You always hear that rape isn’t about sex, it’s about power. And that probably holds true if you look deep enough, but why in the world would a rapist do that? On more casual reflection, I think that dictum has the potential to allow people to easily deny that what they did was rape. A lot of times, in their minds, it was completely about sex. They weren’t paying particular attention to consent, but they think they probably got it, more or less. And besides, they weren’t trying to take anyone’s power away. They weren’t being violent. They were just trying to get laid, man.

I believe that it’s easy for people to think “Rapists are monsters. I am a person. Therefore, I must not be a rapist. IT’S LIKE MATH.”

Piers Vitiard liked to bike and play lacrosse. He knew about Classical mythology and was good at Soul Calibur. He thought everyone should see Donnie Darko and the entire Godfather series. He was a pretty nice guy. He also raped me.

Reginald Sleeth dreamed of being a filmmaker. He always wove intricate stories in his head, but rarely wrote them down. His voice got louder when he was self-conscious, and he spoke in a fake Scottish accent when he wanted attention. He worried about getting fat. He thought that orange striped cats were the best kind. When he gave you a compliment you tasted it for weeks afterward. He was emotionally, physically, and sexually abusive.

They weren’t monsters, they were just people who did some fucked up things. And people don’t let themselves feel like abusers or rapists. They might have moments when they realize that they’ve done some fucked up stuff, and even feel guilty, but the homeostasis of the mind demands that our thoughts move on from there. We need to justify, rewrite history a little. We need to slant events in such a way that allows us to be the heroes of our own stories.

And along a similar vein, I’m no righteous, innocent victim. The choices I made were monstrously wrong, if I really examine them. I played into Reginald’s abuse, responding to his manipulations as if he’d scripted them and I’d memorized my part. I let our dysfunction teach me what it meant to be in a romantic relationship. Every chance I had to stand up to him, I folded; right up until I found the strength to leave at the very end. I excused Piers after he violated me, and made a point of trying to make it seem to both of us like what had happened wasn’t a big deal. That was unfair to me, to him, and to the next woman he got alone in a room. He learned nothing from what he did to me.

I got it all so wrong. I denied myself the protection and respect that were mine by right. I told them it was okay to disrespect me, harm me, use me. I allowed myself to become inhuman. Maybe I didn’t feel human in the first place. I do now, though. I know better now.

You can be a real person, even a normally decent person, and fuck up big time. You can be weak. You can collude against yourself in the sickest ways imaginable. You can be a rapist. You can be an abuser. Maybe you didn’t mean for things to happen that way, but motive isn’t everything. Sometimes what actually happened is important too. And you’re allowed to forgive yourself, but that really sort of requires admitting it to yourself first.

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Identities that are defined by the opinions of others are weird, aren’t they? If a slut is someone who’s considered promiscuous or lacking sexual morals, that’s exactly what it means. Considered by whom? Who knows! I think my sexual morals are just fine. But I’m relatively sure your grandma would disagree (although grandmas can be sluts too).

But if we’re going to define slut as someone who enjoys sex and possibly has a more relaxed than average attitude about it, that’s me. I’m a total slut.

That just doesn’t mean I’ll necessarily sleep with you.

This is why I like the concept of Slutwalks. Because I feel that’s more or less what they’re trying to say. There’s a big difference between someone wanting sex and “asking to get raped”*. But you know who doesn’t realize that? A rapist. Also, to an extent, rape apologists.

There’s a Slutwalk being planned near-ish to me and soon-ish to now. I think it’s where I belong.

1. Must start designing a clever sign ASAP.
2. May also will coordinate a slutty outfit. Or not. My most debaucherous moments usually don’t begin with me in a sexy little outfit, oddly enough.

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*Which, just to be crystal clear, is a thing that DOES NOT HAPPEN.

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__________________________________________________________

While you’re being raped, you don’t get to feel like a person. Your personality, your history, your passions, your mannerisms, your interests, your pleasure, your protests: everything about you gets shoved to one side so your rapist can get to a hole.*

The violence is eloquent: you’re meat. People get to decline sex, so you must be something else. You realize through the fear and the horror that in that moment you’re nothing more than a flesh frame for negative space.

