Bricked and it’s completely different this time but also still Bricked

As I commuted to work on a sweaty Friday morning in April, I wondered to myself: if it’s been in the 80s in Brooklyn all week, what’s it going to be like in July and August?!

Sure, all of the planets were in Aries that week. There was bound to be some heat.

The fiery and auspicious times have continued. I’m coming back to this in late July, during the week of the Aquarius Full Moon. This powerful, visionary Buck Moon happened opposite the Sun hanging out with Jupiter in Leo. In her Astrology of the Week Ahead podcast, Chani Nicholas, Astro-Bestie to many, referred to this Sun-Jupiter conjunction as a divine “meet-cute,” encouraging us as individuals and the collective to consider our creative goals for the next year. I’m trying to gain some momentum with this column as well as other writing and personal projects. I’ve been writing, clearly, but sometimes my Aries-self struggles to get these posts across the finish line.

For the first time ever, I’ve been Bricked Up in Nun Mode for more than a full week. If you’re like, what the fuck is she on about, you missed out on some of TSB’s winter activites.1 Sure, it started with healing up from my latest round of filler (lip and cheek), followed by a cold sore (no kissing when my mouth Herpes flares up). Having a cold sore reminded me of the oral gonorrhea I tested positive for just before leaving for last year’s trip, but if I learned anything from The Odyssey, it’s that if and when the Gods and Goddesses punish you, you should probably listen to them.

To be in Nun Mode for a full straight week, at the beginning of fun and flirty Leo season, is an accomplishment for my co-dependent, addiction-riddled tranny self (that’s my word, not yours, unless you’re also a big T-Slur). Sure, my newish doll-faced roomie, Maria, may have soft-dommed me into Bricking up, but I’ve stayed Bricked on my own volition. Am I enjoying it at this point?! It took a few days, but I’ve actually enjoyed the break. Nevertheless, I’m almost ready to get back out there.

As I prepare for my next Euro Trip, leaving in a few days, I’m hoping to have some fun and meet some cuties during my travels.

In general, I still long for hot sex and cuddles after. A second date. Something something something real. TSB’s Day 1 Fantasy still holds true. My lonely heart still yearns for a legitimate relationship with a deep emotional connection. While I’ve been trying to raise my standards, sometimes in my loins, my gussy (yes, girl pussy) I still crave the allure of casual sex. Sure, it can be disappointing, but often enough, the risk feels worth it.

Euro Trip 2025: Recap

Back to that humid April morning, in the sweaty pits of hell that are the lower levels of the Atlantic Terminal Barclays Center, someone walked by, a Calvin Klein label sticking out of their low-rise pants, showing off half-decent quality designer/brand undies.

A memory gets triggered.

Last summer. Trans Pride in London. Late July, 2025.

I met a different Calvin Klein, one that I would never want my mom to know about.

It was the penultimate night of my 2.5 week long UK / Euro Trip with my bestie Axe (she/they but an Aquarius so pronouns are irrelevant).

We flew to London and stayed at my sister Lydia’s flat in northeast London. Those first few days I was waiting to be cleared of oral gonorrhea, which I got my shot for the day before leaving. So, like any good girl slut, I laid the groundwork for the last leg, since I knew I’d be back in London. Even since my genderfuck nonbinary days of DIY muscle crop tops and cut offs, the chasers of London have been chasing. I let them. A handful of times they’ve gotten lucky. A few times, so have I.

Ofc, the fleeting nature of Gr— means chats can go anywhere or nowhere, so who knows what my DMs would be like two weeks later.

In between that time, Axe and I headed to Berlin for a few rainy days of getting stoned, drinking decent coffee, thrifting in Neukölln, and a relaxing nudie spa evening that was a highlight. My last full night in Berlin, finally cleared from the oral gon, I got fucked outside for the first time ever, in the misty meadows next to the canal.

My first morning in Ireland, after an ass-crack flight out of Berlin, Axe and I were waiting to check into our Inn. I hit the apps, luckily finding someone steps from the Inn. I traded blowies with this Indian guy with a sweet smile who had moved to Dublin recently. The rest of the week we were out in the country. The West Coast of Ireland is gorgeous!! While I had hopes of meeting this one baby-faced footy-playing dad who loves his pints like he loves his femmes, it didn’t pan out.

It was a Thursday night when we flew back to London from Dublin. I was ready to end my trip with at least a bang (or a few).

London: The Last Leg

Night #1: The Romanian Dad

We got back to my sister’s Northeast London flat kind of late on Thursday. I hit the apps, and as Lydia and Axe were both brushing their teeth, I was getting ready to take a quick cab ride to residential Walthamstow. On that dark, quiet street, in a ground floor flat, The Romanian Dad was home alone with his black and white cat.

It was 2:00 am and he was hanging out, smoking cigs, snorting lonesome lines of coke, and going on the apps. I declined the coke, told him it’s not usually my thing. He was chatty, and in between doing lines, he wanted me to fuck him on the couch in his living room, surrounded by the artistic stylings of his children. I sucked him off before I bred his tall, doughy body. I was into the glasses, shaved head, and beard of him all. I tragically left my best and only cobalt blue cock ring in his shower. After years on hormones, the c-ring is one of my keys to topping. He did offer me some dry, old weed which was a score for my side quest of helping Axe find some greens. Post-coital, I smoked a couple little spliffs, knowing I should probably head home soon.

When he told me his mangy cat had fleas, I knew it was my cue to go. Within moments I had left, smoking a cig while I waited outside for a car on that eerily tranquil street. He still messages me sometimes, telling me he misses me and that he still has my cock ring. Unfortunately for him I’ve replaced it, and I won’t be risking the fleas next time I’m around.

