Smut, Interrupted

Let me tell you about the story I’m not telling you. The one that you’d think would be so appropriate for me to tell on this site.  This past weekend, some seriously HOT stuff happened. It was depraved and there was sweat and bondage and so. much. penetration.  If I could have stepped outside my body and watched the scene from afar I’d have been like, – unf – and while there were no cameras set to record anything, if you know me at all you know I’m capable of capturing and conveying a very clear picture of what took place with some well-placed words.

But I’m not telling you, and it’s not because I think you wouldn’t like it or because I wouldn’t enjoy sharing it with you.

It’s because of every time someone has incorrectly equated a woman’s sexuality with her intention.

For every “she was asking for it, dressed like that…”

For every meme showing Lady Gaga, Madonna, Arianna Grande, or Miley Cyrus and contrasting the way they choose to own and display their own bodies with their complaints that men simply shouldn’t (without consent).

Because if I were to share how he managed to reduce me to whimpering, drool-covered object for his pleasure – and further, if I were to say I enjoyed it, then the same people who think that posting naked pictures of oneself on a kinky website is an open invitation to receive inboxes full of unsolicited cockshots, come-ons, and non-negotiated exercises in humiliation and degradation in the comments section would see it as open season.

So, you’re not getting smut from me.

Not today, anyway.

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