And hopefully one day that feeling goes entirely away.

When people say that rape is dehumanizing, that’s usually what they mean. To rape is to perpetrate an inhuman act that denies a person human dignity. But that only scratches the surface of what it’s like to survive a rape.

After you’ve been raped, you don’t get to be treated like a person. Your experience, your story, your anger, your grief: they’re all messy and unpleasant for everyone to deal with. Won’t you please put them away?

You’re going to be a statistic now. You’re going to be a cautionary tale. If you speak out or press charges, you get to be “the accuser”, whom people will likely suggest is trying to ruin your poor rapist’s life. Above all, you’re going to be a case to study and analyze so everyone can explain to each other why you were victimized. Because that’s more important than anything else.

See, if people can somehow figure out a way to blame you for being attacked, they feel safer. If rape is a crime of two wrongs, it can be prevented by scrupulously making rights.

You? You were asking for it. Or unprepared to defend yourself, or maybe your lifestyle put you in danger’s way. Or whatever. Something like this just wouldn’t happen to everyone else, or everyone else’s loved ones. It happened to you for a reason. Had to. Otherwise things get uncomfortable!

Apparently this time-honored system of rape aftermath management holds rock solid even when the person who was raped is an eleven-year-old little girl.

A little girl can be gang raped by at least 18 men and boys, and people will point out that she dressed provocatively to look older than her age. They will comb her Facebook account trying to prove that she engaged in transgressive behavior. The men who raped this little girl can take video of the rape and share it at school and on the internet, and some fucked-up woman will have the gall to comment, “These boys have to live with this the rest of their lives”. I want to believe that she’s referring to the soul-rot and gut-burrowing guilt that should encroach after committing such a vile act, but I don’t. I believe she’s referring to their reputations and the legal fallout. I believe she genuinely feels more compassion for the rapists than the eleven-year-old girl they brutalized. And I feel sick about the human race.

The New York Times and other news outlets repeated this victim-blaming bullshit without comment. NBC news invited someone to come on a TV program to say that this child was a willing participant in her rape. The way this story has been treated isn’t atypical, it’s only more dramatic because how can you blame an eleven-year-old for getting raped ARE YOU INSANE??

When people say that rape is dehumanizing, do they realize how much we as a society help it stay that way? Can anyone truly be surprised when rape survivors choose to remain silent?

We couldn’t protect and care for a little girl. We couldn’t work together to keep her safe. We couldn’t create a world where those young men would be sickened at the mere thought of hurting her. That would’ve been too much to ask, certainly. But why in the goddamn can’t we admit that she did nothing wrong, and they did?

Are we fucking animals?

*The mechanics of rape do not always work this way. I want to be very clear about the fact that I’m drawing from my personal experiences to express a feeling I believe may be communal, or close to. I’m not saying that my specific experiences are universal. Not all rape involves penetration. However, I believe it always involves some level of being involuntarily reduced to a body.

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My current boyfriend is the first one ever that I haven’t cheated on.

You’re either growing as a person or your boyfriend is one sexy man. Maybe both. Sweet!

I’d rather fuck someone on a first date than blow them. I always freak out the first time I go down on a guy and I know panic attacks aren’t sexy. I have no such problem with women.

Having to go around the bases in order is boring anyway.

I’m the newly-married-certainly-not-a-

virgin-anymore!

To say sex is amazing would be insulting to sex! I think my head has blown off a couple times, hehe.

I did end up with a bruised cervix after 3+ times a day honeymoon sex, that wasn’t fun. Even now, most positions are a tad painful, boo. It’s still awesome though.

Yay for sex! :)

Congratulations! I think you’re the fourth confessor from this ConTuesday. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, and yeah, bruised cervices are super ouchy.

My stepdad is all happy because I’ve been watching football with him lately. Little does he know that I’m spending most of the time fantasizing about being gang-raped by a team of football players!

