All My Loves (3): Kane the poly Dom

So, we’re going to jump from when I was 13 to when I was 20 and just turning 21. Not that interesting stuff with boys didn’t happen in between – there’s a reason why Portishead’s song ‘Teardrop on the fire’ reminds me of sexual freedom. If only I’d gone home aged 19 with “The Toyboy” as I called him in my conversations with Lochlan, this blog wouldn’t exist. Or if, a few weeks later, I’d gone all the way with my gay friend in the bushes instead of just wanking him off. But anyway. This is about Kane or “American Guy” as I call him.

I was 20 and scouting the personal profiles of members on a BDSM website I’d joined aged 16. What was I looking for, people have tended to ask. Well, this was B.L. (Before Lynne) so the only thing I was ever looking for was to fuck, and right now, like yesterday.

Kane was a polyamorous dom and a quick message soon got us talking on a regular basis. We were always honest with each other. I felt we wanted different things, though – he was already thinking about me becoming one of his life partners. He was single at the time but had lived in poly households before. I could easily envision me with a couple of husbands living with Kane and with – or near – his other wives and their men. But the idea of commitment worried me. Actually, it terrified me. Going to the USA for the summer to be with him – that was what I wanted. But to live with him for months? For a year? Years?

Kane opened my eyes to politics. He’s a libertarian, which means he’s for no gun control and no drugs control as well as no welfare state. That’s not as evil as it sounds – he explained the complexities of the arguments to me and while I don’t yet know exactly where I stand (though I do support the NHS) it was very interesting to realise that people who seem completely opposed often have the same goal – the best for everyone. We just disagree on how to get there.

The guy supported the Iraq war, a position we remain opposed on. I’d told him we weren’t compatible early on (because of our political beliefs and he was, like, really controlling – probably too much for me.) But he refused to believe it.  I was also in regular contact with three other guys – one was my age, one a year younger and one a few years older. The youngest didn’t approve of my relationship with Kane. Although we’d never met, Kane and I considered ourselves in a relationship and had made plans for me to go to the USA in the summer. I believed that selling my virginity would help fund that. Kane was an older guy, the kind that my ex-flatmate would’ve gone for. I didn’t give two flying fucks about age, I just wanted ‘tae git ma cock’ as Irvine Welsh would probably say in that delightful way of his..

Kane taught me so much stuff. We had a shared hate of Creationists (though he has near-Creationist friends and I have Creationist relatives.) I would tell him hot torture and spanking stories I made up. Through our talks, I came to appreciate the beauty of the Blood Eagle when performed on a hot man, and the exquisite aesthetic of government torture. (When it’s fictional.) Kane wanted to turn me into a kittygirl and had used Saran wrap to make wormgirls before. He also turned people into puppygirls. He critiqued my erotic fiction/porn fiction and I’d often stay up till 3am or even till 7am talking to him. Kane helped me see that I had bisexual tendencies. He believed that most people were bisexual to some degree but that after experimentation he’d determined that he was straight. That night I had a dream about snogging these two girls in a bar – a blonde and a redhead – and going to this flat and then they were topless and I touched their breasts. My dreams are vivid but they’re usually about my family, friends and acquaintances. It was one of the few dreams about women that I remember, though I do dream about men. He called me his bratling.

Kane pursued knowledge vociferously, reading books like ingesting knowledge was what kept him alive. He was a sciencey type and had a black belt in a martial art. He had information I very much wanted, such as how to make your own gunpowder and bullets, and how to drive someone to suicide. Kane was an executive and he had long hair. He was good looking. Like Leanne, he wasn’t surprised when I told him about selling virginity to Roland.

