never/again
sticking the psych ward oral
thermometer under my tongue
in its single use plastic
sheathing, i suddenly think
about sucking my ex’s
strap. i wrote about them
a lot when i psych-
warded myself a year ago, right before
we started dating. last time
i mentioned them in a poem
i compared them to cat shit—
something i’ve never put in my mouth,
never let inside of me.
my bisexual autofiction fantasy
getting kicked out of the mental health hospital because i got caught letting the two cute bisexual cis girlies eiffel tower me with my electric toothbrush and their fists in the tv room at 1 am, on a mattress i pulled out of an unlocked closet. the tv room was also supposed to be locked. we got caught because i had turned the news on to muffle my noises, but the light in the dark room attracted the tech doing rounds to the window, which we couldn’t get away from, even in the corner of the room. i admitted to the psych ward because it seemed like my cis friends back home were not going to do their part of the group project of keeping me alive, and now i’ve been discharged, just because i believe sex is a form of care! so i’m here, standing under a tree in the rain in belmont massachusetts, waiting for a bus to take me to south station so i can get back to my phd program in new haven. the rain running down my face is reminding me of the strings of spit leaking out of my mouth from around the beautiful bisexual’s fist last night. the easy breezy beautiful bisexuals didn’t get discharged because they were both bipolar and dealing with manic episodes. i was only on the ward for saturday and sunday nights, so never got to meet with a psychiatrist or social worker because i was deemed a “nuisance transsexual” monday morning and removed by security, who unfortunately looked very straight. still, insurance covered my stay, so it only cost me a $150 emergency room copay to fulfill my most bisexual lesbian fantasy. maybe my mental health. one of my beautiful, beautiful manic pixie dream cis bisexual two-day girlfriends managed to slip a note with both their phone numbers on the back of a piece of admissions paperwork into my bag before the neurotypical cis-het security guards escorted me out.
or a phalloplasty
still horny in the mental
hospital. shout out to women.
the new porn star i follow
posts several bikini clips
every day. i jerk off mostly
to cisgender power swaps:
femmedom, pegging, bondage—
big titties in a bikini
turn me on but don’t
get me off. lesbian porn typically
doesn’t make me cum. i need
a real penis on one of them,
who gets fingered, fucked
in her real ass with a strap.
there’s many more cis
pegging clips than real lesbian
vids with trans women.
the only other bisexual here
on the ward discharged after three days.
her tigger t-shirt inspired me
to think about bouncing on it, but hard
to say if she owned a strap.
she only mentioned a boyfriend
and most cis people will trip and fall over
themselves to tell me their partner’s trans,
and even if her boyfriend wasn’t cis,
he may have been the one with the strap
or phalloplasty. i tweet “cis
girl with a phalloplasty”
and get three likes. i open instagram
and the new porn star is there
jiggling up and down. someone
get this woman a strap!
sterling-elizabeth arcadia (she/they) is a Best of the Net winning disabled trans writer and lover of birds, cats, movies, and her friends.