#sex pseudoscience

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Alex Byrne

Published: Mar 14, 2024

“Computing is not binary” would be a silly slogan—binary computer code underpins almost every aspect of modern life. But other kinds of binaries are decidedly out of fashion, particularly where sex is concerned. “Biology is not binary” declares the title of an essay in the March/April issue of American Scientist, a magazine published by Sigma Xi, the science and engineering honor society. Sigma Xi has a storied history, with numerous Nobel-prize-winning members, including the DNA-unravellers Francis Crick and James Watson, and more recently Jennifer Doudna, for her work on CRISPR/Cas9 genome editing. The essay is well-worth critical examination, not least because it efficiently packs so much confusion into such a short space.

Another reason for examining it is the pedigree of the authors—Kate Clancy, Agustín Fuentes, Caroline VanSickle, and Catherine Clune-Taylor. Clancy is a professor of anthropology at the University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign; Fuentes is a professor of anthropology at Princeton, and Clune-Taylor is an assistant professor of gender and sexuality studies at that university; VanSickle is an associate professor of anatomy at Des Moines. Clancy’s Ph.D. is from Yale, Fuentes’ is from UC Berkeley, and VanSickles’ is from Michigan. Clune-Taylor is the sole humanist: she has a Ph.D. in philosophy from Alberta, with Judith Butler as her external examiner. In short, the authors are not ill-educated crackpots or dogmatic activists, but top-drawer scholars. Their opinions matter.

Let’s talk about sex, baby

Before wading into the essay’s arguments, let’s look at the context, as noted in the second paragraph. “Last fall,” the authors write, “the American Anthropological Association made headlines after removing a session on sex and gender from its November 2023 annual conference.” The session’s cancellation was covered by the New York Times as well as international newspapers, and it eventually took place under the auspices of Heterodox Academy. (You can watch the entire event here.) Scheduled for the Sunday afternoon “dead zone” of the five-day conference, when many attendees leave for the airport, the title was “Let’s Talk About Sex, Baby: Why biological sex remains a necessary analytic category in anthropology.” The lineup was all-female, and included the anthropologists Kathleen Lowrey and Elizabeth Weiss. According to the session description, “With research foci from hominin evolution to contemporary artificial intelligence, from the anthropology of education to the debates within contemporary feminism about surrogacy, panelists make the case that while not all anthropologists need to talk about sex, baby, some absolutely do.”

Nothing evidently objectionable here, so why was it cancelled? The official letter announcing that the session had been removed from the program, signed by the presidents of the AAA and CASCA (the Canadian Anthropology Society), explained:

The reason the session deserved further scrutiny was that the ideas were advanced in such a way as to cause harm to members represented by the Trans and LGBTQI of the anthropological community as well as the community at large.

Why “the Trans” were double-counted (the T in LGBTQI) was not clear. And although ideas can harm, a handful of academics speaking in the Toronto Convention Centre are unlikely to cause much. In any event, the authors of “Biology is not binary” seem to think that the panelists’ errors about sex warranted the cancellation, not the trauma their words would bring to vulnerable anthropologists. “We were glad,” they say, “to see the American Anthropological Association course-correct given the inaccuracy of the panelists’ arguments.”

Never mind that no-one had heard the panelists’ arguments—what were these “inaccuracies”? The panelists, Clancy and her co-authors report, had claimed that “sex is binary,” and that “male and female represent an inflexible and infallible pair of categories describing all humans.”

“Biology is not binary” is not off to a promising start. Only one of the cancelled panelists, Weiss, has said anything about sex being binary in her talk abstract, and even that was nuanced: “skeletons are binary; people may not be.” No one had claimed that the two sex categories were “inflexible” or “infallible,” which anyway doesn’t make sense. (This is one example of the essay’s frequent unclarity of expression.) Neither had anyone claimed that every single human falls into one sex category or the other.

Probably the real reason the proposed panel caused such a stir was that it was perceived (in Clancy et al.’s own words) as “part of an intentional gender-critical agenda.” And, to be fair, some of the talks were “gender-critical,” for instance Silvia Carrasco’s. (Carrasco’s views have made her a target of activists at her university in Barcelona.) Still, academics can’t credibly cancel a conference session simply because a speaker defends ideas that bother some people, hence the trumped-up charges of harm and scientific error.

Although Clancy et al. misleadingly characterize the content of the cancelled AAA session, their essay might yet get something important right. They argue for four main claims. First, “sex is not binary.” Second, “sex is culturally constructed.” Third, “defining sex is difficult.” And, fourth, there is no one all-purpose definition of sex—it depends “on what organism is being studied and what question is being asked.”

Let’s go through these in order.

“Sex is not binary”

When people say that sex is binary, they sometimes mean that there are exactly two sexes, male and female. Sometimes they mean something else: the male/female division cuts humanity into two non-overlapping groups. That is, every human is either male (and not female), or female (and not male). These two interpretations of “Sex is binary” are different. Perhaps there are exactly two sexes, but there are some humans who are neither male nor female, or who are both sexes simultaneously. In that scenario, sex is binary according to the first interpretation, but not binary according to the second. Which of the two interpretations do Clancy et al. have in mind?

At least the essay is clear on this point. The “Quick Take” box on the first page tells us that the (false) binary thesis is that “male and female [are] the only two possible sex categories.” And in the text the authors say that “plenty of evidence has emerged to reject” the hypothesis that “there are only two sexes.” (Here they mystifyingly add “…and that they are discrete and different.” Obviously if there are two sexes then they are different.)

If there are not exactly two sexes, then the number of sexes is either zero, one, or greater than two. Since Clancy et al. admit that “categories such as ‘male�� and ‘female’…can be useful,” they must go for the third option: there are more than two sexes. But how many? Three? 97? In a striking absence of curiosity, the authors never say.

In any case, what reason do Clancy et al. give for thinking that the number of sexes is at least three? The argument is in this passage:

[D]ifferent [“sex-defining”] traits also do not always line up in a person’s body. For example, a human can be born with XY chromosomes and a vagina, or have ovaries while producing lots of testosterone. These variations, collectively known as intersex, may be less common, but they remain a consistent and expected part of human biology. So the idea that there are only two sexes…[has] plenty of evidence [against it].

