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The virgin/whore dichotomy: you can either get screwed or get married

The virgin/whore dichotomy is the source of slut-shaming, whorephobia and rape culture. The dichotomy is simple enough, if absurd; it is the belief that some girls want sex and others don’t. Secondly, the dichotomy confuses ethics and repression by naming women who want it as ‘bad’ and the repressed ones as ‘good’. Finally, men want to sleep with ‘bad’ girls and marry ‘good’ girls.

This means:

No grey areas. Women can choose to be a good girl or a slut; they are limited to these two unreal, impossible extremes which allow no scope for natural, real sexuality.

In popular culture, ‘good’ women were preferred, as they got their man (through marriage) wheras ‘bad’ women only had the man for a short time. Even 50 Shades of Grey carries the message that virginity is prized by men, is an attractive state, and is rewarded by ****SPOILER ALERT!!!*** marriage at the end of the trilogy.Christian marries the virginal Ana instead of his many previous girlfriends and one night stands.

The dichotomy leads to both genders seeing sex and marriage as entirely separate and not on a continuum of lust/attraction/friendship/love. In this way, the virgin/whore dichotomy is a cause of and closely connected to the madonna-whore complex (a psychological problem that makes a man unable to sleep with his wife, because he cannot connect love and marriage. He will instead seek out sex workers and have extra-marital affairs.)

The dichotomy also leads to slut-shaming (including stigmatisation of female single parents, young female parents, sex workers, and most commonly, bitching about other girls in high school and calling them ‘sluts’ while desperately asserting that you are definetly not a slut,…)

The worst outcome of the dichotomy is an aspect of rape culture – that victims are often blamed for ‘inviting rape’ by drinking, being out at night, wearing a certain outfit/showing skin, ‘leading the man [the rapist] on’, being in a bad area of town, walking alone down a street…

On a less disturbing, but nevertheless quite important, note, the dichotomy is indirectly responsible – along with religion which reinforces it – for the abstince cult (Daddy-daughter purity balls, abstinence education, virginity pledges, abstinence rings etc).

Why the dichotomy is totally stupid

I see no reason to use less colloquial/PC language but it is stupid!!! To the utmost level. Because nobody – man or woman – is either a virgin or a whore; human beings are complex, multi-layered, context-specific, culturally-influenced beings. A virgin may have a very ‘dirty’ mind, and a female Casanova a relatively ‘pure’ one. And how on earth can you compare two people? Our childhood development, background, experiences, friends, jobs, religion, availibility and expectations of sexual partners all heavily influence our sex life. If your partner talks you into sleeping with them, how can you be compared to a virgin with an abstinent or more respectful partner, when she has not faced the pressures that you did? Who can say who would have caved in the quicker, had the playing field been equal.

Furthermore, the dichotomy assumes that only women can be whores or virgins – men are all created equal no matter how slutty* they are. This of course leads right to the double standard.

The dichotomy is not equal – it doesn’t apply to men. Women do not want to marry male virgins and fuck whores.So, men’s promiscuity doesn’t harm their chances of marriage; they have a golden ticket to indulge their most slutty desires.

The implication is that women were/are given the goal of remaining a virgin until marriage, or she might lose her chance to marry.This represses and constricts their sex life.

This put men and women at odds with each other – women had to preserve virginity while men wanted them to sleep with them. Women who did lose virginity to keep their boyfriend would actually lose the chance of keeping him. Thiscreates tension in dating and relationships and is not conducive to a harmonious community.

Women who were literally ‘easy’ to talk into bed were not valued by the men.

It creates an ethos of mens’ goal being sex and the woman’s being the opposite which is unfair; men wanted virgin brides when they themselves were not virgins.

It means there can never be any concept of men being virgins or whores – or easy to get into bed/devalued versus hard to persuade and marriage material. It also precludes concepts of women actually taking the initiative or even wanting to sleep with a man without persuasion or coercion.

It leads to men telling lies or using coercion to get what they want; the sexes are literally battling each other.

Mens’ ethics are not called into question; if they are whores they are not ‘bad boys’, or, even if they are, they are called such in a much more flippant, non-stigmatised way. They cannot be shamed for losing virginity. Usually, the more slutty a man is, the greater his bragging rights.

Its premise is utterly delusional, as nobody is either extreme.

The dichotomy oppresses women, as it means we have less control over our sex lives and much less rights to an autonomous, fulfilled sex life than men. So, women are always unequal and inferior.

The dichotomy in the real world:

-Can often be seen in literature, non-contemporary art and religious scriptures

-Is less relevant in the west nowadays, however in certain regions of America it can still be seen. It also lurks, unseen, behind the double standard, rape culture, slut-shaming and stigma attached to lone mothers.

-Apparently some men still believe in it – even the whole ‘good girls and bad girls’ rhetoric. Never met one.

