Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Intervening on our own Behalf
After having the worst sales day on Sunday I've ever seen, I changed our Directv package to the cheapest one (that's still not "cheap", but anyway). I also scaled back our Netflix from five discs out to three and got excited about a return to listening to This American Life and music more often. And maybe having the attention span to watch entire movies again -- something we've all but lost in the past couple of years of television immersion.
Some of the cable shows we love best are The First 48, Cold Case Files, Mad Men (swoon), Deadliest Catch, and Intervention
-- apparently we aren't alone in being addicted to that show because I got a bunch of tweets in response to my announcement yesterday from people who couldn't stand to give up Intervention.
I first started watching Intervention alone and totally felt guilty and ashamed watching it, like only a sicko would watch an hour of a stranger's family's most private, horrifyingly personal, lowdown moments. I'd record them on our DVR and wait to watch them alone until once when my sister was over she saw it in the list of shows and was like, "oooh! Let's watch Intervention!!" The concept of all of us watching the show together embarrassed me, like it's something you should only watch in private (which of course isn't true).
It's not that I think the show is bad -- I think it's awesome, and since then Delia and I have watched it together many times -- it's just really intense and weird. I do think it's informative (I love that they focus on all kinds of addictions and sicknesses from gambling to OCD to Diabetes to eating disorders) and helps build empathy, but it still feels wrong to watch it for entertainment. But we do, I guess. One person tweeted to me that she thinks that show is depressing with a capital "D". And it's true, that's the embarrassing part -- why would we watch something totally depressing for FUN? I guess there are a million awkward answers to that question.
One of the first Interventions I watched was repeated last night and pissed me off in a giant way. The family seemed more concerned with Cristy's stripping than with her drug use, like the STRIPPING was THE sign she was way out of control (and what a great marketing hook, too
!). Whenever I see that crap it disturbs the fuck out of me the way people alienate someone who already feels totally isolated and judged by being TOTALLY FUCKING STUPID about sex work. I'm not saying that the sick women on Intervention would choose sex work if they weren't in desperate situations, I'm just saying that their friends and families are usually so fucking retardedly focused on that part of it that they contribute to the problem and I've never seen that addressed in any healthy way on the show (though some of the families seem to have it in a more rational perspective).
It reminds me of a story I saw about a missing woman, maybe on America's Most Wanted, told mostly from the perspective of her "loving" parents who OVER and OVER said they knew she would NEVER have become a prostitute in Las Vegas of her own volition and that her evil boyfriend HAD to have MADE her do it and caused her to disappear. They said stupid shit over and over again about how they knew their darling daughter would never have chosen this life for herself and how badly they wanted her back so she could be her old innocent self again. Of course she was probably dead so it probably doesn't matter, but all I could think is that if this woman WAS alive and in a bad situation and saw her parents saying that shit, she'd probably rather whither up and accept her current lot than think she could ever live near them and their unaccepting ignorance again. People are so hyperfocused on how degrading they believe sex work always is that they can't fucking think straight, like these parents who seemed unable to recognize that their daughter willingly chose this boyfriend AND sex work in Vegas, and that the real sad and scary thing was that someone -- possibly the boyfriend -- probably killed her for it. Instead they went on tv, rejected her choices (that probably came from wanting to get away from their moronic idealized perception of her) and shat all over her.
This is why I need to stop watching TV. Because this crap HAUNTS me! And I haven't even said anything about the MOST DISTURBING episodes of Intervention and America's Most Wanted! Gah!Do they have Intervention on DVD?
No!! I need a break!! NO MORE INTERVENTION!!!!PS - Ken is totally our favorite interventionist.
Labels: addiction, drugs, gender issues, money, pop culture, television, true crime
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Twin Peaks I: The River (PICS)
Here's the "Twin Peaks Sign Spot
" where we hoped to get some flashing pictures:
Unfortunately a variety of circumstances conspired against us. Like how I forgot that things have changed a lot since I was a teenager from two towns over driving around the area; now there are thousands of yuppies crawling around in and out of their weird, flimsy, housing development hives. There was TRAFFIC and stuff, even before school/work got out during the middle of the day in the middle of the week. Like how the sun was shining so it sort of ruined the mood, as far as I'm concerned, of capturing the Twin Peaks feeling of that particular shot - I think we'd have had to wake up really early and get out there right when everyone would have been driving to work to have gotten the right light.
There were also work crews out in a lot of places tending to damage done by the flooding. We wound up shooting on the riverbank further down the road and getting there was like walking through the sand into a weird post-war scene sort of like after Mount St. Helens exploded and covered everything in grey ash.
In the winter when there are already bare branches and less green, when the floodwaters recede they leave behind extra greyness and washed-out debris on all of the low branches and trunk-bottoms.
A fifteen year old girl was brought up on first degree murder
charges around the same time as the most recent flooding here in Washington. Apparently she gave birth to a baby (fathered by a man in his thirties) at home in the bathroom where she let it drown in the toilet, and with (at the very least) the knowledge of her meth-head dad she'd only been living with for a few weeks, placed the body inside the rest of their garbage on the curb.
This news broke at the same time I was looking at pictures of the valley where I grew up with most of it covered by floodwater. I remembered the times we'd be trying to come home from somewhere, caught by rising water, and my stepdad would drive through standing water on flooded-out roads even after my mom begged him not to. I especially remember one of those times being at night. Pitch dark except for headlights shining out over water in places it shouldn't be, all of us screaming for him not to do it. Alone in the night surrounded by black water at the mercy of a motherfucking man behind a steering wheel.
Many people do this. Many people die when people do this. Kids and spouses and girlfriends, powerless in cars controlled by someone who assesses the risk as worth taking and makes the decision for everyone to plunge ahead. These deaths are almost always called "accidents". Tragic accidents
. Even if the people were screaming and crying and begging the person not to do it. People who have names and can talk and the person didn't just go through physical trauma to give birth to in the bathroom of a house with a drug-dealing dad with a gun. Driven by people old enough to have a driver's license as opposed to someone who isn't allowed to drive a car by herself but was fucked without a rubber by some guy over thirty.
First. Degree. Murder.
Do you know the sound of a car driving through deep water in the dark with your little sister sitting beside you in the back seat? And you can't do anything to stop it or create any kind of safety? It's a scary fucking sound. My stepdad never even got a ticket for any of the times he did that.
The River. "River" is a scary, dark, dangerous word in my memory. It was a place my mom was afraid we would drown. A place where men dumped women's bodies. A swift swelling uncontainable body that could rise up and burst out of its banks in a matter of hours just because the sun did too much shining too early in the spring. The river is a fucking menace and I can never understand it when real estate brochures list "riverfront" in the words to lure prospective buyers. But I still miss living by those rivers, even though I hate the nightmares I still have about them. They are never not flooding in my dreams.
