Taking Back “Tranny”

I am tackling the whole “TRANNY” issue, once and for all.

fag.
homo.
dyke.
queer.
cunt.
tranny.

My mother used to let us swear as far back as I can remember because she always said that words were just words, and it is true. Words ARE JUST words. People give power and meaning to words, they do nothing on their own.  Without added emotion, feelings, and images to represent it, a word is just a bunch of letters hanging out together.

If the word is meant in an insulting way then, yes, it is negative. No one wants to hear kids saying “that’s so gay” when they don’t even know what they are saying. But I’m talking about people making the blanket statement that “TRANNY” is a bad word, because, no, it isn’t.  “Tranny” is the shortened form of “transgender” and also “transvestite” which are indeed two different things.  I can assume and understand that a transgender person doesn’t want to be labeled incorrectly as a transvestite, but neither term should be considered offensive; neither should cause embarrassment, shame or anger if applied incorrectly by mistake. Now, I’m not sure when using the term “TRANNY” became shameful or insulting, but just even within the last two weeks, I have been told more than a dozen times by a handful of different people that it is.

You can make ANY word positive or negative. What you CANT DO is TELL ME that the word is wrong based on YOUR opinion, because, to me, that says that YOU have a problem with the word. And I’m not even using the argument of “only trans people can say it”  like the whole “only black people can say ‘nigger'”. Yes. The word has very nasty negativity behind it. I personally flinched every single time it was used in Django Unchained, because it was MEANT to be demeaning. It was SUPPOSED TO BE NEGATIVE. But if someone wants to reclaim the word and USE IT TO BE EMPOWERING- who are YOU to stop them? Who are you to tell someone that a word is wrong or right, positive or negative?

fag.
homo.
dyke.
queer.
cunt.
tranny.

These words have been RECLAIMED. And fucking rightly so. Many hate crimes have resulted and much blood has been lost over WORDS. These words STAND FOR THE FIGHT. They say “I WONT BE FUCKED WITH ANYMORE.” They say, “I used to be afraid. I used to hate hearing someone call me FAG, but I WONT LET ANYONE BULLY ME ANYMORE. I am a fag. and I am proud to be a fag.”

Rupaul made the word “TRANNY” a household word, and for that I am grateful. Rupaul fought her way to the top. It is NOT YOUR PLACE to tell her that she can’t be proud to use the word TRANNY. It’s NOT YOUR PLACE to take away someone’s hard fought battles. It is NOT YOUR PLACE to put people back in the closet, or back to being afraid to walk down the street wearing whatever they want. Even if you are trans, IT IS NOT YOUR PLACE to take away someone’s courage and strength. If you are offended by TRANNY, then maybe change how YOU look at the word before you EXPECT everyone else to be offended by it. Instead of being afraid of words- look to those that HAVE ACTUALLY SUFFERED to earn the RIGHT to be fags, homos, dykes, queers and yes, even TRANNYS.

gay-left-04

draghttp://www.pbs.org/wgbh/americanexperience/features/transcript/stonewall-transcript/

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Sex Positive!

i’m not here to tell you what to do with your saucyparts or your goods, but we all need to finally realize that being SEXY and SEXUAL is for everyone- no matter what body type, shape, gender, sexual preference or part of the rainbow! boy parts, girl parts, dirtybits, trans, no-no spots, special purposes, whatever!

because we all need a little boost now and again- here are some AMAZING sex positive tumblrs!
i guarantee you’ll find something to make you smile! (among other things.) ENJOY!

oh- and these are SERIOUSLY nsfw- so wait until you get home where you can (ahem) view these with more privacy *coughs*… because you will!

http://fuckyeahsexpositivity.tumblr.com/
http://queersexpositive.tumblr.com/
http://sex-positive.tumblr.com/
http://sex-positive-bitches.tumblr.com/

love your body! love yourself! be sexy! be pervy!
ADMIT THAT YOU LOVE SEX! ADMIT THAT YOU ARE SEXY! LOVE YOUR BODY! CHERISH WHO YOU ARE WITH! BE SAFE! and LIVE LIFE TO IT’S FULLEST!
(didnt i just say i wasnt going to tell you what to do? but these are good things- and you should do them!)

