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stephenjaymorrisblog · 2 years

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Only Communists Have Beards

Post-Trump Era, Part 4

12/26/2021

Stephen Jay Morris

©Scientific Morality

When my age was in the single digits, I used to listen to adults speak to one another. Sometimes, I understood what they were saying; other times, it was like hearing a foreign language. Oh, they were mostly complaining about this and that; after all, that was a typical American trait. This was in the late 50’s and early 60’s. America had an unspoken dress code. “Be nice and clean, and dress neat. Show the world how prosperous the USA is.” That’s how it was. Occasionally, I would catch overused jokes or slang, one of which was, “Don’t take any wooden nickels!” There were so many. Another time I heard, “Only Communists have beards.” What does thatmean?

Let’s talk about facial hair on men. Some men are insecure about their masculinity, so they try really hard to appear “macho.” When around other men, they speak in low pitched tones. When they are with their mothers, their voices become high pitched and infantile. Nowadays, men who are insecure about their masculinity grow facial hair to compensate. In the 80’s, beards were popular in the gay community. Some say it was to mock heterosexuals—that was not true; it was to celebrate masculinity. In the late 70’s, there was a gay singing group called, “The Village People.” They wore costumes that venerated male gender roles, like the construction worker, the cowboy, the cop, the Marine, the biker, the Indian chief, among other male gender stereotypes. Machismo is an aphrodisiac among homosexual males. A majority of straight males think gays are all drag queens. Let meremind you that “truth” is not a left wing value! It is a fucking requirement!! The religious Right have become alarmists, so they tell their male flock that the Left wants to castrate them. When you frighten a man, he will not join your cult. He will become what you hate.

Masculinity is created by a biochemical hormone. It gives a male his masculine traits, not God. The chemical formula is C19 H28 02. Look it up.

All right, so much for this portion about beards.

Now, what do beards represent or symbolize? Certainly not masculinity. Jesus had a beard. Jesus said in Proverbs 17:5 “Whoever mocks the poor shows contempt for their Maker; whoever gloats over disaster will not go unpunished.” A woke Socialist? Santa Claus has a beard. Santa gives out free presents and wears a red suit. Communist? Maybe the religious Right should read their own bible. It was the ancient Romans who started this shaving-ritual-until-the-end-of-time for men. The rich Romans shaved to show the poor Romans that when it came to cleanliness, the rich were superior. It would be decades before poor men started to shave. After all, beards are itchy and hold the sweat against your face. I know; I had a beard in the 80’s. Afterward, I shaved it off, and I’ve felt much better ever since.

Over the years, a beard came to symbolize nonconformity and rebellion. It also represented intellectuals and scientists. Communists wore beards because that represented rebellion. Che Guevara, the Communist revolutionary, wore a beard because he didn’t have to shave. Karl Marx wore a beard because he wanted to look like an intellectual; plus he was too lazy to shave. The Communist manifesto didn’t write itself; you know!

I notice Conservatives are now sporting beards. Only in America! One is U.S. Congressman Dan Crenshaw of Texas. He not only wears a beard, but he has an eye patch, to boot! I wish the ghost of Barry Goldwater would haunt Danny and grab him by the scruff of his neck and say, “SHAVE OFF THAT COMMIE BEARD OR PAY THE ULTIMATE PRICE!”

Now that is conservative correctness!

#stephenjaymorris #poets on tumblr #american politics #baby boomers #anarchism #breadtube #Beards #satire

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curtashiism · 4 years

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Some reflections on autism, femininity, and my nonbinary identity

So... I grew up in a conservative city. (Let’s just say not all parts of Washington state are as lovely as Seattle.) My parents were, and still are, remarkably progressive for their generation- they never had an objection to same-sex marriage- but it was very much a place where “gay” was an insult, something to be mocked, not a valid identity.

I was lucky, beyond words, that when I came out as a lesbian, my family, at least, accepted it without question. There was some surprise, and from my mom there were a lot of well-meaning but innocently offensive questions and comments, but they never wavered in their support. I got them both “proud dad/proud mom” buttons from Pride last year and they were THRILLED to have them.

It seemed really clear cut back then. I was a lesbian. And since the lesbian community is so open to women who aren’t really feminine, I didn’t feel the need to doubt anything.

But the doubts were there, and had been since I was little. I was a “tomboy” as a kid, not of the “plays sports” variety but of the “hates anything girls stereotypically do” kind. I hated dresses and skirts, and threw a fit when my mom would make me wear them for special occasions. You could forget about makeup. The only feminine trait I kept by choice is my long hair (but obviously that’s a non-exclusively feminine trait since many men keep long hair too.) My mom asked me once, one of her innocently insensitive comments, “well, if you’re a lesbian, and you don’t do anything girly, what makes you a woman? Is it your hair?” and I told her no. I didn’t have an answer for what did besides “that’s what I am.” Because gender identity is more than physical characteristics, after all, and she is still wrong that you have to be “girly” or have something that makes you so to be a “real” woman.

But, I really only ever answered “woman” to the gender question because it was the default. I knew I wasn’t a transgender male, and so therefore, by the thinking instilled in me growing up, I had to be a woman. But it never felt exactly right. Sure, it didn’t feel WRONG, but it didn’t feel right. I never felt like other, cis women do, you know? Cis women LOVE being women. I didn’t. I was just like... “oh, whatever. Sure, I guess, yeah, let’s go with that.” I hate how large my breasts are, I hate my period, and when I think about sex, the thought of being penetrated repulses me. (Which is one part of why I realized the “lesbian” label applies to me... except [TMI alert] I don’t like the thought of women putting things inside me, either.) Further, I have tokophobia (the fear of pregnancy, as well as the fear of becoming pregnant) and used to get very upset when my mom would tell me I’d be a great mom, or “when you’re a mom you’ll (x)” because I hated how the very idea of pregnancy made me feel.

And, I mean, I know all those things don’t have to mean I’m not a woman. Lots of cis women feel the same things I listed. I’m not saying those are why, those are just little ways I felt different from others that always had me wondering. But even then, I still thought it was a combination of me being a lesbian and me being autistic. Cause, lots of autistic girls are also not into “girly” things. We tend to have sensitive skin, which makes things like fancy clothes or makeup or jewelry difficult if not unbearable. (Again, you can be girly without liking any of those things, I’m just listing some of the easier to explain examples here for the sake of brevity.)

So, those explanations kind of helped me make an identity for myself. I was a woman, because I wasn’t a man. And I may not have been really “girly”, but lots of others like me weren’t either. I was just another lesbian woman.

But then recently I saw this Tweet going around about pronouns, and each person would retweet it with a list of pronouns and their thoughts on being called each. (I think it was she/her, they/them, he/him, xe/xir, it, and some other neopronouns.) And I thought about how I would feel in each situation. My appearance is still really feminine, and I have a very high-pitched voice, so there is a 0% chance I would ever be called he/his “in the wild”. So, this was the first time I thought about being called anything but she/her.

She/her- well, that’s what I already am. Yeah, sure, go for it, I thought, and then went down the rest of the list.

They/them- Nah. I don’t like it. It doesn’t feel right at all.

Xe/xir- God please no.

It- If anyone ever calls me this I will punch them repeatedly.

Other neopronouns- No, this really doesn’t work for me.

Then I thought about he/his.

You know that noise you make in your head when someone types “!!!!!” ?

That’s how I felt.

It just... it felt so AMAZING!!!

So then I had to do some thinking. Maybe I was just a much more butch lesbian than I thought? I always did act like “one of the boys” with my friend groups in school.

