If you’re not here for the autism, get out.

I want to do this again some time (with a focus on sharing, in place of agency).

I think the hardest part was just the research – how many comments are there before the thread is given the continue thread button. If I post it secret link, do comments appear (no, they don’t). If I put the password in the custom noun of the project can people see the custom noun on the project page (no, they cannot). If I post it restricted do comments appear (no, they do not). Eventually, I just went with impregnating another game with the “hole” thing (yes, there is a hole).

Ummm so, sex is hard. Talking about sex is hard. Sex shops sell books about how hard sex is, consensually, bodily, time-wives, plurally. This is my attempt to do the “imagining people have sex is hard” part. Like, how much agency are you seeing, in that imagined person? How imagined are they? How not imagined are they? Are you imagining an opening consent list with these sex-beings?

If you’re not here for the autism, get out.

cw nonconsensual sexual events, personal and public. I’m trying to ask where the line has moved to, today. At 13, I become a rape survivor. Two months ago, 15 year olds being thrown out of court after pressing charges from recieving deepfakes of their nude selves. The AI community can’t get its head around how hard sex is, opting to just say it’s too ethically complicated for them to figure out.

I cannot stand being so awkward and unsure and reliant on myself for navigating pleasure and safety. I can’t stand not trusting people. I can’t stand not being able to say things in ways that doesn’t make people say wut? or ? or ??? in day-to-day life. And you’re going to go on from there to tell me to then try body-sharing? I don’t even know what life is alive. Is the sex-tulpa the person across the street from you used to get off this morning alive? Does a tulpa need to be asked consent? What is the harm in covering bases and just fucking asking anyway? Does the practice hurt you? Embarrass you? Scare you? Getting close is scary? Being understood is scary? Being compatible with Love and never finding it because the societal structures aren’t compatible with Love is scary?

If you’re not here for the autism, get out.

I’ll keep working on asking for things. I’ll keep working on figuring out what a need looks like, instead of just forgoing the concept to live despite. Meanwhile, you go look up, and ask a star for sex – Hell, ask the constellation you just made up. Ask the whole orgy drawer of contellations up there. “Is this okay?” you say, stroking a line with you eye, with your crab claw craw, as one twinkles a yes and another a smile, their lines verberating, your discomfort or unpracticed voice passing from you into each and every hole offered by the night in consensual banquet. Again and again, answers – stabilizing surety ranging the whole magic 8-ball, “No.” Or “yes” or “don’t ask again” or “ask again later”, every practiced word, every given thought another hole in my inky, endless fear,