“And that was all the part of it – the way you were obliged to live. You stifled a groan, you lied about your love, you deceived your legal wife, and all in the name of honour. That was the damned paradox of it – in order to behave well, you have to behave badly,“ Julian Barnes, Arthur and George
dress
I need to find myself a wearable scandal like this.
I’ve been asked why I like Sasha Grey so much. And, to be honest, it’s not because of her porn. Sure, she’s a gorgeous woman with tremendous sex appeal, but a lot of her stuff is way too commercialized and cheesy. For all the really awesome stuff she does, there is some material that she attaches herself to that is just sort of “…come on”.
It’s more about her bravado and her attitude toward who she is and what she does. When she caught some heat for having an unshaven pussy on Entourage, she retorted that viewers could now see “what a real woman looked like”. When Tyra Banks gave her crap about her career, she defended herself maturely and eloquently. She’s amazingly unapologetic.
It’s hard for me sometimes not to feel ashamed of some of the things I like. So, yes, I admire the shit out of this woman. Also, just…come on…look at her.
Oh my God this happens to me all the time when I wear dresses and carry my laptop in my shoulder-bag. Of course, I keep on top of it better than this cutie.
One of the little pleasures of the moment. Going commando.
Alice Springs by, Helmut Newton
She may have to take the punishment lying down, but she won’t take it sitting down. She’ll moan around that bit deliciously. She’ll squirm and pout in such an enticing mockery of remorse. She’ll tilt herself in such a way that her dress proceeds to ride up just an inch more each time he walks by. She’ll make him forget which one of them is being punished.
Ruka
I have a fantasy of being institutionalized for one reason or another. But, here’s the thing, it’s just as glamorous as this. There’s no pills, no emotional trauma, no group therapy, no straitjackets. There’s just me, a couple of nurses, and a bed with plenty of straps and buckles. It usually ends with them taking turns at sitting on my face, giggling and shoving each other aside to get on my mouth.
WARNING, RANT STARTS HERE:
One issue I have with my kinks a lot of the time is how they are watered-down versions of actually really terrible things. Institutional rape happens. Kidnapping happens. People wind up with their significant other’s hands around their throats. They wind up being tossed to the wolves (so to speak) and thrown into sex with a ridiculous amount of partners simultaneously. It’s not glamorous. No one is giggling.
Where I am working at my internship right now, I’m encountering women who have fallen victim to a few of the things, and several other ills of society that don’t wander into my sex life, that I fantasize about. And I cannot help but sit there sometimes and feel terribly guilty for glamorizing and sexualizing things that absolutely traumatized them.
Sometimes I run into a moral dilemma on having these fantasies and, moreover, indulging them. You’re stuck differentiating between what is a purely consensual act and what is a crime against humanity, society, etc. Moreover, if I am acting in imitation of an act, such as institutional rape, I am not only acknowledging its existence, but attributing my own “fun” to its existence. And maybe I’m taking it too far. Maybe I’m getting too introspective.
But, then there’s the issue for me of posting stuff like that on my tumblr. Not too long ago, a group of black men watched Mississippi Burning and, inspired, walked across the street and beat a little white boy to death. The issue was brought up if Mississippi Burning was to blame at all for the actions taken by this group of men. Of course, one could argue that it’s the same sort of misinterpretation that lead Catcher in the Rye to be misread, causing John Lennon to be shot. We can blame the person’s own insanity for the actions, of course, but can we also blame the incendiary material as well for sparking the insanity? You don’t give a serial killer a freaking box-cutter and diplomatic immunity.
So, I wonder, as I make posts about all sorts of forced sexual interaction, which of course exist in a consensual frame for me, who is reading it and what they are doing it. I’m in no way as influential as JD Salinger or the creative staff behind Mississippi Burning, but, nonetheless, my fantasies are on the Internet and they have the propensity to be misinterpreted.
I don’t know if this is a rant, a self-criticism or an attempt to cover my ass. But, I suppose I need to say that what I write here is purely fantasy that exists in a frame of consent, willingness, and trust. While I still have not been able to reconcile that with the actual acts that go on and what my endorsement of a glamorized, watered-down version of them might entail, I in no way encourage the acts.
Rant over. Thanks for sticking around.
Back in high school, I used to keep my mild obsessive-compulsive tendencies in order by growing and tending plants on the shelf by the kitchen window. I kept on top of those bitches like crazy. I trimmed them with these little scissors, I watered them just so, I repotted when needed.
I re-watched Secretary recently and noticed that Mr. Grey was a bit of a nut about his plants, too. Even more meticulous than I. Which got me thinking, “hm, do I have a mild dominant streak that I take out on potted plants?”
Nah. I’m just anal.
I have a collection of dainty little dresses that I wish I could just roll around in all the time.
(PS: Casey, I absolutely love this song and this photograph.)
Dearest Tumblr,
(Please feel free to skip. This is a rant and a little too TMI)
I am not a doctor. I don’t really know much medically. But let me tell you a little something about a drug called Chloroquine.
It’s used to prevent malaria. I took my first Chloroquine yesterday with my lunch, as instructed. My stomach hurt a bit, but I was told this would happen. I proceed with my day normally and was fine. Then, at three in the morning, I woke up and got sick. I never, ever do that. Really.
I got incredibly cold. I was trembling harder than I have ever before. I literally could barely walk and I managed to go to sleep. I wake up a few hours later and cannot even bring myself to leave bed. I have to force crackers down to keep from getting sick again. I chug a gatorade (yuck) and my friends take me to a diner where I manage to get some eggs down.
I send an email to the woman who prescribed it to me with a ton of enthusiasm. I google the drug and speak to montecervesa, who is seriously a wealth of knowledge and was a huge help/provided a ton of support. Google and The Count agree, Chloroquine is a horrifically bad drug. People would rather get malaria than take these pills. I had a huge list of pills I could’ve possibly taken and this woman gives me what appears to be the worst.
She responds to my email really blandly and says she’s going to prescribe me more pills. I google this brand. It looks just as bad. I send back something that may have been a little bitchy, but I’m tired and I have to work 9 hours and gosh darn it.
Thanks for listening.
<3, Ivy
Pleasant Surprise: I was out for lunch yesterday with one of my best friends from high school. I kind of assumed she was vanilla because I have this terrible habit of just doing that (better safe than sorry?). I forget what we were talking about, but suddenly she looks up from her food and goes, “do you know who Sasha Grey is?”
Needless to say, we bonded like crazy at that point about how upset we are that she retired. I love when my friendships just get a teensy bit deeper like that.