they say “why didn’t you fight back?”

they say “why didn’t you fight back?”

Let me think this thru. ..

  • because the person who is now in arms’ reach wants to humiliate me and overpower me. They are in a rage already. And me fighting back might be the difference between me living and dying. IMO.

I can heal from bruises.
I can heal from vaginal or anal lesions
I can heal from broken bones.
I can heal from feeling scared and ashamed.
And I’d rather do that than fight with someone who is showing me they have no respect for me or my health and safety.

  • then there’s the factor that not all rape is violent. Well not physically anyway. It is sexually and emotionally aggressive. But a lot of rape and molestation is about the relationship and it’s power dynamics. Or it might be about getting you drunk or high so you aren’t combative. You aren’t alert. Or aware. Or it might be seductive or coercive rather than violent. So how does fighting back help there?

Ultimately, even a black belt martial artist can be taken down, so how does fighting back ensure that my efforts succeed? Against someone who is:
My parent or another adult when I’m a child?
An authority figure who determines my future in work, school, life
A caretaker I rely on
My male partner? (date, spouse, friend, neighbour)
[usually men are the offenders, usually they are bigger by at least a stone than their target, but yes women are sexually aggressive as well]

Someone who I have complex feelings for and even when they are hurting me, I can’t hurt them back. How does it resolve the issue of my safety? Beyond this moment when I need to stop the assault? I could make it worse to be around them in the longer run by fighting back.

Bottom line, I need to survive this moment, this day. So unless I feel I have the mad skills of a black belt martial artist, fighting back might not be my best option. And even black belts can be taken down. (yes I said it twice, it bears repeating!)

So I hope people stop shaming victims by asking this question.

oral activity I could get behind!

Oral Activity I could get behind!

It was a 12 inch delight to the senses. I could smell it before I saw it. And my nose isn’t one insured by Lloyd’s of London. The brown skin was perfectly even toned and looked juicy enough to lick. Twice. My mouth started watering as soon as it came close enough my tongue might actually reach it. I wanted it so bad!! He could tell by the look in my eye. And he smiled at my lust for the tubular gift he had brought me. My eyes begged him to share it with me. He was feeling sadistic and made me wait for it. Wait for it.

“dammit you rat bastid! Give me!”

I said.
He grinned at my enthusiasm and slowly put the tip to my mouth. I opened my lips and started with a tender lick, then engulfed the tip in my mouth and
bit down, thru layers of crust and meat.

Um it was a sausage on a bun! You guys are spending too much time on kink sites. Go get some sun!

Make Him Pay (a story)