-Is not expressed in such strict terms; a relatively inadventurous woman nowadays may be the ‘virgin’ and a more adventurous woman the whore in popular consciousness, media reports and contemporary literature. Respective examples I just thought of are: the wife versus the lone mother; tabloid portrayals of “foxy”, promiscuous femme fatale Amanda Knox versus quiet studious Meredith Kercher. This was a complete fiction, as we do not know enough about their personalities, fantasies and experiences to even hazard a guess at who was ‘foxy’ and who wasn’t.- (As if labels like ‘foxy’ and ‘studious’ could somehow encompass and sum up the multi-faceted, complex characters of two people). In contemporary literature and also film, the femme fatale is usually also sexually adventurous, just like how the tabloids painted Knox. Ana and Kate are contrasted in terms of the dichotomy in 50 Shades, and the heroines or protagonists in literature and film tend to not to be overly adventurous, especially in recent phenomena (Hermione, Ginny, Bella, Babydoll, Ana) but also generally.

This blog

Through the dichotomy, women can choose one of two fictional extremes. This blog represents a challenge to that. As a virgin woman, I am selling my virginity – the ultimate whore act (prostitution of the prized innocence). So, which am I, virgin or whore? This journey proves that even if you believe in the dichotomy, you have to accept that the transition from virgin to whore is gradual. There is a huge grey area in between. If I am a virgin, do I become a whore the moment Roland and I have sex? Or the moment we finish? Somewhere in between? And if I am a whore, did I become a whore when I decided to go to the photoshoot to trial him? Or when I agreed to meet him at the Tower? Or when we finalised the deal? Or perhaps it is entirely physical; you may take your pick from my first spanking to oral sex or whatever act you think would change someone from virgin to whore.

Whichever way you look at it, this blog captures a transition from virgin to whore. It expressses a virginwhore, an entity who is neither and who is both. As we all – women, men, trans – are.

 

 

*’Slutty’ is used in a non-sincere manner in this blog. I don’t believe sluts exist. It’s just a tool to repress women.

 
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Posted by on August 18, 2012 in Feminism, Virginity

 

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Spanking, lies, and Paradise

Roland got the phone and we walked a bit. I was still wearing my purity ring, just twisted round so that it was plain silver except for a little Christian fish that was barely noticeable, so you couldn’t tell it was a purity ring. On my other hand I had a snake ring I’d got for £1 from Hillary’s Bazaar in my bellydancing days. It goes with my Egyptian(-y) style, though my looks are also influenced by Goth and Steampunk as well as current trends. I’m currently thinking of trying out a Steampunk-inspired ‘adventurer’ look with combat trousers/cargo pants, corsets and utility belts. (I can afford to experiment more now because of Roland.)

Roland’s neighbour walked right past us. Ah, the thrill of discovery! Roland said, “It’d be a good idea if we didn’t talk too loudly about what we’re doing when we’re inside, because someone might recognise me,” and this delighted me for some perverse reason. I couldn’t resist teasing him, saying “You know, if you didn’t pay me the 8k I’d go to the media with this story and then everyone would know. Like everyone you work with and your neighbours.” (Not good call girl etiquette, of course, but sometimes I just gotta be Kalika, and she is one nasty fucked-up li’l bitch.

(Going to the papers is plausible, as there have been media stories of girls selling virginity and we have yet to have a story about this happening in Scotland so the Edinburgh papers would be interested. Though I’d go to the national ones too. I could remain anonymous, and even if I didn’t, it would look bad for Roland more than it could for me.).

“If I didn’t pay yu the 8k?”

“Yep. Well, not just you, I mean before I met you I figured out that whoever it was that I sold it to, if they didn’t pay me I’d go to the media.”

“And what if I pay you?” he asked. He was amused but I knew inside he was worried a teensy bit.

“Well, then I wouldn’t, of course.”

“You wouldn’t?” he said. This was delicious.

“Of course not.That would be wrong.”

“That would be blackmail,” he said, grinning. He has a special Roland grin.

I have a short attention span, so while this conversation was riveting, I was also a little irritated at the way that Roland continually and persistently wore clothes the entire time. But I reasoned this was only natural, since if he had walked around naked that would be quite a scandal, and he would therefore be impervious to my go-to-the-media/blackmail-after-I-get-paid-8k ‘threats’.

DIRECTOR OF £4m COMPANY STRIPS NAKED IN BUSY STREET

Now that’s a great headline.

We went into a little place to eat. When we were sitting at the table (next to the window) Roland said he liked my jacket; it was a cropped black faux leather jacket that I’d chosen to give a bit of edge to the dress/tights ensemble. It doesn’t keep me warm at all, especially since I wear it open. (I was wearing a bronze-coloured choker and a gold headband too.) If anyone is wondering if I dress sexy for Roland, the answer is no. I just make sure I look good, but then I do that every day anyway; the way I look is important to me. I always try to have a nipped-in waist and slim silhoutte so I like dresses/long tops belted over leggings, tights or jeggings. If I wear shorter tops I like them to be fitted and I like layering. I love corsets, too, and they make great layering options when worn over a shirt, long knit, or t-shirt especially if they are underbust corsets. Actually the only time I can remember having a less ‘feminine’/’elegant’ look was that time I told Leanne about Roland, when I was wearing a long red knitted hoodie over black combats/cargo pants. However both items were quite fitted though, unlike the average combats or hoodie.

