Kavanaugh isn't the monster, he is the face of many monsters. He is a product of a system. He is a product of socialization. The socialization that reached its tipping point and fueled the movement prompting this entire conversation. #metoo is a the fully loaded gun that rightfully leaves men shaking in their wingtips. Remember, though: the purpose is not to scare, but to remind those in the past, present, and especially the future that this is the new normal. There are no more excuses, only endless opportunities to prove yourself.
Read MoreI could keep them like tallies. Unable to decipher the difference between conquests and lovers scorned.
Etched in the wall through scratches and burns. Some through passion, some betrayal. Some of nothing at all.
I could keep them like tallies, if only I could keep them.
I could plan their demise. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Occupying space in my mind without paying a cent. Evading your rent like you evade my messages.
Use, wash, rinse and repeat. My sex is on a spin cycle that rotates but never cleans. Do you want me when I’m dirty or only when I’m wet?
Read MoreI am a masturbation muse. The face of fapping. The Edie Sedgwick of erections.
I inspire a different kind of brushstroke. Their artworks are stiff tissues that lay at the bottom of wastebaskets.
They create poetry in my name. Words inscribed in a digital bubble—temporary, just like us.
They tell me they touch themselves for me.
I’m supposed to be honored. I’m supposed to be turned on. Tell me what else I’m supposed to be.
Read MoreThis is the second time you cross my boundary. A line clearly drawn in the sand is now cement. Despite this, it is you who pulls the victim card. I need to calm down. I need to relax. But this constant fight, this constant shield and defense is just that: a defense. What good can come if I defend my personal boundaries, my thoughts, my feelings, while also defending against your actions, your words. Careful not to step to close, tread too light, or I may drown. If I let it slide what is next to slide? Your dick into my DMs? Your tongue into my mouth? Your hand into my skirt? I’m no longer playing victim. I am on the offensive.
Read MoreI wasn’t the first to call myself Goddess and I certainly won’t be the last. At a time where self confidence wavered, ‘Goddess’ had a particular ring to it. It hummed in my ears and radiated through my body, spreading warmth from my toes to my fingertips. I was worthy of worship. I was sought after; special, even.
Read MoreHonestly, I’m bored. He’s a new toy. A six foot seven tree to climb. We grab a bite to eat on our way back to my apartment. I don’t have the slightest concern regarding the volume of my voice as I discuss the intricacies of my job, spouting words of ‘masturbation’, ‘orgasm’ and ‘sex organ’ openly at the restaurant.
Read MoreYou always remember your first. The Cum Dumpster—or “Cummy", as I affectionally refer to him—is my first pay pig. But he is much, much more than a vessel for fluids or a wallet of cash. While I am well versed in the art of humiliation, the financial aspect is a road not taken. Cummy and I have a special relationship. We never intend it to turn out the way it did. In fact, it’s tumultuous from the start.
Read MoreFirstly, fuck your unrealistic expectations. Fuck your expectations, period. We hold men to the standard of being gentleman. Being kind and courteous. Yet, we treat women like a collectors item that decreases in value once you take it out of the box.
Read MoreThis is the move I’ve seen a thousand times. He’s knocking, but not entering. Flirting with the boundary, but not violating it. His penis is dangerously close to my vaginal opening. I am now uncomfortable.
“You are not putting that inside of me.” I stop kissing and look him in the eyes. He climbs down from on top of me and lays beside me, stroking my body. Both of our shirts are still on. He continues to tell me how sexy I am, how much he wants to fuck me. I continue to tell him “I know.”
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