Tag Archives: sex

How is accusing someone of rape ten years after the fact ‘brave and courageous’?

In which I go off on stuff that has nothing to do with me and about which I know nothing! Because it’s the internet!

A guy from Tor has recently been accused of rape. He had to resign. (I don’t know him, I’ve never chatted with him, but people who do and have say he’s a twat. So there’s that.) A woman who, ten years ago, had multiple sexual encounters with him over the span of a year, has now accused him of rape.

By her own admission, she slept with him repeatedly, in group settings, and while drunk. Apparently he violated her “safe word” in front of another man, who was allegedly appalled but failed to stop the alleged rape.

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One thing the sexual revolution told women was that they need sex as much as men do. This is not true. (I suspect this is why gay males will hang out in bathrooms and parks and malls and bars and concerts trying to get laid by strangers, but there really isn’t much, if any, of a lesbian corollary of the same behavior.)

Another thing the sexual revolution told women was that dangerous sexual activities are safe, and that women have an expectation of safety in unsafe situations. Which is obviously not true, if women are routinely upset for entire decades after engaging in such activities.

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Women prefer less sex than men and they often prefer sex with committed partners.

Much if not most of the sex women have with non-committed partners is performed in an effort to convert the non-committed partner into a committed partner, rather than a male-like desire for the sex itself.

Women with truly high libidos are the exception, not the rule. There were always places in society for such women before the sexual revolution. The lower classes became dancers, hookers, escorts; the upper classes made secret assignations via servants, sometimes with servants (and often to the servants’ detriment). Men knew their expectations of such women could be different than the expectations they had for the rest of women.

For these types of women, the sexual revolution was awesome. For the majority of women, though, it’s been confusing. And damaging.

Before the sexual revolution, society kept females out of situations in which they could be emotionally damaged by the fundamental sexual differences between most males and most females.

It wasn’t oppression, it was protection. Withholding the vote was bullshit, of course, but telling us we need chaperones probably wasn’t. (“Boys will be boys” actually means something like, “you’re probably not going to like what he’d like to like, so let’s save you from that.”)

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The sounds of a woman being happily fucked are virtually indistinguishable from the sounds of a woman being unhappily fucked. If you don’t move, turn, sit up and demand in clear language that the activities cease, well, there’s a lot of grey area. Especially if you’re not objecting to sex in general, but to a specific act.

Is it really that hard to understand that a muffled “um, no, stop” can sound — especially in a kinky setting — just like continued consent? Especially if you’ve already said the same thing earlier as part of the play?

Is it really hard to understand that an avoidant wiggle looks very much like a playful, fake-avoidant wiggle?

Is it really hard to understand when you’re in a hotel room with two or more men with whom you’ve agreed to have sex and with whom you’ve already discussed your safe word, that they might believe you’re up for pretty much anything sexual within a probably-not-completely-pre-discussed reasonable range?

Is it really hard to understand that when you’re in a hotel room with two or more men with whom you’ve agreed to have sex and something’s happening that he really enjoys and you suddenly safe word that he’s maybe going to have trouble getting on board with that?

Is your refusal to honor part of an implied social contract really rape? I mean, you agreed to be there, you agreed to sex, you agreed to take part. You agreed.

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In before accusations of accusing the accuser!

I’m not accusing you. I’m telling you that your choices and behaviors have consequences. You’re not on a nice date with a nice boy; you’re drunk in a hotel room at a convention with a safe word and a couple of horny guys.

You have put yourself in what is clearly and plainly a dangerous situation: a purely sexual encounter with multiple partners, sexual play and/or role playing that requires a safe word, and intoxicants.

It is a situation in which someone is very likely to do something to you that, while not clinically harmful or physically dangerous, you don’t want or like.

And ten years later, this is rape? I’d say rather that it’s remorse, and that you need to take responsibility for not protecting your body or fine feelings adequately.

I’m not judging you. I’ve made equally bad decisions myself. I’m just saying it’s not legally actionable. (Destroying a man’s livelihood through public accusations is legally actionable. Again, I don’t know anybody involved, but still.)

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If you’re super horny and a woman and on contraception, sex with random people is great and fun. Yay sexual revolution!

But if you’re a regular female with a typical libido, you’re doing it because everybody else does and because you’re human and enjoy human contact. But you’re not doing it like males do it, because you rarely want it like males do. (That you believe otherwise is part of the great feminist whitewashing, which has denied you many kinds of happiness and exposed you to many kinds of emptiness.)

