As requested (by her), here is a picture of Mimieux sucking cock. Go follow her because she is hot and writes hot things. (There is a long kinky story attached to this picture, you should read it.)
My sex life is going through a bit of a boom at the moment, something which I wish continues. However this wouldn’t be the case if it were not for something a good friend of mine said.
I used to lack sexual confidence, not because I’m trans*, heck I’m a megalomaniac I ‘know’ I’m the apple of…
I believe I am the “good friend” mentioned here. Also my friend Snuglomaniac has a blog now, she’s really cool, you should follow her, she posts interesting things.
If you notice me reblogging
- a repost
- stolen art
- false information
please let me know, you’re not rude or annoying and I actually do give a fuck and I will correct my mistake, thank you
I have fantasisies about cutting bits of my body off with scalpels, because I hate my size and wish I were skinnier.
I do not want to lose weight, or rather, I want to, but I know that if I try I’ll fall into obsession and disorder and no, no, no.
I do not want people to tell me I’m beautiful or hot or whatever - it’s nice, and thank you, but it’s not what I need and I don’t know how to respond to it.
I just want to be able to sit with my belly hanging over my belt and not want to slice it off. How do I do that?
This is a quick one, just to keep my assault tag up to date and complete. (The assault tag is where I track instances where I feel like I have had someone else’s sexuality forced upon me non-consensually, through unwanted and repeated sexual advances, unasked for touching, etc. Not everything in the assault tag constitutes an assault in the legal meaning of the word.)
I went to Subversion back in January, and wore underwear and heels, which is perfectly appropriate wear for that kind of club. I was standing at the edge of one of the rooms looking for my boyfriend, when someone started running their finger round the inner edge of my bra. I assumed it was someone I knew’s weird-ass way of greeting me, so I didn’t respond instantly (because even after all this time I assume that an unexpected touch is friendly), but upon looking up I realised it was a stranger.
At first I was calm, simply saying, “excuse me, I’d really rather if you asked before – ” but when this made no difference my tone sharpened; I backed away, wagged my finger at them – literally, I’m a walking cliché – and said – oh I can’t remember what I said. Something angry and pissed off. They stopped, my friend appeared at my shoulder, and I ranted at him briefly about what bollocks this all was. Then got on with my night.
This is notable because the person touching me may have been female. I can’t remember precisely what they looked like, it was all over too quickly and the lighting was too bad, but I think I remember them wearing a bra. Of course that doesn’t necessitate that they’re female, especially in a fetish club, but I can’t remember anything else about them that would give a hint to their gender – in my head their face looks male but I have no idea how accurate that memory is. If they were female, this would be the first time in the history of the assault tag that a woman has been in it as the perpetrator.
This is the seventh post in the assault tag (discounting this one about catcalls which relates events that started before I began keeping this blog). I’ve been keeping this blog for very slightly over 2 years now, which means that – on average – something happens that I feel needs to be written here once every 3 to 4 months.
Why the fuck, in 21st century Britain, am I being groped more often than I get a haircut.
(Important note: don’t let this colour your impression of Subversion. It’s a great club with great people behind it. Dickheads attend every club, it’s not the management’s fault.)
I NEED ONE. RIGHT NOW.
I need one that posts some variety of commentary/humour as well as pictures/gifs (gifs with well-placed text count as commentary), that hasn’t read A Song of Ice and Fire so won’t spoil it for me, and that doesn’t post 50 times a day.
Does such a thing exist?
Someone on Tumblr (I think it was lottelodge) linked to this, a 10-point scale for tracking autistic overload. I thought it was a great idea and wrote up my own, for tracking stress, and I’m sharing it here because…well I share everything here, essentially. I’m finding it a useful tool for tracking the various ups and downs of my Issues with anxiety, it’s useful to go “this is a stage 5 situation, I shall cope with [relevant action]”, especially because at higher stages I can’t think straight - just when I need coping mechanisms most, I am most incapable of remembering them. I’d encourage you to write your own if you have problems with stress, sensory overload, low mood, etc.
It is quite a rough guide, I’m normally somehwere in between stages and showing traits of a few different ones, but t’s a useful tool regardless.
(For reference in case anyone reading this doesn’t know, I’m on the autistic spectrum - official diagnosis PDD-NOS if you know what that means - and have ongoing, debilitaitng mental health problems, most of which fall under the broad umbrellas of “depression” and “anxiety disorder”.)