But that didn’t seem right either. Because the more masculine terms I imagined people using to and about me, the happier I felt. Then over the next few days, some close friends of mine who I requested to do so started calling me “bro” and other masculine things as a bit of an experiment for me, and it just... it felt really damn nice.

Feminine language didn’t, and doesn’t still, make me feel bad or dysphoric or anything. If we put my feelings on a scale of 1 to 10, with 1 being “I’m about to cry” and 10 being “I’M SO HAPPY!”, having feminine language used for me is like a 6. It’s a “yeah, okay” sort of thing. But masculine? That’s a solid 10. I just smile every time I see it.

But as good as it felt, that created a bit of a problem for me. Because it felt a little too good to be a matter of being butch. So I was forced to engage in that dreaded activity known as “introspection”.

While I was trying to figure out what this all meant, I started looking at stuff people had written about being nonbinary. A lot of it made sense, really. Especially when people talked about subtle forms of dysphoria. Not all of it is hating your body, they explained. It definitely is a thing that happens to some people, but it takes lot of other forms... including stuff like what I listed above.

Feeling persistently different. Or even just feeling that it would be cool to have body parts change, even if you don’t want it enough to actually go out and change it. Cis people, they explained, would be horrified at the thoughts of changing anything. “It would be kinda cool if this was different” is still a form of dysphoria, still a decidedly NOT cis thing.

I know I’m not a trans man because I don’t want a lot of masculine features, like a deep voice or body hair, but I don’t enjoy a lot of my more feminine features either. So... nonbinary, because I’m neither, and I don’t WANT to be either male or female.

I’m still not sure what this all means for me, if it means making any significant changes or not, since this is all still pretty new for me. The only things I really know right now are that she/her or he/him pronouns are both fine, but I don’t like they/them, and I’m still going by Lexi online because I really don’t mind it at all; like I mentioned, feminine things don’t give me dysphoria or anything. I guess I could start going by Alex like I do IRL, but I don’t feel the need to.

And I also know that I’m only ever going to be out online, never in real life. I have transphobic siblings- even if they can understand me being a lesbian, trans people are a bridge too far for two of the three of them. One of them makes “attack helicopter” jokes and the other is outright a TERF. The other is open but admits to not knowing much about trans identities (which is fine!). I don’t feel like trying to explain to them what my nonbinary identity means when I’m still trying to figure out what my identity means myself.

I don’t really know why I made this post, really, since it only elaborates on what i said when I came out as nonbinary last week. I guess I just wanted to be open and honest with y’all since you’ve been so kind and supportive, so I wanted to let you know how I feel.

So, that’s that. Thanks for reading and listening and accepting, all. :)

#nonbinary

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mugsywrites · 5 years

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In the interest of staying On Brand...

Here is a bit of a self-indulgent Prodigal Son/TWD crossover. Basically non-zombie Desus AU, their backstory almost identical to the one I gave them in Ripples.

Untitled Self-Indulgent Fic

Malcolm had been in Georgia less than a week and was already itching to get back to New York. He knew it made him just another coastal liberal elite cliche, but he still hated working with rednecks. Casual racism and misogyny were problems everywhere, but something about being south of the Mason Dixon line made it all the worse.

So when he needed to make the drive to Athens to interview a potential witness he was relieved that Rick Grimes was the one to accompany him. The sheriff of King County was a pleasant surprise in the sea of good ole boys Malcolm had been dealing with. The guy was quiet, thoughtful, and steady. He reminded Malcolm a bit of Gil, actually. Serial killers were outside this guy’s wheelhouse, and he listened respectfully while Malcolm babbled, only occasionally raising his eyebrows and making a dry comment when Malcolm was being Too Much. During the two-hour drive to Athens those eyebrows got quite a workout.

Although the guy was maybe a little too sharp. Such as when Grimes asked why Malcolm was so sure the recently discovered body was the Surgeon��s work. He’d given Malcolm a piercing look at his breezy explanation of being an “expert” on the Surgeon’s crimes. “Trust me,” Malcolm said, “this was the Surgeon’s work.”

In his head Malcolm heard Gil’s voice, reminding him that right now it was possible, not definite, that Gregory Hill had been murdered by the Surgeon. Could be another copy cat, Gil said, probably another copy cat. Your old man wasn’t one for hiding bodies. He showed one copycat his methods, he could have done it before. He told you he didn’t do it, why would he risk you stopping your visits by lying about it?

Malcolm didn’t know; and he intended to find out. The biggest deviation from the Surgeon’s method was the care that had gone into hiding the body; it’d been hidden so well that it’d taken twenty years to be found. And Malcolm had asked his father, and the Dr. Whitly had denied it.

But he was lying, and Malcolm knew he was lying. His father hadn’t given any of his usual tells; but Malcolm knew it. Had known it as soon as the words were out of his father’s mouth. He’d also known that the Surgeon very much did not want his son to look into this particular case.

Why. Malcolm turned it over in his head. There was nothing to indicate Dr. Whitly had been in Georgia when Gregory Hill was murdered, but there was also nothing that would conclusively prove that he wasn’t. There was the fact that Whitly had attended a conference in Atlanta the year before Hill’s disappearance. Too close to the time frame for comfort. Whitly could’ve done preliminary recon on the area, then returned later to deflect suspicion. It made Malcolm feel panicky, as he couldn’t stop thinking, oh god, are there others? How many? Whitly hunted close to their home in New York, and he freely admitted to his murders once he’d been caught.

There was also the other major deviation from his father’s standard M.O. Motive. The Surgeon killed because he was bored and the Surgeon killed for self-preservation. He didn’t kill out of anger—Malcolm actually thought his father might be incapable of that emotion—and he certainly didn’t kill for revenge. Except Malcolm could tell from what was left of the body that Hill’s killer had been angry. Except Malcolm knew that his father was lying about not being involved, and that he’d killed Hill in the most painful way possible.

Literally. Despite the decomposed state of the body there was enough for the coroner to recognize the “quartet method” (although Malcolm supposed it would have to be updated to the “quintet method” if Gregory indeed proved to be the final victim.) Dr Whitly went out of his way to discover the most painful method of killing a person—perfecting the technique on four innocent women before going after Gregory Hill with what he’d learned. Malcolm just couldn’t figure out why; or how Hill had even crossed paths with the Surgeon. Dr. Whitly spent less than a week in Atlanta; Hill had lived outside of Savannah and his body had been discovered near Macon.

An hour into the drive there was a lull in conversation, and Malcolm paged through his notes on Gregory Hill with these thoughts swirling through his head. It was difficult pinning down solid information on Gregory Hill; most people who knew him in life were work associates. On the outside the man had been an ‘upstanding citizen’—born in 1945, vanished in 1997. Owned a successful car dealership in Shepherd, Georgia, just outside of Savannah. Married, but his wife had died in 2007. No biological children, but fostered six children, the first coinciding neatly with Hill’s first campaign for public office. Hill served in the Georgia State Legislator from 1990 to 1994, when he lost spectacularly to Hershel Greene. Dr. Greene was deceased, but his according to his children he’d had a very low opinion of Hill. The impression Malcolm had so far of the man was a bit sleazy, but no more than your average rich asshole interested in politics. Certainly not enough to incur the wrath of Dr. Martin Whitley.

Dead end followed dead end. Right now they were trying to track down the foster kids without much luck—two were dead, two were in prison and unwilling to speak with police about anything, one was living in California, and one lived in Athens. Malcolm wasn’t hopeful about learning anything that would shed light on the Surgeon’s motivations—Paul Rovia had only lived with Hill for a few months in 1994. It was just a box to check off.

