Why I didn't just call the cops.

[MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING for the nitty-gritty of sexual assault and aftermath. This is not a happy post and it's not one I really wanted to write.  But it's one that a lot of people seem to need to read.]


There's been a lot of talk lately in my local BDSM scene about how to make the scene a safer place.  Which is an awesome thing, but it's depressing to see the pushback it's been getting.  (If I felt safe before, I wouldn't now, not knowing how many people around me like to play the "but if you don't do XYZ then you're to blame if you get raped!" game.)  And one part of that pushback is "hey, public safety isn't our job; if someone has a problem they should go to the police."

This isn't limited to the BDSM scene.  I've heard this elsewhere in discussions of sexual abuse.  Formally report or you have no right to complain.  Formally report or you're to blame for their next victim.  Formally report or it probably didn't even happen.

Like it's that easy.

So I'm going to explain in agonizing detail how I was assaulted by a guy in a BDSM scene, and why I didn't go to the cops.  And I hope this makes a difference to all the people who think "if someone assaults you call the cops" is the be-all-end-all of stopping sexual assault.



The guy was Benny, we'd been sleeping and playing together for a couple years, and he had been throwing up the flaggiest of red flags for a long time.  He'd already done things to me without my permission.  That's putting it lightly.  I mean that I'd said no (last paragraph) and he'd gone ahead and stuck his dick in me.  Which is... I guess it's rape right there?  But I didn't even register that.  At the time it just seemed like... a thing that happened.  I told him "no," he penetrated me anyway, I was like "whoa whoa whoa hey," more annoyed than scared, and in a second he stopped.  It seemed more like an awkward, uncomfortable misunderstanding.  Like someone giving you a noogie even though you're going "hey no."

Which is why I don't believe in giving people noogies if they don't want it, by the way. Sets a bad precedent.

REASON 1: Sometimes assault doesn't "feel like assault." A million movies and news reports had conditioned me to the idea that assault is big and loud and dramatic, that there's always blood and bruises and screaming.  The idea that something quiet and weird and awkward could be literally rape didn't occur to me.  And maybe you can argue that a guy shouldn't go to jail for something that didn't traumatize me, but that's only from my point of view.  From his point of view he had a woman saying "no" and he stuck his dick in her anyway. 

To say that's not rape because I didn't start screaming is like saying it's not theft if you snatch someone's purse and they say "oh well, these things happen, I suppose I can live without that purse."

What did bother me was the time he convinced me to let him come on my face, telling me it would be totally sexy and awesome and badass of me, and then as soon as he'd come he burst out in laughter at how ridiculous I looked with come all over my face like some stupid whore.

What did bother me was the time he fingered me, I had a blindfold on, and I didn't realize I was starting my period.  He stuffed my blood in my mouth and smeared it on my face without telling me what it was, then took the blindfold off, told me to look in the mirror, and cackled with glee at my predicament.

What did bother me was the increasing frequency with which he played the hold-down game.  The way this game worked was that we'd be lying in bed together and he'd roll over on top of me and not let me move.  He wouldn't do anything to me, just use his size (he had a full foot and 100 pounds on me) to hold me down until he decided to let me up.  Which could be a while.  I'd beg him, I'd try to hit him, I'd "no, seriously, it's not funny, seriously let me go" him, I'd even try reverse psychology and just go limp, and he'd just laugh and keep holding me down until he felt like giving my body back.

REASON 2: I blamed myself and expected to be blamed. So this isn't one of those cases where a nice guy turned into a monster out of the blue.  This is a case where I had a million red flags and I ignored or excused or "that's just his way"ed them.  Was this stupid of me?  HELL YES!  Is sexual assault a fair punishment for being stupid?  FUCK NO.  But because there had been those warning signs, I felt like I had it coming, felt like anyone I told would ask "why did you keep seeing him?" and I would have no answer, and felt like I had no right to report a crime that I had "contributed" to by not avoiding. 

I'd heard (and continue to hear, and future victims are hearing it right now) the same things said about a million rape victims before me.

And then eventually he crossed a line I couldn't forgive or ignore.  I was at his house, late at night, with only one purpose, the only reason I kept seeing him: filthy kinky sex.

REASON 3: Slut! There's a lot of shame in being a woman who goes to men's houses late at night with only one purpose.  Even without the red flags, that alone is enough to get a lot of people saying "well, what did she expect?" 

