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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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Purity and Vagina Dententa

So…how did I get into abstinence?  I was 18 in my first year of uni and I bought a DVD from HMV called “Teeth”, a horror movie about a girl who has a vagina with teeth that only bite when she is angry (like when she is raped). I was disappointed at the complete lack of horror in this film, but something else blew my mind: the idea of abstinence and the scene where she gives out abstinence rings and attempts to brainwash children into copying her lifestyle without offering reasons why they should. The idea seemed too kinky and demented even for a horror movie, but I was hooked! I was awed at the scriptwriters’ creativity. The second time I watched the film, I wanked to the scene where she spreads Abstinence, and every time since. A few weeks or months later, I discovered that everything in the film was true (abstinence, not vagina dententa) and not in the Middle East as you would think, but in America! (Where the movie was made and takes place). After that I felt guilty about getting pleasure from a real problem and promised to myself that if such a thing should ever threaten Britain, I would do something against it. I’ve never been able to watch Teeth again, but I am grateful for the love of abstinence it has given me. (This was not the last time that something I wanked to turned out to be true, but I’ll get on to that in another post.)

Some lovely quotes from Teeth:

“If you use your hand on yourself, is that pure?”

“Save it for the mother of your children”

“Last week I was pure”

[12 year old kids chanting at the protagonist for losing virginity and thus “purity”] “The serpent in the Garden of Eden”

“[the diagrams of the uterus in a biology textbook are covered because] women have a natural modesty”

“you know the damage [sex] can do”

and my favourite “gift of virginity” “we all have a precious gift to give”

What is the message of the movie anyway – that abstinent girls are dangerous to men? That rape destroys abstinence? That Christians see rape as being the victim’s fault? That abstinence is self-defeating, impossible, perverted, or a form of self-harm? Maybe there’s no message…Hollywood garbage…or maybe there is…I dunno.

The whole concept of wearing an abstinence ring on your ring finger until the day you exchange it for a wedding ring is divine…the thought of this alone is enough to make me hyperventilate…oh great God in Heaven let me seduce an abstinent boy! Let me tie him up and sit on his cock and ravage him over and over until he faints. I want to rape that beautiful innocent virgin and take away his precious gift of virginity.

Virginity: Gift, to be given only on a wedding night and not even one night before, to your true love, as the writers of Teeth would have it? Or non-existent entity, a social construction made by our culture? Or commodity, to be traded? Or a different thing to everyone? I tend to see guys’ virginities as something valuable to be taken, and girls’ virginities as worthless/non-existent, and my own as valuable in material terms, as non-existent, as erotic, as something to be discarded or thrown away as quickly as possible, as a stigma/brand of shame, as a defining characteristic, as rare, as a tool.

 

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Why abstinence is sexy

I am a virgin.

To me, what I just typed was erotic. Now, imagine abstinence – well, first it might help to explain the type of abstinence I’m talking about. I’m not talking about freely chosen abstinence, as is possible for those who were not brought up by religious households or have a religion, nor the kind of religious abstinence that allows exploration of non-penetrative pleasure, as is quite beautifully and humourously told in Ella’s post here http://ellayourbella.wordpress.com/2012/02/14/resisting-temptation/ .

 

Nope, the kind of abstinence I’m talking about is the kind that doesn’t allow anything beyond kissing, equates casual sex with premarital sex, perpetuates the double standard and the virgin-whore dichotomy. The kind I’ve been reasearching -daddy-daughter purity balls where the daughter vows to stay a virgin until her wedding night and her father vows to protect his daughter’s virginity, virginity pledges at school, and state-funded abstinence “education”/indoctrination for innocent teens (and adults, under Bush).

An offensive pro-abstinence image.

