Lingerie and My Gender

If you follow me on Twitter, you may have seen some photos of me in lingerie. You may have enjoyed them a lot, and I hope you have. You may also have wondered to yourself, “How does all that work with being nonbinary?” and if you have, this post is for you.

My gender is complicated. I find it difficult to explain to cisgender people, and even some binary trans people, how my gender feels. I find it easiest to explain in somewhat abstract terms, with reference to fairies and princesses, but a lot of people don’t know what I mean when I say, “Today, my gender is a boy princess,” or, “I’m an ineffable, ethereal being whose gender is as intangible as the wind.” Nonbinary people often do, and I’m grateful for that, but it’s hard to put words to my gender in a way that doesn’t make me sound, um, nuts.

That said, I’m moving away from the idea that I have to justify my gender identity to anybody. Being nonbinary doesn’t necessarily mean gender neutrality; for me, it means genderfluidity, which includes moving from femme to masc to too-tired-to-have-a-gender to gender experiences I don’t yet have the words for. That means, surely, that I’m allowed to express myself in as femme or masc or tired a way as I like, and that includes lingerie.

Lingerie doesn’t make me dysphoric. Knowing that people will read me and my outfit and my body as “female” makes me dysphoric, sure, but bits of fabric on their own don’t. I wear lingerie a lot in kink spaces, where people’s approach to gender is a lot more forgiving than it is in the wider world, and I thrive on the attention that my outfits garner me. In some ways, it’s an affirming experience, and one I treasure.

Lingerie, for me, can be femme or masc. When I see a man in lingerie, I don’t see the lingerie as femme; I just see it as a way to highlight that person’s body, the curves of it, the enviable strength in testosterone-influenced thighs. When I’m feeling masc, lingerie can either feel neutral, or it can feel like a small, sexy humiliation, a vulnerability, a way of someone (or multiple someones) seeing my body, eyeing it up and evaluating it… It can feel sexy in a dangerous sort of way to be masc and in lingerie. I don’t play a lot with forced feminization, mostly because I’m not prepared for the dysphoria I imagine it would bring me, but the humiliation comes from much the same place: a little alarm bell ringing that says, People are looking at me! I have toyed with the idea of forced feminization, and even wondered whether it would make me feel more masculine, since I would be starting at a place of not-feminine, but the risk of psychological hurt and weirdness keeps it in the “Maybe” section of my Yes/No/Maybe list.

I do experience some femininity, though, and lingerie is super affirming for those days. Pulling on stockings or wriggling into a lacy bodysuit feels like suiting up into my superhero identity, Confident Morgan, who likes their body a little more than I do and who can seduce anyone, given enough time. I often do my makeup along with wearing lingerie, painting myself into the ultimate, glittery femme fatale. I think I like the performativity of it, and again, drawing eyes onto me to make me feel either empowered or vulnerable. I also think it’s very cool that lingerie gives me access to both of those emotions, depending on context (including my gender feelings for that day).

The short answer to the question at the top of this post is, “It’s complicated.” Gender is complicated, and lingerie will remain gendered in our culture whether I experience it that way or not, meaning that other people will perceive my gender in a particular way when I don my latest Lovehoney purchase. But I love playing in that space, both as a way to affirm my inner femme and as a way to subvert people’s gendered expectations of what lingerie “means”, especially when I feel like a fairy prince in my new negligee or bodysuit.


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Separating Art From Artist

A stock photo of paints, pencils, etc on a messy desk, cause you know, every artist is a hot mess

There is some bloody good art in the world. Loads of it, in fact. And some of it is made by horrible people.

Maybe “horrible people” is a bit strong, but people make choices that harm others, and artists are no exception to this rule. Sometimes these are horrible-people-level bad choices, and sometimes they’re misspoke-in-an-interview-level bad choices, but the fact remains that artists, like everyone, have the capacity to do harm, but unlike everyone, have a much bigger audience to whom they can do it. Doing harm to people is, of course, bad, but good art is good, and so we face the question: can I still enjoy the art? Or am I being a heartless bastard?