REASON 4: I said "yes." I did agree to have sex with Benny that night. And there's a huge number of people (some of them cops or jurors) who think that consent to sex is consent to anything, and you don't get to say no once you've said yes.  Or if you do it's only rape by some finicky feminist definition, only "gray rape," not in the same category as "rape-rape."

So he tied me up, spread-eagle to the four corners of the bed, saying he was going to finger me and get me off while I was tied.

REASON 5: Kinky shit.  So how do you explain this to a cop: "Yeah, I said he could tie me up naked, but not tie me up naked and hurt me!"  We're in a cultural atmosphere where most people think going to a guy's room is consent to anything he might do to you; what were my odds of explaining that letting him tie me up was not blanket consent? 

REASON 6: Kinky "crazy" shit. One of the more common stereotypes about women who do kink (especially who bottom in kink)--one I've had people say to my face when they didn't know I was kinky--is that we're "crazy."  Unpredictable, irrational, damaged goods, you know, "crazy."  And it's a widely accepted fact in the misogynist community that a "crazy" woman will make an accusation of rape for no good reason, just because she's so "crazy."  That's not shit I wanted to face.

REASON 7: The kinky shit community. The kink community talks big about consent, but they also talk big about not having "drama".  Calling the cops is the ultimate drama, and if I went back to the kink community after that, I'd very likely get the reputation of "holy shit, she didn't like a scene so she called the cops on her top!" 

That's kink-specific, this isn't: the kink community contains most of my friends and it's a major source of emotional support in my life.  Having a considerable proportion of my friends turn against me when I needed friends the most--that would not be an easy thing to get through.

REASON 8: Kinky shit exposure. If I pressed charges, inevitably everyone in my life would find out about it and the circumstances.  Which would be... not good.  Not good for my relationship with my family. Not good for my job.  Not good with my roommates.  Not good for a large chunk of my future.

Things weren't going well from the start.  I wasn't really into the sex and it was obvious; usually I get off easy and this time I was just tense and uncomfortable and kinda muttering "okay, this isn't working, maybe I should just... I mean maybe we could... can we take a break? Maybe?"

REASON 9: Mixed signals. "Did you actually say 'no' to him when you started feeling pain, Ms. Pervocracy?" "Er... I said maybe could we maybe take a break."

He did not take a break.  He tried to shove his entire fist into me.  I've been fisted and liked it, but this was dry and sudden and forceful.  It was his resentment for me not being a good fuck, for me not moaning and writhing and telling him how amazing he was, balled into a fist and shoved into my vagina.  It hurt.  Fuck it hurt.

I said "red" and he didn't stop.  I said "red, safeword, stop, ow" and he didn't stop.  Like when he was holding me down, this was going to end on his time.  He kept going and I kept saying "no, really, fucking red, fucking stop." I wasn't screaming or yelling--I was feeling weirdly calm, practical, a sense of "do what you need to do now, panic later"--but I was definitely not unclear.  Eventually he did stop.  I looked down to see if there was blood on his hands but I think there wasn't.

He stepped away, but left me tied up.  He went to the bathroom and started washing his hands.  I asked him to untie me.  He laughed and said "if you're tied up, you're at my mercy."

That's when I screamed.  I screamed "YOU FUCKING UNTIE ME RIGHT NOW WHAT ARE YOU DOING FUCK LET ME FUCKING GO FUUUUUCK" or words to that effect.  And then I screamed "I'M GOING TO SCREAM UNTIL THE NEIGHBORS HEAR" and he untied me.

And then... I didn't dash out of the house crying.  I didn't attack him.  I didn't grab my phone and call 911.  I got dressed and I talked to him.  Not even "what the fuck just happened?" talked to him.  I just said "hey, this sex thing isn't working out, you know."

He said "yeah, I know.  But we had a good run there. We'll stay friends."

And then I left.  Still not crying, still not acting "traumatized" whatever that looks like, still not calling the cops.

REASON 10: Aftermath. I think I had a brief chance there to be a Proper Rape Victim and I totally blew it.  If I'd gone right to the cops, right to the hospital, maybe I would have stood a chance of being taken seriously?  But I didn't.  I didn't even think of it as sexual assault at the time.  I wrote a blog post right afterwards in which it's clear that I'm angry and shaken up but in which I don't call it sexual assault. 