Make Him Pay

Things started clicking into place when Macy found a motel matchbook in her husband’s suit pocket. It was from the other side of town. A place Tim had no reason to go to. It was outside of his business district. They didn’t know anyone near there. It was outside of their life.
She sat stunned for a minute, then began to cry. She thought they had a good marriage. They smiled and laughed together. They had things in common and worked and played well together. Their sex life was regular and seemed exciting. So why??
Why now? There had been times in their marriage when she could have seen him cheating, but these days everything seemed fine. Good even.
Macy called up a friend and asked what she should do. Her friend asked what she wanted to do. Macy said she wanted to throw him out and take everything. So her friend told her to hire a forensic accountant first. Why not a lawyer? Or a PI?
Macy was sent to look in his home desk. To get his books and schedule. To get his credit card statements. And build a history of where he had been and when. To make copies of everything and send it to the accountant.
Then she was told to collect his social network traffic. So maybe she could find out who the other person was. To run a program and find everything he had deleted as well. There was so much to look thru. So Macy just glanced enough that she could keep track of which site she was on and keep the days in order.
Macy noted that Tim had a lot of female friends and followers, but there were a few who were emailing, DMing him and were chatting with him as often as he was online. She couldn’t figure out which one was the culprit. So she compiled a list of the most likely.
Then she looked to see if any of them were named on his credit card statements. Or checks.
Macy checked for gifts like flowers and chocolates or jewelry and there weren’t any. She looked thru Tim’s daily diary and started to see first names and blocks of appts, or initials. She matched them up to his credit card motel payments and found a few that were the same or similar enough that they could be the person. And Macy put a star beside them on her list.
So… some of them were coming from the internet. Was it one or many? She felt sick!
Macy made a copy file of everything she knew from this quick search and went looking for an accountant who seemed to have alot of internet presence and know-how. It seemed her strike area was the web. So she wanted someone who was savvy. She found one who looked right and booked an appt.
And she sent the dog on the hunt. She sent a copy of everything she collected to him and kept a copy for herself, which she put in her panty drawer.
A couple days later, he had an initial report. And he advised her to start to find out where Tim banked and who his financial advisers were. She looked thru his card file and saw who specialized in investments and any other financial matters. And sent that to the accountant. Who matched them to checks and credit card statements. So they knew who was handling the money. Who to subpoena.
He also asked if it was ok to call the police. Some of the chatter he had read was illegal where they lived. She said yes.
It would give her more time and the clout to access his financial records. Later that day, the accountant confirmed that Tim had been placed into custody. And had no idea it had come from her. The subpoenas were sent to the financial advisers while Tim was in custody. Macy turned off her phone so she didn’t receive Tim’s call. One of his web friends could bail him out.
Macy made an appt with her doctor’s office for STI tests. Since he was capable of lying, maybe he “forgot” to protect himself and her. That would mean more charges if she turned up with anything. Because he came home to her. The rat bastard!
Macy went over to her friend’s house that evening so she had a reason not to answer her phone, in case Tim managed to be released. But no. Apparently there was a long line up for night court and his case wasn’t a priority. So he was held till morning.
Tim came home and showered, then came to talk to her. All she asked was where he had been. He told her about jail, but not much about why. He said the cops must have a sting on the internet and he had got swept up in it. So she asked if there was anything she needed to know. He said no. She almost let herself hit him. But instead she went into the bathroom and showered till he left.
The accountant started to gather the accounts and amalgamate them into an account in her name. Their marital home was put onto the market. But it was with a firm that specialized in discreet listings. She made the appts for when Tim was at the office. And it sold quickly.
The doctor did a rapid test and she found out she was ok, for now anyway. Ok that could be put on the back burner for now. And she wasn’t pregnant either. That was good to know as well.
The accountant advised her to hire a PI and use the informaton they had gathered to track down the woman or women who met her husband at the hotel.
And he also had a forensic computer specialist from his office collect anything on the computer that could be linked to illegal activity or extramarital affairs. Anything illegal was turned over to the police.
Meanwhile Tim was meeting with his lawyer and answering questions at the station. He stilll had no clue that Macy was behind it. That he had outted himself.
The PI found the women and collected their email from the accountant’s office. And he advised Macy to hire that lawyer now. They were ready.
Macy gathered her clothes and memorabilia and left the house. Finally. Tim was in for a shock when he got home and read the note telling him she wanted a divorce.
In the note she told him about the matchbook she had found. That she had begun divorce procedings and there was no way she was going to take him back. His cheating had put her at risk for disease. She wanted nothing to do with him.
And Macy took off for Bali. He had no reason to track her there. And no money to do it with either. He was broke.
And if he ever grasped it or not, he had no one to blame but himself.

Dommie and the Road Crew (a story)

Dommie and the Road Crew

Dommie was having a sleep issue these days. There was work being done on her street and she was sooo tired of their trucks beeping and the drills and jack hammers. Dommie seriously considered going out there with her whip and showing the guys how displeased she was. But she figured that might land her in jail. And she wasn’t too sure that she’d get sleep there. Plus she had a thread count requirement she doubted the prison would tolerate ;P
And she’d miss out on her treats and fave meals. Plus much as she liked women, she had no wish to share a room or a shower with them.
If the noise weren’t bad enough, the guys were a bit rough and tumble for her tastes. She tended to like metrosexual looks. You know, put together.
And the only prison nearby was no place Martha Stewart would be caught dead in. Or Imelda Marcos. Not that she was that spoiled but… she sure would like some niceties. Even in prison.
Back to the road crew though.
And rude men too? I mean!… Dommie was sick of having them whistle whenever she hit the parking lot or the side walk. She wondered if they knew what century it was? Dommie actually started wearing a coat for the short sprint to her car.
It was going to be a long summer 馃槮
Until Dommie had had enough. She decided to teach them a lesson or two.
When Dommie got home at night, she played some tricks on the guys. Tricks that made their start up a bit more interesting. She put vaseline and cling film on their porta-potty seats. The boss often found pads and tampons on his trailer. She had found out that he often had the inspectors or shareholders in first thing. She hung a line of bras and panties between the machines, so they had to untie it before they could start up. She laughed when she heard them swearing over her gifts. Then she rolled over and went back to sleep.
But she did notice that they stopped the whistling. They got the hint that a woman was a bit POed with them. Finally. And Dommie could go back to wearing cute cotton tops and light skirts again. Blessed relief!
Playing pranks was faaaar better than yelling at them anyway 馃槢

they say if you don’t report it, then you weren’t raped

Why people who are sexually assaulted do not report it to the police/courts:

Bottomline because they don’t think they’ll be:

– supported as they need

– or believed as they should be.