On a lighter note, here are a few of my favorite pictures we *did* manage to shoot (you can see all of them in Delia's members-only area
or a few more samples on her blog
We actually only shot two sets of pictures and a video (all of Delia) but it was worth it not just for the content but to seize the moment and enjoy a few hours away off cam to visit my mom on one day and just do NOTHING some of the rest of the time. Seriously, we played a silly computer game called Peggle Nights
for hours one night, and it was totally cool because we NEVER do things like that. It was so cold outside, and there was so much junk food to be eaten, and we were away from home for the first time since I started feeling human again . . . I wish we could have spent a WEEK not shooting or doing anything work-related.
It seems like that happens a lot when we leave home for shoots; we realize OH MY GOD WE HAVE NOT TAKEN ANY TIME OFF FOR OURSELVES OR SCHEDULED ANY VACATIONS AWAY THAT WERE NOT WORK IN FOREVER/NEVER AND NO ONE IS WATCHING US ON CAM IT'S LIKE OUR PARENTS LEFT US AT HOME ALONE!! Let's discover all of the microwavable instant noodles for sale at QFC and slum around doing absolutely nothing productive! LET'S HAVE A PEGGLE NIGHT EXTRAVAGANZA
Seriously -- it was bitterly cold outside. I don't know how Delia managed to achieve an erection out there. I would have cried my titties off. Next time I *will* shoot something on Ronette's bridge, though -- I promise! Unless a new Peggle comes out . . . (fyi: we downloaded Peggle Nights from Big Fish Games
In the meantime I have no idea what to post for my members-only update since I *thought* I was going to have Twin Peaksy pics to post. I mean, I have many IDEAS, I'm just not sure what we can pull off quickly. Like, tonight. We'll see what happens.
Labels: Pacific Northwest, PHOTOS, Seattle, true crime
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Sex Workers, Rights and the Tanking Economy
Before I post a bunch of frivolous softcore-in-the-Seattle-snow pics today, I want to at least mention that today's an important one: The International Day to End Violence Against Sex Workers
When the economy is in the shitter (the direction it's headed right now) people are MORE judgmental and resentful about how much other people are paid and for what kind of work; that's a recipe for even more violence against sex workers. Lots of perpetrators of violence against sex workers explain that their crimes are justified because they shouldn't have to pay for sex -- the woman (or sometimes man) and the work s/he's charging him for are not worthy of payment and/or should be punished for thinking she is. Check out this guy who said a prostitute put her head in his plastic bag by mistake when he wanted his $100 back
. For trying to kill her he'll only get a few months in the slammer.
It's not going too far to say that beating, raping, exploiting, infecting, killing, stealing from sex workers and/or refusing to abide by their boundaries is covertly state-sanctioned -- the government says sex workers don't have the right to charge money for their services in most places. Not only do they not have the right to charge money, they are CRIMINALS if they do so. In some places in the United States you can be arrested simply for carrying too many condoms -- it's intent to sell access to your body (which you have no right to do, and if you intend to flout the law in this way you deserve to expose yourself to disease and pregnancy)! You can be charged with a crime in many places just for advising other sex workers ABOUT sex work. The government might not have a bounty on sex workers and we all might SAY that killing them is going too far, but it's a pretty fucking mixed message.
While most of my own work as a webwhore is legal (I say "most" because some of it could easily fall under the nebulous definition of "obscenity" - that and a couple of other things I can think of could land me in prison if the Department of Justice or other unsavory elements chose to target me) and I feel fairly safe doing this work (not just safe for a whore, but even safer relative to women with straight jobs), there are still more than enough people who resent me and women like me for making our livings this way. People who spew hatred and threaten violence that all falls under the category of, "BITCH! YOU DO NOT DESERVE MONEY FOR WHAT YOU DO & YOU DESERVE TO BE PUNISHED FOR EVEN SUGGESTING ANYONE PAY YOU FOR THIS!! I will *take* by force what you deny me for free." I'm willing to bet these messages will only increase and intensify in the months and years to come as people get poorer, hungrier, and angrier.
There's a march in DC going on right now. FurryGirl
is there and taking pictures like this one:
The demand on the banner to "STOP SHAMING US TO DEATH" is powerful, especially in conjunction with the message that "ONLY RIGHTS CAN STOP THE WRONGS". Violence against sex workers is made too easy because of wrongheaded laws that make some people's versions of "immorality" criminal. It's broader than the moral or religious issues, though: it's about class and gender -- specifically denying women (1) ownership of their bodies and (2) the right to charge people to access it (3) within boundaries each woman defines for herself.
Connect the dots in the bigger picture to shaky/compromised abortion rights, our continued unwillingness to recognize parenthood as real work worthy of payment, and our refusal to protect natural resources like WATER (where ownership by one entity should be really fucking hard to claim) from unsustainable corporate exploitation compared to our insistence upon denying individual women opportunities to profit from their own individual bodies (where self-ownership should be pretty fucking OBVIOUS/undeniable, especially when you consider how much money male pro-athletes make abusing their bodies for our entertainment and no laws deny them the RIGHT to exploit their bodies in those damaging ways***) -- it seems pretty obvious that denying rights to sex workers is part of a bigger agenda to deny women opportunities to profit from work that is mostly performed by women because we are at a natural biological ADVANTAGE to perform it. Basically? It's about making sure women are only punished for their gender rather than economically rewarded for it.
It will be a cold day in hell when someone goes violently vigilante on the asses of Wall Street executives and all the corporate fat cats and bankers getting bailed out for fucking us over financially; there are always loopholes to guarantee their "right" to be multi-fucking millionaires at our expense
, but there are sure to be plenty of whores killed by men who get the message loud and clear from our government(s) (and all of us who tell them we LIKE our laws just like this) that there IS no loophole for a woman who thinks she's entitled to earning a few bucks for a blowjob. God forbid we put a cap on the exorbitant amount of ill-gotten money men "make"; instead let's keep making sure the whores don't get out of pocket thinking their dirty pussies are worth a thin fucking dime.
Discriminatory laws against sex work and women's work in general don't just encourage and facilitate physical violence, some people would say those laws and their applications are themselves acts of violence -- when you make it next-to-impossible for someone to work, when you take away her income, when you stigmatize someone by slapping a criminal record or a special stripper/whore license on her that will limit her job opportunities in the future, when you eat up her time in court and behind bars, when you make her pay fines, when you make her vulnerable to blackmail by thieves and rapists both in and out of uniform, that can at LEAST be called a hostile and dangerous violence-breeding atmosphere. Whether or not you believe Deborah Jeane Palfrey's death was a suicide
, you have to recognize that she (and possibly other women connected to her case) would not be dead now if women had the right to do sex work. Who needs the Green River Killer to cleanse the country of garbage as long as we have the government to ruin and destroy the lives of sex workers? And when I say "government", I don't mean that the rest of us have clean hands. Voters are the ones who had an opportunity in San Francisco last month to decriminalize prostitution and guess what? THEY DIDN'T. We're not talking about old laws no one enforces anymore, we're talking about active BULLSHIT that just keeps on trucking.