I think the bonding probably goes a little smoother that way.

I’m happily in a committed relationship with a girl I’ve asked to marry me. Now, I know that they say the sex stops once the ring’s on her finger, but her drive is strong enough that I’m not worried about that.

Thing is, I’m not usually much on going down on her. And as I think most ladies would agree, that’s high on the list of ”Yes please!”
I just can’t get into it.. unless I take my Ambien. Then I turn into an oral monster, going to town on her while experiencing what feels like a one sided opera argument in my head.

When I was done, she was unable to move and told me it’d actually hurt to come again. Anyone else have this sort of experience mixing hallucinogenic sleep aides and sex?

Aaaaaand I’m off to the pharmacy. Check you guys later.

Hit me with your best secret.

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Okay, so studies have shown that circumcised men may be less vulnerable to several STIs, and less likely to pass them on to a partner. I’m going to go ahead and take the research at face value and say:

Okay, sweet. STIs suck. Let’s stop circumcising little boys.

This might seem counterintuitive, but hear me out. If circumcision is the wise choice, if it’s such a wonderful thing, surely we can leave it to consenting adult males to choose it. Because we’re talking about their bodies here.

Strapping down a baby and performing unnecessary surgery on him without anesthesia is a human rights violation. I honestly can’t see it another way, and just because we’re used to it, just because we expect it, doesn’t make it okay.

If there are health benefits to getting circumcised, great! Let the men who will reap them, and pass them on to their partners, get the surgery. With proper anesthesia and/or pain management. Don’t take the choice away from them. Even if it is in their best interests (which I think is highly debatable) that shouldn’t trump an individual’s right to body autonomy.

You can make all the arguments for circumcision you like. Just make them to, and for, adults.

(image source)

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• ConTuesday isn’t here to judge you.
• ConTuesday is a Pisces.
• ConTuesday is patient. Or rather, requires patience. If you’ve ever sent in a sex confession and had to wait weeks or even months to see it appear here, there’s a perfectly good reason for that. That reason is called lead time. I mostly, more-or-less post them in order, but sometimes I’ll nudge one to the front or hold it back for a couple extra weeks to put it in a theme post. Your confession will appear… it just might be next year.
• ConTuesday is subject to the whims and foibles of an evil villain named QP, who is rumored to have a monkey tail.

I’m in my 20s, but most of the time people see me and assume I’m around 15. I’ve been told that I seem to exude a sort of virginal, innocent exuberance. That makes me feel twice as wonderfully naughty when I’m walking around town with a plug up my ass, carrying a purse full of floggers and vibrators and strap-ons.

Virginal innocence and butt plugs are complementary colors.

The closer I’ve gotten to my male best friend over the years, the more he’s come to see me as a sister. Most of the time I see him as a brother, but once in a while I love to ”innocently” start pushing all his buttons. I know that I’m exactly his type, physically and mentally. It’s insanely fun to watch him start getting all hot and bothered. He tries so hard to hide it, and I pretend not to notice. Such a wonderful power trip!

I’ve learned to gauge the health of my relationship by my wandering eyes. When our relationship is solid and healthy, I don’t find most other men sexually attractive in more than an aesthetic way, and fantasies about people I know are rare. When our relationship is rocky, I start fantasizing about my guy friends during sex. When the shit really hits the fan between us, I start wondering what it would be like to be in a relationship with one of my guy friends, and I start getting seriously turned on just talking to them.

The problem is that I really, really like my fantasies about my guy friends. They’re ridiculously hot, partly because I don’t know what they’d really do in bed. Unfortunately, when my relationship is solid, I can’t for the life of me get those fantasies going in my head. Damn it, I don’t want to miss out on my hottest fantasies when I’m happy!

Play fights, maybe? Hell, I don’t know; I think about fucking my friends all the time. (Sorry, friends!)

I IM’d my friend last night and told him I liked his voice. I told him there was no context, but in reality I’d been listening to sex stories wishing he’d been ordering me around. Oops.