And tbh sometimes you have to consider **who** they are reporting to, whether they chose a doctor, a police officer or a crown attorney. A man. In 99% of the cases, the perpetrator is a man. When you’re sitting there in shock, horrified at what just happened to you by a man, could you sit across from a man and tell them everything that just happened?

Only to walk out somewhere thru this process and realize that only 1/1000 perpetrators actually end up in jail. And it’ll be a matter of **months** before they’re free. (min standards of sentence vary by place and cultural view of rape – [sentences av up to approx 5 yrs][] demographics depend on race, class, gender etc and behaviour up to trial and once incarcerated as to what they actually serve.)


(So is it really a case of they’re innocent, if not proven guilty in a court of law? Yet that is the law)

I mean, would you tell?

So stop telling someone if they didn’t report it, it’s a lie. You are grossly misinformed and need an education.

Start here:



## …
[why don’t children “tell”][]


## ….
then there’s [rape culture][]

NB I’m not saying don’t report. But I sure understand why, if you don’t.
CAVEAT – The numbers/statistics as a method may bother you. But the motives of the victims is coming from people who deal with these issues everyday. As are their guestimates of the demographics.

held captive by love (a story)

Held Captive by Love

Bridget fell in love with a charming man. He was smooth, sexy and thrilling whenever she was around. Their love grew, and grew. Ron took her to dinner and held her chair. Whenever they walked together, he held her elbow and made sure she was out of the path of cars, strangers and anything thrown out the windows above the sidewalks they walked on.
She thought he was a gentleman.
When Ron was pretty sure he had her, well and truly in his power, he started the bickering. The blaming and shaming. Nothing she did was good enough for him. He wittled on her self esteem till she walked around with her head down and whispered, instead of speaking up for herself. She was too fat, she dressed like a school marm, she sounded like an idiot and school had obv been wasted on her. Bridget was a good enough cook to have actually worked in a pro kitchen, but none of her suppers ever pleased him.
Then came the isolation phase. Bridget was not allowed to have a job, or go to school. Her friends weren’t good enough to come to his home. Her family had too many problems to be believed and he didn’t want them influencing her, so they had to stay away.
The man took care of the family. It didn’t matter if they were on welfare, so long as the cheque was in his name. They could go to the food bank and he must be the one who received the money. If he stole, she couldn’t even control coin for the laundry machine. If he was in jail, his friends took over his demeaning of her.
When Ron thought she was beaten down enough, he started slapping her around. Then it was a beating that got more and more cruel. Then he didn’t care if she wanted sex or not, he took it anyway.
Why did she stay?
At first she called him on the way he treated her… Ron would sit on their bed and listen. He’d tell her about how his dad beat his mom. She knew it was true. She’d met the family by then. His sister was beaten by her husband as well.
Ron would cry and beg Bridget to forgive him. So she gave him another chance. She thought she could teach him what love was. She thought she could help him. She could see the poor little boy in his eyes…and it broke her heart, over and over again.
Then there was the time she thought she was pregnant. But it turned out to be a cyst and she had to get emergency treatment. Ron was so good to her. For years afterwards she’d remember how good he had been and wish she could find that man again.
Bottomline, Bridget was confused and so hurt that she had fallen into a state of inertia. Nothing he did made her able to act for her own safety. The beatings got worse and worse. Bridget was beginning to fear for her life. But they didn’t happen every day. And Ron always seemed so sorry afterwards that she forgave him. Till she ended up in the hospital.
Again Ron treated her so well and promised he’d go get therapy. Whatever he needed to do to get her to stay.
So what were her reasons? Well no person hits their lover or spouse the first day they meet. It’s like being seduced in a way. Or like a dance. Little bits of this and that are lost or given away in the steps. And replaced with torment and neglect. Till you are immersed in this state of being that you can’t imagine a way out of.
And Bridget had no money, her family and friends were gone. She had no skills to hold down basic life needs. And she was defeated. She thought this was all she deserved. Ron had convinced her of that. He had put more energy into abusing her than he had into anything else he had ever done in his life.
And the few times she was away, he had such a hold over her, she was scared to not follow his orders. Because whenever she even thought about getting away, he’d show up again. Like he knew, like he was psychic.
Ron had become her monster. Her demon and she couldn’t see any way to get free. Unless she was dead.
She just wasn’t sure if it would be by his hand or her own yet. She just knew it would be soon.

known to the gardai

Known to the Gardai (a story)

