#why am i so bent on being perceived as male but not masculine you know.

[fagrackham]

I watched the jules special episode of euphoria and 1) still in love with hunter schafer 2) she’s so correct about everything and that whole thing about the ocean and trying not to center one’s transness around men...oh my god

[aurorawest]

⭐ If you could, write about the part where Loki and Thor are desguised as women as they escape that army camp.

Oooh, sure!

Context: this is from chapter 14 of The Real Asgardians of the Galaxy. Loki is in a massive army encampment and manages to locate Thor by astral projecting. In order to pass through the camp to actually get to Thor, Loki takes female form and barges into Thor’s tent. Thor doesn’t recognize her at first so Loki transforms into a man again. Here’s their escape:

Looking at Loki like he’d just grown a second head, Thor said, “Great plan. I only see one problem with it. We’re here and there’s no way to get out of this camp without being seen. There are guards all around the perimeter, and—” But he stopped, noticing, finally, the way Loki was smiling at him. “Wait. You’re not going to—”

“Why not? It worked for me.”

“It worked for you because when you look like a woman, you are a woman!” Thor said. “I can’t—how am I supposed to pretend?”

“My magic is easily up to the task of glamoring away your hulking masculinity,” Loki said with a flick of his fingers. When Thor still looked doubtful, Loki added innocently, “You’ll be lovely, I’m sure. Did you have a preference on hair color?”

“I’m not concerned about being pretty,” Thor said. “I’m concerned about getting stopped and questioned.”

I knew I wanted Thor to object to this plan because, quite honestly, it’s funny for Thor to object to this plan. What I did not want to do was have Thor objecting to the plan because the idea of looking like a woman was distasteful to him. I also didn’t want him to come across as disparaging the fact that Loki can be both male and female. But Loki is almost kind of pushing to object to it on both of those levels, because Loki likes to push, and he wants people to admit to ugly things so 1) he can feel superior, and 2) he can feel like a victim.

[...] “We won’t be stopped,” Loki said. “And if we are, it will be because someone wants to buy our services. That’s easy enough to make them forget. No one here has any idea I can do magic. We stick to the main paths until we get to the airfield.”

“And then what?” Thor asked. “Have you seen the wall around it?”

“No,” Loki admitted.

“It’s a pretty serious wall.”

Loki raised an eyebrow. “I’m a pretty serious sorcerer.”

Loki has already assumed Thor is going to dismiss his ability to get them out of the situation. He’s totally geared up for an argument here.

Thor looked at him. Loki stared back, wondering if Thor would discount the fact that magic could get them out of this. There was a long history between them of Thor dismissing Loki’s sorcery. It was a talent he couldn’t understand, didn’t share, and which he saw as suspect. At least, he always had in the past. 

Hm, but is this really true? This is Unreliable Narrator Loki at his finest. He’s telling us that Thor was always this way. Loki has been really hurt by what he perceives as Thor’s dismissal of his magic. If you asked Thor, though, he’d probably tell you the opposite story. The actual truth is somewhere in between. This is an example of the two of them not understanding how to communicate with each other.

Things had changed between them after Sakaar. Maybe this had, too.

Thor nodded. “Alright.”

Loki’s mouth opened to argue, but then he realized what Thor had said and he snapped it shut. A smile flashed across Thor’s face, as though he knew exactly what had just gone through Loki’s mind. 

All set to argue, and then nothing to argue with! Thor is definitely trying harder to be what Loki needs him to be, and you can see that here.

I trust you, brother, Thor had said to him before he’d manually calculated the jump that had brought their ship to Asgard. Maybe he’d meant it.

Callback to chapter 1 of the fic, where their navigation system is down and Loki manually calculates a jump on the back of a Big Mac wrapper.

With a nod in return, Loki lifted a hand and twisted his wrist. This was unnecessary, but he’d begun doing it as a courtesy to the people around him in Asgard who hadn’t liked his magic. 

I really love this particular head canon, where Loki’s magic doesn’t require any kind of gesture, spoken spell, etc. It’s a fun thing to play with, because it means he can be as showy as he wants to—but he doesn’t have to be.

[...] A green line of magic ran from Thor’s head to his feet, leaving a woman standing there in his place. Loki completed his own transformation and then said quietly, “Let’s go.”

I purposefully didn’t describe Thor here because Loki hardly thinks about Thor’s physical appearance at all. Loki’s descriptions of people’s physical descriptions tend to be very cursory. Hair color, skin color, height. He’s simply not all that interested.

So what that means is: if Loki is taking more interest in someone’s physical appearance, it might be because he’s interested in them.

The two of them peeked out of the tent. A few of Thor’s cohorts were still around the campfire. [...] Loki jerked her head and they slipped out, walked past the fire, and headed for the camp’s main thoroughfare.

“I should have said good-bye,” Thor said quietly.

Loki shrugged. “Send them a postcard.”

Definitely a little projection (?) here on Loki’s part. He too feels guilty about abandoning his unit, but it takes him ages to come to terms with it. He hasn’t even started to confront the fact that Kalmsh will likely get in trouble, maybe even serious trouble. A little sneak peek of what’s to come: this is something that Loki begins to really grapple with, that despite his penchant for casting himself in the victim role, there have been people in his life who have been willing to put themselves on the line for him, often in very serious ways. He’s way too self-absorbed at this point to recognize that.

She knew it was ridiculous, but it bothered her that Thor had given even this slightest of indications that he had formed attachments to these people. Of course he had. He was Thor. Even Loki felt some affection for her unit. It wasn’t as though Thor wanted to stay here fighting with them.

At least, she didn’t think he did.

A brief comment her on the way I write Loki in female form: I usually write these scenes using male pronouns to make sure I’m not writing female Loki any different than I would write male Loki. Then I go back through and switch them. 

But then again, Thor had preferred to stay imprisoned as a gladiator on Sakaar rather than joining Loki at the Grandmaster’s side. As much as she wished these wounds would heal, they were slow to. It had been almost seven years ago for Thor, 

Hey, I’m glad I got the timespan right here! In chapter 32, I had it wrong and didn’t catch it until right before I posted, haha.

but even if it hadn’t, Thor had always had a tendency to underestimate how his actions and words wounded Loki. He let things go so easily and Loki was the opposite. [...]

This is one of the things that’s at the heart of the House of Odin dynamic. I see both Thor and Odin being this way. They’re passionate people who speak before they think, so they’ll say these deeply hurtful, horrible things...which they don’t actually believe. And Thor and Odin can’t understand why Loki takes things so personally, why he can’t just let them go, while Loki can’t understand how they can be so cruel, and why they pretend to care about him when clearly they don’t, because one time they said this one thing and that obviously is more indicative of how they feel about him then the way they treat him on a daily basis. Full disclosure, I’m very much like Loki, lol. Neither one is right or good, but it’s the way they are, and they’re two very different ways of functioning.

This obviously wasn’t the time to bring it up, though.

