Welcome to On Queer Street, the sex blog of journalist, sex writer, and Renowned Transsexual Quinn Rhodes. Here you’ll find nudes, porn writing, and essays about sex, love, and relationships.
Nowadays, Quinn’s most regular writing happens on his newsletter – you can subscribe to Genderbent to get essays about gender, transmasculinity, and mental illness delivered directly to your inbox.
For Quinn’s journalism, please check out his portfolio. You can find (and buy!) his physical porn zines at Gender Neutral Urinal Press.
Writing this post made me realise that I could put a name to the frustration I feel towards myself whenever I’m crying over men. Namely internalised misogyny, which – as well as sexist, patriarchal societal structures – still plays a role in why I feel especially un-feminist when I get upset about men.
After a ridiculous-yet-wonderful series of adventures in London, I returned home earlier today horny and with an aching cunt. I always miss my Doxy when I travel, and I spent a significant portion of the afternoon catching up on all the wanking I’d missed over the weekend. Even two orgasms down, however, my cunt isn’t satisfied. This means that today’s smut features forced orgasms (plus a splash of exhibitionism) and may have been written while I was astride my Ruby Glow.
Vagina therapy – where I’ve been tackling my vaginismus with a trained medical professional – has been a real learning experience. I go into each appointment absolutely filled with anxiety, but learning why my vagina is so emphatically against being penetrated is actually really interesting. My homework has included exploring what turns me on, jerking off, and – as of my last appointment – playing with my vaginal dilators.
Sometimes it feels like I am writing the same filthy story, over and over again. The fantasies that loop in my own head evolve slowly, because I linger in each torturously hot thought before it’s replaced. This makes it feel like I’ve written this story – with lots of dirty talk, strong power dynamics, and a hint of consensual non-consent. And because there have been some beautifully warm (or possibly even too hot) days recently, today version of the story is set in an ice-cream parlour. Because yes, I want a good fucking, but I also want ice cream.
I am ambitious. I wake up every morning with a thousand things I want to do, and a hunger to change the world. I am constantly inspired to write, clinging to the fragile hope that my words can make a difference. I always have more ideas, want to do more, and constantly pushing myself to create all the things I can see when I close my eyes, challenging myself to be a better person.