Tag Archive: fear


Random radio ramblings…

Woot, only three weeks between posts this time! And I’m prefacing this one with: this is strictly *fantasy* and I’m not planning on killing anyone. Contemplate that, folks. 😉

So, I listen to this morning show on the way to work each day, mostly because I’m a lazy bum about getting podcasts downloaded to the phone, and they’re funnyish. And this morning they were talking discussing a news article where a woman tried to kill her husband by poisoning her ‘undercarriage’.  I like ‘undercarriage’ because that may have been the *only* amusing line from the Dukes of Hazzard movie, which was all in all a perversion and tragedy rolled up in suckage; but I digress.

So, anyway, woman tries to poison husband through cunnilingus! Amusing and disturbing. Also, pretty damn stupid.

The radio hosts asked for callers to ‘for fun’ call in and describe how they would poison their spouses. A few were funny, but then the station static-ed out and I trailed off into my own ‘how I would poison’ fantasy land. *grins*

So, D, just in case you were wondering; yes, I have contemplated your death and how I would do it… poison would not be my first choice. But, if I were going that route, it would be the coffee.

You had to know that, right? It’d be easy and I’d be able to say that I had ‘just been in too much of a hurry’ to get my own before I left in the morning. And you’d know it was me… because let’s be honest, I’m not the ‘stab in the back’ kinda gal. I don’t do revenge or gossip or rumors and I’m more likely to tell you to your face that I think you’re a douche than anything else. Plus there’s that side of me that wants you to know it was me.

I don’t want you to think you’re having a heart attack or some stomach issue or what have you just before you die… I want you to be thinking about how I; your adoring, loving, slightly whacked out sweetie fucking killed you.

But hey, this is all just fantasy and weirdness that is my mind. *smiles*  OR IS IT?!

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I don’t normally do this…

I don’t generally repost other people’s blog posts as a whole or engage in any feminist debate. I think this speaks for itself. Direct link below and the text of the post.

And then I debated whether or not to put it on Tumblr…but I decided it was important.  Because in my own way, I can (unfortunately) point out exactly what is wrong with men when they don’t realize how hard it is to be a woman.  How we do not have equal opportunities and freedoms in everyday life.  How most men, even good caring men, have no clue what we go through on a daily basis just trying to live our lives.

So here goes.

I often ride the Metro when I commute from North Hollywood to Long Beach in order to save money.  I bring a book, pointedly wear a ring on my ring finger to imply I’m married (I’m not) and keep to myself.

Without fail, I am aggressively approached by men on at least half of these commutes.  The most common approach is to walk up to where I am sitting with body language that practically screams LEAVE ME ALONE and sit down next to me or as close to me as possible, when the train is not crowded and there are many empty rows.  Sometimes an overly friendly arm is draped over the railing behind me, or they attempt to lean in close to talk to me as if we are old friends.  Without fail, the man or boy in question will lean to close and ask me

What are you reading?

Is that a good book?

What’s that book about?


This serves the double purpose of getting my attention and trapping me in a conversation.  If I stop reading the book I enjoy to talk to you, random stranger, you hit on me or just stay way too close to me.  If I tell you to leave me alone, you get mad at me.  Because I somehow, as a woman, owe you conversation.

Tonight when I boarded the train in Long Beach at 10:30pm, it started up right away.  I was not on the train more than three minutes before three boys who looked eighteen sat in the row behind me and leaned over the seats into my personal space, close enough to breathe on me.  The one with his arm draped over onto the back of my seat asked me—surprise— “what are you reading?”  I went through my usual routine.  I told them loudly and firmly that I wanted to be left alone to read my book.  They got angry.  I was told “Why are you going to be like that?  I just wanted to talk!”  His friends start laughing at me and they don’t move, telling me come on! and why are you gonna be like that? until I tell them to leave me the fuck alone, stand up, and move to the front of the car near the three other people on the train, a couple and a business man in a suit.  They spend the next two stops shouting at me from the back of the car, alternating between trying to sound flirtatious and making fun of me, shouting “I bet she’s reading Stephanie Meyer!  I bet she’s reading Twilight or some shit!  You reading Twilight or some shit?”

They exit the train at the next stop, and I’m relieved.  The train is going out of service at the next station, so we all exit to board a new train to Los Angeles.  As we board, the business man steps aside to let me go through the door first and asks me if those guys were bothering me.  I say yes, that it happens all the time, and he tells he’ll beat them up for me if they come back.  He is a nice person who talks to me like I’m a human being instead of a walking pair of tits, and I make a mental note:  This is how a real man talks to a woman on a train.

The business man and the couple exit our new Blue Line train an exit or so later, and I think my night is ending on a good note.  A seemingly normal man enters the train with his bicycle.  At this point I am three rows from the front of the car, another man was sitting near the back of the car, and the rest of the car is empty.  Bicycle Man walks halfway down the row, and settles into the seat directly opposite me.  Perfect, I think.  Twice in one night.

