Time for a new Constitution!

After endless debates about the intentions of the Founding Fathers of the United States, I propose it’s time to start over with a new Constitution. I based mine on the current Constitution as well as several other inspirational documents. I blended the Bill of Rights into the body of the document, and even consolidated a couple of them. My perspective would be best described as “quite a bit left of Ghandi.” I even sent it to the current USA administration, though I’m sure no one ever looked at it.

Election 2016


The night of the election, I gave up watching about 1:30 am.  Pennsylvania was slipping red, and the only states where Hillary was strong were too weak in the Electoral College to give her much of a chance to win.

I slept until about 8:30 that morning.  I pulled up my phone and checked Facebook to see what happened.  My friends were all in mourning.  My first thought was to leave the country next fall.  Germany, England, New Zealand, anything to get out of the United States for the next four years.

I dragged myself out of bed and went downstairs to check the news on TV.  Sure enough the nightmare was true.  Drumpf had a strong lead in the Electoral College, and none of the undecided states could alter the outcome.

I started reading more of my friends’ posts on Fb.  Some plead not to think of running away from the country and instead to stay and fight for our rights.

I felt bad for realizing that my middle class privilege led me to a very selfish initial response.  Save myself.  Run from the threat.  Get out of Dodge.  Most of my friends are half my age and don’t have that luxury.  They are stuck here, and have to fight.  Hope to survive.

Some said ‘we survived Bush, we can survive this.’  I almost didn’t survive Bush, especially the second one.  I got so stressed that I was becoming homi/suicidal.  The only way I saw out was to kill – maybe someone else, maybe myself.  Now I have a far better support network than during the Bush administrations, but I’m not eager to manage that level of stress, especially since I now have the added stress of being an out trans woman.

This leaves me with three major options.

  1. Stay with my first thought and leave Philadelphia and the United States. I don’t have great credentials to find another job in academia, but it should be possible.  If I chose this option I’d probably finish fixing up my home and sell it.
  2. Stay with Drexel. I have a long history with Drexel, but the recent management changes make my future there uncertain at best.
  3. Stay in Philly but look for another position. There are lots of colleges nearby, a change of scenery might be good, and I could keep my home this way.


The logistics of career choices are easy to lay out.  Facing the fact that my closest friends are facing President-endorsed verbal and physical assault is too painful to imagine.  Facing the fact that I am facing President-endorsed verbal and physical assault is unthinkable.

I don’t know if I have the strength to fight this Administration.

Salon piece, October 2015

The Awakening



Prologue: Being a scientific sort like some people (look at Susana), I’ve noticed that readings here tend to fall into three categories.  Some pieces are wishful thinking; I don’t tend to do those.  Some are introspective, I do a lot of those.  But this piece is the third category:  just bragging!

Backstory: Hi, I’m Jennifer, and I’m a transsexual lesbian.  *wave* Two and a half years ago I came out to myself as transgender.  Since then I’ve come out to my friends, family and work; and am now legally recognized as Jennifer by a host of state and federal agencies.  Ten months ago I underwent gender confirmation surgery, so in addition to going through second puberty from hormone therapy (lift boob), I’ve been exploring my new body (spelled p-u-s-s-y) sexually and sensually.  These are my stories.

A very fine lady was my girlfriend through transition and recovery, but she finally had to admit she wasn’t 100% comfortable with my being trans, so we parted ways romantically in the last couple of months.  This left me with the problem and opportunity of being a free agent.  In the past I became reclusive after a breakup, and I was determined not to do that again.  Loneliness sucks.

A good friend was going to a play party last weekend, so with their implied endorsement I braved coming too.  It was held in a big apartment in the gayborhood that doubled as a yoga studio.  Well worn carpeting, tons of cushions and pillows everywhere, meditation sayings on the walls, you get the idea.  I expected Ringo Starr to be just around the corner.

The party was led by two people from the Deep South who led the fifteen of us through games for the first couple of hours.  Learning to explore someone using all five senses one at a time.  I had never consciously just smelled someone’s body before.  We fed each other fruit and chocolate and pretzels with the receiver’s eyes closed. We practiced enthusiastic consent.  Asking to touch someone and asking to be touched, without always getting a ‘yes’ response.  Asking for the absurd with guaranteed acceptance.  (Ask a man in the audience if he’s fuck me in the ass with a pink sparkly dildo while singing an aria from Carmen.  Answer for him “Yes, I’d love to do that!”)  Telling a stranger our sexual identity and preferences, STD testing status, and how often we use protection for sex.

All this was preparation for Open Play Time.  Now I had been to play parties for the mostly BDSM scene, but they had clear limits on nudity and sexual activity, so those were a lot of whipping and bondage scenes.  Here everyone was sober but there were no limits beyond getting consent, so I raised an eyebrow the first time I walked past a couple happily lost in a blowjob, or someone eagerly spanking a very exposed and wet pussy.  The moans filling the air made my clit tingle with anticipation.

I knew a couple at the party, and so we soon fell onto an air bed on the floor and started petting each other.  Trixie was in the middle between Janet and I, and we lavished attention on her very full breasts and stroked up and down her legs, teasing her pantied pussy along the way. Meanwhile soft flogging and deep cries filled the air from the St. Andrew’s Cross around the corner.  I remembered how much I love the sound of ecstasy.  My clothes found a pile in the corner as I got comfortable.

Then it was my turn to be the center of attention.  I laid on the air bed, naked as a jaybird, as Trixie and Janet admired my new body for the first time.  Janet was a little shy, and contented herself with sucking my breasts and flicking my nipples now and then.  Trixie kept stroking me closer and closer to my pussy, and finally mustered the courage to ask if she could play with my pussy.  I eagerly agreed.  Copious lube helped slide my pussy to a very warm state, as Trixie cautiously explored inside me for the first time.  I noticed occasional people passing by our little party, and thought what a brazen hussy I must look like.  I quickly went back to the moment.  Valerie came along, and seemed very interested, so we invited her to join the party.  She took over fucking my pussy, getting more aggressive than Trixie had been and started slapping my clit.  I jumped the first few times at the intense sensation, but then started enjoying it more and more.  Janet got braver and started stroking my clit while Valerie focused on finger-fucking my pussy.  I heard myself added to the chorus of moans, drawing more and more attention from others. I savored their happy and approving gazes. There I was with three people licking and fucking my body as I moaned like a whore in heat and writhed on the bed, and I came to accept and fully own the most obvious realization for anyone who knows me:

I am completely and utterly a slut!