 

Of course you’re all (except for you Americans) probably thinking what on earth I’m talking about and that I’m crazy; well, just ask your American friends! And remember MP Nadine Dorries’ Abstinence education for girls Bill in January that was aimed at stopping child abuse and rape by teaching girls (not boys) to ‘just say no’. I swear, we get more and more like the American South every day. (Though abstinence-only “education” is actually slowly disappearing from America because it leads to STDs and unplanned pregnancy. The programs are being replaced with comprehensive sex ed, which is normal sex ed but still includes abstinence “education” and disurbingly it is sometimes openly admitted that they are trying to stop teens having sex. (Yes, you did read that right. To stop them having sex. As if their bodies aren’t their own.And this is the federal or State government, and government-funded programs we’re talking about. In Georgia, the State government asked a pastor to create a comprehensive program, which promotes abstinence until marriage.) This isn’t a conspiracy theory – they admit it, and even dare to evaluate success based on whether teens were repressed enough to not explore their sexuality!! All of this is very similar to Dorries’ Bill. Except Dorries’ Bill was a thousand times worse than anything the right-wing freedom-haters in the U.S. have spawned, because Dorries was blaming rape/abuse victims for being raped – even child victims. She also failed to acknowledge the existence of male rape/abuse victims and the fact that rape crisis centres and helplines are usually not directed at teenage or adult male victims so the consequences for males may be even worse. And society’s concept of masculinity as being invulnerable or the sexual iniator may further stigmatise male victims or make their trauma worse than that of female victims).

 

Well, rant over for today, but as Schwarzenegger said, I will be back! With more Tales of Terror from the freedom-hating nutjobs of Britain (and possibly America, because whatever happens there is a portent for what could happen here, such as the 90’s stigma against lone mothers, abstinence education, the Silver Ring Thing, etc., all of which were ‘exported’ here.)

 

 

 

So, why is abstinence sexy?

The forbidden fruit angle – it’s baaaaad, and that’s why it’s delicious

The pure abstinent virgin becoming a rabid whore on her wedding night as she finally releases the desires, kinks and urges that the years of repression and waiting have created

The beautiful language of abstinence: sin, fornication, purity, chastity, immorality, morals, devil, etc

The concept that sex angers God – it’s wonderfully archaic and superstitious. Our far ancestors must have feared the Sun as it flamed above the African savannah and known it could see them, even when they mated. These thoughts survive today, especially in Islam, Catholicism and Evangelical Christianity.

Purity rings – the symbol of abstinence, proudly worn to declare one’s sexual state

The emphasis placed on female virginity but not male virginity (e.g. purity balls are only for females, and it is the male parent who guards her virginity and guides her, not the female parent)

Abstinence is the greatest perversion

Yes, I am abstinent; though not until marriage. I am abstinent until either a man will give me the deflowering I want (I’ll post on this later) or until a man buys my virginity. Obv, because Roland has bought me, it will be the latter.

For both men and women:

ABSTINENCE IS SEXY! VIRGINITY IS SEXY!

 

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The flogger

So there I was, tied over the bench. As he listed out my naughty deeds, he smacked me with the flogger-it stung and the sting radiated out all over my bum. After two whacks, he swung harder , pausing after each stroke to take in the effect it had on my bottom. I tried not to make a sound but I squealed almost every time I felt the hot sting, and it felt almost solid not like felt strips cascading onto my skin. Sometimes the bench rocked a little. His eyes were shining with that purest delight, the joy that is only found in the flesh of others. I knew what he felt because I felt it too; I couldn’t stop staring at him (in between each stroke) and I wished he would take his clothes off and be naked so I could see him..I was watching all the time so see if he was getting hard from spanking me, but I couldn’t tell. There should be a law that all men must wear tiny little shorts that are nice and tight. Except the fat or ugly ones. I just remembered that when I was 13 and started a petition not to have to wear school uniform, my friend who was in my class said that I should make the petition say that all boys should wear a thong, except the ugly ones. As it happened, I stuck with the idea of just petitioning against school uniforms. (I gave it to the headteacher, because it was the headteacher who convened and chaired the Pupil Council. Everyone whose name was on it got called to her office the next day and asked why they had signed it and who had asked them to sign – despite the fact I already told her it was my idea and had started with my friends, which was why I was the one who was handing it in to her. Some signatories’ parents were called and told thert kids had signed a petition.That was the last we heard of it. I think the questioning/calling parents of signatories is discouraging free speech.And petitioning the pupil council or school was not against the school rules; it was done in a non-disruptive, nonviolent way at break time and lunchtime and not in class time.)