It’s not the first time I’ve been bothered multiple times.  As such, I’m still amped from the teenagers on the first train.  So when this man leans across the aisle into my personal space and asks me, yes, what are you reading, I assertively but calmly tell him to please leave me alone, I am reading.  The man stands up, moving to the front and muttering angrily over his shoulder that it isn’t his fault I’m pretty.

Yes.  Exactly that.  I am the bad person in this situation because somehow this is all my fault.  I started this by being attractive.  I am making a mental note to bitch about this to my friends later.  I go so far as to write it down so I know I’m remembering it properly.

It is at this exact moment I realize Bicycle Man is not taking it well.  The seemingly annoying but normal man a moment before is now talking to himself, becoming agitated.  In my years of being bothered by total strangers, I have learned how to hold a book and seem to be reading while taking in everything around me.  He is glaring at me, and says out loud in an angry baby talk voice “PLEASELEAVEMEALONEI’MREADING.  PLEASE LEAVE ME ALOOOONE.”

Then he’s up out of his seat and things go from bad to worse.  He begins pacing back and forth in front of his bike, alternating between screaming something about his mother being dead and calling me a slut, a hoe, a bitch.  I am frozen in place.  There is one other person in the car, and I’m not sure if trying to change seats will draw more attention to me or less. I trust my instincts and show no fear, doing my best to appear to be calmly reading my book, never once looking up to acknowledge the abuse he’s hurling at me.  There are four stops left until we reach the main downtown station where there are lights and security officers.  Those four stops are virtually abandoned, and I have no guarantee that leaving to wait for another train won’t motivate him to leave the train as well, leaving us potentially alone at a metro station platform just outside of Compton.  I’m frozen in place, trying to plan what I’m going to do if he decides to take all this rage directly to me.  I’m ready to kick him, scream, make enough noise that he panics and flees.

At this point he’s punching the walls and doors of the train, screaming at me.  He stares me full in the face and screams

SUCK MY DICK, BITCH

YOU BITCH

YOU STUPID BITCH

YOU GODDAMN HO

IF I HAD A GUN I’D SHOOT YOU

I WOULD FUCKING KILL YOU BITCH

This went on for two stops.  No one came to see what was happening.  The man in the last row was as frozen as I was.  I’m not angry he didn’t come to my defense.  He was smaller, older, and frailer-looking than I was.  Again, I was worried if I got up, I would be turning my back on him to walk down the aisle.  In the state he was in, I had no guarantee it wouldn’t get physical, and I had more physical strength with my back to the window and feet in kicking position where I was.  If he had chosen to assault me, I would only be making it easier for him by standing up and putting myself directly in his path.  On and on, over and over, he screamed at me, screamed at his dead mother, screamed at me again.

The moment we reached the downtown station, I was out the door and down the stairs.  I still had to catch a connecting train to North Hollywood, and made sure there was no sign of Bicycle Man before I entered the car.  That’s when I finally starting shaking, and almost threw up.  By the time I exited the Red Line and reached my car I could barely breathe and my heart was pounding out of my chest.  Even now, in my own home, my hands are still shaking and for some reason the stress has made my back muscles feel cold and numb.  From all the tension, I can only assume.  I can’t eat anything, I still feel like I’m going to vomit, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t cried so much, so hard I still have the headache.

So when people (men) want to talk about “legitimate” forms of assault, tell girls they should be nice to strangers and give men the benefit of a doubt, tell them to consider it a compliment, tell them to ignore the bad behavior of men, I want them to be forced to feel, for even one minute, what it feels like to have so much verbal hatred and physical intimidation thrown at them for nothing more than being female and not wanting to share.

I just wanted to read my book.

It’s not my fault I’m pretty.

Snarfle the Garflack, love.

It’s an inside joke. And, yes, I know it’s ‘narfle the Garthok’; whatever, it’s my joke, shut up.

Hopefully I’m able to explain it properly here. It’s the phrase I use to encourage D. Usually toward something that he’s not sure he’s ready to do or isn’t sure he has the ability to do; but keeps saying he wants. And at the risk of sounding sexist; he’s a guy, it usually involves emotions. Garflack is what ever ‘big scary thing’ thing is going on… and usually isn’t such a big scary thing in the end.

It’s come up a bit lately. He’s exploring his poly, more than he has before and it’s raising new feelings, issues, and worries. It’s interesting to be supporting him through it. I’m glad I am and I love seeing him grow and become. You know what I mean?

I’m sort of discovering that I’m really protective of him too. Not to the point of weirdness, but that I’m pretty fucking blunt when I see others in his life pulling shit.  He, of course, gets to make his own choices about what he is doing and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Through out the course of his exploration, we’ve discovered so many new things about us. Individually. As a couple. Our power exchange/Ds.

We’ve discovered we have very minimal rules for each other, though they are important ones. Practice safe sex. Don’t do anything that will harm us. Act, speak and live with honesty, integrity and honor.  That one’s a doozy, but so important. Keep each other informed. And finding where those rules expand or contract depending on the situation.

And there are moments where I have to say it to myself. Facing my attachment to an ex and how it was affecting my emotions still… so difficult. Snarfle the Garflack. Finding out what it really is I am afraid of in opening myself up to ‘new’ people. Snarfle! The unexpected ones, like discovering that I mostly have acquaintances in the community, where I thought I had friends. That was a hard one.

