, voyeuristic gesture. Searching old journals for passages documenting that time, I found this paragraph:

She pleaded with him, “Just once, well every now and then, I just want to be boys together. I want to dress like you and go out and make the world look at us differently, make them wonder about us, make them stare and ask those silly questions like is he a woman dressed up like a man, is he an older black gay man with his effeminate boy/girl lover flaunting same-sex love out in the open. Don’t worry I’ll take it very seriously, I want to let them laugh at you. I’ll make it real, keep them guessing, do it in such a way that they will never know for sure. Don’t worry when we come home I will be a girl for you again but for now I want us to be boys together.”

Cross-dressing, appearing in drag, transvestism, and transsexualism emerge in a contex where the notion of subjectivity is challenged, where identity is always perceived as capable of construction, invention, change. Long before there was ever a contemporary feminist movement, the sites of these experiences were subverisve places where gender norms were questioned and challenged.

Within the white supremacist, capitalist patriarchy the experience of men dressing as women, appearing in drag, has always been regarded by the dominant heterosexist cultural gaze as a sign that one is symbolically crossing over from a realm of power into a realm of powerlessness. Just to look at the many negative ways the word “drag” is defined reconnects this label to an experience that is seen as burdensome, as retrograe and retrogressive. To choose to appear as “female” when one is “male” is always constructed in the patriarchal mindset as a loss, as a choice worthy only of ridicule. Given this cultural backdrop, it is not surprising that many black comediants appearing on television screens for the first time included as part of their acts impersonations of black women. The black woman depicted was usually held up as an object of ridicules, scorn, hatred (representing the “female” image everyone was allowed to laugh at and show contempt for). Often the moment when a black male comedian appeared in drag was the most succesful segment of a given comedian’s act (for example, Flip Wilson, Redd Foxx, or Eddie Murphy).

I used to wonder if the sexual stereotype of black men as overly sexual, manly, as “rapists”, allowed black males to cross this gendered boundary more easily than white men without having to fear that they would be seen as possibly gay or transvestites. As a young black female, I found these images to be disempowering. Thay seemed to bothallow black males to give public expression to a general misogyny, as well as to a more specific hatred and contempt toward black woman. Growing up in a world where black women wer, and still are, the objects of extreme abuse, scorn, and ridicule, I felt these impersonations were aimed at reinforcing everyone’s power over us. In retrospect, I can see that the black male in drag was also a disempowering image of black masculinity. Appearing as a “woman” within sexist, racist media was a way to become in “play” that “castrated” silly childlike black male that racist white patriarchy was comfortable having as an image in their homes. These televised images of black men in drag were never subversive; thay helped sustain sexism and racism.

It came as no surprise to me that Catherine Clement in her book, Opera, or the Undoing of Women would include a section about black men and the way their representation in opera did not allow her to neatly separate the world into gendered polarities where men and women occupied distintcly different social spaces and were “two antagonistic halves, one persecuting the other since before the dawn of time.” Looking critically at images of black men in operas she found that they were most often portrayed as victims:

Eve is undone as a woman, endlesslyy bruised, endelessly dying and coming back to life to die even better. But now I begin to remember hearing figures of betrayed, wounded men; men who ham; men who have women’s troubles happen to them; men who have the status of Eve, as if they had lost their innate Adam. These men die like heroines; down on the ground they cry and moan, they lament. And like heroines they are surrounded by real men, veritable Adams who have cast them down. Thay partake of feminity: excluded, marked by some initial strangeness. Thay are doomed to their undoing.

Many heterosexual black men in white supremacist patriarchal culture have acted as though the primary “evil” of racism has been the refusal of the dominant culture to allow them full access to patriarchal power, so that in sexist terms thay are compelled to inhabit a sphere of powerlessness, deemed “feminine”, hence thay have perceived themselves as emasculated. To the extent that black men accept a white supremacist sexist representation of themselves as castrated, without phallic power, and therfore pseudo-females, thay will need to overly assert a phallic misogynist masculinity, one rooted in contempt for the female. Much black male homophobia is rooted in the desire to eschew connection with all things deemed “feminine” and that would, of course, include black gay men. A contemporary black comedian like Eddie Murphy “proves” his phallic power by daring to publicly ridicule women and gays. His days of appearing in drag are over. Indeed it is the drag queen of his misogynist imagination that is most often the image of black gay culture he evokes and subjects to comic homophobic assault -one that audiences collude in perpetuating.

For black males to take appearing in drag seriously, be they gay or straight, is to oppose a heterosexist representation of black manhood. Gender bending and blending on the part of black males has always been a critique of phalocentric masculinity in traditional black experience. Yet the subversive power of those images is radically altered when informed by a racialized fictional construction of the “feminine” that suddenly makes the representation of whiteness as crucial to the experience of female impersonation as gender, that is to idealization of white womanhood. This is brutally evident in Jennie Livingston’s new film Paris is burning. Within the world of the black drag ball culture she deicts, the idea of womanness as feminity is totally personified by whiteness. What viewers witness is not black men longing to impersonate or even to become like “real” black women but their obsession with an idealized fetishized vision of feminity that is white. Called out in the film by Dorian Carey, who names it by saying no black drag queen of his day wanted to be Lena Horne, he makes it clear that the feminity most sought after, most adored, was that perceived to be the exclusive property of whte womanhood. When we see visual representations of womanhood in the film (images torn from magazines and posted on walls in living space) they are, with rare exceptions, of white women. Significantly, the fixation on becoming as much like a white female as possible implicitly evokes a connection to a figure never visible in this film: that of the white male patriarch. And yet if the class, race, and gender aspirations expressed by the drag queens who share their deepest dreams is always longing to be in the position of the ruling-class woman then that means there is also thedesire to act in partnership with the ruling-class white male.

This combination of class and race longing that privileges the “feminity” of the ruling-class white woman, adored and kept, shrouded in luxury, does not imply a critique of patriarchy. Often it is assumed that the gay male, and most specifically the “queen”, is both anti-phallocentric and anti-patriarchal. Marilyn Frye’s essay, “Lesbian feminism and Gay Rights”, remains one of the most useful critical debunkings of this myth. Writing in The Politics of Reality, Frye comments:

One of thing which persuades the straight world that gay men are not really men is the effeminacy of style of some gay men and the gay institution of the impersonation of women, both of which are associated in the popular mind with male homosexuality. But as I read it, gay men’s effeminacy and donning of feminine apparel displays no love of or identification with women or the womanly. For the most part, this femininity is affected and is characterized by thatrical exaggeration. It is a casual and cynical mockery of women, for whom feminity is the trapping of oppresion, but it is also a kind of play, a toying with that which is taboo.. What gay male affectation of femininity seems to be is a serious sport in which men may exercise their power and control over the feminine, much as in other sports... But the mastery of the feminine is not feminine. It is masculine..

Any viewer of Paris is Burning can neither deny the way in which its contemporary drag balls have the aura of sports events, aggressive competitions, one team (in this case “house”) competing another etc., nor ignore the way in which the male “gaze” in the audience is directed at participants in a manner akin to the objectifying phallic stare straight men direct at “feminine” women daily in public spaces. Paris is Burning is a film that many audiences assume is inherently oppositional because of its subject matter and the identity of the filmmaker. Yet the film’s politics of race, gender, and class are played out in ways that are both progressive and reactionary.

When I first heard that there was this new documentary film about black gay men, drag queens, and drag balls I was fascinated by the title. It evoked images of the real Paris on fire, of the death and destruction of a dominating white western civilization and culture, an end to oppressive Eurocentrism and white supremacy. This fantasy not only gave me a sustained sense of plearure, it stood between me and the unlikely reality that a young white filmmaker, offering a progresssive vision of “blackness” from the standpoint of “whiteness”, would receive the positive press accorded Livingston and her film. Watching Paris is Burning, I began to think that the many yuppie-looking, straight-acting, pushy, predominantly white folks in the audience were there because the film in no way interrogates “whiteness”. These folks left the film saying it was “amazing”, “marvelous”, “incredibly funny”, worthy of statements like, “Didn’t you just love it?” And no, I didn’t just love it. For in many ways the film was a graphic documentary portrait of the way in which colonized black people (in this case black gay brothers, some of whom were drag queens) worship at the throne of whiteness, even when such worship demands that we live in perpetual self-hate, steal, lie, go hungry, and even die in its pursuit. The “we” evoked here is all of us, black people/people of color, who are daily bombarded by a powerful colonizing whiteness that seduces us away from ourselves, that negates that ther is beauty to be found in any form of blackness that is not imitation whiteness.

The whiteness celebrated in Paris is Burning is not just any old brand of whiteness but rather that brutal imperial ruling-class capitalist patriarchal whiteness that presents itself -its way of life- as the only meaningful life there is. What would be more reassuring to a white public fearful that marginalized disenfracnhised black folks might rise any day now and make revolutionary black liberation struggle a reality than a doumentary affirming that colonized, victimized, exploited, black folks are all too willing to be complicit in perpetuating the fantasy that ruling-class white culture is the quintessential site of unrestricted joy, freedom, power, and pleasure. Indeed it is the very “pleasure” that so many white viewers with class privilege experience when watching this film that has acted to censor dissenting voices who find the film and its reception critically problematic.

In Vincent Canby’s review of the film in the New York Times he begins by quoting the words of a black father to his homosexual son. The father shares that it is difficult for black men to survive in a racist society and that “if you’re black and male and gay, you have to be stronger that you can imagine”. Beginning his overwhelmingly positive review with the words of a straight black father, Canby implies that the film in some way documents such strenght, is a portrait of black gay pride. Yet he in no way indicates ways this pride and power are evident in the work. Like most reviewers of the film, what he finds most compelling is the pageantry of the drag balls. He uses no language identifying race and class perspectives when suggesting at the end of his piece that behind the role-playing “there is also a terrible sadness in the testimony”. This makes it appear that the politics of ruling-class white culture are solely social and not political, solely “aesthetic” questions of choice and desire rather that expressions of power and privilege. Canby does not tell readers that much of the tragedy and sadness of this film is evoked by the willingness of black gay men to knock themselves out imitating a ruling-class culture and power elite that is one of the primary agents of their oppression and exploitation. Ironically, the very “fantasies” evoked emerge from the colonizing context, and while marginalized people often appropriate and subvert aspects of the dominant culture, Paris is Burning does not forcefully suggest that such a process is taking place.

Livingston’s film is presented as though it is a politically neutral documentary providing a candid, even celebratory, look at black drag balls. And it is precisely the mood of celebration that masks the extent to which the balls are not necessarily radical expresssions of subverive imagination at work undemining and challenging the status quo. Much of the film’s focus on pageantry  takes the ritual of the black drag ball and makes it spectacle. Ritual is that ceremonial act that carries with it meaning and significance beyond what appears, while spectacle functions primarily as entertaining dramatic display. Those of us who have grown up in a segregated black setting where we participated in diverse pageants and rituals know that those elements of a given ritual that are empowering and subversive may not be readily visible to an outsider looking in. Hence it is easy for white obsevers to depict black rituals as spectacle.

Jennie Livingston approaches her subject matter as an outsider looking in. Since her presence as white woman/lesbian filmmaker is “absent” from Paris is Burning it is easy for viewers to imagine that they are watching an ethnographic film doumenting the life of black gay “natives” and not recognize that they are watching a work shaped and formed bya a perspective and standpoint specific to Livingston. By cinematically masking this reality (we hear her ask questions but never see her), Livingston does not oppose the way hegemonic whiteness “represents” blackness, but rather assumes an imperial overseeing position that is in no way progressive or counter-hegemonic. By shooting the film using a conventional approach to documentary and not making clear how her standpoint breaks with this tradition, Livingston assumes a privileged location of “innocence”. She is represented both in interviews and reviews tender-hearte, mild-mannered, virtuous white woman daring to venture into a contemporaty “heart of darkness” to bring back knowledge of the natives.

A review in the New Yorker declares (with no argument to substatiate the assertion) that “the movie is a sympathetic observation of a specialized, private world”. An interview with Livingston in Outweek is titled “Pose, She Said” and we are told in the preface that she “discovered the Ball world by chance”. Livingston does not discuss her interest and fascination with black gay subculture. She is not asked to speak about what knowledge, information, or lived understanding of black culture and history she possessed that provided a background for her work or to explain what vision of black life she hoped to convey and to whom. Can anyone imagine that a black woman lesbian would make a film about whete gay subculture and not be asked these questions? Livingston is asked in the Outweek interview, “How did you build up the kind of trust where people are so open to talking about their personal experiences?” She never answers this question. Instead she suggests that she gains her “credibility” by the intensity of her spectatoship, adding, “I also targeted people who wer articulate, who had stuff they wanted to say and were very happy that anyone wanted to listen”. Avoiding the difficult questions undelying what it means to be a white person in a white supremacist society creating a film about any aspect of black life. Livingston responds to the question, “Didn’t the fact that you’re a white lesbian going into a world of Black queens and street kids make that [the interview process] difficult?” by implicitly evoking a shallow sense of universal connection. She responds, “If you know someone over a period of two years, and thay still retain their sex and their race, you’ve got to be a pretty sexist, racist person”. Yet it is precisely the race, sex, and sexual practices of black men who are filmed that is the exploited subject matter.

So far I have read no interviews where Livingston discusses the issue of appropriation. And even though she is openly critical of Madonna, she does not convey how her work differs from Madonna’s apropriation of black experience. To some extent it is precisely the recognition by mass culture that aspects of black life, like “voguing”, fscinate white audiences that creates a market for both Madonna’s product and Livingston’s. Unfortunately, Livingston’s comments about Paris is Burning do not convey serious thought about either the political and aesthetic implications of her choice as a white woman focusing on an aspect of black life and culture or the way racism might shape and inform how she would interpret black experience on the screen. Reviewers like Georgia Brown in the Village Voice who suggest that Livingston’s whiteness is “a fact of nature that didn’t hinder her research” collude in the denial of the way whiteness informs her perspective and standpoint. To say, as Livingston does, “I certainly don’t have the final word on the gay black experience. I’d love for a black director to have made this film” is to oversimplify the issue and to absolve her of responsibility and accountability for progressive critical reflection and it implicitly suggests that there would be no difference between her work and that of a black director. Undrlying this apparently self-effacing comment is cultural arrogance, for she implies not only that she has cornered the market on the subject matter but that being able to make films is a question of personal choice, like she just “discovered” the “raw material” before a black director did. Her comments are disturbing because thay reveal so little awareness of the politics that undergird any commodification of “blackness” in this society.

Had Livingston approached her subject with greater awareness of the way white supremacy shapes cultural production -determining not only what representations of blackness are deemed acceptable, marketable, as well worthy of seeing- perhaps the film would not so easily have turned the black drag ball into a spectacle for the entertainment of those presumed to be on the outside of this experience looking in. So much of what is expressed in the film has to do with questions of power and privilege and the way racism impedes black progresss (and certainly the class aspirations of the black gay subculture depicted do not differ from those of other poor and underclass black communities). Here, the supposedly “outsider” position is primarily located in the experience of whiteness. Livingston appears unwilling to interrogate the way assuming the position of outsider looking in, as well as interpreter, can, and often does, pervert and distort one’s pespective. Her ability to assume such a position without rigorous interrogation of intent is rooted in the politics of race and racism. Patricia Williams critiques the white assumption of a”neutral” gaze in her essay “Teleology on the Rocks” included in her new book The Alchemy of Race and Rights. Describing taking a walking tour of Harlem with a group of white folks, she recalls the guide telling them they might “get to see some services” since “Easter Sunday in Harlem is quite a show”. William’s critical observations are relevant to any discussion of Paris is Burning:

What astonished me was that no one had asked the churches if they wanted to be sared at like living museums. I wondered what would happen if a group of blue-jeaned blacks were to walk uninvited into a synagogue on Passover or St. Anthony’s of Padua during high mass -just to peer, not pray. My feeling is that such activity would be seen as disresectful, at the very least. Yet the aspect of disrespect, intrusion, seemed irrelevant to this well-educated, affable group of people. They deflected my observation with comments like “We just want to look”, “No one will mind”, and “There’s no harm intended”. As well-intentioned as they were, I was left with the impression that no one existed for them who could not be governed by their intentions. While acknowledging the lack of apparent malice in this behavior, I can’t help thinking that it is a liability as much as a luxury to live without interaction. To live so completely impervious to one’s own impact on others is a fragile privilege, which over time relies not simply on the willingness but on the inability of others -in this case blacks- to make their displeasure heard.

