Month: September 2012

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They say I have a sweet ass, nice tits, a real pretty dress. They say I’m their future wife, or I’d look good with their dick in my mouth. They try (and probably succeed at times) to take pictures down my shirt. They ask if they can get my number, they ask where I live, why I’m not smiling, why my boyfriend lets me walk around by myself. Then they ask why I’m such a bitch, if my pussy is made of ice. They say that they never do this, as though I’ve somehow driven them to inappropriate behavior and deserve it. They say they’re just having fun, trying to pay me a compliment. Pretty frequently they get mean, slipping into a loud tourettes-like chant of bitch-whore-cunt-slut.

Before you try to tell me that it’s because I take my clothes off for a living, let me tell you that this started way before I was 18. Let me tell you that every single woman I know has at least one truly terrifying story of street harassment and a whole bunch of other stories that are merely insulting or annoying. Let me remind you that in a room of pornography fans, who have actually seen me with a dick in my mouth and who can buy a replica of my vagina in a can or box, I am treated with far more respect than I am walking down the street.

Stoya (via foyuck)
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I went out on Saturday night with some friends and bumped into that guy from my frat. The whole night he was pursuing me to the point that he even had to awkwardly acknowledge it himself. He was pulling a lot of the moves that I have sort of become familiar with and I was actually kind of amused about the whole thing.

If you recall, I had a little weird drama with him over the formal and kind of mentioned that something else had happened in a post I forgot to label and I’m too lazy to look for. But, the reasons I provided in the posts were not the reasons I was upset with him. Simply put: he did show up. With his girlfriend from home. Who looked a lot like me.

And then tried to hang around my friends and I like it was nothing. After that, he acted like nothing had happened. And when I started getting with Switch, his teammate, that guy from my frat got a little awkward with me and we just never even spoke about it because I was of the position that I was done with him.

When it first happened, I didn’t want to write on tumblr about it because I was, honestly, a little hurt. I imagine she sort of blew into town and he had to quickly sort of cover his tracks. Honestly, though, he could have just been honest with me and I would have respected the situation. But the whole thing was ridiculous and I didn’t feel like writing about it, so I came up with another excuse as a placeholder.

I just found out that, apparently, he and his girlfriend broke up over the summer fairly recently after the formal. I doubt it had anything to do with me, but it explains why he’s suddenly all over me and sending me things like Feminist Ryan Gosling months too late.

In the interest of not rambling on too much about this whole thing, I’ll allow sweet Judy up there to articulate my feelings about the present situation.

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So, last night I wore a ballgag for the first time.

Craftsmate had just made me a blindfold and I was over at his place messing around with the floggers. I tried flogging him while blindfolded and then he flogged me back, not blindfolded, with significantly more success. 

He made this ballgag and I was super impressed with it, so I asked him to make me one. He warned me that it makes you drool uncontrollably after four and a half minutes and I told him I could totally outlast that.

And I did. Although I did eventually wind up drooling just about everywhere while I was sitting on his floor ballgagged and blindfolded and awkwardly trying to communicate with him. Because talking ballgagged is hard, tumblr. So it was a lot of hand motions and laughing and drooling.

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whyexactly:

“Time’s up!” He said, with a certain smug satisfaction,

before pushing her over onto her side

with his foot.

These are the sorts of games I’m never sure if I want to win or lose.

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Though she wanted to be shared, she was frightened at the prospect of someone new having control.

And so, when the time came that she was to be given to someone else, he sat with her. He played with her hair, he stroked her cheek, he whispered encouragements. He grounded her when everything else seemed so foreign and terrifying.

Even though she could not see him, she felt safe, if not a little bashful for how much she was enjoying herself. And when it was done he held her and they both, in their own ways, were proud.

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In which it is convenient that people I know follow my tumblr:

I would like to try this.

Please and thank you.

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I’d like to imagine that if he weren’t holding her that way, I imagine she’d just fall right into the mirror he’s holding her in front of. And that would be no good at all, it would just get her off the hook from having to watch those little faces she makes until she can finally appreciate them.