****************************************************

The address on file for Paul Rovia was a modest two story colonial style house not far from downtown Athens. Grimes parked the cruiser on the street in front, sharp blue eyes taking in everything. There was an attached garage and a short driveway; the garage door was open and Malcom could hear what he thought was Lynyrd Skynyrd drifting out. He and Grimes headed toward the garage, where they could see a figure stretched out on a creeper seat beneath a battered pickup truck.

Malcolm raised his voice to be heard over the music, “Excuse me? Mr. Rovia?”

“Fuck did I say ‘bout callin’ me that?” growled the figure beneath the truck. A grimy hand emerged, grabbed a tool laid out beside him, “You want a divorce so bad just ask.” The guy’s accent was pure Appalachia, so thick Malcolm had trouble making a few words out.

“Uh,” Malcolm said, blinking at this string of nonsense.

“Sorry, maybe we’re in the wrong place,” Rick Grimes interjected, “we’re looking for Paul Rovia, does he live here?”

The man jerked, then slid out from underneath the truck, blinking up at the two men standing in his garage. He was broad-shouldered, with cutoff sleeves that revealed muscular arms and a middle just beginning to soften. It was hard to tell beneath the grime but he looked at least ten years too old to be Paul Rovia, and Malcolm wondered again if they’d gotten the wrong house. Then his eyes focused on Malcolm’s face and his jaw dropped, “What the fuck did you do?”

“Sorry?” Malcolm said, even as the mechanic was pushing himself up off the ground, eyes wide and horrified as he stared between Malcolm and Sheriff Grimes.

“Paul, what the hell—“ the guy started to say, then froze. He had narrow blue eyes that widened in pure shock. When he spoke his voice was a rasp, “What. The. Fuck.”

Beside him Malcolm was aware of Grimes tensing. He didn’t have to look to know that the sheriff’s hand was probably closer to the grip of the big Colt that rested on his hip. Understandable, this guy’s response to them was weird as fuck.

He recognizes me, Malcolm thought, maybe from a true crime doc, but why—

He shook his head, and struggled to keep his voice even, “Let’s start over. I’m Malcolm Bright, I’m a criminal profiler on loan from the NYPD. This is Sheriff Rick Grimes. We’re looking for Paul Rovia, is this his address?”

The guy just stared, jaw still slack, “Malcolm? Malcolm Bright?” He said Malcolm’s name like they were words from a language he’d never heard. Malcolm held up his ID and gave what he hoped was a non-threatening smile. The guy who clearly wasn’t Paul Rovia just stared at it blankly.

“Listen,” Grimes said, “We just want to ask a few questions, Mr. Rovia isn’t in any trouble. You a friend of his?”

When Grimes began to speak the stranger’s eyes flicked toward the sheriff, and when he got to the ‘Mr. Rovia’ part those eyes jerked right back to Malcolm, and they didn’t leave it. Finally, the guy spoke, “I’m his husband. Daryl. Daryl Dixon.”

“Ok,” Malcolm said, blinking a little. This trip was teaching him a bit about stereotypes—he never would’ve guessed the man in front of him was gay. Still, not important. “Is he home? Can we talk to him?”

“He’s uh…he should be inside, or out back,” Dixon said. He stumbled around the truck, eyes never leaving Malcolm’s face. There was a door that connected to the main house, and Dixon opened it and shouted inside, “Paul! Paul, get yer ass out here! Now!” His voice was high-pitched and shrill. Malcolm exchanged a look with Grimes; this was looking more and more like something wasn’t right.

Malcolm heard a faint voice calling out from the house, “Daryl? Babe? Are you ok?”

Malcolm had just enough time to think that the voice sounded familiar when what he guessed was Paul Rovia emerged from the house. Malcolm had a brief impression of long hair and a beard as he went to his husband. “Fuck, what happened? Did you hurt yourself?” Dixon didn’t answer, just stared that wide-eyed, shocked look, then looked back at Malcolm.

Paul Rovia noticed Malcolm and Sheriff Grimes then, and he took a protective step in front of Dixon, “May I help you…”

Then he froze, eyebrows drawing together in confusion as he saw Malcolm’s face. Then his eyes widened and his jaw dropped. Malcolm could feel blood draining from his own face as he watched Paul Rovia turn pale with shock.

Malcolm was able to keep his own jaw from dropping, but only barely.

Paul Rovia had hair the same shade of Malcolm’s own, only worn long, past his shoulders. He had a full beard, and made him look a bit like Jesus. Malcolm unconsciously raised a hand to his own bare chin. He’d never grown a beard before, but now he knew what he’d look like if he did. Because Paul Rovia’s long hair and beard weren’t enough to obscure the fact that his face was identical to Malcolm’s own. Same slightly curved nose, same arched eyebrows, same cheekbones, same wide mouth, same blue-green eyes. Although Rovia’s didn’t have the dark circles underneath.

For the second time in Malcolm’s life everything he thought he knew about his father and his family was wiped away.

As Malcolm stared at his brother, at his fucking twin, the shape of what had motivated the Surgeon to kill Gregory Hill started to form.

****************************************************

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mike-princeofstars · 5 years

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oh hey y’all wanna know a fun fact about me?

prepare for a long, long tumblr story post that’s way more personal than what you should be sharing online, but since i have no regard for self-safety, i’m gonna put out there anyway!

i used to be exactly one of those “””transtenders””” you hear people talk about!

didn’t have any body dysphoria at all, all i had was identifying as a gender that wasn’t the one i was assigned at birth.

eventually that turned into me thinking “eh my body type looks kinda like a fat cis dude’s body anyway, i think i pass”

got misgendered constantly. dyed my hair because it was the one part of my body i knew i could control easily. that made me get misgendered even more because of my haircut (plus the purple faded into pink which didn’t help.) had a “feminine” glasses style because i got them before i realized i was a boy. internalized transphobia made me think i wasn’t actually a boy, i obviously couldn’t be, trans men don’t look like me, i was just nonbinary. (i wasn’t, what a shocker)

eventually got rid of the glasses at my eyesight’s expense, and cut my hair when my dark brown roots showed up again. i said i’d rather have uncorrected vision than get misgendered because of my glasses. i still got misgendered.

cut to now. i have contacts instead because i like having clear sight instead of going on with uncorrected 20/200 vision, if i even think about myself wearing glasses, i get dysphoric even if those glasses had a “masculine” frame. i have as much of a masculine haircut as i can manage. any time i open my mouth i feel dysphoric because of my high pitched, overly feminine voice. any time i look down i feel dysphoric because my binder never makes me flat enough thanks to my body type (fat people notably can’t bind as easily from what i’ve seen) and the binder’s age (had it for a bit over a year and a half now) and frequent use. any clothes that don’t hide my figure make me look 100% girly, even actual men’s clothes.

i cannot look down without wanting to cry. without wanting to stab myself in the chest. without wanting to die. and it fucks me up because younger me didn’t know i’d eventually get to this point. i have to be open about being gay, but hide the fact that i’m trans, because they’ll think my high pitched voice is just because of that gay man stereotype.

to sum it up, a lot of these people who you think are just trans because they “think it’s trendy”, you have no fucking idea what they could be thinking. you have no idea the mental pain they could be going through. how fucking DARE you assume you know their gender better than they do? how fucking DARE you police who they are when you know nothing about them?

that person you think is just a “gnc cis girl who wants to be special” could be, in their mind, thinking “i’m never going to pass, so why bother trying when i know i’ll fail?” that kid with the unnaturally dyed hair saying they go by pronouns that wouldnt be guessed for them could be sitting at home sobbing because they think they can’t change anything about themselves.

hell, some trans men might be comfortable presenting femininely just because to them it feels fun to enjoy something their gender stereotypically doesn’t. you people who pass off feminine trans men as gnc cis girls wouldn’t judge a cisgender man for enjoying feminine things, so why judge a transgender man for doing the same things?

tl;dr, suck my dick, transphobes

#i'm really mad!#story time with mike #there now u all know abt my dramatic life story after the Big Reveal that i am A Man

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littleredroseonthevalley · 6 years

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Red Light

Summary: It is Tanner’s stag party and Grant is bored. That is, until a certain dancer enraptures his attention.