There is often a call, when a celebrity or author or actor or whoever fucks up, to “separate the art from the artist!”. It’s my view, though, that art is always shaped by its artist, that every tiny bit of every one of their works has them baked into it, and that you literally cannot “separate” the two. What this call actually seems to mean is, “Consume the art and stop complaining!”, which is a very different kettle of fish. Yes, sometimes the art is bloody good, but should an artist’s behaviour affect art they made before their shitty actions? Can I still enjoy the art, or am I being a heartless bastard for even wanting to?

When I’m trying to decide whether or not to carry on consuming the work of any particular artist, I like to ask myself three questions:

  1. Is it my place to forgive this person?

First things first: does it matter what I think? This post was inspired by J. K. Rowling’s recent transphobic word-diarrhea, and in that case, yeah, I get a vote; I’m trans. In other cases, though, like those of racism or of sexual assault, I prefer to listen to the people who are actually being harmed, and always err on the side of caution when it comes to supporting the artist in question, even if they apologise or donate a bunch of money somewhere or hire a skywriter to scrawl, “People of colour are okay, actually!” across the sky. If it isn’t my place to offer an artist forgiveness, that’s where my line of thought ends – but if it is, I keep thinking.

2. What real-world difference does my consumption of this art make?

Vivaldi may or may not have been a nonce. One could argue that I’m not really hurting anyone by jamming to Spring, because he and all his victims have been dead for a very long time, but I like to look a little closer: who is seeing me knowingly enjoy the work of a nonce? More broadly, I ask myself: Will my consumption of this art hurt people’s feelings? Make them feel alone in their struggle, or like I don’t care about their pain? Will it make them think that their bad behaviour is maybe a little more okay? Where is my money going, and will it be empowering more shitty people to do more shitty things? Essentially: will I be doing more harm?

3. How badly do I need this art?

Like I said before, this post is about JKR. I was huge into Harry Potter back in the day, devouring the same seven books over and over again, muttering along with the movies’ dialogue, planning my first Harry Potter tattoo – the works. Harry Potter was my solace for a lot of my life, and it helped me to find community when I was otherwise struggling to. The thought of losing Harry Potter hurts – but, really, it’s already lost. I clearly don’t need this particular art enough to ignore its artist’s transphobic bullshit, because I find myself now thoroughly turned off by every Potter reference I see. And it’s obviously not the same art I thought it was when I was younger, if we’re subscribing to the notion that an artist is baked into their work, because art coming from someone with a worldview that allows for transphobia is very different to art coming from somebody else.

I actually can’t imagine a scenario where I would ignore harm done to others for the sake of a good book or banging tune, but I like to ask myself this last question just in case – and also to remind myself that, actually, it’s no big loss if I have to cut the artist in question out of my life.


It hurts when an artist who made something we love behaves badly. It feels like the art has been taken away from us, even though what’s actually happened is just that we’ve learned more about who that artist is as a person. It stings, and it can be tempting to grit your teeth through the pain and keep enjoying the art. I’m not saying you have to follow my lead in asking yourself these questions and ditching artists who do harm, but I am asking you to consider the impact of your art consumption and to, you know, care about other people. Please?

Masturbation and Messy Handwriting: A Wank Journal Update

A plastic washing-up bowl filled with various masturbation implements and water, from when I was sanitising all my sex toys a couple of weeks ago

If you’ve been reading my blog a little while, you’ll know that I have some difficulties with masturbation. You’ll also remember the birth of my Wank Journal, and that one of my goals for 2019 was to wank – or at least try to wank – a little more.

Friends, I did that.

I don’t want to jinx my progress, but I’m getting better at masturbation. Like, a lot better; I do it more often, I dissociate less, and I often manage to actually have orgasms (yeah, orgasms! Plural!). My secret weapon? Stoned Morgan. I’ve found that Stoned Morgan doesn’t have the same trauma responses to wanking that Sober Morgan does, so I’ve been having a reasonable number of stoned wanks – but the truly magical thing is that, as a result of those, I’m also having sober wanks. Stoned wanks are great for all the obvious reasons, but they’re also great because the more I wank without having a trauma response, the less frightened I am of the whole process, and so the less likely I am to have a trauma response during sober wanks, too.