Creachad贸ir MacIntyre was a woman’s man. Or so they thought. They gathered around him and flirted with him. They hung on his every word and deed that they knew of. He took every advantage of their lust for him. And picked out a few as tribute for all his time and attention that having them around took on him. For every middle aged one who hung on his every word, he slew a young buxom wench and thought it was his due.
The ladies closest to him made sure there was no bad press about him. They cleaned up after him. And ran his clubs full of women. Just so they could be seen as his intimes.
All was well in his lands, till a couple ladies slipped out of a club and headed for a feuding neighbour’s lands. He gave them succor and safety and told them what their life would be like from now on. If only they talked to the Garda. So they called 999.
Creachad贸ir was taken before the ceartas. Again and again, but seemed like teflon. Lots of stories, but nothing stuck.
Till the sergeant heard of the case and decided there was something going on they hadn’t seen before. He grouped the stories into the crazy, the jealous, the forlorn, the whores and the liars. He set down the patterns, then looked for the common story, or what the police call the modus operandi. And saw that Creachad贸ir had a common fantasy that he pedalled to the ladies of his court as just a fun nursery rhyme. But these ladies had lived to say there was more going on than just a fun tale.
The sergeant was sad at heart that it had taken so many gossip tales and fantasies to see the truth, but he sat with each one who had lost her case and made it clear. From now on, whatever else happened, Creachad贸ir was now known to the gardai. He was no longer made of teflon. The next time he put a foot wrong, they’d have him by the balls. And he thanked them for their diligence and said the gardai would be watching Creachad贸ir closely now.

the disgarded youth

[Neon Rider][]
[Higher Ground][]

In a world where convenience is king and money it’s queen, the family doesn’t get the support it needs and things go wrong. And the child that is vulnerable gets lost along the way. They fall into the wrong crowd, get sadder and sadder and more afraid. And end up on the street, doing what they can to make ends meet. Where they find that they have become invisible to the world. Well most of it anyway.
But along comes some program that is always fumbling for resources, and still manages to care about the teen everyone else has left in the dust. And shows them a bit of love. Gives then a clean needle, a condom, a bed and a meal till they can get their life sorted out. Meeting them where they are. And in most cases, managing to do some really positive things.
Taking the kid away from the people and place where they fell and putting them on a ranch where they can re-evaluate their circumstance and heal from whatever drove them down this road.
How does a kid get left behind by the world though? In a rat race world, there is only time and energy for the ones who are able to stay at race speed. And whether it’s poverty or family issues, there are kids who can’t. And if they have a learning issue or some addiction or mental health disease, they fall even further behind. And its those kids that end up needing just a bit of love and respect for awhile so they can change their lives. And change their futures.
And most times, they succeed.
But now and then, one of the discarded kids doesn’t cope there. And the program that was their only shot gets put under scrutiny. Risks being shut down. Because they didn’t leave that kid in the dirt, in the gutter where society had. And instead of being judged by fair standards of how many discards they had helped when no one else would, they were judged on the one failure now before them. When no one else could be bothered.
These kids don’t happen in isolation though. They fall into a counter culture that has existed since time began, after society kicked them out as if they were the problen, rather than society being cold to them. And cruel. And they get blamed as if they created that world.
Is this real? The ranches may not be, but the lack of support and the teen blaming is.
How do we catch the kids who can’t cope with the rat race? How do we support the families till this generation of discarded youth is the last one?
I really loved these shows. If ever there was a dream career that I’d like to be part of, or spear-head, it’d be to grab up and take these kids to a safe place and teach them what love means. Till they could stand on their own.
I wish…

the headless horsemen … yes there were two min! (A story)

The Headless Horsemen … yes there were two min!

  • Headless Horseman no 1

He was the saviour of the poor; a soldier for the right side of the army; the judge of the ugly and evil; a teacher of those who others had discarded. At the end of a battle, he removed his pumpkin head and pumpkin cock and went to sleep for awhile. Because he needed to reboot and couldn’t take the chance that in his sleep, he might roll over and act wrongly. And when he wasn’t needed as a vengeful spirit to right all wrongs, he’d laugh and joke and tell zany stories about his pet horse for all to enjoy.

  • Headless Horseman No 2

He was the apocalyptic monster. He was the post rider for the gang, the mob, the wrong side of the army. He had a fake side, built of charm and suave good looks, from the shoulders down. But if you ever saw his eyes, he had a dead look that made it clear he wasn’t really much into being human. But he hung out with like-minded and with their help, he ruled his corner of the world. No one else was let in. The few who chased him were never heard from again.

  • both the horsemen

Were lusty, over-sexed, charming and such a joy to party with. And you wouldn’t know one from the other, till you got too close. One would save you, one would rape or kill you. And you’d feel that second of regret too late to save yourself if you picked the wrong one.