Rating: T - Suitable for teens, 13 years and older, with some violence, minor coarse language, and minor suggestive adult themes.

Words: 2520

Notes: So, this week (today, Monday and Wednesday next), I will be posting fanfictions about books that have already finished. Today’s Veil of Secrets, Monday will be High School Story and Wednesday’s It Lives in the Woods. Stay tuned!

I don’t have much else to say except that I hope you like it, and if you do, please reblog! Thank you!

The party was in full swing.

Tanner Sterling was about to get married, in about two weeks, in fact, and it was the night of his stag party.

One might suppose the traditional date for such a celebration usually was the eve of the wedding, but Bryce, the brother of the groom and best man, wanted something more salacious and with strippers and hookers.

Kate, as it was to be expected, would not appreciate this kind of display, so Tanner held a compromise: Bryce would have the party he desired, as long as they held another poker and smoking night on the actual eve of the wedding, in order to keep the bride from finding out.

Bryce was certainly fine with it as long as he could have an excuse to come to the dirtiest strip club he could find, and so went the groom and his closest friends to Roxbury.

Halfway through the night, and most of the men were irreparably bored. Yes, they were red-blooded men, and they had their sins and preferences when it came to women, but the spectacle of Bryce’s was every bit as degenerate as they expected, and it was frankly disgusting.

Their dinner was sushi served out of the body of a stripper. One look at Bryce’s generous body shape and one is not surprised he enjoys nyotaimori, but it was not that far-fetched to expect him to have the sense of not exposing others to it.

Grant Emerson, who joined the party on account of being the closest thing Tanner had to an actual friend, tuned out from the whole… thing, just after one of the workers of the club opened a beer bottle with her intimates. He would be playing on his cell phone, if he was allowed to bring it into the venue.

He was not about to complain. His less than stellar social standing with the rest of the group, who considered him to be some kind of spy on the Emerson v. Sterling power dispute, he was mostly ignored, aside from one or other assumption of his sexuality uttered by Bryce.

The young lawyer, then, was sitting on the bar, alone, twiddling his thumbs and playing table football with the discarded bottle caps when she came into the stage.

Not unlike the other performers, she was wearing nothing but skimpy lingerie, but hers seemed of superior quality, made of dark purple silk and finely embroidered. Her hair was a flaming red, while her face, partially hidden with a black, Venetian-style mask.

What struck him in particular was her eyes. She was beautiful, it is undeniable that he took notice her of unblemished skin and shapely stomach, but again all of the girls so far were beautiful. Her… she had a spark on her eye; it was not the dead, mechanical look of the other sex workers.

Was she a remarkable actor or did she genuinely enjoy her work? Does she find it artistic, perhaps?

Be as it may, it was the first presentation of the night Grant has actually paid any attention to, and it have been quite a few so far. It was nothing particularly different from her performance, she did not do anything other than it was expected, and yet, it was much more interesting for some reason, and it was something all the men in the room seemed to concur.

As soon as she was off the stage, with her performance finished, Grant taps on the shoulder of a waitress.

Nervous and not really knowing what to say, the man stutters a little on his phrase, when he asks, “Excuse me? Who was this girl who just left the stage?”

“Amethyst?” She asks, with that unnerving baby voice usual on those establishments. “Would you like to have her for a lap dance?”

“A lap dance?” His voice breaks and he clears his throat to have it back on its normal pitch. “What does that… entail?”

“Well, we’d take you to a private room and she’ll dance for you.” She responded, not really knowing what he could have misunderstood, but still maintaining the act.

Grant supressed the impulse of scratching his neck. “Okay, then.”

“Follow me!” She perkily said, and led him to a non-descript door.

Inside the room, it was much what one would expect of these kind of places: tacky décor in hues of red, draperies tapped into walls, a table on the far side of the room equipped with an ice bucket, cheap champagne and some grapes, and a comfortable-looking chair.

He sits down at the chair and waits patiently for his companion to appear. Not long later, she emerges from a secret door on the opposite side of the room, wearing about the same outfit from her show, covered with a short, see-through negligée.

“Oh, good, it’s you.” She says, as soon as she lays her eyes on Grant. “I was afraid it would be your chubby friend.”

He cannot help but to smile slightly at her exclamation. Bryce was a repugnant man, indeed.

“No. It’s me. Grant.” The man responds, rather awkwardly. “What’s your name?”

She half-smiled at him. “You can call me Amethyst.”

“Is it your real name?” He follows-up.

“No.” It was the response. “Are you ready?”

He nods; he would not get any more prepared. She smirked at him one last time and turned the music on, something electronic he did not recognize.

Amethyst lets the negligee slip from her shoulders, exposing the entirety of her slim body once again, what, Grant was ashamed to say, he was only too glad to see once more.

She starts to dance to the beat, displaying all the flexibility and taut muscles she has developed at her line of work. The young man cannot help but to slack his jaw ever so slightly in appreciation, a gesture that has not passed unnoticed by the performer.

The woman steps closer and runs her hands through his arms, noticing, silently, that they were lean, yet felt strong. She rests them on his wrists and lower her body on a vertical position, simulating oral sex, yet holding his gaze the entire time.

She has almond eyes, Grant takes notice, the colour of amber.

Afterwards, she raises to her feet, takes two steps back and displays her physique one more time. Then, she closes the distance between them once more, spreads her legs wide, one on each side of him, and lowers her midsection so that her butt touched only so slightly the tent on his trousers.

With it, something broke inside of him, he felt short of breath and started panicking.

“No! Stop.” Grant almost shouts. “Stop, please.”

She steps away and turns off the music. “Is something wrong?”

“No… No, it’s just that…” He sighs. “I’m sorry. I… can’t.”

Something seemed to dawn on her. “Oh, so you’re one of those!”

“I’m not gay!” He counters, rather annoyed for it to be the default assumption everybody makes.

Surprisingly for him, the stripper laughs. “No, not gay. Those who come here for experience’s sakes don’t usually get that hard.”

She points at the tight spot on his pants and he feels his cheeks grow warm.

“I mean a talker.” She says, while walking to the table and popping a grape into her mouth. “Not everybody who come here wants to be grind into completion. Most are just people who want a sympathetic ear and some loving advice. They just want to talk, hence a talker. Champagne?”

He shook his head. “No, thank you. I should just leave.”

“Why? I am paid by the hour and there is no refund. Besides, wouldn’t you like to blow some of tubby’s money? I gather you don’t like each other very much.” She says, while balancing a grape, her champagne flute and picking up her negligee.

Grant looks at Amethyst, who smiles softly and inviting at him, and considers it would be a good way to pass the time, especially since he would probably return to playing button football at the bar.

“I guess having someone to talk to wouldn’t be the worse thing.” He conceded.

She beams at him. “Great! Do you mind if I take out this mask? It is a little hard to breathe with it.”

“Be my guest.” The black man motioned for her to do it.

She reaches for the back of her head, where it tied into her face, and dextrously loosened the knot and removed the black piece of adornment. If she was pretty with the mask on, Amethyst was absolutely stunning with it off.

“Why do you wear it?” He asks before he can stops himself. “The mask, I mean?”

“Some men like the mystery.” She responded, rather dismissively. “And I guess I like it, too. At least I can pretend that no-one will recognize me, that I can live a separate life from this place.”

