Walls of Jericho

But my life turned out okay, didn’t it?

That’s the answer I’d expect from some people after I write the post I want to write. This wouldn’t be the response I’d get from the people who already “get it.” It would be from the ones who regularly refute the premise, but for some reason, they’d be more inclined to listen to me even if they’d continue to disagree with me.

And then they’d remind me that despite all that had happened my life turned out okay, didn’t it?

And to them, I’d just want to say that yes, it did. It turned out okay. And that still doesn’t make it right. That still doesn’t make it an acceptable loss.

It’s hard to imagine there are still people in the world who would ask the question “if it were true, why did they take so long to say anything about it?”

I keep waiting for my parents to ask the question so I can remind them what happened the two or three times I told them about it right after it happened.

You weren’t there, so I’ll tell you.

Nothing. I was told not to make a fuss. I was told not to make a scene. In one case I was told I was overreacting and exaggerating despite having a male family member corroborate my story. And when I refused to be near or friendly with the person that was making me uncomfortable, I was chided and accused of being rude.

It was happening right under their nose, not just once. Not twice, but THREE times. Though, one of those times I was all for it; but looking through the lens of maturity now, they should have said something. It was highly inappropriate.

But, of course, they didn’t want to make a scene.

Yes, my life turned out okay. Just like when my dad sold my car without talking to me about it first, and…well, I mean, I love my Prius now, so that turned out okay, right? Why would I still be upset with him for doing that without talking to me about it first if it all turned out okay?

For millions of others, that’s not the case. They don’t end up “okay.” And even if it were…even if everyone who ever got groped without consent, or raped, or had their personal space and personal agency violated in anyway turned out okay it would STILL not make it okay for that shit to have happened to them.

So, why don’t they speak up sooner?

Are you listening? Or did your wall go up as soon as you figured out what this post was about?


Using my words

Once upon a time I thought I was telepathic.

No, not really, but once upon a time, I behaved as though the men I was interested in could read my mind. With a look or a series of hints, I could convey my desires and they’d have the option to either make them happen or not.

I was in a crowded elevator heading to the top of the Eiffel Tower. My parents, my brother, and his girlfriend (now wife) were with me. I was sanding beside the elevator operator, who was eye-fucking me.

I have a thing about pushing my own boundaries. I mean, I was a legal adult, a sexually active one, and I’d spent the previous week sharing a room with my little brother and his girlfriend, without access to a vibrator or any sexual release.

I felt the elevator operator’s attention fixate on me. I fixated back, silently. I imagined him wanting me and touching me. I imagined all SORTS of things while we stood there, nearly touching, on the ride up while everyone else was oblivious to it.

And then he grabbed me by the pussy.

No joke, that’s exactly what happened. He grabbed my cunt and worked his fingers around it over my clothes.

I froze.

I didn’t say anything, I just remembered feeling really confused by what had just happened.

See, there are fantasies I want to make happen and there are some that are better off left in the land of make-believe. This was the latter.

Did I want him to grab me? Yeah, part of me did. BUT NOT THE PART THAT WOULD HAVE SAID SO OUT LOUD.

So now, I don’t leave it up to interpretation. I tell people straight up what I want from them. I tell my partner “I want you to kiss me,” or “I want you to say something nice to me,” or “I want to tease you until you can’t take it anymore and then overpower me.”

Would it be super fun if he could read my mind and life played out like a custom made fantasy?

Not anymore.

I used to think it would. But imagine if every time I thought a guy was attractive and thought something remotely flirtatious and/or sexual about him he acted on it like the guy in the elevator at the Eiffel Tower?

Yeah, I do not want people to act on my thoughts. I don’t want to be grabbed by the pussy by someone who is getting a “message” from me that is not a message I said with my words.

Now, my partner and I have a negotiated relationship. He can grab me by the pussy whenever he wants – because I trust, for example, that he wouldn’t do it in a situation that would make trouble for me with family, coworkers, or law enforcement.

In our VERY FIRST SCENE I gave him verbal permission to touch me wherever he wanted. He chose not to grab me by the pussy that time.

But he was aware he could have.

There’s a lot of writing/talking about consent, and it’s an important conversation to have. What clearly separates assault, abuse, and harassment from what we do here is consent.

And unless you’ve heard me tell you something with my words, step the fuck back.

Thought: Seeking Rejection as a form of humiliation play?

It’s happened to me online and in person, and I know it’s happened to many of my fellow lady right-of-the-slashers. We openly identify as submissive or bottom or whatever the one that means “I’m not in charge” to us, and we’re approached by a submissive male offering (sometimes quite relentlessly) to serve us.

Why do they do that? This question was just posed in a status update on FetLife recently. Okay, actually, her question was “What does it mean?” but in answering that, I think I might have hit on something.

I know a lot of male bottoms are really into humiliation. I also know that strong lady tops are not quite as plentiful as their male counterparts.

Rejection is the low hanging fruit of humiliation, in a way. So, do they go after the strong lady submissives in the hopes of being rejected so they can get a little bit of that feeling they crave? And the ones that get pushy about it and raise our ire to the point where we’re spitting venom at them, is it…getting them off?

If that’s the case, I don’t know. It feels a little bit like dragging us into their play without our consent; only by asking in the first place they’re technically requesting consent. It’s a nice little loophole.

I haven’t had coffee yet. This just popped into my head as I was responding to her post and I figured I could turn it into a whole blog and see if anybody had any theories, comments or thoughts to add?