Stage 1: Relaxed
Internal: thinking clearly, thoughts wide-ranging and diverse, good attention span, confident.
External: happy, confident and relaxed, lots of things to say, good at listening.
Action needed: N/A
e.g. spending time with partners or very close friends, by self in room.
Stage 2: Minor Effort
Internal: thinking clearly though not good at thinking beyond immediate situation, shorter attention span, occasional self-doubt but primarily confident.
External: similar to 1 but shorter attention span, can’t listen as well.
Action needed? N/A
e.g. with close friends, by self in familiar environment.
Stage 3: Normal Effort
Internal: thinking clearly but very focused on immediate situation, short-ish attention span, paying close attention to behaviour in order to avoid self-doubt.
External: gregarious, flits between groups, “social butterfly”, often presents as quite hyper and excitable.
Action needed? N/A, but will often be exhausted after more than 3 or 4 hours of stage 3.
e.g. most social situations, by self in unfamiliar environment.
(NB, adding sensory stressors like loud music or a messy environment will tip this to a 4.)
[Starting at 4, the longer spent at any stress level will push the stress levels higher. “Max time” is indeed the maximum; if I’m functioning at a “high 4” or whatever, it will be less time]
Stage 4: High Effort
Internal: worrying about self and presentation excessively, constantly challenging negative thoughts, very limited attention span
External: unremarkable; reasonably social, makes polite conversation, not as social as 3 but can initiate interaction.
Action needed? N/A, but be careful to limit time in stage 4 and take regular breaks to avoid tipping into stage 5.
e.g. social situations with >50% people I don’t know, by self in hostile environment.
Max time: up to around 4 hours before tipping into stage 5.
So let’s have some real talk.
And we’ll start off with this: you have never had sex with someone in which they gave full, enthusiastic, unqualified verbal consent to everything you did. Neither have I.
I have never had sex with a woman and asked, repeatedly: “can I touch your left breast? Can I touch your right breast? Can I touch your left nipple? Can I touch your right nipple?”. I just assume that if a woman is willing to sleep with me, they are okay with me touching their breasts and nipples. Equally, when I go down on a male, I assume that their consent to me sucking their penis extends to me licking their testicles. But I don’t extend that assumption to their anus. I don’t like rimming people to start with, but even if I did, I wouldn’t assume that someone being okay with me licking their dick/balls means they are also okay with me licking their arse. There is no particular reason for me assuming that if a woman wants to have sex with me she’s okay with me touching her nipples, I just assume it because it’s culturally normal – there is no particular reason for me assuming that a man who wants to have sex with me doesn’t want me touching his anal region, I just assume it because it’s culturally normal. Actually, I have slept with a couple of women who’ve asked for their nipples not to be touched, and also with a couple of men who have asked for their anus to be touched. So the assumptions “if a woman consents to sex she consents to having her nipples touched” and “if a man consents to sex he doesn’t consent to having his anus touched” are, in my experience, false.
What’s the point of this ramble? Firstly, assumptions of what’s consented to when someone consents to sex are dictated by sexual culture, which - much surprise very wow - doesn’t match up with what each individual wants. Secondly, when I have sex with someone, I make assumptions about what they want and do not get consent for each individual act – and I bet you do that too.
More to the point, it’s functionally impossible to do this. Imagine if you genuinely did get full verbal consent for each action; sex would become impossible. Break it down – let’s say that for every part of the body you can lick, kiss or touch it, and that each part of the body is considered as its own section for consent-giving purposes. Imagine trying to kiss down someone’s neck to their breast if you got full verbal consent for each act:
When I was 18 I had a partner named Doni. I rarely use proper names on this blog, but I’m doing so here as he’s already on the internet with the name Doni attached to his penis, may as well keep the convention going.
My relationship with Doni was FUCKED. It was really terrible. I used to shag him – essentially – to give me something to think about that wasn’t how depressed and miserable I was at that point in my life. And he did not treat me well, at all, and I kept going back because that was what I wanted: to be mistreated. That was how I felt I deserved to be treated at that point in life (it was not a good time). That isn’t Doni’s issue, of course, we just met up, had kinky sex (I was always sub) and I went home. Even though I knew that he wasn’t good to me or for me and didn’t value me or my time, I kept seeing him - even when my mental health got better - because he was my only source of kinky sex, and – after a few months – I started to go weak at the knees whenever he called me up to growl down the phone. I stopped seeing him shortly after I entered the public fetish scene, which was when I realised that I could get the same thing from people who value me; and, more importantly, that I don’t need to mess around with people who don’t value me, that I can be picky, and I don’t need to “take what I’m given” – fuck that shit.
