Jetta Rae DoubleCakes

As a trans woman, I dress for solidarity. I dress to be identified. And now, I have received my "dress blues."

The apron was a birthday gift—to both of us, really. She was the first woman to ever call me 'Mommy.'

A tale as old as rhyme: boy meets girl, gets his feelings hurt, and spreads her personal information on the internet. Here's my take on Zoe Quinn.

Being a polyamorist has yet to afford me that “communal pride.” It’s not an identity that I associate with good politics. Yet.

I have an intense, irrational fear of amputation. I threw up trying to read Geek Love. I get light-headed, piss-pantsy in Halloween stores.

Every now and then a “Mommy” would escape her lips and I would wipe it from my face, like mud or mosquitos on an otherwise idyllic summer’s drive.

This classic film takes the cautionary tale into the "supersonic age," foregoing a cerebral edge in favor of murder and a giantess fetish.

We deserve to be safe. We deserve to live—even at the cost of your flawed, incomplete grasp of lesbian identity.

The cycle of un-addressed intimate partner violence in MMA continues for War Machine, now recovering from a suicide attempt.

Speaking out for the rights of all women doesn’t make me a misandrist or an infighter.