Just found out that “Julian” from this post, is now an associate professor at The Prestigious University we got our PhDs at.

God, I feel jealous, and like a total fuck up.  Screaming children and all.

I’m too tired for this shit.

Rachel, the first girl I ever lusted after was maybe the first person I was actually sexually attracted to, as opposed to the weird chaste crushes I would develop on any boy who was nice to me.  And actual sexual attraction, particularly for a girl, threw me for a loop.  Overnight, I decided that I was done trying to avoid the pleasures of the world.  I abandoned Christian Science and God and decided that I was evil.  And while I’m happy being an atheist, I’m sure it wasn’t helpful for me to spend so many years thinking of myself as bad.

Rachel was part of the nerd girl group that took me in when I was the new kid sophomore year.  We had all the honors classes together and she was the GM of our role playing group.  We both had long scraggly hair and were androgynous in that way where you look more like a sketchy long-haired guy than any of the normal markers of being butch.  She rebuffed my probably none too subtle advances, and I ended up switching my overpowering crush to Carmen, since she was much more into romantic stuff like holding hands and letting me smell her hair.

And then, half-way through junior year, Rachel stopped talking to me.  At first she would still talk to me when we were playing roll playing games, which was weird and awkward, and then she reorganized the roll playing group without me, which was probably for the best.  She got a short fashionable haircut, stopped wearing her ratty old jacket covered in snarky buttons, and wore a strapless dress to prom.  She almost got suspended for running away from a chorus trip to spend the night with her former councilor from music camp, a guy who was at least ten years older than her.

Carmen followed me out of the nerd girl group, and we ended up cobbling together a new group of friends.

Rachel and I hadn’t really talked in years (though there was a sort of reconciliation when the nerd girl group got back together once during college, and we all kind of decided we didn’t have much in common any more).  And we’ve been FB friends for a while, in that vague disconnected way where you Like each other’s baby pictures.

And I just found out from a mutual friend that he pretty recently transitioned, and I want to send him some kind of note offering friendship and support, but that seems weird and out of the blue.  And I should probably spend a little more time working out my feelings over our history.

Tags: teen angst

clarawebbwillcutoffyourhead:

I want to make a master post of your favourite sex worker books, from trashy memoir to labour theory! Please add on and I’ll keep editing this post to include additions.
@leighalannaworn-smoothmarginalutilite
toomuchperfumeifiwakeinthemorningilikethatnoisetransluminescence

I don’t want to talk over the sex workers in this thread, but having been invited to talk about books, I can’t resist adding my two cents.

I’m not sure that I could give an unalloyed recommendation for any of these.  But I’m interested to get other people’s opinions.

Probably my favorite is Danielle Willis’s writing (a lot of it is here: http://www.languageisavirus.com/danielle_willis/ also check the #danielle willis tag)

The butch perspective on their femme sex worker partners in both Leslie Feinberg’s Stone Butch Blues and Lynn Breedlove’s Godspeed (spoilers: it’s not particularly nuanced in either case, even though the books are set 30 years apart).  Also Luke Davies’ Candy for the economics/tensions of a drug using couple where the woman brings home the majority of the money because she’s a sex worker.

Heather Lewis’s Notice, because I want everyone to love her work (though House Rules is probably the more readable book).  Caty Simon’s essay is required co-reading

I’m currently reading (i.e. I started reading them at some point in the past and haven’t given up on them yet):

David Henry Sterry’s Chicken — not that you always need to get a man’s point of view, but so many of the arguments about sex work are so gendered, it’s interesting to see how it plays out with the genders reversed

Colette’s La Vagabonde — because, historical

I’m still working my way through Captive Genders (ed. by Nat Smith and Eric A Stanley).  I mostly bought it for the piece on pre-Stonewall activism in the SF Tenderloin.

nowthisisgothic:

  • stills from “Cardinal Newman” by Nervous Gender, 1981

(via nemesissy)

insidethevisible said: My first kiss with a girl was much better. I was 17 and it was at a party at my friend's house. The girl was from another school and was 15, but was already out, and I must have been following her around like a puppy all night, until we ended up on the back porch kissing with a view of the Bay. I think we ended kissing for about an hour, and maybe we would have gone further, except we were at my friend's house, and anyway I was saving myself for my best friend (a whole other teen drama).

clarawebbwillcutoffyourhead:

ok if you want to tell me I would love to hear about that someday! Anyway, good job!