Going back after a space of time, and saying "no, wait, I realized it really was assault" fits the misogynist idea of the woman who "changes her mind" or "has regrets" just a little too perfectly. 

REASON 11: Doubt.  Was this bad enough to put someone in jail over?  I mean, jail, that's a really big deal.  That's gonna make him lose his job--and he had a good job!--and really ruin his life.  From when I started saying "no" to when he untied me was, I don't know, five minutes tops.  Can I justify ruining someone's entire life over something that only lasted five minutes?  To be honest, even now I can't give an unconflicted "yes" to that question.

REASON 12: Retribution.  Benny had a lot of friends.  I didn't know them well.  I'm sure most of them thought of Benny as the kind of guy who would never hurt anyone.  I'm sure they would take his side if some random girl made some random accusation against him.  What I'm not sure of is how far "taking his side" would go. Maybe they'd just quietly hate me.  Or maybe they'd come to my house at night.  I don't know.

So I went home. I wrote my little blog post. I went to sleep.  Went to work in the morning.  Sat a little funny the next couple days. Got angry or sad a few times. Life went on.

REASON 13: It's over.  I never saw Benny again.  As far as I was concerned, that chapter in my life was closed.  Reporting would mean reopening it, rubbing my nose back in the absolute worst parts of it for weeks or months.  It would mean extending the ordeal from "got assaulted" to "got assaulted, got interrogated about it, got a pelvic exam, got interrogated again, went to court, got interrogated again," and what would I have at the end?  At best, the very mixed (see Reason 11) satisfaction of punishing Benny.  Quite likely, nothing at all.  For that kind of risk-reward, I might as well just let it go. 

Some of the stuff I've listed above may sound kinda trivial, or kinda theoretical, kinda like I'm worrying too much what people will think.  But it's stuff that if I reported, I'd have to face all at once, all the time, for a long-ass time until my life was normal again.  If I didn't report, my life would be normal again right away.

Finally, I just want to say: These are reasons, not justifications. You might see some of these and think "but that's not right, actually that thing you're worried about wouldn't have happened" or "but this doesn't add up, you still should have reported!"  And fuck, you may be right.  But these are the things that went through my head during and after my sexual assault.  These are not reasons I shouldn't have reported the assault.  These are reasons I didn't.

Is there one big fix for all of this, one way to make sexual assault super easy and simple to report?  I dunno.  I doubt it.  Or if there is it's a big, massive, culture-changing fix.  I don't have time to get into it in this post.  I just wanted to answer the question "Why don't sexual assault victims just go to the cops?"

So yeah, there are a few reasons.

Survivor.

temporarily locked post, sorry

Not-friends with only one benefit.

Dorkiewitch sent me this article, and it is amazing. I was uncertain if EzineArticles should be completely beneath my notice, to be honest, because I'm not sure anyone reads them, but this particular scribbling managed to be offensive in a sort of interesting way.

Occasionally, you'll meet a girl you have a lot of chemistry with, but for some reason, you don't want to commit to her. So you remain friends with the girl, while still being intimate with each other. It can become a problem though, if the girl is insistent upon turning it into more than that. She might try to suck you into a relationship. To prevent this, you need to lay some ground rules.
No, you need to lay one ground rule: this isn't a romantic relationship, and if you try to make it one while I still don't feel the same way, it would be best if we stopped altogether. Unless she's a full-on stalker (in which case any sexual relationship, "intimate" or not, is likely to set her off), she's actually capable of understanding this if you just say it in words. Just about everything that follows isn't maintaining boundaries, it's distrustful humiliation. But don't take my word for it.

1. No spending the night.
Letting her spend the night, or spending the night at her place sends the wrong message! It communicates a desire to settle down. If you can, keep the encounters at her place, and then leave. It's much nicer than kicking her out of your place.
Is she your fuckbuddy, or not? Because if she is, then she'll most likely want to leave, or be able to sleep over without making a thing out of it. And if she isn't, this isn't going to help. Either way, sometimes "I'm sleepy and don't feel like driving home" actually means it. Or hell, even "I'd enjoy sharing a bed with you"--sometimes I like a warm bed and some skin contact, without it meaning the guy is entrapped in my tentacles forever.

This article has a lot in common with Cosmo's "communication by whipped cream" philosophy--it totally discounts the messages you might send in words.

