I am bracing for the unveiling of the old cloaked queen that’s been buttering up that clavicular kids buns for the oven. For the eventual onslaught.

Because the telltale sign for me? The meth. I knew a few queens in Noughties Nyc who… used to take meth to ease their…psyches into being able to take the rough sex…as bottoms… & then promptly forget about whatever they’d allowed to be done to them. Those particular dudes? Had been both brutally assaulted as little boys and convinced by adults who’d protected their attacker that They had somehow caused it. They’d “embraced the life” only to have been driven damn near crazy trying to stay viable in it. One was one of my best friends. Unearthly gorgeous dude. He’d clean up…and his Older queen ‘friends’ would bring meth back into his mix and all his climbing out the well. I lost those friends because I couldn’t unsee them putting their inner kids through the abuse they’d suffered as kids. & they couldn’t deal with my doing grievechronic.

He’s… what these Tdawg types want. Wayward Fire Island boys with no fire island safe space… that they can string up in all kinds of blackmail because they’re not allowed to just be who they are.