A small silence befell them while Amethyst dresses herself.

“So, Grant,” She says, as soon as she is recomposed. “What brings you to our fine establishment? I hope you don’t mind me saying but you really do not seem like the type of guy we get around here.”

He snorts at her statement, humoured. “I’ve never been to a strip club before, honestly. It’s my friend’s stag party.”

Her eyebrow shot up in surprise. “Oh, so the fat guy found someone who cares for him?”

“No, no, that’s Bryce. He’s the groom’s brother.” He rectifies. “The one getting married is Tanner, the blond guy.”

“Oh, right! I remember him.” The red-haired smiles. “I like weddings. The flowers, the dresses, the music. The food. They’re all a lot of fun.”

“Do you hope to get married someday? I mean, do you have a boyfriend?” He asks, rather shyly.

She chuckles. “No, I’m single. And I don’t have a kid, either. I know my stereotypes. You?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have the same luck. I’m too much of a stereotypical, workaholic lawyer to ever find someone to put up with me.” The lean man responds, with a healthy dose of self-depreciating humour.

“A lawyer, eh?” She smirks at the man. “Glamorous.”

Before he could answer, though, a soft click resounded through the room.

“It seems our hour is up.” She smiles sadly at him. “There’s probably someone else asking for me, else they wouldn’t ring the bell.”

Grant considered offering her twice her wage so she would spend another hour with him, but he refrained himself. It would not be proper, or even wise.

Instead, he returned her sorrowful smile and said, “I guess this is it, then. I had a good time, all things considered.”

She chuckled. “I did too. Goodbye, Grant.”

“Goodbye, Amethyst.” He said it back.

She opens the secret door, and before she leaves through it, she turns back once more and say, “It’s Jessie.”

With that, she left the room and shut the door.

Grant was climbing down the stairs at Sterling Manor, thinking about nothing in particular while running small errands for Tanner’s wedding the next morning. So is the life of ‘assistant best man’, as Bryce was absolutely useless. Sober or otherwise.

As of right now, he was in charge of fetching Kate’s best friend from college, who was due to arrive at the house at any minute.

When he got to the last step of the staircase, he notices a raven-haired girl about his age, wearing simple traveling attire, admiring one of the many vases Margaret Sterling scattered around the place.

Assuming her to be whom he was waiting for, he greets her amicably, “Hello! Welcome to Sterling Manor! You’re here for the rehearsal dinner, I take it?”

Without facing him, she responds, “Yes, I am a friend of Kate’s… I mean, Katherine. I am Jessica.”

When she turns to face him, both of their bloods freeze solid at the sight of the other.

She was the first to break the silence. “Grant. I wasn’t expecting to meet you here.”

“Ditto.” He responds, not really knowing what to say. “You’re a brunette.”

“Yeah, that was a wig.” She smirked, despite herself. “I thought the wedding was weeks ago.”

“We decided to be unorthodox about the stag party.”

“Can I talk to you for a moment?” She pleads. “In private?”

The man tumbles a little at his words but consent. “Sure. Follow me. You can leave your bags here.”

He leads them to a study who sees very little action usually and shuts the door.

“The cat got out of the bag way quicker than I expected.” She jokes, humourlessly. “Look, can you do me a big favour and not tell anyone about my… line of work? At least until tonight.”

He nods, firmly. “Sure, but why exactly?”

“Well, I haven’t talked to Kate for a while. When we graduated, I was this ace student with a job as a journalist on the line, and she was so happy for me. Hell, I was happy for me.

“But then the newspaper I worked for went bankrupt, I couldn’t find anything else to do, my student loan payments were overdue and so I started taking my clothes off for cash.

“When she called me to invite me to her wedding, I didn’t want to put a damp on her mood and say my life took a turn to the worse. So I lied and said I was working as a journalist in Boston. I was hoping I could wait until the reception to tell her the truth, but… well… I didn’t count on me being the entertainment of her fiancé’s stag party.”

“I… see.” He breathed out. “Well, I don’t mind keeping your secret, but wouldn’t somebody else recognize you?”

“Here’s to hoping that mask is worth something after all.” She laughs nervously.

Grant smiles sympathetically at her. “Don’t worry. Even if someone recognizes you, they won’t call you out. Kate doesn’t know Tanner has been to a strip club, and we all would prefer it to remain so.”

“Of course. Sure…” She breathes out, calming herself down. “No problem.”

“Besides, I know Kate. She won’t turn her back on you because of that. It doesn’t even matter.” The man places a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Just tell her and it all will go away.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” She beamed at him. “Thanks, Grant. You’re a real nice guy.”

He smiles back. “No problem. Now, why don’t we pick up your bags and I take you to see the bride? I’m sure she’s excited to see you.”

“If you could spare the trouble. This house is too big! I’d get lost for sure.”

He offered his arm and she took it.

Later, when he leaves the two girls to catch up in private, Grant considers this whole debacle might turn out to be a very good thing. It would give him plenty of opportunity to talk with Amethyst, or Jessie, or Jessica.

He admits he was getting a little bored with the whole wedding mood, but now he is looking forward to tomorrow.

It was going to be fun.

#veil of secrets #grant emerson

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checkers-dance · 3 years

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last night me n my friend read another bad mx fanfic. or rather, she read it for me. it was absolutely horrible, i dont think i can even describe it but it was so fucking non sensical. i had a lot of fun reading it with her though. she gave all the guys special voices and they truly added to the experience and i wanna share them with you.

shownu: caveman voice

kihyun: i can only describe it as a high pitched chipmunk-like voice.

wonho: sexy voice

minhyuk: stereotypical gay man voice (it sounded more like a stereotypical white girl though)

changkyun: emo voice

hyungwon: initially hyungwon had this rlly fucking annoying voice, but its way too similar to the voice she uses for jimin when we read bts fics and at some point jimin showed up, so we decided she could read all of hyungwon's lines in asmr. sadly, hyungwon didnt talk by that point though lmao.

and finally, my favorite one:

jooheon: light yagami voice.

some bts members were there and they also had special voices.

jimin: ok so like i said, jimin has an established voiced. we call it the cow hybrid jimin voice. it sounds a lot like stitch from lilo & stitch.

suga: italian accent.

namjoon: a very bad german accent lmao.

i also never told my friend how to pronounce the names so she kept saying them wrong and it made it even funnier. shout out to jooheon who got consistently called "yoh-hee-on"

NOOOOO the only one who didn't draw the short end of the stick was wonho. Clowning on mx like this....

#asks

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a-smilethat-explodes · 4 years

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Chapter 11 A party and a Hoe

When I got home that night, the apartment was eerily silent. I checked my watch… 9:30. Too early for the guys to be asleep.

I checked my room and found it empty… same with Ben and Adam's. Where was everyone?

I sat down on the couch, thoroughly weirded out. I couldn't even remember the last time the apartment had been this quiet. The TV was usually on, blasting either X Box or a movie, and Jake was usually wandering around, being his obnoxious self. I half expected them all to jump out from the bathroom and yell, "Surprise," or something.

I walked into my room, pulled off my shirt, and lay down on my bed, revealing in the silence.

I thought of a million things I needed to do.

I needed to call Ana. I hadn't heard from her in a while… though no news was good news, right?

I needed to study or something… that was productive.

I needed to get over Christine.

I needed to find myself a girlfriend.

I needed to grow a backbone.

I needed to…

I felt my eyelids drooping.

The next thing I knew, someone punched me hard in the arm. "OW." I groaned loudly, sitting up a little.

"Want some pizza?" Jake asked.

"Yeah." I grunted back, sitting up. I followed him out, eyes still half shut.

"Hey dude." Adam said from the table, his mouth full of pizza.

