Mysogeny - Tumblr Posts

Ammo #2 - TW sex. assualt

Hi - graphic and horrible below, sexual in nature. TW - sexual abuse, assault/rape.

For context:  I don’t like anal penetration.  I’ve been able to get to the point where it doesn’t hurt, but it’s never felt good.  So between that, the prep, stress, ridiculous amount of lube required, and clean up, I just don’t want to do it.  I have no moral objection - If it’s your thing, great - but it’s definitely not mine.

At 19, I had tried anal sex, but it still hurt. So I really didn't like it then. 

My ex had broken up with me.  At that time I was devastated, as I didn’t know it was temporary, which was compounded when he told me he was actively dating.

So, my go to coping method was self destruction. And I had a knack for seeking company with the absolute worst humans with air in their lungs.

That’s how I met Rapist.  And he and I had a whirlwind fuckfest that did absolutely nothing to heal me, or make me feel better, but it did allow me to detach from my reality further and just stop feeling altogether.

Make no mistake, I knew within 5 minutes that Rapist was human garbage - he’d been to jail for violence, pushed drugs on people he knew couldn’t help themselves, regularly snorted cocaine to be aggressive, was violent with women and was harassing his ex.  He treated his mother, who I suspect survived Rapist’s dad’s abuse, terribly, and tried to control his sister.  He seemed proud of all of this.

He was also super aggressive with a cat and dog he owned because he wanted to make them “mean.” That doggie was so sweet - Hooch was his name. He used to hide behind me when Rapist was picking on him. I hope he got away.

Rapist invited me to a party at his house. There were 20+ people there, but I didn’t know anyone but his sister, who I’d met a few days prior.  She turned out to not be an ally anyway - story another time.  He and I were exchanging sexy talk most of the evening and I was content with it until he said “I’m going to take your ass tonight.”  My demeanor dropped immediately and I said “ Not you’re not.”   He responded with “Yes, I am” and walked away.

Why I did not leave at this very instant I’ll never be able to explain.  I don’t really know. It was cold out, and dark, and the walk home was about an hour. And I guess I’d hoped he was kidding?

So, when the time came to shove me into his bedroom, I was about -105% turned on because I thought he was going to try to fuck me anally. He was aggressive undressing me and pushed me onto the bed.  There was half a second of relief when I realized he was aiming for my vagina but that ended very quickly.  There was no warm up, and my fluids were definitely not flowing naturally. Furthermore my muscles were so clamped down that I’m surprised he succeeded (He remarked later that he loved how tight I was - now a trigger).

When he pushed violently in, I yelped. Not a sexy yelp.  Like an animal caught in a bear trap kind of yelp.  He proceeded roughly as if nothing had happened.  

I, somewhat mercifully, don’t remember a lot.  I remember saying “No, stop, you’re hurting me” at lease twice, likely three times.  Rapist didn’t even acknowledge that I had spoken.  He choked me a little and slapped me.  After I had realized that this was going to happen anyways, I remember trying to think of ways to make it end quicker.  I tried to please Rapist.  Mostly though, I just laid there, stunned.

After he finished and rolled off, I cried.  Rapist didn’t understand and I did not attempt to explain.  I layed there until it was morning enough to leave.  I never contacted him again.

I have always been active and I am a formidable woman. I hate myself for not fighting back. It prevented me from acknowledging it as rape. It took me 8 years to get the courage to go and talk to someone about it.

He found out about this experience two years ago when he was snooping through my things.  He found a letter I had written “to Rapist” that was part of my therapy with my social worker at the time.

When he found it at the beginning, he told me that I should do the world a favour and kill myself.

As time went on he used this experience to torture me in other ways.

Cishet man makes woman extremely uncomfortable: volume 2318864314652217

I am a woman out after dark, so we all know I was asking for it, but this guy was something else. I was cruising on my phone on a bench in my city’s downtown.

Enter overly confident stranger stage right who invites me for a drink at a bar.  I hesitate for half a second which of course he takes to mean yes. 

Man: Of course you do, come on, we’re going. 

He’s invited me to one of my regular haunts, and it’s not far from where I parked, so I reluctantly agree at his insistence.  I order my usual and have to explain that I don’t drink.  He looks dejected for a moment.

Man: Maybe I should stop drinking too.

Uh huh.  Some chitchat was pleasant enough, then after some silly back and forth about “honesty” (”I have to be honest, I’m an engineer.  Do you hate me?  *eyeroll*) I let him know that I’m queer.  Silly me, thinking that this would shut his ass down.

He “doesn’t get” queer. So I, thinking his question was genuine, attempt to explain that it’s handy for those of us who don’t fit under the first four letters of the alphabet soup.  An umbrella term of sorts.

He asked about my sexuality personally.  This was a bit presumptuous I though.  However I explained that I am pansexual, and what that means.  

Man: So you’re still attracted to men!

Me: ...theoretically.  However my experiences have made me uninterested in men.

Man: Just experiences did that?  You can’t overcome them?

Me:  *a little more firmly* ... I don’t do men.

Man:  So tell me, do you find me attractive?

Me:  *takes a deep breathe*

Man:  No, no, I guess you don’t.  Don’t tell me.  I don’t want to hear it.

Me:  You are an attractive person.  I just don’t like men.

Man:  So what would make me attractive to you? 

Me:  ....  you could start with not being a man?

Man:   Well, maybe I should try to be a woman.  Or nonbinary.  Maybe I am a woman.  Or nonbinary.  I might like it.  I’ve never tried it. 

Me:  .... it’s not like.. trying gin for the first time...

Man:  but I’ve never tried it!

Me:  ... That’s not the way it works.

Man:  Do you want me to cut if off?

Me:  This is getting weird.

Man:  It sure is.  Do you have a knife on you?

Me:  Please... don’t.  I have to go to the washroom.

I told him I needed to be up for work in the morning, thanked him for the drink and ducked out despite his protestations 

Man: “Don’t you want to chill or something?”

No.  I didn’t.  I don’t.  My sexuality is not a whim or a joke or whatever you were trying to make it.  Furthermore, the gall of trying to continue to get me to fuck you after I’ve straight up told you I’m not interested is coercion  and I’m not interested in being with someone who can’t take a hint glaring, obvious note.  

I didn’t say any of the last bit, and I wish I had.  But  I’m proud that I got myself out of there.  It’s progress.  The old me would have suffered through that interaction further with the guilt of him having bought me a $1.75 drink. I may have even let him have me.

Not this time.  Not anymore.

Depression is hitting pretty hard. The last few job prospects were not what i thought they were.

My last paycheck will be November 15 and i have nothing to replace it.

My woman has already insisted she buy me snow tires, because I advised that I won't have the money to buy them at this time. This makes me ashamed. Especially since she has been stretched thin lately herself.

And a quick flashback to a conversation with my Father yesterday who helpfully reminded me that i "shouldn't be depending on anybody." Thanks, Pops, for the pep talk.

And i still have to go to this place for another 8 shifts. Once again, I'd like to ask why I have to be in this discouraging position while my shithead, incompetent, mysogenist boss suffers with none of it.