Yes, it's impossible for me to calmly deliver a moderate, easy-to-understand argument about sex worker rights and reducing violence perpetrated against sex workers. I'm sorry for that. I feel guilty for not doing more for sex workers as a group -- for not being more of an activist, for not staying better informed, for not being a more coherent educator. As with any minority suffering discrimination and persecution, it's a challenge to have time to earn a living in that discriminatory atmosphere AND be an agent of change. That's why discrimination and marginalization WORK SO WELL; when people are underprivileged and denied rights granted to others, they 1) lack the resources to effectively fight for change, and 2) can't be completely honest or open about their own stories without fear of reprisals and punishment.
It's true that I feel relatively safe as a webwhore, but I said RELATIVELY safe, not just-plain-SAFE. I realize I am VERY lucky, but still vulnerable.
I hate that my blog entries on this subject wind up preaching to the choir and are probably ignored or misunderstood by everyone else, but seriously -- this whore needs to spend the rest of the day trying to make money rather than blowing off steam just to hear her head rattle. With the poor economy and my own situation of having gone deeply into credit card debt to finance our business, I do have a heightened awareness of how my own safety and standing in society is threatened even more by the fact that I'm a sex worker and therefore considered disposable and fair game for scapegoating, at the very least. I know from my OWN feelings of jealousy towards people who are economically privileged and resentment towards those protected enough by their gender and class to get away with huge scams that are considered legit ways to fuck people for money that we all can become very, ummmm, mean-spirited when the chips are down.
I wish I could wrap this up with a big Christmas bow that would change the world for sex workers or at least make people WANT to see that happen, but I'm at a loss for how to do that so I will simply say THANK YOU to the people who are out their lobbying for change on behalf of me and other sex workers today.***there are definitely class (and race) issues at work that allow mostly poor men of color to beat each other senseless in boxing rings and suffer tons of injuries in other pro sports with regulations that do very little to protect them; by bringing this up I'm not saying boxing or other sports should be illegal or even necessarily more heavily regulated -- I only mention it as an interesting comparison to sex work. It illustrates the irrationally contradictory double standards when it comes to women's bodies versus men's bodies and what kind of work they can put them to for how much money.
Labels: class, fears, gender issues, money, politics, race, rants, sex work, true crime
Friday, November 28, 2008
Far from the Trampling Crowd
While other women are out shopping for bargains today, we're staying home to masturbate on cam. Yes, I planned it that way deliberately to target the men in the states who stay home jacking off to internet porn while the wimmin-folk are out in the malls blowing money.
I'm sure many of those women would call me evil, exploiting the Thanksgiving holiday for profit by appealing to people's "base" instincts. Leading their men-folk astray and causing them to cyber-cheat while their loving wives are out dutifully blowing wads of dough.
Can you tell I think that's all a crock of shit? The way the chaste and moral crowd points their fingers at whores like me while they're out TRAMPLING PEOPLE TO DEATH
for Black Friday bargains?
A worker died after being trampled and a woman miscarried when hundreds of shoppers smashed through the doors of a Long Island Wal-Mart Friday morning, witnesses said.
The unidentified worker, employed as an overnight stock clerk, tried to hold back the unruly crowds just after the Valley Stream store opened at 5 a.m.
Witnesses said the surging throngs of shoppers knocked the man down. He fell and was stepped on. As he gasped for air, shoppers ran over and around him.
As far as I know, no one has ever had a miscarriage watching porn, so take THAT family values!
I break out into a cold sweat whenever I hear about and imagine crowds-gone-wild; all of those sports arena horror stories and such make me crap my pants; I am deathly afraid of the mob, of our basest, wild-eyed instincts stomping the fuck out of each other. Of having the breath crushed out of me.
We were watching one of those MOST SHOCKING CRAZY-ASS THINGS CAUGHT ON VIDEO shows the other night showing a riot in Vancouver after a hockey game; people running amok, setting shit on fire, overturning cop cars, smashing into storefronts, etc. It's just bizarre to me that people are so scared by PORN and do so much to try to censor it out of existence, but no one ever says we should stop allowing mass-attendance at sporting events, or we should ban sports all together. It's a stupid proposal, I guess, but one that makes WAY MORE SENSE than getting rid of porn or continuing all the lame-ass crackdowns on sex work in general.
People are fucking insane, especially when they're in large groups where they feel no personal responsibility for the damage that can be done by the mad power of the unstoppable horde.
On that note, I must now prepare myself for the unruly, anonymous crowds that might attend my webcam show in a couple of hours. But no matter how badly they behave, it couldn't possibly be as unpleasant as SHOPPING today.Thanks to Delia for the heads up on today's trampling death.
Labels: fears, gender issues, money, porn consumers, rants, shopping, sociopolitical commentary, sports, true crime, values, violence, webcam shows, worse than porn
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Dexter vs. Deep Space Nine
Our friend AmberLily
is a big Dexter
fan, so her blog and tweets reminded us to check it out. I figured I would love it and looked forward to getting it through Netflix and starting from the beginning.
We only made it through one and a half episodes before we sent it back. In some ways it was just my style; I *DELIGHT* in movies like Gacy
, Ed Gein
and American Psycho
. Dexter is stylish, a little campy, witty, etc. I appreciated many aspects of what I saw, but I totally didn't want to spend any more time watching it. Part of the problem was that I loathed the female characters. Another problem is that we watch our netflixed tv shows at night before bed, and Dexter is just too dark and ludicrously violent to be relaxing then.
I'm also hypercritical of stories of vigilantism when the vigilante is a MAN, meting out "justice" for crimes perpetrated against women and/or children. REALLY annoys me (except in the movie Buster and Billie
which I *love*).
And it was just too far-fetched. I know, it's in a way that's probably cool to other people but for me was just annoying. I'm pretty hard to please in the crime drama department, preferring/loving the stuff that's openly based on real crimes or is documentary style (almost all the crap on "Tru" tv). Also, since we've been part of shooting a few low-budget movies I have a harder time suspending disbelief when we watch other people's acting; I feel awkward for the actors and wonder how much time went into crafting certain scenes - the veil has been lifted even with the small-scale stuff we done and everything seems so transparent. I felt that way (embarrassed) a lot watching Michael C. Hall in his "action" scenes where he's confronting his victims.
We prefer to watch Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
before bed. I know it doesn't make sense when I criticized Dexter for being too far-fetched, but whatever. It makes me feel good to totally escape into a positive, optimistic vision of the future. I like going to sleep with messages of hope. Watching shows like Next Gen, Deep Space Nine, and Northern Exposure is like going to an ideal version of church for me where nobody expects you to believe in God and everyone at least TRIES to treat everybody else with kindness. People express enthusiasm, wonder and awe at the mystery of it all and the boundlessness of possibilities is depicted as something people can experience while they're still alive.
So Deep Space Nine (with help from Weeds, Entourage, Spaced and Big Love) beat Dexter off our queue.Note to AmberLily: I just want you to know that I started writing this BEFORE you tweeted that you hate Seattle. And I don't hate Dexter as much as you hate Seattle -- I was so close to loving it! Some of the images were so beautiful . . .