Anyway, that was one massive digression, but lying over that bench I wanted to see if he was hard or not. It was amusing seeing how a professional businessman could become controlled by physical drives, with only one goal in mind and a lust that must be satisfied. Are we all instinctual, animals, at heart? I know that, when I spank him, it will feel even better than being spanked.

Roland flogged hard, questioning me about lying that I was about to commit suicide. (I did it because the guy I lied to (who lives in America) has a habit of telling me the most ridiculous lies, which he gets me to believe, then mocks me for being gullible. I’ve tried to get him to believe lies back, but  never been able to get him back for it until I told him I was going to kill myself, which he believed and called the Dept. of Health, Scottish Government and finally the Lothian and Borders police, who, with the help of a lecturer I knew who lured me to where they were waiting under the pretext of a conversation, ambushed me in a University building just after my last exam. I told them it was a joke and apologised for wasting police time. Luckily, they believed me.Five minutes later I met Roland at the restaurant.)

Roland, after briefly flogging me for offering pornography for sale, now brought up the subject of my fake suicide.

“You caused him to worry,” he stated, scraping the flogger’s warm tails over my bum. He whacked me and I jumpd slightly, yelping.

“And he worried so much, he called the police,” Roland continued, rubbing the flogger over my skin, then swatting me hard. I burst out laughing at how funny it was that the guy who had laughed time and time again at my gullibility had finally believed my lie. And called the police, creating a huge drama! How funny and interesting my life was! Roland stood there for a while, totally nonplussed and watching me carefully. (He told me later that at first, he didn’t know whether it was laughing or crying. Then he thought ‘I’ve got to stop her laughing’.) And he did. He slapped the flogger into my bottom hard and I squealed in pain as stinging fire raged across my cheeks; then he did it again, and again until I was screaming.

Then the blows fell lighter, and he stopped and said, “Where did you go for lunch today?”

“The Tower,” I murmured.

“And what did you discuss?” he pressed, looking towards the camera.

“…Stuff.”

He bent closer to me. “What kind of stuff?”

“Selling stuff.”

“And what was it you agreed to sell? Was it…yourself?”

“Yeah.”

 

 

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Tied over a carpentry bench

I rubbed my bum for a while and then Roland dressed me in a black and gold corset, sliding sheer black over-the-knee tights up my legs. My toenails were bright red like my fingernails and underwear so it looked pretty good. Roland tied a pink strap around my wrists so my hands were tied behind my back. I felt completely restrained and helpless, and even a little panicky because I thought that if I had to run (e.g. if there was a fire, or someone was in the building) then I wouldn’t be able to move.

“If you really want to, you can get out of that,” he told me, and I felt calmer as I surreptitiously tried my bonds and realised this was true and my hands were much freer than it appeared. Roland had me kneel on the sofa, my hands bound and knickers pulled down so that my freshly spanked behind was displayed. He took lots of photographs of me bound and bent over. He tried to put bunny ears on me but they kept falling off; I was able to readjust them sometimes, though with difficulty, even with my hands bound (if I contorted myself). He took photos of me kneeling over the arm of the sofa and kneeling on the carpet with my front on the sofa. I think he took around 200 photos.

Then he removed the door handle and said “You can get out but nobody can get inside, because the only way in is with this.” He put it on the windowsill. Roland went out into the large space outside the door which was empty apart from debris and stuff from the renovation. He came back, knocked and I opened the door; he was dragging what he called a “carpentry bench” that the workmen had left behind. It was about 60cm long and 50cm wide, with four sturdy black metal legs.

I felt intriuged as I looked at it, and a tad apprehensive, but mostly just impatient to be tied over it. Roland configured his video camera.