5. Don't discuss anything real.
Remember, we're trying to avoid intimacy here, and nothing creates intimacy like talking about important things. No family history, no favorite colors, no goals, no personal triumphs or tragedies. If you want to keep it a friends with benefits situation, you have to stay light: movies, bands, and favorite brands of booze.
Then you're not friends with benefits, because you're not friends. This shit isn't all-or-nothing; you can be slightly closer than strangers at the DMV and still not end up accidentally married with five kids, or whatever you're so afraid of.

What is this guy so afraid of, seriously? Say the worst-case-scenario happens and his fuckbuddy starts introducing herself as his girlfriend--then he tells her it's not so, there's a few minutes of really ugly crying and yelling, and it's over with. The worst that could happen, the result if she really gets her evil woman-tentacles in you, is just not that bad. It seems like one big fight and some hard feelings is vastly preferable to an entire relationship of mistrust and humiliation.

And it is humiliation; this kind of stuff doesn't make me feel like I'm not a girlfriend, it makes me feel like I'm not a person.

9. Always play it safe!
One of the sad realities of life is that women will sometimes do dirty things to hook a guy, and one of those things is getting pregnant. So always, always, ALWAYS use condoms and birth control when playing with your friend with benefits!
Okay, here's the worst worst-case scenario. It's not that common, and using the discretion to not fuck the craziest woman you know will probably do more for you than a condom, but say it happens. Say she calls you and says she's pregnant and now you have to get married. You say that you'll go halfsies on an abortion or she can take you to court for child support. It's harsh (but so is using a human life as a trap, which is why remotely-sane girls don't do this), but 98% of the time this results in a "miscarriage."

I still think you should always use condoms with fuckbuddies, because you're not fluid-monogamous and birth control can fail, but you can do that without expressing your hate and mistrust of all womankind.

I can tell you from sad personal experience, too, that guys like this never manage to be subtle about this shit. It's never "let's use a condom for safety"; it's always "YOU'RE TRYING TO MAKE A TRAP BABY YOU BITCH I KNOW YOUR TRICKS." (And boy, you know I'm not in this for the emotional fulfillment if I still fuck you after that.)

Joseph Matthews has been instructing men how to meet women since 2004, and is widely known as an authority in the subject of confidence building and dating advice.
Confidence building? Confidence? Confidence is being able to trust someone even if they aren't your schmoopy-bear, and being able to say "no" to them if you can't trust them. Confidence is realizing that you can deal with worst-case-scenarios so you don't have to spend your entire life on edge. Confidence is acknowledging that it's okay to have emotions and not all of them mean that you have to get married. Confidence is being able to say what you mean, instead of getting into a relationship with no spoken agreements and trying to communicate everything via whipped cream and toothbrush placement.

If you want to stick your dick in a warm hole, but you absolutely don't want to talk or go out or cuddle or sleep together or look a woman in her treacherous entrapping eyes--soak your Fleshlight in warm water and leave human beings the hell alone.


Wow, I got through this entire post without mentioning Benny. But even Benny, who was the absolute king of stiff-armed "know your place, woman" antics, wasn't this cold. (Actually, we started out genuinely dating, and it sort of devolved after I broke up with Alan. But even at its coldest it wasn't this cold.) He let me sleep over and we cuddled and stuff. And as you can see I became devastatingly attached and am now carrying twelve of his babies. He better buy me a really big ring!

Benny decision.

I'm going to talk to Benny.

Funnily enough, I realized that "do nothing" wasn't the answer when I saw every commenter who advised "do nothing" as a total asshat. It's interesting how I could tell myself "it's none of your business, don't be psycho" but when someone else says it... how dare you, motherfucker? (Top prize going to "call the cops otherwise it was nothing" dude. Cops always want to hear about how someone violated the rules of a sexually deviant subculture 8 months ago in a different state.) I think this reaction means that it really is important that I do something.

So I'll talk to him. And he's not irredeemable, I think; he's not some serial predator who consciously plans the grooming and undoing of his victims, he's just a garden variety insensitive and disrespectful jerkbag.

(It isn't just one incident that makes me think that; there was other stuff, some of which I didn't write about at the time because I didn't want to be called an idiot for staying with him. He would think it was really funny to tickle me even though I hate tickling, and tell me I must like it because I was laughing, and there was one incident where he just held me down--he's about 100 pounds more than me--and didn't do anything to me but wouldn't let me up. But again, funny, right? Okay, and one incident where I said "no" and he stuck his dick in me anyway, but only for a second and I'm not really sure why I said "no" anyway and it wasn't like a big dramatic thing. It was more "momentarily really weird" than "OMG RAEP.")



