Let me start by saying I voted Democratic, and I'm thrilled to pieces that we won control of the House and Senate, as well as the majority of state houses. It's fabulous that those of us who don't believe sex outside of straight marriage automatically leads to dog fucking have gotten back some political control. And one of the reasons I'm happy is that I'm hoping the liberal, sex-positive community might now feel safe enough to relax certain muscle groups just a trifle. Maybe now we can stop playing what I call Minority Terminology Gotcha! Because I am getting pretty impatient with it.

Minority Terminology Gotcha!—or MTG!—is what happens when I write a column about slapping boy's dicks and then get an e-mail scolding me for not mentioning that women can have dicks, too. MTG! is when a man gets huffy because I innocently refer to him as a dominant when he thinks of himself as a Nawashi Master. MTG! is when a woman who tells me she's straight asks me for tips on dominating her lover—and then gets offended because I assume her lover is male. MTG! happens when people who define themselves in highly specific or unusual ways get pissy because the world either (a) doesn't magically intuit how they want to be seen or (b) fails to properly support, in their view, that identity.

I'm all for raising people's consciousness about the wide spectrum of expression that gender and sexuality can take. In case you haven't noticed, I myself am living just a tad outside the mainstream, and I'm aware of all the shit that gets dished out to sexual minorities. A lot of it's happened to me, too. Communities—and I use that word very loosely—have to go through some semantic growing pains. But Seattle, at least, is a fairly sophisticated town when it comes to what I might call sexual microminorities, and I'm still seeing way too much verbal nitpicking between these various bands of social outlaws.

So I hereby acknowledge that you can define yourself as straight and fuck people of the same gender. Or you can say that you're gay and still fuck people of the opposite gender. You can identify as a boy on Tuesday and a girl on Wednesday. You can be tied naked to the spanking bench and tell me you're a Master. I have no problem with any of that. Live how you wanna live, baby. Just stop expecting me to use my psychic powers to know who, exactly, you are. And stop taking me to task because I fail to mention every possible permutation of identity in every single sentence I write or utter.

For one thing, it's an unwieldy and impractical way to communicate. Take this column. I have a fixed word count that I cannot exceed; if every time I write a cock-and-ball-torture column, I have to inject an aside about how no matter how you identify, if your genitals extrude from your body to the degree where you can write your name in the snow, please consider yourself included... well, that's going to chew up a lot of real estate. How about if you take some responsibility for injecting yourself into the narrative, so I can use that space for more practical information?

We—the kinky freaks, the genderqueers, the sexual transgressors—need to start giving each other more benefit of the doubt. It's much more becoming of us as a group than this twitchy eagerness to be offended, this constant attempt to soothe hurts inflicted by the larger society with apologies from people who get kicked around just as often. And if we ever want to achieve anything—freedom or safety or, god forbid, actual political clout—it's in our best interest, because this type of infighting weakens us. When conservative types want something, regardless of what they think of each other personally, they all pull together, at least until after the election. We need to do the same.

Fight the power, people—but other freaks are actually not the power. Can we all take a small shred of comfort from the fact that Rick "Man-on-Dog" Santorum was soundly defeated, and stop nipping at each other?


Kink Calendar



Erotic dance and spoken-word entertainment in an intimate, art-studio setting with some audience participation. Little Red Studio, 1506 Franklin Ave E, 328-4758, www.littleredstudioseattle.com, 6:30 pm, $30, RSVP required.



Jennifer of Libido Events teaches how to create your fantasy. Props, pacing, leading, and following will be covered, plus how to let your partner know if a fantasy is or isn't working. Wet Spot, 1602 15th Ave W, www.wetspot.org or 270-9746, 4:30—6:30 pm, $20, membership not required.

SUNDAY 11/26


Intimate, sensual, candlelit partner yoga class with instructor Mishabae. Embrace in gentle yoga postures, learn massage techniques, and relax in the hot tub. Hengst Studio, 1506 Franklin Ave E, 919-6289, 6:30—8:30 pm, $20 per couple/$15 per individual.

SUNDAY 11/26


Rain City Jacks is a private, men-only JO club that's alcohol-, smoke-, and attitude-free. Membership required, raincityjacks.org or rc@raincityjacks.org, 1—4 pm.

MONDAY 11/27


Dozens of holiday covers from the Saturday Evening Post by Norman Rockwell, the illustrator who best expressed the ideals of the American middle class during the 20th century and who, like other prominent pornographers, is notable for his application of brilliant technique to banal subject matter. Museum of History and Industry, 2700 24th Ave E, 324-1126, $10, 10 am—5 pm, through Jan 15.



Babeland sex educators talk about how to give sex toys as gifts. What's the best couples toy? How should you give (or request) a first vibe? Gift-wrapping available. With free eggnog, cider, cookies, and toy giveaways. Babeland, 707 E Pike St, 328-2914, 7:30 pm, free.



Once a stripper and topless icon, blues singer Candye Kane brings her high-powered, erotically charged show to Seattle's Wet Spot. Wet Spot, 1602 15th Ave W, wetspot.org or 270-9746, 8 pm, $15, membership not required, tickets online at www.brownpapertickets.com/event/8576.