Stumbling-Buzz

that moment when you're watching it as a trans person, and every cell in your body is begging her to not stop, to not run away, please please please. you need to see it more than you've needed anything. and then she does. she sees everything inside herself in a bathroom all alone where we've all been, and she closes it all up, her emaciated and sickly body barely holding her up, and she walks back into an arcade room apologizing for her outburst to a building full of people who refuse to see or hear her.

Inspired by this:

I'm lucky: My son is a very easygoing kid. But I remember the first tantrum he threw for me. He was standing by our front door and asked to go outside. So I opened the door and grabbed his shoes. But as soon as he stepped onto the porch, he pointed back into the house.

"Inside," he said.

"Okay," I said. I picked him up and brought him inside.

But as soon as I shut the front door, he pointed outside.

"Outside!" he said.

You know where this is going. We went back and forth, inside and outside, again and again. He got more frustrated. And I got more frustrated. Eventually he wound up straddling the threshold of our house, sobbing. When I tried to comfort him, he screamed at me. "You go wherever you want!" I said. He just got madder. I felt trapped, convinced he’d concocted the whole episode as a pretext to unleash his rage at me. It was ridiculous. I consoled myself with the thought that he was just being a toddler.

But later I kept thinking about him wailing at our front door, one foot inside, one foot outside. His misery wasn't unreasonable, or trivial, or silly. My son was experiencing the agony of wanting two things that were impossible to have at the same time. What a fundamentally human sorrow! My son wasn't being a toddler; he was being a person. Adults may not walk around howling, but that same pain rages within us. In that moment, as a father, I was powerless to solve my son's problem. I told him he could go wherever he wanted, but of course I was wrong. To be where he wanted was impossible.

Even though dykes had been using all kinds of dildos for years, no one talked about it. It was seen as bar dyke and regressive, certainly not lesbian-feminist.

Few lesbians would admit to owning one. I can remember a screaming fight I had with someone at a pro-and-con porn workshop who was denouncing the use of dildos as, yet again, "What men do to us— not what lesbians do."

I've been told she kept hers in a shoe box under the bed.

Our answer was to explain that dildos were absolutely lesbian. They were our heritage and history, a link with those who had bravely gone before. Dildos did not represent the penis. Couldn't we take ours off and put it into a drawer? It was a removable object purely for pleasure and did not endow its wearer with any innate ability to keep its recipient barefoot, in the kitchen, or oppressed.

Then we threw away the lavender silicone cucumbers. They were embarrassing and they broke. We bought bigger dildos; we wore them under our jeans (or our skirts). We bought the kind with simulated veins and balls from porn shops. We walked differently when we wore them to the bar. Girls bought us drinks, we used the men's john. I named my collection of graduating sizes "The Tools of the Patriarchy." We looked people in the eye when we had that bulge in our crotches. Some of us perfected our long-forgotten skills of rolling on a condom.

A very butch friend asked me for help in figuring out why she liked her femme girlfriend to fuck her with a dildo. "Nerve endings," I told her. It meant she had the right anatomy to come from vaginal stimulation. And we were both happy with that lie. The reality is what we both knew, that we all want to be fucked senseless, as Sharon Olds points out in, "The Solution." More than that, some of us need to be also taken sexually in a way possible only by being entered and used by a cock and what that represents. Because we are dykes, we want a dyke on the other end of that cock.

We lied to you and I lied to my friend. Plastic dicks represent much more than sex toys for pleasuring nerve endings in vaginas. When we strap one on, it becomes ours."]

Let’s play the biggest game of kick the can on the internet.