This insightful critique came to mind as I reflected on why whites could so outspokenly make their pleasure in this film heard and the many black viewers express discontent, raising critical questions about how the film was made, is seen, and is talked about, who have not named their displearure publicly. Too many reviewers and interviewers assume not only that there is no need to raise pressing critical questions about Livingston’s film, but act as though she somehow did this marginalized black gay subculture a favor by bringing their experience to a wider public. Such a stance obscures the substantial rewards she has received for this work. Since so many of the black gay men in the film express the desire to be big stars, it is easy to place Livingston in the role of benefactor, offering these “poor black souls! a way to realize their dreams. But it is this current trend in producing colorful ethnicity for the white consumer appetite that makes it possible for blackness to be commodified in unprecedented ways, and for whites to appropriate black culture without interrogating whiteness or showing concern for the displeasure of blacks. Just as white cultural imperialism informed and affirmed the adventurous journeys of colonizing whites into the countries and cultures of “dark others”, it allows white audiences to applaud representations of black culture, if they are satisfied with the images and habits of being represented.

Watching the film with a black woman friend, we were disturbed by the extent to which white folks around us were “entertained” and “pleasured” by scenes we viewed as sad and at times tragic. Often individuals laughed at personal testimony about hardship, pain, loneliness. Several times I yelled out in the dark: “What is so funny about this scene? Why are you laughing?” The laughter was never innocent. Instead it undermined the seriousness of the film, keeping it always on the level of spectacle. And much of the film helped make this possible. Moments of pain and sadness were quickly covered up by dramatic scenes from drag balls, as though there were two competing cinematic narratives, one displaying the pageantry of the drag ball and the other reflecting on the lives of participants and value of the fantasy. This second narrative was literally hard to hear because the laughter often drowned it out, just as the sustained focus on elaborate displays at balls diffused the power of the more serious narrative. Any audience hoping to be entertained would not be as interested in the true life stories and testimonies narrated. Much of that individual testimony makes it appear that the characters are estranged from any community beyond themselves. Families, friends, etc. are not shown, which adds to the representation of these black gay men as cut off, living on the edge.

It is useful to compare the portraits of their lives in Paris is Burning with those depicted in Marlon Riggs’ compelling film Tongues Untied. At no point in Livingston’s film are the men asked to speak about their connections to a world of family and community beyond the drag ball. The cinematic narrative makes the ball center of their lives. And yet who determines this? Is this the way the black men view their reality or is this the reality Livingston constructs? Certainly the degree to which black men in this gay subculture are portrayed as cut off from a “real” world heightens the emphasis on fantasy, and indeed gives Paris is burning its tragic edge. That tragedy is made explicit when we are told that the fair-skinned Venus has been murdered, and yet there is no mourning of him/her in the film, no intense focus on the sadness of this murder. Having served the purpose of “spectacle” the film abandons him/her. The audience does not see Venus after the murder. There are no scenes of grief. To put it crassly, her dying is upstaged by spectacle. Death is not entertaining.

For those of us who did not come to this film as voyeurs of black gay subculture, it is Dorian Carey’s moving testimony throughout the film that makes Paris is Burning a memorable experience. Cary is both historian and cultural critic in the film. He explains how the balls enabled marginalized black gay queens to empower both participants and audience. It is Carey who talks about the significance of the “star” in the life of gay black men who are queens. In a manner similar to critic Richar Dyer in his work Heavenly Bodies, Carey tells viewers that the desire for stardom is an expression of the longing to realize the dream of autonomous stellar individualism. Reminding readers that the idea of the individual continues to be a major image of what it means to live in a democratic world, Dyer writes:

Capitalism justifies itself on the basis of freedom (separateness) of anyone to make money, sell their labour how they will, to be able to express opinions and get them heard (regardless of wealth and social position). The openness of society is assumed by the way that we are addressed as individuals -as consumers (each freely choosing to buy, or watch, what we want), as legal subjects (equally responsible before the law), as political subjects (able to make up our minds who is to run society). Thus even while the notion of the individual is assailed on all sides, it is a necessary fiction for the reproduction of the kind of society we live in... Stars articulate these ideas of personhood.

This is precisely the notion of stardom Carey articulates. He emphasizes the way consumer capitalism undermines the subversive power of the drag balls, subordinating ritual to spectacle, removing the will to display unique imaginative costumes an the purchased image. Carey speaks profoundly about the redemptive power of the imagination in black life, that drag balls were traditionally a place wher the aesthetics of the image in relation to black gay life could be explored with complexity and grace.

Carey extols the significance of fantasy even as he critiques the use of fantasy to escape reality. Analyzing the place of fantasy in black gay subculture, he links that experience to the longing for stardom that is so pervasive in this society. Refusing to allow the “queen” to be Othered, he conveys the message that in all of us resides that longing to transcend the boundaries of self, to be glorified. Speaking about the importance of drag queens in a recent interview in Afterimage, Marlon Riggs suggests that the queen personifies the longing everyone has for love and recognition. Seeing in drag queens “a desire, a very visceral need to be loved, as well as a sense of the abject loneliness of life where nobody loves you”, Riggs contends “this image is real for anybody who has been in the bottom spot where they’ve been rejected by everybody and loved by nobody”. Echoing Carey, Riggs declares: “What’s real for them is the realization that you have to learn to love yourself”. Carey stresses that one can only learn to love the self when one breaks through illusion and faces reality, not by escaping into fantasy. Emphasizing that the point is not to give us fantasy but to recognize its limitations, he acknowledges that one must distinguish the place of fantasy in ritualized play from the use of fantasy as a means of escape. Unlike Pepper Labeija who constructs a mythic world to inhabit, making this his private reality, Carey encourages using the imagination creatively to enhance one’s capacity to live more fully in a world beyond fantasy.

Despite the profound impact he makes, what Riggs would call “a visual icon of the drag queen with a very dignified humanity”, Carey’s message, if often muted, is overshadowed by spectacle. It is hard for viewers to really hear this message. By critiquing absorption in fantasy and naming the myriad ways pain and suffering inform any process of self-actualization, Carey’s message mediates between the viewer who longs to voyeruristicly escape into the film, to vicariously inhabit that lived space on the edge, by exposing the sham, by challenging all of us to confront reality. James Baldwin makes the point in The Fire Next Time that “people who cannot suffer can never grow up, can never discover who they are”. Without being sentimental about suffering, Dorian Carey urges all of us to break through denial, through the longing for an illusory star identity, so that we can confront and accept ourselves as we really are -only then can fantasy, ritual, be a site of seduction, passion, and play where the self is truly recognized, loved, and never abandoned or betrayed.

Bell Hooks

[seriestrash]

A Knight To Remember

- A Tyrus One Shot - 

Summary: TJ and Cyrus accidentally wear matching halloween costumes. Requested by anon [x]

Read on Ao3

Word Count: 1792

It’s Jefferson Middle School’s Annual Night of Horrors. A spooktacular event that happens on the Friday closest to halloween each year. It’s a festive celebration held out on the schools sports field. With a hay bale maze and a dance under the stars. Cyrus had been looking forward to the night for quite sometime but Andi and Buffy having to cancel last minute really put a dampener on the mood.

All dressed in white, Cyrus sulks through the decorative spooky iron gates. His fellow peers all loiter around in their costumes, either chatting, dancing or playing a few of the halloween themed games that were set up. 

It’s only a second later that he’s greeted by Jonah dressed in his Space Otters uniform, although he had gone to the effort of zombifying himself. Cyrus felt relived that he’d have a friend to hang out with but unfortunately, Cyrus connected with Jonah for all of five minutes before the popular ultimate frisbee player is whisked away by some other friends.

Feeling quite isolated, Cyrus contemplates just going home but he decides to trudge through the hay bale maze first. At the entrance of the maze, Cyrus nervously fiddles with the elastic straps of the feathery wings he’s wearing. Suddenly he was questioning his plan as the maze felt eerie and the fact that Cyrus could hear some nervous laughter and squeals from deeper in the maze wasn’t exactly convincing him to go in either. Cyrus holds his right arm out and gently drags his fingers across they wall of hay as he walks. 

Cyrus takes slow and careful steps, the deeper he gets into the maze the more anxious he felt. Cyrus could still hear people yelp in fright which sent panic through him as this was supposed to be a harmless, scare free maze. 

When Cyrus rounds a corner a creepy looking scarecrow catches his eye causing him to jump. Cyrus holds his hand to his pounding chest for a second and catches his breath before placing his right arm to the wall again and continuing through the maze. 

Another few turns and Cyrus reaches the centre of the maze, it has a little clearing before you can choose left or right to continue. Cyrus catches up to a few girls from the 6th grade giggling nervously as they went off in the right direction. Cyrus stops so he didn’t awkwardly trail behind them. 

Cyrus jumps in place again when a armoured knight hidden in the corner catches his eye. Cyrus curses at himself for being so jumpy. Then Cyrus looks closer at the figure standing still and deduces it’s not a prop at all. 

“Very funny.” Cyrus folds his arms, “What’s the plan, you turn your head a little and then you watch me be spooked?” 

The knight remains still and Cyrus tries to not back down. “Is that why I keep hearing everyone scream?” Cyrus continues to eye the stiff knight. Bravely Cyrus steps closer but when the knight steps closer too with a frightful “boo”, Cyrus reacts in his usual jumpy manner. 

“I knew-” Cyrus lets out a groan as he was frustrated and embarrassed. 

The knights laughter is muffled behind his helmet, as are his words, “You’re always so jumpy, Cyrus.” 

Cyrus knits his brows together at the knight calling him out by name, “TJ?” 

“Surprise.” TJ pulls his helmet off with a little difficulty. 

“TJ.” Cyrus says again with a little slap on the arm of TJ’s costume after confirming it was in fact his friend. 

“Hey, Underdog.” TJ grins widely. 

“Why are you hiding in the centre of the maze scaring people?” Cyrus questions and all nerves had dissipated in the presence of TJ. 

“It’s fun.” TJ shrugs. “I got lost in the maze at first and this costume is uncomfortable so I stopped and started scaring people instead.” 

Cyrus shakes his head with a laugh. “It might be uncomfortable but I like you’re costume.” Cyrus admires TJ’s armoured look. 

“Thanks.” TJ looks away embarrassed. “My mom made me try it on at the costume store and then she started crying and telling me I looked handsome so I got it to make her stop.”

Cyrus laughs softly at that. 

“I like your costume too.” TJ gently flicks Cyrus’s feathery angel wings. “An angel, how sweet.” He adds in an almost teasing manner. 

Cyrus lets out a deflated sigh, “Don’t even get me started about my costume.” 

“Why?” TJ is intrigued. 

“It was supposed to be a group thing with Andi and Buffy. Buffy was the devil and we had this whole ‘Andi’s conscience’ bit going.” Cyrus explains. 

“They decided against it last minute?” TJ tries to make sense of why Cyrus is disappointed. 

“No, they decided to get sushi without me.” Cyrus folds his arms. 

“Alright, you lost me.” TJ laughs quietly. 

“They got food poisoning.” Cyrus pouts. 

“Oh, that sucks.” TJ frowns, “I hope they’re not feeling too bad.” 

“Me too.” Cyrus drops his folded arms. 

“Oh good, for a second there I thought you were disappointed you didn’t have food poisoning too.” TJ jokes lightly. 

“I’m disappointed I won't get to go to the new waterpark.” Cyrus sulks.

“You guys were going to enter the group costume competition?” TJ questions knowingly. 

“Yes.” Cyrus sighs.

“It’s getting too cold for the waterpark now anyway,” TJ tries to cheer him up. 

“Their water is heated.” Cyrus says dramatically. 

“You can still enter on your own.” TJ says encouragingly. 

“The prize is different for the single costumes and an angel just on it’s own?” Cyrus scoffs, “How original.” 

TJ takes a moment to try and think of something to say that would make Cyrus feel better but he came up empty. 

“You have a chance at the single prize though.” Cyrus says kindly, “Your mom was right, you do look very handsome.” Cyrus pretends like he was going to pinch TJ’s cheek to which TJ swats Cyrus’s hand away and rolls his eyes to mask how nervous and embarrassed that made him. 

TJ’s embarrassment over Cyrus’s comment quickly fades when a thought comes to his mind. “We could enter the costume competition together.” 

Cyrus coaxes his head in confusion. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve never seen Romeo and Juliet?” TJ is surprised. 

It takes a second but it clicks in Cyrus’s brain. Baz Luhrmann’s, Romeo + Juliet featuring an angel winged Juliet and a knightly Romeo at a costume party. “Oh,” he laughs that it took as long as it did, “Of course. I’ve definitely seen the movie. You have?” Cyrus is a little surprised. 

“Because I’m the basketball guy I can’t be cultured?” TJ pretends to be offended but breaks with a laugh quickly, “I watched it for English last semester. It’s super depressing, I even cried a little bit.” 

Cyrus smiles to himself that TJ wasn’t embarrassed about sharing that. “You really want to enter together?” Cyrus is dubious, “Wouldn’t that be a little weird?” 

“Why?” TJ shrugs, “And if you say because we’re both guys I’ll be really disappointed.” 

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Cyrus mumbles even though he was definitely going to say that. 

“People gender bend costumes all the time.” TJ states unfazed.

“Alright, I guess I’m Juliet then.” Cyrus laughs and TJ smiles. “But if we’re entering as this iconic version of the star-crossed lovers then we’re doing it correctly.” Cyrus holds his hands up and takes a step closer to TJ, making the basketball captain step back nervously. 

“What are you doing?” TJ holds out his hands defensively. 

“If you’re going to be a young Leo, we’re definitely getting the hair right.” Cyrus wiggles his fingers. 

“Do I have to?” TJ pouts. 

“I really want to go to go to the waterpark.” Cyrus says. “Don't you want to come to the waterpark with me?” Cyrus wears a puppy dog expression. 

“Fine.” TJ admits defeat quickly and allows Cyrus to play with his hair, leaving him with young Leo’s signature side parted do. 

“Perfect.” Cyrus says once he’s finished. 

“We should probably get out of this maze and sign our names up for the costume competition before it’s too late.” TJ highlights. 

“Right.” Cyrus nods and holds out his right arm and places it against the hay bale. 

“What are you doing?” TJ questions. 

“If you keep one hand against the wall of the maze at all times you’ll solve it without getting lost.” Cyrus explains. 

TJ furrows his brows together, “Way to suck all the fun out of it,” he laughs. 

“Excuse me for not wanting to get lost.” Cyrus frowns. 

“That’s half the fun,” TJ shakes his head at Cyrus, “Rigging it so you get out is just boring. Come on, hand off the wall,” TJ tugs at Cyrus’s arm, “We’re finishing the maze the way everyone should.” 

“Helplessly?” Cyrus asks dramatically.

“Don’t worry, I’ll let you hold my hand if you get too scared.” TJ jokes but it makes Cyrus nervous.

