Days of Organizing, Nights of Bratting: A Femme Queer Spanks, Straps, Gets Toppy and Waxed

Day 1

Their sharp eyeliner catches my eye. They look young, too young, and I’m old among this crew, too old. My upbringing in organizing spaces tells me to never hit on someone until I’ve known them for a while, at least six months, until they can build relationships outside romantic dynamics, until they can decide whether they really want to be in that space. But, I’ve also learned that having a little sparkle of a crush can make any situation better. So this Black femme, who I’d never seen before in my small town, became the person I daydreamed about during the bike ride for Gaza.

This is the romance of collective liberation: queer Black, Indigenous, People of Color on bikes, smiling ear to ear, drenched in the sunshine of th...

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