CLAP
October 17th, 2020
Dear Lover,
I conjured BabyCakes this week. Dug them up from the depths of my pelvis, my heartspace, and that spot from behind my ear. Yeah, you know the one - that spot your tongue lands when you fuck me. Together, BabyCakes and I banished patriarchy, capitalism, and white supremacy. And no matter how many times I practiced that ritual, I still fucked it up, ha! I forgot a whole wardrobe piece, and an entire line. BUT BITCH! I think it ended up being pretty powerful.
You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about BabyCakes and I. Where is their distinction from mine? For one, I know BabyCakes is here to conjure Black queer and trans power, through the erotic. They are a Bald Baddie Black Feminist. They are the parts of myself that I’m not sure I can fully embody. You know, the whole too-shy-to-be-nonbinary-thing. Or rather, not too shy to be but too shy to declare, to share, to… I’m just like… am I intellectuallizing myself out of being cis? I mean I really got Aaliyah when she said more than a woman. Yes shawty, I’m still corny!!! But forreal. BabyCakes does not fit into woman or man or these lil boxes these cissies love so much. They exist outside of and beyond all of that. So what does that make me?
My favorite part of BabyCakes is their unapologetic opening for transformation. When I first stitched them together, BabyCakes debuted their first act, “Recovering Undercover Overlover” to Erykah Badu’s Out My Mind, Just In Time. They were heartbroken, but they made it look sexy. I’ll never forget the crowd that day - I performed last and got a standing ovation. To hear the people clap for me, yell for me, scream for me, beg for me. I could get used to that.
I keep finding myself looking at old photos, craving that desire once more. Those flashing lights, the dollars smashing my collarbone, the lashes being pulled off of my eyelids at the end of the night. Anywho, that act was more than baring my soul - it was the first time I told my story to the world. I had just turned 21, and was heartbroken over some bullshit relationship. But I was really mourning the ways I lost myself in abuse. I spent so much money on that costume and lingerie - which I have since lost! But point is, I was going to be sexy, I was going to be fine like wine and unafraid.
I want to be unafraid again. I want to be lustful and thirsty and desirous, and a wild wild wild thing. I want to come home and feel your palm on my neck, your fingers thrusting inside of me, feel your breath on my skin like it never left. I want you and another and another and another and another, all there to please me. Or them. Or us?
I want to tickle your toes and pull your hair and watch you say my name over and over till your throat gets sore, and you need some honey to tickle that too. You see, baby, I want. That is what BabyCakes does to me. They ignite that power from which I desire no less of myself, like the Lorde said. She was right when she said we have been raised to fear the yes in ourselves. BabyCakes is my yes. They wiggle at being wanted, and cut their eyes at anyone who approaches without a worthy offering. This nonbinary Bald Baddie Black Feminist, growing power from seed and pouring pussy juice as its watering. When BabyCakes walks into a room, mouths drop open, people clutch onto their bosoms and bellies as if their desire seeps from nipples and belly buttons.
Where does BabyCakes begin and Nana Chinara end? I imagine they share a skin until the skin gets too loose to hold all that fear and desire, clashing against each other. BabyCakes starts at the
nape of my neck, and with each roll they warm up for their birth. Next, they tease their way down my spine and whisper to my nipples, priming them for a tassel. They suck on my hips and claw my thighs apart, shifting through strands of bush and slurp and slop along the way. Oooh, they are here. They are my freedom, fantasy, freak-dom liberation practice. And I truly believe I would not be if they were not here.
What does that make me? A mother? It is in my name, afterall.
What does that make me? A fluke or a fake, in hiding?
Does that make me a coward? A fool?
Nah. It makes me whole. I am whole, lover, with BabyCakes churning inside of me. I wonder why BabyCakes is being reignited at this time. All of my other acts have been about some version of you - be it Adrea or Chin or Tyniesha. But this act, We Banish, came to me in all of 5 minutes. Must be the magic of this moment. The demand of this moment where Black queer and trans power is necessary if we want to see the new world. I wonder if it's because some parts of Nana have stopped seeking you for my touch. Or if I’m really just ready to add you to my list of exes and move on. Because, you mean to tell me that BabyCakes has transformed from a heartbroken shell of themself to a Bad Bitch taking on isms?!? I would’ve never imagined. But then again, can we imagine the parts of ourselves that would break open, get beaten by the tide of the moon and swim ashore reborn?
If I’m being most honest with myself, and you, I am at a pivotal point in my life where I have 0 room for any fuckshit. And I think that means finally saying goodbye to you too. On to the next.
...
Hey, lover. Welcome to my CakeClub, my Bald Baddie Band. Since you’re new here, these are a couple of things you should know:
1. I am not Nana Chinara. She is she and I am me. I will fight a motherfucka up in here. She too “proper” for all of that.
2. I can be an offering, a whisper, or a curse. Choose wisely.
3. We fuck gender over here.
4. I am mother, daughter, nibbling, child, king - all of these at the same time. I am to be worshipped.
5. I like it best when it starts slow. The ultimate tease. I like it when you start at my navel with ice under your tongue. When you slide my pinky into your mouth and nibble on its ridges. When you run the tip of the knife against the heel of my feet, up my legs to graze the very bottom of my cheeks. When you kiss on my elbows, then my chin, then collarbone. When you bring options for play - pink and skinny or purple, flat and thick? When you let me choose the vibration but you surprise me with the speed. When you bring 3 towels because you know it gets soaked up in here. When you fuck me as if the moon was inside of me and your hands were birthing it full. When I quiver beneath your lips and you pull up to stroke my head. There goes that kiss on the back of my ear again. 6. I am unafraid.
Xo,
BabyCakes
P.S. Nana Chinara was in here somewhere too.