Jetta Rae DoubleCakes

Being a polyamorist has yet to afford me that “communal pride.” It’s not an identity that I associate with good politics. Yet.

This classic film takes the cautionary tale into the "supersonic age," foregoing a cerebral edge in favor of murder and a giantess fetish.

There's a dresser in my drawer, and all it contains is a flannel shirt and a picture of me and Henrietta, from Christmas 2013.

The cycle of un-addressed intimate partner violence in MMA continues for War Machine, now recovering from a suicide attempt.

DoubleCakes dishes out advice to a reader who did something unseemly in her one-night-stand's bed.

Nail polish and straws put rape prevention squarely on the shoulders of women, a responsbility we've always borne.

I put the lotion on my skin for a week after they left, hoping that it would bring me stop-gap solace until they forgave me and came back.

Speaking out for the rights of all women doesn’t make me a misandrist or an infighter.

I have an intense, irrational fear of amputation. I threw up trying to read Geek Love. I get light-headed, piss-pantsy in Halloween stores.

Visibility and respect, held with tired arms in a dire double headlock—this is the struggle of women in sports.