Do You Think He’s On Drugs? Please Tell Me That He’s On Drugs

In lieu of anything substantial to post, I will leave you with the most frightening speech in the history of ever.

“I have a Master’s degree… IN COMMUNICATION!”


Either that, or he took his inspiration from here.

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Posted in Awesomeness | 11 Comments

Um, no.

Surely I can’t be the only one that is completely rubbed the wrong way by the title of this book?

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Posted in SGO, Sex Miscellany, Sexuality | 7 Comments

PSA: On Seduction, Part Deux

ATTENTION MEN: If you are trying to get me to sleep with you, telling me that you “have a pretty big one. Thick, too,” (repeatedly) is not the way to go about it.

Not only do I not care how big your penis is, I a) shouldn’t know anything about it before I’ve actually gotten the chance to see it, and b) am more likely to run away screaming if I think you’re too large. Not to mention that it’s pretty off-putting and kind of pathetic.

This has been a public service announcement.

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Posted in Public Service Announcement, Sex Miscellany | 9 Comments

Why, Thank You Sir, For Not Raping Me!

From a piece on the always wonderful website The Frisky (like Cosmo! But online! Even though there already is a Cosmo online!) entitled 25 Things Women (Maybe) Don’t Know About Men:

β€œIt is an instinct for us to look at women.  It is hard to control that, so maybe she needs to be satisfied that all we are doing is looking.”—Patrick, 52

First thought: *headdesk*

Second thought: “Oh, HELL NO.” Why hello, rape culture! “Maybe she needs to be satisfied that all we are doing is looking?” What the fuck? So we should be satisfied with the fact that instead of raping us or sexually assaulting us or sexually harassing us, “all [they] are doing is looking?” HOW NICE OF YOU TO JUST INAPPROPRIATELY CHECK US OUT INSTEAD OF FORCING YOURSELF ON US! And that almost sounds like a thinly veiled threat.

And hey, men: give yourself some more credit. When we say that men “can’t control themselves” or are “just being men,” we’re not giving men enough credit for being able to be decent human beings with self-control, which they are. They CAN control themselves, and the more we excuse away this kind of behavior by chalking it up to “boys being boys,” the longer we allow it to continue.

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Posted in Rape Culture | 14 Comments

How to Guarantee That I Will Never Sleep With You Again

In regards to my squirting:

“It was pretty hot and it definitely turned me on, but it was really messy. Could you maybe not do it so much next time?”

FAIL. There will now definitely be no “next time.” And people wonder why I was so insecure about it for so long.

But! It gets worse! He then let me know that I could do porn if I wanted, because squirting is quite the asset to have if you’re a porn performer. He even offered to be my agent/manager! I let him know that I was not interested in doing porn. His response?

“What a waste of talent!”

DOUBLE FAIL. Thanks for playing, though!

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Posted in Griping and Kvetching and Bitching, Sex Miscellany, Sexcapades | 20 Comments


I’ve discussed coercive rape on this blog before, and that I think that men are victims when it comes to how we teach consent just as much as women are. I think that the way we talk about consent makes rapists out of men that would not otherwise be rapists. And I had an experience the other night that clearly reflected that*. I also realized that my reaction to it was very different than it would have been a few years ago, and it was probably different than many girls’ would have been now.

I had very awesome, very consensual sex with a guy. The next morning, I had somewhere to be. We had lazy morning sex a few hours before I had to get up, but we were both tired and fell back asleep. As I was getting up, Guy was hard. He made comments that I blew off at first, but after a while began to make me mad. “Come back!’ “Look what you did!” “You made it like this so you have to take care of it!”

And that’s where I went from being cute about the fact that I had to leave to angry. I’d only met this guy the night before. But even still, do NOT tell me that it’s somehow my responsibility to take care of your boner. Or because I’d fucked you once or twice that I’m OBLIGATED to fuck you again. OH HELL NO. So I tried to play it off, since we didn’t really know each other, and said, “I have to go, you have a hand. Take care of it yourself.”

“It’s not the same,” he said. “Sex is so much better!” “Come on!” “You could just even kiss it and I’d have that in my mind while I finished myself!” At this point, I’m beyond angry and turned off. My head is screaming, “coercive rape!” A shame, really, because I had enjoyed his company and the sex after the good company, but his behavior was such a turn off. And as I walked away, I thought to myself, “Just a few years ago, before I had the confidence and education that I have now, I probably would have given in to that.” And it’s true. I would have felt that I *did* owe him something because I’d slept with him the night before. I would have felt bad when he whined. And so would so many other girls. I’m glad I know enough to walk out of the room and not think twice about it, but how many other girls don’t? How many other girls would give that blow job because they felt obligated somehow?

A lot. And not that long ago, I would have been one of those girls. And I now know that his pushiness is a pattern, as I got a text asking for a naked picture of me. We’ve slept together once. Again, when I was younger, more insecure, and more vulnerable, I may have been fairly easily persuaded to send that picture.

Not today. Pushy will get you nowhere. I’ll give what I want to give. End of story. I have been a victim of coercive rape too many times. Not again.

*I will address this in a separate post, because it deserves it.

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Posted in Rape Culture | 24 Comments

Falling into Place

Everything, it seems, is falling into place. It turns out that this move was a Very Good Thing. I’ve just moved into my very own apartment (NO ROOMMATES! NO PARENTS!). It’s the first time in my life that I’ll be living totally by myself. I don’t have a bed yet. Or furniture. Or, well, anything, save for 3 suitcases of clothes. I plan to very slowly start purchasing things as my budget allows, but the bed is most certainly first on the list. It’s a very small apartment, but it’s mine (at least for now) and I couldn’t be happier.