Where was I? Oh, yes, we were sitting at the table next to a pane of glass through which a canal and office buildings were visible. Roland had to answer a couple of calls, which was very hot and business-y (is that a word? No) and I just watched him being all Boss Guy and dealing with business stuff like he isn’t sat here with a prostitute. He was telling the guy/girl on the other end that “I’m not here right now, I’m out of town, so I can’t actually see the [piece of technology I haven’t got a clue what it is]”.

I told him that this was the first time in years that I’d sat with my back to a door, because usually I won’t. He said he’d heard of a belief that evil spirits could attack you if you did, and asked who I thought would attack me.

“I dunno, the Russians?” I said (I just got that out of another wonderful WordPress blog, The Vulva Revolver, a fiction about a delusional who thinks he’s a historical aristocrat. In the first post I read, someone knocks at the door and he wonders who it is: The Russians?? As in the James Bond sort of Russians, I presume (i.e. not ordinary citizens but the KGB or something).

Roland says, “Why, what do you have against Russians?”

I explained about Mann Smoothe’s blog/not being xenophobic towards Russians. (Actually if I did hate Russians, wouldn’t that be racism and not Xenophobia, since I’m not white?? Questions, pesky questions!)

I said I knew his friend was Russian and I didn’t mean him. He said that his friend was a slut when he was young and now that he has a daughter, instead of encouraging her to be a slut like he was, he jealously guards her from men. I aked if he’s the same to his son and Roland said no, and I said that’s just the double standar. Roland thought the whole thing was really funny, and he said, “No, he doesn’t…but the mother does!” He thinks that guys know what other guys are like, so guard daughters, while girls know what other girls are like so they guard sons. Interesting.

A slightly incestuous illustration of paternal possessiveness (and other sexist gender-role/parent-role stuff. (Obv Mummy hasn’t got the balls to be a hero.)

He thinks kids are the opposite of their parents and that’s why I’m selling myself in direct contrast to my mother who only ever had one man and is very chaste.

Our food came; I had chicken.

Roland also said I’m a psychopath and a cold-hearted bitch; he finds this very funny.

Roland said that the employee he sent home got sent home to have a think and come back on Monday because he kept refusing to do his tasks and saying he wouldn’t do them. If that’s true, I quite honestly think it’s ridiculous and he should be sacked. If I can obey my insulting, offensive boss’s every instruction in a crappy one-day-a-week, 5-hours-a-day job, then why can’t someone listen to reasonable instruction in a good job? I would’ve fired him if I was a boss.

“Did you want to fire him?” I asked.

“Well, no. I’m sorry to disappoint your ideas of me as being cruel, but I wanted to give him another chance and I don’t enjoy firing people [blah blah blah non-hot waffling].”

“If spanking was legal, would you spank him if he was a woman?”

Roland laughed. “Well…yes, then I think I would, if it was legal to spank employees. But of course it’s not, there’s lots of things you can’t consent to. I think you would like to spank him, or maybe if you were his boss you would put him in Paradise [the British government’s torture machine in a story I wrote. It’s in the fiction section of this blog] wouldn’t you? ‘You’re being sent to Paradise for two weeks!'”

“If I was like an intern at Luxor, and I didn’t do my work well, would you spank me?”

He looked at me with bright eyes and a thoughtful, satisfied Roland(TM) smile. “Yes, you would be spanked,” he nodded, “Oh yes.”

We talked about the cases in America where bosses got jailed for spanking consenting employees for not doing goodwork, and I told him about a guy in England who was only caught when he tried it on a 15 year old girl in a work placement, who told her teacher.

I also learned this: When Roland was a toddler, his dad let him stick his fingers into electric sockets and taught him which one was the earth wire that would kill him. This frightened his mother. (An extreme example of the ‘challenger’ and ‘protector’ parent gender roles which I learned during Higher Psychology at school. I thought it was utter nonsense then, and also now. Gender roles and parental roles are created by society and actually they have lapsed quite significantly in these two or three generations.) Unfortunately his tale of nearly being electrocuted through sticking a part of his body into an electrical outlet did not do anything for me at all, because my mental picture was of course of a baby-Roland (awww, cute!).

Baby Roland almost discovered the basis of Paradise’s technology.

I also saw his passport cos he had it for some reason (and he saw mine which is usually in my bag in case I get ID’d at a bar). Anyway I was right that he’s 46 and not 42 as he claimed, because I could tell from his passport. (I know this because, before the photoshoot, he said he’d seen pics of me on the interwebz and one of my poems when I won a poetry competition. So I decided to stalk him on the interwebz and see how he likes it!)

Roland got another call from work and pretended to be in a lawyer’s firm; as we left he was saying “Yes I’m just at their office right now; I’m just leaving”.

I’m doing work stuff! Honest!!! What do you think I’m doing, skiving off work to see a prostitute?Hahahaha…

Coming up….smut, smut and more smut.

 

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Granted wishes: happiness?

In Book 4 or 5 of Christopher Pike’s Last Vampire series, vampire Alisa/Sita reflects on Krishna granting our deepest desires and the pain caused by our maya (illusions) when we discover that our greatest longings bring us the most suffering. For her, the longing/maya of having her daughter Lalita reborn meant that she was given the apparently demonic Kalika as a daughter.