“You do want to leave this place, don’t you?” Loki asked.

*rimshot*

Thor looked at her. Gods, even as a woman, that dumbfounded look was unmistakable. “You’re joking.”

“Well, you seem so broken up about the fact that you left without saying good-bye,” Loki said, sneering despite her best efforts.

There is always time for Loki to get bent out of shape for people not giving him the affection he wants. This is wildly inappropriate of Loki to do at this moment, but he just can’t stop himself. He’s so needy that he’ll jeopardize their escape to take his potshot at Thor. I remember when I wrote this, I nearly took it out, because I thought Loki was being such an ass—but Loki is an ass, and I really want to show that. I want to show how warped his perception of reality can be, and how he’ll make really bad decisions because of it.

Two Preccat men walked by them, leering, but Loki ignored them and so did Thor. The men looked disgruntled but let them pass. When they were gone, Thor turned to her and hissed, “Of course I want to leave here, don’t be stupid. Why are you bringing this up now? We’re supposed to be concentrating on getting out of here.”

Thor, the voice of...reason? A major part of Thor’s arc in this fic is actually that he’s kind of a doormat because he’s so grateful to have Loki back, and that obviously can’t hold forever. He’s kind of fighting with himself here, wanting to make Loki have a conversation that Loki’s definitely not ready to have, and which frankly Thor isn’t ready to either. Thor wants to be better for Loki because he knows he’s hurt him, but Loki also is pretty much as impossible as ever.

She scowled but didn’t say anything. Thor grabbed her arm and stopped her. Loki yanked her arm out of her brother’s hold. They glared at each other, but then a group of men came stumbling down the road towards them, obviously drunk. It snapped both of them out of it. “Let’s go,” Loki muttered.

Aaaand of course they don’t have a real conversation. Huh sure hope all this stonewalling and sweeping things under the rug doesn’t result in an explosive, hurtful, horrible argument later!

Thank you so much for asking!

Fanfic Writers: Director’s Cut

[lu-undy]

Chapter 99 - SBT

Here it is!

"Right, the Maravilhoso…" 

Mundy parked the motorcycle and removed his helmet before getting inside. 

"Oh, hold on…" As he passed in front of the facade, he caught a glimpse of his reflection, the light of the lamp posts helping. He thought of Perle and adjusted his hair and his bowtie. Last time he had done that, it was before entering Lulu's room and he had a ponytail… 

"Right." He pushed the door and entered. "Oh, wow…" 

The atmosphere inside the restaurant was completely different from the dark and relatively silent streets. The lights were golden, yellow and red inside of the Brazilian steakhouse and the music was… exotic. Mundy didn't exactly know what the style was called but it was soothing while people were dancing at one end of the large room. An orchestra was playing live, and it reminded Mundy of the Queen Victoria days, only more colourful and tropical.

"Evenin' Sir, how may I help?" A waiter broke Mundy's train of thought.

"Oh, uh, my partner's booked a table, I think…"

"What name would that be?" They both shifted to the stand with the register. 

"Uh… Beauregard, or Turner." 

The waiter frowned as his eyes scanned the large book. 

"Uh, Beauregard is a French name, spellin's quite odd." Mundy started spelling it out loud and the waiter's eyebrows jumped. 

"Ha! Gotcha! Yes, of course! Alright, follow me."

Mundy did as he was told and was taken to a table and seated. Lucien wasn't there yet, evidently.

"Here is the menu."

"Ah, thanks." Mundy took it and the waiter faded away. 

Lucien wasn't there yet so why not have a look at what kind of food was served in that establishment? Mundy knew the place by name, the name on the outside was flashing in bulbs of yellow in the night, blinking and dancing. There was no way one would go through the street and miss it. Besides, the smell inside was very appetising, grilled meat was largely dominating, but the Aussie could perceive a hint of foreign spices through it all.

"Good evening, handsome..." 

Mundy's eyebrows jumped at the feminine voice. He raised his eyes from the menu and saw a woman pulling the chair opposite him and sitting down as easily as just that. 

"Uh, hey there, I-I'm actually waitin' for someone, sorry." 

"I'll go when they show up, don't worry." The lady put her hand on the menu in Mundy's hands and pushed it down. That's when the Aussie noticed her long, dark blue, velvet gloves that went all the way to her elbows. Her slim arms were white as snow and her dress matched her gloves, or the other way around. "May I?" 

"You're already sitting at my table, eh?" 

"Oh, then I guess it is a yes…?" 

She looked older than Mundy, her hair was long, salt and pepper, like Lucien. She wore beautiful make-up, not too much, but just enough to enhance her features, her eyes in particular. A touch of mascara and eye-liner to give her light blue eyes a feline look. 

"You're here alone?" He asked her. 

"I was waiting for my companion and got bored." She answered. "I saw you alone and thought we might spend a bit of time together, instead of each being in their own solitude…?" 

Mundy's ears twitched at the word: solitude. He frowned for an instant. 

"Hm." 

"So," The woman cocked an eyebrow. "What is your name?" 

"M." 

"Just M?" 

"Yeah." 

"Fair enough." She chuckled. 

"Why're you laughin'?" 

"Quite mysterious you are, M, hm? Even though you don't look like the mysterious type."

There was a subtle accent in the woman's voice, nothing that Mundy had heard before. She was a native alright, but there was a very light twist in her words… 

"Although you do look very handsome, tonight." She poured Mundy and herself a glass of water and drank. 

"You flirtin' with me?" Mundy asked. 

"Why not? You said you were waiting for a friend, not your wife, hm?" She cocked a cheeky eyebrow. 

"Well, uh, I said friend but uh…" 

"Is she more?" 

"I mean…" Mundy scratched his cheek nervously. 

"I don't mind some competition." 

The Aussie started to sweat. 

"Look, uh, y-you're very nice and all, but uh… huh?"

The woman stood off of her chair and got closer to Mundy before half sitting on the table itself, her thigh dangerously close to the Aussie's forearm. Mundy couldn't help but look at it. His eyes went from her high-heeled black boot, wrapping her thin leg tightly to her black stockings under her dress. The only reason he could see all that was because the slit on her dress went all the way up to the top of her thigh… Mundy blushed and looked away, feigning to look for Lucien as he gulped down hard.

"The shy type, are we?" She put her index finger below Mundy's jaw and pulled him to face her. "I like it." She winked and Mundy's heart beat twice as fast as the music playing in the restaurant. 

"W-wow, alright, uh, listen, sheila… I-I'm really not lookin' for-"

"You might not be looking, but I am. And I now have my eyes on a very pretty one…" She bit her lip and Mundy saw a shy flash of her pearly white teeth. Gosh...

"Pff, you should meet my, uh, friend. He's the king of pretty…" Mundy tried to divert the conversation away from him.

"Oh, should I? What is his name?" 

"L." 

"Just L?" 

"Yeah." 

"Such a concidence…My name also starts with an L…" She bent down and got her lips closer to Mundy's ear. "Bonsoir, mon loup."