Labels: movies, pop culture, spiritual issues, television, true crime, values
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Yesterday during one of my chat & masturbation webcam shows, a viewer asked me if I prefer a large or a small audience. I tried to be diplomatic about it, partly because I myself am uncomfortable with the true answer, so I said that there are pros and cons of each (which *is* true, but is not the answer).
is that I prefer big audiences over small ones for group camshows. I either want to do a private show for just ONE person who pays me by the minute OR I want to do a group show for as many people as possible. Even though smaller crowds are almost always more polite, there is still a bigger thrill associated with having lots and lots and lots of people watching me at once.
I know this answer probably sounds contradictory given some of the complaints I have made about doing shows for big groups along with the enjoyment I've told you I experience doing shows for smaller crowds; I'm not invalidating anything I've said before -- those complaints and acknowledgments still stand. But I've *also* told you how I love the feeling of immortality provided by having my life/living enlarged
by being watched:
Through my porn sites I have attained a degree of immortality. It sounds crazy, but it's true and it fascinates me. So much of the work I do amplifies and extends my living; I do feel like I'm more alive because so many people KNOW that I'm living, WATCH me living, READ me living, etc. It's heady, powerful stuff that overfeeds my most basic, primitive survival instincts. Maybe my own instincts have gone off the rails or I'm unwittingly describing the hallmarks of some kind of pathology, but whatever. Some people cheat death through extreme sports to feel more alive, some people have kids, some people perform acts of heroism . . . but I feel more alive simply because a few bloggy book people (along with thousands of men who've become erect and spilled seed over my web-graven images) know who I am.
I know it sounds more like cancer of the ego than immortality, but regardless of whether its source is mental illness or the actual attainment of mythological proportions, I *feel* superhuman because of all the people watching me going about life in my bubble.
This feeling isn't something I experience on a conscious level, it's primal
(which is funny since it happens because of technology). I'm pretty sure it's the same feeling that drove Evil Men throughout History to invade and conquer neighboring and distant nations and peoples: to have legions of men lined up and standing erect before you, assimilated and saluting you, compelled to stand mutely before you and powerless to leave unless you expel them. It is heady stuff, and you feel it most when you have either *one* person ensnared OR impressively large numbers of them.
This morning when we fucked we were being watched by people on three different spycam networks. I like that. I cannot tell exactly how many people were watching and I wasn't interacting with any of those people, but I *did* like logging into one of those networks afterwards to find that 84 people were still watching there even after we had been done for ten minutes. I liked seeing that we had more viewers than any other houses. The numbers are small compared to the glory days back when I started exhibiting spycams, but still . . . fucking is even better somehow when there is a number attached to it of anonymous people who witnessed it. The bigger the number, the better it is (as long as those people had to pay an entrance fee of some sort to see it, otherwise it loses its charm).
The same is true of the group shows that do have interaction; I confess it excites me more to see 500-1500 people watching than it does 50. It's nothing personal; on the contrary -- it's something very IMpersonal. There's safety in numbers, even though there are always more assholes in big audiences and they have said some terrifyingly offensive shit to me; I feel less of an obligation to each individual person because I think of them more as a *mass* of people. I don't feel as awkward or self-conscious because there's a lot of static washing over me in the chatroom. There are also more people to play off of and time passes quickly; even though I find much of what is said is repetitive and obnoxious, it's just more entertaining than having a few people being really nice to me. And? There's a massive thrill in NOT doing what A LOT of people WANT me to do. Most of those people come to shows not to chat or to see a striptease, but for immediate graphic sexual stimulation. I spend about 40 minutes chatting and not being sexually graphic. And then when I am masturbating? It's, ummm, actually pretty boring to watch, I think. I do it virtually the same way in the same position every show without variation except in toys and occasionally asshole versus pussy. I'm not saying my shows are BAD -- I think they're relaxing, funny, genuine, and sexy -- but there are other women putting on much more wank-worthy shows: the kinds most people are *expecting* to see. When I don't give them that and it angers them, I feel flooded with power. I love telling them that if they want to tell me how to masturbate they'll have to get a private show where they pay me by the minute. If they are good guys, they'll ask how they can make that happen (and then I thrill at the opportunity to deny them, since I rarely ever do private shows anymore). THE MORE PEOPLE I DENY (or whose expectations I defy), THE MORE I'M THRILLED.
Don't get me wrong, it's not that I don't love it when people love my shows and express their appreciation or that I don't love civilized conversation -- I *do*, it's just that there is a special thrill that comes with making hundreds of men horny and mad and unable to make me do what they want; I think this might be the only almost-safe platform for deliberately sexually provoking men/"leading them on" where saying no won't lead to a physical assault or gang rape, and it is BECAUSE I know that what some of those guys are feeling and saying is precisely what many men (maybe even some of the same ones) have said and felt that led them to hurt women in real life that I feel thrilled; maybe a part of me feels that I'm standing at a unique point in history on a unique technological platform that allows me to magically elude the violent attacks I would suffer were I to say the things I say (and do the things I do) in any other place and time; it's probably the closest I can come to defying death. Oh, and of course there's also a thrill that comes with hearing a lot of guys tell me they've jerked themselves into a creamy frenzy during my shows. It's the idea of hundreds (preferably thousands) of CRAZED MEN going apeshit bonkers that gets me so psychologically worked up.
Oh, I know those of you who attend my shows are remembering all the times I've dismissed the question I'm asked every show of, "how does it make you feel that 457 (or however many people are present in the chatroom) men are jerking off to you?" but the only reason I act disinterested is because it's technically inaccurate since I know that not *everyone* watching is male and not everyone is watching the show with one hand on their genitals. My problem with the question is mostly the way that it's worded along with the hope they have that I'll say something about how WET it makes me; it's not that I do not get aroused by these thoughts, however I don't have time or enough stimulation during my shows (especially at the beginning of them, which is usually when someone asks that question) to really fantasize about that. No, the natural excitement I feel regarding those numbers is POWER.
The times I've gotten aroused by viewers in group shows have been when guys say something kinky about themselves like the unusual way they're masturbating (Oh Trixie, I'm just about to cum in my roommate's shoe watching you!
) or confessing something like my best friend Brad and I have been jack-off buddies since we were 12; I'm imagining he's here now & we're watching you together, beating off!
or just a number of simple status report like Oh, Trixie! I had to stop stroking my pole and pinch it because I almost came at the sight of your hairy butthole!
or even just good old, Unnhhhhhhhjuscameonmykeyboard!
. Unfortunately I get way too few of these kinds of remarks during my shows to really rely on viewer input for arousal and the other stuff I *do* hear regularly is often funny, but rarely a turn-on: Do you want my cum? Tell me you want my cum!!
Doesn't work from a random stranger in a crowded room; in a private show or phone sex? That has potential. Will you marry me? I'll get you pregnant!
The ultimate turn-off. Shuttup Bitch! I didn't come here to listen to you talk philosophy!
While I enjoy this for the element of power, it doesn't arouse me sexually. I know this sounds sick, but it's an incredible feeling, knowing there are men SEETHING with hatred and contempt for me but they CAN'T make me shut up.
Part of me enjoys hearing all of the predictable ugly insults (fat, ugly, old, stupid, etc.), because I know it is a very VERY special thing to sit here and be safe even when faced with confirmation that women are still loathed and victimized in very scary, gender-specific ways.