Also: I GOT A JOB, BITCHES. Seven months of searching in Florida with scarcely an interview, and I had a job within 3 weeks of moving to Boston. Not only do I have a job, but I somehow convinced my new employers that I’m totally qualified to supervise people, so I actually have 4 therapists working below me (I NO, RITE??). Oh, and my own office. NBD.

I have been meeting a ton of new people, as well as reconnecting with old friends. The people that are still left up here have been fantastic and have helped me move and picked me up from the airport and helped me when I didn’t have a debit card yet and offered me couches to sleep on and they all deserve copious amounts of leg hugz. The new people that I’ve met are also awesome. I’m meeting people through OkCupid and I’m also looking for meetups and events and finding like-minded people and doing all the things that I never did when I was in Florida. It’s amazing how being in a place that you love can change the way you face the world in such a drastic way. I feel like I’m actually living my life now, as opposed to just surviving it.

I moved up here on a whim. I had two weeks to pack my stuff and find a place to stay. I had only the money in my savings account to get me by, and my parents bought my plane ticket up here and have not helped me financially at all since then. I was unsure how many people I still knew up here, and didn’t really care. I had no apartment. No job. Just some big ass balls. I’m so happy that it seems to be working out for me, and I’m in a Really Good Place right now. In fact, I think I’m in the best place I’ve been in a very long time, if not ever.

So to all you stupid commenters that like to tell me that I have a silver spoon in my mouth (which I never did, but whatever) and call me a privileged bitch because I happened to live at home with my parents and receive financial help from them (grad school’s a bitch, yo), you can kindly STFU now. It may have taken me longer to get on my own two feet than it takes some people, but we all progress at different rates. It is really weird to think that I’m, like, a Real Adult now, though.

Ha! Who am I kidding. I’ll never be a Real Adult. Being a Real Adult requires you to CLEAN ALL THE THINGS, and we all know how awesome I am at cleaning. Instead, I’ll just fool everyone into thinking I’m a Real Adult. That’s what we all do anyway, amirite?

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Posted in Awesomeness | 17 Comments

Bite Me

This is the very recent collection of bite marks/hickies/mix of both that I received the other day. I’m looking forward to them being darker and more hurty tomorrow.

It’s been way too long since I’ve had sex bruises. And y’all know how much I love sex bruises. I can has moar ruff secks, plz?

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Posted in Marks of Passion, Sexcapades, Submission | 6 Comments

You Say “Dyke” Like It’s A Bad Thing

As you know, I got my hair cut the other day. I really, really fucking love it. My mother saw the pictures and told me that my hair looked “dykey” and “butch.” I cried. When I sat down to think about why I had that reaction, there were so many different levels to this statement from my mother, and so many reasons for it to make me upset.

First is the examination of standards of feminine beauty in this culture. Short hair is not “feminine,” and that is a Bad Thing. Women should be “feminine.” It’s such a restrictive idea of gender and appropriate expression of gender. Women don’t have to be “feminine.” Furthermore, short hair does not equal “masculine.” Straight women can have short hair, and a woman with short hair does not automatically become a lesbian. I actually identify as high-femme, and so calling me “butch” is such a radically inaccurate statement about my gender identity.

Then there was the implication that looking/being “dykey” or “butch” was a Bad Thing. Even if I *was* either of those things (and there are many times when I very much am the former), that wouldn’t be bad. Being gay or butch or femme or whatever isn’t Bad and it isn’t Good. It just is, like having brown hair or being Italian.

And then I fall back to the fact that my mother does not accept me for who I truly am. As much as I try to tell her things about my life, and as much as she tries to accept me for me, the Queer Thing is the one thing she can’t come to terms with. She knows I review sex toys. She knows I’ve done “S&M” (her words, not mine) stuff. She knows I met the girlfriend of a guy I’d been kind of seeing. She knows my friends are gay. But when it comes to having to associate me with anything more queer than being an ally, she doesn’t want to hear it or know it or acknowledge it.

And so, I cried.

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Posted in Parental Control, SGO, Sexuality, Soul Searching, Standards of Beauty | 10 Comments

Why Treat A Sex Worker Like An Actual Human Being When You Can Dehumanize The Shit Out of Them?

I usually really like The Oatmeal. Especially their grammar posters, which I want to own. But they recently published an absolutely appalling cartoon about sex workers. It’s called “5 Super Neat Ways to Use a Hooker.” I should have been called “5 Super Awful Ways to Dehumanize a Sex Worker.” Let’s take a look, shall we?

Oh, look. Verbally abusing and talking down to her!

Complete dehumanization in which she’s ridden like an animal and forced to humiliate herself!

More verbal abuse!

Are you noticing a theme yet? This one combines them all! Verbal abuse, dehumanization, AND humiliation! Plus, physical labor!

Physical labor! Calling her a “whore!” This is almost like slavery of some kind.

This isn’t funny. I don’t see the joke here. This isn’t even using humor to make some point about the way sex workers are presented and treated by this society. No, instead it’s a fucking awful, offensive piece of crap that is everything that’s wrong with the way sex workers are viewed in this country.

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Posted in Caterwauling About The Patriarchy, Griping and Kvetching and Bitching, Rape Culture, Sex Miscellany | 7 Comments
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  • Britni TheVadgeWig

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