However, this reasoning is fallacious. The premise is that some (“intersex”) people do not have enough of the “sex-defining” traits to be either male or female. The conclusion is that there are more than two sexes. The conclusion only follows if we add an extra premise, that these intersex people are not just neither male nor female, but another sex. And Clancy et al. do nothing to show that intersex people are another sex.

What’s more, it is quite implausible that any of them are another sex. Whatever the sexes are, they are reproductive categories. People with the variations noted by Clancy et al. are either infertile, for example those with Complete Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome (CAIS) (“XY chromosomes and a vagina”), or else fertile in the usual manner, for example many with Congenital Adrenal Hyperplasia (CAH) and XX chromosomes (“ovaries while producing lots of testosterone,” as Clancy et al. imprecisely put it). One study reported normal pregnancy rates among XX CAH individuals. Unsurprisingly, the medical literature classifies these people as female. Unlike those with CAIS and CAH, people who belonged to a genuine “third sex” would make their own special contribution to reproduction.

“Sex is culturally constructed”

“Biology is not binary” fails to establish that there are more than two sexes. Still, the news that sex is “culturally constructed” sounds pretty exciting. How do Clancy et al. argue for that?

There is a prior problem. Nowhere do Clancy et al. say what “Sex is culturally constructed” means. What’s more, the essay thoroughly conflates the issue of the number of sexes with the issue about cultural construction. Whatever “cultural construction” means, presumably culture could “construct” two sexes. (The Buddhas of Bamiyan in Afghanistan were literally constructed, and there were exactly two of them.) Conversely, the discovery of an extra sex would not show that sex was culturally constructed, any more than the discovery of an extra flavor of quark would show that fundamental particles are culturally constructed.

Clancy et al. drop a hint at the start of the section titled “Sex is Culturally Constructed.” “Definitions and signifiers of gender,” they say, “differ across cultures… but sex is often viewed as a static, universal truth.” (If you want to know what they mean by “gender,” you’re out of luck.) That suggests that the cultural construction of sex amounts to the “definitions and signifiers” of sex differing between times and places. This is confirmed by the following passage: “[T]here is another way we can see that sex is culturally constructed: The ways collections of traits are interpreted as sex can and have differed across time and cultures.” What’s more, in an article called “Is sex socially constructed?”, Clune-Taylor says that this (or something close to it) is one sense in which sex is socially constructed (i.e. culturally constructed).

The problem here is that “Sex is culturally constructed” (as Clancy et al. apparently understand “cultural construction”) is almost trivially true, and not denied by anyone. If “X is culturally constructed” means something like “Ideas of X and theories of X change between times and places,” then almost anything which has preoccupied humans will be culturally constructed. Mars, Jupiter and Saturn are culturally constructed: the ancients thought they revolved around the Earth and represented different gods. Dinosaurs are culturally constructed: our ideas of them are constantly changing, and are influenced by politics as well as new scientific discoveries. Likewise, sex is culturally constructed: Aristotle thought that in reproduction male semen produces a new embryo from female menstrual blood, as “a bed comes into being from the carpenter and the wood.” We now have a different theory.

Naturally one must distinguish the claim that dinosaurs are changing (they used to be covered only in scales, now they have feathers) from the claim that our ideas of dinosaurs are changing (we used to think that dinosaurs only have scales, now we think they have feathers). It would be fallacious to move from the premise that dinosaurs are culturally constructed (in Clancy et al.’s sense) to the conclusion that dinosaurs themselves have changed, or that there are no “static, universal truths” about dinosaurs. It would be equally fallacious to move from the premise that sex is culturally constructed to the claim that there are no “static, universal truths” about sex. (One such truth, for example, is that there are two sexes.) Nonetheless, Clancy et al. seem to commit exactly this fallacy, in denying (as they put it) that “sex is…a static, universal truth.”

To pile falsity on top of fallacy, when Clancy et al. give an example of how our ideas about sex have changed, their choice could hardly be more misleading. According to them:

The prevailing theory from classical times into the 19th century was that there is only one sex. According to this model, the only true sex is male, and females are inverted, imperfect distortions of males.

This historical account was famously defended in a 1990 book, Making Sex, by the UC Berkeley historian Thomas Laqueur. What Clancy et al. don’t tell us is that Laqueur’s history has come under heavy criticism; in particular, it is politely eviscerated at length in The One-Sex Body on Trial, by the classicist Helen King. It is apparent from Clune-Taylor’s other work that she knows of King’s book, which makes Clancy et al.’s unqualified assertion of Laqueur’s account even more puzzling.

“Defining sex is difficult”

Aristotle knew there were two sexes without having a satisfactory definition of what it is to be male or female. The question of how to define sex (equivalently, what sex is) should be separated from the question of whether sex is binary. So even if Clancy et al. are wrong about the number of sexes, they might yet be right that sex is difficult to define.

Why do they think it is difficult to define? Here’s their reason:

There are many factors that define sex, including chromosomes, hormones, gonads, genitalia, and gametes (reproductive cells). But with so many variables, and so much variation within each variable, it is difficult to pin down one definition of sex.

Readers of Reality’s Last Stand will be familiar with the fact that chromosomes and hormones (for example) do not define sex. The sex-changing Asian sheepshead wrasse does not change its chromosomes. Interestingly, the sex hormones (androgens and estrogens) are found in plants, although they do not appear to function as hormones. How could the over-educated authors have written that “there are many factors that define sex,” without a single one of them objecting?

That question is particularly salient because the textbook account of sex is in Clancy et al.’s very own bibliography. In the biologist Joan Roughgarden’s Evolution’s Rainbow there’s a section called “Male and Female Defined.” If you crack the book open, you can’t miss it.

Roughgarden writes:

To a biologist, “male” means making small gametes, and “female” means making large gametes. Period! By definition, the smaller of the two gametes is called a sperm, and the larger an egg. Beyond gamete size, biologists don’t recognize any other universal difference between male and female.