If asked what size audience DOES sexually arouse me most, I'd refer you back to private shows: ONE viewer arouses me most, one that I'm interacting with who is paying me by the minute to talk to me, tell me what to do and/or to expose himself to me. Private shows and phone sex are extremely sexually exciting to me (because they're hot, not because I feel like I'm flirting with danger). You want to know a big reason why I don't do them much anymore? Because they aren't as private as they used to be when I started camming and doing phone sex. It used to be just me and one other person: the viewer. Now my circumstances and the camsites have changed so much that I have way too many audiences to really get off on it the way I used to; there are people watching me on our spycams, the cam networks have sneak peeks running and archives being captured, I feel self-conscious with Delia
in the house, etc. It's too much exposure for something that used to be hot because it was SO private. That's actually a subject for another blog entry I've been meaning to write for a long time, but I bring it up to illustrate how many different factors there are and yardsticks for measuring what kinds of shows I like doing best and how many people I like watching them (which is why the diplomatic answer IS TRUE; there are pluses and minuses to all of the different kinds of camming I do).
A few people who've had phone sex with me or chatted with me extensively are probably aware how much the numbers mean to me on many different levels; it *is* a big turn on to contemplate the numbers and the gallons, the spurts and the jerks of a large population. But the most instant reaction I have to the numbers DURING my shows is a surge of omnipotence more than arousal. The more people watching, the more power I have (and the more I feel I'm cheating death, I suppose).
Labels: answered questions, chat, confessions, sex work, sociopolitical commentary, spycams, true crime, voyeurism, wankers, web culture, webcam shows, webwhore insights
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Homesick for my Hometown
Most people would say the small town where I grow up is one of those safe, cozy, little enclaves of cow pastured country-living. They would be surprised that six people could be murdered there day-before-yesterday on Christmas Eve
I'm not surprised at all. I never felt like my town was safe, in fact I always felt LESS safe there than I have in any of the places I've lived since, including crime-riddled areas of Tacoma. I've no idea why people would imagine that a small town is somehow immune to this stuff, particularly when it's family-style stuff. Why would a girl's boyfriend be less likely to kill her whole family in a small town than in a big city? Somehow it seems MORE likely in a small town, but that's just my own personal feeling about it.
The weird part of it is that when I look at those pictures in the slideshow accompanying the article on the murders, I actually feel homesick. Not in the sense that I wish I still lived there, but sick with recognition and the knowledge that no other landscape or location will ever feel or look or smell like home to me the way that does. I look at those pictures and know "that is where I am FROM". My roots are literally two towns away from Twin Peaks
It's not that I was afraid of being randomly murdered there, it's that there seemed to be a disproportionate amount of violence so that everyone seemed infected by it without acknowledging they were carriers. You know the faces of really mean people in a small town and you know that if one or two of them decide to hate you, you aren't ever going to be able to hide or get lost in a crowd. On top of that, my entire childhood and teenage life was filled with current news of our famous neighbors, Ted Bundy and the Green River Killer; it's like we were constantly driving through and swimming with their victims' ghosts.
Long story short? Violent crime doesn't surprise me; it's too much a part of the local lore I grew up on. Woods were never just woods to me, they were always potential dumping grounds and they were EVERYWHERE.
If you're wondering whether or not I knew the victims, the answer is "no". No doubt I'd recognize the post office lady (and I'm sure my mom does know her) but none of them are family friends or anything.Thanks for the heads-up on this story, Birdman.
Update: Here's another clue as to why I don't think small-town life is safe; in this more-recent article
(or maybe they just updated the old one since it's the same link I posted before) that describes more of the possible motive we also find out that the cops were too unconcerned to bother with the locked gate after a 911 call:
A 911 call was actually placed from the house at about 5:15 p.m. Monday, around the time of the killing. But responding deputies investigating the hang-up call apparently turned back after finding the gate at the home locked, according to Sheriff's Office reports . . . . The emergency operator who took the call heard yelling in the background, but no voices.
"Heard a lot of yelling in the background," wrote the call taker in a note to a dispatcher. "Sounded more like party noise than angry heated arguing."
The first two patrol cars available were dispatched to the property minutes later, and the operator made two calls to the residence but the phone went to voice mail each time, Urquhart said. Both responding deputies arrived at the scene at about 5:45 p.m. only to find that a locked gate prevented them from accessing the property.
What the fuck? It wasn't an armed fortress with a motherfucking moat. Having had our own experiences with lackadaisical cops I have to say that I don't have the utmost faith in their ability to save the day. What the fuck more do you need to have than a 911 call during the holidays to get your ass out of your patrol car and walk onto the property? I guess it wouldn't have changed a whole lot in this case, but whatever. It's not the kind of action that breeds a strong sense of security in a community. On top of it taking a long time for the county cops to get to places outside city limits you have to wonder what they'll do once they finally arrive.
Labels: memories, neighbors, news, Pacific Northwest, true crime
Monday, December 17, 2007
End Violence Against Sex Workers
Today is the International Day to End Violence Against Sex Workers
. Here are some of my thoughts on why violence against sex workers happens and some suggestions for helping to end it:
Violence against sex workers boils down to two things: a woman who demands money for sex is a woman who is saying NO to sex
without money. For all of our fancy talk and progress, our society STILL does not wholly support women's right to say NO. Our problem is not just with women charging money for sex, our problem is with women SAYING NO to sex with men unless the men meet conditions set by women.
We still do not wholeheartedly agree that women own their own bodies. We still do not wholeheartedly agree that women should have the right to determine the circumstances under which we choose to allow people access to our bodies. We still think that one woman's individual sexuality is responsible for wreaking havoc on men's behavior, on other women's happiness, and on children everywhere. We still blame individual women's sexual agency for bringing about the downfall of all that's good for the Christians' cause, for the feminists' cause and for unraveling the the moral fabric of society. We still believe women shouldn't be allowed to capitalize on natural resources the way that men do -- we fear the complete disintegration of order in our society if women are allowed to openly capitalize on and dominate the biggest demand in the marketplace. Violence against sex workers is all about refusing women the right to NOT consent to sex; this refusal is RAPE. We're all (as a society) accessories to rape by not supporting sex worker rights.
Violence against sex workers is violence against women. Violence against sex workers is often an act of angry insistence that women are of no value except what men, their brainwashed handmaidens, certain hysterically irrational feminists, and society place on them or allow them to be, and that a woman who values her body enough to deny someone access to it unless they provide her with money or material compensation is a woman who has stepped so far out of line that she deserves to be punished or committed to the care of Concerned Women who insist no woman in her right and undamaged mind could have chosen sex work willingly.
Gary Ridgeway, The Green River Killer, did not just target prostitutes because he knew crimes against people who work the streets are harder to solve; that makes it sound like he would have been happy killing just about ANYbody when that's not the whole truth. He didn't want to and never did kill homeless veterans or women who consented to having sex with him for free. Gary Ridgeway said, "I picked prostitutes as my victims because I hate most prostitutes and I did not want to pay them for sex.