"Hey." I grunted back, sitting down at the kitchen table.

"Were you asleep?" he asked, slapping me on the shoulder.

"Yeah." I grunted back, grabbing a paper plate, and then grabbed a slice.

"Pizza?" Ben asked behind us.

"Want some?" Jake asked as he sat down next to me, pizza and a beer in his hand.

"Yeah," he replied.

"Dude." I remembered suddenly and turned to Adam. "Where's Erin been at lately?" I asked. I glanced up to see Christine and Ben sitting down across from me and then looked away, slightly annoyed.

Adam's face changed and he got up from the table abruptly. "Way to go, dumb ass," Jake hissed at me, punching me on the shoulder.

"Ow!" I complained (you'd complain too if Jake had punched you twice in a five minute span, he hits hard). "What the hell?"

Jake looked at Ben, who looked back at him. "She cheated on him." Christine finally spoke up quietly.

"What?" I hissed quietly.

"Yeah, she cheated on me." Adam said loudly as he sat down at the table again, beer in hand. "No need to whisper, it's the fucking truth."

"Wow." I said quietly. "Dude… I'm sorry."

"Yeah whatever," he grunted back, though I could tell that it really was a big deal. "Don't ever cheat on him," he pointed across the table at Christine.

Christine only smiled back as she slid her arm through Ben's. "I promise," she replied with a smile.

"Awww!" Jake cooed in a high pitched voice.

"Jake-" Ben began.

"Our ickle Benny is in l-o-v-e." Jake sang.

"I think this is gonna be your last beer," he shot back flatly, rolling his eyes.

"Especially since you just said ickle." I put in with a smirk.

"You know you liked it." Jake winked broadly. I groaned loudly.

There was a knock on the door. Adam got up, beer in hand. "Did I mention that some people were coming over?" Jake asked me.

"No." I said forcefully then began, "Jake-"

"It'll be fine, Erik," he replied as a bunch of people entered the apartment. He rested his hand on my shoulder and said comfortingly, "They're bringing girls… maybe you can find yourself one so you can actually get laid."

"Thanks, buddy." I shot back sarcastically, getting up. I caught sight of Christine staring at my bare chest. She looked up into my eyes and then looked away with a blush.

"Who's this, Jake?" I heard a female voice ask. I glanced over to see a short blond walking over to me, staring at my bare chest. She then smiled broadly up at me.

"This is my best friend Erik." Jake replied, slinging an arm around my neck.

"Aren't you going to introduce us?" the girl teased. She was what you could call just a straight up hoe: low cut shirt, short skirt, huge high heels… your stereotypical hoe.

Adam turned on some loud music; the crowd of people cheered, and suddenly there was dancing.

"Andrea, this is Erik. Erik, this is Andrea." Jake replied nonchalantly.

"Hey." I replied shortly. "Let me go put on a shirt."

"There's no need for that," she stepped closer and immediately got in my personal space, laying a cool hand on my chest. "I think you look fine without," she whispered up to me. Jake laughed and walked away.

I smelled the alcohol on her breath then and then winced. "Ah well… thanks…" I replied quietly. "Just give me a sec to go put on a shirt."

"Let me help," she said seriously, running her hand up and down my chest. "Do you work out?" she asked, running a finger down the middle of my six pack.

"I run every morning and I lift weights." I replied, trying to step back.

"Mmm it shows," she whispered, voice a breathless whisper.

"Well-" I began, backing up again.

"Dude, what's the problem?" Ben asked from where he still sat at the kitchen table, arm around Christine, and beer in the other hand. "I'd tap that," he smirked appreciatively at Andrea.

"Ben!" Christine pushed Ben, looking pissed.

"I'm just teasing," he smiled, kissing her on the side of the head. She looked less then convinced and then looked up at me.

I looked away and grabbed Andrea's hands, which had been freely roaming my body. "Why don't you come with me and I'll get a shirt?" I asked, looking into her blue eyes.

"Okay," she agreed, smiling slowly.

"And then we'll dance?" I asked.

"I LOVE dancing!" she exclaimed, holding onto my hands as I led her across the apartment and into my room. "But I love making out more," she said the moment we were in my room, kissing me hard on the mouth, and shutting my door with her foot.

"ERIK'S GETTING LAID!" I heard Jake shout in the other room. Always the mature one.

Making out with drunk girls never failed to gross me out. Part of my Nice Guy charm meant no taking advantage of drunk girls. I pulled back. "What about my shirt?" I whispered breathlessly, holding her back as I tried to back away.

"Who said anything about needing one," she jumped up and wrapped her legs around my waist, kissing me hard again. Caught off balance, I stumbled back onto my bed, landing on my back.

Somehow she'd managed not to get her legs trapped under my back. She slid her tongue into my mouth and raked her nails down my chest. I winced in pain… they were like claws. After a few minutes of kissing, she leaned back on her knees and pulled off her shirt, grabbing at my belt buckle.

"Whoa, wait, wait." I said quickly, grabbing her hands.

"What's wrong?" she asked innocently. "Do you not have any condoms?"

"I hardly know your name." I replied, holding her hands as she straddled me. "Why don't I grab a shirt and then we can go back out, talk a little, dance a little?" I asked, trying to shift out from beneath her.

She paused for a long moment before asking me curiously, "Are you gay?"

"What? No!" I exclaimed.

"Because usually by now, your boxers would be joining your pants on the floor," she replied, sounding confused.

Ugh. Oh man, way too much info. I winced but thankfully it was dark in my room. "How about we figure out if that will happen a little while later?" I asked, sitting up, and basically pushing her off.

"Fine," she pouted as I grabbed one of my collared shirts off my desk chair. "I love the Abercrombie look," she whispered in my ear as I buttoned up my shirt.

"I'm so glad." I replied, rolling my eyes as I stood. "Come on; let's go get you a beer or something."

"Okay," she agreed. We left my room.

Jake caught sight of me across the room and let out a shout. "All right, Erik finally got laid!" he shouted, high-fiving Adam.

I blushed, figuring that I'd just straighten it out later, and then led her over to the fridge. She pulled out a beer and offered me one. "I'm good." I shook my head, grabbing a water instead.

"Healthy," she teased as she opened her beer.

"Thanks." I smirked in reply.

"Andrea!" another girl came over, stumbling a bit. Obviously she was more drunk then Andrea. "Andi, I needa pee," she told her.

"Let's go." Andrea grabbed her hand and led her out of the kitchen.

I caught sight of Christine, arms folded across her chest, sitting at the kitchen table alone. Ben was nowhere in sight. She glanced at me and then looked away, looking annoyed. I walked over and sat down next to her.

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recentnews18-blog · 6 years

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New Post has been published on https://shovelnews.com/homophobia-isnt-funny-so-why-do-liberal-comics-keep-using-it/

Homophobia Isn't Funny. So Why Do Liberal Comics Keep Using It?

Last week, Sacha Baron Cohen, while in disguise on his new show, got the notorious Joe Arpaio ― the former sheriff of Maricopa County, Arizona, and a loyal supporter of President Donald Trump ― to say he’d accept an “amazing blow job” from the president.

The stunt illustrated, as it was meant to, how far some Trump backers might go in supporting the president (though Arpaio later said he “couldn’t understand” Baron Cohen’s question). The absurdity of it draws a laugh, even from many of us who are queer.

But the joke nonetheless rests on the tired premise that gay sex is one of the most grotesque things anyone could possibly do. It anticipates a certain amount of shock on the part of the audience at the thought of two men engaging in a sex act. If the roles were different ― if Arpaio were an openly gay man who was being asked if he’d go so far as to have a female politician he supported perform oral sex on him ― the joke wouldn’t work. It would likely be seen as degrading to the woman to even raise the question, but Arpaio wouldn’t be the butt of the joke.