“Making” does not mean currently producing, but (something like) has the function to make. Surely one of Clancy et al. must have read Roughgarden’s book! (Again from her other work we know that Clune-Taylor has.) To avoid going round and round this depressing mulberry bush again, let’s leave it here.

“Sex is defined in a lot of ways in science”

Perhaps sex is not a single thing, and there are different definitions for the different kinds of sex. The standard gamete-definition of sex is useful for some purposes; other researchers will find one of the alternative definitions more productive. Clancy et al. might endorse this conciliatory position. They certainly think that a multiplicity of definitions is good scientific practice: “In science, how sex is defined for a particular study is based on what organism is being studied and what question is being asked.”

Leaving aside whether this fits actual practice, as a recommendation it is wrong-headed. Research needs to be readily compared and combined. A review paper on sexual selection might draw on studies of very different species, each asking different questions. If the definition of sex (male and female) changes between studies, then synthesizing the data would be fraught with complications and potential errors, because one study is about males/females-in-sense-1, another is about males/females-in-sense-2, and so on.

Indeed, “Biology is not binary” itself shows that the authors don’t really believe that “male” and “female” are used in science with multiple senses. They freely use “sex,” “male,” and “female” without pausing to disambiguate, or explain just which of the many alleged senses of these words they have in mind. If “sex is defined a lot of ways in science” then the reader should wonder what Clancy et al. are talking about.

In an especially odd passage, they write that the “criteria for defining sex will differ in studies of mushrooms, orangutans, and humans.” That is sort-of-true for mushrooms, which mate using mating types, not sperm and eggs. (Mating types are sometimes called “sexes,” but sometimes not.) However, it’s patently untrue for orangutans and humans, as the biologist Jerry Coyne points out.

Orangutans had featured earlier in the saga of the AAA cancellation, when Clancy and Fuentes had bizarrely suggested that the “three forms of the adult orangutan” present a challenge to the “sex binary,” seemingly forgetting that these three forms comprise females and two kinds of males. Kathleen Lowrey had some fun at their expense.

As if this tissue of confusion isn’t enough, Clancy et al. take one final plunge off the deep end. After mentioning osteoporosis in postmenopausal women, they write:

[P]eople experiencing similar sex-related conditions may not always fit in the same sex category. Consider polycystic ovary syndrome (PCOS), a common metabolic condition affecting about 8 to 13 percent of those with ovaries, which often causes them to produce more androgens than those without this condition. There are increasing numbers of people with PCOS who self-define as intersex, whereas others identify as female.

They seem to believe that two people with PCOS might not “fit in the same sex category.” That is, one person could be female while the other isn’t, with this alchemy accomplished by “self-definition.” PCOS, in case you were wondering, is a condition that only affects females or, in the approved lingo of the Cleveland Clinic, “people assigned female at birth.”

How could four accomplished and qualified professors produce such—not to mince words—unadulterated rubbish?

There are many social incentives these days for denouncing the sex binary, and academics—even those at the finest universities—are no more resistant to their pressure than anyone else. However, unlike those outside the ivory tower, academics have a powerful arsenal of carefully curated sources and learned jargon, as well as credentials and authority. They may deploy their weapons in the service of—as they see it—equity and inclusion for all.

It would be “bad science,” Clancy et al. write at the end, to “ignore and exclude” “individuals who are part of nature.” In this case, though, Clancy et al.’s firepower is directed at established facts, and the collateral damage may well include those people they most want to help.

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About the Author

Alex Byrne is a Professor of Philosophy at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) in the Department of Linguistics and Philosophy. His main interests are philosophy of mind (especially perception), metaphysics (especially color) and epistemology (especially self-knowledge). A few years ago, Byrne started working on philosophical issues relating to sex and gender. His book on these topics, Trouble with Gender: Sex Facts, Gender Fictions, is now available in the US and UK.

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The whole "social construction," "cultural construction" thing is idiotic.

Not only does it mean you would be a different sex in a different society/culture, but it becomes necessary that cross-cultural/cross-societal reproduction is fraught with complications.

#Alex Byrne #sex pseudoscience #pseudoscience #sex denialism #biological sex #reproduction #biology #human reproduction #queer theory #religion is a mental illness

[betrayedbycinnamon]

#ivvic writes #just making a dedicated post for this fic for reblogging purposes :) #nothing new to see #winterhawk #sex pollen pseudoscience

[magicstormfrostfire]

What’s knotting?

I keep forgetting not everyone is a furry so this isnt innate knowledge for people lol

(Flashbacks to when I had to explain omegaverse fics to my friends and it said more about me than I thought)

Okay so...

Urban Dictionary has a well-worded definition (Dont mind the Sonic shimeji in the corner, he's just chilling)

(To be specific its usually a bulb at the base of the penis rather than the whole length of it.) I have no idea if hedgehogs do this, but, when it comes to anthros you can kinda play fast and loose with it. Like when some writers make mobians have heat cycles.

Its something I see a lot in fics, especially with themes like Omegaverse(abo), anthros/furries, and human-like characters that just have canine traits.

Tldr; I'm giving Silver this ability.

#magicstorm asks #asks #im probably gonna make it something that doesnt ALWAYS happen during sex #only in really intense circumstances #idk i dont think i need to explain the pseudoscience behind it in the fic. hopefully not. #also to answer the question if felines irl have knots #no they do not. the males have spines on their penises. so yeah felines are a little more fucked up

[lilyflanders]

speaking of brand - sex addiction again is a fake fucking concept that obfuscates sexual assault as a direct practice of domination, the most literal imposition of power relations and instead presents it as a problem of individual bad men with medicalized 'sex addiction'. complete depoliticization of misogyny and rape

#russell brand #“sex addiction” #misogynist pseudoscience

[cacaitos]

of course theres contrivances this is in no way stadistic like. the three strictly women are all from the same manga bc the manga itself revolves around IS; in simoun, unlike Marginal, im infering from the you choose your gender (implied ''sex'')/it gets chosen for you in your adult/teenagehood ie Magic and Dont Think Too Much About It, similarly in Seibetsu; dvmn satan itself doesnt have gender BUT the most common of his human forms is ryo BUT Lan is a thing too, so whatever you think they lean more into; usumgallu learned what gender was yesterday so they mostly present as a dude bc it's convinient in mesopotamia lite; frol changes gender like careers in college so whatever.

