So I’m writing a series called “after the island” and it’s on AO3 and it started out as one thing and rapidly turned into a series of stories about being queer in the ‘70s. Which inevitably will lead to a series of stories about being queer in the '80s. And everything that entailed, which was brutal. I’m not going to lie. I was born in the '60s and having the opportunity to write about people and places that aren’t with us anymore has come to mean a great deal to me and I’ll probably be writing this series until the day I die even if people stop reading it. Lol.
I just hope that the world never goes back to a lot of the dark places the queer community has been in my lifetime and I hope I’m able to get across the joy we experienced as well as the pain.
I also hope that should the world take a turn for the worse, these stories will be helpful to somebody out there the way they would have been to me back in the day.
I think I will always write this series with love and remembrance until I myself am in need of remembrance. ❤️
I was just talking about this in my previous post but it is weird how men will zero in on my chest. Men try to be surreptitious. They think they’re sneaky. They’re not. They’re really really not. Lol. I thank God I have two breasts and that they are healthy. Men low-key kind of suck though. Lol.
*** and if you’re wondering why I don’t wear more modest t-shirts that go all the way up to my neck, it’s because they strangle me. Also, I should be able to wear whatever the f*** I want. ❤️
Men started surreptitiously and not so surreptitiously touching my breasts by the time I was 11 years old. I am now in my ‘50s and while men definitely look at my chest more than they look at my face men don’t try that shit anymore.
The student nurses tell me I have “Resting Scorched Earth” face.