For me, three of my greatest longings (apart from going to university, being successful, earning a lot of money, having a private plane and a Ferrari and having orgies in a mansion) were 1) peace/the cessation of criticism, 2) hair that is more straight and 3) to sell my virginity.

I have been granted all of these things (though not, I believe, by a higher power, but by chance, genetics, and fate respectively). However, they have turned out differently from what I thought and they have not provided me with closure, happiness or answers.

I have peace, but although I am very grateful for it, it brings me little relief. This is because I’m left with the memories and more questions than answers, as well as being unsure about what really happened and why. At least while I had no peace I knew what was going on even though I was confused. Now I think that distance from the events mean I’ll never figure out what happened or what went wrong – if anything; I might be making a big deal out of nothing. I can’t even figure out if it’s a real issue or if I’m just exaggerating it.

Since I was very young I wanted straight or wavy hair, but a couple of years ago I learned more about my hair texture and type and realized I actually have very straight hair for my ethnicity. I came to love my hair. Then it straightened, and it’s now wavy and not curly. So though finally my wish has been granted, I kind of miss my curls. I never even got to know them properly and spent my whole life fighting my texture with gels, serums and anti-frizz products, even chopping the crown and sides, leaving the back and bottom of the sides long so it would look more straight. I like having straighter hair, but I know I’ll never get my curls back; my hair has reverted almost to the straight hair I had as a baby. The same thing happened with my skin: I spent my entire life wanting to be lighter and daydreaming about skin bleach, hoping it’d be invented soon and a couple of times Googling for it. Then I saw a documentary at 19 that showed where to get skin lighteners and that they cost as little as under £5 – I’d have spent well over £100 gladly. But the documentary showed how harmful the lighteners were and how sad/pointless/self-harming the cult of being pale was, and I realized that I liked being the colour I was and that actually I was unusually light-skinned so didn’t need to be any lighter. A few months later, I got paler, the palest I’ve ever been (though I had been slowly paling since I was 16 anyway). But I didn’t enjoy it, I just thought, ‘ok’ because I no longer linked colour and beauty.

As for selling my virginity, I imagined it would be to a stunning man whom I didn’t like or connect with at all. But Roland is exactly the opposite. I also thought that it would be over in a few minutes, not long drawn out over a few days – well, weeks, as we can’t see each other that often. I also didn’t think this much art and stuff would come out of it or that I’d learn so much about myself from it. I didn’t think I’d enjoy it so much either, or that the guy would be nice like Roland is.

So, I’m not saying “be careful what you wish for”, instead I’m saying that wishes might not turn out like you expect and that can be a good thing because it shows how much you’ve matured and transcended the petty motives of your wishes (which like #2 might have been influenced by childhood experiences of prejudice, bullying, media ideals of beauty or cultural expectations). And when you realize that your wish has been granted and it means nothing to you, there is a certain feeling of power in it. And when your wish is granted differently to how you percieved it (like #3) and you feel that this is actually even better and more fun and amazing than you’d hoped for, it’s freakin’ awesome.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Roland reads this blog

Both my bank account and my vagina were not filled. So I called him.He sounded surprised and, well, wondering; either he didn’t know what I was about to say or didn’t have my number saved, or hadn’t looked at his phone to see who was calling.

On the off-chance he didn’t know it was me, I decided to see if he could recognise my voice: “Hi, Roland. It’s me.”

He laughed. He laughs a lot, like me. “Kalika, it’s lovely to hear from you my dear. How are you?”

“Gooood…,” I said. “How are you?”

“I’m good, too.”

“I’ve been thinking about you a lot.”

“You know, I’ve been finding myself thinking of you as well, quite a lot, which I hadn’t expected.”

“Really?”

“Yes.I do think of you sometimes at odd moments for no reason.”

“You haven’t been writing to me.” 

“I’ve been very busy – we’re buying this place [the office he spanked me in, in which he was answering the phone] – I’ve been talking to lawyers.”

“I’m a lawyer. Sort of.”

“I have got something sort of half-penned, but I don’t want to send it out just yet.”

“It’s okay, take your time,” I said, convinced of the safety of the deal. I can hear that he is happy and relaxed talking to me.

We set a date, he’ll book a hotel room so we can stay the night.

He said he wanted me to bring my favourite book that I read at age 9 and was now rereading: The Last Vampire 5: Evil thirst by Christopher Pike.

“I’m interested to see how we got here, you know – on this interesting and scary adventure, and if that book’s your favourite it might tell us something and I’m still looking for inspiration for the video; that book might give us some ideas. It’s part of the story,” he says.

“How is this scary?” I ask. I’m surprised it’s scary for him.

“Well, I’m not like you, you’ve got nothing to lose,” he says, and I think I do – my emotional health, as I’m so inexperienced, for a start; my first time doing most sex acts; my virginity. “I do have stuff to lose,” I say and he corrects himself “well, nothing she doesn’t want to lose,” and  laughs a lot.

“What do you have to lose?” I ask, intriguiged.

“Well,  there’s the problem of it being found out; a lot of people would be against the idea of me doing this.”

“I’m doing it too. If I become famous later on it’d affect me more than you.”

“Yes, but it’s different for you, they would say, a young woman not much older than 18, who didn’t really know what she wanted in her own mind, but as for me, I should have known better.”