I walked over to the carpentry bench and he bent me over it; “All the way over,” he said, and my hands were nearly touching the ground. He started pulling out snaking lentghs and loops of bright pink and purple rope from his bag of goodies. “It’s bondage rope,” he said. “I got it in a shop in Soho.” He tied my legs, and I eased my arms into a position so they wereroughly symmetrically positioned and easier to be restrained. I was a little nervous because I’d never been tied up or even handcuffed before. Although I wasn’t deliberately paying attention, it was obvious to me that Roland was tying very loose, easily untied knots, using big loops instead of single strands. (I know nothing of knot-tying, but I rather suspect that my instincts lead me to observe details when they percieve a potentially threatening situation, especially as regards freedom of movement.)

Roland pulled something else out of his goodie-bag and it was a flogger/cat o’ nine-tails. Its pink and blue stripey design, and its tails, reminded me of the flail in my story (“Kemet”). I said so.

Roland moved behind me.

“Why am I being spanked?” I asked, grinning.

“Do you want a list?” he said, savouring the words.

“Yes. List it to the camera.”

“You are being spanked,” he declared, “For offering to post pornographic drawings, for lying to that guy through emails that you were going to commit suicide, and he was worried and called the police, and for agreeing to sell me your virginity. Your first time.”

 

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The spanking begins

I knelt there, my bum sticking up and bare, and felt kind of vulnerable. He smacked it a few times, then showed me his black flexible paddle, which marks the word ‘slut’ on your skin. He thwacked the middle of my butt with it.

“Is that sore?” he asked.

“Not really,” I said truthfully. I was pretty nervous about what was to come, though. He’d bought me and now I was his commodity, he could do anything.In my pseudo-reality he was the cruel sadist, the despotic lord or oportunistic bachelor, my Roland, who appears in different incarnations. I found him once in Sade’s Justine, by this name, which was a wild coincidence. (I suppose that’s why I chose the pseudonym ‘Roland’ for this guy).

He paddled me with it, the sound of the slaps ringing out loudly as each one left a stinging imprint on my bum. It hurt a lot, especially when he repeatedly struck the same spot near the centre of my butt. I felt tears in my eyes which shocked me as I so rarely cry. I was yelping or squealing each time he hit me, though occassionally I managed not to cry out or move at all. He askedif I wanted a break and I said no, and he continued paddling me. After a bit, he went to fiddle with his camera and so I did get a short break. He wandered bak over and smacked my rear again. I said, “You should draw a target.”

He drew a circle in with a red office board marker, then 3 more circles. “And then the bullseye,” he said, pulling my cheeks apart, and I yelped when he did that because it hurt a bit. He thought it was funny. “And the numbers,” I reminded him. Roland marked in the numbers – 10 to 50 points, and said “fifty is the bullseye,” and I wondered if he was going to stick the pen inside me again but he laughed and said “but it’s too small, isn’t it? I can’t – The bulleye is too small.” Which was really funny.

Roland hefted his ‘slut’ paddle and said, “okay, we’ll aim for some 10 points, shall we.” He cracked me two near my sit spot. “Shall we say, five ten points?” He continued in this way until he’d got ten that were worth 25 points and had gotten every score except 50.

He picked up the wooden dog brush and rolled it around in his fingers. He set it down on the sofa next to me.

“This is a brush, isn’t it?” he said, “A dog brush. Turn to the camera, and tell the camera what this dog brush is for.”

“For…brushing dogs?” I whimpered, with tears in my eyes. My bottom hurt quite a bit.

“No. Why is it here, today?”

This was very humiliating for me. “…To…spank me.” I whispered.

“Say it louder. Say it to the camera,” Roland ordered.

“To spank me,” I said slowly.

“Yes,” said Roland, and he moved behind me and smacked me over and over with it. I wriggled and yelped the whole time. Then he let me rest. I knew the flogger and cane were still to come, though.