Unless you came upon them when they were asleep… Just remember the good one would have his pumpkin head and cock beside him, just to be safe.

But if you see the headless horseman bearing down on you, on his faithful snorting steed, run! RUN!! There’s no time to make a decision, just see you remain out of his way!

when I moved to the big city … (prevention is key?)

when I moved to the big city… (prevention is key?)

my experience –

I grew up in a very small hamlet with the population of 100 souls in it that were mostly relatives of my mom or dad. Sometimes if you shook the tree, they were related to both sides. There was a two lane highway thru town that took you to a couple bigger towns, but nothing much was even closer than 1/2 hour away. Maybe once a month we went shopping in the city for the stuff we couldn’t grow, make, hunt or fish for.
I’m not saying that was idyllic. In fact it wasn’t. But it wasn’t till I moved to the city at 18 years old that I knew what a hooker, gang or a pusher were. And yeah, there were bars in the couple towns near us. I know this because my dad hung out and passed out in a few of them.
When I moved out of my parents’ home and to the city, I had to worry about who I was walking close to and what this stranger’s intentions were toward me all of a sudden. I learned to lock my door. Yet the funny thing was, I was more at risk in my own home than i ever was on the street. I knew how to take precautions on the street and what parts of town were safe and where it wasn’t. Though funnily enough, I lived in some pretty seedy areas and hung out in some seedy bars and never got atttacked there either. Several times, I have lived on a street where murders, beatings and rapes have occurred. Where gangs were prevalent. When my kid was young, I lived on a street where another kid had been kidnapped and murdered.
So the lesson I learned most in life is that where I should have been safe, I wasn’t and where I shouldn’t have been, I was. Go figure! I made the rules for how I dealt with the streets and wasn’t the one making the rules at home.
In that context, I learned that attitude is key. If you allow yourself to be at risk, you are. If you allow people to be close to you, they are a hazard to you. If you allow other people to decide for you, or rule you, you’re more often in danger.
So how do you mitigate risks in a topsy turvy world? Basically, you keep your head down, mind your own business, go slow when letting people in and make them earn your trust. And kick them out when they fail. Because I promise, if they do it once, they’ll do it again. Thing is everyone fails. So you decide if you’ll let that person try again. Or not. If you can live with how this person is a threat to you. Or not.
Everyone comes into adult life knowing what they know. And that is the way I grew into my relationships,
My rules for surviving life might not work for you. I’m not even sure they work for me when I’m at home. Because I have always wanted to be married for eg. And have yet to be. Mostly because I don’t trust to that degree at home. I might never. That is where my life and statistics have taught me the risk really is. I can walk down the worst street in any major city and maybe feel a little nervous but can’t walk down the aisle. Hmmm… When you put it that way. 馃槢


I know there are laws and rules of engagement. I also know there are criminals who circumvent them whenever they can. So whatever I do, there will be times and places when I’m more at risk than others.
And I can’t walk down a street nude. There are several things that might occur. Cops might come and arrest me, whether criminal code or mental health warrant? I guess that depends on what else is going on. I’m going to get catcalled, if there are men around. What they say will depend on if they think I’m hot or not. At 50+ now, the hot part is less likely than the not. Though I still get whistles. I could get pulled into an alley and raped. That all depends on if there is a rapist nearby and has next to nothing to do with whether or not I’m nude or attractive. It has everything to do with proximity and likelihood of them getting away with it in their mind. I tend to walk a bit away from alleys as a result. So nobody can grab me or yank me in. Where I have been molested, assaulted and raped was at home though.
But life is a series of choices and risks. And I can’t leave it all up to someone else. I won’t!
So that is why I say that we have to pick or mitigate our risks that we’re able to survive. Or willing to endure.
And it’s all about prevention with me. Like you wait to take a sip of your coffee before you drink it so you don’t scald your tongue, or you step away from the alley where the rapist might be hiding. Or you don’t walk down the street nude. Or you don’t walk down the aisle because that is where the real risk is.
And that degree of prevention is always a personal journey that only I can decide for me and you can only decide for you. Depending on your history and relationships. And the trust, support and respect of the people around you. And if you have never been raped or assaulted, you’re more likely to give trust as a go-to than I ever will be. And if once you have been a victim, you’re more likely to be one again. Until you get help to deal with resorting your rules.
So that is what I mean by personal responsibility. Prevention. It’s never about victim shaming or blaming. And I think that needs to be the key in our discussions. I don’t ask questions that nobody but a trained therapist should ask