[Good evening, my wolf.]

Mundy gasped and turned his head to face her again. Their faces were a few inches apart and she smiled as she pushed back a lock of her long hair. 

"W-what?" 

"It's me, mon amour. Have you not recognised me?" Lucien chuckled and broke the voice acting for a second. 

"What?!" He repeated and Lucien sat opposite the Aussie whose jaw had dropped. "Why are you…? I mean why the…?" 

"Surprise…!" Lucien answered with a wink and slid his hand on the table to hold Mundy's. 

"It's really you? How can I be sure?"

"Who else would call you mon loup?" Lucien smiled, resuming the feminine voice. "And I can tell you the exact number of scars on your back, I have kissed them all…" 

Mundy blushed again. 

"Bloody hell, ok…! Woah…" Mundy pulled on his collar to let more air through. "But why are you dressed… like that?" He asked, confused. 

"Someone once said that they wanted to be able to hold me close in public, but couldn't because I was a man. So I reused a spooky skill of mine." He explained nonchalantly. 

"You… You've already done that before?" 

"Occasionally, oui. But I never enjoyed it. Today might be the first time I do." 

"Oh, really?" Mundy asked, still digesting it all. "And the beard's gone? And your voice, your accent…? How the hell can you sound like a sheila?"

"I was that good at my job, and for the beard, it would have looked very odd, non?" Lucien winked. "Besides, seeing that blush on your cheeks when you looked down my thigh was worth every minute of me trying to hide my masculine aspects." Lucien chuckled. 

"I…" 

"You…?" 

"I don't know what to say…!" Mundy was at a loss for words even, he leaned back on his chair and exhaled the breath he had been holding.

"Then hold my hand, and say nothing." Lucien gave him a slow flap of his eyelashes and it was enough to tame the hunter, who obeyed, and slid his fingers between Lucien's gloved ones.

"Gosh…" Mundy blushed.

"Is something the matter?" 

"I… I never thought I'd…" Mundy looked left and right at the other patrons in the restaurant. No one was giving them any odd looks. Why would they? Mundy was but holding a woman's hand.

"Hm?" 

"Never thought I'd hold your hand out in the open… Feels… Feels amazin'..." Mundy raised bright shining eyes to Lucien. "Feels like… We're really together, like…" 

"Weren't we before?" Lucien tilted his head on the side and gave a lopsided smile. 

"Course we were. Just feels… stronger, somehow…" 

They exchanged a dear grin before they dived in the menu and placed their order. 

"So, uh… Why all this?" Mundy asked. 

"Because you have been feeling low as of late, as I thought I might try to do something about it." 

Mundy lowered his head yet ginned shyly. 

"I'm… I'm sorry." 

"What for?" 

"Must've been shit livin' with me for the past few days." Mundy raised ashamed eyes. 

The conversation cut when they both received their meals and thanked the waiter, before he disappeared. 

"Non, Mundy, you are a delight to live with." 

"Even when I wake up every night?"

"Even when you wake up every night." 

"Even when I look like shit and am in a low mood?"

"Even when you look like shit and are in a low mood." Lucien answered with a chuckle. "Are you hungry?" 

"Yeah, quite a bit…" Mundy answered, looking down at his plate. 

"Then, please dig in, and bon appétit." 

"To you too, luv'." 

They started going at their plates. 

"Mmh, that's some good steak right there… How's yours?" 

"Divine, but not as good as the sight you offer me." 

"Oh, hm…" Mundy blushed and smiled. 

"Look at this now…!" Lucien said. 

"What?" Mundy felt put on the spot seeing how intensely Lucien was staring at him. 

"It has been a long time since I last saw one of those." 

"One of those what?" 

"One of those smiles." Lucien answered. "The shy ones, the ones from the beginning." 

"W-well… Feels like the beginnin' again, but different." Mundy answered. 

"How so?" 

"I…" Mundy looked down at his plate, it was hard enough to find the words, let alone say them. "I'm… I'm fallin' in love with you… again… but as a sheila." 

Lucien put one of his gloved hands on his chest and smiled while tilting his head.

"Mundy…" 

"I know. Makes no sense. 'm sorry, should've shut up…" Mundy dived as deep as he could in his steak to avoid Lucien's gaze. 

"Mundy…?"

"Anyway, forget it. How d'you find the uh, the rice and uh, stuff?" 

"Mundy, please, look at me." 

Lucien's feminine voice was something. It made something tremble inside Mundy, who obeyed, albeit timidly. 

"What you said is far from ridiculous. I… I appreciate it, dearly." 

"I mean… I didn't mean like… As in… You just look gorgeous, male or female… I…" Mundy averted his eyes. "It's even harder to look at you now…! Not that it was easy before but I kinda got used to it. Now it feels like I'm startin' all over again." 

"Mundy…?" 

"What?" 

"Finish your plate, I have another surprise for you, before we get some dessert." 

"Okay… Sorry again. That-that was uh, awkward to say…" The Aussie scratched his head nervously. 

"Non, it wasn't. I find you charming." 

Mundy eventually raised his head and was welcomed by Lucien's irresistible smile.

"Thank you, luv'."

They went on invading their plates steadily. 

"Have you ever been to Brazil?" Mundy asked. 

"Non, I have not. I have been in Guinée Équatoriale though."

"Where's that?" 

"At the Northern frontier with Brazil is a territory that belongs to France. I have been there, briefly. It was hardly long enough for me to get well acquainted with the local life there, unfortunately." 

"Oh, ok… Didn't know France had a border with Brazil…"

"And it is its longest with any neighbouring country." Lucien answered. 

"Really?" 

"Oui, France's longest border in the world is shared with Brazil of all places."

"Woah… Quite wild, eh?" 

"Not half as much as you are, mon loup." 

They shared a chuckle. 

"And you, where have you travelled to?" Lucien asked. "I remember you telling me that when you were chasing down poachers, you had been sent in quite a few places outside of Australia." 

"Yeah," Mundy nodded. "Mostly America, though. Not every reserve has the money to spare to pay for flights and hotels for a hunter comin' from the other end of the world."

"Mmh, I see Monsieur's fees were high, hm?" Lucien smirked. 

"Well, I just didn't have the money myself so either they paid for everythin' and I'd come, or they didn't and I stayed here." 

"I see. Whereabouts in America?"

"The US, New Mexico and Texas mainly, the Australia of the US…" 

"I have heard of it the other way around." 

"What d'you mean?" 

"I have heard British people say that Australia is the Texas of the United Kingdom." 

Mundy chuckled. 

"Sounds about right, I guess. We're a wilder bunch than the Brits, but eh…" 

"Not so hard to achieve if you ask me…!" Lucien raised his glass of wine and Mundy imitated him. "To us, mon loup." 

"Yeah, to you and me, Lu'."

Their glasses met in crystal sounding clink and they both took a sip. 

