Fuck every single one of you rape apologists. YES people are raped by their boyfriends. It happens all the fucking time. In fact you’re far more likely to be raped by your boyfriend or husband than some stranger on the street at night. YES sex workers are raped. The fact that our culture dehumanizes sex workers makes them more vulnerable to rape, and also to negative backlash if they speak out against it. Any rhetoric that sounds like “what did she expect” or “are you sure it was rape” is cruel and ignorant. You know rape when you feel it. You can’t fucking forget it. No means no. A safe word means stop, it means this is not safe. Silence and limp lifeless lack of response does not mean yes. It does not even mean maybe. Anyone who does not follow those rules is a rapist. Sex with out consent is rape. Regardless of the fucking details.
Guys, Stoya just basically put everything on the line here. I really admire her courage, and I know what’s ahead for her is going to suck like crazy.
It’s scary to me that people can hide behind pretending to be progressive and feminist, can use these labels as a disguise for some fucked up stuff. I’ve encountered two people in my kink experience that have wound up to be rapists masquerading as feminists, and it’s not only fucking terrifying, but it’s even harder for survivors’ experiences to be viewed as legitimate. It’s also profoundly fucked up that people, like Deen, use feminism as a tool to get victims to trust them.
So I stand with Stoya.
I stand with Stoya.
Take a piece of the leftover Halloween candy you’ve been saving–an M&M, a Skittle, or something else small with a hard shell. Pop it out of the package and put it between your back teeth. Start to bite down–no, that was too hard, you crushed it. Go ahead, chew and swallow, we’ll start over.
Try it again. Put the candy between your molars and hold it, hold it, bite down just a little and oh you broke it again. Fine. Just eat it. Are you trying to get in trouble? That’s for later. Just do as I say.
Okay. Last time. I’m going to put this in your mouth and push it all the way to the back with my warm thick fingers, and you’re going to hold it when I withdraw. Start to press down. There, like that. A little more. A little more, until you can feel the shell just start to crack and splinter–and stop. Hold. Good girl.
Right now, the thing in your mouth is still a piece of candy. It’s whole but it’s broken, intact but irreparably compromised. Opening your mouth any farther would destroy it; so would biting down, but for the moment, it’s holding together. You can find the new sharp edges of that little glossy smooth thing with your tongue. There. Do you feel them?