I don’t know how to link this like most people do with personal things, so scroll past if you don’t want to read anything emotional.
I turn my head to the right and hold my breath. That’s all I can do is stop as many of my senses as possible: stop the smell of his shoulder, the sound of his breathing. Get my head as far away as possible from him. Stop I think. I scream in my head for twenty minutes. Stop. STOP. Please, I’ll do anything. I want to dig my fingernails into his back, but I know it will be misinterpreted. I want to dig them in so hard he bleeds. Even if it doesn’t stop him, I need to pierce the skin. He acts so soft and that makes it worse. I wish he was violent, because it would fit the pain I’m feeling. But he is slow, gentle, indulgent. I tense every muscle I have. It’s getting harder to hold my breath, especially since the smell is intensifying as the night goes on. When it’s happening it feels like an hour for every minute. But now I only remember it in a blink. I see a picture of myself on the bed, tense and crying, my tears fall on his neck. I look like a fish, a blanket. Something that just doesn’t move but doesn’t matter either. I wish my vagina would just rip and bleed; it’s not pleasurable but it’s still too soft to be rape. It can’t be can it? After all, I’m not saying a word. Not even a sound. All I have is my muscles, and so I squeeze them and I try to close myself off. I’m not open, I say in my head. I’m not for you. I don’t want this. Just get off and I’ll do whatever you want. I just need your skin off of me. I don’t even feel if you’re inside me or not, I can’t focus on anything but the skin I can see and am forced to touch. The pimples and the stubble and the sweat and the hair; I didn’t use to mind them. Not until tonight. When I did this with my girlfriend it was electric. Her fingers were magnificent, like clouds on my skin and a fire inside of me. That’s not how these ones feel. They feel like dirt: rough and so filthy it’s painful. They hurt. They scrape my insides. I didn’t ask for them. I don’t want them in there. I can feel myself getting wetter but I’m sure it’s my body’s defense mechanism, so it won’t hurt so bad. Can’t you look at my face just for a minute? Look at how I’m feeling. Consider why I haven’t moved, haven’t breathed since you started. Can you REALLY not figure this out? Are you that dense!? Are you remembering the last time when I pretended to enjoy it? Did you wear a condom? Did it slip off? They looked too big last time. Did I tell you to use one like I did last time? My bottom half is too numb, I don’t keep up with what’s happening. Did it touch me, that… part? I imagine it gone and nothing seems more lovely in this moment. If it were gone you couldn’t be doing this. Maybe you could do something else to me. But maybe I wouldn’t be naked or on my back; I hate being this vulnerable. This is supposed to be something beautiful and it’s supposed to be mine. I’M LETTING THIS HAPPEN FOR YOU, my head cries. This is for you, it’s for our friendship. It’s so you don’t have to do it with *her* anymore. Then maybe you’ll stop hurting each other. I am sacrificing something that should be mine, that should be nice, just for you. And you won’t even look at me. You won’t apologize like I have so many times. I’m sorry. but I’m hurt. If you’d hit me everything would make so much more sense. How can you abuse me with an act of love? How…?
Next time I’m surrounded by people. It’s light in here I think. Or dark, I can’t really tell. The memory is like a fuzzy television station. Like when there’s a bad signal and all you see is black and white and all you hear is noise. That’s what I remember. I’m not drunk but you are. You smell like alcohol and cologne. I never liked that smell but it’s certainly worse now. I remember facial hair most of all, because that’s the most intimate part that touches me. I’d rather you do stuff down there than kiss me. I’m kind of like an object then: disengaged. It doesn’t feel like someone who loves me. I thought you loved me like a sister, but I was wrong. You don’t love me one bit. You play along because I cared for you; you went with it like a surfer’s wave. But when the tide came in you let me drown. That’s what I feel, come to think of it. The body is on top of me so I can’t get out of the water, I can only stay very still until it’s over. I forget there are people there. Were they watching? Did they see me? All of me? What was I wearing? A shirt? A bra? Fuck if I remember.. I know I was cold. The carpet is rough and your fingers are too. I think I say it hurts. I say it more than once I think? At some point you stop. I breathe for the first time. Why did I let this happen? I want love so badly. I ache for it. I want to be held and validated. I want you all to see me as family, and I believe you do at first. Was I wrong? Was I hoping the kissing and the closeness promised a long-term connection that it didn’t? Did you just not need me anymore, now that I was causing you trouble? Are you too sick like me? I don’t know which one of you I am talking about. I don’t need sex, I need a friend. There are so many thoughts going through my head. What happens after this? I have no memories. Did we fool around more, or did I go to bed? Was my boyfriend with me afterwards? I should never have been such a goddamn whore. I gave EVERYTHING away. My trust, my body, my secrets. You don’t believe the secrets. You cast away my body once you’re done. You don’t hold on to the trust. No. You just move on. Right past me. Keep living. Do you remember? Am I in your mind? Why weren’t you a stranger, I ask myself. I could move on if it was a stranger. Don’t touch me. Just don’t. I miss you…
Don’t Be That Guy.
