Anonymous

What's more dangerous — meeting people on the Internet or meeting people in real life?

In my checkered past, long before I was a member of the PTA, I sometimes worked behind the scenes in X-rated films

... the last thing I want to do is open my legs for a man to penetrate me. Or to pleasure a man with any part of my body. Even if that man is my loving fiancé, who does listen, who does understand (as best he can), who does respect me through this ongoing turmoil. It is all too symbolic of the lifetime I have already experienced of being fucked and then told to smile and politely ask for more.

Moments after this big reveal, as I sat with the knowledge that I was the mother of a queer daughter, we heard about the man in Los Angeles being stopped on his way to Pride with guns and bombs, and I suddenly realized that my daughter was now one of the millions of people at risk because of vile and unreasonable hatred about non-straight sexuality.

That’s part of the problem, I think. I keep waiting for my sexual partners to figure out how to bring me to orgasm.

This support my gender-fluid child receives at school means so much to my family, but the ripple effects of what the children will learn will go far.

It’s real sticky-wicked to have your body become unpredictable and tortuously painful. So here I am. Homeless. Meditation is my medication.

I remained silent, after I was sexually harassed at work. I was terrified if I spoke up I would lose my job for making a mountain out of a molehill.

I often think about the people in my hometown whose lives were ruined because they live in the “wrong” state. That same stigma causes me to feel horrible after I smoke.

I had grown to learn that fighting=love. I was dead wrong.