Night #2: Intro to The Haddock

Before I go on, I must tell you about The Haddock. My sister lives close to one of Europe’s largest urban wetlands. These wetlands feature a public park area of trails, bushes, and clearings called The Haddock. I first stumbled upon The Haddock during a shorter visit to London in the Spring of 2024. I gravitated towards the clearing with the picnic tables, sensing the park’s Cruising Aura. Even with no one around, on one of my early-morning jet-lag-fueled coffee/cig/journaling walks, I could tell this was the kind of place where people cruise and have public sex. Before leaving, I did end up having fun with some guy I met on the Grind, for my first sexual foray in The Haddock. He was local, Afro-Caribbean, 24, tall, cute, and a wee bit shy. He seemed nervous until I squatted, sucking him on a dark, gravel path. He looked around a few more times, but his shyness dissipated as he grew inside my mouth. Fully erect, he pumped his thick, uncut cock down my willing throat. After swallowing his cum, I finished myself onto the path below. He made sure we got out of the park before the gates closed at midnight.

Back in 2025, Night #2 started off with the only meeting I had with someone I talked to on the first leg of the trip, while I was still out of commission. Pretty sure his name was Jack, a British 20-something-year-old lad. We had chatted multiple times, exchanged sexy pics, and he seemed eager for me to suck him off. I showered and prepared before leaving the flat, not sure what I was getting myself into. Jack walked from somewhere 20 minutes away, meeting me at The Haddock. I brought Jack to a park bench. He pulled down his shorts, and I started sucking him. A few minutes later, despite my diligent effort and assured dick-sucking prowess, he wasn’t getting hard. He tapped me on the shoulder.

“Sorry babe, I don’t think it’s happening tonight…” Jack said quietly yet firmly.

“Oh, okay,” I replied. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just a bit tired…” he said sheepishly.

“Did you smoke weed?” I had to ask. I know that kind of tiredness.

“Yeah, I’m so tired…” he trailed off.

“Okay, gotcha.”

Too bad I couldn’t get Jack off, but it wasn’t a big deal. Whether he was too stoned or not as into me as he thought, it happens sometimes. We parted ways and he disappeared down the busy road, while I went to smoke a cig by the canal. Who might be next?

Back on the Grind, there was this sweet New Zealander who was half Irish. He invited me to his loft and here he and some other artists lived. It felt a bit like East Williamsburg in 2014, very DIY; like I vaguely remember climbing up a ladder and can’t remember how solid the walls were. He fucked me with a condom (responsible) on his raised mattress that wasn’t quite a bed frame. It was fun, we made out hard, and he gave me a decent pounding, but I don’t think either of us came. He also blamed his sleepiness, but at least he got it up for a while. We chit-chatted about nothing too interesting, before I rolled up a spliff and walked about 20 minutes back to the flat. Oh yeah, before I left I bummed a nug off him, too. Another 5 points for my side quest. I felt like I owed Axe, considering we were sharing a pull out couch bed and I knew they had trouble going back to sleep after I returned home from my nightly shenanigans.

Trans Pride

The next day was Trans Pride. Believe it or not, I did more than have slutty sex on this leg of my London trip. You should believe me, but if you’ve kept up with TSB, you might be skeptical.

Trans Pride was magical and beautiful. Along with the global rise of fascism, transphobia in the UK has been marked by a unique brand of vitriol. From legal attacks on trans rights, limited access to healthcare, and celebrities who shall not be named, Trans people across the UK have been fighting relentlessly for recognition of their rights and livelihood. The unity of UK trans activism is palpable, as London Trans Pride beat its own world record for the largest gathering for Trans Pride. It was an immense gathering of 100,000 strong of trannies, nonbinaries, queerdos, weirdos, bisexuals, and their accomplices.

I attended with Lydia and Axe and was thrilled to meet up with Guy, one of my nonbinary trans-masc housemates from my time at uni in Montreal.

I loved it. We marched for miles through downtown, I mean central London. We screamed for a Free Palestine, howled for trans rights, and chanted “Bottoms, tops, we all hate cops!” ACAB, indeed. Part of something bigger, I felt empowered and energized by the revolutionary spirit that permeated the London air.

After marching, we sat in St. James’s Park, engulfed in the masses of London transsexuals with their friends and lovers. We chatted, lounged, smoked a spliff or two, and painted with some watercolors Axe brought in their day pack.

Looking around at the T-Slurs in all their glory, I couldn’t help but feel a familiar sense of melancholy. There’s this simultaneous comfort of being around all these queer and trans babes, while still feeling lonely. It’s not just traveling, being in a city that’s not my home. I feel this loneliness in Brooklyn, too. I know I’m not the only one who feels lonely even when surrounded by community.

We mosied down to Soho, London’s historically gay and now touristy area, for some fish and chips, followed by some decent gelato. The sun was setting as we made our way back to northeast London around 9:00 pm.

As Axe and Lydia were watching either Bad Sisters or Fleabag, I was glued to my phone, cruising the Grind. For me, Trans Pride festivities weren’t over yet.

My night was just about to begin.

A few questions remained:

Would the night of Trans Pride in London actually be the sluttiest night of my life?!

Would any dicks be broken in the making of my column?

How wet would the Wetlands get?

Would I finally get my fix?! What would it take to get me there?!

I was lucky to galavant around the UK and Europe (fuck you, Brexit, for making me differentiate) for 2.5 weeks in the summer of 2025.

London, Berlin, and Ireland. This is the first installment of a multi-part series detailing TSB’s sexual adventures across Europe last summer. Read on to find about my salacious fun, minor misfortunes, and to find out how many loads I actually took outside last summer.

Public and Private Sexual Health

Sexual health is important. Unfortunately, my ambitions of a Slutty European Summer started off with a less than ideal result. Still in Brooklyn in mid-July, I got tested on a steamy, hot Tuesday. I was preparing to leave for my trip on Friday. It was time for my trimonthly gamut of tests that accompanies my Prep prescription. That night and the day after my usual oral and anal swabs as well as blood and urine tests, I checked my clinic’s healthcare portal religiously.

I found out the next day that I tested positive for oral gonorrhea. Just oral? Was it that guy I sucked off in my car in Ridgewood? It doesn’t matter where I contracted the oral gon, but a girl can’t help but wonder.