HAPPY WEDNESDAY!
HAPPY SPRING!
HAPPY MAY DAY!
HAPPY BELTAIN!
HAPPY SEX ALL!

Contemplation

by ComaWytch

The wind hit my face harshly as I sat on the white sand, on the beach, on my island. I had been here for two months now, alone, taking my hermitage and spiritual retreat, preparing my mind and heart for my Love, for my Husband. I had been fasting on the island, meditating, spending nights awake staring out at the sea from the clifftop, sleeping in the white sand on the beach. The island was so small, barely more than two acres, and my husband lived on a much larger island nearby. We had traveled in canoes to get to this spot, and he had dropped me off with enough food to last me a month, and me being there for two months, this naturally meant a fast. This was a ritual I had done once a year for the last five years of our marriage together, and I would break the isolation and fast with him every year the same way: with sex in the white sand, in the moonlight, the salty spray of the deep green ocean surrounding us on all sides. The air was warm and moist, the wind fresh and fierce all around.

Tonight was his arrival, and he rowed a few miles to reach me, bringing luxury food and wine for the both of us. When he arrived, pulled his canoe in after setting the paddle down on the side catch, placed it under a palm tree, and took out the vodka and grape fruits he had brought, as well as the delicious lobster tails, scallops, potato wedges topped with a delicious honey mustard sauce he had hand prepared, and buttered soft shelled crabs, all of which he had sauteed at our home for us on the main island. My husband learned how to cook these things from me, and he had prepared them very well I noticed. We now sat under a giant palm tree near the shoreline a ways away from the canoe, sipping the semi-frozen mixture of the best vodka he could get his hands on, mixed with freshly squeezed grapefruits, and a fine sugar having been added to this. We ate for some time like this, pausing in between bites and sips from our glasses, to kiss intimately. I nosed him affectionately quite a lot while we were eating, stopping from time to time, in between bites of seafood and the vodka grapefruit drink, to gently and softly nose him on the neck. He would stop from time to time, the hair bristling like so much fur on his chest, his back upright, to lean in ever so conservatively to give me a french kiss, locking mouths and tongues, as he would suck on my tongue repeatedly this way, and then kiss me on the bridge of my nose.

Time went on into the night as we ate and drank, and eventually time came for dessert. He pulled out a delicious strawberry cheesecake that was still partially frozen, and we lay there in the darkness, the moonlight providing a strong but dim grey light for us, partially in the shade under the palm tree, the roar of the ocean in the background and the strong wind tearing at my waist length hair which I had restrained in the back with a simple scrunchie. The wind massaged our faces so much so that, after awhile he became very relaxed like me, by the wind on his face. He had prepared a mixture of blackstrap molasses and Irish cream liquor, which we drank with the strawberry cheesecake. He stopped every now and then while eating, as I leaned on his chest, resting my plate there, to play with my vagina using his very large but lovingly dexterous hands.

My husband was a brain surgeon, and very skilled with his hands in many ways. After a time of eating the cheesecake and drinking the delicious molasses concoction, both of which I trained him well to prepare, my husband and I began to lie down in the sand and lazily kiss, the heavy wind massaging our faces. I had spent all of those two months clothed in a large one piece dress, wearing a veil that covered everything but my face, bathing in the ocean as I needed to. After a time he pulled the dress up and over my head, and took the scrunchie off of my hair, and we began to make love more and more as the night went on, the clear starry sky in the backdrop, a full and gorgeous milky way in clear view, with no light clouding the view.

He started by continually playing with my pussy using a combination of his index finger going in and out while the thumb massaged my clitoral area, similar but more involved to the motions he would use while we had been eating. After a time of him doing this and passionately french kissing me, sucking on my tongue, passing his lips on the tips of my earlobes and suckling them with his tongue, I began to become a good deal aroused. He had done these things to me for almost an hour while I stared at the sky, my hair obscuring the view from time to time, as I lay there and he worked on me, when I began to hum a soft tune. As I hummed this tune he recognized, very sweetly and softly, he lay down next to me very obediently, awaiting the seductive things this tune hypnotically signaled to him. He became very relaxed very quickly, and I sat up slowly, as he lay there, propping my body on top of his, and I placed my arms and legs on top of his, and lay on his chest, and I told him a story….