What is my goal, really? My goal isn't "Benny never touches a woman again," that's vindictive and anyway impossible--say I could reach this girlfriend, it would only make him angry and I couldn't reach the next one. My goal is "Benny treats women respectfully." And to do that I have to go to him.

What's my message?

1) This is not an attack. I'm not going to harass him or "out" him. I just want him to read and really consider this one message, and after that message I'll unfriend him and disappear.

2) Women's bodies and feelings are Serious Business, no exceptions. Benny often fucked around with me as a "joke" or because I somehow "didn't count," and thus mocking (funny!) a pervy slut (not a regular person!) is not like abusing a woman. Maybe I can point this out to him and maybe he'll catch himself if he starts thinking of reasons why an act or a person doesn't count.

3) What he did to me was Bad. Not "seems like we both made mistakes," not "bad sex," not "miscommunication," not "awkward." He knew what I wanted and he did the opposite, and it it was painful and frightening for me. He did wrong and he should know it.

4) If he knows what he did wrong, he knows how to not do it again. Maybe he'll figure out that he really did something wrong, experience a little guilt, become a little more self-aware of how he treats women, and learn that "no" or "safeword" doesn't mean "maybe not" but means "EMERGENCY BRAKE FULL STOP BOLTS OPEN MAGS OUT." Boy that's a lot to hinge on a Facebook message. But it's worth a try.



Ugh. I'm sorry if this post comes off weird. I know it's too dramatic, and maybe a little too therapy-speak-y (I was watching "Hoarders"). I don't want to compare myself with people who've lived through abuse abuse, I know there are people out there who've spent years going through stuff every day worse than two or three minor incidents with Benny. But this is the thought process I went through, so... yeah.

Benny is in a relationship!

Awkward Facebook moment: seeing that the guy who tried to fist me after I safeworded and left me tied up is listed as "in a relationship."

It's fairly clear that there's nothing I can say to her. I don't know the girl at all, and I'd come off as a psycho ex, or just plain psycho. And maybe it would be psycho; I don't have the right to go around trying to sabotage his relationships.

Hell, maybe he won't hurt her. He was (at least in the latter half of the relationship, at the beginning we actually dated but by the end he wouldn't go outdoors with me) very clear about me being a sex girl, not a respectable girl. If they're Facebook-official, that probably means she's a respectable girl and will be treated totally differently. (Besides, she's skinny; Benny was pretty clear that being fat was up there with being kinky on why I was not a respectable girl.)

I suppose I could message him, although I don't really know what I'd say; any form of "you better watch it" is a very empty threat at 3200 miles and just cements me as crazy in his mind. Maybe I just need to let him know, in an almost-friendly way, that what he did was abusive in my mind, because I'm not sure he knows he did anything wrong. It's hard to do even that without being psycho though.

I guess the easy answer is to unfriend him and put it all out of my mind. It drives me crazy when otherwise politically-active people refuse to take any action against the abusers in their own lives, but I figure that Benny's, I don't know, only sort of a real mild borderline case, he didn't like beat me or whatever, my vagina didn't actually tear it just bled a little, so I should mind my own business. Ugh.



Dear Internets: if someone only abuses you a little bit and it's like really borderline and probably not like abuse abuse or anything, do I:
A) Message his girlfriend with a detailed account and warning, and maybe a mention of that birthmark on his thigh
B) Message him with "hey, just so you know, what you did to me was so not cool and I really hope you remember that so you can be cool with this girl"
C) Go about my business and not make waves

It's rude to say "Well, DUH."

Man, leaving Benny was about the best thing I ever did for myself.

Not just because of the little abuse incident, but because it shook me out of "meh, I have a play partner, sort of" complacency and kicked me back into the kinky world and all its wonders and annoyances. And because it stopped me buying into his ideas that casual sex is always lesser, that if you don't love someone you're supposed to kind of hate them. And because it stopped me thinking that his big dumb ass was the best I could do.

Sure, I don't have a regular Friday-night fuck anymore. What I have instead is freedom. Sometimes it's better to risk sleeping alone than to settle.

Goodbye Benny.

Welp, I finally did it. Finally gave Benny the Fuck Off he's had coming for only about two years now. He'd gone from being an asshole but a great fuck, to being an asshole and a lousy fuck. And today he just crossed a line.