“Oh yeah. I forgot. Like if I told someone and a journalist got hold of it, it’d look really bad for you. But they won’t, I’ve only told 2 people and they don’t know your real name.”

“Yeah, I think you should be careful whom you tell.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.”

We chatted about abstinence rings and chastity belts.

“Chastity belts never actually existed. They couldn’t be worn for long periods of time without causing genitourinary infection so they didn’t exist during the Middle Ages, they were made up during the 1800s, though I admit I have not researched it in-depthly,” I tell him.

He is amused and not surprised. He says people will always find a way around chastity devices anyway.

I tell him I’m writing a blog about our journey. He says it looks good, and I’m like, “You’re reading it? You’re reading it right now?! Which bit?”

“I’m reading The Tower: where it all started” he says, “And there’s a nice picture of the restaurant.”

I’ve thought about the cons of letting him read it: the bits where I describe him negatively, and the way it will affect my writing to know he’s reading it. But I’ve decided not to let it affect my writing, and it’s his blog nearly as much as it is mine; just another piece of creativity that comes out of this adventure. And he has every right to read it.

“You know what I just thought?”

“What?”

“Well, if I have something that I have to hide from you, and your goal is to get it out of me, and then you get points.”

“What sort of things?”

“Like where I’ve hidden something, or the names of my accomplices. But there might be 5 things, and you get points depending how much information you get out of me, whether it’s one or two and so on out of five.”

“Oh, I see. So I’ve got to spank or torture or tickle it out of you. And then I get points.”

“Yeah, you’ve got it!”

“And what do I do with these points?”

“Well, I’ll do stuff I don’t want to do.”

“Are we talking about mouth stuff?”

“Yes!”

“So, how many of these points would I need before you’d do that?”

“Five.”

“And who gets to decide these points?”

Pause. “You.”

“Do I have to be fair?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I think I can be fair.”

I tell him he can give me an enema and if I can’t hold it he can punish me lor do anal – I forget what I said.

“This is stuff you want done to you, isn’t it.”

“Yeah.”

“Then I think it’s only fair that you also do stuff that you don’t want to do. Is that fair.”

“Yep.”

“And I also think that part of it is that you don’t necessarily know what’s going to happen that night. Is that fair?”

“Yeah.”

Roland had to go and give out an award or something, it was 5pm but he was busy. It made me happy to talk to him. He said “I love you,” before he went; he never ceases to surprise me and I don’t think it was a mistake (you know, when you get used to saying something to your gf/bf/spouse and accidentally say it to someone else in a similar situation). I said something stupid like “Yeah. You, too,” or something.

 

 

 

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Abstinence clarifications

I have just discovered that the ‘virginity as gift’ discourse is not the only anti-sexual freedom discourse; the movement is more varied than I had suspected. I apologise for this ommission. I really want my blog to be accurate and properly referenced – watch this space for referenced, peer-reviewed articles on lone motherhood and sexual repression in the next few days – and I don’t want to misrepresent anything. I want you all to be able to check out my sources and challenge my assertions on a factual basis, should you wish to do so; and this blog is going to get more political.

Anyway, I have found a blogger here who presents a religious motive for abstinence (ie admittedly religious, not subtly religious like the gift discourse). He actually disagrees with the gift discourse, as his motivation is legal or law-based. Thus, three types of abstinence discourse can be indentified: Pragmatic (to protect from STDs/pregnancy); to give a gift; and to obey God’s law.

Of course, all three types are religious/control motivated, but they range in how openly religious they are – for example, the pragmatic approach is marketed as nonreligious and as such the movement gained much power under the Bush regime when the Government began to control sexuality by making teens abstinent (abstinence education) and later adults with marriage programs which contained abstinence. This type of abstinence education was attempted by Dorries in January and revived in May in America. It also forms part of “comprehensive” sex ed programs in America, unlike the UK where there is no mention of abstinence in sex ed programs in state schools (so nobody has heard of the word “abstinence”.). It appears to be the most dangerous and politically viable type of abstinence movement and discourse in the West. By contrast, the religio-legal ‘God’s law’ basis is the least politically viable, for obvious reasons, and therefore the least dangerous. So don’t worry about it! I will post more on abstinence very soon, but I just wanted to clarify the incompleteness of what I said before. I’ve been researching abstinence for 2 years so I’m sorry for the ommission. The guy’s blog (in which he explains why he disagrees with Lolo Jones’ gift discourse stance in favour of a God’s Law discourse stance) is here, although it is quite offensive; however, I like it and I did get wet reading it. It is also well-written if a bit long-winded: http://revealchristmission.wordpress.com/2012/06/04/open-letter-to-miss-lolo-miss-lori-regarding-a-few-choice-words-i-hope-proves-helpful-to-a-woman-as-so-stated-by-you-in-last-months-news-more-or-less/

I enjoyed reading the above post, although I realise it would be disturbing to most people.

