Content: A brief discussion of trans and nonbinary phobia, exclusion, & JKR’s new book. Erotic fiction. AFAB Genderqueer character, D/s power exchange, fluffy smut.
Well, it looks like JKR is at it again. The author and TERF (trans-exclusionary radical feminist) just published a new book after spending the past six months being a total shit to trans and nonbinary folks.
Surprise. Surprise. The primary plot is a not-so-thinly veiled attempt to prove that trans women are men who want to kill women. Yeah, she’s trotting out that tired old trope.
Seriously, has she never seen Dressed to Kill?
If you’ve never seen Dressed to Kill, don’t bother. It’s a Brian DePalma vehicle that shames sexually active women and paints trans women as deranged killers.
I’m so very tired of her and her cadre of vipers. It’s obscene that someone with that much power is committed to being such a shit to trans and nonbinary people. The number of trans and nonbinary people murdered in 2020 surpassed 2019’s total in AUGUST, and the vast majority of those people were trans women of color.
I’m genderqueer, and the blatant attempt to make folks whose gender doesn’t fit the binary, especially trans women, is painful. I hate knowing people think the journey to self-acceptance for trans and nonbinary folks is nothing but delusion. How can someone be so careless with their words and actions when people are murdered just for existing.
It’s a horrible, disgusting abuse of power.
So, on top of fighting for liberation, I felt like it was time to put another smutty love-letter to my trans and nonbinary family out into the world. Cygnet Springs is a fluffy love story about exploration and acceptance. And some BDSM.
What, like you didn’t know there would be some kink. Have you met me?
Enjoy. Be well, be wonderful, and above all, be you.
Cygnet Springs, Part I
Oliver leaned his head on his left hand as he guided his pickup down a lonesome ribbon of asphalt. His lover, Jordan, was stretched out asleep beside him.
The shaggy fringe of their bangs was pushed up where their forehead met the passenger-side window. A small oval of fog pulsed and faded as their warm breath huffed against the glass.
He and Jordan had been together for a year now. Each of them had begun feinting toward the use of more permanent language to describe what they shared. Phrases like stay with me forever, and I swear, came up in conversations over breakfast as often as they were breathed out against each other’s bare skin.
They were everything Oliver had ever hoped to find in a partner. He smiled, sparing Jordan another glance.
Six hours north of Arcadia City, the landscape climbed from lowland farm country to rocky foothills and long, unbroken swaths of forests.
A sign sprung up in Oliver’s headlights. Cygnet Springs, 2 Miles
Oliver reached over and sifted his calloused fingers through Jordan’s hair. Driving through the night, he’d missed the feeling of Jordan’s long, muscular body pressed against him as they slept. Shifting in their sleep, Jordan angled their head toward Oliver’s touch, like a bloom seeking the sun.
Their official anniversary was at the end of the week, and Oliver had been planning. Together they would spend the week exploring and deepening the dynamic that had become integral to their relationship.
Both wanted to experiment with allowing Oliver’s dominance and Jordan’s submission to inform not just their play, but also their day-to-day experiences. What would happen, they wondered, if they lived this dynamic outside of their playroom?
The memories of the last time they played were still fresh.
Jordan’s comfort with their own body had grown in leaps and bounds since they first started seeing each other. They were more confident, embracing their body without fear. Oliver relished watching his lover learn to trust their body. There was a time when they couldn’t see their cock as a part of themselves when they wore it or believe their lover accepted them without reservation.
But loving Jordan’s body was never a challenge for him, and that night Jordan wore their cock with pride.
They were nestled against Oliver, their back was pressed to his chest, their skin was flush and hot. The shaft of their cock dripped with lube while they stroked themselves and ground their clit against the delightful little bullet tucked into the harness strapped to their body.
Oliver encouraged his lover to go slow and keep a loose grip. The motion created a gap between the vibe and their clit, drawing out their pleasure. They writhed against him, tears of frustrated arousal spilling down their cheeks.
All the while, Oliver bracketed their body with his legs, chin hooked over their shoulder and watched. He poured filth into Jordan’s ear, dragging the falls of a flogger over their thighs. The calf-skin, laying down an enticing whisper of sensation. A dirty tease.
“That’s right. Go even slower, darling.”
“Are those tears for me or your poor little cock?”
“Beg me to let you fuck your fist.”
His stomach dipped and clenched with anticipation.
He thought of the small velvet box in the bottom of his suitcase. This week would mark the beginning of a new journey for them both. They would build a life together, and he couldn’t wait to start this next step in their adventure.
Oliver had become so lost in thought he almost missed the exit.
The exit ramp spilled onto a two-lane country road. Turning east, Oliver saw the horizon beyond the trees blushing with the first light of dawn. The directions had guided him through the twisting, mountainous country-side. Soon he was turning onto another road, reaching over to shake Jordan’s shoulder.
“Wake up, sleepyhead, we’re here.” Oliver glanced away from the road to watch Jordan blinking and rubbing their eyes.
“Woah. You weren’t kidding, we really are in the middle of nowhere,” Jordan’s smile chased the last of their sleepiness away.
“Would I kid about something like this?”
Jordan snorted, shaking their head.
Oliver slowed, steering onto a country road that looked like more of an overrun hiking trail. They rumbled and jostled for another fifteen minutes. The longer he drove, the more he began to worry that he had read the directions wrong.
The friend who had offered up the cabin had said it was off the beaten path. But this felt like less remote and more like they had fallen off the map’s edge. He was contemplating turning back when the forrest thinned and a small log cabin peeked out from among the trees.
“Hello, Ansel Adams,” Jordan whistled.
Aspens crowded together, slender and pale as young girls gathered together in a schoolyard. The wind rustled their branches, toying with the leaves like hair ribbons.
The cabin was a one-room affair, just a large bed, a wood stove for heat and cooking, a small washroom, and a kitchenette. Jordan fired up the cabin’s generator. Oliver swaggered a little more than usual as he carried their duffels and bags of provisions inside.
While their accommodations were spare, their provisions were not. They’d stowed away with plenty of beer, whiskey, a few rashers of thick-cut bacon, eggs, bread, steaks, and potatoes.
After storing their food away, Oliver found a cedar chest full of linens and made up the bed. Once the bed was made, they stripped and tumbled into it together, reaching for each other even as sleep overtook them both.