#txt #im not counting effects of gender-unrelated medication or surgery. or medical transitions (voluntary or unconsensual). or magic/ #pseudoscience(magic but w scifi aesthetics) genderbends. or lacking as a species sex/gender altogether. uuh what else. no 'newhalfs' #whatever they mean with that bc it's vague. no just defined as 'androgynous' bc that doesnt tell me nothing even of their gender itfp. #again the All But 'yeah i was just born like that it's medical dw' that runs in the character-trope

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

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At this point, Pseudo-Scientific American is basically as reliable as The National Enquirer.

This is what ideological takeover looks like.

#Colin Wright #Emma Hilton #Nicholas Christakis #Jerry Coyne #Laura Helmuth #Scientific American #SciAm #pseudoscience #gender pseudoscience #sex is binary #sex binary #biology denial #gender flat earth #gender flat earthers #gender ideology #queer theory #sex denialism #biology denialism #biology #wokeness #woke #wokeism #cult of woke #wokeness as religion #PseudoScientific American #religion is a mental illness

[memecucker]

I saw people on twitter asking what’s up with all the radfems supporting Russel Brand over there and the answer is that Brand believes porn addiction is real and is linked with religious front orgs focused on popularizing the pseudoscientific idea of porn use being the same thing as drug addiction. It’s common for abusers like Brand (or Weinstein) to popularize pseudoscience about “porn addiction” and “sex addiction” because they don’t want to accept blame for their abuse and instead shift it off to things already seen as immoral vices.

Also mandatory linking of articles about research into “porn addiction” bc being the most successful rightwing pseudoscientific propaganda push means a lot of people just don’t question it being a thing and when you just mention it’s not real you get a flood of people going “urrm akshully anything can be an addiction”

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Vienna (S.R.)

*as always, the gif is not indicative of Reader's appearance.

Summary: Spencer is a bona fide 40-year-old virgin. After a few months of dating Reader, he finally decides he wants to change that. Based on "Vienna" by Billy Joel. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Virgin!Spencer, Spencer POV, established relationship loss of virginity, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex Word Count: 3k

MASTERLIST

I’d often wondered whether my preternatural love for autumn was part of why my life had turned out the way it had. As if my love for late-blooming flowers was built into my biology. Something innate in me that carried with it a promise for a lonely youth.

For a long time, I thought my state of waiting might be fated. Eternal celibacy seemed inevitable. As I watched the years pass by, I’d even started to find some comfort in knowing that there was still a part of me left untouched. Something that could be truly mine in a way things so rarely are.

I was resigned to a life filled to the brim with platonic intimacy. It had been a good life; a happy life. I had a family, albeit not in the ordinary sense of the word. But deep within me, in that 21 ounces that pseudoscience claims to constitute a soul, the longing never ceased. It persisted for nearly forty years.

And then I found her.

She walked into my life with little fanfare. Meeting her felt like finding the answer to an impossible equation after lifetimes of searching.

There had never been a dull moment with her. There was never a lapse in the conversation to permit for any awkward misunderstandings.

The first time that she kissed me, it felt nothing like the times before. It was soft and unassuming, like she were a natural extension of myself.

If one must fall into love, she caught me before my brain could even comprehend it was happening. There was no nauseating sunken stomach, no breathless anxiety of whether or not I was making a mistake.

The first night we were alone, she’d held my face in the dim light. I thought then that my lifetime of waiting had finally come to pass.

She’d only needed a moment of vulnerability to read my soul with the highest proficiency.

With an unrivaled tenderness, she’d told me that she had sensed my innocence the first day we met. That night, and every opportunity since, she had assured me that her love was not conditioned on a physical intimacy. Our life would be beautiful regardless of what it looked like, and she saw no need to fuss over something as simple as sex.

Her assurances had been unnecessary. It had hardly been a month before I found myself eager to give away what I’d once held dear.

Even without a faultless memory, I would always remember the first time she touched me without inhibition. I would forever cherish each of the times that I found myself through an exploration of her.

I had always heard the time-old adage, ‘when it’s right, you’ll know,’ and the skeptic in me doubted whether it could be true for someone like me.

But it was. Because that night, I knew. The same as I knew that the sky appears blue when it is closer to violet and that the color of grass depends on a multitude of factors, I knew that my waiting had come to an end.

I knew because it felt right when she walked into my room with faded lipstick and yet another wonderful memory. That quiet moment felt as fated as the first time I met her. That heaviness in my chest lifted when she turned to look at me, as if my soul had finally found its other half.

I approached her without words because they felt so unnecessary. I wrapped my arms around her instead, pulling her back against my chest and reveling in the warmth she provided.

She placed her hands over mine and fell back against me like a weary traveler who’d finally found their way home. I thought to myself that falling in love should always feel that way.

My lips found their way to her neck with a similar familiarity. I littered her with kisses, forever seeking the satisfaction of her sighs. I listened to each full inhale and felt the way her body moved with the breath.

The smell of her perfume would fill my lungs better than oxygen ever could. But as her skin grew feverish, so too did my lips. Chaste pecks turned to open mouthed kisses that were better spent on her.

I pulled away but lingered. I pressed my cheek against her jaw and my breath shook with excitement.

“I don’t want to wait forever,” I whispered into her ear, “I want you.”

She turned her head ever so slightly, pressing our cheeks together until I couldn’t resist the urge to kiss her. Before my lips could make it, though, she spoke the words I knew to be true but always loved to hear.

“You have me,” she said.

I believed her. I felt my belonging in the literal and metaphorical sense. I lifted a hand and pressed it against her chest to feel the soft thrumming of her heart.

Carefully, and taking the time to linger, my hands began removing her clothing. I took my time in a way I rarely ever did. Because was the kind of masterpiece that needed to be appreciated for every freckle and scar. Each perceived imperfection was nothing but the history of her, the proof of a life well-lived.

Her experience bled through to her behavior when she was bare. Although she still had her bashful moments, it didn’t take much persuading for her to drop her arms and turn to face me.

