Back In The Closet - The LGBTQ+ Crowd Scurries For Cover As MAGA Man Takes Over Washington

Finally the hoopla, the sexual extravaganza, the great gender jamboree is over, and the nation can get back to brass tacks. The Trump Administration will not only be straight and white, but it will have no patience for the shenanigans trumpeted around the country as the new sexual order, no more transgender kindergarten story tellers, plus-sized transformers, and giant-sized helpings of swish, flounce, and flannel. 

 

Billie Flanders was on her way to tasting the last delightful morsel from the the sexual smorgasbord, otherwise known as the gender spectrum. She started off with traditional fare, but sampled urchin, cockles, sweetbreads, seaweed, and udder until she was sated.  Anyone who told her to pick any one of a hundred sexual delicacies was a fool.  The whole purpose of the gender spectrum was grazing 

Under the old sexual banner, you were determined by your chromosomes, and no one could tinker with XX and XY.  You either were or you were not; but now all that was just a stale memory.  Sexuality was what you felt, how you identified, and how you saw yourself.  The choice was staggeringly enticing; and Billie meandered her way slowly down the table sampling - one day all girly girl and the next jackbooted riveter.  The market provided her with all the prosthetics - marvelously soft and tender breasts, steel hard cocks, voice enhancers and tremolo sidebars, wigs from the finest South Indian hair, high-tech coloring and makeup.  It was all a three-ring circus, a jamboree of sexual flair, a statement of individuality, inclusivity, and just plain fun. 

When asked by a gay sister whether she was ever going to stop tasting, and finally settle down for the main meal, she looked quizzically at her, bent a wrist and shook the locks of her marvelously Dolly Parton hair, and said, 'Are you kidding?'

The whole gender spectrum notion was not like buying a new car when you looked at sedans, SUVs, pickups, and monster trucks and had to make up your mind and put your money down.  On the contrary fungibility was the thing.  Pick and choose moments were the nature of the life.  The whole melodramatic, game show, soap opera extravaganza was the whole point. 

The new Be All You Can Be clubs popping up in every major metropolitan area were sexual carnivals of Mardi Gras proportions.  Gender reveal moments were the glitzy, waited for, anticipated high times.  Guessing, sussing, and sexual savvy were party games.  Who is she/he/them/they? When frilly Billie gave the revelers at Clit's Place a quick look at her well hung junk, the crowd burst out with applause.  She had fooled everyone. 

In this wild, revivalist sexual fairground many men and women took this new gender fluid algorithm to its logical extreme and added parts they never had and lopped off others which were now unnecessary; but they were on the asymptotes of the bell curve.  Why would anyone go to such measures when changing sexuality like chiffon for jackboots could be an everyday affair? 

The likes of Billie understood - and profoundly understood - the nature of sexual identity.  She was so attuned to her primal sexuality - i.e. that unformed, malleable, but distinctly pleasure-seeking bolus of energy within her - that she could express it in any way she felt.  Not only was there no need for radical physical transformation, it belied very notion of sexual alternation. 

She was as happy as could be.  She was a sexual vaudevillian, a method actor, a marvelously versatile soap opera star.  Life was good. 

When news came in that the new American President, Donald Trump, was going to come down hard on the gender spectrum and turn America back to its farmhouse, Sunday-goin'-to-meeting, cornfield, and prairie sexual roots, nervous ripples went through the LGBTQ+ community.  How can he?, they shouted. How could he?, they wondered. Will he? they all worried; but all the storm troopers in the world could never round them up and send them to workhouses and gulags.  This was America, land of the free.  

 

Yes, of course it was, but there are limits to every free expression, and millions of Americans were simply sick and tired of the sexual doings of the coastal elites.  The whole idea of denying God's choices, refusing the holy architecture of human nature, throwing common sense and history to the winds was anathema.  Ghettoes weren't just for black people, Trump supporters argued, they are for the weird sexual freaks who make a mockery of Creation. 

The Castro and Folsom Street were two such sexual inner cities, and there the most unprintable things happened.  People did the unspeakable to each other - chains, whips, leather harnesses, giant dildoes, bronco busting and more - in a wild orgy of sexual abandon.  If this sort of American had to exist - and gulags, concentration camps, and reservations aside, America was still not a land of exterminators - let it be off camera 

 

Billie took Trump at his word, but knew that in her ethos of sexual fungibility, she could easily don suit and tie, show up at the office as straight as an arrow, trade off color jokes in the men's locker room, and chase women in the corridors, and then in the privacy of her own home fuck and be fucked by anyone she pleased.  That was the real advantage of the gender spectrum - it provided cover as well as expression. 

Trump's sexual cleanup crews were already mobilizing from Dubuque to Piping Rock, making an appearance at libraries, schools, and churches to show the new flag of sexual propriety, rectitude, and civility.  The muzzles were off MAGA politicians who went totally Rodney Dangerfield and Borscht Belt political incorrectness as they pilloried the twisted sisters of the Left.  It was a bodacious he-haw time in Washington, and for most Americans it felt good to finally have the blinders and wet blankets of censorship tossed aside. 

So, the rats are leaving a sinking ship - or so were the unkind words of the new administration which had campaigned on returning America to its foundational roots - but of course these rats, these benighted but upstanding Americans, would find another, more congenial, and accepting place to lay their heads.  It was not the end of the world, what goes around comes around, and the veracity of the vision, the absolute rightness of the gender spectrum would soon be seen and realized for the transcendent reality it was. 

For now, Billie went in mufti, straight white man of privilege and proportion, a man to be reckoned with, although she hoped to God this penitential period would not last long. OMG, these shoes!!