mind the mess

She takes the mirror away from your face, and gives you your first task. Today, you're her maid. You're going to take down all the pictures with your face in them, and replace them with the ones she took during your first play session with the mask. Just something to help keep you in character throughout the day.

You smile. The pictures are all very cute, nothing even approaching risqué. Just normal girlfriend photos. Kissing, playing games. You went out to the park, and even all the way to the beach to take some pictures with her while wearing it. It was a very lovely play session but the beach was hot with the mask on.

You finish swapping the photos, and go about the rest of your duties, occasionally interrupted by Miss so she can fondle your tits and call you a good doll. It makes your head fuzzy and keeps you motivated knowing how much she enjoys this. For meals, she takes the mask off and blindfolds you to ensure you can't catch a reflection. You're not very good at eating without eyes so she has to help you a little bit, and but only make a small mess. Which, of course, you clean up as soon as the mask is back on and you return to your duties.

At the end of the day, you relax in her arms, mask still on, and watch a movie with her. She pets your head and kisses the porcelain smile, and you giggle a little, trying to kiss her back through the mask and bumping her face. She giggles back. It's been another lovely day. You didn't expect to enjoy this as much as you have, but you've enjoyed it thoroughly nonetheless.

-

Today is the third day you've worn this particular mask. It's porcelain white, with black painted frills alongside the face design. This one doesn't have openings for the eyes, you're blind while wearing it. Miss likes to hurt you at random moments while you're wearing this one, it keeps you anxious but still quite excited. You love the experience, but are very relieved when you can go back to your own usual face. You've been playing like this for just over 6 months now, and you've probably worn around 10 different masks total. Each one, a different kind of play. You've loved every second of it, even if the frequency of face changes has got you a little confused. It's tough to remember who you are sometimes, but you don't mind too much.

One last task before bed, you slowly switch all the pictures back to the usual ones. Despite how tired you are, you feel it's an important routine that helps you get back into your own personality and out of the mask you wore.

here's the sexual content guidelines saying nudity is ok

here's the bit from the termination email telling you you can make a new account as long as it doesn't break the same rule

here's the guidelines for what counts as explicit (not mature, aka grounds for content deletion)

here's the section telling us that you will always be able to respond to content getting flagged as explicit (lie)

here's the section where it says you will be notified when your accunt gets terminated, and that the appeals are reviewed by humans (both lies)

and by the way, posting a single thing against ToS isn't supposed to be grounds for deletion,

the government says this plan will increase the integration of vampiric persons into normal society. the national health service says their trial will help 'people with disordered hemosynthetic parasitism' manage their health and avoid poor, condition-derived choice.

everyone knows it's kinda bullshit.

the clinics are too far apart, the waiting lists too long, the supply too short and the subject of endless headlines about the bagfeeders stealing from our veins. (0.4% of daily donations, to be precise.)

and you're still basically disabled without RADE (risk-aware dietary enhancement), and taking it from a partner is just a call-out post and a lost mutual aid network waiting for a breakup.

you could do bloodwork. it'll even be not-yet illegal if you don't let them fuck you, which is only the most required part if you aren't a top 0.1% earner and still wanna make rent.

no. what everyone knows really is that it's not enough, and it's not supposed to be. they want you starving, barely able to get up in the evening, getting fired totally because you can't keep up and all these complaints which are totally valid.

they want you thinking about making those poor, condition-derived choices. so they can simper about how much they sympathise with your condition and how unsafe you must feel while they lock you up and cancel all their plans and trials for being ineffective.

so you're in their corridors, their halls. it's where they want you. cheap, and vulnerable, and needy. with the people who could make it better and won't. who'll enjoy you and feed you and toss you when the headlines get too close to finding out.

The most recent time, I arrived half an hour before the event as usual, but the building was locked. We don't have a key and the door is normally left open for us. Jim shows up a few minutes later, we can't get in, and we're just standing on the street in a sketchy part of town.

I suggest we message everyone and move the event to somewhere else, a local bar that's very safe, it means we won't be able to do what we had planned but we can at least sit inside and socialise for an hour or two. Jim doesn't like this idea. So we wait on the street as several people walk past giving us weird looks.

After about 10 minutes, Jim thinks he sees someone through a window inside the house. We know there are theoretically people who live above the arts centre, but we've never seen them before. Jim starts hammering on the door, and the people on the street are staring at us even more.