Something about testing positive just for oral gonorrhea felt demure. I got my big shot in the butt ASAP that Wednesday, which meant I had one week til I could confidently say that I was negative. Not clean, because that language stigmatizes sexually transmitted infections (STIs). We don’t do that here.

One week without sex meant that I would be celibate on my first London leg, and would be halfway through my Berlin expedition before I could frolic uninhibitedly. Phew. I knew I could do it but did I want to?! Not really.

I arrived in London Saturday morning and tried not to be on “Gr–” too much that first day. I tried to be present with my biological sister as well as my bestie/travel companion Axe (she/they) as we wandered around some of northeast London’s wild wetlands. I continued to stay off the grind (mostly) as Axe and I later stopped by one of Dalston’s oldest dives, Superstore, and newest lesbian lounges, which I sincerely hope is still open next time I’m in Londontown.

The next couple days I logged onto the apps a few times, trying to plant seeds since I’d be back in London on the tail end of the trip. It can be hard to know which prospects to take seriously, but let’s just say I’d be back in those wetlands under different circumstances in less than 2 weeks.

I had wholesome fun exploring South London in Peckham and going to a day rave with Axe in Hackney Wick. Axe and I departed London, arriving in Berlin on a gloomy Tuesday morning. Nothing like melancholic weather to tempt my inner slut.

Day 5 since my shot, and a couple days into my time in Berlin, I was horny and antsy. I scoured the internet hoping to find a reputable source that would tell me the gonorrhea was likely out of my system. Plus, I had taken Doxy Pep right after getting tested but before my results came in- surely that counted for something?! (Nowhere could I find evidence that it did).

Abstinence prevailed, and I fulfilled my public health duty. Staying sexless for a full 7 days post-antibiotic shot, I didn’t meet anyone until a wet Wednesday night.

I’ve had sexy fun my last couple times visiting Berlin, but Berlin isn’t nearly as interested in me as London is.

Ofc I could still find some guys, but London feels like chaser central. We’ll get back there later.

Snafoos

I ended up meeting up with a tall, 6’ 7” beefcake of a man, but as often happens on Gr-, there had to be some logistical snafoos first.

Axe and I were staying in Neukölln, the Bushwick of Berlin, in Axe’s college ex-boyfriend’s apartment. He stayed with his Ukrainian girlfriend and we were lucky to have our own spot.

We did one of the edgiest things you can do in Berlin: not go to any clubs. The weather was shit and we were happy to lay low, walk around, smoke spliffs, thrift, and go to the spa.

We were leaving for Dublin Friday morning at 6 am, so Thursday night was already a wash. We’re in our 30s and those asscrack flights aren’t for the faint of heart. Wednesday was our last full night. We got home from the spa by midnight. Feeling refreshed and rejuvenated from my time being around all these nude Berliners and tourists, I couldn’t help but cruise the apps.

Guy #1 was cute, strawberry blonde, German. Nice smile. We were messaging back and forth in German (ja, ich spreche auch deutsch) and he wanted me to come to the bar where he was meeting some friends he hadn’t seen for a while.

While I appreciated the offer to meet his friends before sneaking off to the bar’s bathroom to trade blowies, I was too blissed out post-spa to consider entering a bar, even if Neukölln’s bars usually feel like dimly lit cafes.

He agreed to meet me at the bridge over the canal, an 8 minute walk from the apartment where I was staying. We had already walked a decent amount that day, from the Schwules (Gay) Museum through Tiergarten all the way to the Spa close to Hauptbahnhof. Okay, there was some bussing in there but I was already well walked for the day. Little did I know this wouldn’t be the last time I walked to the bridge and back that night.

By the time I got myself together enough to walk to the bridge the first time, he stopped responding. I smoked a cig or two, impatiently refreshing the app. I ignored other messages and waited for him to slide into my inbox. Momentarily ghosted and moderately flustered, I walked back home.

In case you haven’t gathered by now, when it comes to guys, especially cute ones, I can be a bit of a sucker. Now, while I have had my time and energy taken advantage of many times, I also (try to) practice non-attachment. G—r can be a fleeting and flaky place. I’ve had enough guys seem serious before ghosting to know that until someone is in my doorway, we’re face to face, or another close configuration of body parts, there’s no way to tell if the meet up will happen or not.

He messaged me when I got back to the apartment, all apologetic. I was annoyed but determined to have some fun so I let him convince me to come back to the bar. He said he’d come out and meet me and we could find somewhere outside to have fun. Okay, great. I sighed audibly to myself. I was not so enthused at this point, but my post-oral-gonorrhea stubbornness won out. Axe had long been asleep, though their side eyes wouldn’t have stopped me and they probably wouldn’t have even tried.

As a TS does, I got back out there, strolling into the Berlin Night.

I was about to get to the bar, a solid 13 minute walk (5 mins past the bridge), when he messaged me… die Bar macht gerade zu. They were about to close.

Ok…

I walked up to the bar and he came out to meet me. Tail between his legs, he told me he couldn’t hang out.

What the fuck?! …disappointed, I told him how annoyed I was in a mixture of German and English. Ärgerlich. Doofer Esel.1

Feeling embarrassed, frustrated, and slightly used, I stormed away. I smoked another cig, huffing and puffing on my walk back to the bridge, where I rolled up a spliff.

Back to the grind…

Beefcake

This guy who had eagerly messaged me earlier was still in his car in Friedrichshain, a couple miles away.

He was tall, 6’ 7”, Arab, handsome, Turkish, maybe. Ready to drive over. I asked if he was down just for head and he said that was fine. I told him to meet me at the bridge and dropped a pin. I smoked my spliff and waited. 20 minutes went by…

What was taking him so long?

I think I dropped a pin earlier when I was talking to him at home so when he said he was by my place…I didn’t think much of it. My spliff was done and I traipsed back to the apartment. Again, I found myself doing the 8 minute walk from the bridge to the apartment for the 5th? 6th? time that night already. Somehow, it wouldn’t be the last. I thought I would see him on the way, and was confused when I didn’t. I was once again outside the apartment just for him to say…

I’m at the bridge.