My other, not-so-secret weapon has been my Wank Journal. I don’t write in it every time I have a wank these days, but I think that’s a good sign, because it suggests that masturbation is becoming more ordinary for me, and less of a Big Deal™. However, it is helpful in grounding me when I need it, and it’s also helpful in revealing some interesting patterns in my masturbation habits.

I know you want to know what those patterns are, so without further ado, here’s what a year (and a bit) with a Wank Journal has taught me about myself.

1. I am an extremely lazy wanker.

Since I record the toys I used and the physical acts I engaged in when I document a wank, I’ve come to notice that a majority of the time, I fall back on the same extremely easy strategy: hump a wand vibrator until I come. Sometimes I’ll lie on my back, use one hand to pull my (extremely protective) clitoral hood out of the way and use the other to hold and adjust my wand – but, more often, I’ll lie on my side, legs sort of crossed over, and grind/writhe against the head of my wand, doing a weird pelvic-floor-squeezy thing that I first started doing when I was too young to understand why it felt so nice. On occasion, I’ll put a dildo in my vagina, to complement the pelvic floor squeezing.

It’s a fun way to get off, but the real reason I do it isn’t actually because it’s my favourite, or because I’m lazy (although, let’s be real, that is a major factor). The real reason is:

2. Fucking myself is always what triggers my fight-or-flight response.

Now that I’ve got the hang of actually staying inside my body when I’m wanking, I can ride a wand vibe ’til the proverbial cows come home. The thing that makes me panic and/or dissociate nowadays is the act of putting something inside my cunt and then fucking myself with it. That’s not a surprise, because that’s how I was masturbating when my trauma happened… but it’s very inconvenient, because I’m one of those rare people who has internal-stimulation-only orgasms, like, all the time. And I love them. I didn’t learn to have clitoral orgasms until I got hold of a wand vibrator, and I still can’t have clit-only orgasms with anything less powerful than a cheap handheld drill.

One entry in my Wank Journal describes a wank in which I stopped abruptly after my brain decided to insert thoughts about my abuser into my fantasies. It was a sober wank, and the intrusive thoughts occurred pretty much as soon as I started to fuck myself. I don’t regard that one as a “failed” wank, though – instead, I’m (trying to be) proud of myself for recognising that I needed to stop, avoiding anything that could reinforce the connection between masturbation and my trauma.

3. My fantasies are repetitive as hell.

This one isn’t about the mechanics of wanking. Keeping a Wank Journal lets me track the things that get me off the most, in the privacy of my own mind, and it has revealed that I have the same handful of fantasies over and over again. They usually involve me being irresistible (which sometimes leads to storylines in which I get overpowered), me making other people come (often with overtones of premature ejaculation, because fantasy-me is just that good) and me being stalked (which isn’t a surprise, but it comes up a lot). One particularly memorable and somewhat cringe-inducing quote I documented from a fantasy in which I was getting fucked in a nightclub toilet reads, “God, it’s so hard not to come. Fucking you is like getting milked.”

4. Holding a pen is hard when you’ve just had an orgasm (or three).

I’m 99% sure I have undiagnosed dyspraxia, and it affects my fine motor coordination something rotten. My handwriting is usually tiny, but reasonably neat and legible – except when I’ve just come so hard my feet are burning, and I’m trying to write about how it happened. I still like handwriting my Wank Journal entries, because the sensory aspect of writing with a pen is grounding for me, and my inability to backspace my gibberish makes for a more accurate reflection of my post-wank thoughts and feelings, but I might need to invest in a chunkier, more dyspraxia-friendly pen.


I’m really proud of myself for the progress I’ve made with masturbation. Do any of y’all keep a Wank Journal, or something similar? Do you find that it helps you to connect with your body more readily, or to identify patterns in your masturbation habits? Let me know!


Thank y’all so much for reading, and for your patience while I’m getting back into the groove of blogging. If you loved this post, please consider supporting me via Patreon or Ko-Fi – or, if you want to support something bigger than little ol’ me, consider donating to the CIC I’m part of