" That hatred of sex workers and the belief that charging money for sex is loathsome, unjustifiable, immoral, indecent, "devalues" women (the most absurd charge of all), and/or somehow dirties or corrupts a society that would otherwise be asexual outside of the bonds of married love or male ownership permeates our culture and is not unique to serial killers. Gary Ridgeway was able to talk openly with his neighbors about his desire to exterminate prostitutes without them batting a fucking eyelash; chances are you yourself have tolerated similar hate speech without objection when you would certainly have responded differently had the target of the hatred been twelve year old Catholic schoolgirls or boy scouts or soccer moms.
When people say that women's bodies and sex are SO VALUABLE and precious that it's taboo to put a real dollar amount on sex acts, they are talking irrational, brainwashed rubbish, pure and simple. Violence against sex workers is not so much about women charging money for sex as it is about women having the right to WITHHOLD sex and to define the terms under which they will CONSENT to sex. Any of us who deny sex workers the right to set the terms of consent is effectively denying ALL WOMEN their right to consent or not consent to sex. Do not tell me or any other woman that she can only have sex when she loves someone or is attracted to someone or is sex-positively horny for someone or is in the politely prized possession of a husband. Do not tell me or any other woman that she is "too good" to work in the one industry that women naturally should dominate. Do not tell me or any other woman that it's more respectable to do ANYTHING for money other than turn a trick. All of that bullshit is part of the the same belief system that claps people on the back who perpetrate violence against sex workers and says, "what you did to her? SHE'S A PIECE OF GARBAGE AND SHE FUCKING ASKED FOR IT." And that? That's part of the same belief system that enables violence against ALL women. It's also part of the same belief system that leaves women in helping professions like teaching, nursing, and mothering grossly underpaid and overworked: because women should not do the most important jobs in the world for MONEY, we should do them for LOVE. You know what that I call that? A BIG FAT CROCK OF SHIT.
If that's not enough for you to think about, here are some suggestions for behavior I think would go a long way in changing this mindset that promotes violence against all women via endorsing violence against sex workers/subverting sex workers' rights:
*Don't sit in mute and complicit witness when your friends, coworkers, acquaintances, partners, etc. use hateful speech against women and sex workers. Use peer pressure by expressing disapproval of expressions of hostility towards sex workers. Challenge them to rethink their prejudices. Tell them they sound like crazy fucking assholes. Tell them you don't want to hear that shit and walk away from them. Just do *something* instead of accepting that it's okay. Even if they respond initially with belligerence or defensiveness, it will give them food for thought and make them think twice the next time they feel like saying that. Anything you can do to break down the assumption that prostitutes and sex workers are "fair game" is a step in the right direction.
*Never, EVER, shortchange a sex worker, refuse to pay a sex worker after receiving service, demand or force a sex worker provide services she doesn't want or hasn't agreed to, or tolerate someone bragging who does any of those things. Stealing service from a sex worker IS RAPE. Also, make sure our justice system knows that assaulting or forcing a sex worker to perform or endure sex acts without meeting her (or his) terms and conditions IS RAPE, not some lesser charge (read this story
for an example).
*Buy time with a sex worker. Pay your sex worker with the same respect and appreciation you give any other person who provides you with service. Hell, pay your sex worker with GREATER respect and appreciation than you'd give other service providers because sex workers do their work at greater social costs and legal risks. Act as proud of supporting your favorite sex workers as you are proud of supporting your favorite record store, restaurant, mechanic, or chiropractor.
*Let people know you support sex workers, and have the balls to say that you proudly patronize sex workers (if you do). Be vocal in your support for sex workers' rights. Let people know you think sex work is a valuable service and that women own their own bodies, are capable of making their own decisions about what to do with them, and should not be denied the right to set the conditions (and prices) to access them under their own terms. Insist that NO ONE -- not the government, not other women, not their husbands or boyfriends or jealous stalkers, and not their customers -- should tell a woman what she can or cannot do with her own body, either for free or for money.
*Think critically about sex work and prevailing attitudes towards sex workers. Question media portrayals of sex work, and do so OUT LOUD to get other people thinking and talking about it too. Ask yourself whether or not your positions on sex worker rights are consistent with your other positions on women and women's rights (example: if you believe no one should interfere in a woman's right to an abortion, why is it okay to interfere with her right to charge someone money to touch or be touched by her?).
*Recognize and publicize that not all sex work is the same while also acknowledging sex work for what it is, wherever it is (in many marriages, for example). DO NOT equate sexual slavery with sex work performed by consent. Feminists: don't get all hysterical and irrational by insisting that all sex work is intrinsically bad; it's horrible when women and girls are kidnapped, forced to act as sex slaves, are raped, assaulted and killed but you just sound like fucking morons with your inability to separate those crimes from sex work done by women who CHOOSE to do it on their own terms. EVERYTHING A WOMAN DOES WITH HER BODY OR INVITES SOMEONE ELSE TO DO WITH HER BODY SHOULD BE DONE ON HER OWN INDIVIDUAL TERMS. It is unacceptable for anyone, man or woman, to set those terms for another woman (or man).
*Read about sex work, sex worker rights, womens' rights and feminism (from as many sources/voices as possible). Be open-minded. Be rational. Decide what's right for you and let other people decide what is right for themselves. Understand that sex worker rights are a gender issue and educate yourself about other gender issues. Do what you can to understand and prevent rape
(that's right, ESPECIALLY if you are a guy).
*Let your elected representatives, local law enforcement and government agencies know that you support sex worker rights and that discrimination against sex workers is intolerable and counterproductive. Have arguments handy that illustrate the perverse double standards used to regulate socially acceptable industries vs. the sex industry. Learn what a "victimless crime" is and do not tolerate people trying to turn bullshit abstractions into crime. Write to the media and complain when you read or hear biased reporting on sex work-related stories.
*Demand higher wages for ALL work traditionally viewed as "women's" work: mothering, caretaking, nursing, teaching and WHORING.
*Support womens' right to reject men. It is crucial to women's right to choose that they be allowed to choose other women as mates and be given the same rights and privileges that heterosexual partners enjoy. Women should not have to insist that they didn't "choose" to be queer and that it was all decided biologically. Lesbians should not be obligated to soothe ruffled feathers by promising that they really love and appreciate men, just not in that "special" way (even if it's true). Stopping violence against women mostly means stopping men from perpetrating that violence, and the first step in doing that is insisting that men are not ENTITLED to our bodies. The second step is making everyone believe it.
We do not need to make excuses for saying no and those of us who DO say no (whether by not having sex with men, not shacking up with men, or by specifying the conditions under which they will have sex and/or specify the TYPE of sex they will have with men) should not be punished for it.
Here are posts on the same subject by Audacia Ray
.Anyone else with posts on the subject can provide links in comments.
Labels: gender issues, rants, sex work, sexual consent, sociopolitical commentary, true crime, webwhore insights, worse than porn
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Voyeurs: if you saw me masturbating yesterday and wondered what I was reading to fan the flames, it was a little porn-story-magazine thingy featuring guy-on-guy sex. With lots of really good drawings of gigantic cocks surrounded by sensuous big lips, horny sailors, etc.