“We are in the garden my love, the trimmed hedges all around us, we are in the center of the maze, by the fountain, sitting there, and you imagine yourself bathing me with the seashell clam half in the fountain’s water, palm trees reaching over the acre of hedged maze in the backgrounds, as you bathe me in water. As you pour the water, you can visualize everything so clearly, like sparkle of the sun on the drops of the water, and you will grow more erect as you imagine these sparkles glinting off the water you are bathing me in”

As I said this he became incredibly hard within a span of ten or so seconds, and I whispered “Ah haaa, what do we have here” while I took his penis and gently stroked it in my dainty and delicate, but long fingers, smiling gently, the wind wisping in my hair, my husband’s eye’s closed as he lay there, in a trance.

After some time of gently and softly massaging his penis, I hummed another soft tune, this one much shorter, and he regained control of his left arm, the arm opposite from where I was. He could move nothing else, anchored as he was in place, under the spell of my loving and gentle enchantment. For some time while I stroked him gently in my fingers, he would reach across to stroke my arm and cup my breast softly, his eyes still closed, the rest of his body immovable. I had done this for some time when I hummed another tune and his arm gently but firmly became immobile again, at his side. He was completely aware of everything, as he had been all along, peacefully but excitedly aware, and it was now that I began to suck him, taking his fully erect penis into my mouth, sucking and pausing to kiss his penis every now and then. After doing this for about half an hour he came in my mouth, and it was so delicious I swallowed it whole, pausing then to drink the last of my molasses Irish cream drink, to wash it down. I hummed another tune after giving my husband this oral gift, and he became mobile again. He smiled at me widely, and kissed me silently, as we continued to accept the profound silence between us, embracing each other and the salty ocean spray, the fierce wind all around us. A time went by of us kissing casually, and he became aroused sufficiently that I asked him to enter me from behind and I lay there face and chest up in the white sand. I watched the night sky over his shoulders, the stark and clear milky way galaxy in full view, as he went in and out for what seemed like ages, until I was brought into a state of strong orgasmic waves enveloping me, panting softly as he went in and out, in and out, firmly but gently, at a steady but not too slow pace. I came so much and smiled at him then, and he brought me up to his face, and we kissed, as I wrapped my legs around his back, him holding me there as we kissed.

After this was done, we went back to our home on the island, my retreat having been complete, a journey into myself, to reflect on myself and my husband, and what we had together. It had been a journey inside myself that I took every year, and the sex that sprang forth from it each year on the beach, and in our home on the larger island, was very profound and incredible. A meditation it was, I thought, as my husband rowed the 15 miles back to our home, his strong sinewy arms and hands rowing as I lay in the back of the canoe on my back, staring up at the night sky again, marveling at the majesty of the galaxy spread before me

My name is Alice, I am a poet and a writer, and I am from North Shore, MA.  I am a currently single woman (transwoman) in my early 30’s, I am a wytch, an atheist, and I like to output my sexual spirituality by writing for others so that my love can warm, heal, revitalize and uplift other humans.

http://sweetlovingvampryss.blogspot.com/2013/04/contemplation-erotic-story.html

For Days I Could Only Speak in Cliches

by Kait Maurorising

through the depression.
I felt, without a body, something in agony

or maybe a body without a soul, stiff
and too heavy to pull from the bed.

Yes. An obese body, my own flesh and grief,
too heavy for my body to lift. There is no other way
to tell you I woke up afraid I was going to live.

There is no other way to say how I was overwhelmed
by the mundane things –
dishes, the shower, breakfast –
I could not be anywhere.

I ran from Saint Louis
across the rolling ground to Colorado,
where I found the mountains
could no longer offer me comfort,
to my mother’s home in Pennsylvania,
where the red wolves used to hunt and stalk,
to Chicago.

From Chicago I ran back into my heavy tired body, to find
that where the soul had been there was now a hard river stone,
small and cold and smooth. Many suggested a hospital stay,
but what can doctors do for a stone?

I crave a body I can crawl into.

