Dear Dan: I’m a longtime fan — reader and listener — and part of the 47 percent of white women who did NOT vote for Donald Trump. To say I’m disappointed, horrified, scared and mad about the election is woefully insufficient. I donated $100 to Planned Parenthood this morning because I honestly felt like there was nothing else I could do. That being said, I wanted to share that I had one of the most weirdly charged, hottest and sexiest orgasms. A little buzzed (dealing with those election results) and sad, my boyfriend and I turned to each other for consolation. One thing led to another, and before I knew it, we were fucking as Trump came on the TV to give his acceptance speech. As that orange blowhard spewed more bullshit about being our president, I rode my boyfriend’s big, beautiful dick until I came. It was the perfect way to say, “Fuck this. Now fuck me.” I encourage all your readers to fuck out the stress from this election. Yes, we should donate and volunteer and speak up and protest and vote and not give up hope, but we should also keep doing it and taking care of each other. Because love trumps hate, and fucking trumps… well, I’m not sure what fucking trumps. But it sure makes life better.
— Justifiably Unsettled Lass Intensely Emoting
Dear JULIE: It’s important to practice good self-care in the wake of a traumatic event — the election qualifies as a traumatic event — and going by the definition of self-care at GoodTherapy.org, fucking the living shit out of someone qualifies as self-care: “Actions that an individual might take in order to reach optimal physical and mental health… Self-care [includes] activities that an individual engages in to relax or attain emotional well-being, such as meditating, journaling or visiting a counselor.”
They’re too polite over at GoodTherapy.org to include “fucking the shit out of someone” on their list of examples, JULIE, but what you did on election night — which just so happens to be the exact same thing I did on election night — certainly meets all the criteria.
And if anyone out there who did the same on election night — fucked the shit out of someone — is feeling the least bit guilty, please know that millions of Americans did the exact same thing after 9/11. We used a different term to describe all that post-9/11 fucking: “terror-sex,” which New York Magazine defined as “urgent, unguarded, end-of-the-world coitus inspired by that day’s sudden jolt of uncertainty and fear.”
I want to thank you for writing, JULIE, and I want to second your recommendation: Sex, partnered or solo, makes life better — and people shouldn’t feel guilty about fucking someone else and/or fucking/jacking/dildo-ing themselves at this uncertain and fearful moment in our nation’s history. Yes, we must donate and volunteer and protest and vote, all while reminding ourselves daily that Hillary Clinton won the popular vote. And we must commit to defending our friends, neighbors and coworkers who are immigrants (documented or not), Muslims (American born, immigrants or refugees), people of color, women seeking reproductive health care, trans men and women seeking safety, lesbian and gay men seeking to protect their families, and everyone and everything else Trump has threatened to harm, up to and including the planet we all live on.
But we must make time for joy and pleasure and laughter and friends and food and art and music and sex. During the darkest days of the HIV/AIDS epidemic, when Republicans and religious conservatives controlled the federal government and were doing everything in their power to harm the sick and dying, queers organized and protested and volunteered and mourned. We also made music and theater and art. We took care of each other, and we danced and loved and fucked. Embracing joy and art and sex in the face of fear and uncertainty made us feel better — it kept us sane — and it had the added benefit of driving our enemies crazy. They couldn’t understand how we could be anything but miserable, given the challenges we faced — their greed, their indifference, their bigotry — but we created and experienced joy despite their hatred and despite this awful disease. We turned to each other — we turned to our lovers and friends and sometimes strangers — and said, “Fuck them. Now fuck me.”
We didn’t eradicate HIV/AIDS, the disease that was sickening us then, but we fought it to a standstill and we may defeat it yet. The disease that now sickens our nation is different. We may never eradicate racism and sexism and hatred. But fight it we will. And don’t listen to anyone who tells you that music and dance and art and sex and joy are a distraction from the fight. They are a part of the fight.
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