TJ forces Cyrus to choose left or right - without having a hand to the wall - and the two go on their way. Cyrus erupts in laughter at how squeaky TJ’s costume was once they started walking, earning him a playful shove from TJ. It took a while but the two made it out of the maze together eventually. At one point Cyrus could have sworn TJ was making them take the same wrong turns purposely but Cyrus didn’t say anything because he was having so much fun. 

The two boys stick together for the whole night. They had to parade around in their matching costumes together as a way to drum up attention for a win but really that was just an excuse for the two to spend more time together. 

The reimagined Romeo and Juliet take out first place for the group costume prize seeing Cyrus happily win the waterpark tickets he desperately wanted. TJ offered to give up his ticket so Cyrus could take Andi or Buffy with him but Cyrus refuses that idea and insists they go together, which TJ definitely didn't have an issue with.

Cyrus returns home that night on a high. His face hurt from smiling and he laid away in bed thinking about how he and TJ accidentally showed up in the perfect couples costume and how casual TJ was about them being viewed that way. A very happy coincidence indeed. 

The whole Romeo and Juliet thing stuck around as a joke between the pair for quite sometime, they’d alway joke about being soulmates, that was until the whole couple thing became less of a joke and more of a reality for the young pair. After that they liked to compare themselves to couples that have a happier ending. 

End Notes: Hope you enjoy it everyone and the anon who sent it! I know I’m a teensy bit late with halloween but it’s not a thing for me so dnt judge haha!! X

[francesfromdc]

My Transgendered Lifestyle -- Read My Blog!

Resolve right now to explore roads you haven't previously traveled. 😊 You might be pleasantly surprised and you might discover some new facets about yourself that you didn't know existed! And most of all, have fun and enjoy  starting with.... Reading my Tumblr Blog!

If you like compassion, tenderness, sensitivity--traditionally female virtues, then maybe the right guy for you is one whose feminine, creative, and artistic side is not locked up and concealed under a macho cover. Unconventional? Yes. Atypical? Extraordinary? Absolutely. But the type of girl or guy I'm looking for is, among many other things, unconventional, atypical, and extraordinary. I hope you’ll take the time to read my entire profile, which I admit is much longer than most. The seemingly endless commentary 😊 will give you more insight regarding my not so normal but very interesting, fun and low stress life. Many people who did not wish to express an interest in me have written me simply to say that they enjoyed reading my profile.

I'm a lover of fashion and arts, with a lifelong passion for cherishing, honoring, and embracing all aspects of feminine beauty. My favorite creative outlet is cross dressing and gender bending. I look at this as an art form and take it very seriously. I try to create a very authentic, classy and often glam look once or twice a month that's not over the top like the drag queens (not that there's anything wrong with being an over the top drag queen! 😊 I've impersonated Marilyn Monroe for several Halloweens and a few parties here and there, and I must say that it's about the most fun I've ever had. Other celebrity impersonations I've done were Audrey Hepburn, Madonna, Paris Hilton, Bettie Page, Natalie Portman as the Black Swan, Daryl Hannah as the evil nurse from Kill Bill, and Elsa the Ice Queen from "Frozen".

I'm searching for fun people who are creative, bold, confident and very special  who would appreciate and embrace the exciting and creative world of fashion, beauty, fitness, performing arts, role play, cosplay, pinup fashion, gender bending, and even (mild -- nothing hard core--I' m a sub)- S&M / B&D.

LGBTQBDSM -- If I'm looking for people who will accept me as I am, I certainly would would accept her lifestyle choices. Not many women would embrace this lifestyle--I realize this-- but I'm confident that there are some and within that group, I'm confident that there is one woman who's life I will enrich, and vice versa. I know she exists.   My ultimate goal is establishing a long-term, romance-filled, caring and life sharing relationship, keeping in mind that marriage and serious relationships involve work, and I'm ready and willing to expend the effort and receive the rich personal rewards and fulfillment that love and caring brings.

Although my unorthodox lifestyle is not always easy, it's never boring and I feel very fortunate to have the desire and physical attributes to honor and cherish women and femininity in a realistic, creative, tasteful, respectful, loving and non-intrusive manner. It's a part of me that has always existed. Prior attempts to change and conform to a more traditional lifestyle have not worked for me, and as such, I have fully accepted and truly enjoy my femme side which I now know will always be a part of me. I get a lot of questions like "Are you in femme mode 24/7?" So I'll answer that question early in the profile and say, no my "everyday look" is male. (But I often playfully note the difference between me in male mode and me in femme mode as "drab vs. fab" 😊.

As a male, I'm often mistaken for a much younger person, (and occasionally mistaken for a girl--woo hoo!!) which in my opinion, is due to my dedication to health and exercise, my slender body and lack of facial hair, creative and fun choices in fashion, and a youthful fun, and positive outlook on life. No boring baggy jeans "dockers" or Donald Trump Navy Blue Suit/ (ridiculously long) Red Tie for me, thank you!

I have lots of goals which can be pursued in male or femme modes, including... ...finding a (romantic or platonic) partner for Rollerblading and ice skating at the outdoor rinks--(a great exercise and AN ABSOLUTE MUST for the body, mood, and mental clarity!) my favorite ice rink is the Sculpture Garden at 7th & Constitution Ave. I've been skating the outdoor rinks heavily since 2016.

During the warmer months (April - November) I bump up the rollerblading and cut back on the ice skating, going to the indoor rink at Mount Vernon Recreation center or the Medstar (formerly known as Kettler) Iceplex in Ballston once or twice during the summer if that. I always look forward to the beautiful spring and summer days on my rollerblades with a return to the outdoor ice rinks in November. The beginning of spring -- with the cherry blossoms -- the mild air and the longer days, is my favorite time of year. I look at it as a reward for enduring the winter months!

I also would like to explore and cultivate more activities such as:

★First and foremost★ ---Vacations--(Key West, Italy, and Hawaii are just a few of the places on my list). I have not traveled for pleasure much, but doing more of this is one of my top goals. Over the years, I've traveled for business, but I usually found those trips to be boring. I'd welcome the opportunity to meet someone who is interested in vacationing more and would like a fun vacation partner, even if it's just on a platonic level. In July, 2016 I met up with a group of rollerbladers in Copenhagen for three days of Denmark city and rural skating -- my first visit to Denmark! I re-joined that group for four days in Seville (Spain) in the first week of October, 2017. What a lovely city and a very rewarding (although exhausting!) experience! And for 2018 --in early September I joined them for the third time in three years: ✫¸.•°*”˜˜”*° PARIS!´✫¸.•°*”˜˜”*° c'était merveilleux!!! August 4, 2019 update: In mid July, I spent a lovely week in Berlin with this wonderful group -- many friends and familiar faces, as well as some new friends! I'm looking forward to my next European trip -- probably during the summer or fall of 2020.

★ Ballroom dancing--I'm a complete novice, but I think it would be fun to try, and perhaps occasionally (with the right partner) experimenting with reversing the roles, with the girl -- the genetic girl that is --wearing a men's suit and leading! I also have three relatively new and strong dance passions: (1) "The Carolina Shag"  (2) Tap Dancing, and (3) Popping. When done with precision, The Shag is a joy to watch and I'm sure it's even more fun to perform. Watch these two Shaggers and you'll probably catch the Shag Fever too!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8l5pczCZw04

If you're a good dance instructor, I'd certainly be willing to pay you for lessons -- even if you're not interested in forming any type of personal relationship.

★ Movies and theater (here in the DC area, but also day and/or overnight trips to New York). I think this is an aesthetically stimulating activity, yet most of us seem to only do this sort of thing every now and then.

★ Al fresco dining -- beautiful weather and people watching in all parts of DC, Bethesda, Fells Point, Inner Harbor and many others. Warm summer nights enjoying dinner, the energy and enthusiasm at the Georgetown waterfront (Washington Harbor is as good as it gets! And after dinner, a leisurely stroll along the waterfront or through some of the more vibrant sections of town to me, is very romantic. And the brand new "Wharf" on the SW DC waterfront has a lot of promise! I often like to do something very different and get really dressed up (sometimes femme, sometimes homme) and enjoy a nice restaurant during the week when everyone else seems to be in "business attire" or casual mode.

★ Home improvement projects. I'm AWFUL at doing these things myself, but I'm confident that these skills can be learned and I think I'd get a lot more satisfaction from doing some projects myself, such as painting, trim/molding replacement and addition, tile installation. I think it would be interesting to find a woman who has these skills, and also a bit ironic me to learn from her while I give her advice about makeup and clothes/accessories!

A topic related to home improvement is automobile repair and maintenance. I own a wonderful older BMW, but things break and wear out. If you're good at automobile repair/maintenance, I'm always looking for someone who enjoys working on older cars. Many of the shops in my area take the easy way out and say, "we'd rather not work on a car this old -- too much trouble and limited parts availability".

★ I'd like to do something to help disadvantaged children or others who aren't as fortunate as myself. I'm open to any suggestions you may have, and if this is something you're involved in, I'd certainly be interested in joining you in doing some good things for others.

★ Horseback riding. I've been on and around horses about a dozen times over the years, which has given me only basic knowledge and skills. I'd like to get serious about it, making riding a regular part of my life. I know that owning a horse is A LOT of work, so if you own a horse, I would gladly help out with the chores.

★ I love water skiing, jet skiing, and surfing. My first time on water skis was when I was 14 years old, and after about one hour of using two skis, I was able to get up on one ski. I haven't been water skiing in many years, but one thing is certain -- I do not want to own a boat! It's just too much work and too many headaches. Many people know the expression, ..."the two happiest days of my life: The day I bought my boat, and the day I SOLD my boat!"... So not having access to a boat means I won't be doing much water skiing! And not living near a beach means that I won't be doing much surfing! So you might be wondering why I even mentioned these activities. I guess it's just something that provides a lot of enjoyment just thinking about it. And I love to watch the surfing documentaries and imagine myself on those 50+ foot waves on Hawaii's North Shore. I guess we all have things that we fantasize about!

I'll be happy to answer ANY questions you may have. I'm single, never married (but there's still hope for me!), no kids, creative, imaginative, and lots of fun. I own a wonderful townhouse in a vibrant location (almost free and clear!), I'm financially secure, and I try to lead a healthy, active, and relatively stress-free life. And if you've read this far and decided that this is just too much for you, well I certainly understand, but I hope what you just read provided a fun and interesting diversion to your day and perhaps gave you a reason to smile or the notion to pass this along to one of your friends who may be more inclined to embrace a multi-faceted, non-traditional relationship.

You are MORE THAN WELCOME to express an interest in becoming a platonic friend or an activity partner! And to suz, sko, sso, and t ...Thanks for dropping in! 😊 All the best to you in your search for your ideal match!

Oh good! You're still reading.😊 My career for the last 20 years has involved doing what I absolutely love. My work doesn't really seem like work to me and that's how I know that it's the right thing for me! I often think to myself, ..."wow, I can't believe I'm getting PAID for doing this!"

I’m especially good at:

★ Making people feel good about themselves. Recently the American Film Institute honored Jane Fonda. When she spoke, one of her comments was particularly thought provoking: "It's better to be interested than interesting". I have long realized that asking questions about others rather than bragging about oneself works best and feels right for me.

★ Reflexology, which I will gladly provide on a regular basis for someone near and dear to me. If you wear heels a lot, you will love the soothing and stress reducing aspects of this wonderful type of massage.

★ Rollerblading and Ice Skating -- I love and thrive on the exercise that these invigorating activities provide. I am thankful that I have an outlet for exercise that doesn't really seem like exercise. Plus no health club dues, golf green fees, or other significant costs associated with many exercise and recreational routines! I think I'd get bored with running or riding the stationary bike, or walking the treadmill. And if I'm bored with it, I would most likely limit the activity or even give it up.

★ Thinking, feeling, and dressing in a youthful, energetic, creative, and fun way. I am enamored with Betsey Johnson -- the 73 year old fashion designer who to me, is the epitome of a youthful, creative, energetic and fun mindset! She is known to do a cartwheel on stage at the end of her fashion shows! Another older person who had tons of energy and refused to fade away was Elaine Stritch, the Broadway actress and singer. There's a wonderful documentary about her called "Elaine Stritch: Shoot Me". At the other end of the spectrum, my next door neighbor for example -- who is just a few years older than me -- usually wears faded and worn shorts, a dingy white t-shirt, black socks and wing tip shoes, and seems to have a constant scowl on his face. Really? Black socks and wing tip shoes with shorts?? If he's going for the "frumpy old man look", he's got it down pat!

★ The Sunday Washington Post crossword puzzle-- I consistently get 95-100% of the answers. I'm always amazed at how I might feel I am totally stumped, but come back the next day to easily get more answers right. I've heard that regular crossword puzzle activity is good for Alzheimer's prevention.

★ I  make awesome Espresso! I've tried them all, but the one I keep going back to is "Cafe Bustello". Oh yes, and did I mention I'm good with makeup and femme fashions?

★ The first thing people notice about me is healthy smooth, radiant and glowing skin which has almost no facial hair.

Movies give me a lot of enjoyment. I have a wide range of interests including TCM, and in particular movies by Alfred Hitchcock, David Lynch, Quentin Tarrantino, Woody Allen, Mel Brooks, and Stanley Kubrick to name a few. I have recently become familiar with the work of a French director Catherine Breillat. Her films have over the years sparked a lot of controversy, mainly due to her blunt and objective handling of sexual themes.

Are there any movies that make you cry every time you see them? The first time I saw "The Kite Runner" I cried. The second time I saw it, I wanted to see if it had the same effect, and yes it did. And even the third time I saw it, I cried. This kind of emotional release is very therapeutic! There have been other movies over the years that have made me cry, but a box of Kleenex is always needed for a viewing of "The Kite Runner". I'd be interested in hearing about any movies that have a similar effect on you.

I can rely on "Cinema Paradiso", the 1990 Oscar winning Italian film, to produce a strong emotional response.

The Oscar nominated 1985 Swedish film, "My Life As a Dog" is also very touching and poignant.

Another example, and another Oscar winner, is "Dances With Wolves". One of the final scenes, in which "Wind In His Hair" shouts down at "Dances With Wolves" from a ridge high above: ...."I am Wind in His Hair! Do you see that I am your friend? Can you see that I will always be your friend?"

"Manchester By the Sea" starring Casey Affleck (2017 Oscar Winner for Best Actor). If that movie doesn't move you, I really can't imagine what would!

The ending of "To Sir With Love" -- Sydney Poitier as Mr. Thakeray (aka Sir) accepting his gift from his students: ..."well ... I think I better go and put it away"... Gets to me every time!

And speaking of Sydney Poitier, I recently saw "A Raisin in the Sun" (1961) in its entirety. I've seen bits and pieces, but oddly-- had not seen the whole movie. I'm amazed that Sydney wasn't nominated for an Oscar in this role. And I now am very eager to see the play!

In 2018, I saw two Japanese movies on a flight that brought me to tears. Perhaps it was the travel exhaustion that brought it on, but there I was, sitting quietly with a river of tears flowing on my face. The first one was called, "The Lies She Loved", and the second one which REALLY got to me, was called "Color Me True".

Over thirty years ago, I saw a movie directed by Steven Spielberg called "Empire of the Sun" which starred a 13 year old unknown actor named Christian Bale.  Of course, most of us movie lovers know that CB is now a mega star. I was fortunate enough to see it again recently, now with high definition and surround sound!  The story is set in the early 1940's.  A privileged English boy (Bale) is living in Shanghai when the Japanese invade and force all foreigners into prison camps.  I was surprised to see that the reviews -- even the great Roger Ebert, gave this film a lukewarm review.  But I loved it, and cried a river of tears!