-Kait Mauro is a 21 year old photographer and poet who resides in Western Pennsylvania.
Her work can be seen on kaitmauro.com.

When I Used to Love

by Mr. Wolf

I used to love…
When he would hold and kiss me
When times were better
When we didn’t care who saw
When we just discovered our feelings
When I found him again on Facebook
When he told me he loved me
When we held hands
When we held each other
When we slept in each other’s arms
When I was 17 and he was 20
When we were a grade apart
When we were in the JROTC
When we made love for the first time
When we cuddled in the backseat
When time knew no bounds for us
When we were two kids in love
When our hearts were synchronized
When our souls were one

Then…the heartbreak
When I found out he wasn’t the one
When he left me for someone else
When I used to love

 

“Mr. Wolf,” was born and raised in Detroit, MI. He graduated from Cass Technical High, but still hangs around with his younger friends from time to time. He’s 18, and has his share of hustles to get by. He loves to write and debate. He is also a Liberal Republican, defending both the NRA and gay marriage. He’s bisexual, and looking for his love once again. This poem is based on his relationship with a former schoolmate, and the first time he was in a relationship with another guy.

Coming Out of the Closet- a new feature!

Hello world,

I am Sarah Jane….Residing in the city of rain….
A mid-twenty something lady who has a lot to say about nothing. Or maybe it’s something, I guess you can decide?
I write in my blog about life as I know it, a journey out of an ever so stifling closet.

Coming Out of the Closet

Coming out isn’t the easiest thing to do, especially when you are trapped in a (friendship) marriage to someone of the opposite sex whose feelings you desperately do not want to hurt. Or when you come from a very Southern, Very Christian family who is sure to cut you out the second you refuse to keep quiet. Then again who doesn’t have it hard? I guess I could sit here all day long coming up with reasons why I sat around making myself miserable for 25 years when all I had to do to be happy was tell the truth. I like women. The decision to finally end the charade known as my “heterosexuality” wasn’t made lightly. And it’s a journey that won’t come easy but I am finally ready to take. So, here it is. As I live and breath it, the painful, the happy, the lessons, the triumphs and everything in between.

I won’t always have the right thing to say, the politically correct thing to say or do the morally right thing. But this is my journey, that I am taking and for better or worse I will always do things as I see best. And selfish as it is, for the first time in my life I am putting my happiness first, which means that some people are going to get hurt along the way, unfortunately. Hopefully, throughout this whole thing I will be met with at least some understanding, support and even more strength and determination to finally be true to ME!

Love Letter

by Kait Mauro

Sleeping in the Forest by Kait Mauro

Sleeping in the Forest by Kait Mauro

This is for you.

The universe conspires on your behalf. You are here because you are wanted and needed.

You are the entire universe manifested in blood bone and beating breath. You are terrifying and beautiful. You are wild. You are affection embodied, and the earth delights with you. It offers itself to your imagination, calls to you by your many names, tugs at the hem of your sweater. And you have survived everything

so far. Though you are only one in seven billion, your hunger and fear and delight are not insignificant. You are the alto moan of July thunderstorms, you are the hedonistic beckoning of the forests, the Cascade mountains, you are the slick dangerous dance of the sea, the tamed bones, the laced cartilage. Has there ever been a more human phrase than, “I want you to know?”

I want you to know that you are savage wonder, childish delight. You are joyful and sexual and being and it is alright to live. You are the wise and infinite redwoods. You are raspberries crushed in the hand and confusion and discontent and sleepless nights and you are loved. And, no matter what they said, despite what you’ve needed to hear and were not told, it was not your fault.

Learn to cup your palms together to hold the grief lightly because the furled leaves of the trees are offering, to you, their invitations. My body, too, hungers for simpler spaces and lighter ways. I, too, crave more human contact, answers, questions. Doesn’t the soul shiver nicely?

Your body was meant to heal and to take it and it has. I can only guess that the soul was made just as slippery and giving. Remember that we like you. Remember that you are wanted here and that, like ivy, we grow where there is room for us.

-Kait Mauro is a 21 year old photographer and poet who resides in Western Pennsylvania.
Her work can be seen on kaitmauro.com.