Imagine, if you will, two trans women naked on a dirty mattress. It’s on the floor of a room as barren as a rotting womb, concrete floors and fluorescent lights split by spackle drywall barriers. One’s hand is tangled in the other’s hair and they kiss, one exhales and breathes smoke into the lungs of the other, and the one is riding the other, their bodies moving in perfect unison, their pupils dilated from marijuana and raw, unadulterated lust, and they are not prude and proper, they are lascivious and vulgar.
The act is profane the act is profane they are slick with sweat and the one on top is scarred and the other tattooed, and there’s a cockroach crawls out of a discarded beer can and the room smells like stale brew and sweat and sex, sex so hot it’s turned rancid and so debased it’s become holy, and they’re trembling, and they’re breathing, and they’re bleeding. Kurt Cobain is playing behind a cracked screen and a 41% battery life remaining, and it smells like teen spirit but it’s 2025 and neither of them have been teens since Kurt Cobain was sucking air.
She is a bundle of trauma held together by obligation and self loathing, she’s a web of neuroses full of sugar and cigarettes. They aren’t making love because she doesn’t believe in it and she wouldn’t know it if it tore her face off they are fucking, but when all you’ve known is hate a slap is a hug and a fuck is a proposal and if you’ve never known love you’d never realize you’ve fallen in it, so you’re not making love you’re fucking and this isn’t real but it’s the most alive you’ve ever felt and if it isn’t real then fuck reality, fuck the hate, sink your teeth into her and feel her nails rip into your back.
Hope is a poison but it is so sweet when you’re licking it off her cock.
So lick and kick and suck and fuck and yearn and fight and breathe and live and never, ever stop. If your existence is profanity then swear until your throat bleeds because if To Be is a sin then there’s no reason to hold back because a sin made flesh is love made hungry and if I am a sin, then I will sin until the Devil asks for pointers, and I’ll feed him estrogen and sweet hope until she realizes that life is a sin and freedom is a sin and existence is a sin so fuck your blessings and give me damnation until I’m bleeding and she’s so close and she’s so close and for a moment
It is tender and it is sweet and it is safe and you would die to protect her future and she would die to see you smile and the only way for you both to do that is to live.
Then they finish, and reality tries to reassert itself, but she has her in her arms and she is petting her hair and they are kissing and they’ve never known love but if this isn’t it then the real thing must be shit.
They kiss, and they sleep.
Imagine, if you will, two trans women asleep on a dirty mattress.
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