I occasionally enjoy movies that are very poorly written, directed and acted. You know, movies that are so bad they are good! Many of us know about Ed Wood -- probably the most famous of the bad movie directors-- "the worst of the worst!" I recently discovered a director named Bert I. Gordon who specialized in really bad sci-fi movies. What makes these movies even funnier is the fact that they were intended to be serious drama. The special effects were hilarious and very low budget, the acting was stiff, and the plots lacked any kind of structure and logic. Gordon's "Attack of the Puppet People" (1958) is delightfully bad! In this movie, a mad scientist/doll maker shrinks people so they can be his puppets!¸.•°*”˜˜”*°•.✫And... "Queen of Outer Space" (1958) starring Zsa Zsa Gabor. No additional explanation is necessary for this one! And extremely bad movies aren't limited to the 50's.

After recently seeing "The Disaster Artist" (2017), it appears that Ed Wood has some serious competition for worst director and worst movie of all time. His name is Tommy Wiseau and his movie from 2003 titled, "The Room" is a perfect example of film making at its worst. You can learn all about this delightfully bad monstrosity by watching The Disaster Artist which is by the way, an excellent movie about the making of an awful movie. Don't miss it!

I prefer film noir and drama over comedy, sci-fi, and rom-com, but I really can't think of a genre that hasn't provided me with some enjoyment. I think I've seen every "Twilight Zone" episode --the original ones with Rod Serling--multiple times. I always enjoy the SciFi Channel's New Year's Day Twilight Zone Marathon! If you have a favorite TZ episode, I'd be interested in hearing about it. Three of my favorites are "What You Need", "Eye of the Beholder", "To Serve Man" (IT'S A COOKBOOK!!! 😊), and "Twenty-Two" ("Room for one more, Honey!)

Musicals: Chicago, Rocky Horror, Hair Spray, The Producers, West Side Story, and Frozen. "The Fabulous Baker Boys", while not really a musical, features one of my favorite and most sensual performances ever: Michelle Pfeiffer singing "Making Whoopee" while lounging on top of Jeff Bridges' piano in a slinky red dress. I know that Jeff Bridges wasn't really playing the piano, but they did such a good job making it look as though he was actually playing. And note how Michelle steps down off the piano to sit next to Jeff -- stepping on a very thin ledge while wearing very high heels. How did she do that?

Everyone knows and loves the dancing of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, including myself. But the often overlooked solo performances from Ginger are amazing. One in particular was from a 1942 movie called "Roxie Hart" which, by the way was the inspiration for the musical, "Chicago". In "Roxie Hart", Ginger does sort of a tap dance going up these metal stairs and she just makes it look so effortless. I also love the quote (it's origin is not exactly clear), ..."Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did, except backwards and wearing high heels!"

Other vintage female dancers who mesmerize me are Vera Ellen, Cyd Charisse, Debbie Reynolds, Rita Moreno, Leslie Caron, Ann Miller, and Mitzi Gaynor. And probably the most entertaining dance sequence I've ever seen on film (oddly enough performed by a man--go figure!) is Donald O'Connor doing "Make Them Laugh" in the movie, "Singing In the Rain" ====>

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lO-FXFfhsEc

The 2011 Oscar winning film, "The Artist" has an amazing dance sequence at the end featuring the ultra charming Berenice Bejo as "Peppy Miller"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i2nNmU5v8zM

Occasionally I'll see a movie for the first time even though it was made decades ago One such example -- an amazing movie-- is "Reflections in a Golden Eye" (1967). I can't believe I missed seeing it all these years. Well, without giving too much of the plot away, it's set in the late 1940's and centers around an army Major's (Marlon Brando) latent homosexuality. And because it was the 1940's the major's sexuality is revealed only with subtle clues. His wife is played by one of the greatest actresses that ever lived -- Elizabeth Taylor. In one scene, an army Colonel (Brian Keith) comments that the army could have "made a man" out of his effeminate domestic worker and that he would have been a "better person" if he acted "normally". The major (Brando) then comments (in his typical Brando vocal style), and I'm paraphrasing some of it:

"So what you're saying is, that any FULFILLMENT obtained at the EXPENSE OF NORMALCY is wrong, and should NOT be allowed to bring happiness. In short, it is better, because it is MORALLY HONORABLE, for the SQUARE PEG to keep scraping about the round hole rather than to DISCOVER AND USE the unorthodox square that would fit it’ The Colonel replies, Why, you put it exactly right. ‘Don’t you agree with me?’ Brando's character: "No" (I think this is a significant and poignant anti-hate /pro tolerance message, especially for a film made in 1967)

✫I recently saw for the first time, a movie made in 1965 which was an adaption of a play from 1962 called "A Thousand Clowns" starring Jason Robards. His character (Murray) is an eccentric comedy writer who is pressured to conform to society in order to retain custody of his 12 year old nephew.

An example of his eccentricity -- here Murray is leaning out of his window, very early before most people are awake. He yells: “This is your neighbor speaking! I'm sure I speak for all of us when I say that something must be done about your garbage cans in the alley here. [raises voice even louder] It is definitely second-rate garbage. Now, by next week I want to see a better class of garbage: more empty champagne bottles and caviar cans! I'm sure you're all behind me on this. So let's snap it up and get on the ball!”

Another great quote from 1,000 Clowns:

“Five months ago I was on the subway on my way to work, was sitting on the express same as every morning looking out the window watching the local stops go by in the dark with an empty head and my arms folded, not feeling great, not feeling rotten, just not feeling. And for a minute I couldn't remember, I didn't know, unless I really concentrated, whether it was a Tuesday or a Thursday or a... for a minute it could have been any day. I gotta know what day it is. I gotta know what's the name of the game and what the rules are without anyone else telling me. You gotta own your own days and name 'em, each one of 'em, every one of 'em, or else the years go right by and none of them belong to you. And that ain't just for weekends, kiddo.”

I am a big fan of anything written by Tennessee Williams... including a recent discovery -- a 1962 film based on Tennessee Williams' play "Period of Adjustment". This gem of a movie starred a very young, sweet, and feminine Jane Fonda! Delightful! I loved the movie before I even knew it was written by T. Williams! My favorite TW plays: Hey, why list them? I love them all!

And I'm starting to have a huge appreciation for the works of Ingmar Bergman. I was recently fascinated by his 1960 film, "The Virgin Spring".

Sergio Leone's "Man With No Name Trilogy" starring Clint Eastwood:

........."A Fistful of Dollars" (1964) ........."For a Few Dollars More" (1965) ........."The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly" (1966)

All three released in the U.S. in 1967

The critically acclaimed "The Danish Girl" (2015) had a very strong impact on me.

August 4, 2019 Update: I can't believe I omitted one of the best movies I've ever seen: From 1957, "Twelve Angry Men". 95% of this movie is set in a small, hot jury room with no air conditioning. They are all trying to reach a verdict in a murder trial. A brilliant film with lots of big names in the cast, this movie received a very rare 100% rating on the Rotten Tomatoes Tomatometer. It has also been performed on stage, although I haven't seen the play. Hopefully, I'll get to see it one day soon.

Oddly, I had never seen "Gone With the Wind" in it's entirety until July 2019. Many consider this one of the best movies of all time. My opinion: Yes, I liked it but it doesn't make my top ten list.

Nancy Kwan--the beautiful Eurasian actress who made a big splash in the early 1960's with "The World of Suzy Wong" and "Flower Drum Song"-- mesmerized me when I was about 12 years old, and continues to mesmerize me to this day. Oh, the way she wore those beautiful silk Chinese Dresses -- I now know that those dresses are called "cheongsams". So if you are Asian, Asian American, or of any other heritage and you like to wear the cheongsam, please "go to the front of the line"--you will mesmerize me just as Nancy has done for all these years and have me eating out of the palm of your hand 😊. Nancy was exquisite in her performance of "I Enjoy Being a Girl" and I'm sure you will enjoy this wonderful number:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8JigBfoDtzY

I have been a regular SNL (Saturday Night Live) viewer since day one (1975). In 1982 I bought my fist VCR (remember VCR's? :-) solely for the purpose of recording SNL. It's hard to believe that a "great deal" on a VCR in those days was $549 -- which is what I paid for a VCR that could only be programmed to record one show. And it had a WIRED remote. Today, if you can even FIND a VCR for sale new, it would cost you around $19.95

Music: I have a large and eclectic collection on my smart-phone. I'd be happy to send you a list of those songs to give you an idea of the music I like to listen to. One thought that seems to come up regularly is how certain bands kind of "Jump the Shark". Bands that were in my opinion, once really good but in an effort to become more mainstream, they lose what once made them stand out.

When I listen to some of the early songs of the band "Chicago" or as they were originally referred to, "The Chicago Transit Authority" circa 1968-71) I can't believe how much better they were when compared to the mid 1970's and beyond Chicago. The later version just got kind of sappy and boring whereas the earlier stuff just had more grit and edge. For example, compare "25 or 6 to Four" and "I'm a Man" (the long versions) to "Saturday In the Park" or "If you Leave Me Now".

Similarly, the Doobie Brothers lost their edge when Michael McDonald came in and, in my opinion ruined them!

Rod Stewart underwent a ridiculous (and sad) transformation when he started singing songs from the 1930's and 1940's. Really? Rod Stewart, the rocker? Singing "It Had to Be You" ??! I don't think Mick Jagger would ever sink this low! Just my humble opinion though. Feel free to disagree!

I'm not a huge fan of "The Grateful Dead" -- I like them I suppose in small doses. But one thing about "The Dead" as their big fans call them, is that they never "sold out" by trying to appeal to the masses and altering their style. I really respect that about this group.

Occasionally I make huge errors in assessing new talent. I'm kind of embarrassed to admit this, but regarding the singers Sheryl Crow and Taylor Swift, I remember when they first started, my thoughts were that they were just a "flash in the pan" and couldn't possibly have any long term success and significance in the music world.

Wow, did I blow the call on those two. They are now very high on my list of singers/songwriters and I couldn't have been more wrong about them.

Conversely, for some newcomers I predict huge things and they end up just being mediocre or their shelf life expires very rapidly. When "Jewel" first arrived on the scene, I fell in love with her work, and yes she did have some early success, but she never became a mega-star.

Fiona Apple was (and continues to be) an extremely talented singer/songwriter and I was infatuated with her from the start, but (maybe by her own choice?), she has stayed out of the limelight and never hit the heights that I predicted for her.

Sports: My interest in sports over the years has fluctuated. There was a time when I wasn't even aware of who was playing in the Super Bowl or World Series. During the past ten years though, I've returned to watching sports and I attribute this entirely to the DVR. Watching sports that are not recorded or delayed is so tedious with all the commercials. and down time. When I record them I watch only what I want to watch, zipping through the commercials and other non essential airtime.

Which sports? Football (college is better than pro!), Baseball (usually just the post season playoffs though), Basketball (March Madness NCAA Tournament only -- I'm slowly warming up to NBA Basketball), Ice Hockey (my interest grows as the Stanley Cup Playoffs start-- and YES!! THE CAPS WON THE 2018 STANLEY CUP FOR THE FIST TIME IN THEIR 44 YEAR EXISTENCE!!), and Horse Racing -- only during May and June when the Triple Crown Races are held. I love women's figure skating--these girls are awesome!

And I WISH we had professional women's fast pitch softball. A few years ago, they tried to form a professional women's' softball league, but it folded, due to lack of support by the public. It's a shame, because these girls are so talented, and in many ways their game takes more skill than professional baseball. And to add insult to injury, women's' softball was discontinued from the Summer Olympics, presumably due to the U.S. Team's domination of the sport. BUT... I understand they're bringing Softball BACK TO THE OLYMPICS!! And I'm sure the U.S. will put a spectacular team together for Tokyo 2020!! Can't wait!

The National Spelling Bee! On ESPN! Yes, spelling is now a televised sport!

And finally, the annual Nathan's annual Fourth of July Hot Dog Eating Contest (although many would not consider competitive eating a sport! 😊) On the 4th of July 2018 once again, Joey Chestnut ruled! He ate 74 HDB (that's hot dog and bun for all you competitive eating neophytes) in ten minutes to beat his previous record of 72 and win the 2018 contest easily---leaving his 17 competitors in a cloud of dust!

I often think about...

Personal Goals such as:

★Traveling and vacationing more, either with that special someone or with one or more platonic friends. I've taken several vacations by myself and and have come to realize that vacationing alone is not for me.

★Relocating to a warmer climate after nearly 30 years in DC. The winter of 2014-15) was particularly harsh and made me give the idea of relocating a lot more thought. The winter of 2015-16 has been unusually warm, but as I write this update (January 23,. 2016) there is about 15 inches of snow on the ground with a good chance of about 10 more inches by the day's end. And as I write THIS update (July 14, 2016), we're expecting temperatures in the mid 90's with a heat index of 104. Where would I want to move? Maybe MIAMI, Florida (SoFi --South of 5th South Beach), KEY WEST, NEW ORLEANS, Louisiana, HILTON HEAD South Carolina, SAN ANTONIO; AUSTIN, Texas, PHOENIX, Arizona, SAN DIEGO; LOS ANGELES /SANTA MONICA, California, or HONOLULU, Hawaii to name a few. I'd like to make some good friends from these cities and through them, get to know what it would be like to live there. I would welcome the opportunity to meet someone who may not be interested in me romantically, but has a similar desire to relocate to a warmer climate. Kind of a platonic partnership with the goal of starting a new, exciting and adventuresome chapter in life, in another part of the country. I think a move like this is much less traumatic, less anxiety inducing, and more fun if there are two of us facing similar challenges -- and there will no doubt be challenges! I'd even consider a move to another country. At this stage in my life, now is not the time to be skittish!

★Enhancing my circle of friends and acquaintances.

★Enriching my life and that of others' through volunteering and more acts of kindness.

★Rollerblading and ice skating. Although I'm much more comfortable and proficient on hockey skates, I have a fascination with "Ice Dancing" and have always fantasized about gliding effortlessly across the ice with a beautiful female skater. In ice dancing and ballroom dancing, "the man is the frame, and the woman is the picture"... meaning that it's the man's job to showcase the beauty and elegance of the woman. I realize that this ice dancing notion will probably will remain just a fantasy, but I do have figure skates and would love to sharpen them up and partner with a woman who also likes ice dancing, even if it is at the most basic level.

★ I also want to swim with dolphins, and as a result of *finally* seeing "Lawrence of Arabia" in it's entirety, I'd like to ride a camel! Also, I can't imagine life being complete without at least once seeing the live Mermaid show at Weeki Wachee Springs, FL😊 ===>

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HZymMONi1XA

★Being more active in striking up conversations with people I encounter. I've found that people in the DC area are generally hesitant or uninterested in chatting with someone they don't know, or someone that they perceive to have no value in the furtherance of their professional or personal goals. As such, I have over the years and for the most part, avoided initiating conversations with people I don't know. I've decided to be more outgoing in this area, recognizing that only a few will respond favorably, and not worrying about the "rejections". I also think about...

★I'm not sure why it's taken me so long to realize this, but relationships involve: A LOT OF WORK (better to realize this late than never!). There are rich rewards, but unless one is willing to (a) admit that there's hard work involved, and (b) actually do the work when it becomes necessary, the relationship is likely to fail. I think one of the main reasons I've remained single for so long is that I had this fantasy notion that successful relationships were all wine and roses, and when things went wrong, I came to the conclusion that it just wasn't working and decided to end it. How twisted is that logic?! The bliss of a new relationship fades pretty quickly, and that's when working at the relationship comes into play. Think of a garden or lawn that has not had any special attention -- no watering, no fertilizer, no nothing. It wouldn't be lush and green, nor would it have beautiful, colorful flowers. Take that same garden or lawn... water it, feed it, weed it, trim it, mow it... and the result is a beautiful sight. ~But it took a lot of work~! If I ever enter another serious relationship, it will be with the clear understanding that the real rewards come with overcoming obstacles and resolving conflict while remaining 100% committed to the relationship. But in keeping with the theme of this profile -- total honesty --after living single for all these years, it will be a hell of an adjustment to live with someone else. Hopefully, patience, love and acceptance will prevail and the gradual adjustment to a new (and exciting!) lifestyle will occur. And I REFUSE to enter a relationship that is without extreme effort or care.