With all this talk of him maybe being my baby-daddy some day, the inevitable happened – I wanted to please him, wanted to try to commit to him in some way. I eventually believed I was in love with him because I thought of him every time I woke up and I would say his name before I slept. Sometimes I slept facing America. He was in my thoughts all the time. I’d never felt that way about a guy before; perhaps I was destined to marry Kane. I decided to tell him, and I logged on from one of the university computers, opened his last email to me, and it was really short. He said he was dumping me because I didn’t want stability and didn’t think that DNA testing my future kids to find out if he was their dad was important. It was a calm, measured, polite email – which sums up Kane perfectly. His last words to me were that I would become “a formidable person” which is his sincerest wish for me. I consider that the highest praise I’ve ever received.

I emailed back that I thought it was for the best, and that I’d never forget him. I also asked him if he’d tell me how to drive someone to suicide (not that I’d ever do it of course) and added that I knew he wouldn’t reply. Then I went on this blog to blog about it briefly. I felt no sadness – nothing. It seemed nothing more than an interesting experience in my life that would equip me for future challenges. I was delighted by my lack of emotion, believing that I had mastered my weakness and was in control of my emotions. I believed I could never be hurt by love and other barfingly mushy stuff like it.

I think the problem was that Kane had a specific goal of getting a wife in mind, so he ignored the warning signs and decided I was the one, before rejecting that decision. And that’s why I don’t think that trying to find husbands or wives by picking up people in bars really works.

But anyway. At the time I first wrote about Kane on this blog – immediately after he’d dumped me – I was flying high. I was selling virginity and had other shaggables on the internet, and no sad lovey-dovey crap was going to ruin my pursuit of pleasure. The future shone ahead, full of the kinky exploration of my sexual identity. As I sit here a year later, without a confirmed buyer yet (Roland moved to the USA before completion of the contract) and knowing that at any moment a Lynne-like episode might strike me again, and with only the experience of selling sexual services and the £2,150 it got me to show for the year, I feel kinda sad…

 

 

PLEASE SUPPORT THE MERSEYSIDE MODEL PETITION..

Reblogged from Harlots Parlour:

Please welcome and support our new author Kalika Gold and support her petition to have the Merseyside model adopted by all British police forces.

The Petition

The petition aims to extend the Merseyside Police’s strategy (declaring all crimes against sex workers hate crimes and working in partnership with sex workers’ organisations to catch violent criminals) to all UK police forces. …

Read more… 559 more words

My first post on Harlots Parlour (the sex industry blog). It's about the Merseyside model petition. Also, follow Harlots Parlour; it's an interesting mix of sex work politics, musings, current events and what they call 'citizen journalism' by multiple authors.)

 

All My Loves (2) A bet, a murder fantasy and I tried to force a girl to wet herself

My diary entries from ages 9 to 10 are mostly in code – an earlier version of the code I use now. Some of it is undecipherable, but it’s clear that they’re about boys who I believe I’m “in love” with.

Well, I’ve told you how I accidentally evacuated a shopping centre while chasing this Sam guy when I’d just turned 13. The next guy I lusted after was the stunning blonde and popular Ricky. You might actually have heard of him.

Ricky

Claim to fame: Gorgeous

Length of pursuit: 2 weeks

Conclusion: Lost interest

I betted one of my enemies who also fancied Ricky that I could get a date with the popular and absolutely luscious Ricky. This wasn’t the  smartest thing to do but I was a very confident 13 year old and I liked taking risks. So lots of people knew about the bet – I forget what the stakes were, or even if there were any.

Ricky had shown a wee bit of interest in me and I talked to him and somehow got him to ask me out to McDonald’s. I swear, I was much better at flirting in the old days. So I’m waiting outside McDonalds and people from school are walking past – more people up the town than usual, because everyone knows about the date. My enemy and her friends are hanging around nearby. Will Ricky show up? That’s what we’re all waiting on. That’s what my rep hangs on. I’ve got a sort of insurance in case Ricky doesn’t turn up, though. I’ll say I was waiting here for my friends. That’s what I’m telling all the acquaintances and randoms who stop by to talk to me or tell me to go while I can cos he’s not showing up, or silently rip the pish.