When you get older and look back over your sexual career, you may find that most of your sexual encounters were not sexual as much as societal. If sexual intercourse weren’t now so normalized, if you’d had to go out and seek it rather than having it more or less just happen, you’d probably have had a lot less sex. And if you hadn’t had access to media that taught you about kink, if you’d had to invent it yourself, you probably wouldn’t have. You probably wouldn’t identify as submissive or sadistic or whatever you identify as; you probably wouldn’t have invented the safe word.

It probably never would have occurred to you, if it weren’t societally normalized, that you’d feel powerful getting drunk and naked in a hotel room with one or more men, being the willing object of a specific and certain kind of male regard. A kind of regard that is entirely physical and sexual, and which does not, in fact, encompass the whole of who you are.

If you weren’t both promiscuous and naive, you’d know that getting drunk and naked in a hotel room with one or more men is very, very likely to get you fucked up the ass, or spanked, or gagged, or pissed on, or used in some manner that, while not technically dangerous, you would prefer not to be used.

Because while this particular type of power over men can feel good, you can’t help but note that: you’re not a beloved female, known and cherished and cared for, you’re an imaginary sexual archetype. You’re a fantasy. You’re a dirty girl.

You’re a whore.

Because you’re drunk. And naked. In a hotel room. With one or more men. Who believe they have your permission, because you’re there. Freely, and of your own volition. They think you’re one of those women who like sex the way they do. But mostly what you want is attention and contact and to feel valued and powerful.

This is generally not the ideal way to experience those feelings.

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And the other guy in the room, the one with whom you say you did have a closer relationship? Why didn’t he protect you? If he did, you weren’t raped. If he didn’t, why aren’t you accusing him, too, as an accomplice?

And why did you have sex with your so-called rapist again, afterward, at a later date? How does his charisma relieve you of responsibility for your own actions, your own choices, your own decisions? I mean, c’mon. He’s a fucking nerd. Literally.

While wanting to feel powerful and desired is quite normal, it doesn’t relieve you of the responsibility of the results of your decisions. Because you’re an autonomous grown adult, not a child.

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Accusations of rape can ruin men’s lives. And society listens to women who accuse men of rape, because women are — in spite of all our efforts to prove the contrary — still considered valuable and precious, simply because we’re women.

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“The crime of rape generally refers to non-consensual sexual intercourse that is committed by physical force, threat of injury, or other duress. Common law defined rape as unlawful intercourse by a man against a woman who is not his wife by force or threat and against her will.”

If you’ve already consented and are in flagrante delicto, and [one of] your partner[s] tries to do something you don’t like, where’s the duress? Men are generally bigger and stronger, of course, but if you weren’t already tied up and spanked and drunk or whatever, you’d be able to let your caring partner[s] know you’re not into that and that he should stop. And he would.

Could it possibly be that your decision to make yourself available in such a way to men who are not deeply invested in you emotionally was a dumb idea?

And simply not preferring one act to another, is that rape? Is an expectation that you should like and enjoy every single aspect of a sexual encounter truly realistic? Do you like and enjoy every aspect of your job, of your family holiday get-togethers, of your Tuesday night bowling league? Why do you believe you have the right to like and enjoy every single aspect of a sexual encounter, that only your own pleasure should be considered? Is that at all mature?

These men, after all, are not your husbands or committed partners. They have not made any formal commitment to protecting you or providing you with happiness, have they?

No. You’re just a fuck. You are owed only what fucks are owed, which is fucking. You cannot possibly argue that long-term partners and fucks get the same considerations.

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I could safely consent to being spanked and tied up and gagged by my current committed long-term partner. Because he’s my committed long-term partner, he’s invested in me emotionally, and we have history and we have context. My pleasure and happiness are his concern.

I doubt he’d be equally as invested in some random convention chick in a hotel room, even if he’d known her a few years, through work. Context.

Context is a real consideration, and one that must be considered both morally and legally. And your having repeatedly consented to this sort of play with this man is willing and repeated consent, without force or duress.

The person who owes you an apology is you. The person who endangered you and let you down is you. The person who treated you like an unpaid whore… is you. The men you did this to yourself with were merely set dressing.

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I might also posit that a post-birth control feminist society, which has repeatedly told you that you want and enjoy and deserve sex as much as men, might also be at fault. It repeatedly tells you that you can and should have a realistic expectation of safety in unsafe conditions. It tells you that nothing that ever happens to you is your own fault.