I feel a little bad. I don't like to lose people. Even horrible people! I've lost my only sure thing now.

But he had me tied up, he hurt me in an extremely not-fun way (trying to shove way-too-big things into me when I wasn't ready, FUCKING OW), I safeworded and he didn't care.

That's not quite fair to him. He cared some. He stopped within 30 seconds at the most. Then he tried again and I had to tell him "no, really, fucking red." to get him to stop for real. Then he left me tied up for a bit while he washed his hands and made fun of me and joked about "if you're tied up, you're at my mercy." Then I started screaming at him and he let me go. He tried to apologize for a bit (and I hung around to listen, because I'm a complete softy like that) but I was out of there pretty soon after.

Hey, maybe that's why I feel bad!

Bondage is like shooting, okay? (YESSS! I finally found a way to make this analogy! My circle as a sex/kink/guns/strained analogies blogger is COMPLETE!) You can have fun with it, you can laugh while you're doing it and you can play around with it in certain ways, but there are some rules that you must follow because there are areas where it stops being a game and intersects the Extremely Real World. You have a device that can actually kill people; you have a person who actually cannot move. Which is why it's never a joke to point a gun at someone's head, even if it isn't loaded; and it's never a joke to restrain or hurt a person against their will, even if it seems like you're just playing and it's not a big deal.

In a way I'm glad he did something so unambiguous. It made my decision easy. I can rationalize going back to someone who's just kind of a jerk; I can't very well go back to someone who's liable to give me an amateur episiotomy and think it's funny. (In another way I wonder if somehow I was ambiguous, if I somehow made it seem like I was up for another go or I was willing to joke around. But really now, in Kinkland, "red" is about the least ambiguous thing there is.)

So that's Benny. We had some times, no denying it. But after tonight, I'm pretty fucking glad we won't have any more.

Time Management.

Man, lately I just don't have time to be a slut.

I get off work at 6:00, but recently there's been at least an hour of overtime every day, so it's really 7:00 or 7:30. I'm not exactly in man-killer shape then; I'm hungry, tired, smelly, covered in sweat and infectious diseases, dressed like a mall cop, and 45 minutes from town. It'll likely be 9:00 before I'm presentable, and I need to get home by 12:30 to get a decent amount of sleep.

Three and a half hours is plenty of time to have sex. Leisurely, really. But when your task isn't "have sex" but "meet a man, determine if he passes your gut-check, determine if he likes you, seduce him, find a place to go with him, then have sex"--that's a tall order. Even assuming I can find any appealing and willing man, it's still a daunting energy investment to fuck a new person on a weeknight.

I think this is a lot of the reason I fuck Benny so much, even though I'm not all that fond of him--he's there. I can call him when I get off work and have a sure thing by the time I'm done showering. A night when I'll definitely fuck Benny can be worth more than a night where I'll maybe fuck someone better.

I've got to admit, this is a little bit of the appeal of relationships. Christ, that sounds boorish, I'm not saying that's a reason to date someone or it's all dating is. I'm a big fan of emotional connections and support that include but go way beyond sex. I'm just saying--promiscuity's not immoral and it's not unsatisfying, but fuck, it's difficult.




Why scrounge all over town for free milk when you could have a cow at home?

Sometimes the Internet makes me angry.

Sometimes the Internet makes me so mad. There's a blog post that pisses me off and it just sends me down a chain reaction of posts from other idiots, a never-ending idiot spiral and I read it all and I just want to physically fight the authors. Proving them wrong would be pointless, it's trivially obvious that they're wrong and that they'd never listen. Even linking them is pointless; their writing is too blatantly wrong to learn anything from and hostile comments would only give them self-righteousness. Hell, even punching them would just give them a nice martyr complex and a good post on "clearly she couldn't make any logical arguments against me..."

As I said, it's no specific idiot that's bothering me here. This guy, I guess, but I got to him via a link from an idiot and I left him via a link to an idiot, so he's not that special. Just sort of slightly more egregious, I guess? (Only one comment: he wants a woman who loves anal but who doesn't swear? Seriously now.)



Anyway, I'm no longer annoyed at what these guys say; I'm annoyed that I wasted my own time. I pay for my Internet connection, and I have limited time to use it, so I really shouldn't waste it on things that don't make me happy and don't teach me anything.