At this age, I’m a prude who thinks sex before you’re at university is wrong. But I’m wearing red underwear just in case, even though I have no intention of having sex with Ricky. Though I do fantasise it, and I do have wet dreams about him. (My libido has atrophied since).

I remember one of my friends, Kim, seeing Ricky’s mate pull down his trousers and I was so jel. I also heard about the time he stood on the roof of the slide in the park and peed into the air. One time me and my friends were all meant to be going somewhere (it was an isolated spot) and Kim’s mum kept ringing her to check she wasn’t being abducted by paedophiles. Then we saw Dylan, Kim’s boyfriend, and they disappeared into the bushes for 45 minutes while the rest of us chatted and I felt myself burn with jealousy; what would it be like to touch Dylan’s body, or Kim’s? When would I have my first kiss? When would it be my turn to have sex? The day culminated in us all getting lost and me deliberately sliding down a really big hill on my bum. Took me twenty minutes to slide and I came out in these fields. I’ve got a good sense of direction, so I made it home easily. My jeans were ruined though with all the mud. I felt happy as I floated through the fields, running free. I might not yet have had sex, but I could excel at wild stunts. They told that story of my slide for weeks.

Ricky didn’t turn up but my ‘insurance’ meant that my enemy had a hard time taking the pish. I fancied Ricky’s black-haired friend, Tom, at this time. Years later, about four months ago, Tom tracked me down and told me he’d fancied me back then. I was shocked cos I had lots of spots back then. Tom wanted to shag me but I already had the deal with Roland then. I thought about a spanking sesh but Tom’s not kinky and I don’t fancy him now.

Lochlan

On my first day at my new school I sat down beside Lochlan and we hit it off instantly. I decided I’d shag him once he grew taller than me. I didn’t put this plan into gear until I was 19 – I called him late at night. He was at a bus stop, having left a club. I was reading ‘Driver’s Ed’, a book about teens who steal a ‘stop’ sign, resulting in the death of a woman. Lochlan said having sex might muck up our friendship, and I definitely think he was right there. After I got off the phone I cried and then I masturbated for the first time ever. I did it for over six hours to that book, to the idea of committing murder. It was daylight when I fell asleep.

Sheryl

This next story I’ve got to tell is not something I am not proud of. I really wish we’d learned more about what counts as sexual at school. If I’d known about BDSM, or that you can be bisexual without knowing it yet, I would’ve known what I was doing was wrong.

I don’t remember the girl’s name. I didn’t realise what I’d done until I started thinking about writing the “All My Loves” posts. I was 14 at the time. Sheryl was one of three girls who came round to my house 2 or 3 times and one of them might have stolen my Gameboy Advance SP. Anyway, we were talking on the step and Sheryl said she was bursting for a pee and could she come in and use the toilet. I shut the door. “No way, I want to see you pish yourself,” I said, making Sheryl’s friends giggle. Sheryl continued to plead with me and I got my skipping rope and grabbed her, pulling her to a nearby tree. I was only a year older but I was always tall and strong for my age. I got her against the tree and tied the rope around the tree and around her. She struggled and her friends laughed. As far as they were concerned, I was playing – but I knew I wasn’t playing. I knew I wanted this although I didn’t know why.

I managed to keep Sheryl there for 2 or 3 minutes until she eventually struggled free and ran away. I made a couple of attempts at holding her still so she would pee herself, but each time Sheryl got free even when one of her friends tried to help me. Sheryl pleaded once more for me to let her in to use the toilet but I didn’t. She told me the next day that when she got home she was “leaking”. They all thought it was funny, as did I. I didn’t understand that I’d tried to force her to do something sexual or that I was kinky or bisexual.

Like with many sexual assaults or coercion, I was Sheryl’s acquaintance and not a stranger.