"That was one hell of a good bit of meat…" 

"Admitting defeat already?" Lucien cocked an eyebrow. 

"Defeat? What am I fightin'?" 

"Me." Lucien stood up and held his hand out for Mundy who frowned, confused, but put his hand in the gloved one. The Frenchman pulled him and Mundy stood up. 

"Where're we going…? Oh…" 

Lucien had led the way to the dancing area and looked up at Mundy. 

"Do you know how to dance to this kind of music?" 

"No clue, but I'll dance with you." 

Lucien bit his lip and smiled. Anytime Mundy pushed his own limits in favour of him, the Frenchman could feel his knees weaken. 

"Humour me and try. Bear in mind that as the man, you will have to lead." 

It was a slow bossa nova, something that wasn't usually danced but the people in the restaurant didn't mind much for it. On the dance floor, the lights were lower, a few spots of yellow, orange, red and pink shone on the floor and traced circles and loops as the couple danced around. It was about a dozen couples or so there, among which Mundy and Lucien. 

"Right…" Mundy laced a hand around Lucien's slim waist and held the other one in front of him, like an invitation. Lucien raised his eyes and saw his lover's oh so sweet grin. He placed his gloved hand on his and Mundy started to move. 

He led the dance slow and mellow, small steps that Lucien appreciated dearly. The point wasn't to dance per se, but to hold onto each other for a moment, in the dimness of the dancefloor, blend in, and forget that they were different. To the outside eye, they were an ordinary couple, a he and a she, prim and proper, well dressed and even better loved. 

Mundy looked down and stared with half-lidded eyes at Lucien who was looking up at him. He seemed head over heels for the Aussie, lovestruck by a lightning bolt. The Aussie blushed again and bent his head down until Lucien met his forehead with his own. 

"You look amazin', Lu'..." 

"Mh, so do you, in your suit… I am actually surprised."

"Why?" 

"First, I didn't have to adjust your collar or bowtie, they are perfect. Secondly, you aren't shy at all to dance in the middle of other people." 

"Well, Pearl told me off cause my hair was… well… not that great." 

"Did she?" Lucien chuckled.  

"Yeah… Had to go back and fix it, and I took advantage of my bein' there to fix the rest too." They shared a laugh before Mundy resumed his speech, still gently rocking them left and right. "But then, I thought that she was right. If you wanted me to wear a suit, then you needed me to look good, or as good as I can get. So I tried…" 

"Mmh… You look absolutely divine…" Lucien purred.

"And for the dancin', I uh… I don't know… I just want to hold you and… move with the music, gently." 

"Mmh…" Lucien leaned his head against Mundy's chest, on his vest, and the Aussie blushed to his ears. 

"Y-you alright?" 

"Oui… This is a dream come true for me." Lucien answered, with his eyes closed. 

"What? I-I'm sorry, I've lost you there…"

"Being held in strong arms, by a tall and virile man…" Lucien bit his lip and looked up. He opened his eyes slowly, his eyelashes rose to reveal his crystal clear irises. 

"Woah…" Mundy whispered and his pupils blew wide. "I… Hm…" He put a hand behind Lucien's head and pulled him to lay it back under his jaw. Lucien obeyed and splayed his gloved hands flat on Mundy's chest, left and right. The Aussie's other hand was at the bottom of his back, pulling him closer still. "You smell amazin', you look amazin', pfff… I'm the luckiest bloke on Earth." He kissed Lucien on his head, through his hair, and he heard him pur in delight.

"I feel like a God…"

"A Goddess I guess, eh?" 

Lucien chuckled.

"I guess so, oui. Oh…?" 

Mundy's hand shifted from the bottom of Lucien's back, sliding up along his spine. The Frenchman's knees weakened as the rough hand set shivers everywhere in his body. He bit his lip to smother his whimper as he clawed his gloved fingers on Mundy's smooth vest, and rolled his eyes. Mundy's hands travelled up and up until they were each on Lucien's smooth cheeks.

"You look gorgeous without your beard too." 

Lucien heard the hoarse whisper, the husky voice, but not the words. Whatever Mundy said, it flew above his head, his brains were jelly, his eyes lazy and his eyebrows arched high up. Mundy held his head like a priceless crystal sculpture. As the soft and slow bossa nova wrapped them, he bent down and delicately dropped his lips on Lucien's, which ended the Frenchman. Such courage, such madness from his lover was yet another proof of how strongly and deeply he craved the kiss. 

Mundy, who was usually shy, prude with his feelings, awkward even, was holding Lucien's face between his palms, his thumbs brushing his clean-shaven, smooth face. He pushed a silver lock of hair away from his eyes and went for it. Lucien didn't see it coming. His lips were just met with the Aussie's, as simply as just that, and the Frenchman lost his mind…!

He clung to Mundy, pulling his vest down because his legs had given up. The Aussie quickly caught the hint and laced an arm back at the bottom of Lucien's back, to support him. When he broke the kiss, Lucien's eyes refused to open again for a few seconds. Eventually, the mascara-lined eyelashes fluttered like a butterfly's wings.

"You alright?" It was barely a whisper of Mundy's voice and Lucien's eyes lowered to Mundy's lips again. The spell was cast, Lucien was as liquid as he could be in Mundy's arms. 

The music stopped for a second in the background during which Mundy got very self-conscious. He quickly looked around them but still, no one was staring at them. The band started playing again and it was as slow as a bossa nova.

Mundy's eyes shifted down to Lucien. He was still staring at him as if he was the only person in the room, and for him, he was. Lucien had eyes only for Mundy. He let himself utterly fall and be ridiculous, he let himself show his love for Mundy without restraints, something he usually only does in the sheets. But now, as Mundy looked down, he saw a version of Lucien that he didn't know no one else had ever seen. He was looking at Lucien deeper in love than he ever was, eyes dreamy, crossing on his lips, lips parted, eyebrows arched.

"Gosh… You look…" And Mundy's instincts kicked in again, seeing Lucien so defenseless, so vulnerable, in a crowd of people. He pulled him close and held him safe in his arms. No one would get close to him, no one would touch or even speak to Lucien. It was Mundy's responsibility to protect him and by God be would! 

Lucien rolled his eyes in bliss as he closed them against Mundy's chest. The Aussie was gently rocking him left and right, in rhythm with the slow music. The Frenchman was possessed. A force stronger than him had turned his body, his will and his mind to absolutely nothing. All he felt was the possessive attraction to that tall man in a beige suit, the one with the impeccable hair, the iconic sideburns, the rough skin and large hands that were holding him from his hip and his head. Lucien curled his upper body in Mundy's arms and felt a peck gently land above his head, on his hair. 

Oui, oui, Mundy, please… Please, hold me. I don't want anyone else but you. I can't even see anyone else but you. I feel so incredibly safe with you, it's… an addiction, this sensation. I crave to be held safe and only you manage to do it so well. Only in your arms do I feel that none of my problems are mine. Only when your hands are laced around me do I feel that whatever rises in front of me, you will help me defeat it. You are my strength as much as you are my weakness. Je t'aime. 