I’ve only been with four people. My first was with 15 girls before me and I was always for some reason pissed off about it because I haven’t had the chance to fuck as many. My guy now, I won’t let him tell me because I don’t want to resent his win over me. Between relationships, I feel extra compelled to boost my number. Exactly how unhealthy/rare is this outlook?

It isn’t any of either! I don’t really stress about my number either way, but on some level I can’t help but think it’ll be a damn shame to die without fucking all the attractive people in the world first. (Sorry, friends!)

Many years ago, I had sex with my friend’s husband. We’re going to a party tonight, at their house, and I’m dreading it because he won’t ”let it go” and understand that it’s never going to happen again. Sadly, it has nothing to do with the fact that he’s my friend’s husband that is keeping me from doing it (incidentally, they are ”swingers”) but the fact that he won’t stop asking for it AND he is the worse sex I’ve ever had. I’m so tempted to just come out and tell him that I’m not interested and, if he keeps it up, tell him exactly why.

Final fact: ConTuesday is written by you. Confession your secrets here!

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I found my G-spot and fapped furiously. My mother was in the other room watching television.

You see, science? The G-spot is true!

I *really* want to get a realistic dildo – specifically the VixSkin Johnny – but I’m worried about intimidating my boyfriend. We have a long-distance relationship, and our sex life consists of camsex on Skype. I typically use vibrators when we do, and it’s amazing – so much better than when I’m by myself, because he’s watching and getting off too. Thing is, he’s got a cliche fragile male ego about them. He frequently talks about how when we’re together, I won’t need them anymore – which is absolutely not true. I enjoy masturbating on my own and I intend to continue to use them regardless of my relationships. But for some reason, it’s so much better when I know he’s watching me do it. I’m afraid it’ll bother him a lot if he sees me fucking myself with a cock that isn’t his. I don’t want him to think I’m replacing him with a hunk of plastic.

Insecurity is really to blame for 90% of sexual issues. And obviously I made that statistic up completely, but it feels true. If a guy told me I could get rid of my sex toys because I had him I’d be all “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA your sense of humor is what I cherish most about you, dude.”

Now, this is probably like suggesting you buy a Kia when you’re looking at BMWs, but have you thought about cloning his willy? Maybe he’d be more comfortable if it was his cock you were pleasuring yourself with.

So I was dating a guy that for some reason I would eventually marry (and then divorce, because I later realized that I’m a lesbian after all, but that is a totally other story! With a happy ending even so don’t worry!), and it was still very early in our relationship, and for some reason during a very late night cuddle session he decided it sounded like a really good idea to wait until I was apparently sleeping and then hump me. This was extra bizarre because he was a preacher’s son and SUPER HUNG UP about sexuality entirely, and we’d never even gone past French kissing. I had such a hard time even parsing what the fuck was happening that I just shut down and barely even tried to stop him…I just pretended to be asleep and waited for it to end. Somehow it got vaguely apologized for and years later I still wonder off and on if it was rape but you know what, why wouldn’t it be? A guy did a sexual thing to me I didn’t want him to do and it made me feel awful and totally skeeved-out and so ashamed that I couldn’t even tell anyone for so long that I only finally told one person. Except the real reason I haven’t told anyone is I dealt with it and I’m fine now, still angry but using the anger pretty productively to set and enforce boundaries and be assertive, and I don’t want people to go “oh poor thing” and freak out and think of me like a victim. ‘Cause dammit, I’m not a victim. The only reason I would tell everyone is so they can know just what a dickbag this guy has been even though he’s always such a saint in the public eye, and the only reason I’m not telling is because I don’t want to give people the power to tell me I’ve been broken when I’m not at all. (That and I can’t think of any way to actually bring it up in conversation other than “SO YEAH, ONE TIME THIS GUY ASSAULTED ME, WHAT A DOUCHE, JUST THOUGHT YOU SHOULD KNOW, LOLOLOLOL” and somehow that just seems way too out of the blue to even bother with. Such social graces I have!)

