“Let Me Cover Your Shit In Glitter, I Can Make It Gold”
The twin, gender-fluid passions, pains, and pleasures of Rihanna’s “Consideration.”
I was definitely in a taxicab on the way to a three-story house on a nondescript downtown street about an hour away from home when the chopping claps of Rihanna’s SZA duet “Consideration” pounded into my cerebellum. I was insanely high on a mix of ephedra, caffeine pills, caffeinated aspirin, a fat burning supplement, and Aleve. There’s a thing that happens in my mind when I get that fucked up. There’s a sense of calm that washes over me. The drugs are there to accentuate the arrival of Neptune Violet, she formed from me, Eve from Adam’s rib. I was in this taxicab satiating her erotic desires, need to be touched and demand for full satisfaction. Hearing Rihanna sing “let me cover your shit in glitter, I can make it gold,” it sounded like the pact Neptune made with me by staring into my mind’s eye as my life was moving out of control at hurricane level velocity. “let. me. cover. your. shit. in. glitter. i. can. make it. go-old.” I relented. She’s been at the forefront ever since.
In the study of spiritual healing, the notion of twin spirits involves having dual energies — masculine and feminine — that separate into two, and after many cycles of reincarnation, merge together again. I feel quite certain that I was housing both energies in my body until the age of eight. I was born an only child and was raised by women. Then men in my life were all tremendously flawed in some way, and their flaws were pointed out to me — though not explicitly — but I was smart/aware enough to make out words in conversations and hear late night arguments between my mother and her boyfriends to know that whatever masculine energy they were putting out into the world was toxic, and that my mother was fighting to keep the energy that surrounded me, her son, to be good, kind, and decent. Though I was young, I conflated that positive energy with all things feminine. At the age of six, I was still teeter-tottering in my mother’s heels and sandals while walking around the house naked, and occasionally even watching my mother buy shoes at a mall store, and then sneaking into her bedroom to try them on when she’d leave me at home as a latchkey kid before the age of seven.
The feminine energies in my life reincarnate every five years or so, every time stronger than the first, and with less frequency, demanding control. At 13, I discovered fetishes via the world wide web and Gloria Brame’s Different Loving. I was attracted to being a femdom submissive, something about being under the heel of a strong woman speaking to Neptune’s internalized spirit. By 18, I was knee deep into Adult Baby thoughts and size-differential play. Both, in retrospect, a psychological response to what I always felt was an abbreviated childhood. By 23, it was cross-dressing and anal. 28 found me knee-deep into orgasms, something about driving damned near cross-country for a wedding, to the point of delirium, and having bare-back unprotected sex caused my brain to finally shut off and for me to pull out and shoot the most stunning (and my first) orgasm all over the pale, white pulchritude of the girlfriend I did not want to have, beneath me. By 33, I was definitely much more into melding all of these interests into a much more open and play-defined self. And at 38, I was, though not name-defined, 100% Neptune Violet, sitting in a cab, telling my masculine self to put it all on the back burner for a bit and that she was going to make my life golden.
There’s a thing about living with a penis, but honoring my divine and controlling femininity, that’s completely astounding. Feeling like I’m on the cusp of my final reincarnation is all about learning how to live within a dual-energy, and allowing a shift from feminine over masculine, but in a way that allows ***just*** enough room for the man to exist for the sake of a still binary-defined world.
I don’t know Neptune outside of the realm of sex right now. It’s bizarre. I’ve never seen her live in a non-sexualized way. She’s always in stockings, garters, and silk bra and panty sets. Or, she’s dressed like a literal fetish doll. Or, she’s performing sexual acts, to women, in a way that my masculine-defined self only wishes he could when present. The testosterone in my body reacting to all of this is what keeps the male energy in the room. I don’t think I’ll ever be at a place where I’d want to get rid of that. The aggression that lies beneath the hyper-stylized beauty is somehow comforting, somehow there to keep it all together, scaring away the fear. Yes, it’s true, having a rock hard dick while my ass-pussy is filled to the brim is like holding up cloves of garlic to ward off Dracula.
But, outside of that, Neptune is absolutely in progress, dripping my shit in golden glitter. It’s harrowing to think about various other stages of my psycho-sexual and gender-shifting reincarnations. They build and end with frightening emotional force, leaving me somehow an even greater shell of myself than every prior socio-physical invasion. At 38, I was lost, angrier than ever before, and thus, more available to Neptune’s entreaties. In retrospect, it made my life make sense. Neptune was building and breaking me in equal measure. The man, the structure that remains, the divine feminine, that which occupies the massive, yet hollowed, core. The weight and release upon my spirit has been perpetually intriguing, now more so than ever, as Neptune’s roosting within me. That entrenched spirit, as it weighs upon my physical core, makes the orgasms I first experienced at 28 feel like spiritual levitation. It’s as if with every spurt of life’s essence from my clit-cock that I’m assuring my future. What was once an entertaining way to engage with what I believed was my masculine self, now a way to assert female domination of my aggressive masculine representation.
As for “Consideration,” it remains a staple of my life, an anthemic pledge to my best life, forever.