★Have you ever heard of people who are married but live in different cities? That kind of arrangement for some reason intrigues me. The couple has the benefits of marriage but they enjoy freedom and independence when they're not together. And the potential for little squabbles is diminished because they're not constantly together. Obviously, this is not for most people, but given the right couple and the right circumstances it could result in a very diverse and fulfilling lifestyle. Plus it would make the time spent together more special, and they would have the benefit of enjoying two cities on a regular basis. So if you know a couple who has this kind of lifestyle, or if this is something that you think about, I'd love to have a discussion on this subject.

A variation of the "married but live in different cities" could be a partnering with little or no romance or intimacy -- basically roommates, but with a deep caring and commitment to enrich each others' lives. Best friends to give each other emotional support, without the trappings of traditional marriage. Independence and freedom from always having to answer to each other -- i.e. "Where are you going?" "When will you be back?" "Who were you with?" I really don't know how or even if this could work, but my gut feeling tells me that it could indeed work. And although I wouldn't count on this happening, it is entirely possible that the emotional support and caring could actually grow into a love that would be stronger than if it were to have begun in the traditional manner. I would have to give this type of arrangement a lot of thought, but with the right person, it could be a very rewarding and broadening experience.

There is another huge benefit of this arrangement, and I'm wondering why more people don't take advantage of it. It goes something like this: You are comfortable financially like me. You own your home -- a nice home, but nothing extravagant or opulent. Let's say we both own homes worth about $500,000. Being a couple -- either a traditional couple or a non-traditional couple (see previous paragraph) would effectively allow us to live in a home worth $1,000,000. Granted, in today's real estate market a million dollar home to some people would be low end, but to someone who has a history of living in a modest home, that kind of arrangement would allow a couple to live their later years (let's face it, it's coming whether we want it to or not) in a location and style that is a definite step up. I'm thinking Georgetown or Old Town, perhaps with a river view. Maybe this is just fantasy, but I really think it could improve our lives significantly. Again, if you have any thoughts on this, I’d like to hear them.  Even if you think this is an insane idea fraught with problems, which it very well could be.

★ This one, well it's kind of scary and depressing. I think many (over age 50) single people struggle with the anxiety of being old -- really old-- and having no one. I try not to think about this one too much, but the fact remains that being old is difficult even with that special someone. Being old and all alone is frightening. This shouldn't be the only reason for wanting a significant other, but as time goes on, it becomes more important and is definitely something to think about.

January, 2019 update: More and more, I've thought about finding a significant other for the sole purpose of having a support partner for the golden years. Romance and intimacy wouldn't be necessary -- just good friends who care about each other provide comfort and companionship. And although I STILL have not made a Will, I would like to have that special someone to inherit my estate, which is by no means extremely large, but is not a pittance either. I make this comment with the full realization that anyone with ill intentions who has seen an Alfred Hitchcock movie or tv show, may try to form a relationship, get me to name them as beneficiary, and proceed to knock me on the head with a frozen leg of lamb (great episode -- "Lamb to the Slaughter", 1958 --find it on YouTube if you haven't seen it!), thus reaping the financial rewards as a "grieving" widow or significant other. :-) Other cinematic ideas for knocking off a "loved one" -- "Double Indemnity" (1944), "The Postman Always Rings Twice" (1946), "Dial M for Murder" (1954), "Vertigo" (1958) and "A Place in the Sun" (1951). :-) But remember, none of the murderers got away with it! :-)

★I don't know if it's just me or if this happens to a lot of people: The older I get, the more thoughts of occurrences from the past just pop into my head -- completely unexpected and seemingly without any type of trigger. And the unsettling aspect of this is that these thoughts of past events involve me in a situation that I mishandled in some way, and make me respond..."what were you thinking??" Often it's something that I did, but shouldn't have done....something I said that I shouldn't have said... or, something I didn't say but should have, or something I didn't do, but should have. Is this our way of reminding us that we have matured and our stupid and reckless ways of the past are now behind us?

These thoughts always focus on things I'd like to take back and have a "do over" or in the golfing vernacular, a "mulligan". And what's interesting is that I never get random thoughts about things I did well or things that I'm proud of. So I'm asking you... does this happen to you? Or if you're familiar with this type of thing, is it something that all of us (or most of us) experience? I'd be very interested in knowing more about this.

★How I've never really embraced hanging out with the guys. Recently, after a vigorous workout on my blades, I stopped at one of Old Town's riverside parks. I found a vacant picnic table, under a tree, with a cool breeze and a lovely view of the Potomac River, the Wilson Bridge, and the new Capitol Wheel across the river at National Harbor. What could be more relaxing and serene? Well, about five minutes after I settled in, here come four men in their 40's, 50's and maybe 60's... all standing around about to do some, I don't know... male bonding? Guy stuff? And then, not one, not two, not three, but all four.... light up these big fat smelly cigars and my blissful, relaxing scene is ruined. Well, I did get about five minutes sheer joy, but it left me thinking... "would I like to be one of those guys... standing around with their guts protruding over their belts of their khaki pants...smoking cigars? I also thought about their poor wives and/or girlfriends who would have to endure the foul, lingering odor of a cigar. I can't even imagine getting the slightest enjoyment from being part of that group. Of course, this is no great revelation-- I've never gotten warm and fuzzy feelings bonding with guys, and this is just one of the many things that reinforce the notion that I'm very different from most guys.

Hanging out with the girls is more exciting and invigorating, providing better quality, more supportive conversation in an "odor free" location! Well, this musing could go on and on, but the point I want to make (and I'm sure you've figured it out by now if you've read this far!) is that I'm not like most guys.

★Even though I generally speak of being attracted to women, a lot of people ask if I'm gay-- a fair and logical question. I've often wondered if I'm really gay and just refuse to admit this to myself. Then I think, hey, if I'm really gay, wouldn't I have *at least once* tried, or experimented with intimate relations with a man? The answer of course is no, I have not -- because it's something that just doesn't interest me. I think my brain is just hard-wired to be attracted to, surrounded by,  and infatuated by, feminine beauty. I have, over the years had a number of male admirers who have tried to persuade me to be their girlfriend, but it's very clear to me that women offer so much more mental and physical stimulation.

Now, having said all that, I do find it interesting and exciting to have a girls night out -- with one or more genetic girls-- and have interested guys buy us drinks, hit on us, and to be one of the girls talking about how hot this guy or how wonderful the new guy that they're dating is. Women receiving the attention of men, in my opinion, enhances feminine feelings.   I know--I know...this has all the earmarks of a gay mindset, but when it really comes down to being intimate with a man, reality sets in and there is no interest.

★I see guys wearing pink shirts all the time. I also see a lot of pink ties. Apparently, pink shirts and ties are ok for guys, but pink pants? I've got these great American Apparel Riding Pants that are, pink (actually, more of a coral), but wow you wouldn't believe the looks I get. Occasionally, I'll even see looks of disgust while shaking their head as if they're saying no. Often I'll see people just staring at my pants -- in line at the grocery store, at the airport, anywhere. One girl recently, in a kind of mocking tone said, "I like your leggings". And my response was, "why should girls have all the fun?!😊" The more I wear them, the more I'm amused at people's reactions, yet the guy in the pink shirt and pink tie with one or more earrings doesn't even get noticed. By the way, the American Apparel riding pants are the most comfortable pants I have ever worn, and I highly recommend that you give them a try. I have them in black, khaki, grey, safari brown, purple, yellow, navy, and --gasp!-- pink! Just google American Apparel Riding pants. American Apparel discontinued them recently (why I don't know because they were wildly popular!) and I've picked up a few new or lightly used pairs on ebay. AA also makes what they call "Disco Pants"-- super stretchy, and form fitting and so comfortable! Just google "American Apparel Riding Pants" or "American Apparel Disco Pants" and you'll see some wonderful pictures. I think they look great on all women XXS to XL.

Many of my other pants are very skinny, stretchy, and feature fun prints and colors -- very comfortable! I often wonder why "the norm" for guys includes pants that lack any distinctive or interesting characteristics, i.e. boring, dull, and frumpy -- as described in the State Farm Commercial featuring one of the Coneheads (Beldar) explaining to his wife (Prymaat) what khakis are: "khakis : a dull earthly garment covering male extremities". 😊 By the way, who determines what's acceptable fashion and what's not? During Breast Cancer awareness month, it's ok for men to wear pink, especially in the NFL where tough macho guys are wearing pink socks, wristbands, and even shoes. So it's SOMETIMES ok for a man to wear pink. Also, you'll occasionally see some bright and colorful pants on the golf course---there is a company called "Loudmouth Golf" that makes some really cool pants, and they're quite popular---BUT ONLY ON THE GOLF COURSE. On the golf course they're ok, but wear them to the movies or the grocery store and be ready for those puzzled, surprised, and sometimes disgusted looks from others.

In earlier times, if a man wore earrings, he would be ridiculed and presumed gay. At some point though, it became ok for a man to wear earrings and now they don't get a second look. Even Jim Vance, the NBC 4 Newsguy who I really admired and respected, wore an earring when he delivered the news. Sadly, Jim passed away on July 22, 2017.

Another example would be women and tattoos. Not too long ago, if a woman had a tattoo, she was considered to be "trailer trash" or "from the wrong side of the tracks". Then it became not only ok, but extremely fashionable to have a tattoo or multiple tattoos. What brought about the change? I suppose all it takes is a celebrity such as Angelina Jolie (tattoos) and Madonna (wearing lingerie as outer wear). But I guess it's going to take more time before Lady Gaga's dress made from meat??! gains a foothold! :-)

If you follow "baseball cap fashion", you'll know that the "flat bill" has become more popular than the traditional "curved bill". In earlier times, if someone wore a flat bill, they were immediately considered uncool and nerdy. Then, I don't know, someone famous -- I believe a rapper like "50 cent" wore his flat billed cap, and it soon became cool and street-wise to wear it that way. The curved bill became popular in the first place as a more effective way of protecting ones eyes from the glare of the sun, but now it's only used by those who cling to the old school ways. In fact, I was in a baseball cap store in Georgetown recently and I saw nothing but flat bills. I asked the guy working there if they had curved bills and he pulled out a few small boxes, opened them up and showed them to me. They weren't even on display!

And remember polo shirts in the 80's? Someone somewhere decided that he/she would turn the collar up, (maybe to protect the neck from the sun) and a new trend started. That style has faded, but occasionally you see older people wearing their polo shirts with upturned collars (maybe they think it's still in style!), and even some younger ones who are going for that retro-look.

Pantyhose vs. bare legs? Same thing -- you used to never see bare legs, now that's pretty much all you see, especially on the west coast. Well, the list goes on and on, but my point is that I have no desire to follow any kind of "acceptable" fashion guidelines, although I think it's interesting how some things become "appropriate" and others remain "inappropriate".

★One of the things that I've noticed over my years of "people watching", is that most girls do not know how to walk in heels. I think it's so beautiful to see a poised and confident woman, gracefully and sensuously walking in a sexy and elegant pair of heels. Unfortunately, this sight is so uncommon that when I do see it, I'm totally mesmerized. I know a former professional ballet dancer who, when walking in heels, is so confident and so graceful, that she never fails to turn heads. If there ever was a fitting real life example of "poetry in motion", this girl when walking in heels, regardless of the height -- 2" or 5" -- would be it. There are of course, varying degrees of walking in heels the wrong way. Some make me think that only a few small adjustments are necessary, while others are embarrassingly awkward and need a lot of help. I often wonder if women as a general rule, do the homework necessary to learn what it takes to walk in heels, and practice those techniques to perfect their walk. My guess is that most do not.

In reality though, I am by no means one of those perfect walkers, and I could benefit from some practice myself. When I do see one of those rare, elegant walkers, I make mental notes and try to incorporate their techniques into my walk. It's amazing what just a little work in this area does for poise, confidence, and allure. Maybe you'd like to get together (as platonic friends if you're not interested in a serious relationship) for some high heel practice sessions!

The designer John Galliano once said, "Style is wearing an evening dress to McDonald's, wearing heels to play football. It is personality, confidence and seduction." And a quote from Sophia Loren😍: "Nothing makes a woman more beautiful than the belief that she is beautiful." I believe there's a lot to these statements. This is why so many girls who may not have those drop dead gorgeous looks come across as sexy and desirable--they have CONFIDENCE, POISE and STYLE!

So come on girls-- (head held high, shoulders back!) go online and watch some YouTube videos about the proper way to walk in heels, develop some subtle but mesmerizing body language, and most of all, be aware of your walk, know the effect it has on people, and work at it to continuously improve! The increased confidence and poise will benefit your love life, your health and flexibility, and your professional life.

★I've visited many "erotic websites" featuring beautiful and sexy women (any man who says he hasn't done this is lying!). One thing I've noticed, is that many of the models pose for the pictures using a facial expression that is supposed to be sexy. The best way to describe this is that they look like they are either in pain, bored, angry, or uncomfortable. You know that look--head held back, mouth slightly open, eyes halfway closed. I don't know whether the photographer tells them to look sexy and this is the expression they use-- or the photographer describes the exact look he/she wants. Or some of the models might have this blank, mannequin like stare. To me, these expressions are not nearly as sexy as a woman posing for a picture with a nice, natural smile. These smiling girls are sending the message to the viewer that they are confident, warm, and fun.

Confidence, warmth, and fun are VERY sexy! And if they are not smiling, they are looking into the camera again, exuding confidence and self assuredness and basically saying "I know I'm beautiful, sexy and intelligent, and I love being a woman". And even though I love to watch fashion shows (Remember CNN's "Style" with Elsa Klensch? My Saturday morning wasn't complete without watching it!), the models usually had this bored, blank look on their face as they walked the runway. I would be thrilled if these fashion shows all featured models who smiled and looked like they were having fun!  But maybe there is a reason for the fashion models to have that bored look. Perhaps the designer is saying, "I don't want people to look at the models face, I want them to look at the clothes!" That may be true, but a smiling, fun loving and playful model makes an outfit much more beautiful and sends the message, "wear this ensemble and you'll be fun and beautiful too!"

But back to the erotic website models-- I don't know, maybe they've done some type of study and the results show that most men find that painful, angry, or bored look to be sexy. And if that's the case, my preferences are just further proof that I'm not like most men!

★ Speaking of posing for a photograph, and at the risk of offending many people, I have to say that taking a picture of oneself (a selfie), while standing in front of a mirror awkwardly holding a cell phone is not very natural or attractive. I know, lots of people do it, but to me, this sends a message of, "I have no friends to take a picture of me, or I have no activities to engage in while being photographed, so I'll just stand in my bathroom and take a picture of myself." Part of what makes a good picture is the feeling that the subject is enjoying himself/herself. How fun can standing there by oneself be? And again, I'm probably offending many, but the ultimate mistake is using one of these pictures for a *profile picture!*

Surely there are events and activities at which to be photographed, and surely there are friends, relatives, co-workers, or even strangers who will gladly take your picture if you ask (and stop calling me Shirley!) :-).....June 4, 2017 update: Wow, I've gotten a lot of messages expressing strong disagreement with my views on this subject. But I'm holding firm on my position that selfies are less attractive and less fun than traditional posed photos.

★Most people have at least one or two hobbies. The obvious benefits are stress reduction and numerous other health benefits. Hobbies give us a fun diversion from everyday life and the sense of satisfaction from engaging in something one loves to do. Some like to go fishing, tend to the garden, collect stamps--mine just happens to be cross dressing and gender bending.  One of my cross dresser friends put it this way: "Some men play golf. I play girl!"