I’m a sporty girl, happy to get my steps in, but I have my limits. Whether it was my exhaustion or the mix of our communication in German and English, it took a lot for us to get to the same place.

What am I doing this for? Will this really be worth it? I could’ve been sleeping on that mattress in the living room, but the demonic slut within me was the imperfect storm of determined and stubborn.

I had two more bridge walks in me. I trudged back, finding him smoking a cigarette on the same cement block where I was 15 minutes earlier. The same cement block where I had smoked spliffs and cigs throughout the evening. It started sprinkling a bit.

A misty, wet evening.

I didn’t mind, and he didn’t seem to either. I wish I could tell you his name. Stephen is the only name that comes to mind when I think of him, but I don’t think that was it. He was well groomed and smelled as strong as he looked. We chit chatted auf deutsch, walking along the canal past a playground into a park. There were a couple paths in between the canal and the residential neighborhood. It was quiet, 2:00 am at that point, maybe later. We found a spot close to the intersection of two paths. We didn’t see anyone around. We were hiding in plain sight. Sure, at 5’ 11”, I’m a tall lady, but with his 6’ 7”, we were hardly conspicuous.

Did we kiss? Certain details escape me but I remember looking over my shoulders, feeling the thrill of getting naked in public as I pulled down his sweatpants and started sucking his thick, solid cock.

I stroked myself as I sucked him, assuming the squat position with my adidas track pants brushing up against the dewy grass below.

The mist palpable around us, I was caught in a swirl of erotic passion with someone whose name I wouldn’t remember. High chance I’d never see him again.

Can I fuck you, he whispered into my ear. Not sure if it was in German or English at that point. He asked about a condom and I told him I just got tested before my trip and that was good enough for him. I wasn’t prepared as I’d usually like to be but I got up, dropped my sweatpants to my ankles and turned around. I carried my mini travel bottle of lube with me, so I squirted a dollop onto my fingers and rubbed it onto my hole. I took deep breaths and told him to go slow as he entered. He started slowly and then he thrust. I was just as ready as I wasn’t, but there’s no doubt I wanted it.

No longer on my knees, I could see drops on the wet grass in the dark of night, a few streetlights still shining in the distance, glimmers of light reflecting off the canal. I could see, not just feel, how alone we were. Alone in the middle of the dark, damp night in a grassy park next to the canal. As he slammed our bodies together, as close as they could be in our dewy oasis, I wondered who else had gotten fucked in this park before. It wasn’t your typical cruising area, but it’s hard to imagine there’s much public space in Berlin untouched by lewd acts.

He gave me with his thick, hung cock for approximately 6-9 minutes (maybe less), until he was close and said he wanted to cum in my mouth. I got back on my knees, track pants dampened by the tall grass. Still touching myself, I jerked and sucked until he came, throbbing, as I swallowed every drop of him. I pulled up my thong, hoping there was little to no mess, too giddy to worry.

Dirty girl.

We walked back along the canal to the road. Idk where he parked but I left him by the cinder block where we had both smoked earlier. After we said goodbye I rolled one more cigarette, or was it a spliff? I crossed back over the bridge for the last time that night. I sauntered home, feet and body tired, blissed out by the steamy encounter. I showered and crawled into bed, holding my own load like the chaste woman that I am.

I mostly forgot all the time wasted on guy #1. I tried not to focus on the rejection and his shitty behavior. The Beefcake gave me what I wanted. I got what I came for.

On our last day in Berlin, my friend and I scurried around in the rain to some higher-end thrift stores, hip cafes, and the Rathaus Neukölln shopping center for snacks and souvenirs.

As we approached the bridge on our walk back home, I pointed through a brick arch to the grassy paths of the park by the canal. The rain picked up. I pointed to the paths in the distance.

I got fucked there last night.

I grinned. Axe nodded approvingly. That’s great, bb.

It sure was.

I had my fun and crossed another lewd act off my list: I got fucked outside.

As we wrapped up our time in Berlin, hosting dinner for Axe’s friend at his own apartment, we chatted merrily, smoked and drank, ate wiener würstchen2 and potato salad until it was time to pack up before our sunrise flight to Dublin the next morning.

Momentarily satiated, I knew I’d be thirsty for more soon enough.

I looked ahead to the next stops on my adventure: Dublin, the west coast of Ireland, and the return leg to London, where we’d be for Trans Pride. I had no idea what was in store for me, but I knew the Slut in TSB was far from ready to be tamed.

I have so many stories to tell about my Sad Girl Winter, the useless men I shouldn’t have let break my heart, and the one man who took me out on a proper date with the potential for another. A glimmer of hope as we move towards spring. Those stories are for another day.

Today is for TSB’s penchant for promiscuity. While the world is on fire, this post is meant to be a brief break from the grim reality of the global hellscape.

Dear reader, prepare for the slutty story of a raunchy role play taboo fantasy I didn’t even know I had.

I had just gotten back from a trip to visit family, leaving somewhere north of Boston at 7 am on a Sunday morning. I was trying to beat the blizzard, and returned to Brooklyn in a rainy wintry mix at noon. It was precipitating but not sticking yet. I was bored, and hadn’t snuck out for any fun while staying with my parents. I unbricked my phone from Nun Mode to peruse the apps. The Brick has definitely helped me to curtail my addiction to the apps. And yes, when I’m caged, I mean Bricked, I don’t have access to any of my dating/hook up apps. It’s kinda kinky.

I’ve dipped back into my slutty ways here and there.

I do not regret telling you this. A girl has needs.

Sniffies, the most sexually and morally depraved of the apps I use, has been largely a miss for me here in NYC. It’s predominantly masc men looking for other masc men, catering to DL guys and bros just looking to…be bros with other bros. A handful of times it’s been really fun and helped me to lean into my slutty side.