Lucien screwed his eyes shut and frowned against Mundy's chest. 

"Love you too, sweetheart." 

[maskedjoker]

In the end I just want to be beautiful. So beautiful. Beautiful.

I am so sick and exhausted of this life and what it entitles. I don’t care who I am anymore. I’m sick of labels and groups and communities. The talk of identity and pronouns makes me sick. I’ll love who I love; I’ll be who I am. I don’t need a label. I don’t need a label. I don’t need a label.

All I know is I am not happy with what is. I have no knowledge of what I need to be to make that better. No one really does. In my head I know something is wrong and that twists in my stomach back and forth until I vomit.

It’s nauseating looking at myself.

I want to like myself.

I miss what was, but what was was never real. I morn the death of a mask as if it where real, as if she had feelings. I glue this new mask over the vacant space that is my face, my eyes, not fitting any better. It isn’t me that’s broken. It’s the world around me that doesn’t fit. It cuts into me, and I feel something.

I don’t want a title, or a name. I don’t want to change who I am. No amount of peers saying I don’t have to on pastel support blogs will change how I feel, and how the world feels about me. It’s not about you, or you allowing me to do something. It’s the world quiet and subtle notice that makes me uneasy. The stares and looks of discomfort from others, the look in my fathers eyes when he tells me he can’t change how I’m programed to function.

But this world isn’t broken either. It isn’t any more than I am at least. There is not “ingrained” or “internalized” that can be eradicated, like ignorance is a plague. This is a crime with few if any perpetrators and many victims. It runs on what is common, what is easy, what is known. That is how it will always be, and someone will always be in the unknown no matter what we do. There is no problem like we make it out to be. It is a problem with the path of least resistance. Society is like a river, and will not climb uphill to save you time, or save your life.

Yet I still feel so much hate and anger, at the world and at myself. For not being common, for not being able to take the easy way out, that others do not bend to the knowledge I have been forced to absorb.

I am jealous.

I want to be normal.

But I am not, nor can I be. I am whatever creature my genetics say I am. My brain was mapped out along with all it’s possibilities before I had a pulse. Before I was alive. Before I was me. Somewhere in that code there is an answer to what I am. But I’ll never find it.

The trick is that what we are in the eyes of others and our expectations for those others is based on the pressures we experience. Who we are programmed to be and how we should function do not yield for such things. It only gets buried under them. I was born to function as something different than what I have been taught.

This issue is then, that my brain has adapted to the circumstance I have been brought up in. Led to be a women, typed as a man, designated female, programmed to be male, developed somewhere in between. So what am I? At 4 months development I was a female. At 6 I no longer was. But that didn’t change what was already laid down. But I can’t change what was laid down after either. Whichever part I hate, it will always be part of who “I” am.

I cannot eliminate who I was for most of my life, and what I grew to love even if my brain was always straddling with the expectation of being male, of being uncomfortable with how I developed physically. I may have typed in youth as being more like my father, but reality bent me anyway, and I learned to type in whatever way I was expected to even if that isn’t how I was programmed and it was only a matter of time before my brain rejected it. What has been written from that cannot be changed, though. I want to be that person, but part of me won’t let me.

What I am left as is a person who desperately wants what is impossible. I want some of what is familiar to me and what being a women is, and some of what it is to be a man that was always withheld from me, but not both, yet not either. Maleness in entirety isn’t who I am socially, but womanhood certainly isn't the answer either. Being female makes me uncomfortable because my biology will not let it be so. Being male goes against all I am and have learned to be, and has many traits socially I would like to do without.

So in the end, I want my form to be restored to what my brain needs it to be, flat chested and smooth to end all the pain I feel, yet somehow still hold onto what I was in some small way and socially escape reality.

You thought I’d say nonbinary didn’t you?

Another banner, another set of expectations. All it is is another chain and community to uphold, another way not to be taken seriously. I do not feel any connection nor gain any comfort from this, though I do not pass judgment on those who do. No, this will never be the answer I am looking for.

I want to be nothing.

I want to be me;

And nothing will ever be me but me, just like everyone else. The only way for me to meet my desires is to stop caring and stop trying. To fix the sterile medical issues with my body and continue from there. Sure I might be happier to be perceived as male, but it doesn’t reach the complexity that I am, or who anyone is. No one wants to be limited by others perceptions of them, or their bodies. No one wants to be told how to be a man or a women.

Eventually I will eradicate all that I hate about me, and then I will merely continue to pursue what makes my happy.

Oh but of course that doesn’t fix everything. There is still one factor that waits for us all.

Fear

Not anxiety or irrational, just primal fear. That stuff that sits at the pit of your gut and makes you want to die in a shallow hole. That makes you choke on your own tears at 4 am knowing that no one will accept you, that you will die without being normal. That you will always be loved in spite of rather than because of. The knowledge that those feelings are true and not just a boogie man of your own making, watching those like you be destroyed little by little as to confirm it.

Men and those perceived to be men are expected to be vicious. They are supposed to be violent and aggressive and dirty, and nothing more. Competitive to the death. If not they are removed or destroyed. Fragile masculinity is another name for the fear of this. A rational fear of being made obsolete and being offed by anyone you come across, men or women. It doesn’t matter who you are, unless you are rich this applies and there is no escaping it. It’s hard to be kind and be yourself with a knife under your throat at all times; ready to take your job, credibility, and even your life.

I can feel it every time I put makeup on my face, and feel the fluttering of a skirt around my ankles; The soft brush of hair against my mid back.

To wear whatever I want. To act however I want. To be whatever I want. To not be killed or judged for it. To not be told I am a kink, or beaten in the streets by men or ridiculed by women, to be seen as myself rather than a confused faggot. These are the things that allude me. And why?

Submission.

It’s all about submission. What’s viewed as weak, what’s viewed as easy to destroy. If I am viewed as a man, I must be dominant. I have no other value. To be submissive shows I have no value. This is how human society works, and what every minority works collectively to change. Its the same thing, no matter what movement.

What I am is not weakness

What I am is not submissive to you

We will not be submissive to you

WE WILL DISPLACE YOU

This rings utterly clear as the one prominent truth. Sure some start with the desire to prove submission is not to be mistreated in it’s own right, but once equality is near this will always change. No one fights for submission, no matter what. They fight to be seen as dominant.

But now, all I want is for all these political a social things to go away. I don’t want to choose, I don’t want to change, I don’t need any of this. To have the ability and social freedom of a women, to be able to feel comfortable in my skin as only they can, to have the body I need to be happy, and to be socially left alone. I don’t want to have to hide myself and change to fit another narrative besides the one I write for myself. I don’t want to loose my grace and be seen as a threatening menace to others because of a mistake that doesn’t apply.

I want to be safe. I want to be me.