I should waste it instead in reporting that Benny (not a new character, but I'm revamping my pseudonyms; I'll fix up the archives soon) gave me an orgasm just from my breasts! Which is not precisely new because it happened once or twice when I was a teenager, but it's been a few years. He'd just fucked me the regular way and I was in that ecstatic state where my whole skin is hypersensitive, where I'm desperate to cuddle and kiss not just for fuzzyhuggy reasons but because skin contact feels so fucking good.

He put his whole mouth over my breast, not teasing but fucking eating it, his mouth hot and wet and not holding back on the teeth, and I moaned. He rolled me over onto my stomach and lay on top of me with his hands reaching around to my breasts and just squeezed and worked them, not gently, and it felt amazing. More than amazing, he kept at it forcefully and the feeling reached a peak and then I couldn't even tolerate any more and I realized I had just come. I was panting and my breasts were flushed and tender as I rolled back over, and I think he was a little amazed.

PTFO.

I was fucking Benny. Saran Wrap: a success! More constricting than hoped, less icky than feared. The only real drawback is that the sight of a man encased in it is less "sexy tableau" and more "last known photograph." And when you've used part of it, the half-used-up tube makes an excellent instrument for thumping.

I broke a ruler on his ass, too. He told me I could go harder and it cracked right in half.

After we'd both come a few times, he worked four fingers into me and just wiggled them and that was almost too much to bear and then he started pumping them full-force into me and I arched back and screamed and came and...

...woke up.

"You okay there?" Benny asked. "You kinda passed out."

I felt fine; I wasn't lightheaded or anything, and I could feel a powerful must-cuddle-now warmth of afterglow. I'd just gone completely out for a second. I lay down for a bit, napped for maybe half an hour, and I was totally back to normal.

Weird.

Benny was okay.

I saw Benny today, and weirdly, I felt really good about it. During and after. He's changed a lot. I've changed a lot, and maybe more recently than I realize.

For most of my life, I've always had the feeling during sex that I was getting away with something. Like the grown-ups didn't want me doing this, like I had to hide it. Today we were lying in bed together naked, kind of idly stroking at each other's bits but between bouts of real sex, the window open to the afternoon sunlight, and I had the thought that this was something two people did and it was really okay. Millions of couples around the world were in bed just like us, and it was just one of the wonderful things about being alive.

Well, except I tied his wrists to his ankles and put clothespins on his cock and made him suck my strap-on and lick up his own fluids, so maybe not everyone was exactly like us, but you know, close enough.


(It's sort of weird that I no longer bottom at all to the man who introduced me to hittysex. But I just haven't been feeling it lately, and I've been genuinely enjoying hitting him.)

Full Circle.

I saw Benny today. And somehow, we enacted the exact reverse of how we started out. In the beginning, I was needy and he was rejecting--I was the one who wanted him to be a boyfriend and he kept insisting nothing could mean anything. Now... I was kind of a jerk to him. He kept cuddling up to me and I kept saying "I don't even like you" stuff.

Maybe it's just timing. He was just coming out of a relationship then, and he's been single for years now. I was living with my parents and quite unsure of myself then, and I'm a lot more independent now.

Maybe it's revenge.

We didn't fuck. We haven't fucked, technically, in something like a year. Instead we screwed asynchronously; he did me good with his hands and mouth and a dildo, then I strapped him up and teased him with a vibrator (and clothespins, and a knife, and a dildo in his mouth, good times) until he came all over himself.

It's weird, I don't generally think of myself as a switch, but lately I like topping Benny far more than I want to bottom to him. I think some of it might be carryover energy from my job, where I've been bossing/mommying some male trainees a lot lately. (Perhaps the whole "I bottom because in my real life I'm just too strong" thing is not always true.) Most of it's probably just the chemistry that we have. I also have a good idea how to top now, which I didn't when I was a younger pervert.

It's not like "ooh, I'm Mistress Holly now." I'm still fundamentally a submissive. But I'm a submissive who can--when the mood is right--shove you to your knees, slap your face, make you suck my cock, and tell you to call me Ma'am.

Just another lazy Sunday afternoon.

Dear diary,

Today I shaved a very hairy man's entire body (excepting obviously head and forearms). I'm not sure if it was exactly sexy but it was terribly satisfying. He looked much better after.

He's gonna itch so bad in a couple days.

Also we had weird sex.

XOXOXO,
Holly

Filthy Details.