It tells you that you cannot and should not be held responsible for your own choices and actions.

It tells you that you can be drunk and naked with a safe word in a hotel with two men and not suffer any discomfort. Which is total bullshit.

Yeah, that might be at fault.

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I know, I know.

People will say I’m not “sex positive,” like it’s some sort of an insult.

Telling women they’re frigid is an insult these days, too, because women are as horny as men. Right? It’s not like we exit these situations with experiences that bother us for years or anything, while the males very seldom do.

I won’t even bother to trot out my own sex life, because it’s lovely and it’s nobody’s business.

Instead, I’ll say that the majority of the hurts and fears of my past were due to the idea that I wanted and needed and enjoyed sex for its own sake just like men do. Furthermore, I would say that the majority of the hurts and fears of most women, their pain and rage and anger, their conviction that there are “no good men,” are due to the same myth. (See: all episodes of Sex and the City, ever.)

Women are not men. Left to our own devices, we don’t act like men, especially not sexually. Our society has told us that we like meaningless sex, but what we really like is attention and power and to be desired. And because of this, we put ourselves into situations that are quite plainly not safe.

The idea that you can go anywhere and do anything is false. We cannot. There are neighborhoods it’s best not to drive through, but if we must, we lock our doors and roll up our windows, don’t we? This expectation we have, that we can go anywhere and do anything, is both privileged and false. If we willingly go unsafe places and do unsafe things, the results of those choices are our own. We are credited with discrimination and, ladies, we must strive to deserve it.

If a male hangs out with drug dealers, uses drugs, engages in unsafe behavior, and ends up in jail or shot, whose fault is it? Well, we can, like I’m doing here, partially blame society, but ultimately his decisions — and their results — are his own. Is that blaming the victim?

When a person gets shot, it’s the shooter’s fault. When a person gets raped, it’s the rapist’s fault. Of course. But we have a definition of rape, and it does not include not liking a particular sex act while engaged in otherwise consensual sex.

Recognizing our own agency in our hurts is not blaming the victim. It’s responsibility.

Until women stop playing the blame game and start owning their choices, we’ll continue to be mocked and made fun of. Which is why I think it’s ridiculous that this entire thing, and all the other things like it, is playing out online.


This is what his detractors are doing:

‘The site was made by a small group of people of different genders, who are tired of Jake victimizing and harassing our friends in the infosec and internet freedom communities. Some of us have personal stories of being abused by Jake and some don’t. We have heard lots of complaints about his behavior over the years, and have experienced it first hand. We want it to stop.’

Maybe he’s a rapist. Maybe it’s a bunch of hearsay. I read the site, and he does sound like a manipulative, aggressive jerk!

Guess Who's Going to Die Alone? Me!

In which I’m not looking, oh HELL no I’m not, but if I were looking there’d be a pretty stringent list.

Apropos of absolutely nothing, here’s what my standard looks like these days (this applies only to mates, and not any other type of relationship):

1. You must not be a goddamned stoner.
2. You must not be an alcoholic.
3. You must not be currently or recently addicted to speed, pills, coke, heroin, or any other street, pharma, or pseudo-pharma drugs.
4. You must be a devotee, preferably of Amma’s.
5. You must not be a slob at home, at work, or in your car.
6. You must not watch more than five hours of television per week on average.
7. You must have a few hobbies or directions of study that interest you so deeply that you occasionally wander off and immerse yourself in them.
8. You must have a broad command of grammar and be able to spell.
9. It would really help if you were a ‘roo.
10. If you smoke cigarettes, it’s less than half a pack a day and you’re thinking about quitting.
11. Your glass is half-full.
12. You must respect the place you live in enough to clean and repair it as needed without being told by an outside source that it needs to be done.
13. You must not be co-dependent or passive-aggressive.
14. You must not be fundamentally angry.
15. You must know or be willing to learn enough about music and computers and my other interests to nod at the right places when I talk about them.
16. You must support yourself financially.
17. You must love to travel and be well-traveled.
18. You must be essentially good-natured.
19. You must not be obsessed with material possessions – actually, you shouldn’t be obsessed with anything.
20. You must be tolerant.
21. You must be contemplative by nature.
22. You must be reasonably healthy and take a certain amount of care of your person.
23. You must consider compassion to be one of your basic personality traits.
24. You must be vegetarian, or very close to it.
25. You must be very, very intelligent.
26. You must read. A lot.
27. You must never have been routinely cruel to persons or animals and you must not be so now.
28. It would really help if you’re not a morning person, but if you are be mellow about it.
29. You must not blame the shape or condition of your life on anyone but yourself.
30. You must be funny, and laugh a lot.