 

Make the Merseyside petition a sex workers’ project by supporting it

Last night two sex workers bombarded me with block caps tweets for 2 hours about how I’m not a sex worker and am privileged, arrogant and too immature to be doing the Merseyside model petition. Apparently I’m a manipulative liar who made the petition because I want to “be a leader” in the activist movement, while also being the naïve poster child who has issues and is being used and “pwned” by Ruth Jacobs. They also seemed to think Ruth Jacobs is involved with the petition, when in fact we stopped working together well over a month ago and her name isn’t on it. I’m not going to name names or post screenshots, because this isn’t a reply to them and, (as far as I know without yet going on Twitter) they’ve stopped.

What this is, is a clarification: I’m not working with Ruth, she has no control over the petition. She can’t claim it as hers because her name isn’t on it. Jaynie’s  name is on it but posts on this blog, as well as Jaynie’s public tweets, prove that she only created it for me because of the legal name requirement. (All Government e-petitions take a week for approval while names and addresses of the creators are verified).

Before I realised a legal name was needed, I asked for sex workers to put their names on it since I’m not a representative sex worker (or, according to the people from last night, I’m not a sex worker at all). One person wanted to but then we realised it had to be a legal name, while one who I DM’d refused (because they seemed to think Ruth was still involved in it).

The important thing is that whether or not you like me really shouldn’t affect you signing or publicising the petition. Politics isn’t about whether you like the person or not. What if a sex worker met Rhoda Grant in a pub and didn’t know who she was – they might get along! But we’re against Grant’s Bill – her politics, not what she’s like personally. Similarly, if she were to make a Bill to implement the Merseyside model, I would support that while simultaneously challenging her first Bill.

Stopping rapes and murders is much more important than whether you personally like me. And I doubt that sex workers who benefit from Merseyside (if the petition succeeds) would really think “Oh I wish Merseyside hadn’t succeeded because it was a non-representative sex worker who clicked ‘create a petition’”.

If you really care about who created a petition more than the good the model can bring, it just hurts sex workers’ goals. Infighting over who is and isn’t a sex worker is not going to help with Merseyside or labour rights or anything else. Sex workers’ safety is the most important thing about my petition, not who created it.

And if I’m not a sex worker, that means I’m volunteering my time in a cause that isn’t mine and won’t benefit me.

The worst thing about this is the vicious cycle: that sex workers see this petition as an anti’s idea (although the model was created and supported by sex workers and the NSWP, as well as politicians and ACPO) so some may not want to support it. Then, because sex workers don’t support it, other sex workers see it as an anti’s idea. And so it goes around and around. And the petition doesn’t get publicised, and if it fails, that doesn’t benefit sex workers.

So what I want to say is this: It’s not an anti’s idea, it’s a sex workers’ idea and as we all know, it always was from the beginning in Merseyside. Ruth Jacobs (who isn’t sure about the Nordic model because it doesn’t offer exit routes and makes poverty worse) just wanted to expand the model to all of the UK. She didn’t create it and so owes everything to sex workers. And I’m not being “used” by her because I heard of the model at university then later on Douglas Fox’s blog (I think) and I’ve read about it on other sites and a Telegraph column too before Ruth showed up.

But, if you do think it’s still an anti’s idea or that Ruth was co-opting it, then support it yourselves. Because that will turn it into a sex workers’ idea if most sex workers and sex worker orgs support it.

I asked the two people last night if they wanted their legal names on the petition or what they wanted me to change about it. They wouldn’t even answer me about what they wanted me to do, instead resorting to swearing and name-calling, as they did throughout the 2 hours.

And I’ve been thinking, that they obviously wish I’d never made the petition. But if I hadn’t, who would? Lots of sex workers and sex worker activists have known about Merseyside for much longer than I have, and while there’s always been lots of support for it, nobody has done a petition that (if it gets 100,000 signatures) will be debated by the Government. I’m not trying to disparage all the activism, media work and demos that sex worker activists are doing right now and have been doing decades before I was even born. I’m just saying that if someone had created the petition before me, I wouldn’t have needed to and we could’ve avoided what happened last night. So how can they attack me for, basically, not waiting for a ‘real’ sex worker to create the petition, when they themselves didn’t create it?