My life choices give me the opportunity to step outside the everyday persona and become someone different, even if just for one night. I think that's why so many adults love Halloween (I'm one of them!).

I know one guy who is extremely passionate about participating in Civil War reenactments. He goes to several reenactments every year, wears authentic uniforms (thick wool -- very hot in the sweltering heat of the summer), carries authentic weaponry, and even eats the food that civil war soldiers ate --hardtack and corn pone. He absolutely loves it. Why? I suppose it's due to reasons similar to mine -- to create a diversion from everyday life and engage in one's passion.

But in my opinion, there is something a little unsettling about glorifying such a tragic event -- one in which over 600,000 people perished. Successful lawyers, accountants, auto mechanics, etc. -- pretending and fantasizing that they are going through the same physical and emotional trauma as the original soldiers. To me, it's not much different than "re-enacting" the 9/11 tragedies. I'm reasonably certain that if this were to be done, it would immediately be considered to be "poor taste". But I'm sure that the passage of time somehow softens the emotional impact, and using this logic, in about 100 years there may be people who have a passion for being a part of "9/11 re-enactments".

But...to each his or her own, so Civil War actors -- if this is your passion, go out and enjoy yourselves! And some people love to go to Star Wars or super hero conventions dressed to the nines as their favorite character. Why is this kind of activity generally considered harmless, creative fun, while my gender bending artistic endeavors are often met with scorn and ridicule, and often prompt speculation about mental and emotional stability? I recently received a message from a lovely girl from the Philippines, and I was stunned at the simple and logical outlook she had regarding my lifestyle.

Here's how she put it: ¸.•°*”˜˜”*°•✫ ..✫¸.•°*”˜˜”*°•.✫.....I never experience liking a man looking like a woman. But your an exception to that. I never saw you different or complicated. Just like any other. I saw you just like an amazing person who dedicates himself with his passion. Never saw you as a girl but a man who enjoys his passion and bravely does what his heart want him to do.if i love singing or cooking, you love cross dressing so whats wrong with that my sweet? Nothing right. :* do not except yourself with everyone. You belong with us and you deserve to be treated normal just like what every man deserves. But lemme tell you a secret okay? Even though i saw you as normal man. My heart beats specially telling me. Your really special. ❤ so because of that. Be ready to be treated special too. ¸.•°*”˜˜”*°•✫ ..✫¸.•°*”˜˜”*°•.✫

Another heartfelt message (which I have read over and over again for inspiration and confidence!) is: ¸.•°*”˜˜”*°•✫ ..✫¸.•°*”˜˜”*°•.✫"Reading your profile was such a rich experience that I wanted to compliment you and reinforce that you re a very special and unique person, one with so much depth, insight, awareness, honesty, thoughtfulness, compassion and wisdom. Your articulate blog drew me in completely, and I felt blessed to be fortunate enough to have you share your inner self, inner spirit, inner soul with me. I felt a warmth and tenderness that truly touched me. You are truly amazing, inside and out, and deserve to find your happiness, fulfillment and joy throughout your lifetime."¸.•°*”˜˜”*°•✫ ..✫¸.•°*”˜˜”*°•.✫

And my absolute favorite response to my profile comes from a beautiful woman (inner and outer beauty!) in Romania and she writes:

¸.•°*”˜˜”*°•✫ ..✫¸.•°*”˜˜”*°•.✫¸.•°*”˜˜”*°•✫ ¸.•°*”˜˜”*°•✫ •°*”˜˜”*°•✫ ¸.•°*”˜˜”*°•✫ It took me almost two hours to read your entire profile. I had to look for the explanation of some words or expressions, being an excellent exercise in improving my English and at the same time a fascinating immersion in understanding a person as complex as you are. It is the most powerful, captivating, complex and honest profile I have ever read. I never thought I could. read something like this on OKC. I am still amazed by your clear, logical, profound and so colorful style of expression You are a very special person, so different from what I'm used to know but so human and profound in a way that few people can be. ¸.•°*”˜˜”*°•✫ ..✫¸.•°*”˜˜”*°•.✫¸.•°*”˜˜”*°•✫ ¸.•°*”˜˜”*°•✫ •°*”˜˜”*°•✫ ¸.•°*”˜˜”*°•✫

★ A lot of people ask me how and when I developed an interest in cross dressing and gender bending. I'm not exactly sure, maybe it's an innate characteristic, or maybe a particular incident or experience created a spark and my creative imagination just ran with it. I do recall at about age five becoming mesmerized with these beautiful cocktail glasses emblazoned with the stunning women painted by the artist Alberto Vargas. Vargas' style by the way, has been copied by many, but no one really comes close. If you're curious about his work, simply google "Alberto Vargas" and you'll see some of the images that I believe created the spark that lit the fire, giving me this lifelong fascination.

Countless television viewing experiences added fuel to the fire, so to speak. Remember Ginger from "Gilligan's Island"? I was captivated by her beauty and elegance -- evening gowns and high heels while stranded on a deserted island walking through the sand! 😊 And a series of old commercials for "Muriel Cigars" starring Edie Adams (who incidentally bore a resemblance to Ginger (or was it Ginger who resembled Edie? 😊) View these fun and sexy commercials on YouTube, if you like. There was a lot of sexual innuendo and double entendre in these commercials, but it all went over the head of a young and mesmerized viewer.

I could list dozens more, but the gist of all this is that strong visual stimulation, a passion for feminine beauty and elegance, combined with an active and creative imagination, set the stage for a life-long appreciation and admiration of feminine beauty.

★Another question I get fairly often is, "Do you ever think about transitioning to being female 24/7, ala Bruce/Caitlyn Jenner and thousands of others? I've often wondered about it, but so far I've had no desire or motivation to go down that road. Some transgendered people have a burning desire to present as who they are inside-- 24/7. For them, there is just no other way to survive.

Other transgendered people (like me), find pleasure in both their masculine and feminine sides and as such have neither the need nor the desire to make the transition to 24/7. In fact, I believe that being "gender fluid" makes me appreciate both my male and femme sides even more. April 30, 2018 update: I just finished Caitlyn Jenner's book, "The Secrets of My Life". I wanted to read it to compare my lifelong thoughts of being transgendered to those of CJ. Although I never won an Olympic Gold Medal, many, many aspects of our lives and inner thoughts are eerily similar. I highly recommend this book (which is an easy and entertaining read) for anyone who has an interest in knowing about the myriad of difficult challenges and coping solutions that transgendered people typically face.

I also read "Becoming Nicole" -- a New York Times best seller about a family with identical twin boys -- one of whom is transgendered, and the other being a "normal" boy. One of the key concepts of this story is how the brain becomes "masculinized" or "feminized" ~~while still in the womb~~. Sexual anatomy is determined approximately six weeks into the pregnancy, however the brain does not "masculinize" or "feminize" until six ~~months~~ ... and can be very different even in the case of identical twins. This is another great story of courage and perseverance -- not only for Nicole, but for her entire family.

And I recently came across a brief, but very interesting and informative essay titled, "The Psychology of Cross-Dressing". A couple of high impact quotes from this article:

**...”But in truth, cross-dressing is grounded in a highly logical and universal desire: the wish to be, for a time, the gender one admires, is excited by – and perhaps loves. Dressing like a woman is merely a dramatic, yet essentially reasonable, way of getting closer to the experiences of the sex one is profoundly curious about – and yet has been (somewhat arbitrarily) barred from... “

and

**”It may be bewildering to have to accept that one is at heart, in the semi-conscious mind, always going to be something far more diverse, multi-faceted but also perhaps interesting than a mere ‘man’ or a ‘woman’** If you'd like to read the entire essay, it can be found at:

https://www.theschooloflife.com/thebookoflife/the-psychology-of-cross-dressing/

As I mentioned early in the blog, for me, this has always been a fun, creative, and artistic expression of feminine beauty which I enjoy very much. But do I feel like a "woman trapped in a man's body"? I guess the answer is sometimes yes, and sometimes no. Which supports my theory that some transgendered people find pleasure and comfort by embracing certain aspects of both genders.

Only lately have I taken the time to look into the pros and cons of hormone treatments which most consider to be one of the first steps of transitioning from one gender to the other on a full time basis. One notion that surfaces over and over again -- when it comes to genetic males taking female hormones -- is that they feel more relaxed and have more inner peace. It has also been reported that this more relaxed feeling allows them to connect with people on a deeper, more meaningful level. Now I'm not going to rush out and start taking female hormones, but experiencing those feelings that are generally attributed to females is something that intrigues me.

One other thing that I have heard trans women describe as a result of hormone treatments is that their senses are heightened. Colors are brighter and scents are stronger. It is almost as if one's senses are somehow altered or enhanced. Again, very intriguing. Buuuuut... a HUGE DRAWBACK of hormone treatments is often (usually) a diminished sexual response ("E.D. to be specific) and THAT -- is something that will most likely keep me from venturing into those waters!

I have a lot of respect for the transgender people who "go all the way" because it is undeniably a difficult road to travel. Only a few transsexuals who were born male have features and outward physical characteristics that allow them to blend in with other genetic women without being scrutinized. And that's why I have so much respect for people like Caitlyn Jenner because, no matter how much surgery or how many hormones she takes, she will still have many physical characteristics typically associated with non-genetic women. That takes A LOT OF COURAGE and presents so many challenges in life.

★ It is entirely possible that the the “normal” khaki wearing, briefcase toting guy you see every day has a secret desire to cross dress or feel feminine, but doesn't dare tell anyone about it. It's much more common than you might think. I feel bad for the guys who are 100% in the closet because their femme side is locked up and hidden away, and they struggle to keep their secret, terrified that their wives or girlfriends will discover that they have these feelings.

Often, they try to overcompensate by being excessively macho and manly. I know one cross dresser whose wife knows, but totally disapproves. He told me that at one point, he secretly rented space in a storage facility so he could have some "girl time". A damp and dimly lit storage facility?? How lonely and depressing is that!? While it is true that when going out en femme, the venue has to be considered, (some places, unfortunately are not "TG friendly") but at least I'm not locked up in a storage facility trying on dresses and heels! I hope the storage facility guy eventually gains a little more freedom.

I decided long ago that if I was going to be married or have a serious relationship, it would be with a woman who not only knew about my femme side, but enjoyed and appreciated it also.

★You'll no doubt agree that this blog seems to be a bottomless pit.  There's a reason for such extensive expression.  I want people to know as much about me, without concealing anything. Think about all those people who write a few paragraphs (or in some cases, just a few words!) in a dating profile about who they are and what they want in a significant other. Are they really letting you look into their deepest, most private thoughts? Or are they just giving you the information they think you might want to hear?

I have a friend who met a guy, and married him about a year later. Shortly after they married, he expressed a desire for her to look and act like a little girl as a sexual stimulant for him. I have no problem with role play as an enhancement to sexual matters. Actually, I think it's quite healthy and creative. For this guy however, the "little girl fantasy" was the be all and end all and my friend quickly realized that something didn't sit right with her. Now, without knowing the intricate details of the marriage, I can't say for sure how the marriage ended, but it did. And after talking with my friend, I learned that his fixation was a primary factor. Why do I relate this story in my profile?

Well, this guy and the unfortunate girl could have saved a lot of heartache had he been up front with her before they were married. If he had told her all about this part of him that seemed to fixate on his adult wife looking and acting like an 8 year old for his sexual pleasure-- she could have made an informed decision about whether she could or couldn't live with his fetish. She most likely wouldn't have married him and she could have been free to pursue they type of relationship she wanted, and he could have been free to look for a woman who didn't have a problem with his desires.

To my knowledge, he wasn't into child pornography -- he just wanted his wife to "act the part". And that brings me back to my situation. I'm fully aware that most women would not be interested in pursuing a relationship with me. But I'm up front about myself and I would never want to string someone along, and then suddenly reveal a very different side of myself. Doing so would be extremely selfish and detrimental to the relationship, to say the least. What you have from me -- from the start -- is complete openness with nothing concealed. I wonder how many dating site profiles go to such great lengths.

★ I often wonder why, when a little girl shows an interest in things like toy trucks, or football, the parents rarely discourage her from being interested in these things. In fact, they often encourage her to experience things that are traditionally feminine AND traditionally masculine. When young boys express interest in traditionally feminine things -- Barbie Dolls, princess dresses, etc., -- there is usually A LOT OF CONCERN and disappointment that he's not a "normal boy".

Is it that we all have a subconscious notion that masculine is "strong, good, and positive" and feminine is weak? Not that long ago -- sadly -- many white people really did think (some consciously, some subconsciously ) that black people were born with an inferior intellect. At one time, there were no black quarterbacks in the NFL and even though it was rarely discussed, everyone knew that the reason was the notion that black players were not smart enough to be a quarterback. Fortunately we have evolved and that kind of thinking is, for the most part, extinct.

I wonder if that feminine/masculine thinking for our children will continue through the ages, or will it evolve into a broader, more logical and humane way of thinking. If you'd like to see an amazing video of how a father responds -- in a very positive way-- to his son's apparent feminine interests, check out:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qWlsMulh3MY

★ I recently came across a YouTube channel called "Fabricio Castro Fotografia". I suppose I could write pages about this, but I'll keep it brief and if you're interested you can check out his channel. He has a team of photographers, makeup artists, and hairstylists that do an amazing job of transforming teenage boys into beautiful young women. What's really amazing is that the parents of these boys are ~~very supportive and encouraging~~. And they pay Mr. Castro a lot of money for his services.

Very often, the transformation is done for a big party -- very popular among the Hispanic community is the "Quinceañera" party -- the 15th Birthday. After their transformations, they become very feminine and beautiful girls in their formal gowns. They are also coached on feminine walking, mannerisms, etc. But the true beauty of all of this is the look of total joy, happiness, and contentment as they become "girls for a day". I can tell that, in the majority of cases, it's not just a curiosity on the part of these boys. They wouldn't go to all the trouble and expense if it was just a curiosity or a whim. And the parents most likely wouldn't support them unless they felt it was extremely important to their sons. They feel female on the inside and the look of content and inner peace that you see when they are transformed is very heartwarming.

I also can't help but to think that after their "girl for a day" they become a little depressed and disappointed that they have to return to being boys. But I also feel that the parents are fully aware that their child is transgendered, and this is very likely just the first step in ultimately transitioning to a full time female.

This is a perfect example of how societal views have changed regarding transgendered persons. When I was young, I ★wouldn't have dreamed★ of asking my parents to allow me to do this. And if I had asked them, it would have been met with scheduling appointments with a psychiatrist. Coming out as transgender during this time period would have resulted in so many negative outcomes, and unfortunately many transgendered children (who didn't even know what being transgendered was) became emotionally scarred and even suicide victims. I have so much respect and admiration for these modern day brave children and their progressive thinking parents.

★Finally, MMO, which is an acronym for "Male Multiple Orgasm". Although it may sound like an oxymoron, it is entirely possible for a male to develop this amazing ability which most people understand to be the sole province of women. It's not an easy thing to accomplish because most men are wired to achieve orgasm in the traditional manner. But armed with an open mind, patience and relaxation, many men can "re-wire" themselves and discover a whole new world of pleasure. There is a lot written on MMO, so if you're interested in knowing more, simply do an internet search on "male multiple orgasms" and you'll learn about some very interesting concepts.

★ I have not had sexual relations with a partner for a long time. This however, has in no way limited my sexual pleasure or diminished my sexual desire, as I have discovered and refined some amazing um, "solo techniques"😊 that have resulted in some earth shattering experiences. I've also done a lot of research regarding diet, exercise, and vitamin/herbal supplements to maximize sexual response. The results are astounding! But the most powerful and the most important sex organ? Without a doubt --the brain.