I want to be beautiful

[scripturehomosexuality]

Editorial: #MeToo, Same-Sex Activity, and How The Two Are Related

For many months, even as I was writing on this blog, I have been closely watching the #MeToo movement sweeping through the U.S. At first, I was keeping out of it. Though I supported it initially, its original purpose wasn’t related to this blog’s purpose, so I didn’t intend to remark on it.

However, things have changed so much, and the stakes have been raised so high, this male writer feels compelled to say something on it.

Now, before I go any further, I need to make the following perfectly clear: I do not hate women. I do not support the rape or sexual assault of any woman (or man), under any circumstances. Rape and sexual assault is always inexcusable. I’m sure any longtime reader of this blog will know that I do not endorse misogyny. In fact, the Additional Links page will unequivocally show that I support both female sexuality and male sexuality.

As such, if you disagree with what I’m about to say, please do not flood my inbox with condemnatory messages. If you wish to comment, please use the Discus plugin at the end of this post, which allows guest and pseudonymous commenting.

As I said before, sexual assault and rape horrifies me, so I initially supported the #MeToo movement. However, as November 2017 came along, I began to have reservations. To me, it was beginning to feel like a general witchhunt. To give #MeToo the benefit of the doubt, I kept quiet and kept watching its development.

Now, it seems my apprehension was justified. More men and women find the movement increasingly troubling. We are all disturbed by its apparent inability to make distinctions. Sophomoric behavior and mild harassment are being equated to rape and sexual assault. Due process is being skipped in favor of swift justice, as accusations are now enough to impose severe punishment. The fact that women are human beings too, and thus are equally capable of fabrication, is becoming too taboo to suggest.

By no means am I defending the rape and sexual assault of women. My point is that, in trying to end those harmful actions, we’re throwing out the baby with the bathwater. Not every problem is a nail that must be hammered, which the #MeToo movement doesn’t seem to realize.

The crescendo reached a climax this week, as comedian Aziz Ansari was accused of sexual assault. What was the problem? The Ansari story was quite ordinary to most people. To them, it was too ordinary to merit public shaming.

Because of all this, I can confidently say that the #MeToo movement has been hijacked. Rape and sexual assault are now a minimal focus of this movement. Right now, it’s focused on transforming our sexual culture into one that is punitively and brutally governed by certain women. It seems bent on creating a system where, solely by a woman’s whim, an encounter caused by mixed messages becomes punishable sexual assault.

Other writers are reaching similar conclusions. In fact, a few writers openly say that we’re in a full blown sex panic. In a column for the New York Daily News, philosopher Christina Hoff Sommers said “a new puritanism seems to be ascendant,” where “suddenly, office Christmas parties and happy hours are under a cloud.”

As such, there is a vital point being missed in the debate - the #MeToo movement is inextricably linked to developments involving “homosexuality”. If we are serious in analysing what caused the movement, and where it is headed, we must consider this indispensable history.

Firstly, the #MeToo movement owes its existence to the recent history of “homosexuality”. In the United States, the current definition includes all same-sex acts, with “gender inversion” an important but secondary component. At this point, participation in any same-sex act counts as “homosexuality”.

As much as that definition seems established, it’s actually pretty new. Before the second half of the 20th century, “homosexuality” was more defined by “gender inversion” than behavior. Engagement in same-sex activity didn’t automatically merit a “homosexual” identity. From the 1930s onward, a man felt compelled to identify as “homosexual” if

he was primarily or exclusively attracted to men (which was considered a form of “gender inversion”)

his mannerisms parodied those of women

Even then, true “homosexual” men were considered to be effeminate.

We must also remember that back then, sex was mainly defined by penetration. Thus, if the contact was non-penetrative, it wasn’t “sex” per se. After World War II, anal sex started becoming more common in the “homosexual” identified community. However, among non-”homosexual” men, the contact usually was non-penetrative.

As a result of these factors, same-sex activity was relatively common for non-”homosexual” men up until the mid-20th century. It didn’t automatically require a new identity, and since they avoided anal, their contact didn’t count as “sex” for most people. As a result, the rate of premarital opposite-sex contact was also relatively low. Since they were having sexual satisfaction with fellow men, contact with women wasn’t as necessary. 

That began changing with the Stonewall Rebellion of 1969. The revolt caused massive upheaval in both the “homosexual” and non-”homosexual” worlds. Now, “homosexual” men could now be validly masculine and effeminate, as shown by the explosion of the Castro Clone. What those masculine and feminine men shared in common - their engagement in same-sex activity - increasingly became the basis of the new “gay” identity.

This wasn’t all. From its slow start after WWII, anal sex became widespread in the “gay” community by the mid-1970s. Up until that time, and despite its increasing popularity, anal still had a bad reputation among “gay” men. Then, as the late 1970s arrived, a cultural seismic shift happened. Anal soon became the ultimate fulfillment of “gay” love, and a necessary act for “gay” men.

In the 1980s, these factors helped change the overall sexual culture of the United States.

HIV/AIDS, a disease mainly spread through anal play, began ravaging the “gay” community. Yet the “gay” community was not the only group affected. The entire United States was traumatized by the disease, because to a point, it affected them too. A significant number of presumed “heterosexual” men, including celebrities like Rock Hudson and Anthony Perkins, were among those who died from AIDS.

These deaths were significant because, while they were “gay” identified and very active in the “gay” community, their identity and activity was unknown to the general public. They were able to keep it hidden because outwardly, they appeared to be “normal” men, and were thus presumed to be “heterosexual” identified.

As to why they interacted in the “gay” community, remember a point made before - the morphing definition of “homosexuality”. Because of that, more of these men felt compelled to sexually engage in the “gay” community, even though that wasn’t the case a few decades before. Unfortunately, that also means they engaged in sexual practices unique to the “gay” community that gave them the disease.

Since men not perceived as “homosexual” were AIDS victims, the predominant definition of “homosexuality” (still mostly based on gender inversion) appeared inadequate. Thus, the definition fully and quickly turned into the behavior-based definition that dominates today.

At the same time, it appears the fact that anal sex drove the epidemic, in lieu of other same-sex acts, was lost on the general public. As a result, all same-sex activity began to gain a stigma.

These other relevant factors added into the mix -

Remnants of 1950s Red Scare attitudes. Though the fervor of McCarthyism waned in the 1950s, elements of its attitudes endured throughout the Cold War era. As such, during the Red Scare, a link was established between “homosexuality” (as they defined it then) and Communism. The AIDS epidemic breathed new life into these ideas.

Growth of the Religious Right. The 1970s was characterized by many revolutionary movements - Women’s Liberation, Gay Liberation, the Sexual Revolution, the acceptance of evolution, etc. In response to the changes, a new reactionary form of Christianity developed. Seeing themselves as saviors as morality, the Religious Right staunchly opposed the “gay” community, and “homosexuality” by extension. In the face of the AIDS epidemic, they abandoned reinforcing their historical condemnation of anal sex. Instead, they went full-throttle with the shifting definition of “homosexuality”. As the definition continued to change, their condemnation of “homosexuality” continuously grew in scope and sharpened in tone.

