Jetta Rae DoubleCakes

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.

Visibility and respect, held with tired arms in a dire double headlock—this is the struggle of women in sports.

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.

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

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.

Other gaming communities could learn a thing or two from the surprisingly (mostly) welcoming world of pinball.

Nail polish and straws put rape prevention squarely on the shoulders of women, a responsbility we've always borne.

Beth's story of abuse and murderous desire is ultimately one of redemption and insight into the human condition.

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

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