The fact that Jaynie’s name is on the petition was seen as an excuse by someone else, who was implying that I’m merely the puppet or poster child of a hidden group, but seeing as sex workers are usually anonymous, I can’t see any way past this. If anyone is willing to out themselves and put their name to it, tweet me.

This isn’t about who counts as a sex worker or me working with Ruth in the past (which is irrelevant as it’s got nothing to do with the petition as I’m not working with her now) or what anyone thinks about me. Whether I’m a sex worker in their eyes or not, we’re all people, and people doing sex work are being raped and attacked. It’s these people who matter. And if who created the petition matters more than these people, matters more than sex workers, that’s pretty shitty politics. However we’re all entitled to our politics, whether they’re shitty or not. So if you don’t like me, don’t sign the petition.

But  I hope you do – not because I want to lead the sex worker activist movement (I mean, come on, I don’t even call myself a sex worker activist! And I suspect that lots of contacts, years of experience, tons of media work and influence in sex worker organisations would be required to successfully be The Leader of Sex Worker Activists.) I hope you do because I do want sex workers to be safe – and I do want the petition to be a sex workers’ initiative. If lots of sex workers support it, it WILL be a sex workers initiative and that’s how the media will see it (if it gets media attention or is debated).

Kali xx

 

All My Loves (part 1): how I committed a crime, made the papers & got away with it

If you read old poems and texts – whether Scots or English ones – you’ll see that the word “love” was previously used to mean any kind of attraction. Hence the phrase “my love is pure” (ie you’re just after one thing). I used to read Lines of Life -(an anthology of women’s poetry from hundreds of years ago to today, edited by Germaine Greer) on the bus to uni, or write poems in my notebook. I was always writing. It’s like a compulsion. Anyway, in that book it’s obvious that “love” is sometimes used to mean what we’d call “like” or “attraction”. So, that explains the title of this post. I’m only going to include the dramatic or interesting bits, of course – from me aged 12 running away from 5 police cars after a standoff with my boyfriend’s girlfriend went wrong, to trying to force a girl to wet herself aged 14 and preparing for a life in the USA with a polyamorous dom. This post was originally going to be titled “All My (blonde) Loves: how blonde Americans are all out to screw me (but sadly not literally)”. But despite being funnier, it’s a bit bitter and too influenced by Kane, Roland and Lynne. (More on Lynne later – she might get a post of her own, actually. Kane did.)

At age 4 or 5 I would kiss this black-haired same-age boy and we said we would marry when we were 20. Our parents thought it was cute; I’d kiss him in the playground. I’ve always had a thing for black-haired guys.

I was 8 years 11 months when the Calamity James strip oin the Beano awakened a feeling of wild excitement in me. It was in a supermarket in the late Nineties. Yeah, even from the first, I was aroused by violence. I drew comics and wrote stories about boys from then on – I was always writing stories anyway. At age 9 and 2 months I drew a comic at school about a boy having his bum bitten by dogs and burned with hot frying pans, stabbed with needles and stuff like that. I went to the front of the classroom and showed it to my teacher. My teacher was a young dark-haired guy. He said it was good, which was probably true as I’ve always been good at drawing (but rubbish at anything musical).

After that I did spanking comics and spanking stories which included burning, spiking and toryire.

The first laddie I fancied was a good-looking blonde boy in my class. I was 11. Some other boys fancied me but I was after the one I couldn’t have. (This would turn out to be the story of my life.) I soon moved on to fancying other boys. At 11/12 I had twice fought boys I fancied because it gave me pleasure (it was normal in the school for similar-age kids to arrange to fight just for fun).

The Sam story

This is the story of how 5 police cars were called to a shopping centre because of a 12 year old’s pursuit of the boy she fancied. Unlike my previous crushes, this was more real – rivalry, revenge, and the first appearance of the personality I still have now. (Though I’m nicer now of course.)