Although Orthodox Jews and Muslims are also abstinent, personally I do not believe their abstinence movements (if any even exist) to be dangerous; they seem to promote abstinence only within their religious communities and have not made attempts at controlling the freedom of non-Muslims/non-Jews. (I do not refer to terrorists as “Muslims” since Muslims do not feel that terrorists are Muslims, because terrorism is a violation of the principles and values of the Qur’an). This is why I’ll be talking about Christian-based abstinence; it is the most prevalent and politically powerful and the abstinence activists, leaders and their followers do not identify as Jew or Muslim.

 
 

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More Roland/spanking stuff!

“And who,” asked Roland, enunciating each word slowly and clearly, “did you agree to sell yourself to?”

I didn’t answer, and he whacked me again.

“To you,” I said, as miserably as when I’d been tormented in the dungeons of the KGB when I was nine, in my fantasies. (As a kid I had a minimal enough knowledge of that issue to enable both disapproval/fear of the KGB and fantasising about what they might do).

“You have sold yourself to me,” he announced to the camera, “And I think that is very naughty, it’s a very dirty, disgusting thing to do, to sell her first time-” he flicked the tails over my bum again and I yelped even though I was trying not to -“to make a deal to sell her virginity” – the flogger smacked down and I wriggled -“Now that is disgusting and such a girl would deserve to be punished…” he said softly and whacked me again.

I whined “Tht’s not fair, you wanted to buy me so why would you punish me for giving you what you want?”

“Oh no,” he smirked proudly, “You offered your body for sale. You made a deal.Was that not what we were to discuss in the restaurant? You made an offer which I merely accepted.”

He struck me, and kept hitting the same spots so it hurt a lot.

“You’ve been very bad, Queen Tut,” he said, “You deserve to be punished.”

Every time he whacked me it hurt more. Then he gave me a very hard swat and I writhed over the benchand cried for several seconds. “That was pathetic,” he said, like in the story (Kemet 1).

Then he laughed and smacked it into my labia and it didn’t hurt at all even though it was a powerful smack; it just felt good and a few minutes later he did it again, and that time was even better. He beat me harder and harder (or so it felt)  and I started to cry harder and even though  sometimes I kept still and didn’t make a sound, most of the time I would.After several minutes of him flogging me and me wriggling, squirming and crying, he brought out the cane.

He asked me how many strokes I thought I deserved and I said two, but he had a grin on his face and he said six would be more appropriate. The first stroke was intense, it made the whole of me tense up and then go limp. I couldn’t see how I’d get through all six of them. The second burned even more and after the third, Roland asked if I wanted to stop and I didn’t want to but a part of me did, and I nodded. As he untied me I realised I was crying a lot. He untied me and held me close and said “It’s good to know your limits. And your limit is the cane. And we won’t use the cane again.”

 

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Being even happier than usual (if that’s even possible)

Before I continue the story in my next post, I wanted to tell you this stuff that happened over the last couple days which illustrates the similarities of poly relationships with mono relationships/similar problems, the unpredictability of social attitudes and just some random stuff that makes me so happy.

Firstly, remember the guy I mentioned who I would consider committing to? He dumped me because “I long ago told you that my personal version of Polyamory involves committed, loving, and trusting relationships.  This is not what you want; you have said as much…your comments made me realize that I should not be spending time talking with someone — especially long, drawn-out conversations which only lead to fights and disagreements — who doesn’t want security and care (the “white picket fence is a prison wall” comment was very revealing about your attitudes towards roots and stability) when I should be out there finding someone who does…you will become a formidable person, which is my sincerest wish for you.” Which is all true, so fair enough. I do miss him, though. I am far more attached to him than he realises. I wish I could make him happy forever and never have to be sad. But neither can I deny that since the moment when I read his email, I am the happiest I’ve been in several months; I guess lately I have been worrying about his desire for children; although I’d love to stay in America with him for a few months or even 1 or 2 years, it was getting more and more obvious that he wants much more than that. Being young and beautiful, I am not ready to settle down. I crave thrills, new experiences, adventure, exoticness in all aspects of life.

He claims to be able to pierce labia in a way that would time the piercing with orgasms, but in his infinite cruelty he did not give me the instructions for this when he left (or critique the UK Government Torture Act story, which he had nearly 2 months to do.) I will miss him soooo much! He taught me so many things which I’ll use for the rest of my life and he was someone I could trust with anything, and he made me not feel ashamed about my emotional weakness, which only occurs in a certain situation, but which was very shameful and confusing to me. I read his email just after modelling for the law school, and I was wearing a brown steampunk corset over a long-sleeved t-shirt, with a Goth silky red and black cardigan thing; it had ruffles at the wrist and edges. I was also wearing blue jeggings I got in Sainsbury’s. I got the corset online from an alternative store, and the cardigan thing from an alternative shop in Coburn Street which closed down. I got the tee in Hong Kong 4 years ago.

The next day (31st) I did some modelling for my university (to use in prospectuses, law school website and apparently bus shelters all over Britain to promote our law school). It was loads of fun and I met really nice people, we were actually talking far more than modelling because of all the waiting around. It was great getting to know people, especially Masters and Postgrads because our law school is quite socially “divided”, both from the rest of the University and internally among the different kinds of degrees and different kinds of people. The shoot was cancelled the day after because of rain, then I met up with Leanne, who I hadn’t seen in a while (she’s a law student in the same year as me.) We got takeout coffe in the Main Library cafe (I had a mocha with caramel syrup) and wandered out onto the big grass sqaure, which was sodden. So we were walking round this square (the benches were wet) drinking coffee and eating salad (her) and a double chocolate chip cookie (me) which are quite representative of what foods we like to eat respectively. She’s vegetarian and I subsist on chocolate, though I am eating more healthily now to make my hair grow faster.