I stared with my usual awestruck expression. My eyes roamed along with my hands. They ended on either side of her smile, which was broken by laughter.

“Your turn,” she giggled.

My heart threatened to stop. Not because of nerves or insecurity, but because she looked so impossibly beautiful, and she was mine.

Her fingers were delicate but quick to undo my shirt. I wondered how it could be that someone could touch me without my needing to recoil.

I leaned into her touch, only slightly, and I sighed with relief when she finally released the pressure around my waist.

She didn’t take anything off. Instead, she slid her fingers underneath the loosened clothing. She explored skin that was normally hidden with an undeniable affection.

She looked at me much the same.

“We don’t have to do this,” she offered. Her voice was so gentle that scarred skin still broke into goosebumps at the sound of it.

I answered her offer by taking it upon myself to remove my clothing. Each piece that fell to the ground felt like the end of something.

Looking at her felt like a beginning.

Whether it was my fear of inadequacy or just the usual, simple overwhelming love I felt for her, I didn’t let her stare. Instead, I pulled her closer until our bare chests touched. Also between us was the evidence of my desire, burning hot and aching to be held by her.

A shaky breath slipped through her lips before I kissed her. I kissed her again, harder, and more insistent than ever before.

She laughed. I did, too.

“You’re the most beautiful thing in all of creation,” I murmured absentmindedly against her lips.

Still smiling, she grabbed hold of one of my hands before she pulled away from me. At first, I thought she was leading us to the bed. But then she spun around on her foot, displaying the entirety of her naked body for my adoration.

“You’d better take a closer look, then,” she said.

“I could never forget,” I reminded.

She knew that, though. That’s why she tempted me the way she did, so that I would remember perfectly how we looked in that moment.

I would see the motion in her body just before I pushed her back against my bed. I served witness to the way she made herself comfortable in a matter of seconds. Her body writhed with anticipation, her skin a perfect contrast to the sheets beneath her.

She was so beautiful in her vulnerability. I could tell she felt the same simply by the way that she looked at me.

As I climbed atop her, I tried to stop my arms from shaking. Her hand reached up to cup my cheek. I nearly fell limp in her embrace. I stumbled forward still, falling onto my forearm so that I could free a hand to feel her.

My hand slid between her open legs at the same time she reached between us. Her fingers felt scorching around the base of me. I imagine mine felt equally paralyzing as they dipped between slick folds.

We groaned in tandem at the sensation. The anticipation heightened with our quickened breath. She was already practically sobbing as I dragged my fingers down warm walls and imagined once more what it would feel like to be welcomed into her fullest embrace.

I was surprised to find how much her hand fumbled, how unpracticed she seemed when faced with my ultimate submission.

Dare I say, she almost seemed nervous. Yet I would never be anywhere near dissatisfaction. I was quite the opposite, already aching for the release that only she could give me.

“Do you want to do this?”

I was surprised to hear the question uttered in my own voice.

But I was so happy to hear her answer, “Yes.”

Then, with a lovesick smile that would always seem too good to be true, she teased, “I’m ready when you are.” 

I returned it with a taunt of my own. I withdrew my fingers and spread the remnants of her desire over her heat.

“I can tell.”

Like always, she accepted it with grace, and her own clever retort.

“I guess there really is something to that genius thing after all.”

But when the jokes were over, I was lost in the wonder once more. My whole body felt aflame with lust and lover for her the very moment that her legs fell further open.

I looked down at the way her chest heaved and her stomach tensed. Her back was arching like every part of her sought closeness.

As if her body had been begging: I love you, let me shelter you.

She must have seen how foreign the feeling was to me, because as soon as I felt the familiar warmth of tears gathering in my eyes, her grip turned gentle. One leg hooked around my waist and pulled me closer until I could feel the velvety slickness against the head of my cock.

“How about I help you with this part?” she offered.

I lowered my hand to join hers before I replied, “Together.”

“Together,” she promised.

True to her word, she helped guide me to her entrance before her hand slipped away. It found me again shortly thereafter when both of her arms were thrown around my shoulders.

I pushed forward to find a slight resistance. My breath caught in my throat, my whole body halting without any command.

“Keep going,” she said breathlessly, “It’s okay.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I explained.

She silenced any further protest by rooting her hands in my hair and pulling me in for a kiss. My hips fell forward from the momentum, sinking a few more inches into the blinding, blissful heat of her.

I tried to accommodate the feeling of her the same way her body tried to make room for me. Each twitch of my cock was returned with her walls closing in on me. Every one of her limbs begged for more of me, and I wanted so badly to give it.

But I was still bashful, still frightened by the possibility of hurting her somehow.

She ended the kiss prematurely. Before she could speak, she whimpered. Her eyes opened to reveal mirrors into myself. A vulnerability, a belonging beyond the physical.

Her body begged me, and I answered. I pressed forward, sinking into her inch by inch until there was nothing more to give. I reveled in the soft sounds of her pleasure, the way her whimpers turned to wanton moans.

“I love you through infinity,” I whispered against her lips.

“I love you, too,” she returned dreamily.

Her body was pulsing around me with a burning heat and unrivaled softness. I felt the shelter of her, the vulnerability of her embrace. There was no greater reward than the knowing that she allowed me, begged for me to claim the empty space in her body.

“You are…”

I struggled to find the words to explain the thought.

She found them for me.

“Yours,” she slurred, “I’m yours, Spencer.”

My hips moved without thought. They bucked forward and caused moans to spill from both our lips.

I became greedy quickly. I desperately sought to hear her again, to experience again the novel wonder that was her body. I pulled my hips back and focused on the way her walls clenched tighter, begging me to stay.

I returned to them immediately. I thrusted forward, faster than before and with enough force to set her body in motion.

Her mouth was open, alternating between simple, wonderful sounds and a lack of them altogether. The twisted tension, the unmuted pleasure of half-lidded eyes and flushed lips, it made me realize how badly I’d craved this experience all my life.

Again, my hips crashed into hers. I fucked her harder and took pride in the way her nails dug into my skin. I wanted her to claim me with the same animalistic nature that I displayed.