In my high school there was this 15 year old lad called, let’s say, Sam. He was blonde. Lots of lassies wanted to go out with him. I was a first year, he was in third. My friend told me she’d fancied him but when she told her auntie, she’d said “he’s your cousin but dinnae tell naebdy.” I was 12 but I sometimes hung around with the 15 year old girls and I invented a game of calling the older boys and pretending I was calling from “the prostitution agency”. I could keep up the pretence for 20 minutes and more, saying “you called about an hour ago and spoke to Shirley, you ordered one of our girls? To-” and I’d make up an address or a meeting place. The older girls had a go too, but it was usually me with the phone’s speakers turned on so they could all hear. I was the best at it.

Profile of Sam:

Initiator: Him

Length of chase [refers to me trying to get him]: About 3 weeks

Result: Unsuccessful

Conclusion: Concluded by revenge

Sam hung out with these girls and sometimes we spoke. I’d probably pranked him, too. He flirted with me and showed me his arse (in the playground, in full view of everyone). He used cannabis and at the time I despised “druggies” as I called them, but a druggie boyfriend sounded kinda cool.

What follows happened after I’d just turned 13 and is re-typed from my cute furry blue diary, which I still have:

“I went to buy my first CD – Let Go [by Avril Lavigne] and then a single, When I See You [by Macy Gray. Still got it]. Well, then I see the Girls and, as promised, Sam. I remember when he hugged me – it was today, Thursday 8 May [...] he cuddled me and I stroked his back, and I loved it.

Last week he felt my bum and put his arm around me and I laughed and said he would have to impress me first, and gently took his arm off my shoulder. I mean, we’d been talking for five minutes.

[A lot of boring stuff about me and Sam talking and all of us wandering around the shops]

I say “You could have me. I have much more to offer.”

“Would you have sex with me?” he asks. “No, but [apart from that] I’ll go as far as you want,” I say. [Worth noting that I fantasised often about getting him drunk at a party and having sex with him - not that I'd ever tasted alcohol].

[We all go to McDonald';s and Sam's "fat, lunatic" sister appears. We leave McDonald's and are either in or approaching the shopping centre].

Sam’s girlfriend comes up and says “Stay away from him. I am his girlfriend.”

“I’ll be as close to him as I want and he’ll dump you soon anyway,” I say. We almost fight but she gets scared so her and the others jold the doors [of the shopping centre] against me. I kick the door and the whole door shatters 3/4. [The alarm went off]. A security guy grabs my arm but I push open the door and run.[in a loop, then stayed in a bus shelter where I could safely observe proceedings without being seen.] I watched a security guy [in front of the centre, illustration included]. After that 5 police cars came and talked to the security guys and examined the door. [4 fire engines and more police were coming so] after that I took my jacket off [so as not to be recognised that easily on CCTV as the same person] and went home by a circuitous route in case of surveillance.

The fire alarm was still on and it started rumours about a fire in the changing rooms at school. The whole mall evacuated. Sam liked me a lot more the next day and stopped the guys throwing balls at me.”

[Transcription from diary ends]

The next day I got called into the Head’s office. Everyone knew, of course. The police had been seen in the school for hours, and I’d seen them too and knew they’d seen the CCTV footage of me. The newspapers were claiming it was a Mystery Fire or arson that’d evacuated the mall, but by lunchtime everyone knew it was a swift kick that’d done it. For my part, I was unsure if it’d been a coincidence, that the fire had set off the alarm just as I’d kicked the door. That made me uneasy as I wanted to believe I’d achieved the evacuation of a mall. I basked in the glory and was treated to, at worst, respectful disbelief of the rumour and at best unbridled praise. Unsolicited promises of not telling parents or talking to police – who were appealing for any information – quieted any fears I might’ve had. At that age we weren’t that aware that giving journos the inside scoop could get you money, but some of us must’ve known. (I did and my family didn’t read the papers). That’s a sad indictment of adult behaviour right there – that 11 to 16 year olds wouldn’t give up their schoolmate to the press.

