I’m holding his cock and pressing my Eroscillator against his perineum. The man in my hands is in awe where this night has taken him. We went from coffee to watching tv to naked at a steady pace, so he shouldn’t be too astonished that I’m touching him. What’s “blowing his mind” is my enthusiasm, he’s marveling at the fact that I’m touching him in places he didn’t even know could feel good. I wasn’t planning on hooking up with him tonight, but I haven’t had sex in three weeks – a long time for me, so I let my body overtake my head for the evening. I’ve been finding it hard to meet quality sex buddies recently, as, after some less than satisfactory sexual experiences last year, I’ve not wanted to risk bad sex.

He fingers me while I push the vibrator further into his taint, then he brings my Magic Wand to my clit, like a proper gentleman. It felt amazing, but I knew I wasn’t coming tonight – a fact which I had gleefully accepted. I speed up stroking him, he comes. “I haven’t come like that ever.” he pants minutes later, continuing to be amazed at the Open Chick sitting across from him on the bed.

We decide to roll a joint; getting high is one of the best things to do after touching genitals. Our sex scent dissipated as the dankness of the spliff took over my room. I’m usually hesitant to smoke with guys I’m not entirely familiar with, but after that spontaneous and adventurous session, I figured that we were already on the same page. He continued to excitedly look around at how my sexual openness is represented in my space, like a fanboy thinking he hit the slut jackpot. He asked if he could take pictures of my dick sculptures and my wall of sex-toys. I thought his naivety was hilarious, so I let him grab a few shots. I felt giggly, flirty and safe. That was until he brought up politics.

“Do you write about activism on your blog?” he asked, referring to my mention of political involvement in my Tinder bio. I explained that although I don’t specifically feature activism based posts on my site, I think of my blog itself as a form of activism. By talking about sex I’m helping combat overculture’s sex-negative ideals, and working towards sexual freedom for all. I added that I have recently ended up at my fair share of rallies, demonstrations and protests too.

“So you’re not a big fan of what Trump’s doing, hey?”

I cackled, I actually cackled in this man’s face as I gestured to my hand painted “Have Sex, Hate Sexism” banner. “Who would have guessed?” Highly misjudging my tone, he expresses that he not only thinks people are overreacting to what’s going on in the States right now, but that Trump is a business genius.

I almost jumped down his throat.

I’ve been trying hard to be calm and collected among Right-leaning people lately – or people with Right tendencies as they prefer to be referred to as. I find it’s easier to educate people – especially cis, white men, with clear and concise conversations vs. escalating to a fight that I’m too tired to join. One-on-one that is, I love a love yelling at protests. I thought I had mastered being composed last weekend when I got the chance to have a civil discussion with a couple straight male friends about trans rights. The conversation went really well, and after the fact, they both seemed much more understanding of the idea that gender is not binary. I’m not an expert on this, but doing some work to educate fellow cis people to the best of my ability.

What was different tonight, though, was that I wasn’t prepared for confrontation. I was half naked and vulnerable. This man’s fingers had just been inside me, my lube was still sitting open on my bedside table. I was not expecting his take on Trump, I had assumed that he was Left due to his acceptance and want of my sex-positive lifestyle.

After seeing the disgust on my face, he explained himself. “I just think his business side is good, everything else that he’s doing is crazy. Certain people are geniuses in certain areas, and Trump’s a genius at running businesses.” Oh yeah, and Hitler was great at motivating crowds, right? I still couldn’t believe the ignorant privilege that I had let into my bedroom. I could feel my heart drop from the giggly air it had been floating on, back into the perils of real world fascism. So here we are, the guy who I just made come and I, sitting in silence as he watches me struggle with keeping my emotions in tact. “Let’s just not talk about this, let’s just not talk about this,” I repeat. I had no spoons, I needed to quickly change the topic because I was on the road to rage.

For a couple minutes after he tried to inquire about my reasoning to shut down a conversation about politics, in a genuinely curious way. “You don’t want to hear any other opinions?” he ignorantly asked. I told him I didn’t have the energy to explain my thoughts, my oppression to him. Luckily, the subject was then dropped. We awkwardly went back to sharing our joint, he packed up, and we said our goodbyes. He hoped to see me again, because, as he had expressed many times earlier, he enjoyed how open I was about sex.

As I closed the door behind him, still quietly fuming, it all clicked: My politics are the reason I haven’t been hooking up with as many people lately. Up until now, I had blamed it on not wanting to risk bad sex (which still is true), but because of my recent push to become more political, the men I’m choosing to casually fuck must meet intersectional feminist criteria. My sex life has now caught up to my emotional needs: I’m not fucking fascist dick anymore.

One could argue that I could put effort into separating sex and politics, which I’ve done in the past, but can’t and won’t do anymore. See sex-positivity, my lifestyle, my queerness, aren’t allowed in Trump’s America or in a conservative world. Our society is only now beginning to unlearn the chastisement of alternative communities. Not to mention the countless societal and political structures that continue to exist to further oppress folks more marginalized than myself. Trump is doing everything in his power to turn back the time to when the privileged of the privileged ruled America. If you support his plans, you don’t support the rights, or the existence of countless people, including myself and people I care about. And why would I want to bed someone who doesn’t support my rights or existence?

I am not blasting this particular man. His opinions sounded like a combination of ignorance, privilege, and miseducation. He wasn’t foul-hearted or mean to me, but he was not informed that the normalization of ANY of Trump’s actions is the normalization of extremist patriarchal and racist ideals. He also had no clue that our night together was a by-product of feminist theories and practice. Feminism has given women, trans and non-binary people a platform to be sexually liberated. I would not be able to own a wall of sex toys or be sexually experimental if it weren’t for feminism. This man had no idea he was benefiting off of a movement that Trump wants to dismantle.

I am also not saying that I don’t want to talk to people who have varying opinions. Having discussions is a way to educate, and I think it’s important to take on teaching friends about different forms of oppression that you both don’t face. However, going forward, if I’m in a vulnerable space with someone, I need to be 100% sure that that person supports intersectional equality. I refuse to feel unsafe in the sex-positive space that is my bedroom.

The slut in me is becoming ever more frustrated at the lack of current Left-wing cock in my area. I’ve slept with half as many people since the new year than I did at this time in 2016. While my loins may be going (somewhat) unsatisfied, the feminist and budding socialist in me is proud as hell to reserve my openness and sexual skillset for those who deserve it. For those who want to fight for my right to be sex-positive. My politics are cock-blocking me, and I’m OK with it.

I can still smell this man’s scent on my bedsheets, the dead joint is cached on my ash tray, and the lube bottle is still open on my bedside table; abandoned while I write. I vowed in the summer to never date non-feminist men, but I am now vowing never to fuck non-feminist men. In choosing to not fuck fascist dick, my sex is political.