And if you saw us fucking yesterday and wondered what was on the television that was so damned erotic, it was Notes on a Scandal
. Note: I am not one of those people who romanticizes or excuses real life women (especially teachers) who fuck young boys, particularly not Mary Kay Letourneau, but that's a subject for a different blog entry.
Aside from the naughty hot sex scenes, I loved the wicked narration from Judi Dench's deliciously evil character. She was like a combination of John Malkovich and Glenn Close in Dangerous Liaisons
, Snape, and Patricia Highsmith's Ripley all rolled into one nasty bit of work.
I know we're supposed to be critical of portrayals of lesbians and older women and women in general as scary unhinged monsters, but I love and celebrate Barbara Covett and her fiendishly manipulative pursuit of female companionship and sexual pleasure. She made me hot -- best movie villain I've seen in a long time.
After my show today I spent most of my time working on a new website; I'll give you more details on that tomorrow or Tuesday. I've also been really sleepy even though I got eight hours of sleep; I needed to take a couple of naps today, probably because I got no exercise yesterday as I spent many splendid hours in bed (see above) masturbating, reading and fucking.
Labels: gender issues, movies, mundane, SEX, sociopolitical commentary, spycams, true crime
Monday, April 16, 2007
At Least 20 Killed in Virginia Tech Shooting - washingtonpost.com
Want to know what I always find "funny" about stories like this: At Least 20 Killed in Virginia Tech Shooting
I think it's "funny" that they try to avoid pointing out that it's a male who did it. AGAIN. I mean, you can count on one hand the number of females who go on shooting sprees, but no one bothers to ask themselves why that is. Instead we just accept that guys dominate violent crime while we very pointedly avoid any attempt to acknowledge the obvious (that might mean we'd have to question gender roles, right, and we don't want any of THAT).
On the one hand, I suppose not even bothering to mention another boy/man shot up a school shows that WE ALL KNOW it's guys who do this stuff, but the problem I see is that no one is willing to ask themselves WHY it's boys and men who do it. Seriously, if you aren't "into" gender issues and looking for that kind of questioning coverage of the news, you aren't going to see or hear it mentioned at all. THAT'S A PROBLEM. Maybe *the* problem. Let's all pretend that this has nothing to do with how we raise little boys!
In my whole life I have only heard one story in what could only vaguely be considered mainstream media (on NPR) talking about gender and school shootings and trying to offer insight and solutions. I know that a lot of people "get it" and many folks reading my blog are among those getting it, but the general population? That's what I worry about.
Labels: gender issues, school shootings, sociopolitical commentary, true crime, worse than porn
Sunday, April 15, 2007
"Best Cock" Award & James Ellroy
"BEST COCK" AWARD & JAMES ELLROY
Oooh, my boy/girlfriend, Delia, is this week's "Best Cock" and "Horniest" viewer-awards winner on iFriends
Eat your hearts out!
While Delia is webwhoring today/tonight, I'm driving her crazy with cam issues and complaining that she's not in the spycam chat. I'm sure she loves that. When I'm not busy doing that, I've been working on other stuff, eating, DDRing
, and READING.
An engrossing book, finally! I was trying to take a break from true crime, but this true story of James Ellroy's mother's murder beckoned to me: My Dark Places
. Yeah, the guy who wrote L.A. Confidential
and The Black Dahlia
, neither of which I've read (but did digest in movie form).
Having just opened the book today, I'm not too far into it yet but as a woman and sex worker (and true crime story hobbyist) I'm intrigued by the perspective of a boy who lost his mother in a brutal sex crime and then became a man making his living creating popular entertainment out of stories of -- you know -- brutal sex crimes
. I suppose it's nothing new, these stories told by men of raped and murdered women, but Ellroy is a good storyteller and this particular story is incredibly personal so it's fascinating the way he starts out with such a depersonalized narrative maintaining a giant distance between his adult self, the little boy he was at the time, and his mother. I can't wait to see how it progresses.
You know how people like to point at sex workers and label them damaged goods, drawn into the sordid skin trade never by choice but always by some history of past and present victimhood? Yeah, you know what I'm talking about. We do our jobs because we were sexually abused or because we've been brainwashed by pop culture into thinking we're only valuable as sex objects, blah blah blah. And we need to be rescued
You don't hear people saying that about the James Ellroys or the cops, though, do you? Because men are not victims, they are HEROES. They turn it around and do something PRODUCTIVE with their lives, right? But sex work . . . THAT'S not productive. No, but if I were to write books with pictures of dead swollen-headed mommies that would be okay -- not damaged at all! Talented . . . rich . . . respected and admired.
You can respectably write stories which are made into movies featuring mutilated skin-flick actresses and you don't have women trying to adopt you out of your life of crime and rehabilitate you into a humble-but-DECENT job (ex. flipping burgers at McDonalds, helping at a daycare in an inner city, or maybe teaching if you're smart enough) the way they would if you were a sex worker. Funny how that works, eh?
Some sex-worker linkage:
*Sex Workers Make Art (and raise money from dildo craftiness)
is going to be on Night Calls! I don't have an actual link to it, but here's a quote from her members-only area:
I've been invited to be a call-in guest on "I've been invited to be a call-in guest on Playboy Radio's Night Calls with Ginger Lynn and Christy Canyon. (If you have Sirius satellite radio, I hope you'll be able to tune in!) They'd like to talk to me about Veg Porn and the Veg Sex Shop for Earth Day, which is Friday the 20th. It's really cool to get that level of media attention for my sites, and I'm excited about it.Follow-up analysis:
See, for some reason I can't imagine anyone thinking that these people would be healthier or more productive if they were writing books about savage woman-killings instead of making porn. It just doesn't make sense to me.
Labels: accomplishments, body parts, books, James Ellroy, movies, pop culture, relationships, SEX, sociopolitical commentary, true crime, webcam shows, worse than porn
Sunday, April 01, 2007
When A Man Hates A Woman / The ugly side of sex and the Web
Read Violet Blue's When A Man Hates A Woman
Imagine being a girl and working really hard to earn the reputation of a respected voice in the world of tech journalism and blogging -- a world populated by disproportionately more men than women -- and to find yourself the target object of a hate-filled Web site. The tone and content of the hate site centers around sexually threatening you, suggesting ways you could be killed and have your corpse defiled, stating that you are a 'slut' and that your gender is also in question. Your straight male colleagues don't have this problem.
I've had some horrible things said to me online as a webwhore, but honestly NOTHING as calculated and fanatical as the venom of these people tormenting female tech bloggers. Of course, when I *do* get trolled it's almost always in response to something I've done or said that challenges gender roles or people's religious or political beliefs. Fucking Tucker with a strap-on, for example, set off my only vehement stalker/critic who carried on for years with his fantasy of how my dad must have "tickled my taco" and turned me into a depraved ass-raping lunatic. I also get a considerable amount of freaking-out and hostile chatter from the peanut gallery during my group shows when I have the AUDACITY to, you know, SPEAK rather than moan like a sick whale while spreading my holes. Hearing a camgirl talk about current events really pisses off a lot of guys. I can totally understand if it frustrates a person looking for pure porn and they don't want to stay and listen to the chatter, but the level of anger these guys spew because a woman DARED to stray out of fuckhole-mode reaches beyond mere frustration and into the realm of a virtual lynching where they are trying to punish me for stepping out of line.