People said ‘They’ would make me pay for the door, but I was pretty sure insurance would take care of that. Apparently the door was worth thousands cos it was “reinforced”. “Well, it wasn’t reinforced very well, was it!” I’d say, lifting my right foot.

So, when I was called to the Head’s office from the lunch hall, all heads turned. So many eyes watching, fearful, troubled, just not knowing how this would all pan out, this thing that’d never happened before. It was all new territory and the police were involved. Rumours that I’d been “lifted” walking away from the scene or caught by the security guard or found hiding in the changing rooms were suddenly dispelled. I finished my lunch, got up, gathering my stuff.The consensus was that I was going to prison and the van was outside. Some thought they could see it. I informed them that I had a plan and anyway the prison van wasn’t outside cos I’d need to go to court first. Vows of silence were renewed – it was assumed the police would now question everyone associated with me and those who’d been there. We expected others to be called to the office after me. “Good luck,” my friends and others said as I rose. The way I’d calmly finished my plate had surprised them. “I dinnae need luck,” I’d laughed. Even girls who hated me nodded at me or stared in shock as I walked, smirking, head held high out of that lunch hall.

There was silence as I walked out and the feeling of bravado faded a bit now I was on my own and didn’t have to keep up appearances.I knew about CCTV and forensic science. But would they use forensic science on a door? Wasn’t it only used for serious crimes? But I knew that CCTVs don’t consistently film an area, they take stills of several directions in turn. It can also be hard to identify people from such images. I ran through my lies – no use saying I wasn’t there, too many witnesses and fingerprints. I eventually came up with a better version of the plan I’d thought out while fleeing the scene, and entered the Head’s office.

Apart from smiling and saying a polite hello, I said nothing. Didn’t want to incriminate myself. There were no police and I was already suspecting this was about something totally different.

And I was right. It was.

Everyone was shocked at my triumphal return into the lunch hall. My friends had been waiting for the police to call on them. When nothing had happened, people reckoned I’d cracked under interrogation, confessed and been shipped off to the police station. Some reckoned I was lying and had confessed, but I didn’t get suspended and the papers didn’t report finding a culprit – then reported that there hadn’t been a fire, if hearsay is to be believed. After a week they got bored of the story and thereafter it only lived on in the collective memory of the young teens.of our school. The door didn’t get fixed for weeks. It had tape round it and a sign warning against its use. A constant reminder to all the pupils of what I’d achieved. It was called “The Door Kalika Kicked In” or “Kalika’s Door”. And of course it was my preference to enter and exit the mall by the door right next to it, re-living the incident and reminding anyone I was with of what had happened.

The incident left me with a sense of my own physical power and emotional holding-it-togetherness. It also left me with a lifelong (superficial) fear of forensic science. It was the 2 or 3 days of worry that’d done it, before the papers said They reckoned the door was damaged by accident when the fire alarm rang and people evacuated the mall. I thought this was a cover-up for the failure to find whodunnit but now I see why they thought that; someone fleeing before the official evacuation does make sense – if you disbelieve the guard.

Sam’s girlfriend and her cronies treated me with more respect after that, having seen my kicking ability and believing rumours that the police had questioned me at school that lunch-time but that I’d lied my way out of it. As for Sam, people told me he was just winding me up, and I confronted him about it. We argued, he punched me twice and I kicked him in the balls. I should’ve remembered how much damage my leg can do. He was in agony and I laughed as I stalked off. He had to see the nurse and couldn’t ride his bike home. He was pushing it along the street. I heard from his friends the next day that he had to see the doctor.

I still pined after him though I knew he was just winding me up. People were interested in our story- Sam was popular and I was famlous in the school, not popular yet at the time but notorious for what I’d done to the door. I tend to be well-known everywhere, not popular but one of those people everyone knows. So I felt humiliated that he hadn’t been serious, but my natural resilience allowed me to bounce back and write a song about it, which I read to some people who slyly mocked me. I showed them I wasn’t upset by it. The still-broken door and rumours that Sam had been in hospital cos of me allowed me to hold my head up, and it was true Sam was off school for 2 days after I kicked him, and still walking funny after.