 

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The fun begins…

Roland drove us to his company, Luxor, in the central Scotland region. The entire building was empty. We were in an office and he joked about making me his secretary, a position that he and his partner were looking to fill. He asked me if I can draw up contracts because maybe I could actually apply. I told him that it was two years ago that I’d studied contract law so I might have forgotten lots of it so might not be right for the job. I said it’d be cool if I was his secretary, and it’d be more convenient for doing the film; I’d just do a lot of overtime. Or I could be a cleaner or something if I wasn’t qualified enough to be a secretary. “And having sex with employees isn’t illegal,” I added.

He chuckled. “It is, actually. And it’d look bad for me; I’d be taking advantage of the poor secretary.”

He took me into another office, set up his camcorder and I gave him the dog brush I’d brought. He liked how hard it was. He had his ‘slut’ paddle from last time, and then he reached over to the desk and drew forth a cane; it was really long and I thought it would really hurt. I tried it out, swishing it through the air a few times. It felt great; it really called to my domme side.

“You like that, don’t you?” he grinned. He made me kneel on the carpet with my front resting on a grey sofa next to a desk. this is where the fun began 😀

 

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Preying on a young student

“Anyway, a contract wouldn’t be a good idea, because it’d be evidence. If we got found out. And you’d have more to lose than me,” I added smugly, “Cos nobody cares what a student does. Even if I was famous in future, they’d be just like, ‘oh, she was a student, she was just doing it for the money. But you’re a businessman. That’s a scandal.” I let the word drip with luscious shame and it hung in the air between us.

“Oh yes, I would be the bad guy,” he smirked, “Corrupting an innocent young student. A pervert preying on a helpless young girl.” (Or something like that – I make no guarantee that I remember every word correctly in this scene, or in the rest of this blog; I also omit conversations which repeat themes, facts or content, as my conversations with Roland were occassionally repetitive, probably because of the nature of the situation.)

This made me smile.

We stopped at Roland’s studio so he could get his photography equipment to shoot me in his office. While we were in the studio, I sat on the tiny sofa where he had given me my first spanking around two weeks before. We chatted a bit about the spanking and I admitted that I’d felt a bit confused and mixed-up immediately afterwards because I hadn’t realised that something so pleasurable could be free and so easy to do. I had been unprepared for how satisfying and wonderful it felt. He had finally given me what I’d fantasised, written and drawn about since I was 9 years and 2 months old. And it had been better than that time I’d spanked a guy. Roland laughed when I told him that.

“You want to spank me now?” I asked, and he went out into the corridor to check and said people would hear it. He came back in and made me strip like a dirty little prostitute. He grabbed me around the waist, his hands rubbing and feeling my whole body; I must’ve looked stunning to him in my red lacy underwear so I’m not surprised he did that. It was very tickly, and painful and delightful all at the same time. Roland squeezed, pinched and stroked me, saying “Is this what’s for sale? Let’s see this body then.” I wriggled as he examined me. It was so debasing and entertaining to be treated as a commodity, a mere product, like a red Ferrari or something. Something to be inspected, looked at from every angle, test driven. You might wonder how a feminist – I’ll post more on my views, research, and political beliefs later – could possibly be aroused and intellectually stimulated by a man treating her as a possession. Surely, any woman (and indeed regular man) with half a brain cell would be horrified at reading this blog. But I think the enjoyment was possible because I knew he didn’t really see me that way; he sees me as a person and he knows my thoughts and personality, interests, views and hobbies. It was also pretty funny because it was really tickly so I was giggling and squirming a lot.

He made me sit on the sofa, saying “look what the uni dragged in,” and set up his camcorder. He started filming me, interrogating me about selling my virginity to him. The special photography light was shining in my face as he gave me the third degree while filming my responses.

The light he used to make me ‘confess’

I said this must be how people in Saudi Arabia feel (before being hypothetically spanked by the police) and then said I knew this was inapproriate to joke about; I cut that fantasy short because I had a bad experience with discovering one of my BDSM torture fantasies to be actually true in a neighbouring country to Saudi Arabia.