Anyway, Leanne was saying she didn’t really want to graduate, which are my feelings exactly – I DON’T WANT TO LEAVE UNI!! She asked if I was going to the Grad Ball, and I said yeah, because I’d thought I might be in America with the guy at the time, but since he dumped me I would go to the ball then, as there’s no rason not to go. Leanne’s going. I told her about the guy. Then I wondered why I have way more friends from my societies and clubs than in the law school; I hardly have any in the law school but loads from other courses, universities, hugh school and work, which is a bit odd, I think. Though a couple of girls at the photoshoot were in exactly the same situation as me, so I guess I’m not that weird. And our law school is not exactly conducive to having lots of friends; we tend to have little groups at best.

Leanne said it’s  just about clicking with people and the overrepresentation of snobby students, and that I shouldn’t worry about it. I was saying that I wish I could travel, but for the moment I’ve got to stay here, cos I sort of met someone. She was all, “Cool, what’s he like?” and I didn’t want to lie, but neither did I want to admit that Roland is slightly chubby and really old, as well as only slightly above average in looks, so I just said “It’s complicated,” and I also didn’t want to lie to her that he is my boyfriend because I don’t like lying to her.

Of course she wanted me to spill, and I did want to tell her and had wished I could tell her. But Leanne is a very respectable, conservative sort of person – she even looks like a law student, unlike me and roughly 90% of our law school. (She even has nice sensible hair; its long and wavy but somehow looks sensible; I don’t know why.I mean, neither of us have an actual haircut; mine is shorter than hers and has a thicker fringe and highlights, but mine doesn’t look all sensible like hers and I can’t work out why. Maybe it’s her fringe? Because lots of girls don’t have an actual haircut and their hair doesn’t look sensible. So I don’t know why.) She’s a churchgoer and sort of Catholic-y without being Catholic, if that makes sense (does it? No, it doesn’t. And she is against some very fundamental Catholic principles). Anyway, she’s the sort of prim, proper girl that I would be if someone gave me a libidodectemy. Though she’s had several boyfriends while I haven’t had any which is unfair. But it’s not surprising cos she’s really pretty but then so am I. I sometimes worry what she thinks of me, and this was before I met Roland! So this is why I’m having reservations about telling her, even though I already told her friend Jay.

I said, “What if you don’t like it?”

“Well, I’ve heard a lot of pretty crazy stuff,” she said (it’s pretty much unavoidable at our uni.) “I’m not judgemental.”

“Yeah, I know you’re not…but it’s like, well, I told Jay. But I think that’s actually easier, because I care about, like, your opnion -I’m not saying I don’t care about Jay’s opnion. Just like if I tell you, and you didn’t like it…”

So far, only my best friend Lochlan and Jay knew about it. I was too paranoid to tell my friends in my town or my other Stirling friends. We were walking over the wet dirt-path with the Main Library in front of us again. Then I thought, well, if she’s your friend you should be able to tell her. And if she’s negative about it, she’s entitled to her reaction; and if she’s so negative and judgemental that she never speaks to you again then it’s better that it happens now rather than later when you’ve bonded more. And at least you’ll know what she’s like.

So I said, “OK, but you have to let me finish.” Then I told her: “OK I met this photographer guy on an art-sharing website, he does nude photography and he was based in Edinburgh and I liked his art so he did some photos of me.” There didn’t seem to be a reaction, so I went on “And…so he gave me 100 for that and…he gave me extra for letting him spank me. Like, we’d talked about it before on the website and stuff.” There didn’t seem to be a reaction to this either, or she’s really good at controlling facial expressions, which rather spoiled the dramatic effect. It made it easier to go on, though, instead of lying “…and that’s how we met and ended up dating.” So I went on, “Well, long story short, he’s paying me to sleep with him,” and I thought how simple life could be if we didn’t make symbolic associations to actions, gender and sexuality and make such a big deal out of everything.

“How much is he paying you?” she asked

“8,000. I’ve always wanted to sell my virginity,” I added, “It’s like a kink or a fantasy.”

“What did Jay say?”

“He said it was good that I’d have this experiencde that not many other people have and I’d always like be able to talk about it and have a good story to tell.”  and we came to a massive puddle and turned back, retracing our steps. Just for the record, I was earing my old leather jacket over a long cable knit fitted hoodie and black jeans with knitted shoes; Leanne was wearing a dark sensible-looking top, purple velvety skirt, tights and boots.

“My boyfriend’s into that – spanking,” she said.

I was incredulous. She was the last person I would’ve guessed to be one of my kind, and I wondered if he liked it and she just went along with it to please him.

“Are you into it, or is it like he is, so you just…”

“Well, he really likes it and yeah, I do. Don’t tell anyone.”

I wondered if she was a switch or a domme or sub, but the question just boggled my brain and slid away because I couldn’t deal with it. I could not believe it.