I always try to make sure I’m using it well and saying it from a place of encouragement and love. He is my Sir and my love as well as my partner and I have to make sure I’m respecting all the aspects of our relationship when offering a push.  But I know he appreciates my support, my encouragement and my love.

We have an event coming up in June that we are both looking forward to… we’re on staff this year and with all these new discoveries about each other and ‘us’, we’re looking forward to exploring our boundaries in such an open, loving, energy rich place.  Hopefully our experiences this year will be as good as last, or better!

Hopefully, I’ll be hurting some boys. I am going to snarfle the fuck out of THAT Garflack, as soon as I can.

Of course, sometimes, ‘Snarfle the Garflack’ is code for: ‘Here, take these condoms and go fuck her already. Sheesh.’

I’m serious AND silly. 😛                                     Ooh, now I want to hear ‘Tainted Love’….

On being a switch… Sadist/Masochist

I feel I must add a disclaimer: All switches are different. Covering every type of switch is simply impossible. So please, bear in mind that I am only discussing how switching works for me.

I read somewhere a note comparing a switch to Schrodinger’s Cat… And it’s a wonderful comparison except for the fact that it represents a yes/no dichotomy rather than a gradient. Most switches I know are not 50/50 sub/dom, they are a spectrum of their needs. For me, figuring out which side is prominent is affected greatly by the energy of whom I am interacting with… I have met Doms who I feel submissive to and others to whom I feel Dominant. I’ve met subs who I feel Dominant to and others to whom I feel submissive. I’ve met switches that stir up both energies. And I’ve met far more people who trigger nothing than I expected.

Today though, I want to talk about being a Sadist and being a Masochist. For me, S/M is intermingled amongst the whole Dom/sub/switch label and my S/M is mental and physical, not emotional.

Sadist: someone who derives sexual gratification from inflicting pain on others.

When I’m Top/Dom… I want to hurt you. I crave your tears, moans, growls and screams. I love to see the welts and bruises rise up through your skin. I want to fuck with your mind and body and twist you into a sobbing, thrashing, crying, quivering heap of flesh.

When I’m bottom/sub… I want to sink my nails into your skin when I orgasm. I want to gag myself with your flesh. I want to lash out at you with everything I have in me. I want to push you off the bed when we wrestle and slap you when you attack me. I want to fight and hurt you and push my brain to find a way to escape you.

All of those things excite me, bring me sexual gratification, and are vastly, vastly enjoyable. I don’t need any of them everytime I scene or play. But, they are delightful.

Masochist: someone who derives sexual gratification from receiving pain.

When I’m bottom/sub… I want to cry. I want to be afraid. I want every nerve singing, screaming and writhing. I want to moan and scream and curse you. I want welts, bruises, bitemarks. I want muscles that ache days later, rubby spots from all night sex, and your marks on my body. I want mental exhaustion from trying to process the pain.

When I’m Top/Dom… I want to sweat. I want muscles that burn from beating your ass. I want my fingers to hurt from how hard I dig my nails into your flesh. I want jaw muscles that ache from biting you. I want legs and arms that are sore from holding you down. I want my wrists to twinge from beating you. I want to be mentally exhausted from thinking up new ways to hurt you.

All of those things excite me, bring me sexual gratification, and are vastly, vastly enjoyable. I don’t need any of them everytime I scene or play. But, they are delightful.

Palaestrae

I asked for a public scene last night. Something that I have minimal issues with at kink events, but this was at practice. This was in front of my chosen family. For some reason, that has given me pause for a while. I don’t want to strip or play or many other things in front of my family and perhaps that carried over into my chosen family? Regardless, I took my fears in hand and asked to go out on that ledge and play.

I asked for a scene… I didn’t know what I wanted when I asked. So, D grabbed his bag and followed me downstairs. As soon as I saw the bed was unoccupied, I knew what I wanted. Nothing in the bag, just he and I.

I wanted to wrestle.

I wanted to fight and struggle and laugh. I love to wrestle, especially against someone who’s stronger than me. I know he’ll win, I know no matter how hard I struggle I can’t escape him. And for these fears it was perfect. I was choosing something that I couldn’t win, but wasn’t intense enough to need to stop for any emotional reason. Something that was still fun and laughter inducing. I would have to go through with it, to fight, to struggle and lose. I would have to face this fear and enjoy it.

And we did. We wrestled and thrashed and fought. I knocked him off the bed once and he tossed me through the air a few times. *grins* He still has my shirt today and is making me bargain for it back. And somewhere in the middle of our scene, I let go. I still don’t know what it was I was clinging to but I let it go. I do think there are still steps to take for my personal comfort. I know there are things I’d still consider ‘uncomfortable’ that others do at practice. But you know what? That’s ok. It’s ok that my comfort levels are different and last night gave me the confidence that when I am ready? I’ll adjust. And last night verified my trust in him yet again: that he’ll guide, push, throw me right into my fears and that he’ll be there to catch me before I fall or pick me up when I do.