“I’ve waited my whole life for you,” I told her between brutal thrusts.

Like always, she understood the meaning behind the words. She could feel the decades of yearning with every motion. Each time that I bottomed out inside her, she would praise me, worship me, love me.

I didn’t expect her to respond with anything more than her body. It spoke so eloquently. Her back arched and her nails dragged down my shoulders as she struggled to keep hold.

To relieve her of the need, I straightened my back and sat up. With both hands, I pulled her hips up to meet mine.

“Fuck!” she squeaked.

I understood what she’d meant. The new angle felt entirely different, impossibly better than the one from mere seconds before.

“Are you alright?” I asked, anyway.

“Yes,” she said with a quick nod, “Yes, you’re perfect.”

My long dormant ego swelled at the praise. It turned my lips into a smirk and made my hands pull her even closer.

I watched with rapt attention as I pulled out of her. It seemed so intimate—was so intimate—that I couldn’t break away. Fascinated by the way her body accepted me, I continued to watch where we joined as I pulled her hips back to me. 

“You look so beautiful like this,” I groaned.

So elegant, so submissive and pliant as I filled her with the full length of my desire.

“You do, too,” she giggled.

I looked up to see her, and, immediately, I missed her. Without even taking the time to readjust her hips, I moved forward until our lips met.

She gasped at the pleasurable pain when I found a new depth of her. She swallowed my moans the same way her heat accepted me.

It was all so new, so overwhelming and invigorating that I couldn’t stop myself. My movements became sloppy and insistent. Her body folded beneath mine at the same time her arms fell on the bed. She gripped the sheets with a vengeance.

Open and wanting, her chest heaved, and her small voice managed to call my name.

“Do it, Spencer,” she pleaded with her everything, “Come for me.”

Without a single hesitation, I did. Unaware of how close I’d even come; I gave one more unrelenting thrust before I was hit with a truly staggering wave of pleasure.

As I emptied myself inside of her, the warmth pooled around what was an already burning heat. Each pulse came with bucking hips. Every time, her body tightened around me and prolonged the pleasure.

“I love you,” I chanted while the world felt far away.

She had never felt closer.

“I love you,” we said together just as I fell limp in her arms.

Breathless and with fast-beating hearts, I melted into her embrace without regret. I felt the sticky warmth as it filled every particle that remained between our joined bodies.

It was the most heavenly bliss, to feel so thoroughly loved.

Yet she was the one to say it first.

“Thank you,” she slurred.

“It was my pleasure,” I chuckled back. I’d meant it literally and in the traditional, colloquial sense.

The kindness continued when she was finally able to move again. She didn’t go far. Instead, she wrapped lazy arms around me and tilted her head back so that I could nuzzle further against her shoulder.

“Was it worth the wait?” she asked cheekily.

But I noticed the way her voice still shook. She would blame the exhaustion, but I could tell that she was nervous.

There was no reason for her to be. Regret was the furthest thing from my thoughts.

“Yes, it was,” I assured her.

Then, because she deserved to hear it and because it was the undeniable truth, I explained, “It had to be you. It would have always been you.”

“Are you saying I was meant to be yours?” she giggled.

“No,” I corrected with a smile, “I’m saying I was meant to be yours.”

“Split the difference?” she offered.

“Not a chance,” I scoffed.

“Fine,” she sighed happily. “I guess you’re mine.”

And I took comfort in knowing that everything was finally, exactly how it was meant to be.

(Tell me what you thought about this fic here!)

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Thanks for reading!

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #virgin spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid/you #spencer reid/reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid fandom #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds smut

[anamericangirl]

Being against trans people is being against science and God. Science shows that it is NOT a mental illness, it is how their brains are made by God. Scientific studies have shown that trans women have the same brain structure as cis women and trans men have the same brain structure as cis men. They are born that way. Science has also shown sex and gender are separate and can be different, which we see with trans people’s brains not matching their biological bodies.

Pseudoscience may have shown that sex and gender are different but real science hasn't :)

And saying it's not a mental illness because it's in their brains isn't the win you think it is lol

#anon #answered #I'm not against trans people lol #learn to read

[creature-wizard]

What's up with the Satanic Panic, in a nutshell.

Around the 1970's, conservative Evangelicals began weaponizing a number of conspiracy theories against anyone who wasn't a conservative Evangelical. These conspiracy theories were essentially repackaged witch hysteria (IE, the conspiracies pushed by early modern witch hunters) and antisemitism (especially blood libel).

The core conspiracy theory was that a global satanic cult was working behind the scenes to manipulate politics and lead people away from Jesus. The exact practices of the cult depended on who you asked, but common allegations were practicing human sacrifice (including plenty of child sacrifice), drinking human blood, engaging in sex slavery, producing CSE and snuff films, doing drugs, and having orgies.

Numerous people stepped forward claiming to have been either former cult members, or cult survivors. Pretty much all of their accounts are full of blatant absurdities, and anytime someone was actually investigated, pretty much all of their claims fell apart. For example, Mike Warnke, one of the earliest self-proclaimed ex-satanists, was found to have made up his entire story. One woman, Lauren Stratford, was not only revealed to be a fraud, but afterward claimed she was a Holocaust survivor to collect benefits.

Some examples of claims made by people who claimed to be ex-members/survivors include:

Neopaganism was created by the global satanic cult, and Aleister Crowley was their main agent in this.

All neopaganism and modern witchcraft is a slippery slope to human sacrifice and "hardcore satanism."

All media that depicts magic or the supernatural in any way is part of the satanic agenda. Yes, literally all of it. Yes, even that.

Homosexuality is part of the global satanic agenda.

Rock and heavy metal music are part of the global satanic agenda.

Fluoride, artificial sweeteners, and various food additives are actually mind control drugs.

Electromagnetic waves are used to control people's thoughts.

Marxism was created by the global satanic agenda.

If you know anything about QAnon conspiracy theories, you might notice that some of these look awfully familiar. This is because QAnon was another manifestation of Satanic Panic. They updated "electromagnetic waves" to 5G, and largely replaced homosexuality with transgender, but it's the same thing.

