
Grace Joe Lavery said:The boy I'm gonna Yoko is... well, not to strain the point, but he's honestly kind of famous? You've probably heard some of his stuff, even if you haven't heard of him or his band. Actually that's part of the problem. Anyway he's got this... following, I guess? They're kind of like... really into him? It's so funny. They follow everything he does. It's so funny, so, so, so funny, and I'm going to take everything they love away.
The boy I’m gonna Yoko is supple, flexible. He can touch his toes. His arms bend back when I put him in stress positions. Then I let my friends take a ride. We do everything to him, we call him names and slap his face but we are careful not to lay our fingers on even the outer fringes of his ego. We call him “slut” and “faggot.” We put him in a harness and sling him around the room like a pebble. [...] In a sense, the whole experience is a long meditation on the powerless of the fans, the fragility of their compensatory fantasies. Bless! I fucking love to ruin things.
A woman writes to Mallory at the Dear Prudence advice column, concerned that her husband isn't willing to pursue overdue payments from his business clients, and is therefore losing money that he is owed. Mallory's response:
Daniel Mallory Ortberg said:I’m almost curious if your husband has an unacknowledged thing for findom and might find relief in turning “losing” money into a sex game between the two of you.
[If you don't know, "findom" is "financial domination," a kink in the BDSM world. Which has absolutely nothing to do with this poor woman's question about her husband's shitty business practices.]
Mallory is a well-educated daughter of preachers, she has a massive corpus of inspirational writing and imagery to fall back on. We know why she actually trooned out: to keep up with her troon husband on the woke totem pole instead of remaining a boring "cissy", and to reframe the sexual degradation he inflicted on her as her choice (because women get talked into degradation, as she was, but masochistic men get tied up and whipped by tranny hookers and still remain in control). Mallory is freakishly intelligent by cow standards because she's only here due to Lavery.
Grace Joe Lavery said:I have met, loved, and been loved by the families of many of my partners. The first family who loved me well was that of my first spouse. When we split up, which we did for the reasons I’ve mentioned, the family turned on me, and that was the hardest part of the whole experience. Since I was an orphaned, or at-least-half-orphaned, child, the love of other families was lavished upon me freely, joyously, and temporarily. Of course that family didn’t wish to be kind to me once I had left them. That would have been a category error.
The second spouse, and family, loved me in a very specific way: as people who want to be better than their religious orthodoxy will let them, love a cad whose picaresque charm attracts them, while allowing them to fantasize about saving a soul. That ambivalent desire and repulsion has followed me in a number of domains of my life (I have come to think of it as a trans girl thing), and it tends to be more erotically charged than one would expect. Not the first spouse-mother, but the second and the third spouse-mothers, had little crushes on me.
Perhaps mothers have crushes on their kids’ partners; perhaps that is a general thing. Anyway those frissons felt healing and lovely, rather than predatory or unsafe. I knew one would never move beyond the lightest, gentlest flirt once every year or so - it seems ridiculous to even imagine that it could. It was just a spark, a little warmth in the relation that felt secret and shy, a little gentle eroticization that let me know that my new pseudo-mother loved me, that they were at least as attracted to as concerned about the aspects of my personality about which they expressed the most voluble concern. Their bad faith relation to me precluded, in general, honesty with themselves or the world - but this I always knew, and didn’t mind. There is something cruel in me, there. A dicktease for moms.
Grace Joe Lavery said:On or around my birthday, I went into the city for the first time. I was wearing skinny jeans (I was thin, then), a little glittery make-up, and a tight black crop top with a silver print of the silhouette of Brigitte Bardot, with the caption BARDOT. I had a discman and was listening to “Miss E... So Addictive” by Missy Elliott, repeat playing “Get Your Freak On.” I sashayed into the MOMA, the bhangra-inflected opening of the track rattling around my hips, and stood in front of that big Pollock canvas, shaking my skinny ass to the beat.
I did this a couple more times: a few weeks later, I met an American friend from Oxford downtown, he took me to a gay bar in the village and I think we made out a bit. I only heard Missy Elliott. That same month, New York had introduced a smoking ban, which annoyed me, since I smoked a lot and thought about my immediate physical needs almost constantly. At some point I realized that American girls liked to kiss British boys, and that was fun too - I realized I had a kind of gift here that didn’t work back home. Some combination of rage, lust, and self-regard - I felt sexy in my jeans, with my art, and my freak on - and, I didn’t want to leave. I wanted sleepovers with porn and kissing with American girls, gay bars and kissing American boys, and art and music and rage rage rage rage rage.
FUCK, I wish I had transitioned a decade ago, or better two decades ago; FUCK I wish I hadn’t had to transition, and was just estrogenated and pussied from the get-go.