Anyway, he made me confess to prostituting myself and then I asked him to stick the radio’s little plug in my butt, and it hurt quite a lot, it was uncomfortable but also very satisfying. Then we drove to his office.

 

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Afterwards

We talked some more – musing over how the film would be done, discussing ideas, and also chatting about other things like Creationism, the Epic of Gilgamesh and world stuff/current events. It was very much like talking online with him on the art site, where this whole Virgin/Whore dichotomy idea had been born through our messages about the double standard and its creation of the dichotomy, as expressed in many ancient religions and texts such as the Bible (and, more recently, in the works of de Sade: Juliet v Justine). Roland thinks that de Sade “places pleasure (philosophically) where Nietzsche places the will, and the rest follows inexorably both through feeling and through logic.”

Roland had said online that he wanted to do photographs of me in a brothel for his project “the Virgin in the Whorehouse” which we’ll probably do along with the virginity film, or after. When I told him about looking into selling my virginity on adultwork.com (a site which my friend had told me that his friend, a sex worker, used) he said a girl who wants to sell her virginity is surely “the perfect VirginWhore”  He also said “you are a piquant combination of a pure body and an impure mind; the fantasies and curiosities of the Virgin conspiring inevitably to bring about her own Fall of her own volition, and for her own pleasure. Whether that pleasure be physical, material, spiritual, artistic or all of these at once. If man-meal you would have yourself be, then these pleasures are the exquisite spices that make it worth paying for – and, indeed, consuming. It is a very human story, an old story”.

I wrote to him: “Oh to be a Victorian, to transform in an instant from angel in the house into fallen woman! The American Tragedy of the beautiful, intelligent young sluts the psychiatrists fled from in horror when they percieved the sexuality of the 1950s/60s woman. Maybe they knew, even then, that the repression was falling; maybe they glimpsed in their unmarried pregnant patients’ eyes the courage and adventurousness of their innocent daughters.”

I include snippets of these conversations because I believe they form a backdrop to our arrangement, and are perhaps the reasons for this deal – without any connection through writing I doubt the deal would have happened, because for Roland sex is all to do with the mind and the mind is the greatest sexual organ. And so it is with me as well, I think.

Anyway, we continued talking and I remember thinking that I probably look hot eating the icecream (not that I was attempting to do so in a hot way; just not shovelling it in as I would do if I was at home). I eat lots of icecream and 5-6 bars of chocolate per day as well as coffee, hot chocolate and crisps; I’ve never dieted in my life. I was feeling sort of mentally dizzy after he said £8000 because although I’ve always wanted to sell my virginity, I never truly imagined I’d succeed!  And I would have, if necessary, sold it for £4000 or even £3000; (but then since Roland would be seeing me after getting my virginity and giving me the rest then, you could say that the virginity itself was being sold for £4k). Before he paid the bill, I went to the toilet to jump up and down and go “YES!YES!YES!” in private and look at my beautiful self in the mirror. I’m not one of those squealing fashion-slave divas who spends an eternity getting ready. In fact, I’ve never had my nails done professionally or been waxed; I only go to the hairdressers if I want highlights and trim my hair myself. And I LOVE LOVE my style which, although it incorporates the trends, is not at all dependent on the latest look (though I usually will have one or two items of clothing that reflect the latest look.) But, despite only taking about 5-10 minutes each morning to get ready, I always look fabulous. I’ve had total strangers from teens to little old ladies and accountants come up to me in the street and compliment my cheapo outfits that I buy in Internacionale, Primark, New Look and at best Topshop, Bank, Dorothy Perkins, Next and Republic. Anyway, I jumped up and down for a while before actually using the toilet and then staring at myself in the mirror and my reflection looked radiant and golden. I thought, ‘I have to tell Lochlan’ (my best friend) but my phone, Fire, wasn’t with me or I would have right then. I may have said “8000! You did it! You did it! Yes! Yes! 8000” but I’m not sure; my memory is very fuzzy at this point because this was the best moment of my life, and the fact that I was experiencing the best moment of my life in a toilet cubicle didn’t bother me at all. After a bit more screaming, I went back outside and Roland and I walked to his car (it’s a BMW convertible and, as he says, it’s a boy car with muscles. I won’t describe it further though). We had the run the last hundred metres to beat the traffic warden, which we managed by one minute.