Great campaign! Great point!
Or that girl
So I found out that the person I have referred to as my rapist has read my blog, so I’m kind of scared to post this, but I think it’s important to note that he doesn’t believe he raped me, though by definition of some of these categories he did. I think it’s just a strong word and because of that I didn’t even define it as rape until someone else sort of did it for me. I didn’t want to refer to him as my rapist (especially because of things like intent, etc) because that’s a big label for someone to carry or be called. On the other hand, I did feel as though I had BEEN raped in some sense. Does that make sense?
Seriously though, I don’t know what I would do if I couldn’t post about these things, but I guess nothing’s ever fully anonymous/foolproof on here.
The Invisible War (Kirby Dick, 2012)
Watch this, it’s on Netflix.
[tw:rape] The next time an MRA tells you that raping women is an evolutionary advantage for men, tell them that killing rapists is an evolutionary advantage for women.
Submission: As I was scrolling through my Facebook I saw this lovely picture put up by my ex where I then saw his friend’s comment.
Not only did he tell me to get over it and that the guy was just trying to make a joke when I brought it up, he assumed that deleting the guy’s comment just automatically made up for it.
We think it’s barbaric that people used to watch men kill each other in Coliseums, yet we do the same thing today with bulls, chickens, and dogs. We watch the same level (or worse) of violence in fictional movies and real online videos. We torture people, enslave them, lock them up and kill them, all in the name of “public security.” We use animals for our own pleasure in any way we wish, and most of the time, we don’t even treat humans any better.
We laugh at people who have poisoned themselves for a fix (or to avoid pain). We giggle as they stumble, cheer them on when they flirt with the uninterested or uninhibited, and happily offer them more when they ask. Our first instinct is not to ask if someone is okay, or to try and get them away from the problem; our solution is to laugh and walk away.
Well I won’t do that. We need to not be afraid to care. To stand up to societal ideals and say there’s nothing wrong with questioning alcohol or meat or violent pornography. We shouldn’t judge anyone for partaking in these things, because life is incredibly complex and we can’t pretend to know everyone’s situation; but we should at least have the critical thinking to re-evaluate our ethics every so often.
Enabling is not always caring.
“I would say at least 90% of women in this field have been molested by an authority figure, usually at an early age. And what that does is teaches the woman that sex is one of the only talents she has.”
“I was molested. By an uncle. From 8-11. I finally lost my virginity at age 19, it took me a long time to be able to do it.”
“Another factor is being exposed to porn at a very early age. It desensitizes you to the harder stuff.”
“What you have to understand is, every man watching these is is looking for their revenge. That girl who gets the cum shot in her face at the end of the movie that they’re jacking off too? She’s the cheerleader who refused to sleep with him.”
Female porn star’s take on this.
“How many women actually want cum shot into their mouth or face? NONE.”
Reagan Center, rather than interviewing the women and then calling them back later, he tells them at the end of his interview that they need to have sex with him for free. He claims that showing producers these videos will guarantee them an income. He tapes the whole thing for his pleasure, including convincing them to sleep with him.
“I feel it gives me the motivation to refer the talent, so it’s perfectly ethical.” - He says.
“I mean, by calling me they are saying they want to have sex on film, and that’s exactly what I’m giving them.”
Only one woman ever said no. He was ABSOLUTELY INSISTENT. He has an answer to every reason she gave for refusing.
“I don’t have time.”
“Yes you do.”
“No, I really don’t have time.”
“It will only take a second.”
“I’m very selective about who I work with.”
“Well, this is how clients are marketed.”
By the end, the woman is clearly angry, but is vulnerable, as she is at this time naked in front of him on a bed, and he is fully clothed with a video camera.
Most people interviewed, male or female, were asked why they did this, and responded with,
“For the Money.”
“I’m only in it for the money.”
I realized I could make more money than by modeling.”
“It’s disgusting, but what can you do. I’m in it for the money.”
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