The changing definition of sex. Before long, STDs began affecting “straight” relationships. At times, these diseases were spread through acts that weren’t usually considered “sex”. As a result, sex was soon defined by both penetrative and non-penetrative acts. Paradoxically, this helped reinforce the shifting definition of homosexuality. For better or worse, all same-sex acts were now validly “sex”, and thus were validly “homosexual”.

All these factors combined into a ferocious hysteria over same-sex activity. This hysteria would increase correspondingly with the growth of AIDS, as it reached its peak during the 1990s. However, one of the features of hysteria is its irrationality, as it perceives threats in all kinds of places. Thus, the resulting stigma over same-sex activity soon spread to same-sex attraction, and even to homoerotism.

The frequency of same-sex activity in the general population went down dramatically, as everyday people wanted to escape being touched by the growing hysteria. At the same time, the rates of opposite-sex contact outside marriage shot through the roof. This strongly suggests that, true to their bisexuality, most people went to the opposite gender when same-sex activity became unacceptable. It was in this environment that our current sexual culture - where opposite-sex contact outside marriage is expected - became set in stone.

In other words, the AIDS stigma created the culture that made #MeToo possible. That fact is inescapable, and utterly necessary to understand this movement’s origins. If AIDS didn’t happen, opposite-sex activity outside marriage wouldn’t have become as acceptable or prevalent. As a result, there would have been no culture that could have spawned anything like #MeToo.

Secondly, the radical feminist movement (which is driving the #MeToo phenomenon) is a sister of the modern “gay” movement. As such, many habits existing in the “gay” world are replicating themselves in the #MeToo movement.

For instance, the “gay” movement has no ability to make common sense distinctions. To them all sex is good yet risky, despite all evidence that anal is uniquely dangerous. To them both men and women are designed for penetration, despite all evidence that they are not. To them all men into men have always had anal sex, despite direct and circumstantial evidence to the contrary.

In the same way, and as said before, #MeToo makes similar moves. To the movement, clumsy advances and sophomoric jokes are apparently tantamount to rape or assault. All merit brutal and severe punishment. In its view, no woman is capable of coloring or fabricating stories, and few men treat women with the dignity they deserve. In fact, a few writers openly wonder how women can pass ANY man on the sidewalk without fear.

As another example, both movements feel that “if you’re not with us, you’re against us”. In other words, if your opinions don’t march in lockstep with their own, you will be considered their enemy. It doesn’t matter how much you might agree with them.

This has been the reigning motto of the “gay” movement for years. This is why this blog, the g0y movement, the Man2Man Alliance, and other like outlets are ignored or opposed. We agree that the Religious Right has abused their power considerably, and must be stopped from causing further damage. However, we also oppose the anal sex ethos of the LGBT leadership, because we see that as equally harmful. For those and other differences of opinion, we have earned their scorn.

Additionally it should be noted that, when talking about the “gay” movement, the Man2Man Alliance said that their attitudes reeked of fascism.

Something similar is happening with the radical feminist movement that is driving #MeToo. Their more moderate members have voiced concerns over the direction #MeToo is taking, and the overall thrust of the movement. In response, they have been viciously attacked and ridiculed by their fellow feminists. Anything other than uniform opinion will not be tolerated. Examples include Cassie Jaye, Laci Green, and Catherine Deneuve.

Another commonality comprises our third point - both movements contain a vicious streak of misandry, which seems to be currently driving the #MeToo movement.

The “gay” movement has been proudly misandronic for years. To them, masculinity naturally gives birth to homophobia, despite the fact that masculinity has never been a monolith. Anything that seems masculine is constantly disparaged and denigrated, and deserves destruction. “Straight-acting gay” men are treated with suspicion and skepticism, because they don’t want to imitate women in their mannerisms. To them, the more a man imitates a woman in everything he does, the better.

In saying this, I’m not trying to disparage women. My point is that the “gay” movement constantly slams things that are most natural to men, and instead encourages behavior that isn’t natural for them.

On a closely related note, that’s also why their worship of anal makes sense. Throughout history, the penetrated male was thought to be “acting like a woman”. Whether the “gay” leadership admits it or not, that same logic guides them today. They also believe anal feminizes a male, which they think is proper and desirable.

That’s also a reason why they hate frot with a passion - it’s simply too masculine for them to tolerate.

The radical feminists do the same thing. Of late, they have constantly decried the effects of “toxic masculinity”. This phrase usually doesn’t say that certain forms of masculinity are toxic, which is completely true. Instead it says that masculinity itself is toxic and evil, and deserves total eradication. That is shown in terms they have coined that associate masculinity with incivility - “mansplaining”, “manspreading”, etc. Their words constantly encourage female distrust and dislike of men. As a result, as Cathy Young said in the Washington Post, “Things have gotten to a point where casual low-level male-bashing is a constant white noise in the hip progressive online media.”

As part of its misandry, radical feminism also wishes to control how men interact with each other, even in the smallest of matters. A post from the Man2Man Alliance mentions an interesting development among Blackwater mercenaries (U.S. military contractors) in 2007 Iraq. In their off hours, the male mercenaries liked to sunbathe naked together on their trailer roofs. That came to an end when female helicopter pilots flew overhead, became extremely displeased, and complained to their superiors.

Think about that for a minute. These men were simply minding their own business, and weren’t bothering the female pilots at all. They were simply doing what felt comfortable. Plus, this probably wasn’t the first time those pilots saw penises. Yet, they felt compelled to disrupt a naturally occurring male activity, simply because they didn’t like it. What motivated these women to react so strongly?

As Alliance founder Bill Weintraub put it, “their objection...is the expression of a puritan impulse, and a puritan impulse alone.” This same puritan impulse seems to characterize radical feminism, which evidently motivated the pilots’ actions. It also seems to drive the #MeToo movement.

Mind you, things are even worse now. A recent British study told women that male friendships posed a deep threat to their own relationships with men, and encouraged them to keep those relationships under surveillance. Thus, the deep feminist suspicion of male intimacy rages on.

Thus, to me, this is what’s really driving the #MeToo movement at present. The radical feminists are no longer satisfied with controlling male relationships. Now, they wish to dictate how men interact with them and other females, where women have total possession of the keys of power.

Once again, I’m not trying to disparage women. My point is that as long as one gender feels justified to dominate the other - men over women or women over men - there will always be war. Ultimately, a gender war benefits neither men nor women. At most, extremists of either gender will be the only victors.

At this point however, I hope you fully understand how “homosexuality” relates to #MeToo. They are completely enmeshed and impossible to separate. This connection fully reveals the origins of this movement, and the motivations for its current actions. #MeToo also reveals what was “business as usual” inside the “gay” world, in a way most people can no longer ignore. Whether most people realize it or not, the attitudes of the “gay” world are now affecting their own lives.

As such, this link leads to a question no one is asking - how “homosexuality” will affect the endgame of the #MeToo movement.

