POWER OF THE FEMCEL ARC: I am not a slut, and now I am better than all of you.

If you think you’re having a hard time, I can honestly assure you, that no, you actually aren’t: as an American, I honestly believe I am the most important (and oppressed) person in the universe, and God is specifically bestowing holy condemnation upon me — but these issues far extend past my skin allergies (which make me need lotion that burns my skin). This divine punishment has been cruel, but perhaps, in the era of monkey pox, life saving? Because you know, if anything happens to my face, my life is over: my personality and inner light are not bright enough to withstand disfigurement, so I proudly follow that tangent with this fact: I am a born again virgin. I have reached 6+ months of abstinence — which, as we know, means the factory seal has regrown.

What I thought was action to protect myself actually ended up being my latest punchline: I, Anya, the author of the Bussy Beat, a girl more ran through than Magnolia Bar’s entrance by automobiles, a girl so in love with dick I once detransitioned for an evening to hook up with a gay man, a girl who’s throat was more used in 2015 than your turn signal has ever been, have been utterly dickless by choice. What the fuck did I do to myself? How did I get here? And why, in addition to giving me a false sense of moral superiority over literally everyone around me, does it feel… Good? Was abstinence truly the answer we needed? Am I, who was once more pro-sex than a church auntie around a tall pastor, now… A prude? I don’t need men to punish both my heart and my asshole anymore — spicy food is perfectly capable of that.

It all began in October: after what felt like another overly intimate sexual encounter, I began to feel drained. Tired. Used up? I had reached my sexual limit. Perhaps it was age, perhaps it was hormones, perhaps it was just general disinterest and disappointment in men? Mercury in the microbraids, 5G in the gatorade, hateration in the dancery? I wasn’t enjoying sex with men, I wasn’t enjoying feeling used by men, and I always simply felt like a sexual fantasy rather than a living breathing person: after entertaining the idea maybe I didn’t even *like* men and attempting to experiment with a super hot (super hot!!!) woman and rudely finding out I didn’t like women and definitely liked men, I felt… Defeated. I’ve grown tired of the onslaught of DL men, married men, annoying alcoholic closet case men, men who need rides, men with hair nose rings, men with girlfriends, men in bands, men who wear ponytails, and men who kiss you and then ignore you for two days and then try to act like everything is fine later — I’m burnt the fuck out on dick, and not an inch of dick has ever been worth how men make me feel.

I’ve always fixated on one particular experience that many queer people share, since we’re here and I’m openly saying “I hate sex with men!!!”, and if I could give some form of advice, I’d want to say is actually completely unsuitable for trans women — Grindr: the cursed app. Invented by gay men, it prioritizes the way men have sexual fantasies and the uh… behaviors associated with manifesting them. And if you’re a woman on Grindr, what else would you expect other than to be treated like a man? Only in this realm would closeted men who won’t even tell you their name attempt to grab your home address and expect you, a woman, to invite them in secretly. Is it simply delusion, or the culture created by male sex? Why are we, in a year of health hazards and disasters, still concerned with the elements of quick, faceless sex? While to some men, this seems like a funhouse of dom tops, to women, this presents a problem, and that problem is sold to us as being “sex positive”. Be a slut, or be a prude — and for transwomen especially, as we inch out of sexual behaviors and concepts conditioned by malehood and embrace ourselves as feminine, this is especially pernicious, as, mentioned in my previous article: a lot of us are sex workers!

I find that for a lot of people, sex positivity is less positive and more reckless: while everyone is autonomous and bodily contact with another person can mean nothing and be meaningless, should it be? In an era where human connectivity is higher than ever, why do we settle and seem to enjoy such… passionless, emotionless activities and make that a norm? Not to be overly critical, but every self proclaimed slut I know is deeply in need of a therapist and have emotional complications and almost always attach to someone who they fuck once and then ghosts after — so is our sex positivity, the dispassionate view of sex really as progressive as we’d like it to be? Sex workers require physical and mental downtime, decompression: why do we, in certain circles, promote the lack of objectivity of humans and have irreverence towards an activity that is labor? What is our diminishment of this labor, and the impact it has upon people?

I personally cannot settle for the feeling of one-off encounters, the fetishization it presents, and the circles it’s tolerated in: personally, I’m all for condemning sex of this nature, and if I were to be maaaaybe a bit problematic, I’d even condemn the people who promote it recklessly without considering the wide array of problems people have that may interfere with a “sex is sex” mindset: personally, I used sex as a method of self harm. If I was lonely, if I required validation, if I craved something I couldn’t have or was depressed, I would have sex. I would participate in male sex culture because of it’s convenience, throw myself to the wolves to have short bursts of emotional, complicated, and physically overwhelming experiences.

I still struggle with aspects of self harm and mental illness, but since slowing down and recognizing that not everything has to proceed with getting used like a fleshlight and spat on, my emotional and physical health has been a lot better… still bad, though: remember, I am perpetually suffering the weight of my existence and 200% density wigs. This isn’t to say that sex is “bad” or should be demonized, because that’s reductive and more harmful — but I think it’s fair to say that sex and the modern approach to it is… not for everyone, and at times, extreme sexual behavior is best left to the professionals. Not everyone is capable of having detached, emotionally healthy sex: so why do we treat people who avoid it as prudes, and why do we ignore the very real effects hypersexuality can have on those who are mentally ill, or systemically marginalized?

Going forward, I hope to reclaim the part of myself that enjoys sex: but for now, I literally don’t want anyone touching me and the concept of it makes me want to vomit. I’ve had enough hypersexuality, and the time has finally come for complete and utter sexual revilement. Maybe one day, I’ll unleash the hyuck-gluck 9000 on some man again, but as of this writing, that shit is limited edition, and if you ever had the pleasure of it, stop DMing me because it’s not happening again. Unless you’re one of my very specific hyperfixations: then you’re getting hole. I don’t make the rules, and like all emotional stances I take, I will make an exception if you manipulate me good enough.

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