I remember the moment when I realised that I didn’t want to see him anymore quite clearly – we had set up a meeting, and I’d got ill, not with anything life-threatening, just one of those horrible colds that fills your head with fuzz and makes you sneeze until the capillaries in your nose break and you start to sneeze blood. I called him to cancel the day of, and in fairness to him I think he might have booked a hotel room, so it might well have cost him money; but regardless, I did call up, apologised profusely in my croaky ill-voice, and he said:
“Fine, call me when you’re better”, and hung up.
I remember looking at the phone thinking “what happened to my ‘get well soon’? What happened to my ‘goodbye’?”. I know this doesn’t look bad in text, but in life, it was dismissive and callous and was the thing that made me realise that I not only could get, but absolutely deserved, better.
I should have realised that from day one. The first time I met him, I was on my knees sucking him off, blindfolded and with my hands tied my back – hot. Not so hot – hearing a whirring noise beside my ear, peeking under the blindfold, and discovering a video camera. I immediately stopped and challenged him; he refused to remove the camera; I said if he didn’t I’d bite his cock; he didn’t; I bit his penis; finally he put the camera away.
This should have been a massive red flag. I should have left immediately and never come back. But I didn’t – I stayed for the rest of the session and shagged him for about a year after, and I’m still not entirely sure why. My best guess is a mixture of not being consciously aware of the concept of “consent”, lack of perceived options for the type of sex I craved, and general lack of self-esteem, particularly sexual self-esteem (when I say I walked into dangerous situations in this writing, this is the type of thing I’m talking about).
But eventually I did open my eyes to his essential dickhead-ness, told him I didn’t want to sleep with him anymore, fielded a few weeks of pestering calls and “but I know you miss my cock” texts, and didn’t think about him for two years.
Then he showed up on an acquaintance’s blog. Said acquaintance – Adreena - is a porn star. Adreena had fucked Doni for her Clips 4 Sale (I encourage you all to follow the link and buy Adreena’s clips so she can get more beautiful underwear for me to be jealous of; I haven’t watched her porn, but her non-explicit glamour and fashion-y work is awesome, go fund it). Apparently Doni is attempting to work in porn now. This is hilarious – I can so see the idea of being a porn star appealing to his ridiculous ego. And so for the first time in two years I made contact with Doni, in a text reading…
“So I hear you’re fucking on camera now?”
To GS, about guilt, and worrying you’re a bad person.
Bad people do bad things and have a narrative in their head that makes it okay. They think their behaviour is justified and that anyone who challenges them just needs to hear the narrative, then they’ll understand and excuse the behaviour. Good people do bad things but know they’re bad. They don’t try and justify their behaviour, and in fact actively work to not do that behaviour again.
The best response to good people doing bad things (because we all do bad things sometimes, it’s part of being human) is to support them in not repeating that behaviour, rather than ostracising and condemning them , which is what I think should happen to people who hurt others and have some kind of justification for it. It’s not easy to say that to people who’ve been actively hurt by this behaviour though - “oh I know whoever hurt you but he’s a good person really, let it go”.
To DN, about social communication being a code:
Social communication is all code, we aren’t telephatic, so it’s encoding our thoughts into a syntax that’s readable for other humans. (Like a computer.) It’s cumbersome and imperfect but I don’t know a better way.
With some people you can speak a different language. Strangers it’s like interacting with a website you’ve never used before, you need to make things clear, they haven’t used you before, need big clear buttons and obvious signposting so they know their way around.
People you know better it’s more like a programme you know well so you can use keyboard shortcuts and do things really quickly and turn off fancy graphics and maybe mod it up a little.
And then people you know REALLY well you can read their code directly and see straight into it without any interface.
12 hours of labs this week plus full lecture timetable. No time for posts. Next Wednesday my Wednesday morning labs end - will have a spare few hour. Try to make that regular blogging slot.
I am very sorry for lack of posts, I miss this blog, I just have SEVENTY THOUSAND THINGS TO DO and also I have awful time management skills.