Even when I was “cis” I had an incident where my gf at the time, a drunk cis white woman, literally spent an hour trying to pin me down and rip off my clothes to fuck me as I was trying to care for her, despite repeated refusals. It reached the point I had to leave the room after escaping her and hold the door shut until she gave up, and any time I mentioned it to others back then the concern was not her trying to sexually assault me, but that if she had succeeded I’d have been at fault for being a Black “man” having sex with a drunk white woman.

She spent hours while drunk begging me to have sex and pushing me up against the wall trying to kiss me and stuff and despite me repeatedly saying no she just would not stop

After a while I couldn't take it anymore and gave in and "had sex"

Whenever I'd bring it up after the fact, she'd say it had to be my fault because she was the bottom and drunk

She'd even go so far as to say i raped her, completely flipping the situation, and her sister even said that me having a penis means I'm more likely to be the perp

A Galapagos sea lion (Zalophus wollebaeki) in Galapagos, Ecuador

[ infestation ]

this is my piece for the no home zine by @querermezines ! the after sales just opened so this is your last chance to grab the goodies ^o^

Q: Do you have a favorite ghost story?

A: My favorite ghost story was one told to me by a woman who commissioned me to make a piece about her sister (’Tethered to my Heart’). This woman was an identical twin, and very close to her sister. They often spoke and texted each other twenty times a day. Her husband was an identical twin as well, and his identical twin married her identical twin.

When she approached me, her twin sister had just died, six months before. She told me that when her sister died, she too wanted to die. Life seemed to lose all meaning and substance. Often it seemed there was no point in continuing on. She and her husband decided to purchase a vacation home in New Hampshire. After they unpacked the moving vans, her husband drove back to the city for work, leaving her behind in the new house. The electricity had not yet been turned on, and as the evening progressed, the house became dark. She lay on the bed upstairs in the dark room. She was wondering how long it would take, if she just stopped eating all together. As she lay there, she became aware that she heard footsteps downstairs in the house. At first she was scared – she reasoned that people had seen the moving vans and the dark house, and had decided to rob the place.

“Good,” she thought to herself, “I hope they kill me while they are at it.” She listened as the footsteps crossed the floor beneath her room, and then as the footsteps climbed the stairs. Then the doorknob to her room twisted and the door opened. She lay curled on the bed in a fetal position, and listened as the footsteps approached the bed. Then, she smelled her sister’s perfume. Her sister climbed into the bed behind her, and curled herself around her, spooning her the way she often had when comforting her as a child. Her sister’s presence was utterly tangible and solid. She opened her eyes, and the room was filled with a blinding white light, like klieg lights were on. Gradually the presence of her sister faded, until there was only the slight pressure of her hand on her shoulder. After that, her depression eased, and she was able to go on.