 

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The Deal

Roland’s mention of his art quest reminded me of what he said online: “I see you also as a lovely muse, someone with whom to create or inspire art – erotic art. I see what happens sexually between us as part of that art. It is surely appropriate that an artist pays his muses. And this payment does not – alone – make them whores.” I had suggested we film it, and I knew this idea appealed to him.

“If I could film it,” he said now, looking at me steadily, “And take photographs – if I could make some art out of it – a work of art, not just a porn film…I would look at the sex as part of that art…”

“Yeah, anyone can make a porno,” I said, “Two 12 year old neds could make a good porn film. It would have a narrative. And,” I added, dispensing with the hushed voice “It would not be just that one second, the goods would be yours for a whole day. If you saw my second-last message…” Roland nodded. “Yeah, just no big permanent marks. Small ones are okay.”

He grinned at me, amused and a little surprised. “You want a reminder, don’t you!” he said.

“I don’t want a reminder, I just wouldn’t mind one,” I smiled. “And now there’s a deal you won’t get anywhere else.”

He nodded.

“So, how good are you at negotiation?” he asked, looking right at me.

I smiled instantly. “We-ell, I tricked the Chief of Police of the entire […] district into admitting he’d lied and that police on his force had been corrupt – that was to do with the local authority thing I told you about. I was 18 then. So that should tell you something about my skills.”

Roland frowned, and I knew he was thinking about the local authority in another town and how they had lied about my family.

“That was pretty impressive, right?” I said, grinning.

“What’s the first rule of negotiation?” he said suddenly.

I thought for a bit, a little smile on my face and looking hot while I was thinking (as I always do if I use this particular ‘thinking’ expression). I said, “I think it would be always to keep the end goal in your mind. Because as long as you don’t forget your goal, you will make a good negotiation.”

“That’s very true.”

“So what do you think is the first rule of negotiation?” I said.

He thought for a bit. “I would say, don’t be the first to name a price. Because then the other person can change it or lower it or debate it.”

That made me smile. “I already broke that one, didn’t I? Like I said I wasn’t after as much as those other girls got.[4k; 8k and 100k]”

“How much are your student debts?” he said.

“I think eight thousand, but it might be like twelve thousand now because they changed it.” [Actually now I know it would have been 10k if they had not changed it, but after changing it it is now 12k. Which doesn’t matter anyway because I doubt Roland would have given me 10k or 12k; or if he had, he might have asked for more stuff in return.And as this venture is not actually prompted by student debts, it doesn’t really matter.]

“I’ll give you eight thousand,” he said, “Provided that we film it; we’ll do some spanking, bondage and some shots to establish the narrative. So it might take three or four times before we actually consummate it And you continue seeing me after the consummation, for photographs and some more spanking and sex.”

I put my dessert spoon in my mouth and sucked off the icecream. It was the best raspberry ice cream I’d ever had.

I said, semi-truthfully, “I don’t know if I’d be here after we consummate it because I might go travelling. I’m not going to say I certainly will be here if I might not.”

“Well, let’s say four thousand for the virginity, and a further four thousand for if you want to continue,” he said.

“Yeah, I think that’d be easier,” I nodded.

We agreed that he’d pay me £1000 each time he saw me; I wanted this method of installments, rather than a lump sum, because it meant that if either of us wanted to back out, it would be easy to do so without negotiating how much was owed or how much of the deal had been fulfilled.

“And,” I said, “I would want something in advance; it doesn’t have to be much.”

“Like a deposit,” Roland smiled.

“Yeah – like I’m a Ferrari.”

 

 

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