For those unaccustomed to the vain world of Sniffies, it’s a live map made up profiles primarily comprised of nudes and body pics, with a few stats and brief bios. I saw a set of abs I hadn’t seen before, and noticed that he was into MtFs and FtMs. Sounds like a chaser, sure, but that hasn’t stopped me before. He was 35, 6’, athletic, white, and 7.5/uncut, aka a lovely size and endowment.

Hey, I said.

Hey sexy, he responded moments later. I see you like em uncut.

I do. I see you like trans women.

Yes, I do.

The other information I could gather from his profile, besides him being .75 miles away and apparently able to host or travel, was that he was heavy into role play. Role play is something I’ve experimented with and enjoyed a few times before, though I won’t initiate it.

When it comes to role play, things can get taboo pretty quick.

Before we get too deep, here’s a content warning for step-sibling role-play fantasy.

I asked him what kind of role play he was into and he gave me a list including general dom/sub, boss/employee, and step siblings.

I was intrigued, felt the swell in my loins at the prospect of some naughty, taboo fun.

Do you want me to be your slutty secretary or your little step sister?

Little step sister would be sooo hot.

We exchanged a few more pics. He shared his hung cock with the perfectly round head, I shared one of my best lingerie mirror selfies. Face pics?

You’re so hot, he replied to mine.

His revealed a handsome, kind face. He had a close cropped salt and pepper fade and a strong mustache, which suited him well and he pulled off with ease. He kind of looked French and/or midwestern.

What else are you into? I asked.

Mutual oral and top if it gets there, he said.

Sounds good to me.

In my verse bottom era with my fondness for sexy side play, I had no complaints.

I want you to tease me, he said. Don’t give it up too easily. Make me work for it.

I can do that, I replied.

Wear something cute. I’ll be there in an hour.

Brain and body juices were either flowing or ready to.

My slutty little insides squealed with anticipation. I got to prepping my space. Between roommates, I’m blessed to momentarily have an extra bedroom in my rent stabilized apartment. Furnished with a queen bed that my former neighbors and still besties left behind, my spare bedroom is perfect for the occasional casual hook up.

I grabbed my sex blanket, lube, lotion, fleshlight just in case, and my little sex clutch with condoms, cock rings, and a couple butt plugs.

I hopped into the shower and prepared for whatever Big Bro might have in store for me. Sometimes the gods of anal sex know just what I need and I’m blessed with a clear canal. It barely took 10 minutes to clean out.

I slipped on my black Tuckituppp thong, my thin strapped floral black and blue bralette. I ripped open the package of some crotchless fishnet stockings I had gotten from Purple Passion in the West Village back in December. I finally had the right excuse to use them.

I slipped on my faux silk (polyester) floral robe, before taking it off and adding my (also faux) silk black slip night dress. Another day that slip may have felt superfluous, but he said he wanted to work for it. I was ready for the foreplay.

I was dressed and mostly ready. He said he was on his way.

One more thing…what should I call you? Big Bro? Yes, little sis, that’s perfect.

It was Sniffies after all, the most sex forward and anonymous centered app of them all. I wasn’t expecting to learn his name.

The flurries had been picking up. I saw big, wet flakes falling outside my window. They could’ve led to any amount of snowfall, though anticipation of the historic blizzard was palpable.

It was 3:45 by the time he arrived.

Wow, you’re so hot, he said with raised eyebrows.

As he made his way into my apartment, he took off his sturdy winter coat to reveal wooly socks, slim faded jeans, and a fitted black waffle T shirt. He accepted a glass of water, and took a big gulp. I asked if he was ready and he nodded, so I led him to the bedroom.

Sometimes my biggest hesitation or worry with role play is that I won’t know what to say. It’s like I’m playing Family Feud and all the ideas about a category I would scream at the TV suddenly vanish and my mind is blank. Sometimes I worry I’ll crack under pressure. This time, I was mentally and physically ready.

It’s been too long, Big Bro, I said.

I know.

We were sitting on the bed, awkwardly but tensely sitting with our feet on the floor. Looking at each other.

Are you sure we should be doing this? We almost got caught last time. I crept my hand up his leg, rubbing his strong thigh.

I know, baby, but we used to have so much fun.

He started to relax.

We don’t want our parents to find out, do we, Big Bro?

Remember what it was like when we were kids? The sleepovers we had…? He rubbed the inside of my leg.

I leaned in, teasing him as he leaned back on the bed. I held myself there, close to his face, before planting a kiss on his mustached mouth.

I pulled back. Idk, Big Bro, this doesn’t seem like a good idea. I felt so cheeky.

But c’mon, little sis, I know you feel it too. This connection between us.

Are you sure? Won’t it be harder next time we see each other at family dinner?

Yes, baby, but it’ll be worth it. I want you. I want you so bad right now.

I straddled him on the bed. I could feel him bulging under his jeans as we kissed harder than before. I pulled away again, trying to tease him but struggling to suppress my little step-sister horniness much longer.

I unbuckled his belt, some fine leather with a unique silver buckle. He stood up to continue undressing, the outline of his thick, well-proportioned cock clearly visible under his Calvin boxer briefs.

Oh, Big Bro, I almost forgot how big you are.

He stood there while I sat on the bed. I grabbed his swelling penis in my hand, stroking it nice and slow. I disrobed but kept the rest of my scant threads on. I started sucking and could feel his body heat increasing. He pulled me up, slipping my tiny dress over my head. He grabbed at my fishnets.

Did you put these on just for me?

Ofc, Big Bro. Just for you.

He pushed me onto the bed, firmly yet gently. I laid there in my bra, thong, and crotchless fishnets. My girl cock poking out of my tight tucking thong. I let it. He pulled it more. He sucked me briefly, before putting his cock on mine, comparing sizes. Guys love doing that. He rubbed us together. I relaxed as he took the lead frotting us. As we stood there I could feel my knees close to buckling. Before I knew it, he pushed me back onto the bed. Straddling me, he shoved his cock back down my throat.

I’m not a rough throat fuck girlie. I like to be in control, but I’ll still gag on it.