Baron Cohen could just have easily asked Arpaio if he’d clean Trump’s toilet with a toothbrush or eat maggots from a bowl if the president asked. But for many people, those actions wouldn’t be as funny as Arpaio receiving a blow job from Trump, and that says something about our popular culture.

Casual homophobia ― the perpetuation of anti-gay tropes and language ― persists in our society, including among those who consider themselves supporters of LGBTQ equality.

It appears more glaring in the Trump era. We’ve seen well-meaning liberals and late-night comedians, from Jimmy Kimmel to Stephen Colbert (and, more recently, even the New York Times editorial page), come under fire for joking that Trump and Russian President Vladimir Putin are sex partners, often with Trump in the submissive role. Trump is Putin’s “cock holster,” Colbert cracked last year.

Chelsea Handler attempted to demean Attorney General Jeff Sessions a few months ago by calling him a “bottom.” She’s also joked that Sen. Lindsey Graham (R-S.C.) ― who’s long denied rumors that he’s gay ― must be a victim of blackmail, with someone holding a “dick sucking video” over his head. “Wouldn’t coming out be more honorable?” Handler asked.

Queer people have certainly joked about Graham and the rumors. I have myself. But Handler’s tweets about these Republican men, coming from a straight liberal within a particularly mocking context and using gay and bisexual men’s sexual slang, comes off as an attempt to humiliate the target by associating them with gay sex.

Holy, fuck fuck. I just the video of trumps bipartisan “meeting” yesterday. Hey, @LindseyGrahamSC what kind of dick sucking video do they have on you for you 2 be acting like this? Wouldn’t coming out be more honorable?

— Chelsea Handler (@chelseahandler) January 11, 2018

In fact, bottom shaming is a running theme. Kimmel, feuding with Sean Hannity on Twitter in April, asked Hannity whether Trump prefers him to “bottom,” trying to ridicule him in the same way Colbert tried to ridicule Trump with his “cock holster” line. Over the past decade we’ve seen similar kinds of jokes in Seth Rogen’s films and films by director Judd Apatow. Yet both men ― like Kimmel, Handler and Colbert ― are progressive Hollywood champions of LGBTQ rights.

Tolerating casual homophobia opens up a space for more blatant forms of bigotry. Thus, in 2018 we still see comedians imitating gay men with stereotyped, effeminate, high-pitched voices, something Dave Chappelle continually works into his routines. Another classic smear persists as well: calling someone gay as an insult in retaliation for something offensive he or she did. The most prominent recent example was Kim Kardashian’s slap back at Tyson Beckford for fat shaming her in discussing her body. “Sis we all know why you don’t care for it,” Kardashian tweeted, followed by teacup, frog and nail polish emojis.

The use of anti-LGBTQ epithets by people who otherwise position themselves as supporters of LGBTQ rights ― or at any rate, who don’t pose as enemies of LGBTQ equality ― is still commonplace. Rapper Cardi B and her fiance Offset, while defending a song where Offset raps “I cannot vibe with queers,” claimed in February that they didn’t know the term “queer” has been used to refer to gay people, let alone its history as a slur. (Offset argued that the dictionary defines “queer” as “odd” or “weird,” which seemed pretty weak.)

In recent weeks, we’ve seen the resurfacing of racist and homophobic tweets from three Major League Baseball players, all of them white. Atlanta Braves pitcher Sean Newcomb, for example, used “fag” in tweet after tweet while in college. All three players issued apologies, and other players spoke out against the language. Sean Doolittle of the Washington Nationals tweeted out a terrific and powerful thread that went viral.

It’s been a tough couple of weeks for baseball on twitter. It sucks to see racist and homophobic language coming from inside our league – a league I’m so proud to be a part of that I’ve worked really hard to make a more accepting and inclusive place for all our fans to enjoy.

— Sean Doolittle (@whatwouldDOOdo) July 30, 2018

“There’s no place for racism, insensitive language or even casual homophobia,” he said. That Doolittle felt he had to say “even casual homophobia” was a telling indication that demeaning LGBTQ people is widely considered acceptable in a way that demeaning other groups isn’t ― at least in the male sports world. Doolittle also likely wasn’t aware that when he said it “sucks” to see racist and homophobic language, he was, ironically, engaging in bottom shaming. After all, what exactly are people talking about sucking on when they derogatorily say someone “sucks”? The truth is, many of us unknowingly use language every day that subtly stigmatizes.

The website NoHomophobes.com, a project of Canada’s University of Alberta, tracks homophobia on Twitter, tallying the numbers daily and listing tweets that include the terms “faggot,” “dyke,” “no homo” and “so gay,” each adding up to thousands per day.

“Homophobic language isn’t always meant to be hurtful, but how often do we use it without thinking?” the website asks, leaving it to readers to judge the tweets in context.

Don’t break a nail trimming those roses faggot

— tinn (@thecrack_man) August 7, 2018

Why are we speaking out more about casual homophobia now? My theory is that it’s not because of how far we’ve come ― it’s actually because of how far we’ve realized we haven’t come.

We accepted casual homophobia among liberals, particularly comedians, just a few years ago. We seem to have thought it was all right for them, in specific contexts, to use anti-gay slurs and make gay jokes, since they ― and much of America ― were supposedly so much more enlightened in the Obama era.

An example of this was Louis C.K. and his “faggot” monologue in 2011 that received millions of views on YouTube and elsewhere. In the routine, C.K. uses the word “faggot” over and over again, but he jokes that he isn’t referring to gay men or men who have sex with one another. He just means guys who are a particular kind of annoying ― feeble-sounding guys with high-pitched voices who say “faggy” things like “People from Phoenix are Phoenicians.”

youtube

Partly due to his talent, but mostly due to the time we were in ― in which we thought full equality had arrived, and a seemingly enlightened straight man could throw this word around ― a lot of people bought that. Those who criticized C.K. were considered overly sensitive, or were accused of not getting the joke. Of course he wasn’t being homophobic, defenders said. And yes, they said, he could use that word.

But looking at the clip now, given the accusations of sexual harassment several women have brought against C.K. ― which he confirmed were true ― and the onset of the Trump era, it’s pretty cringeworthy. Misogyny and homophobia are interconnected (bottom shaming, for example, is both sexist and anti-gay), as both emanate from anxiety about masculinity.

Comedian and author Guy Branum, who is gay, sent the 2011 clip to his followers on Twitter shortly after the sexual harassment allegations against C.K. went public. “Just a reminder he did this a few years ago and you guys were still declaring him the greatest comic alive,” Branum wrote. Someone replied, “I have had so many straight dudes use that routine as a justification to say that word.”

Indeed, giving a pass to any public figure promoting anti-gay tropes or language ― including those considered well-meaning allies ― allows homophobia to flourish throughout the culture.

This Sunday, Sacha Baron Cohen was back with a new episode of “Who Is America?” where he tangled with a gun rights advocate. The punchline? He tricked his target into simulating oral sex with a dildo. Hilarious.

Michelangelo Signorile is an editor-at-large for HuffPost. Follow him on Twitter at @msignorile.

ALSO ON HUFFPOST OPINION

Source: https://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/opinion-casual-homophobia-comedy-trump-jokes_us_5b698a50e4b0de86f4a5143d

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char27martin · 6 years

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6 Pitfalls to Avoid When Writing LGBTQI+ Characters in Teen Fiction

Before you embark on writing a queer character for Young Adult, answer this question: Is there something about his/her/their queerness that is essential to your story, or are you trying to check off one of your agent’s items on a diversity list? If it’s the latter, stop right now. Close your computer. Walk away from the burning building. Do not move forward. Can I stress this more emphatically?