I understand you’re not asking for my opinion or anything, but just to make this very clear to anyone who might be reading, that was absolutely, completely, 100% rape. I’m glad you have a happy ending and honestly can’t help hoping he does not.

Send your secrets here.

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An example:

Mr. What About The Men
“The real problem here is all these false rape accusations that are destroying our society! 90 million men are falsely accused of rape every second! A woman just has to sort of mumble a word starting with ‘r’ and a man instantly gets a life sentence! There are no instances on record of a woman actually being raped!”

…This is only a slight exaggeration of what people really for real say.

I also love Mr. How Do I Not Rape Someone It Is So Difficult. All those people who are so afraid of accidentally raping someone are really, really disturbing. The more they say the less I’m able to believe that they’ve ever experienced enthusiastic consent from a partner.

I write about rape a lot, mostly because (in spite of the types of arguments on this list) I think it’s an important subject to talk about. But with all the ways people excuse rapists and attack victims, I have a huge incentive to never write about my rape in detail. Let’s face it, a scary man in a balaclava didn’t assault me out of the blue and rape me at knifepoint (although I’d still probably get “What in the world were you doing in a place where a man in a balaclava would possibly be? We’re not blaming you, but you should’ve known better…” if he had.) Maybe I will write it all down for the whole internet to see one of these days, but just knowing what discourse is likely waiting for me when I do is a great, fat deterrent.

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I sat and read your blog and masturbated and read and read and masturbated until I was raw. I finally came as I thought that there are others who do the same thing, and I realized that I would tell you this, here, which just pushed me right over the top.

No, seriously, I recognize your lack of social skills and romantic experience and find it endearing. But how on earth you could miss that someone stroking your hair while talking about how pretty you are, while on a bed, IS HITTING ON YOU I will never know.

Sometimes I think that everything I do is motivated by sex. It’s really not stereotypical behaviour for a woman. But events I go to, supposedly political groups I join, everything seems to be motivated by the idea of finding someone new. It’s not just the sex, I’ve got a bit of a growing obsession with having a baby. I use contraception but I really wish that I didn’t.

My fantasies are fairly horrific. They are about the reduction of people (of all ages) to objects to be abused in all the worst ways imaginable. I don’t appear in my own fantasies at all; they are just small horror films which I watch. The characters don’t have names or faces. In real life, I get upset and triggered by accounts of suffering and abuse less than what I fantasise about elsewhere. My mini-world is a rape culture world, a feminist’s nightmare, a man’s nightmare too. Sometimes women are the abusers, often it is a misogynistic society run by men. I find it strange because it’s not something I’d want to do in real life at all. I have mostly stopped feeling guilty about it, because my fantasies have been like this from the start, but I can’t tell much of the truth when partners ask for my fantasies. They get the sanitised version – and even then are usually a little shocked.

Now you tell me a secret.

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I’ve been abused by a partner before, and I’ve had to deal with rape. You know what I think is really, really funny? Usually not jokes about domestic abuse and sexual assault. Go figure.

There was a time when these issues dominated my life much more completely than they do today. I couldn’t bring myself to say the word “rape” in relation to what happened to me for a very long time, despite the fact that a man put his penis inside me as I begged him not to, having told him multiple times before that moment that I had no intention of having intercourse with him. I still couldn’t say the word. It’s still hard. And the physical abuse’s effects were even broader. I still cringe a little from any hint of anger in a man I’m close to. I have slid face first into flashbacks complete with dissociation because someone touched my neck the wrong way. I’ve felt like I was back in the thick of terror and pain just because of a sharp gesture in my direction. Now, jokes about rape and abuse don’t hurt me like they used to, but I will never think those subjects are intrinsically funny.

But clearly they are to some people. And that’s okay, to a point. Let it never be said that I’m the enemy to all offensive humor. But honestly, there’s a point at which it gets to be a little much.

I’ve spent a lot of time in the comedy community, with stand-up and improv performers, and I know that what is funny is deeply rooted in making unexpected choices. Sometimes the simplest way to be unexpected is to say something shocking. Even if it gets to the point where your audience is waiting for you to say something offensive, part of them will still be astounded if you go far enough.