Bliss swept across my body as I lay there, straddled by this sexy man who was supposed to be my big step brother. He applied just the right amount of pressure for me to choke on his cock. As my head bobbed up and down, my chest relishing the weight of his muscular frame, I started stroking myself.

As he was nearing completion he took his cock out of my mouth and started jerking. His balls bounced up and down on my face. Heavenly.

Can I come on that pretty face of yours?

Yes, Big Bro, yes.

He jerked his thickness, moaning as he jizzed all over my face. He shot some in my hair, got some right in my eye. I took it back in my mouth. He shuddered as I licked the tip, tasting his cum as he said hold on, it’s sensitive. I kept jerking, and he stayed hovering over me, momentarily immobilized. I took his softer penis in my mouth and sucked it like a lollipop. I lay there, my head on the bed, his head in my mouth, and kept stroking. A few minutes later I sprayed my own girly jizz all over my thong, fishnets, and the lower part of my torso. Still straddling me, he had turned to watch me cum. My body convulsed, and I let him take his cock out of my mouth, having savored any last drops.

That was really hot, he said.

He pulled himself off me and I pointed to a towel that he used to clean himself off before handing it to me.

So hot, I gasped, still catching my heavy breath. Long time since I’ve gotten a facial, I said.

I was trying to wipe the cum off my face and out of my eye. He chuckled.

We lay there for a couple minutes before he sprung up and said something about how he better get back before the snow starts sticking.

I lay there smiling, ignoring the irritation in my left eye. I slowly got up once his t-shirt and jeans were back on. I slipped my robe on lackadaisically as I walked him towards the front door.

Can I hit you up again? He asked. Definitely, I replied.

We live so close.

Yes, we do.

He closed the door, locking it behind him. I still felt giddy. Meeting up with Big Bro was exactly what I needed before cozying up in my apartment in preparation for the big blizz. I (usually) don’t care if I clean out but don’t end up bottoming. As I explained in my last post, I’m often down for some sexy side play, especially if it’s our first time meeting. For this encounter, the tension and the novelty of the role play, the way I felt in my body and out of my head, made it a delightful and delicious hook up.

I’m renegotiating my relationship to my sluttiness this year.

I’m burnt out from work. As much as I want to spend more time and energy on dating, sometimes a quick hookup is more accessible and attainable and less emotionally demanding, less charged.

Even if I’m ultimately looking for something more meaningful and worthwhile, I still check Sniffies. My curious, perverted slutty side likes to see whose naked bodies are around. I’m intrigued by the prospect that when it works out, it could still lead to some quick and naughty fun.

Does the anonymity still bother me sometimes? I’d be lying if I said no, not at all.

The next day, snowed in and cozy at home, I checked Sniffies to send Big Bro a silly little message…something like…”hey that was so hot and fun” or “you’re hot and that was so fun.”

Unsurprisingly, he vanished. Disappeared off the app. His chiseled abs no longer 0.75 miles down Eastern Parkway. He probably got his rocks off and was cozying up with his girlfriend, or repenting how he actually acted on some of his deep desires. I mean, I have no idea where my hot Big Bro is now or if I’ll ever see him again. I already knew I might never know his name.

I know, baby, no attachment…

Chappell’s words often ring through my head.

I try so hard to keep it casual, but the yearning for something more, something real, still creeps in.

There’s something so peaceful and beautiful and melancholy about the first night during a blizzard, when the outside is blanketed, bright, and quiet. The city and world slow down, almost to stillness.

What’s next for TS Bradshaw?

Just trying to get through Eclipse Season and Mercury Retrograde, and hoping to feel more resourced for dating and building connections this Spring. For when I fall back into my slutty moods, I’m working on being as intentional a slut as possible. I need to stay bricked if and when I fall into a Grindr hole. I might not always hold out, and sometimes I do enjoy the casual fun, but I’m still looking for love.

They try to hide the bewildered shock coming over their faces. No less than 1 minute after ejaculating on, into, or somewhere near that day’s coveted object of tranny desire, their pants are back on and they’re halfway out the door. Glistening sweat oozing hot passion just a few breaths earlier is now dripping a cold, slippery, dew. Soaking wet. Secret panic.

How did I get here? I have to get out of here. I can’t wait to tell No One about this. Is my mom calling me AGAIN?

They act like they were in a trance (they were), dissociating while enacting their deep desires just for the switch to flip back on and realize, with startling clarity:

I wasn’t supposed to be here.

Suddenly, the intrepid force of my siren ass in a watery pool of brooklyn trannies that lured them to my 3rd floor Crown Heights lair, is met with the forces of the world’s sinister transphobia and all the societal expectations of what it means to be a straight cis man. They’re halfway down the block, app(s) deleted, never looking back.

“Cute place,” said one guy in particular a few weeks ago. “It’s so cozy.” Part of me rolled my eyes at this comment, but the teenage crush in me was winning. Let’s call him Jab. He was a twunk of a Jewish Latino nice boy in his late 20s. He pursued me for weeks and insisted we meet up to cuddle. He ubered from his place in Manhattan. I was smitten. Chitchatting on his way out, he was chipper and chill, seemed happy he came. When he eased out the door, I still had on rose colored glasses hoping this sweet, hot guy might actually want to see me again. For the moment, I buried Red Flags and the inevitable fate of our brief connection.

I accept that the ones I never see again aren’t worth my time. Sometimes it really stings, though.

This is for the other “straight” T Girls

Idk how many of you are like me…hopelessly attracted to cis men. I accept myself but wish it wasn’t true. That the world didn’t make it so hard to be a girl like me. Misandry in queer communities has led me to feel ashamed of my attraction to cis men. Sometimes it’s been hard to admit, both to myself and others, who I’m attracted to.

On this transient journey, outward reflection from friends has helped me to clarify who and what I am. It took one of my loving nonbinary soft masc friends, Dill, to help me claim my straightness. One summer, Dill and I connected through a mutual friend and quickly bonded over swapping slutty stories of our sexual deviancies. They casually called me straight and though part of me was taken aback at first, it’s a truth I’ve become more comfortable acknowledging.

