ConTuesday! Out of bounds
Pushing, testing, annihilating your own boundaries can be awesome. Not so much when someone else– anyone–decides you need this done for you. Whether it results in irritation, full-on trauma, or something else, I’m not sure it ever ends well.
I have always had lots of rape fantasies, especially date rape scenarios where I’m too drunk to make a decision. I also really like getting fucked while I’m asleep. A couple years ago I did get date raped while I was asleep and I woke up halfway through (side note: I still don’t know whether to consider it date rape since the guy was as drunk as I was… although he did have to be sober enough to move, while I didn’t). It was traumatic for a bit but I still have the same fantasies and they’re better than ever! They never involve that incident and I don’t think they’re even connected…
The boundaries between fantasy and reality can be really difficult to resolve for rape survivors. Giving up control voluntarily is totally different from someone taking it away, or from being in a position where you had none.
The more I reflect on being semi-kinda date raped, the more confused I get. Yes, I was too drunk to consent; but he was too drunk to realize that and stop. And I did get too wasted to go home at his house knowing that he might wanna fuck me. Isn’t there any space between blaming the victim and accepting responsibility? Does putting all the impetus on men make women seem passive and pathetic (at least in my situation, where there was no threat of violence)? Is there a way to think about this without secretly wanting to feel like a victim, or conversely feeling like I’m too tough to be a victim? And how does being penetrated change it? If I had secretly sucked his dick while he was passed out would he have felt as violated as I did? And does any of this matter since it was a long time ago and I’m not traumatized? Most of all, is it wrong that we’re still friends (I yelled at him about it at the time)??
Although the details and the experience of being raped can vary widely, I think most survivors grapple with these questions. I can’t answer them. I really can’t. I can tell you that I tried to be friends with the guy who raped me afterward. I don’t think it was wrong, but in my case it was kind of more a way to punish myself for what I “let happen”. It wasn’t because I actually wanted him for a friend. But that’s me, not necessarily anyone else.
We’re going to deal with slightly less devastating boundary issues for the next couple. Because damn.
I’ve been following a blog for months, thinking that the person writing it was just another friendly sex blogger. Today I suddenly realized that she’s actually someone I’ve known since high school, and I’ve been reading about her sex life all this time without realizing it! I feel awkward…
I’d like to officially not apologize to anyone I’ve ever met in real life who has stumbled across this blog. You’re the ones reading it, you perverts.
So, I recently found out two things about a friend: she probably has a crush on me, and she has supremely deft fingers.
Item #1 is seriously putting a pit of dread into my stomach. I don’t know how to deal with it and I feel like I shouldn’t have to.
Item #2? Well, let’s just say I’ve rediscovered an old favorite from literotica. Super-butch masseuse blackmails seduces/rapes femme girls through blackmail and the power of her hands. It’s so poorly written. I cast myself as the poor hopeless girl and my friend as the rapist.
So while I’m coming to the thought of her hands on me, I’m also ignoring her texts: “night sweetheart,” “come to the park and read poetry with me.” Cognitive dissonance.
Okay, really we most of us have some cognitive dissonance percolating in the shadowlands between our fantasies and reality.
A few years ago, I decided I liked not wearing a bra during the steamy summertime. I have small, rocking’ tits, so it’s totally comfy to do so. I began to like being proud of my AA boobies, hanging out, free.
I was walking into a Big Boy, one afternoon, and this middle-aged guy held the door open for me. As I walked past him, saying ”thanks,” he said, in a very loud voice ”Damn, those are THE biggest nipples I have ever seen.” He said it to nobody in particular, just the air, and just the bunch of people within hearing distance. He said it with a very obvious tinge of disgust.
Mortified, I ran to the restaurant bathroom before even getting seated. I stared into the mirror for about ten minutes. I didn’t want to go back out there. I didn’t want him or anyone else to see me.
Yes, those nipples were huge. But did it need an announcement?
And…until that moment, I had thought that the silhouette of my breasts looked beautiful. I suppose if I had been in Manhattan or some other spicy, Cosmopolitan place, nobody would have shamed me like that. But I live in Northwest Ohio. But the real questions were and are: Why was I so surprised? Why was I suddenly so afraid? And how could some overweight sloppy man in overalls make me feel, suddenly, so dirty?
As long as we have bodies and people have eyes, loved ones and strangers alike are going to have opinions about our bodies. It would be nice to get to the place where one didn’t give a shit what anyone thought: compliments are nice, but they feed nothing; comments that shame or sexualize us are as the quacking of ducks or the susurration of a distant freeway.
It would also be awfully nice if people kept the latter category of comments to themselves.
Something squicks me out about actually having sex with someone who does unusual things with gender. A woman with a dick won’t do it for me. Nor will a man who wants to wear frilly underwear. I like macho men and femme women, and anything in between kills my ladyboner.
This makes me feel incredibly mean because I have a trans friend, love her like a sister, and she complains about not being able to find partners. And I’m thinking, guiltily, “maybe most people are like me, and just can’t get over the the gender thing.”
We each get to have our own boundaries of whom we’re attracted to. It’s actually good to know what these are. It’s not so good to be hurtful toward or dismissive of people who don’t match our orientation (and as a suggestion, I probably wouldn’t use the word “squick” when talking to them), but we owe no one our attraction. For what it’s worth, I don’t think most people are necessary oriented as you are. There are a lot of people who are attracted to trans women, and I suspect there would be a lot more if we could collectively manage, as a society, to stop being horrible to them as a general policy.
A while ago, I shared a bed with a friend, who touched me in ways I didn’t really want him to when I was half asleep.
It took me a while to say no and stop him, partially because I was too tired/dozy to work out was going on, partly because I felt awkward because we were good friends, did he feel I’d lead him on, did I for some reason owe him this? But also because my body was responding to the touches, even though my mind did not want it to happen. When I snapped out of it and realised I had made it clear that we weren’t that sort of friends, and then he did it again even though I said no, I stormed out and we didn’t make up for a long time. I felt used and like our friendship had been chucked away because he thought I’d be easy.
I don’t know, anymore, what I feel worst about – the fact he took advantage of me in such a weird situation, or the fact I was so angry with him for it considering I semi enjoyed it.
As much as we owe no one our attraction, a thousand times more do we owe no one our bodies. He was violating your boundaries. Your reaction gets to be as complicated as it is, but it doesn’t change what he did or how fucked up it was.
Which is VERY.