I’m made in such a way that I would genuinely rather be single than put up with things I’ve come to know that I hate: like stoners, for instance. Dear God, if I never find myself attracted to another goddamned pothead I’ll consider it a miracle. (Fat chance, though. Why are so many interesting men hell-bent on retarding themselves with endless bong hits? And DON’T let me hear again that “at least pot’s natural.” Whatever, you dumb stoner. Crude oil’s natural, too, but I don’t see you smoking that. And no, I don’t agree that everybody would be better off if they’d just get stoned, and how utterly unique of you to say so.)

And slobs: Christ! I cannot figure out what makes an adult person want to live like a pig! Pick it up, wash it, and put it away already. Messy rooms smell bad. Your mother doesn’t live here. Whoever let you think that masculinity was synonymous with slovenliness totally did you a disservice.

And unhealth: if there’s something wrong with your body, adjust your lifestyle. Continuing to party like it’s 1999 and eating crap food because you “don’t like vegetables” is suicide, so why not just save us all some time and fucking shoot yourself and quit with the trying to get laid already? What makes you think you have anything to offer if you can’t put your own house in order? And what sort of grown man is too much of a pussy to lay off the fast food? Hello! Are you twelve or what?

I particularly dislike listening to someone say mean shit about people because it’s exhausting to be around. We all have bad days, sure, and I’m all for a good venting session, but if you’re negative and mean all the time I just plain old don’t want to hear it. Your attitude is your problem, not mine.

I’m no longer interested in non-devotees, either, let alone atheists. Clearly I’m too intelligent to believe in the Sistine Chapel ceiling version of god so quit assuming that I do. My philosophy is fundamental to me and I really don’t want to have to hide it, nor do I want to explain it in endless detail. It’d be so much easier if it was understood implicitly.

As much as I wish I could let it go, bad spelling and grammar drive me batshit. I’ve always thought people who sucked at English would at least be good at math, but while probably sixty percent of my lovers couldn’t spell ‘thorough’ if they tried, I have yet to bed a mathematician. Go figure.

I don’t like TV. There are shows on TV that I enjoy, yes, but overall TV is crass and evil and fills your head with shit. It is a waste of time. While I’ve been known to veg in front of the glass teat myself, it’s a diversion for me and not a lifestyle. TV makes you complacent, stupid, and greedy, and while it does so it systematically makes you think you’re cleverer than you really are while simultaneously undermining your self-confidence. Fuck TV. People who watch too much TV are voluntarily crippling themselves.

I’ve tried to be tolerant of FODA, too, but I’m going to just come on out and admit for the first time anywhere that it grosses me out to taste meat in someone’s mouth or smell it in their sweat. It’s been so long since I’ve eaten meat myself that I can no longer perceive it as food: to me, it’s the dead body of a living creature that you just chewed up and swallowed because you’re, well, most likely thoughtless or greedy. Meat-eating is as disturbing to me as eating human flesh would be to you, actually. I just don’t say much about it because I know how statistically insignificant I am in this culture of rampant meat-eating.

Of course, I stink like cigarette smoke, so, yes, I’ll just shut the fuck up now, but the majority of my lovers have been smokers so the comparison isn’t equal.

Oh, and you should have already figured out that you need to have a job. If you’re still working on that one, fine, take your time, but I don’t wanna watch. I’m not a freeloader and no man has ever supported me; the reverse should be true for you. I’ll pay my way, you pay yours, okay?

And please, know what you need to be happy. Don’t expect me to know, because I’m not you. Have your own interests and pursuits and hobbies, and get your various needs met through them on your own. People without interests are both creepy and impossible to satisfy. And please note that buying things then abandoning them untouched in the shed does not qualify as a bona fide hobby.

I don’t care if you’re competitive and aggressive, just don’t take it to the point that you really believe that compassion is for weaklings. That’s just stupid. Compassion is fundamental – I am That, Thou art That, and all of This is That – so man up and volunteer already…

Uh, yeah. I could go on for hours, but I’ll just quit now. Don’t I just sound like a card-carrying bitch? I really do, don’t I.

The good news is that I’m quite prepared to die single, because the bad news is that I obviously will.

