Why do I need a Womens & Trans only queer event.

When ci/het-men ask me “Why do we have to have Women and Trans only events in the BDSM scene?” it is usually followed by the statement “It isnt like I would ever do anything to hurt someone in the scene” I have an immediate reacion. To vomit, all over their 401K, 120grand a year shoes. Mostly because when I am “asked” this they do not want me to actually answer, they want me to nod in agreement, and that in itself is a reason for needing the space.

Why do we have to have -anything- only events/spaces? : because that group of people is TELLING YOU they would like to have and potentially feel as though they need that space. Youve totally heard that it is a blast and you are sad you cant attend too? Guess what, it is a blast. It is a blast because people like you arent there. There is no ego, there is no pompe or posture, there is no insecurity that cant be cured by a harmless puppy pile and a cookie, there is no unwanted objectification, and there is always consent and communication.

Everyone who attends these events has different reasons for wanting to keep these events ‘private’. One of the most common reasons is comfort. You may argue that you are comfortable so therefor why shouldn’t everyone be comfortable – if only it worked that way oh privileged one. I would like to cover a few of the sentences/ideas that have been posed to me during these sorts of “conversations”.

“It isn’t like I would ever do anything to hurt/objectify someone” : do you know who says this? People who don’t check their privilege and end up “unintentionally” hurting people. In other words being too focused on their own pleasure to be aware of another persons well being. Do you know who has said this to me? My rapists. People who have coerced me into situations I did not want to be in. This sentence is the sexual equivalent to “I’m not racist, but…”. You say you want to play nice with the big kids who negotiate consent? So put the work in, stop the “I would never” crap. Words don’t mean a whole lot when promises can be broken, and broken promises lead to broken trust. Instead of using your words, use your body & mind to give us space. As for objectification, we spend all day comparing ourselves to what we think other people will like. Even if we tell ourselves we don’t (or we don’t seem as if we are one of those people) in some small ways we do. Adding that mentality into our play time doesn’t allow us space to decompress our identities and express our appreciation for other female bodies.

“I don’t see gender/colour/economics” : Do you understand what you are saying when you say this? I get where you are coming from, when I thought I was an ally I used to say this. And then I actually got thrown into the deep end of dating queers, dating QoC, and being catapulted into a new economic bracket after having lived most of my life below the poverty line. What you are saying is “The only discrimination I face is when people of diversity don’t want to play nice with me because I am a ignorant to minority plights so Ive come up with this band-aid phrase to hopefully appease them without actually having to do any work”. You are completely discounting an entire group of peoples experiences as not worth noticing. Why would they ever want to spend their recreational time with you?

“Where is the fun in having a no cocks BDSM party?” : Scuuuze? At what point in time did women as a whole body become dependent on cock for our main source of validation? Where was I when that memo came out, cause bitch I ain’t ne’er got it. While it has been driven into womens heads that we need a sig-oth to be valuable many of us are not hetero and do not feel like playing into your saviour complex. As it is we have enough terrible media telling us that we are nothing without a male counterpoint to save us from the big bad world that the patriarchy created. If we want a space where the big bad world doesn’t even come into play, and we don’t need anyone but ourselves – who are you to come in cocks a blazing?

 “I dont have an ego, so that isnt why it upsets me” : I’m sorry, but Shuuut Uuup. Every one has an ego. Outwardly proclaiming you don’t have one is a lie, and is just a cover up for how self important you think you are. The less you insisting you are, the more likely you are to be included. So many Tops & Doms in the scene train their subs to learn patience, so take a lesson from your own books boys and cool your tits.

“I am all about consent and communication” : So please listen to me when I communicate that I am not consenting to you being in my space.

(I do recognize that there are real actual Gems of cis-het dudes. I have several partners who are, they always gives me a pat on the ass and a kiss on the forhead without question when I say I am off to one of my womens only events. But sadly the number of “WHYYYY”‘s greatly outweighs the number of “HURRAY”‘s)

Who is she?

“Oh, Her.” comes the answer. Because he can’t tell you. Can’t tell you that they used to sit around in their sock feet, drinking 2 bottles of wine and arguing over the skeletal features of wombats. He can’t tell y9ou about the those kisses they stole on his stoop while his friends were upstairs. Can’t tell you that he entered her life right when she needed him, maybe he doesn’t even know. He can’t tell you about the way she would grasp his hand when her shyness would tumble over her like an errant wave, or how sometimes they would watch terrible TV shows from her hometown, based on her hometown. He can’t tell you how sad she was when his calls stopped coming, or what she did with her life after that. But he knows she was just fine because she was perfectly functional before he found her, and he left her that way when her phone no longer blinked with his messages.

That is who she was. Who she is now is a stranger. They exchange words, but somehow after those kissed the words just seem topical. Like a bandage applied to wound that healed a long time ago. But how does he tell you that. So his answer comes out “Oh, Her.

Who is he?

He’s just an old friend.” I fell inlove with him once. We were sitting in the parc, my back against his chest and I could feel his heart beat. I can’t tell you that though. He used to listen to me cry. My cry face, the one you’ve never seen? He used to wipe up my tears with his dirty bandana, smearing dirt and mascara across my cheeks. He would tell me that my cry face was just as pretty as my smile because it belonged to me. He would look at me from across the hall, as if I was something breakable a fine china piece not to be used or mishandled in any way. He was the one who fixed me, fed me, fed my mind, fed my sexuality. He used to let himself into my apartment at 4am, crawl into bed with me smelling like earth and sweat, and just hold me until I woke up. He left me a whole person, but in pieces that needed to be puzzled back together.

But how do I tell you that? How do I say that sometimes I wish I could still talk to him the way I used to. And that I certainly can’t talk about him the way I want to. So “He’s just an old friend”.