Month: October 2014

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If I had a strap-on, it would have to be super pretty.

Because, come on,

if I had a penis, it would be a really pretty penis.

You know you owe all the people concerned that you had an eating disorder, that you totally railed against, an apology.

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camdamage:

You know how fucked up it was to send this message right?

Can I just say, as someone with anxiety and recovering from an eating disorder, and honestly just as an empathetic human being: Fuck this anon.

Jesus Christ. She owes nobody an apology.

I spent a long time angrily, vehemently, shamefully, fearfully insisting to people that I didn’t have a problem before I could honestly and legitimately admit that, hey, I had a problem. This is (considering the circumstances) normal. This is how people cope. Jesus.

And for someone to selfishly demand an apology from a person they don’t know on the Internet for her suffering is outrageous and insensitive. She doesn’t owe you people anything.

Christ.

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Here’s my contribution to herdirtylittleheart’s awesome #happybirthdayheart challenge. 

I talk a lot about how Heart was one of the people pivotal in making me as brave(ish) as I’ve become. So, I wanted to do something super brave for this. It ended up sort of happening on the fly, but I’m thrilled with the result.

My vanilla friends and I took a crazy road trip to climb a crazy thing. Something you should know about me is that I hate hate hate hate hate heights. I didn’t think I’d actually end up going up to the top. But, somehow, I did.

I was so high on adrenaline and so ecstatic that I pulled my pants down to moon the distance I’d climbed and asked one of my vanilla friends to take a picture of my butt.

And you know what? She did it!

I maybe would’ve made a few different artistic choices had I been in charge, but here’s my offering to the Birthday Game. Recently, I was speaking to Heart about how awesome and brave people are being, and how inspirational it is to see what being brave means to each person. What I did here was an important step on two fronts in my life: conquering my anxiety-related fears and being my full, unabashed self in front of my friends.

On the way down, one of my other friends leaned over and said, “I think what you did was great. A lot of people would go up and carve their name into a tree or something. But this is something you can have from a time you did something wild and brave to always remember how that felt.”

So Happy Birthday, Heart. Your presence on this site is important and inspiring. Thank you for the excuse/opportunity you’ve given us this month.

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I scrolled through this too fast on my phone and thought they were sitting on pizza.

I’ll show myself out.

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I tease Pup a lot that he went on his first date with a butt.

My profile picture on FetLife, which I essentially only use to keep track of people that I’ve met at munches and who I don’t quite feel comfortable enough to give my phone number to, is of my butt. It’s a pretty similar angle to this gifset. 

What can I say? I didn’t want to incriminate myself by posting my face, but I wanted something besides a question mark in the profile picture. So, my butt. 

I first met Pup for all of a minute at a munch back in August. I honestly spent more time talking to his girlfriend and her secondary than I did to him. It wasn’t that I wasn’t interested in him or that I was particularly interested in his other partners, but when he added me on FetLife after the munch was like, “sure, okay, yeah, I kind of remember you?”

I later found out that this was mostly his girlfriend’s doing, in an effort to try to get him to both branch out and ask me out. But, when the initial messages came through, I figured he was probably just creepin’ on my butt pic. His girlfriend had been simultaneously messaging me, and so I was also concerned that they were unicorn hunting, but apparently this was also an effort on her part to try to get the two of us to hang out.

So, I agreed to go out for coffee, mostly because not much else was going on that week. I honestly barely remembered what he looked like. I was worried that he actually thought I was worthlessrapemeat, because the two of us had been cutely hanging all over each other all night and we’ve got some similar attributes, and my silly insecurities made me think that when I showed up, he’d be disappointed that I wasn’t her.

In order to feign nonchalance, I turned up late. Fortunately, he hadn’t confused me with WRM. Fortunately, he was actually really nice and good-looking and a good conversationalist. But, yeah, I still mocked him about only asking me out because he saw a butt on the Internet he liked.

Ironically, he turned out to be working part-time at that shitty diner where I outed myself as poly to my friend to get some money on the side while he finished his degree. 

My friends now jokingly call him the name of the diner when referencing him, which I guess implies three things:

  1. Stuff with Pup worked out well after the first date.
  2. I’m out to most of my friends now.
  3. I’ve got a lot to fill you all in on.

Your only responsibility right now is to have a big fat tub of ice cream (if you’re into that sort of thing) and take care of yourself while dealing with the gravity of this situation. You don’t owe your readers anything. Take your time.

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Thank you, to the anon above and everyone else, for your kindness the other day. Of course the follower was basically like “blah blah I was just curious you’re being hard on me I’ll unfollow you and never speak to you again I’m sorry you’re so sensitive.” So it’s nice to get some sincere kindness over here. 

TW: rape, rape culture

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Hi tumblr,

Recently I had a follower send me a message saying it was my responsibility to specifically detail what the guy in this post did. Apparently, since I have a large readership, it’s my duty to spell out for all of you exactly what went down, exactly why it was wrong, etc. 

The fact that this is pretty freaking patronizing aside, I figured I should clarify something:

I didn’t omit the specific acts in this post to be artistic or to make my writing look pretty or to leave some enchanting mystery about his crimes. I did it because, honestly, I have my own limitations here. And it is frankly difficult to write specifically about someone doing something this horrendous. 

Let me explain by saying for all the apologists for people like the Steubenville rapists, I’m sure there were those kids who felt completely fucking blindsided by the whole thing. Like, that guy was in my math class and this could have been me. Or, I’ve been drunk around that guy in the past and I had no idea I was sharing such intimate space with a predator. 

I cannot believe I actually have to write this out, but let me be explicit in this one area: I let a rapist touch me consensually. I gave a rapist a blowjob. 

Admitting that alone is indescribably nauseating. It is unfathomably shameful and frightening. I have been sick over it.

So does it maybe make sense here why I’m not specifically detailing his acts? It’s not that I’m trying to protect him. It’s not that I’m trying to withhold a valuable educational experience. It’s that, perfectly freaking honestly, writing about this stuff is traumatic to me. I had a pretty fucking close call here. 

I apologize if anyone else felt my withholding of information was somehow irresponsible, but let me be clear: this is my blog. I need to take care of myself first.

And enumerating the acts of a person who is otherwise unidentifiable will really do nothing beyond making me feel even more torn up than I have already felt. 

So let me be really clear here:

1. If she/he/etc isn’t saying yes, it’s rape.

2. If her/his/etc ability to say yes is impaired by something – alcohol, unconsciousness – it’s rape. 

3. If you slap somebody outside of the context of a scene, where there is no consent, negotiation and safewords, it is abuse. 

4. If she/he/etc is a minor, it’s rape.

5. If she/he/etc tells you to stop and you keep going, it’s rape.

6. If she/he/etc is hesitant and you push on anyway, ignoring them, it’s rape.

That’s as explicit as I’ll be here. I’m not going to spell out specific instances because, frankly, being asked to defend myself here is traumatic enough.