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!


Change is the only constant

This piece was read at the Erotic Literary Salon in October 2014 in Philadelphia.


Change is the only constant
October 21, 2014

Backstory: In April of last year I came out here as transgender, only two weeks after realizing it myself. This story continues to overshare the very rapid changes in my life as a result of this surprising revelation.

My greatest challenge now is being seen as halfway between male and female. I finally braved asking the gym at school what their policy was on transgender members. They had handled this issue once or twice before, and told me it was fine to use whichever facilities with which I was most comfortable. I soon got a locker in the ladies’ locker room and used it the first time, what I thought was without incident. Shortly after leaving the gym, I was approached by two very large uniformed campus police officers. They said they had received reports of “a man using the women’s bathroom.”
I promptly corrected them that I was just using MY locker. They asked my legal sex (which was in complete violation of school policy), took down a huge amount of personal information, and repeatedly told me that 1) I had done nothing wrong, but
2) I wasn’t supposed to use that facility for the rest of the day. I was mystified by this advice, but wasn’t planning to return to the gym that day anyway. Fortunately I never heard back from the police, and have had no locker room difficulties since then.

I must confess to sometimes using the gender of convenience™ for bathroom facilities. I’ll use the ladies’ restroom if there’s no line, but switch to the men’s room if there is. There have to be SOME benefits to my status!

I’ve been on female hormones for nearly a year now, and it’ll take another year for my boobs to finish coming in. I’m starting to feel them bounce when walking down stairs or driving on a bumpy road, which at this point is delightfully new. I asked to my date to try a boob-level 69, and found that a wonderful new flavor of foreplay.

My male sense of intercourse is almost gone, since erections are very rare with nearly zero testosterone in your system, but now there’s no wondering if or when we’re going to have intercourse, and no danger of someone rolling over and going to sleep after they came. In short, I’m free to enjoy lesbian sex! A traditional 69 is awkward since it’s hard to split attention between giving and receiving; so we take turns pleasing each other with fingers and hands and tongues for hours, stopping only for cuddle breaks, when exhausted, or in dire need of food. Of course, I understand that in order to get certified as a lesbian, I have to attend at least one Indigo Girls concert.

My office has been completely cool with my coming out. Now I wear skirts and dresses to work on an almost daily basis, and get knowing smiles from many of the staff ladies. I don’t think the men know what to make of me … they seem mostly confused.

I’m on women’s teams for soccer and dragon boat racing. It still feels odd to be on a team referred to collectively as ‘ladies,’ but the more I embrace my feminine identity the happier I become. I recently even switched my Facebook identity to Jennifer.

All of this makes being legally still-a-man puts me in an awkward position when my identity is becoming solely female. As a result I’ve made plans to complete my transition in December. I have scheduled gender confirmation surgery with a local plastic surgeon. While I’m scared of surgery on such a delicate and vital area, I’m also completely comfortable with my decision to do so. I’ll have the holiday break to begin to recover from surgery, and in January I’ll start the formal name change process.

This means that by the end of 2015 the transition from Glenn to Jennifer will be physically and legally complete, and I can spend the rest of my days living and loving
as a woman.