One very apparent result of my staying out of relationships for so long, is that I have been able to reflect on past relationships and recognize the things that I did (or didn't do) which acted to sabotage the development and progression of the relationship. Just about every sport at a professional level involves watching films of past performance. A tennis player might see a glaring flaw in his/her form which can then be corrected. A baseball hitter might take note that he is dropping his shoulder too much when swinging the bat and take steps to correct it.

Well, I don't have actual films, but for me the footage is in my head. And I have a lot of footage! If there is another serious relationship for me, I will (like the professional athlete) learn from the mistakes and take steps to make me a ~~much~~ better partner! I promised myself long ago, that I would not pursue or take part in meaningless or shallow sexual encounters. That is, sex without a ~~deep~~ emotional commitment. And I'm proud to say that I have kept that promise. I don't miss casual sex at all. In fact, I have a lot of regrets about being interested in certain women with only one goal (sex) in mind.

I wish I could talk to each one of them and apologize for my selfish and shallow behavior, and for wasting their time letting them think that there was potential for a more serious relationship when my intentions were entirely short-term, self centered, and shallow. On the other hand, perhaps many of these women were using me in the same way I was using them. In any event, it is now clear to me that these encounters were a waste of time and an impediment to the development of healthy emotional maturity.

One issue that came up several times in past relationships was my admiration of pretty women while out and about with the girl I was dating. It wasn't like, "...oooh, look at her, she's FINE!!" It was more like me just sneaking a glance and appreciating her beauty, style, elegance and fashion choices. But you know? --most women have this built in "radar" that immediately notifies them that their man is looking at and taking in the beauty of another woman. There was a funny commercial -- I can't even remember the product--I think it was Corona beer-- that shows a couple on the beach. A stunningly beautiful bikini-clad woman walks by and the guy just gawks at her, mouth agape. His wife/girlfriend, without even looking up from the book she's reading -- places her hand on the guy's chin and pushes it up to close his mouth. A perfect example of the "radar" I just described.

One girl I was dating always knew that I was stealing glances and she never failed to tell me, "I know you're looking at her" or something like that. And rather than apologize to her, I would defend my position and say, "yes, I was looking at her--that doesn't mean I want to date her. It's just human nature to look at and appreciate beauty." She didn't buy that excuse, and I think it was one of the main reasons that our relationship didn't last. Looking back on it, I now see how it made her feel and I'd like to apologize to her for the distress I caused her.

On the other hand, I'm really not sure if I'll ever be able to resist admiring all the feminine beauty that the world has to offer. So if I ever enter another serious relationship, I'll have to tell her these things and make sure she doesn't have a problem with it. I think that maybe, just maybe-- women who have a problem with their men looking at (not lusting) other women are somewhat insecure. A woman with confidence will view this behavior as a natural and harmless activity.  And by the same token, I'd never call her out for looking at other men (or women) because I understand that this is just part of being human. Why walk around with horse blinders on simply because a significant other is by one's side? I'd be interested in knowing if you agree or disagree with this.

This is a 30 year old secret that I have never revealed to anyone--until now: I saw "Dirty Dancing" -- paid to see it in the theater--not once but twice in one week! It's one of those things that should be filed in the "what was I thinking??" folder. I just remember how cute Jennifer Grey looked (before she got her nose "fixed"), and I remember how I liked the music, regardless of the fact that the movie was kind of schmaltzy. I don't think I've seen ANY movie twice in the theater. I've seen many movies multiple times, but none were seen more than once in the theater. I've probably seen "Jaws" 20 times, "Rocky Horror" at least 10 times, and "Blazing Saddles" about 10 times, "The Shawshank Redemption" about 10 times, "Dances With Wolves" about 10 times, "Double Indemnity" about 10 times, and the recently released "Frozen" about ten times! I still don't think I'll tell anyone (other than in this blog) the "Dirty Dancing" secret ...very embarrassing! 😊

This really isn't a private thing, but I'm kind of embarrassed to admit that I don't do text messaging or Facebook. I do have a smart phone-- A Samsung that's about six years old (ANCIENT in cell phone years!). But I don't use it as a cell phone. For me, it's a music player, video player, camera, video camera, address book, and occasional internet surfer -- everything except a phone! My phone is an even more ancient Motorola "flip phone" that can't even send or receive text messages -- it's only a phone. I got it on ebay for $15.00. I've lost it a few times and its has always made its way back to me, mainly, I suppose, because no one would want this phone and I guess the finders have all felt sorry for the "low-tech user" who owned it! 😊 If I lost a smart phone, I'd probably never see it again.

I’d love to have you contact me if perhaps: 

You think you're that special person  I'm looking for...

OR, if you just want to be friends....perhaps you have ZERO interest in my lifestyle that no doubt traverses a different path... but maybe you'd like a friend to cultivate some of your interests that coincide with some of mine ---rollerblading, ice skating, theater, travel, etc.

...you’re a TG girl like myself who would like a friend to hang out with, have dinner, go to a show, or go out dancing...Halloween is approaching -- are you interested?

...you'd like a friend for an impromptu visit to the nail salon for a pedicure followed by a fun outdoor (weather permitting) lunch!

...you're a beautiful lady with a lot of style and confidence and you love to get dressed to the nines for a night out at a restaurant of your choice. Just us two girls, oblivious to the gawkers and admirers that we know are checking us out. One night...no strings attached...we go our separate ways after I pay the tab (that's right, it's on me), and all we have is the memory of a lovely evening. It may appear to be a shallow experience, but who says everything in life needs to be deep and significant?

...you may not want to be tied down and you may not be interested in anything intimate or long term-- that's ok --just one unique experience for an evening. And if it leads to more nights out, all the better!

.....you are a fun and adventuresome couple. Many of my friends are couples, so if the two of you think you'd enjoy my company, I'd love to hear from you. I once was close to a couple who came to my home for dinner with me (dressed in my French Maid's Uniform) serving as their waitress. Afterwards, we went out for drinks and dancing.

...you're a straight woman who might be fascinated by the idea of having a lesbian relationship, but also enjoys the company of a man. In other words, ..."the best of both worlds!"

...you're attracted to my positive energy and creativity, but you want no part of my femme presentations. Ok, fair enough. Any time we spend together will be with me in male mode, recognizing of course that I cannot and will not suppress my femme side and I will continue to enjoy this part of me with friends who enjoy and embrace my femme side

...you're a lesbian or bi-sexual woman who would like a TG friend.

...you're an "aging baby boomer" (I cringe when I hear that term and you may cringe also -- if that's the case, my apologies!) who has previously been highly independent, but realizes that growing old (another cringe) will be more palatable with a partner who can provide emotional support and companionship. I seem to be in a state of denial about this issue, mainly because I think and feel like I'm light years away from "being old" but as sure as the sun will rise tomorrow, it (old age) will eventually be banging loudly on our doors.

...you are bride planning her wedding and (omg!) one of your best friends has backed out of her commitment to be one of your bridesmaids. Your problems are over because you've found me: I can step in and take her place as one of your beautiful bridesmaids!😊. I also love bachelorette parties and would be honored to be one of your girls!

...and speaking of weddings, maybe you're going to a wedding, family event, class reunion, or other social engagement and would like to make a BIG SPLASH by bringing a fun, fabulous TG girl as your date or platonic friend.

...you admit that you need some practice walking in heels and want a non-judgemental practice partner. Or maybe you want to go shoe shopping together!

...you are a man who is an admirer of transgender girls.  I always enjoy making new friends and it is always nice to be appreciated and respected by a gentleman. I know one guy who is not gay, but he is fascinated by the way I can transform myself into pretty and femme looks.

...you're a man who enjoys ballroom dancing and would like to either take lessons or just get out and dance with a transgendered partner. It's an interesting and intriguing idea...

But guys, listen up: Sending me a note saying only "Hi" or "ur sexy" or in one case, apparently it was too much work to write "Hi", he simply wrote "H" -- won't get a response from me.

And... if my quest for romance somehow fails to materialize, I would be interested in taking an alternative route briefly described as:

...If you are an elegant, stylish, chic, successful and confident woman and dominant (straight, lesbian, or bi) who has absolutely no interest in a romantic relationship (but are intrigued by my lifestyle, fashion choices and musings) and would like me in your life to help you with your busy professional and personal activities. I suppose what I'm describing is a personal assistant (or if you prefer to use the term "maid" please do so--there are some very cute maid's uniforms available that I would be happy to wear for you on those special occasions.😊. I am very attentive, and will give strong consideration to dedicating myself 100% to your happiness and pleasure, asking for nothing in return other than knowing and being in the presence of an elegant, successful, feminine, sophisticated, chic and intelligent lady. To me, giving happiness and pleasure is just as rewarding, if not more rewarding than getting. I am willing to relocate! I WILL make your life a lot more interesting!

✨THERE!! --- You made it though my labyrinth of a blog. CONGRATULATIONS!✨ --- you're one of the few!! 😍 ❤

[squilliamnylander]

we couldn’t fake it | frederik andersen

Note: !!! This is a birthday gift of sorts for my b @imjustateenageloser who’s always ready to thirst over Freddie with me, and who always supports my writing. I based it on some thoughts she added in the tags on a freddie picture reblog, so I hope this is self indulgent for you babe. I’ve loved getting to talk w you over the last month or so, hope you had a wonderful birthday! 

Also, this should be good for readers of all gender identities! Please let me know if I messed up and didn’t catch it. If you reblog this (which I’d love for you to do!) please tell me what you think in the tags, even if it’s criticism - feedback makes my day!

Word Count: 1.8k

Ratings: smut, nsfw, but not as heavy as the last Freddie Andersen smut

You know he’s had a tough week before he even makes it back home. He usually texts you the second his plane lands - always wants you to know he’s safe and sound and on his way home to you - but today is different. He completely forgets to even tell you he was on his way home, and you don’t even realize the team has arrived back in Toronto until you see a peace-sign selfie of Mitch and Matt on Sydney’s snapchat story. He doesn’t call out to you when he walks through the door either, instead dropping his bags in the middle of the foyer and kicking his shoes off without bothering with the laces. He looks completely defeated, broken, with his shoulders hunched and arms crossed around his chest. He’s got helmet hair too, and it isn’t like him to leave the rink without at least showering. 

“Tough week?” and his silence is the only confirmation you need.

“D’you wanna talk about it?” 

He shakes his head, mumbles incomprehensibly before bringing his gaze up to meet yours. The bags under his eyes and the red scratch marks on his neck are complete give-aways that whatever is on his mind is hockey-related. Freddie has a bad habit of tugging at the skin of his collarbone when he’s frustrated with his game, and it keeps him up at night, sending him into a spiral of stress and exhaustion. It’s not something you can fix, not something you can ever talk him out of because he hates talking hockey with you. He likes to keep you away from the office, says you’re home to him, and being his safe space is what you do best anyways. So you drop it, don’t push him on the matter, instead close the distance between the two of you. You reach for his face, trace his jawline, swipe at the tears pooling in his eyes, and comb through the knots in his hair. He still doesn’t say anything, but you feel him lean into your touch, watch his eyelids flutter closed. Your heart swells; at least he isn’t shutting you out. 

“C’mere big boy,” you whisper, and he’s hesitant, holding himself steady, but a slight tug at his jacket sleeve brings him tumbling forward, and he willingly follows you into the bedroom. He let’s you handle him then, dropping his shoulders as you pull at his suit jacket and push back the white button down. He whines when your skin makes contact with his, and it’s the softest, most delicate sound you’ve ever heard from him. He’s needy, so needy, for more than just an orgasm, and you almost want to give up on trying to make him cum so you can just hold him, let him curl his 6-foot-4 frame into your chest while he cries. But it’s been three weeks since you had last seen him, four since the two of you had shared any kind of intimacy, and although it was selfish, you missed him. Missed his taste, missed the feel of him in your mouth, missed the way his long fingers scratch down your scalp. 

You take a second to pull back so you can take off your own clothes, knowing he likes the feel of your soft stomach pressed against his thighs, skin on skin, knowing that sometimes, he just likes to see you, to admire you. He reaches for you, though you’re not sure if it’s because he wants to hold you or be held, and you let him pull you in. He sits on the edge of the bed, bracing is knees around your torso, and rests his head on your ribcage. You breathe deep and slow, hoping he picks up on the steadiness of your heartbeat, and it seems to work as he relaxes further into you, pressing salty wet kisses to the stretch marks that cover your abdomen. 

He starts to move his hands down your back, tucks them under the waistband of your underwear, but you stop him, reach around and drag his hands up to your cheeks. He’s never failed to make you feel good, always loves to see you come undone, but tonight is not about you. It’s about him, about showing him the love he’d clearly been missing. 

“Freddie, lemme take care of you tonight, okay? Lemme make you feel good.”

He looks at you with wide eyes and flushing cheeks, and offers you a small smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes and still feels a little forced, but it’s something. It’s certainly enough to make you believe that he’s going to be okay. 

You reach for the buckle of his belt, undoing it and the zipper of his pants, before sliding them down his thick thighs. He’s half hard already, and you palm him over his boxers as you tug off his dress socks. You can hear his breath catch in his throat, can feel his thighs tense around your body, and you know he won’t last long tonight. He’ll probably be embarrassed about it too, but you don’t care, never will, because this is your boy - your man, the one you love with everything you have - and there isn’t anything he could do that would turn you away from wanting to make him feel like he’s on top of the world. Because in your world, he is. 

You try to let your actions convey those feelings, everything you can’t say to him right now, by kissing up his calves and brushing your fingers through the thick curls at the junction of his thighs. You slowly move back up towards his cock, nice and hard now in anticipation, and you breathe out against his shaft, reach for his hand and bring it to your neck. Freddie loves to hold you steady when you blow him, loves to hold you there so he can face-fuck you, hit the back of your throat just right, but he only takes the initiative when he’s in control, when he feels like he can keep himself together enough not to hurt you. You know he won’t do it tonight, no matter how desperately he wants to, so you take the initiative for him. You trust him, and you want him to know you’re all his tonight. 

He lets out a loud groan when you finally touch him, clenches his thighs to stop them from trembling. You take his cock in your hand, the weight of him warm, heavy and familiar, and tease his tip with your thumb, spreading his precum around his head. Anxious to taste him, you finally bring your tongue to his cock, licking up the underside of his shaft and taking his head into your mouth, swirling your tongue as you go. You aren’t going to tease him tonight - he’s definitely not up for it - and he lets out another whine, one you don’t get out of him very often. The sound encourages you, tells you he’s letting go and giving in to you, so you take more of him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and letting your spit drip down the rest of his cock, slicking him up for your hand. Freddie is thick, and long, and you can’t fit him completely in your mouth - though not for lack of trying. So you wrap your hand around the rest of him, pumping slowly in rhythm with your mouth bobbing up and down. You keep a slow and steady pace, focusing on the musky taste of his cock and the grunts and groans spilling from his mouth. 

Knowing he’s close, you reach up with your other hand to roll his balls between your fingers, nails scraping the soft flesh of his inner thighs, and look up to meet his eyes. And it’s a beautiful sight for Freddie, almost too much, almost enough to send him right over the edge, the way his cock slides in and out of your mouth, the sound of your tongue smacking against his skin, the sound of your breath catching every time he hits the back of your throat. Danish expletives spill from his mouth, and he starts to really tug at you, one hand around your neck and the other in your hair, trying to pull you as close to him as he can. 