We were both surprised at each others' looks when we met at the door. He'd grown a goatee; I'd started wearing glasses. We'd both gained visible muscle. And we both looked, somehow, older. We've been doing this thing on and off for more than a year now and we are older; but we've both been through a lot of changes over this time as well, changes that laid the faintest foundations of lines that will one day wear deep.

We went up to the bedroom immediately but for quite a while we didn't fuck. We just flopped back on the bed together, cuddled, and talked. We slipped out of our shirts but it was more comfortable than sexy. We were both tired as hell. But we weren't there to snuggle; it'd been months since I'd been properly tied up and more months since he'd gotten to tie anyone.

He stripped me naked, threw me over his knee and spanked me, pure heat at the juncture of his hand and my ass. It'd been too long since I'd enjoyed pain. I'd almost wondered if I still would. I did. I enjoyed the fuck out of it.

He tied my hands behind my back, laid ropes above and below my breasts and over my shoulders. He had me kneel on the bed and he tied my ankles to the iron bars of the headboard. He gagged me; I needed it. When I talk too much I think too much.

Clothespins. One on each nipple, more grabbing up little pinches of the meat of my breasts, and--I yelped with each one--more dangling in two neat rows from my cunt. He teased and twiddled them, flicked and tugged at them, and watched me squirm. He tapped the juncture of the clothespins and my skin with the tip of a cane, and I more than squirmed. He ripped the clothespins off, one by one, and made me count them with my voice muffled through the gag. I was in pain in sensitive places and I couldn't speak or move. I felt so free.

Finally he bent me forward and fucked me with a dildo, hard. I was more than ready and was groaning deeply from the first thrust on. I came hard and fast and he didn't stop until I was exhausted.

We rested and talked, and then he lay back and asked me to tease him. I like teasing; it's easy and fun and just a little mean, and you know damn well that the payoff will be worth it. I played with his cock with the very tips of my tongue and fingers, a moment of good firm stroking, a moment of bare grazes, a moment letting him just hang and then stroking hard again. By the time I finally mounted him, he was on a hair-trigger and gone in a few thrusts.

We dozed off together for a few minutes, talked more--he's really much less of a jerk these days--and bade our farewells. I went home and slept like the dead, utterly spent, but for the first time in quite a while, satisfied.

Streak broken.

Well, there's always Benny. Filthy details later because I'm so tired right now.

I was pretty tired during, honestly. It's hard to stay up all night working out in the cold and then get horny. Possible, but not easy.

My ol' bad habit.

I hung out with Benny and I feel better. We didn't play or fuck, just talked and watched TV all cuddled up. There's probably something wrong about using your (rather obnoxious, although he's gotten a lot more respectful lately; either he's growing up or he actually missed me) fuckbuddy as a teddy bear, but he was cool with it and I do feel better now.

I also made the sad realization that he's now my longest-running sexual relationship of all time. Of course that's mostly due to us not giving a crap about each other, but we have sort of reached the stage where we know each other, you know? "Care" would be too strong a word but we know how to talk to each other and touch each other and that's a little bit comforting. He may be an Axe-wearing affection-spurning douchebag, but at least he's not a stranger.

God I need a real date.

Clockwatching.

It was 8:55.

I got on top of Benny and we fucked for hours. The fuck was a journey, an adventure in every possible position with peaks and valleys of ecstasy and at the end strained our endurance to the limit and we collapsed completely spent.

It was 9:05.

Benny put his arm around me and we cuddled for a couple minutes before getting out of bed and cleaning up.

It was 11:00.

Dealbreaker.

"Would you lick my asshole?"
"Would you kiss me after?"

An unsettling conversation.

Benny (mostly teasing): You should have your sister over here sometime with us.
Me: Ugh.
Benny (wistful now): I actually think it'd be kinda hot...
Me: It'd be incest.
Benny (suddenly awkward now): Well, that's, uh, kinda... I know... well, it's a taboo, isn't it, you know? I mean... as a fantasy...
Me: Oh god, please tell me you and your sisters never...
Benny: No, no. They're much older than me.

Doodles.

Benny and me, lying in bed warm and sleepy from fucking, afternoon sun streaming in the window. He's doodling little patterns on my back with his fingertip.

"Guess what I'm drawing."
He swirls his finger down the skin between my shoulderblades and back up again, drawing long loopy lines and circles on my body.

"A cock and balls."
"How did you..."
"You're predictable."