“I won’t tell anyone,” I said. Not that I could, anyway, even if I was a bitchy wee gossip, because she’d tell everyone I was a prostitute. Not that I’d care because I only care what people I like or respect think about me, so I don’t care what they think if I don’t know them, and lots of them are quite adventurous anyway if the goss is true. I thought of telling her not to tell anyone about it but I think she knows not to, and if she didn’t care about my privacy then telling her not to wouldn’t stop her. Actually, I might’ve told her not to tell anyone earlier, before I told her, while I was stalling and agonizing over it.

Leanne said something like “Well that’s not something I would do, I think losing virginity should be with someone special, but I’m not going to judge you for doing it, I think everyone should be able to do what they want.”

“Imagine how much peace there’d be in the world if everyone thought that,” I mused.

Then we went to do the personality test that the Church of Scientology on the South Bridge was offering. We were put in a room to do the test, it was a questionnaire, the Oxford Capacity test which is meant to be really accurate. Leanne showed me what she’d written on her phone: I put a fake name so don’t be surprised if they call me Elena.

I’d only put my first name. When the results came back Leanne was taken to a different room. The woman explained the results to me and said they were very unusual – my happiness and confidence/certainty were close to the 100 mark (extremely high) with aggressiveness (which they define as ambition, ability to initiate things, get organized, concentrate, etc) also very high, as was responsibility. She said the test showed I was very sociable and active and love getting involved so probably I was doing a lot of extracurricular activities/very sociable and generally I’m goal-oriented and don’t reveal my negative emotions to others. I think its 100% accurate. She said my results were the only ones she’d ever seen that were so positive. She then tried to sell me a Dianetics book. She left me to wait for Leanne, but she didn’t return for a long time and I knew I’d missed the bus home so I’d miss kickboxing class, which didn’t bother me cos I’d rather spend time with Leanne. I’d let my social life fall by the wayside because of the dissertation and the exams right after that, and she’d done pretty much the same thing. I then wondered why it was taking so long and if they were indoctrinating her or something, so I decided to go look for her and pretend she had to catch a bus/train so I could just open the door if I heard her voice and tell her it was time to go.

I went down the corridor but I couldn’t hear her at any of the doors, so I turned back to check out the other part of the building when I saw a cute guy with black hair. I’m a sucker for any boy with black hair and also I wondered if I could get it out of him where Leanne had got to/what they do with people who do the personality test, because it might be quicker to get it out of him where she was instead of listening at every door in the place. So I talked to him about Scientology, and he explained how the body could be healed by healing the mind, which I pointed out was similar to Freud’s study of Clara.I detected no lie in his eyes when I touched on where Leanne could have got to – he didn’t know which room, but I knew they weren’t doing anything weird, because he was telling what he believed to be true. So I decided to stop searching for Leanne and we chatted about Scientology and I asked if Scientology had any values; he suggested I buy a book from them. I asked if polyamory was allowed; he didn’t know the word so I explained, but before he answered Leanne turned up.

We left, and she said they didn’t get her test results right, which is true.

We went into our uni’s microlab and went online and I showed her the times of the modelling shoot tomorrow because they were short on models, but she couldn’t make it. I told her I was blogging about Roland. We were doing stuff online and then she goes, “How do I get to your blog?” and that absolutely floored me, I mean I thought Christians aren’t supposed to be reading blogs on BDSM prostitution! What was happening here?! I mean, I’d guessed she wouldn’t be too negative about it, but actually wanting to read about it?? Anyway I gave her the link and suggested she create a wordpress account so she desn’t have to type the link each time.

After that we met up with her friend Duncan and ended up in Beanscene discussing persecution of Gingers, human rights and the media, the answer to my neverending quest to find the best country to live in, equal marriage, and, because I was thinking about this issue, the liklihood of legalizing poly marriage.

Duncan was very nice. I had a mocha with marshmallows and cream, and a crispy cake thing that didn’t taste very nice. Leanne had a berryade that was too sweet and Duncan had a thingie.

I felt very happy as I went home on the bus.

The next day I did some modelling on Calton Hill and met Kimberley who I instantly took a liking to. She asked me if the gold-coloured handflower I was wearing was “my religion” but they’re cultural not religious. Not that it’s even my culture, I just got it off Ebay. We got talking and she saaid I was the most ‘out of the box’ law student ever and she liked me, I was like, “That’s a great compliment from someone who’s only known me five minutes!” and we were giggling and I was all “I wish I was bi then I could take you out on a date” and we were just rofl. Then we all modelled in Princess Street Gardens and about 6 of us who’d gotten pally during the 3 days of shooting went to Maggie’s Pub in Grassmarket afterwards for some food (I had chicken wings and my first taste of breaded mushrooms because Kimberley couldn’t finish hers, and a Vodka and Irn Bru.)We were talking about the Eurozone, EU free movement law, whether Indonesia has “too much freedom” (of the media) as a girl who is from Jakarta claims,  and Ellen gave Kimberley a 101 on the gold standard versus fiat currency, something I know about but don’t know where I learned this. We all added each other on Facebook and got the waitress to take pics. I just checked out the pics on Facebook 🙂

 

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