I’m still coming out as straight - when someone’s as visibly queer and culturally lesbian as me, people often think I’m bisexual. I keep “heteroflexible” on my profile just in case the right person comes along, but I know where my primary attraction lies.

There’s nuance to my straightness. In System Failure, an essay from Shon Faye’s book Love in Exile, she talks about the category of heterosexual being created to “other the homosexual, an antagonistic category designed to contain all gender deviants.” Even after transitioning, it feels hard for me to escape assignment to that category. She describes moving “through the world in my pre-teens as a faggot, i.e. a gender defective, an incongruously feminine and failed male.” As an adult woman who is visibly trans, I still feel like I’m thrown into a faggot box. Even if people can’t deny my feminine energy, they still see me as some sort of failed man. I know that’s not true, but it’s hard not to internalize the world’s virulent transphobia.

Shon Faye said that she’s straight as a “convenient fib,” admitting it “tongue in cheek, when a digestible summary of my sexuality is demanded of me.” Even if I’m kind of straight, I agree; the straight box is too limiting for this cis-man-amorous trans woman.

I’m tired of only being discretely digestible. My queerness, aesthetically and politically, challenges everything these straight guys know. They’re drawn to me, horned up, and thrilled by the challenge, while simultaneously terrified of what it means to be attracted to me. They love to hate how much I turn their worlds upside down. Personally, I’m tired of this mindfuck. I’m tired of internalizing their shame.

Privileged/Clocky

I’m privileged in the intersectional hierarchy of desirability. I’m white, slim, athletic. I’m lucky I’ve had access to years of hormones, laser hair removal, and a few rounds of facial filler. But with my naturally broad shoulders and strong facial features, I rarely pass. I still feel very clockable. I am a hypervisible trans woman, subject to ridicule, and at risk of violence. If I was Black, Indigenous, or otherwise racialized, visibly disabled, and poor, the world would treat me even worse and my life would be much more dangerous. The world is an oppressive, violent place for trans women.

I know I’m beautiful, but this liminal limbo land is depressing as fuck. I don’t think anyone else can conceptualize the constant, consistent rejection of a clocky straight T Girl. I’ve agonized over a million tiny heartbreaks from all these DL straight guys. They feed me just enough breadcrumbs so I’ll give them a chance. They treat me like a novelty. I feel like a toy they won with the stupid claw at the arcade. I’m rare and just hard enough to get. Discardable once they’ve claimed their prize.

The way I can score a quick fuck but struggle finding a date makes me feel so undesirable. I know I have to change my patterns and raise my standards. I'm working on it. I’m not going to internalize their shame anymore.

It was a Sunday morning, and I was horny.

Jab texted that he wanted to come over, and it seemed like the moment to make it work. I cancelled plans with a friend I hadn’t seen for a while. During the hour and a half he was over, I fell in love with this motherfucker.

The category was sexy side play (side play = everything but anal) with some really nice cuddles and half decent chat. In retrospect, there were always signs. He was just too cute to be true.

Red Flag #1: App Deleter. We talked on three different apps. On Grindr (old standby) he had messaged me a few times with his cute pics before swiftly deleting the app. A cute shadow. I couldn’t tell you when he first messaged me but it could’ve been over 6 months or maybe even a year ago. Then there was Taimi (so many random, too far guys (Ohio?! Virginia?!) but some of them are actually close and cute). He deleted that one, too. Next, we talked on Feeld. Even though that app’s been a huge disappointment, its roots in the kink scene make it feel more queer and thus, promising.

Red Flag #2 was that on Feeld he lied about messaging me on Grindr. Weird, but I got distracted by that cute face, sweet smile, and tight body.

Red flag #3 was when we were texting and he said he didn’t really like to kiss. This was confusing to me. I wondered… was he really not into kissing? Or was he nervous about my teeny tiny stubble lingering after years of laser? My willful ignorance meant I’d get distracted when he said things like…

I actually just want to cuddle.

Straight guys love to say everything besides let’s have sex. Let’s chill, let’s smoke, let’s cuddle. Everything my queer community has taught me about deep consent conversations and setting expectations before hooking up goes out the window for the mystery of whatever this random fuck boy will bring me.

Jab wanted to cuddle and he meant it. He said that he was too hungover to top but I douched just in case. I crave intimacy, so I wasn’t complaining when he made himself my little spoon. I wasn’t sure how much he was into me but he seemed relaxed and we had a nice time and discussed nothing noteworthy. Our bodies fit well together and he didn’t even pick up the phone when his mom called. After the first 45 minutes or so, we got naked and I mostly sucked him off and ate his ass and we 69’d and it was hot and we both came. It takes me being pretty attracted to someone for me to cum from getting jerked off, but I was horned and he made it happen.

Later, I’d feel stupid crying over someone I'd only known for a few weeks and shared a measly 90 intimate minutes with. He left to go volunteer at the Met and learn about Ancient Egypt. “No one’s ever left my place to go volunteer at a museum,” I told Jab, and he just flashed his sheepish fucking grin. I hate how much I love nerds.

The Final Red Flag was that he told me my apartment was cute and cozy at least twice, but I can’t remember him complimenting me the same way.

I wasn’t supposed to let him break my heart. Now I'm stuck here longing, still the 16-year-old heartbroken girl I never got to be.

When will I work through enough of my shame to stop getting with DL guys who are so clearly full of shit?

I’m worthy of love

I want to say Fuck You, Jab, but it’s not worth it. I texted him that evening to no response. I looked at his Feeld profile again and saw our mutual interests highlighted, threading us together: connection, intimacy, communication, cuddling. He unmatched me the next day.

While usually I’d let a ghoster float away, I was frustrated. On his profile, he articulated values of open and honest communication and disdain for one night stands, so I called him on it. Days later, he sent a half-assed apology.

He was just another guy who wasn’t worthy of breaking my heart.

I know I'm worthy of love, but I still struggle believing anyone who tells me that I’ll find someone. I can’t give up hope either.