First of all, I completely agree that #MeToo will affect our entire sexual culture. Quotes from a “Spiked Online” article by 13 female writers shows that clearly. In the article, writer Joanna Williams said “...a new wariness has taken hold. A voice in our heads asks how our interactions might be interpreted by others. Is it best to leave the office door open? Invite a third party along to the lunch meeting? Under what circumstances can you hug a colleague? Or touch their elbow?” Meanwhile, writer Lionel Shriver said, “I am concerned that sex itself seems increasingly to be seen as dirty, and as a violation, a form of assault, so that we’re repackaging an old prudery in progressive wrapping paper.”

As such, this will affect men more seriously than you might realize. Remember what was said before - our modern sexual culture aren’t that old, and are historically unprecedented.

If this movement happened under past sexual concepts, the outcome would be different. In times past, “sex” was defined by penetration, and thus excluded most same-sex activity. Thus, if “sex” indeed became a taboo activity, that wouldn’t equate to male sexual deprivation. Instead, those men would turn to each other for sexual pleasure. They would have been able to satisfy their urges even as the hysteria raged on.

That doesn’t exist today. In the United States, “homosexuality” now includes all same-sex activity and attraction, and engagement in such activity now warrants the “gay” label. This process has inordinately affected male relationships throughout its duration. As modern sexual philosophy further evolves, it encroaches further into more areas of life. At this point, “bromances” are increasingly considered light versions of “homosexuality”, which might lead to their stigmatization in the near future.

This takes away the avenue of same-sex intimacy from most men. Thus, as sexual interaction with women becomes more precarious, we will enter an unprecedented reality. One of two outcomes will then happen, both of which are equally horrendous -

Most men will end up having no sex at all

In their frustration, those men may immerse themselves into the “gay” world with all its concepts and practices, including its disastrous practice of anal play

The first one will have effects that, in a very scary way, we cannot exactly predict. Sex is a need of most humans that must be satisfied somehow, much like eating and drinking. As such, Psychology Today plainly says, “Nothing inspires murderous mayhem in human beings more reliably than sexual repression...if expression of sexuality is thwarted, the human psyche tends to grow twisted into grotesque, enraged perversions of desire.”

Sexual repression among Christians has helped transform modern porn in size and content. Can you imagine what will happen if such repression exists throughout the United States? Do we really want to create sexually desperate men who will act out in harmful ways?

Mind you, I have my own reservations with our current sexual culture. Since intimacy among men is so taboo, men feel compelled to satisfy same-sex needs in opposite-sex relationships. This causes all kinds of dysfunction that’s unnecessary, but at least there’s some manner of sexual outlet. If total sexual repression becomes reality in the United States, no man or woman would be safe.

The second one will have effects that we do know, which are equally scary. The “gay” world conceptualizes same-sex activity as an abnormality, which is extremely harmful. That thinking justifies the practice of anal play, which has caused all kinds of medical, physical, and psychological harm. If sexual frustrated “straight” men enter this world, the resulting explosion of disease and injury would threaten human life.

Worst of all, it would trivialize women (and men) with real claims of sexual assault and rape. The systems causing so many problems would remain. Only the positions of the players would change.

In other words, under current conditions, the current version of #MeToo would be disastrous.

If there’s one thing #MeToo has done for good, it has caused further cracks in the imaginary wall between “gays” and “straights”. This blog has constantly said that “homosexuality” is impacted by social and political pressures that also affect “straights”. Given the link between #MeToo and “homosexuality”, and how one affects the other, it’s now harder to pretend that “gays” and “straights” live in completely different worlds.

In conclusion, if you are a feminist, I hope that you think long and hard about what I’ve just said. Please don’t react in a knee jerk fashion to this post. Instead, I ask you to really meditate on my words. With everything that I’ve just described, is this a movement that you should blindly support?

For my readers in the United States, I have a special message for you. Don’t think that we are merely seeing a rebellion against sexual assault. We’re really seeing the seismic transformation of our sexual culture. It is now teetering on the verge of collapse, and what replaces it can be very bad or very good.

This movement has inadvertently continued what footballer Aaron Hernandez began, whose suicide made modern sexual philosophy begin to wobble. At this point, it’s highly doubtful that the sexual status quo will continue.

No matter how you identify, you have a dog in this fight. If you have found this site’s content educational and valuable, don’t keep quiet about it. There is no better time to speak than right now. Let people know that the Scriptures don’t condemn “homosexuality”. Publicly acknowledge that most people swing both ways. Educate your peers on history that reveals modern sexual philosophy as fraudulent.

Make no mistake - from what I can see, we are in the middle of another sexual revolution. Our sexual culture is on the verge of fundamental change, and the content of the discussion will determine what will supplant it. In this era of turmoil, the ones who participate will shape its outcome, which will affect us for years to come. Make sure that in this process, you make your voice heard.

Post-Scriptum (added on 1/22/2018)

I’ve just become aware of a third possible outcome for #MeToo - the utilization of sex robots. At this time, its possibility seems somewhat remote, but it still deserves mention.

As male-female sex becomes more fraught with tension, and same-sex contact remains taboo, sexually frustrated humans might turn to sex robots to fill their needs.

To me, this outcome is as horrendous as the first two. Sex is ultimately an expression of intense love and affection. Meanwhile, sex robots are simply manmade objects, not human beings. How can humans make love to objects that can’t reciprocate?

Thus, I believe that under this outcome, their use will likely have long-term detrimental effects. Sex robots may aggravate social isolation, at a time when social cohesion is already under threat. Sex will simply become a reflex detached from love, and not an extreme interpersonal experience. Humans may somewhat lose their ability to mix the sexual with the social, which might cause a decrease in population.

Furthermore, it would work to reinforce the “straight”-”gay” dichotomy, with all its concepts and ideas. Sex robots would remove the risks cursing extramarital opposite-sex contact, such as pregnancy, disease, emotional turmoil, etc. Furthermore, robots might also remove risks inherent in male-male anal sex, such as disease and physical injury.

I think though this is a rather distant option in the United States (at least for now), because

Sex robot technology is still in its infancy, and currently seems resistant to advancement

There’s still a strong social stigma against sex with robots. At present, it simply rubs most people the wrong way. That stigma may or may not last.

Feminists will likely oppose them. If men turn to sex robots en masse, that would undermine the power of women over sexual relations, which would be unacceptable for them

The third point highlights a possible consequence that would be interesting. Corporations and radical feminism, who are currently working together on #MeToo, may end up at each other’s throats if sex robots become popular.

Sex robots can command high prices, which would yield big profits for their manufacturers. If their demand increases, profits would only grow bigger. This might be a reason why corporations are supporting #MeToo - its encouragement of puritanism would create the perfect market for sex robots.

Thus, #MeToo might be yet another infusion of neoliberalism into our sexual dealings. It might further develop the relationship between neoliberalism and modern sexual philosophy.