The conspiracy theory about cultists creating mind controlled slaves by inducing dissociative identity disorder through torture (all that Project Monarch stuff) is purely a product of the Satanic Panic. People's supposed "memories" of this abuse were generally produced via recovered memory therapy, which is now known to be more effective at implanting memories rather than recovering them. No serious investigations ever produced any evidence of the supposedly widespread and incredibly elaborate torture of tens of thousands of children.

Now, there have been actual isolated cases of what might be considered satanic ritual abuse. But they do not constitute evidence of a global satanic conspiracy. Rather, they constitute evidence that the perpetrators were inspired by the conspiracy theory.

Additionally, they had a very pseudoscientific view of DID, and the horrible practices allegedly used to induce it and create mind controlled alters were pure pseudoscience, as were the alleged symptoms that someone might be a victim of satanic ritual abuse and just didn't remember it. Everything from autism to having conflicted feelings about your abuser to liking BDSM could be construed as a sign that you had been ritually abused. With a bunch of therapists fully convinced that thousands of people had been ritually abused and armed with hypnotic techniques that allowed them to implant memories of abuse, you can see where things could turn messy in a hurry.

Those who claimed to be former satanists/SRA victims were extremely clear in their assertions that this global satanic conspiracy really did exist, and that the only way to escape and stay safe from it was to accept Jesus. Tales of demonic attacks that could only be stopped by the power of Jesus were common, as were other claims of grandiose supernatural power.

In short, the Satanic Panic was - and still is - a means of demonizing anyone who isn't a fundagelical Christofascist, and scaring anyone who already is, into remaining such. Many of the conspiracy theories have made their way into supposedly progressive circles, so you'll occasionally come across the Project Monarch stuff in DID communities, or see pro-LGBTQ people subscribing to conspiracy theories about the wealthy elite drinking blood or adrenochrome.

But make no mistake, there is no "grain of truth" to these allegations of a global satanic conspiracy. There was no "time before all of this was corrupted by evil agendas." It was all created by people with with hateful agendas, and continues to be perpetuated by people with hateful agendas. And that's all, folks.

#satanic panic #sra #satanic ritual abuse #ritual abuse #conspiracy theory #conspiracy theories #conspiracism #did #dissociative identity disorder #project monarch #mind control

[ftmtftm]

Good morning this just a fun reminder that "brain gender" is pseudoscience brain phrenology and that natural sciences (medicine) don't have any more of an understanding of sex and gender than social sciences (sociology) do.

The distinction between "hard" science and "soft" science is stupid and you should re-evaluate the ways in which you prioritize one over the other and why, especially if you consider yourself an activist! Examine your biases!!

#original post #trans #transgender #lgbt #lgbtq #transmed #transmedicalist #anti transmed #anti transmedicalism

[female-malice]

The progressive governor candidate in my state did something so awesome recently.

One of the right wing trolls in the local government went on a rant demonizing the whole LGBTQ+ alphabet.

And the governor candidate denounced him. But he only denounced his homophobic remarks. He did not say anything about any other letter beyond LGB.

All the progressives in my state noticed and attacked him for it immediately. And his campaign released a statement saying basically their goal is to speak clearly about one issue at a time. That statement implies the candidate sees LGB and TQ+ as seperate issues.

I love it!!!

Every radical queer in Washington State is furious but there's nothing they can do. This candidate is the best candidate we have for the governor's office.

It's awesome to see a Democrat campaign view same-sex marriage and gender identity as separate issues. A rare moment of clarity after nearly a decade of mind-numbing pseudoscience.

[genderisareligion]

Gender is pseudoscience.

Starts with a conclusion, works backwards - "Gender has always existed and is innate in each individual" "What about people who don't feel it? What about the fact that we can trace the word's usage and see that it didn't start being used this way until the 20th century? What about the fact that it was originally used to describe roles, not the actual people performing them?" "I can't hear you"

Hostile - "Detransitioning is like being an ex-gay" "Okay, but being gay doesn't run the risk of medical malpractice or require HRT/risky surgery" "Neither does being trans" "Then why do any of you do it?" "Kill yourself. Punch/kill/rape a TERF" "What's a TERF?" "A homosexual woman or anyone who agrees with their sexual boundaries"

Vague jargon - "AMAB/AFAB/AGAB" "Oh, you mean terminology exclusively used by intersex people to describe and try to prevent their various medical malpractices?" "No it's a hate crime for doctors to correctly determine the sex of dyadic newborns in the hospital" / "TME/TMA" "Oh, so socialization does matter? AFABs have to constantly watch their backs because they might be internalizing some cis woman privilege? What about AMABs?" "Kill yourself"

Beyond the evidence - Deadass someone once said to me that HRT "changes your DNA and every cell in your body." All I had for her in the moment was "Lol"

Cherry picking - See this post

Flawed methods - And this one

Feel free to add more examples.

#shadow.txt #I think the last 3 are addressed already but

[carnivorousyandeere]

Alright more thoughts— specifically about Marcus with afab Darling and kegel balls. Please heed the warnings, this one’s fucked up

More Unethical Pelvic Floor Therapy with Marcus

( MDNI, No Age in Bio DNI )

CW: abuse of power, gaslighting, unethical medicine, intentional bad medical advice (leaving kegel balls in for extended periods can actually fatigue your muscles and damage them; any company suggesting you do this instead of actual exercises is working from pseudoscience. If it’s your kink to leave ‘em in a long time go ham or whatever… just know the risks), smut, dubcon, overstimulation, painful fingering, painful sex, mating press but no talk of actual breeding

Info: gn afab reader

Your physical therapists had recommended you start using kegel balls— “it’ll help with your mood and disgestion!” Said one. “It’s a great workout, helps keep you healthy,” nodded the second. The last insinuated it would improve your sex life— as if you’d had sex with anyone but the three of them since you started visiting their office.

None of them had really explained how you were supposed to use them, so you figured your best bet would be to ask Marcus. The other two would insist on “showing you how to use them,” and you’d just end up fucked out in one of their offices again. When you asked, he just laughed a little and pushed up his glasses, typing away at his computer and not sparing a glance, as if you should already know the answer.

