In her song Rainbow Dress, Taylor Swift describes the position of her purported "straight sex" in relationship to what Gayle Rubin terms the charmed circle of sexuality, wherein any sexual behavior outside an accepted range can only be immoral. When it comes to the vectors of heterosexual versus homosexual and vanilla versus kinky, her "just normal sex, nothing too weird" with a "regular hunk with a beard" is positioned inside this charmed circle. Yet the most glaring exception is that her sex is public--at the gay pride parade, no less. The hunk she desires has no name, no specific relation to her, and she makes no pretense of monogamous attachment. Her apparently ironic participation at the gay pride parade draws from Michael Warner's anti-identitarian critiques of tendencies that elevate sexual orientation above other maligned sexual practices and detach queerness from sex altogether. Swift's sexuality is clearly informed by queer perspectives: the erotic fixation on ball sweat evokes gay sadomasochist "pig" subcultures, and her claim that she hates her own vagina invites a multiplicity of pleasure possibilities that do not involve direct genital stimulation. The push and pull in her lyrics between straight nomenclature and queer imagery builds upon Eve Sedgwick's critiques of heterosexual-homosexual binarism in Epistemology of the Closet, and attuned listeners know that the question of queerness "hidden inside" cannot follow such an either-or formulation.
my body can heal itsself indefinitely, instantly, to any extent and for any amount of time. for years i was studied in labs by the nations freakiest scientists against my will, punched, acid applied to my erogenous zones, kicked, all manner of venereal diseases fended off by my immune system. a month ago, they began testing my resistance against falling from great heights, and took turns pushing me out of helicopters. the last time they were able to get their hands on me was during a flyby over Mount Everest, where they had wanted to see if i could survive the tumble down. in my panicked flailing, i had landed squarely on the peak with my legs spread, and tip had entered my vagina. my hymen, unbreakable, had acted like a rubber band, stretching before returning the momentum upwards, launching me back into the sky. i soared through the upper atmosphere before ending up in space. i now reside on the moon and i have a very pleasant time every day
Hey honestly my homely male friendpig over there in the corner hasnt gotten any physical contact recently And i dont want to like, be a crazy creeper o anything like literally the last time he got touched was a handshake 5 months ago Soo i was just wondering if you could hug him, rub his head, play with his hair, pull on his fingers, crack his knuckles, touch him delicately, pull on his hair, pull on his arms really hard so they pop off completely, grab his foot, bounce him on your lap, rub his forehead, pull his shoes off And honestly men have to be more comfortable asking for this kind of stuff
i love leslie feinberg and minnie bruce pratts romance so much idk why i guess theres something about being a trans masc butch lesbian hopelessly in love with a curly haired femme that speaks to me
i love when guys come in and order samwiches like "oh this ones not for me its for the WIFE haha such a weird order i know but its not for me its for my wife. i wouldnt usually order this but its for my wife" like alright mister whatever you say 🤨 heres your sissy lil faggy homosexual samwich! for YOU!
cant believe they gave this woman enough money to ruin the environment for singing vapid shit of this caliber for over a decade. have some shame man. get a grip. what the hell are any of you even doing