Oh, well. Someone has to be the childless old maid in the family, I guess.

My Beloved, My Dork

In which I *do* go on about my cute BF.

Yesterday my dorky boyfriend informed me that it was our “two-month anniversary.” (Two months. SIXTY ONE DAYS. Who counts shit like that? Six months, maybe, or a year, but two months?!)

We almost went out to dinner after work, but I was unbathed and wearing less-than-perfectly-clean clothes, and it was hot, and we still hadn’t met Becca’s new boyfriend, and we wanted drinks, so we went straight to the P&E to meet Becca and her Boy. (We liked him; he was personable and made direct eye contact and appeared to get our jokes.) (We don’t know if we totally approve, of course, because she used to be our girl, but he seemed nice enough and she looked happy.) (The heartbreaking slut! She used to be our girl! We used to take her out!)

We left after two rounds of drinks and went through the Taco Bell drive-thru, because apparently I AM A BLOATED RETARD WHO LOVES SODIUM MORE THAN ANYTHING IN THE EXTANT UNIVERSE AND WON’T STOP EATING IT AND I’LL ALWAYS HAVE CANKLES AND FOR FUCK’S SAKE WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?!?!?

*Ahem.*

Meanwhile-back-at-the-ranch, we sat on K’s bitchin’ 50’s couch in our underwear and ate our delicious salty quasi-foodz and yelled gleefully at each other in the way that we do, and then we went outside and hollered more in the shed, and then we went inside and wrecked the bed. We’re so in love it’s just stupid.

Oh: and if you drove by and happened to see some nekkid people smoking on the driveway porch? That totally wasn’t us. Srsly.

In other news, I’m playing the Ritzville Blues Festival with the Coyote Kings next weekend. TWICE! Come see me!

In other other news, happy 4th. Go blow something up!

Twitter, Plurk. Zing. Pow.

In which there are links.

A new Twitter-like site was launched recently. It’s called, for no apparent reason, Plurk. It’s basically Twitter with a cuter GUI, and doesn’t, as far as I can tell, do anything new. I signed up for an account (because I’m a whore and have to try all the new junk on the ‘net) but won’t switch entirely to Plurk until there’s a WordPress plugin for it and/or it proves to be more stable than Twitter.

Feeling conflicted about cheating on Twitter, I started using Ping.fm (per Vuboq‘s advice) to update all my services simultaneously, and now I’m running totally redundant content all over the damn web.

I really hope all this shit is useful to my beloved future AI, who will mine it all to use in personality modeling. (Other people have children or build monuments. My beloved future AI will immortalize me by basing part of itself on all the shit I’ll leave on the ‘net when I die. Blog posts, book lists, tracks listened to, purchases, blah blah blah. I’m so well-documented!) Because there really can’t be any other good use for all this meaningless chatter.

Although I do love reading my friends’ Twitters on my cell phone (when Twitter’s actually working, that is) as I go about my day. Keeps me feeling close to people who live on the other side of the country, or even on other continents, and that’s really the most hopeful application of technology, innit? Community!

In other news, teh BF is still hawt and I’m having way better sex than you. Srsly. WAY better. Like, omfgwtfbbq better it’s freaking ASTONISHING I am so totally not kidding!

Work, Music, Food, & Sex

In which this post covers everything that matters.

Work

Work last night? Verged on insane. I won’t get too jargony on y’all, but one of our servers ran out of disk space, which caused our internal apps to fail and a bunch of authentication errors for customers. Both the engineers were unavailable, so I just worked my arse off last night. I still had call-backs to do at a quarter of nine, and I’m usually done at least half an hour before that. Gah!

Music

RB picked me up at nine and took me to Barnaby’s for open mic. We found a drummer and a bassist to play with us and did a really mediocre version of Get Ready, followed by a fuckin’ smokin’ Stormy Monday. (Then we got off the bandstand ’cause we didn’t have anything else to do.)

A few people shook my hand and told me I’m awesome, which I always like to hear… particularly when the audience is comprised entirely of other musicians. RB and I talked about a bass player we’ll be auditioning this weekend, and then he dropped me off at home around eleven. I let my dog out for five minutes, then went up to bed and crashed.

Food

Tonight is the company Xmas party, which means not only do I get my dinner paid for, but I get off work early! W00t!

Sex

Actually, there’s no sex to speak of. I just thought it would be good if I used the word in a post once in awhile.