I’m more than fuckable. I’m dateable and lovable and in a well of shitty men there have to be some decent ones who are looking for a broad shouldered bombshell like me.

Tuesday was the 9 9 9 ascension portal {9/9/2025 (2+2+5=9)}. This Virgo season has been a powerful time to set intentions. With the Pisces Full Moon Lunar Eclipse followed by this portal, it’s also felt like a time to let go and start anew. I saw 11:11 the night of the 9 9 9 portal and I knew I had to let something go. I let go of low standards. I didn’t log in to Grindr once that day.

These fuckboys test me on how I spend my energy. I will manifest the more meaningful connections and relationships I desire. I’m ready for a fresh start.

I’m dateable &

loveable &

more than fuckable.

I’m worthy

of

Love

XO ~ Trannie

I think about this a lot. I’ve made lists before. I’m addicted to:

Weed, sex, nicotine, Grindr, attention, caffeine…to name a few.

What habits and routines am I trying to change?

I say I want to be less addicted to weed.

I didn’t smoke (weed) today (yet) though I am ready to go to the dispensary after this. Premeditated.

How much time did I spend on Grindr and the other stupid little apps today?

I’m addicted to The Chase.

How many times have I fished for an invite just to back out once I got that little stroke of validation?

Why is my addiction to The Chase so focused on emotionally unavailable men? I want their attention more than most things. He told me he’s sad and doesn’t want to talk and how badly I just want to say let’s be sad together.

Let’s be sad together.

Where is my self-respect and self-worth? Does it always have to be at odds with my addiction to the attention of emotionally unavailable men?

Sometimes I give a more acceptable response: “Gangbang, cumdump, bukkake.” Much more reasonable. The disparate amount of relationship energy I have, coupled with the ease I’ve found accessing casual sex, is driving me fucking crazy.

“How are you still single?” Another common question from guys like Jorgé #3, no wait, would be #4. We first started talking on Grindr, where he made it seem like he wanted a more intimate connection. Love that. Then, I noticed he only messages me during the work day, so I called him on it. “Do you have a girlfriend?” I asked and he said yes, though it’s not going well. Still, he’s cute, sexy, and wants to talk to me so…

The conversation had moved to Snapchat when he asked me how I was still single.

“Because guys like you won’t actually date me!” I scream simultaneously into the cyber-hole-matrix-ether and reply to him honestly. Single or not, the guys I get with, most of them DL (down low, discreet), treat me like a fantasy.

Pride month hits and all of a sudden my Grindr is blowing up like I’m a married cis man in the hotel gym of the Republican National Convention. Pride month is a time when people feel more driven and possibly empowered to act on their curiosities, desires, and fantasies, even if there are limits to how outwardly proud they’re ready to be.

America, 2025. I’m convinced the number of faceless profiles on Grindr has increased since Trump got elected with demonizing trans people central to his dogmatic, fascistic agenda.

Even if their profiles are faceless and often pictureless, behind shadowy masks and blank silhouettes, these guys are clearly watching plenty of tranny porn and fantasizing about being with a well-endowed woman. They’re not looking to date a T-Slur, just trying to fuck one like they saw on P-Hub.

What else do these guys fantasize about? Besides me looking like a girl from their favorite tranny porn? Me sucking them off. Me being ready as soon as they message and always able to host. Threesomes with me and a cis woman (very not interested) or with me and another transwoman (would with the right combo). Besides that, they desire something casual & consistent, to come + go as they please, ignore my pleasure accordingly, leave or kick me out right after they’ve finished. They say they want to date me, or at least see each other 1-2x per week. Let's get tacos, go to a techno party, let’s do this again soon. Are you free tomorrow? I know I’m fetishized, and yet, I try to stay hopeful that at least one of these guys will be better than those who came before him.

So far it hasn’t panned out. I want a guy who wants more than sex. A guy who wants to be with me in public and hold my hand. I want mutual attraction, quality time, physical touch, reassurance, and intentional care. Maybe even trust, vulnerability, intimacy and a healthy, secure attachment? Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves. My Relationship Fantasy remains.

For all my friends who tell me I'll find someone soon, just be patient…

I think about a conversation I had with another gorgeously clockable trans femme friend who was reading my tarot cards a few years back when she said, “you know, some people end up alone.”

Of course it’s true, that could be my future reality. Some people end up alone, or at least partnerless. It’s a depressing thought, sure, though I know I’ll always have community, chosen family, and different kinds of love-filled connections and relationships.

In terms of the monogamous, quasi-normative relationship I’m really looking for? With the guy that I’m into who’s also into me and wants to fully humanize me, treat me like the prize1 that I am, and take me out properly? I have more hope in out bi/pan men, but they can be elusive. In my experience, out bi guys often take less initiative to meet me than the average DL Chaser on Grindr.

I can’t be sure that the Relationship Guy I’m hoping to find is out there for me. Sure, I know I have to tranifest the relationship I want to find. I need to focus on loving myself and developing my relationship with me. I will focus on myself instead of pining after emotionally unavailable men. Working on myself will ultimately make me more ready for the quality partnerships I truly desire. I can’t get carried away trying to find the right guy. Sure, the search will likely continue at the same time as I work on myself, but the relationship has to stay a fantasy for now. I know that casual sex won’t fill the hole in my heart. I should probably change my approach and put more energy into dates than hookups. Nevertheless, I hold onto this hope that one of these hookups will just…stay for a while? Want to actually keep hanging out in public and private and maybe even get into a bit of a U-Haul situation? A fantasy for now, but hopefully not a fantasy forever…

I’ll keep fantasizing about and tranifesting love for myself, a loving partnership, and more meaningful connections in the future.

Now, when I’m asked what’s my fantasy, what will I say? Depending on who it is and how vulnerable I’m feeling and if I have an inkling it could be someone who wants to really date me, I’ll be honest. A Relationship. Or I could keep it simple, keep settling for casual sex, give the more appropriate response and say, “gangbang, cumdump, bukkake.”