Then Jim decides to stary yelling, not just "Hello", but "Hello we're from the transgender group!" at the door, really loudly. People are really looking now. He keeps doing this for about five minutes until eventually a man actually opens the door and asks "What do you want?"

I can tell instantly that this guy has *views* on trans people, gay people, the usual. But Jim just says, loudly enough for everyone nearby to hear too, "Hi, we're here from the transgender group, we're holding a transgender event in here!" This guy thinks for a second then his eyes narrow and he looks directly at *me* with a kind of vicious disgust that I recognise all too well.

I have to explain that Jim started medical transition very young. He looks and sounds totally indistinguishable from a cis man, to the extent that many people within the community privately doubt that he is trans at all (he is though). I don't mean to imply that he doesn't face transphobia, even the most perfectly "passing" trans man faces a ton of discrimination for that transness. I just mean to point out that this man looked down at us on the doorstep and saw what he would describe as a man in men's clothing, and a potential T-slur in women's clothing, and then heard Jim essentially say "we're transgender", and he knew that he had clocked me correctly, and that disgust I saw in his face was that confirmation that one of *them* was here in his house.

In the end, nothing bad happened, the guy stood there blocking our entry for a minute, but eventually grunted something and wandered off. But it took me a while to realise that I was actually a bit shaken up by the whole thing.

A thousand miles away, the room spins.

Little slices of experience take up all your focus. The hard plastic of the pen. The soft back of the chair. The eye-cutting sharpness of the contract's black letters.

"Whether I would treat you well?"

Her words in your ears.

"You'd be happy. I can't promise more. By some measures, I'd treat you quite poorly."

Her hand on your shoulder.

"I'm not trying to be ironic, but Hell and heaven are relative things."

The scent of brimstone, almost too weak to notice.

"So just take your time, alright? It's a big decision."

You know, for a fact, that she's very beautiful, though it's hard to focus on her exact appearance. You know she's a succubus, the label heavy in your mind. You know she's here for you.

"No worries, no responsibilities, just servitude to me. I can't decide for you. It has to be your choice."

Perhaps in a hypothetical, you would have answered 'no'. There are things too shameful to admit and too painful to want. Independence isn't something you're allowed to reject.

But does that still matter?

The pen moves down. An anticlimactic ballpoint - no need to sign in blood. Your signature stains into the paper, and then you're hers. You lean back from the table. Something swells in your chest. Her hand drifts off your shoulder and into your field of view, thumb kissing middle finger...

*SNAP*

Everything falls back into place.

Chair. Pen. Girlfriend standing right behind you, the knowledge of who-she-was never really forgotten, just briefly made hard to access. You know the grin she's making even before you move to confirm.

"That choice really was all yours, y'know. I didn't touch that."

She studies what your face shows, shame or disorientation or some other thing. Hard to control your expression in this moment.

"How I wish it was that easy. Wish souls were real. Wish I -could- just take hold of yours."

She shrugs saying the words, but you know she knows what they do to you. She leans in, eyes close and piercing. An undercurrent to her voice.

we're looking to create an AI policy, and when we were talking about this, my boss (older millennial) was genuinely shocked to hear that younger people do not (seem) to view AI positively (a la the recent commencement speakers being booed)

please rb for larger sample size!

Question 1/3

Thank you for helping with this data collection. Please rb for as big a sample as possible!

every time a new ban wave rolls out for no reason other than cruelty, there are always people who choose not to return. people that I may or may not have directly engaged with, but people who are contributing to the community nonetheless. and it is heartbreaking to watch people continue to go.

how can we find the energy to continue to be here, when the people who run the website so desperately wish to see us gone? after negative experiences on discord and reddit, tumblr is the only place I really engage with other transfems, and I do not know how or where to otherwise be around a space like this.

I get where your head is at but hold my hand for a moment: you know there were trans women in Nazi Germany, right?

This is a transvestite pass issued by the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft. I want you to really think about the fact that trans women were being arrested for being trans. in the years leading up to World War 2. and the people at this institute issued these passes to try to help. and they only helped sometimes.

I would imagine that we get it the same place they did, baby. Learn about the women that came before you, become inspired by them, take up their work here and now today.

ropeplay isn't about artistry and the pleasure of restraint, it's about tying a woman up so that a man can put a penis in her. Primal isn't about animalistic pleasure and the eroticism of predator-prey relationships, it's about a man growling a little while pinning a woman down to put a penis in her. Knifeplay isn't about violent power dynamics and sadomasochism, it's about a man threatening a woman with a knife so he can put a penis in her.