The story’s toward the end of this post

ericdamanstyle:

#THROWBACKTHURSDAY!THIS WAS MY ACTUAL PASSPORT PHOTO IN 1993! XOXOE

Looking eerily like Felix from Orphan Black

ericdamanstyle:

#THROWBACKTHURSDAY!THIS WAS MY ACTUAL PASSPORT PHOTO IN 1993! XOXOE

Looking eerily like Felix from Orphan Black

Tags: eric daman

ericdamanstyle
forprancyboys:

Photo Fred H. BergerModel Eric Daman as Peter MurphyFor “Murphy In Furs,” an editorial for Propaganda Magazine

Currently the costume designer for Gossip Girl.

forprancyboys:

Photo Fred H. Berger
Model Eric Daman as Peter Murphy
For “Murphy In Furs,” an editorial for Propaganda Magazine


Currently the costume designer for Gossip Girl.

Tags: eric daman

"At the heart of every culture is a set of experiences which members hold not onto to be worth practicing, but also necessary to maintain and transmit to those who follow. In the case of a sexual subculture, one often has only one way to do this: by embodying the traditions. …The subculture and the virus require the same processes for transmission"

Paul Morris “No Limits: Necessary Danger in Male Porn” (1998) quoted in Tim Dean’s Unlimited Intimacy (2009)

There is a very similar question of intergenerational transmission of disease and knowledge among IDUs.  I remember a harm reduction seminar about 15 years ago recommending that young people be discouraged from getting high with older people to protect themselves from HIV.  The argument seemed to be that the older IDUs were only acting as a reservoir of HIV and HCV, and were not also a reservoir of practical and historical knowledge and culture (because that role should belong to harm reduction organizations).

But I’ve been thinking specifically about how the knowledge and culture of sexual identity is transmitted from one generation to the next, and the role that sex plays.  “Unlike other cultures, nobody is born into or inherits queer culture: it becomes one’s “own” culture only through modes of invention and appropriation” (Dean, Unlimited Intimacy).  So there is always a question of transmission of or induction into queer culture.

I  think the experience may be different for girls than it is for boys.  When I was a teenager, I did a lot research, read a lot of books. Combing through used books stores for whatever I could find — Audre Lorde and Joan D Vinge, Weetzie Bat and City of Night. A battered copy of the Penguin Book of Homosexual Verse.  A Maximum Rock and Roll piece on the history of the word punk.

And I think a lot of boys scoured films for coded references (as described in the Celluloid Closet).  But a lot of boys in my cohort also had a more hands on introduction. I heard a lot of stories that ranged from objectification (think Queer as Folk UK) to frank abuse.  And I got the impression that that was a lot less common between women.  When I was a teenager, the women I had sex with were in my age group — friends from high school, women I met at the Mix (an all-ages gay club in Berkeley), fellow college students.  And that seemed to be pretty strictly enforced.  Older women were not interested in me.  Which was an important way to protect young women, but also left me invisible to the larger lesbian community.  Older women were pretty openly dismissive, making it clear that they didn’t considered me old enough to be taken seriously.  And while the spaces that catered to gay men were inappropriately lax about checking IDs, lesbian bars and clubs seemed to go too far in the opposite direction, and I several times had to talk my way into places that I had legitimate ID showing I was old enough for.

In a very frustrating episode my first week at college, a 20-year-old I met at an MIT dance took me back to her dorm room, and then recoiled in horror when she found out I was 17.  We spent the rest of the night respectfully cuddling in her too-small bed.

(Though part of my problem might have been Boston/ San Francisco  2nd wave/ 3rd wave culture shock — I was young, bisexual and the wrong kind of androgynous.  Often mistaken for a scruffy, long-haired guy. I was later told that no real lesbian would believe that Djuna and I were a couple, since we didn’t look like [Boston-style] lesbians.)

The issue of how important sex (and specifically the pick-up scene) is to queer community is something I’m still chewing on, as a bisexual woman in a monogamous straight relationship.  And honestly, most of the sex and relationships I’ve had with women (aside from that brief period of picking up girls at the Pacific Center and the Mix when I was 17) have been related to Rocky Horror, Goth clubs, or the drug scene of the Lower Haight — outside of any kind of official queer space.

bitter69uk:

Androgynous, crop-haired 18-year old Nico (“possessor of the most haunting wraith cheekbones of the 20th Century” according to Vanity Fair’sJames Wolcott) in her fashion model days in Paris (1956).
I’ve blogged about Nico many times: her contemporary Marianne Faithfull reflects on Nico here; the historic encounter When John Waters Met Nico; Nico’s 1960s modelling days; how the old jazz standard "My Funny Valentine" (and heroin) connects Nico with Chet Baker; and  finally, When Patti Smith Met Nico.

bitter69uk:

Androgynous, crop-haired 18-year old Nico (“possessor of the most haunting wraith cheekbones of the 20th Century” according to Vanity Fair’sJames Wolcott) in her fashion model days in Paris (1956).

I’ve blogged about Nico many times: her contemporary Marianne Faithfull reflects on Nico here; the historic encounter When John Waters Met Nico; Nico’s 1960s modelling days; how the old jazz standard "My Funny Valentine" (and heroin) connects Nico with Chet Baker; and  finally, When Patti Smith Met Nico.