“You lube it up, with as little lube as possible, and slide it into the vaginal canal. Then, it should rest rather comfortably near your cervix, much as a tampon might. After that, you just let it stay there for a few hours while you go about your day. Your pelvic floor muscles will contract as you go about your day.”

“Oh…” you feel your face burning. “Is that… it, then?”

“Mm?” Marcus finally glances up at you. “Yeah? You shouldn’t keep them in for longer than eight hours at a time. And if you think the ones we’ll be sending you home with are too big, or you experience any pain or unusual discharge, come back in right away.”

~~~

You made it a few days. The feeling was strange, though not unpleasant— at first. You could feel it inside you as you walked around, though if you ignored it the feeling began to fade. You did notice yourself squirming a bit more, finding it harder to get comfortable. You felt… full in a way you hadn’t before. Eating and drinking made the pressure in your gut all the more noticeable. You tried not to think about it too much, and took it out at the end of your day as instructed, even though the lack of a string to pull it by was a little difficult.

The second day, you had a little trouble inserting the ball, though not too much. You did notice a small ache as the day wore on, and that your underwear felt a little more… wet than usual. At the end of the day, though, you were able to take the ball out and relax.

You woke up hot and wet the third day. You felt a little tight, but the ball slipped in without much trouble. You couldn’t focus on anything, though. Your abdomen felt so tight and hot. You feared you might leak through your underwear, and had to come home early to try and compose yourself. But try as you might when you got home, you couldn’t get the kegel ball out. You’d gotten too tight, painfully so. Embarrassed and needier than you could remember being in a long while, you pulled your clothes back up and make your way to the clinic for Marcus’ help.

~~~

It doesn’t take him long to figure out what’s going on between your panicked expression and the sweat beading at your temples, even as you struggle to tell him what’s wrong. Marcus coaxes you to undress. You lay back on an exam table, and Marcus quickly dawns a sterile mask and a pair of gloves, spreading lube over his gloved fingers. You hiss and flinch away when his fingers ghost over your clit. You see Marcus’ glimmering eyes narrow over his mask.

“You kept that damn thing in for hours a day, didn’t you?”

“Y-yes, you… told me to…”

Marcus’ eyebrows shoot up. “There’s no way… that’s far too long… your poor muscles must be so fatigued.”

He slides a finger inside you, eyebrows raising even a bit further when the tip of his finger meets the kegel ball still lodged inside you. “You couldn’t even get it out again… poor baby.”

He ignores your pained whines as he slides his finger in and out, adding a bit more lube to ease you. He doesn’t want to permanently injure you, after all… You tense and tear up as a second finger begins to slide in. Marcus shushes you, holding your hip with his other hand and brushing his thumb over the skin.

“You’ll be alright, we’ve just gotta open you up enough to pull it out.” He scissors his fingers gently, working you open. His eyes rove hungrily over your form, following the tears that drip from your eyes and devouring your pained expression like it’s a fine dessert. His pants feel much too tight.

Eventually, Marcus is able to grab the small ball and gently wiggle it free. You let out a sigh of relief and slump against the table when his hands leave you, and the ball thumps onto the table then clatters away onto the floor, forgotten as Marcus’ hands come back to spread you open to get a good look. Your folds are wet and puffy, much more than from the lube. Marcus twitches in his pants, fighting back a groan.

You tense again, wet eyes darting to him in surprise when you feel his finger testing your entrance again. “M-Marcus, please, it’s too—“

“Sore?” He interrupts. “Yeah, that’s what happens when you don’t listen to me. And if I don’t massage out these muscles now, it’s only gonna feel worse on down the line.”

You whine, turning your face to the side as Marcus slides that finger deeper inside and slides his mask down with his other hand. He kisses your cheek, tasting the tear tracks there. You shut your eyes and nod. It’s all you can do.

Your muscles are just too tight, clenching painfully around around his thick fingers as he works them inside. He spreads you apart a little bit more, keeping up the pretense of helping to relieve the ache in your core, before his fingers find that sensitive spot inside you. You jolt at the feeling, a lightning bolt of strained pleasure that has you gritting your teeth through the stars in your vision.

Marcus shushes you as you pant and groan at the strange feeling building in your gut, his fingers working that spot ever more harshly. He reassures you that everything’s going to be okay. He kisses your cheek, your forehead, strokes your hip with his free hand. It’s the most painful orgasm you’ve ever felt, but the relief that follows as you gush around his fingers is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. You go boneless against the exam table, covering your face and willing your heart to calm down.

Marcus’ fingers still, but only for a moment. He curls them again right before you can catch your breath.

“M-Marcus, no, it hurts, I can’t-”

He curls his fingers harder, breathing in your pained whine as his lips ghost over yours.

“I’ll help you feel better, but you need to relax.”

“I can’t,” you sob.

“You can,” he insists. “Be good and let me help you.”

You sob harder, finding yourself nodding again, relinquishing control over yourself as you let him work you over on his fingers again and again. You feel so tired, so achy, the burning pleasure rubbing your nerves raw like sandpaper.

Marcus relishes in your cries, making you cum twice, then thrice, before losing patience and slipping his scrubs down to rub his cock against you. You jolt and cry out even louder as his tip brushes over your clit. Marcus bites his lip, fighting back a groan at the sight. You look so pretty, tear-stained and incoherent.

He can’t help running his hands up the backs of your thighs, slick with sweat, and pressing them firmly against your chest as he slides in. Marcus stays still for a moment, savoring how hot and wet you are. You’re so tight that every twitch of him inside you makes you gasp with the discomfort. He knows you’re only going to be more sore in the morning. The thought of taking care of you, so weak and helpless, only makes him twitch even harder, moaning against the shell of your ear.

#darling passing out #waking up with jelly legs unable to walk the next morning 🤭 #Marcus taking care of them and offering to ‘kiss it better’… by which he means gently eating you out #but of course; gentle as he is the next day he still overstimulates you on his tongue again 🤭 #so how much rest is it really? 🤭🤭🤭 #oc marcus #yandere therapist #my thoughts #yandere #yandere oc #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere cw #mdni #nsft #yandere smut