He fixes his gaze on you, slides his hand up from your neck so he can cup your cheek, and his thighs quiver around your shoulders, spasming every time he lets out a groan. You keep up your steady pace, and as you had expected, it’s not long before he’s releasing into your mouth, hot spurts of cum that you swallow as he lets himself fall back onto the bed. You keep sucking at him until he’s dry, and then keep your mouth around his length until he goes soft, kneading your thumbs into the tense muscles of his calves. You keep it up for a another minute, before he’s pushing you away instead of pulling you in, whining as before, in a way that sounds almost like a sob. He’s overstimulated, from the sights and sounds of being away for so long, and from your touch, so you give him some time, releasing his cock from your mouth and moving back to his taught muscles. You spend some time kissing his legs, dragging your lips down his inner thighs, swiping your tongue across his knees, sliding your nose around his calves with butterfly kisses, until his breathing finally slows down. He sits up first, taking a moment to admire the view of you on your knees for him.

“Babygirl,” he finally mumbles, and he lifts off the bed, standing all the way up, reaching for your hand and pulling you up to your feet. He bends down to kiss you then, cupping your cheeks, slow and soft, tasting himself on your tongue. “I love you,” you say when he pulls away. 

“Thank you,” he whispers back. offering you a small smile that finally reaches his eyes and illuminates his cheekbones. You laugh at that, which is unfortunate, because with your head tipped back and your eyes closed, you miss the look of utter adoration that graces his features, miss how he finally looks calm, finally looks home.

And when you two finally fall into bed, underwear completely shed, he does curl up into you, making himself as small as he can so he can fit into the curves of your body, hands reaching around to cup your ass. And it’s okay that you missed the looks of love, it’s okay that he hasn’t said much since he got home, because what he whispers into your hair as you fall asleep is the only thing he really needs to say.

“You’re like home to me, y’know.”

“Mhmm,” you mumble, “glad you always come home."

[womens-voices]

Drag is the exploitation of the constructs men devised to control women; it is men profiting off the stereotypes of femininity they created to subordinate females.

Meanwhile, for most women in the world, adherence to, or invisibility because of man-made stereotypes about us are a matter of life and death.

Male self-expression is not inherently a political act, and in truth, male self-expression can often be harmful to women.

"RuPaul, as The New York Times phrased it, is 'an amalgam of two distinct sexual archetypes: gender benders and soul divas.' In RuPaul’s act, both 'archetypes' depend upon the assimilation of stereotypical femininity, in the first instance by appropriating miniskirts, blond wigs, and platform heels and, in the second, by exaggerating femininity as 'a birthright. ' For this conformity, RuPaul is called a 'gender illusionist' and claims that what he is doing is more than men dressing in women’s clothes. It’s really about 'the way everybody looks. Because what really counts is inside.. . . You’re born naked, and the rest is drag. ' The New York Times article idealizes RuPaul as 'a de facto social activist' who brings drag into the mature part of the twentieth century by not simply mimicking the voice and movements, say, of a Marilyn Monroe but rather by being 'his own woman [sic]. '

It’s too bad 'his own woman' looks and acts so much like the woman of man-made femininity. As Kathy Miriam writes, 'While transgenderism foregrounds the reality that femininity is a male construct, it does so by preserving sex difference, i. e., the heterosexual institution.. . in contrast to being a strategy of disempowering (politically destroying) the social system which generates the category. '

There have been pleas from some feminist commentators to recognize that cross dressing, drag, and transvestism are on a continuum of masculinity and to sympathize with these ways in which some men are deviating from acceptable masculine gender behavior. And often men dressing as women is compared to women who wear pants.

There is a false symmetry here. When most women put on pants, a necktie, combat boots, or a business-looking blazer, they are not trying to pass as men. Nor do most of these women stage theatrical performances that call attention to their cross dressing. They do not mimic, for profit, male behavior. Most women who wear male clothing are not trying to be men, nor to imitate wear male clothing are not trying to be men, nor to imitate men personally or professionally, nor do they expect to be mistaken for men. And there is no significant number of women who fetishize certain articles of male clothing for sexual pleasure or gender relaxation.

Cross dressers, drag queens, and heterosexual transvestites—who clandestinely parade around in ultrafeminine dress while often retaining their public personas as straight, white, male conservative pillars of the community—depend upon a certain mimicry of women’s persons, roles, status, and dress. That some men may find gender relief, sexual pleasure, and/or stardom and financial profit in this mimicry does nothing to challenge the political power of the normative, dominant, powerful class of men that the male gender bender still belongs to. Cross dressing could be more accurately perceived as another form of male self-expression and exhibitionism.

The reason that women wear pants is mainly comfort and convenience. Pants are practical in all types of weather and don’t make women physically vulnerable or encourage sexual harassment, as certain styles of feminine clothes do. More significantly, a woman putting on a man’s clothes is, in a sense, putting on male power status, whereas a man putting on women’s clothes is putting on parody. That drag queens and cross dressers can draw hoots and howls in audiences of mostly men says more about how women were and are perceived than it does about the supposed boundary-breaking behavior of gender-bending men who wear women’s clothes.

Scratching the surface of masculinity by flaunting its opposite conventions of femininity, whether in drag, cross dressing, or heterosexual transvestism, may incur the wrath of other men and expose the cross dressers to pain and punishment. But pain and punishment do not necessarily challenge the substance of masculinity that is male dominant political power. The mostly one-way traffic of men moving down the transgender highway is not new. Males have been imitating women on the stage and in religious rituals since time immemorial, but this has done nothing to change the reality that men, including many of these men, are in power."

- Janice Raymond (1994)

[astralsweetness]

A New Experience (Wonwoo/Reader)(m)

let’s go let’s goo

Note: No gender is specified for the reader

Warnings: Cross-dressing, overstimulation, Wonwoo’s sort of insecure in his masculinity so some body worshipping

There was a rush as he did it, his heart beating out a pattern of “this is wrong, this is wrong, this is wrong” as his fingers quietly pulled open the drawer he’d seen you open so many times.

It lay there, unassuming in all its softness, the pale purple a sweet contrast against the white fabric of his long sleeved sweater. His fingers curled into the soft fabric, drawing them up and out of the drawer as unbidden thoughts came to mind – he’d seen you wear this so often, laid out beneath him, vulnerable and waiting to be taken by him and him alone.

But it’s always been in the back of his mind – a small nagging thought in the deep recesses of his mind about what it would feel like to be in your position.

Not physically in your position, mind you. He’d been down that road more than once, and enjoyed it just as much as he did topping. But lingerie..

Lingerie was another story all together. It was something soft, something different, something taboo and honestly ever since he got the idea to try yours on a few months ago he hadn’t been able to think about anything else.

Even as he slid his loose sweatpants off his hips he could feel his dick hardening – but he told himself he wouldn’t be in the undergarment long, and that even if he was he wouldn’t do anything.

The sweatpants were folded and put neatly on the floor next to the drawer which still housed the top to your lingerie. You were supposed to be home in half an hour, and he wasn’t about to risk having the time disadvantage of taking every item of clothing off if you came home early.

Wonwoo felt vaguely guilty – it wasn’t like he didn’t trust you or anything like that. It was just.. embarrassing, honestly. He never wanted you to see him as anything less than a man, and pastel purple lingerie wasn’t exactly the most masculine thing a guy could wear.

He’d been planning this since that morning when you said you were going to run to the store – he was so “well prepared” that he’d forgone underwear completely.

They felt light and airy between his fingertips, feeling almost like he was just carrying a scrap of lacy fabric with two bows on it instead of something someone was supposed to wear. He stopped in front of the full length mirror attached to the wall, inspecting first his reflection and then the contrast of color against his skin.

He was slowly talking himself out of it – this was a bad idea on so many levels. If someone saw him – someone other than you – or if you didn’t like it. What if he didn’t look as good as you did? What would you do?

He’s moving before another negative thought can hit him, quickly but delicately and with purpose as he pulls the fabric up his body. They sit low on his hips, and he has to adjust himself so he fits properly in them, but just looking down it doesn’t look too bad.

Wonwoo doesn’t want to look at his reflection anymore – the fabric feels good against his skin, and his hands rest lightly on either side of his now covered dick, pressing the lace into it.

He liked how it felt.

What if he liked how it looked too? This was supposed to be a one-time thing, nothing more – Wonwoo glances up into the mirror and catches his reflection in it. The lacy underwear sits flush against his skin, and he subconsciously smooths his hands along the lingerie, turning to view his backside in it.

His ass looked pretty good, if he did say so himself.

He’s not thinking out his actions anymore, hands slowly creeping back to his front – he startles as he rubs his hand over his dick harder than before, electric tingles sparking out across his skin. He hesitantly repeats the action, slower and more drawn out – his lip catches between his teeth, gaze dropping away from the mirror. It felt too good, better than it should have.

“Wonu?” The voice comes from you, and you’re met by your boyfriend’s wide-eyed stare, his body twisting around to look at you. He’s frozen, guilty, dreading what the next words out of your mouth are going to be.

You’re honestly not sure what exactly went on to get to this point, but it’s clear from the way he’s acting that he had not expected you to be home yet.

“What are you doing?” You ask it softly, moving to drape your coat over the back of one of the chairs in the room. Wonwoo’s dark eyes follow you, expression still a mix between startled and terrified.

“I’m –“ His naturally deep voice cracks, and you glance up at him in worry. He’s not meeting your gaze, eyes on his sweatpants on the floor. “I’m sorry, I just – just wanted to know what it felt like..”

It looks good.” You respond easily, smiling at the way his gaze snaps back to yours. His hands sort of hover in front of the lingerie, almost like he’s trying to hide it from you. “How does it feel?”

He shifts, clearly hesitating in answering, giving you time to think the situation over. The entire scenario is completely unexpected, and as nice as Wonwoo looks he’s clearly uncomfortable having been caught.

“It’s okay.” You soothe softly, moving towards him. He watches you quietly, but doesn’t move away when you approach him, so you take that as a good sign. “You look really good, babe. But do you feel good?” Your hands reach out to grasp ahold of his, though they hover in the air in front of him for a moment before he slowly removes his hands from where they were covering himself.

“Y- yeah.” He stutters over the single word, but his face holds no embarrassment over the fumble. He seems shocked that you accepted this situation so easily, shocked that you weren’t angry or disgusted.

You’re slightly hurt over that, but don’t say so. You know it has more to do with him accepting himself than you accepting him.

You stretch up to kiss him, and he bends down the few inches so your lips can touch softly, innocently. And while the kiss is innocent, you can tell he doesn’t mean for it to be – there’s a palpable fire burning behind it, and his hesitance is the only thing keeping it at bay.

“Is it okay if I make you feel even better?” You expect him to respond with the same hesitance as before, but something in him breaks at those words and the connotation behind it. When he nods he’s already stepping back towards the bed, sliding onto the white satin comforter.

Aside from the lingerie, this was familiar territory. He’d been submissive for you before, and knew what came along with it. The lace was just something new, something that could be potentially exciting.

Something scary.

He’s laid out on the bed on his back, the whites of both his sweater and the bedspread contrasting with his skin and pastel purple lace. He’s gorgeous, and when you tell him so his face tints pink high up on his cheekbones.

“So are you.” His compliment is awkward and weirdly placed, but you grin at it and he mirrors the grin back, albeit smaller.

Your hands slide up his bare legs, his thighs, fingers smoothing over the expanse of skin the lingerie doesn’t cover. He shivers slightly from the gentle touch, fingers curling into the satin when your own fingers traipse across the lace, coming to stop directly beside his covered dick. His eyes bore into your own.

“You’re okay with trying this, right Wonwoo?” You check, awaiting his response patiently. You watch his adam’s apple bob when he swallows, watch his tongue dart out to wet his lips.

“Yes.” It’s a soft murmur of affirmation, and you slowly drag your hand over his semi-hard bulge. His bottom lip has caught between his teeth again at the feeling, fingers curling into the fabric beneath him. He looks gorgeous like this, but his gaze is on the ceiling instead of you, and his breathing has already become erratic.

“Wonwoo.” He swallows but doesn’t look at you, can’t get out of his own head long enough to overcome his insecurities. “You look beautiful, Wonu, but we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

It takes a few more moments of silence before his gaze is drawn back to yours, and you can see in his eyes that he’s struggling to accept what you’ve said – but he is trying.

“Is it – “ He takes a sharp breath through his nose when you remove your hand, watching him patiently. “Is it really okay for me to wear something like this?”

“Of course it is.” Your response is instant, voice calm and steady, and he seems reassured by the sound of it alone. “If it feels good, then of course it’s okay. And you look good in it, too.”

He’s quiet after your words, and when he moves to scoot away you think he’s changed his mind, but he simply moves to sit with his back to the headboard, legs spread slightly for you still. His hesitance is still clear on his face, but there’s a determination there that wasn’t present before.

“I promise, Wonwoo.” Even after saying this you don’t move until he nods slightly, one hand gesturing you forward again.

“I’m sorry –“ Your lips are on his before he can even get the apology out – he has nothing to apologize for in the first place.

“Don’t be.” You whisper once the two of you break apart, lips dropping down to his neck to mouth at the skin there. You can feel his pulse beneath your lips, and his breathing has become erratic again, but you don’t worry about it this time. This time it’s not due to panic, but rather your own ministrations. His fingers curl into your shoulder, gently pushing you down lower – when you reach the collar of his sweater you glance up at him once before dropping back down to the lingerie. He makes no move to stop you, hand still on your shoulder, anchoring him.

Your lips trail along the outline of his dick, tongue darting out to wet the transparent fabric – he doesn’t react much other than to swipe his thumb over your shoulder, a quiet urging.

You continue to mouth at his lace covered cock until he’s fully hard, liking the way he’s begun to let out tiny groans of appreciation at the feeling. You’re tempted to drag it out longer, but he doesn’t give you the chance and hooks his own thumbs under the waistband, letting it settle directly below his dick. You glance up at him once for reassurance – for you and for him – before you duck down and wrap your lips around its head.

He lets out a soft sigh at the feeling, legs spreading further unknowingly for you as you slide down further. You don’t stop until you feel him hit the back of your throat, and when you swallow his breath catches in his own throat and turns into a choked cough. Your fingers have slid beneath him, digging into his ass cheeks still covered in lace, kneading both the fabric and skin – a soft moan is torn from his lips at all the sensations, and the fingers on your shoulder tighten.

There’s a few more minutes that go by like this, small sounds being torn from his throat while you mercilessly pleasure him until his entire body is going tense, muscles taught as he orgasms into your mouth with a rough grunt. You swallow it all easily.

When you pull off of him his cock is shiny and red, a stark contrast with the softness of the lingerie beneath it – you reach out and grasp it firmly, pumping your hand up and down it with the sole aim to tease.

“Don’t – don’t stop..!” His plea is a strangled one, deep voice begging you and urging you on – you comply easily, though with your hand and not your mouth this time, not exactly surprised by his outburst but certainly pleased.

He’s shaking underneath you, mouth hanging open in pleasure and slight pain from the overstimulation he asked for, hands gripping the bedspread so tightly his knuckles have turned white.

“Fuck – fuck – it’s too much, too fucking much –“ He rambles incoherently, voice thick with pleasure and lust and pain and everything in between. You’re quiet, but your normally silent boyfriend is making enough noise for the both of you combined.

He’s squirming uncontrollably, and within a few seconds he orgasms again for the second time, and his words turn into an exhalation in the form of a deep groan, the purple lingerie becoming completely ruined between the mix of come and pre-come.

You give him a few moments to come down from his high, slipping off the bed to grab his sweatpants for him. When you arrive back by his bedside he’s watching you with dark and loving eyes, already in the process of peeling off the sticky underwear. He accepts his pants with a grateful smile, chuckling when you wrinkle your nose at the lingerie he drops on the floor.

“We’ll need to buy a new pair.” You mumble, looking at the discarded lace.

“Sure.” He answers easily, clearly having had a change of heart regarding the undergarments. “We should try white, next time.”