I believe that regardless of your faith, sexual orientation, or race, you can create characters of any type, if you’re willing to do so authentically. Today’s Middle-Grade and Young-Adult readers are savvy and awake; you will not be able to borrow from any preconceived ideas you might have. This also applies to my fellow LGBTQI+ writers. These kids are watching and will hold you accountable. That’s what makes writing this genre so exciting. I hope you reach beyond what you know to accept the challenge of exploring and examining your own fears, moral hang-ups, and prejudices. It may be fiction, but you’re going to learn a lot about yourself and I’m going help you get there.

Lisa Freeman is an author, actress, and teacher best known for her novels HONEY GIRL (2015; Sky Pony Press) and RIPTIDE SUMMER (2017; Sky Pony Press). She grew up amidst the Hollywood scene and emerged as an actress in such films as Back to the Future, Back to the Future II, and Mr. Mom. She earned her MFA and Pedagogy in the Art of Writing degrees from Antioch University and now resides in Santa Monica, California, only miles down the road from State Beach, where her Honey Girls novels take place. You can visit her at Lisa-Freeman.com.

1. Don’t be invasive in your writing and research.

It’s never okay to out somebody. Under no circumstances should you ever violate the privacy of a teen’s life to create your narrative. Do not eavesdrop, follow, or presume it’s okay to open a discussion with someone who doesn’t want to have it. I implore you to take this under serious consideration, even though your writing teacher may have said it’s okay to be aggressive when searching for a story. Sexuality is deeply personal, as is coming out, gender identification, or transition, so a writer must show restraint. Never invade queer space for your own needs.

Find resources that are public. Personas such as the actress Amandla Stenberg and YouTubers Ingrid Nilsen and Tyler Oakley are wonderful examples of influencers who have shared their coming out processes and lives online. It is their choice to have an open discussion with their followers.

2. Avoid stereotypes.

Teen readers must be able to see themselves in your story. This is a common thread that YA authors are aware of, but how one does this with a LGBTQI+ character is through avoiding stereotypes. For example, if you have a boy with a high-pitched voice who is melodramatic and being called a “sissy,” that’s a red flag. Also, not all queer characters hate themselves or struggle in coming out. That might not be their conflict. You’ll have to take into consideration many things to make the stakes high. Here are some suggestions: Consider setting, body image, and, most importantly, what s/he wants. How can you reveal your character through events? What are the conflicts that motivate them forward? If you can set goals through obstacles that are not fixated on their sexuality, you’re heading in the right direction. But if relationships don’t stick, if the tension and pace become repetitive, go back to the question of, “Am I caught in some preconceived notion of what gay is, gay does?” Ask yourself, how does s/he fit in the world? Are they defiant or loyal? What consequences are created by their actions? In my novels, I answer these questions through relationships. It is the most effective way to show when a character is accepting their flaws or getting caught up in them, which leads me to…

3. Don’t be afraid to create an emotional connection with your character.

If you grew up as a queer teen, this is a wonderful opportunity to use some of the feelings, emotions, and fears you had or have, but remember, you are not writing a memoir. If this wasn’t your experience, you may be wondering how a writer who is not gay creates emotional connection with a queer character. Are you willing to examine the complicated and sometimes unexplainable truth of young people who identify as queer? Not sure? Well try this: Wear a shirt that says “Queer.” Even if you’re out, try it. Wear the shirt to work, the bank, the market, whatever a normal day entails. See if you can really live with committing yourself to these fabulous kids. Then, start writing. If you don’t feel safe doing this because you live in a community that is traditional, do not, under any circumstances, explore this experiment. But do explore your own internal reaction to it. This will also help connect you to a queer voice, assuming that you are not a lesbian or gay man, or that you do not identify as genderqueer, transgender, or bisexual.

If you’re thinking of doing a LGBTQI+ media binge starting with Birdcage or the original La Cage aux Folles, this will be entertaining but not necessarily productive, unless you are writing historical fiction and it fits in with your story. There are other queer-conscious resources via the screen. I encourage you to have some fun, watch RuPaul’s Drag Race, and other shows on Logo. If you want a laugh, Kids in the Hall or Portlandia. For beautiful, well-acted performances, see Carol, Blue is the Warmest Color, and Maurice. There are also classics like Personal Best and High Art.

Some literary examples include wonderful books like Tim Federle’s Better Nate than Ever, I Am J by Cris Beam, Miseducation of Cameron Post by Emily M. Danforth, Alison Bechdel’s Dykes to Watch Out For and Fun Home, and my favorite, Rita Mae Brown’s Rubyfruit Jungle.

The biggest literary agent database anywhere is the Guide to Literary Agents. Pick up the most recent updated edition online at a discount.

4. Don’t try to protect your queer darlings.

Force your characters out of their comfort zones as quickly as possible. What I’m suggesting goes for all MG, YA, and New Adult characters. Don’t protect these fictional teens from the inevitable challenges of growing up. There will be no transformation if you do. Allow for life on life’s terms. The good and the bad, let them fly for themselves.

5. Don’t make everything about sexual identity.

We queers are more than our sexual preferences. No character is 100 percent anything. Just like any teen character, yours can be hero or victim, offensive or sweet, compassionate or vindictive … the list goes on. Regardless of their salvation or damnation, you must illuminate how they coexist in the world and what makes them unique without fixating on their sexuality. And since the verbal landscape and narrative of gay consciousness is changing rapidly, it might be a good time to take a crash course in the terminology of the LGBTQI+ community.

Do you know what LGBTQI+ means? Pansexual? Do you know the difference between genderqueer and non-binary? Do you know that people with different-sex partners also sometimes identify as queer, as well as bisexual? When I speak with students, I am always schooled about new terms and have learned how some teens hate labels and refuse to identify as anything because it’s absolutely passé to them. When I say I’m a lesbian, sometimes they look at me like I’m a dinosaur for using what they consider an old-fashioned word. This has always opened up a dialogue that I find amazing, but, in order to get there, I’ve had to learn not to be judgmental of how queer youth see themselves. Hopefully it has made me a better writer.

Often people get stuck in the “sex” of an LGBTQI+ character. If you’re writing MG, this really won’t be a problem since novels for 8-12 year olds do not reveal explicit sexuality. YA, on the other hand, also abides to certain boundaries, but allows the transformative experience to be a bit more graphic, if not only from an internal perspective.

6. Don’t skimp on the back story.

Back story is pivotal for all characters, but especially queer ones. Even if they’re only 15, your character has lived a full life before coming to a certain realization about their sexuality. If s/he is coming out, you have to know the history that led to this moment. If they aren’t coming out, the same. If they are pursuing love for the first time, what motivated them to finally take action?

Even if 95 percent does not hit the page, this character you are creating must have a strong undercurrent that fuels their actions forward at all times. This way you won’t have to rely on dialogue. In my first novel, Honey Girl, anything queer-related was always spoken of in code. It was gestured, suggested, implied, but never actually said. This was all established through back story.

I hope these suggestions will help you create a well-crafted story and unforgettable teen characters with worthy goals and riveting transformations that appeal to your readers. To my fellow LGBTQI+ writers, let’s remember we are letting our young queers know that we see them and that they matter. And we all, regardless of our own identity, can help them make sense of this world through our stories.

If you’re an agent looking to update your information or an author interested in contributing to the GLA blog or the next edition of the book, contact Writer’s Digest Books Managing Editor Cris Freese at [email protected].

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from Writing Editor Blogs – WritersDigest.com http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/guide-to-literary-agents/guest-columns/6-pitfalls-writing-lgbtqi-characters-teen-fiction

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