So I got a great thrill out of the Sam saga and the fear of the police taught me to avoid committing crimes unless you really want to. I’d like to say that it taught me to be less impulsive, but caution doesn’t seem to come easily to me. Which is just as well, really, or we wouldn’t have the Lynne blog, would we? (I know it doesn’t exist yet, but it exists in potentia, as Terry Pratchett would say.) Anyway, I’m going to hit ‘Publish’ on this thing. It’s long overdue to be fired into the deep space of the web.

 

My disturbed childhood, or, did slutshaming lead me to sex work?

 

I had what anyone else would see as a very disturbed childhood. Luckily, my family was always there for me. There were lies against me and my family from when I was a young child to when I was a teenager. I loved it. The thrill of the battle was something I learned from a very, very young age. I can’t write any more because of anonymity and libel laws, but even if it wasn’t for that I still couldn’t write everything. You’d never believe me and besides it’d take up an entire book. I’ve seen things you wouldn’t believe. Nithing physical or sexual, but probably even more unbelievable because there isn’t the simple motive behind the behaviour. But there was another thing, and this thing I think damaged me; I’d punish myself for accidentally annoying people or for saying something wrong. You see, as a kid I hardly ever did anything wrong – I had the rules worked out when I was about five. But I said things wrong.

So, growing up in this situation I saw the world as dangerous and life as a game. I was much more confident than my peers and very afraid of criticism; I saw the aim of life as being to challenge bad people. (And I still do.) I was distrustful and revengeful, and interested in the way I could influence people and events. I learned how to lie from those who bullied me and lied about me. I studied their tactics with admiration and a fierce desire to become as skilled as them. Meanwhile I was constantly being emotionally abused, so I would be either very happy and confident or suddenly plunged into feeling empty and worthless. I’d hate myself at times.

I wished to be loved unconditionally, though now I’m afraid of love.

I believed that this unhappy part of me was not real and I only became ‘integrated’ through talking about this with Kane, a polyamorous Dom I met on a fetish site. He wanted me to go to America to be with him, then dumped me because I wasn’t looking for stability shortly after the creation of this blog. (I blogged about it at the time.) Him dumping me did not upset me at all because I was not emotionally invested in him, and at the time I never had more than lust for anyone. Talk of an emotional side to sex or of sex being somehow ‘meaningful’ always baffled me. I could understand sex as an art form or a means to an end or even an experiment, but I couldn’t understand it in those terms. I was not to have a serious crush on anyone until Lynne several months later.

Anyway, I realised that I no longer have the either really happy or really sad thing. I’m much more balanced now and I haven’t felt anxious (by which I mean a non-specific anxiety or paranoia over anonymity) for months now. I’m not the happiest that I’ve been in months, but I’m definitely the most emotionally healthy that I’ve been ever. And it’s great.

Oh, and here’s something you might enjoy: The lies against me were mostly about me having learning disabilities, no social skills and autism but included lies that I had an “immoral lifestyle” and inappropriate sexual boundaries/sexualised behaviour. Well, I’m showing them how Kalika does an immoral lifestyle! I don’t know what exactly they meant by all that, but one thing I do know is that they could never have imagined I would sell my virginity.

The truth is often stranger than fiction.

Kali xx

 

 

Merseyside Model Petition - Sign & Make a Difference

Reblogged from After Nyne:

 

Activists Jayne Rogers and Kalika Gold have collaborated on an HM e-petition to extend the Merseyside Model UK wide.

The Merseyside Model calls for crimes against sex workers to be treated as hate crimes with police working in partnership with sex workers organisations to prosecute violent criminals.

The project has already made a significant difference to the safety of sex workers in Merseyside and increased the number of prosecutions to violent criminals.

Read more… 117 more words