That’s where gems like “What do you tell a woman with two black eyes? …Nothing. You already told her twice,” and “What do 9 out of 10 people enjoy? …Gang rape,” come in. Have you heard those? Have you laughed at them? Was it because you were uncomfortable or because you really think they’re funny?

If you actually like those kinds of jokes, that doesn’t make you an asshole. They’re well-constructed classic one-liners. The set-up questions each suggest a particular range of appropriate responses, and the punchline completely demolishes those anticipations in a shocking way. The first time you hear these they’re unexpected. And that’s comedy. And one truth in comedy is that sometimes what’s funny to you might be deeply hurtful to someone else.

A few days ago, Not An Odalisque, a blogger from the U.K., tweeted links to these two articles on The Guardian: The Rise of Rape Talk and The Rise of the Rape Joke. Basically, both deal with the idea that people are talking about rape more and more, just not in any serious way. Instead, people seem to use “rape” as a metaphor or a comedic device. A few examples:

• Heavyweight boxer David Haye tells an opponent that their upcoming match will be as “one-sided as a gang rape”, and then basically laughs it off when people are offended.
• Over a million people “like” “Thanks wind, you have totally raped my hair” on Facebook.
• Popular stand-up comedian Jimmy Carr’s new show is called “Rapier Wit”. Get it? Because of all the hilarious rape!

I agree with Not An Odalisque’s critique about the articles lacking nuance. In particular, the second one says: “Even the women are at it [making jokes about rape]: Geordie comic Sarah Millican has a skit about fetishistic rape roleplays with her boyfriend.” Rape fantasies and rape roleplay are not rape. They’re consensual. Therefore, Sarah Millican, whoever that is, doesn’t appear to be making rape jokes from the information they’re giving us. Although it’s possible that hearing about someone else’s rape fantasies could be a trigger for a rape victim, I can’t imagine it would be as hurtful for most as some guy joking about how he raped a girl who wouldn’t have sex with him.

I don’t know that this is necesarily a new thing. If we’re talking “last five years” new, maybe as an isolated stand-up fad (I haven’t researched that on my own), but otherwise not so much. If we’re talking “last twenty years”, it’s very likely that it’s more acceptable to say those things in public than it was back then, but odds are very good that behind closed doors rape jokes have been made for a very long time. Often it seems like society is losing its innocence when it’s really only losing its politeness. I don’t think people have ever been innocent; I just think that mass media used to a) not exist, and b) when it started to exist, took dramatic steps to hide human nature. There was probably no simpler time for society at large, just simpler gadgets. And of course most of us remember a time when everything was comparatively tame: it was called childhood. What I picked up on in the ’80s and ’90s doesn’t even come close to what was getting thrown around.

Maybe people are making light of rape now more than ever, though. If that’s the case, what can one do (assuming one thinks that’s a problem)? In the U.S. (and many other places), we’re lucky that there’s no way to stop them. I don’t want to stop them. I like free speech and I like it for tools, patriots, zealots, artists, meanies, boxers, and boring people as much as I like it for myself. But the right to free speech provides its own feedback system. If you think a comment or joke is in poor taste, you can speak up; you can make it a point not to laugh, even if part of you finds it funny. We as individuals have very little control over what other people (or even we) find funny. And if people will laugh at it, other people are always going to be willing to say it.

I think that The Guardian is absolutely right about one thing: we’d probably hear the term “rape” bandied about less in this manner if more people realized that rape is more common than they think. It seems like so much misunderstanding comes from the fact that people (rightly, to a point) consider stranger rape to be fairly uncommon, but they also think on some level that that’s what rape is. Period. It’s almost like they forget about acquaintance rape, which happens so much more often.

If people who told these jokes to a bunch of friends or an audience thought “Wow, the chances are pretty high that one of these people was the victim of the exact devastating thing I’m joking about,” it might change things. Of course, maybe for some of them that would make it a lot more funny, but those are the kind of people I don’t much want to listen to no matter what they’re saying.

(image source)

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