Reading this article makes me realize how much safer I am in certain respects as a webWHORE than as a woman trying to make it in a "legit" male-dominated industry. It's scary. SCARY! I have to admit that I actually think the Kathy chick got a little carried away over that panty-face photochop, though. It's hard to say since I didn't see it in context, but on its own I have a hard time imagining I'd be afraid to leave my yard because of it or anything said with a similar tone. On porn "webmaster" boards we hear the same kind of violent misogynistic crap-spewing and it never really occurred to me to not attend a webmaster conference because of the things those people say and obviously THINK about women. It's not that I don't think those people are potentially dangerous, it's that I THINK MOST MEN ARE POTENTIALLY DANGEROUS. Everywhere. Anywhere. I don't need to read their anonymous internet posts and comments to suddenly be clued into that truth -- I've known it my whole life. Women have every reason to be afraid whenever they are alone in a strange place or in the company of strange men or even men they think they know really well. Do you really need to have someone post a picture of you with a photoshopped noose around your neck for you to feel threatened? Fuck, I feel threatened just walking to and from the grocery store alone.
I'm not trying to downplay the severity of the very personal threats to these women, I'm just saying that all. women. are. in danger. all. of the time. The fact that any of us are surprised when these threats come to light sort of boggles my mind. Still, the format of these threats to these bloggers along with what triggered them is very telling and worthy of attention.Hmmm. I keep coming back to this entry to edit it and have to do it again after following more of the links and reading more of the context and, well, HMMMMMMmmmmm. I have a hard time relating to some of the dramatic responses to some of the heckling. When it comes to putting people's families in jeopardy by destroying their privacy or sending harrassing and explicitly threatening emails I think that is criminal. But having the police say that a photoshopped picture of a woman with panties over her face is an overt physical threat is going WAY too far.
Labels: blogging, feminism, gender issues, sociopolitical commentary, true crime
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Feed the Whores to the Pigs!
FEED THE WHORES TO THE PIGS!
Here in the Pacific Northwest I feel like I've grown up in Serial Killer/Sex Predator central in between Bundy, Ridgeway, Yates, Duncan, Shriner and other super-notorious criminals. One of these piece-of-shit-guys was up in Vancouver, another guy like Ridgeway who killed lots and lots of streetwalkers and then ground up their bodies and fed them to his pigs. I didn't realize that he hasn't even been "brought to justice" yet until I read this entry in Audacia's blog
. The wheels of justice turn slowly, while the flesh-grinders spin quickly out of control.
Labels: Pacific Northwest, sex work, true crime
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Last night we watched part of this Frontline special
on women from the Ukraine and other poor countries who are sold into sexual slavery, raped, beaten, and held prisoners without payment for turning tricks. Of course the stories were horrifying (though not quite as bad as the one I heard on NPR once of an Albanian woman who'd been so severely beaten so many times by her pimp that she no longer had arms or legs: thrown out of a moving car a few too many times).
Not a good bedtime story, anyway. Not good.
I wound up having horrible nightmares. I was being held captive by the guy I lost my virginity to. He was crazy and going to torture and kill me. The look in his eyes was totally insane and no matter where I went, he was there. Everything was locked up but eventually I somehow made it out onto the roof but realized that even if I flew away he would follow me.
I woke up panting and sweating. I *hate* that shit.
Labels: dreams, sex work, true crime
Thursday, September 27, 2001
Sex Offender Notification
I am looking at a community notification flier. With a picture of a guy with scary unrepentant predatory straight-staring eyes and a really freaky closely-shaved haircut. I have another picture of him . . . and me standing next to him ten years earlier. Innocently average and handsome for a homecoming dance. Wow. The same guy. It's the same guy. The same guy I determined to have pop my cherry when I was 18 years old. My dad always told me I had a taste for shit.
I know it probably sounds bizarre but . . . I don't regret losing my virginity to him. Even though he tried to tell me afterwards that my mom paid him to have sex with me (which I almost believed even though I knew if my mom would have paid someone to sexually initiate me it wouldn't have been *him* -- she tried to talk me into losing it to someone more "experienced" but I insisted that he was the fellow virgin with whom I intended to share this rite of passage). Even though it's nothing to brag about and the thought of having intimate memories revolving around this disturbing person should make me shudder and wish to forget . . . I don't wish I never knew him or did it with him. I can't explain it. My mom thinks I have a potentially dangerous fascination with people who are bizarre and live on the fringes bordering normalcy. I guess she's right.
I just want to try to understand. The dangerous part is that inside me there's an unshakable belief (delusion?) that we are all the same. It's an ideal I cling to for the sheer horror and soaring hope that it gives me. Or maybe that's the justification I use to pursue my macabre fascination and unusually high comfort level with freaky people.
This sounds off the subject, but I am feeling the need to read more Carson McCullers. I love her and her characters so much. Reflections in a Golden Eye is what I need to read right now.
I remember catching him in the alley when I was 16. And knowing but not really caring that he wasn't just walking to a friend's the way he said. Knowing there was a different reason for him being in the dark alley where the inside of my sister's and my bedroom was visible through the wooden blinds.
I remember being 18 and finally having an unspoken fantasy come true. He knocked on our bedroom window. And I came out and we fucked standing on the cinder-block steps outside our back door while my mom slept inside and my sister wound up waking up and asking what was going on.
I remember being 19 (after he and I stopped talking and no longer fucked) and sleeping by myself in the detached garage we had converted into a bedroom. I remember all of the times I'd lie in the dark there listening to what I *knew* were human noises right outside my door. Whoever it was would get in there stealthily enough to not set off the motion detector. I wonder how many times I took a trip to the bathroom in the middle of the night and might have sleepily walked right past what must have been him. I remember I lay there alone once in the middle of the night, disconnected from the house and my mom and my sister. And this time he tried to open my door. It was locked. He knocked. He tried repeatedly to turn the doorknob. He wouldn't answer me when I asked who was there. He didn't say anything. I didn't know who it was. I always wondered if it was him but never thought it was. It didn't line up right. I never thought he would be that weird with me. So silent and anonymous with me who was not a stranger. The rest of that night I laid there in bed scared to death and having to piss like a racehorse until the sun came up.
But today looking at this flier I realize it must have been him. It must have been him. Two years before he was convicted for sneaking into people's houses and touching girls he didn't know in their sleep. Criminal Trespass. Sexually Motivated Felony. Did he grab something to steal on the way in?? Or while he was running out??
I probably would have opened the door in the middle of that night if I'd have known it was him. If he would have said something. But I don't think that's the way it was supposed to work. I wonder if I knew him before he knew what he wanted. I wonder if he got caught and convicted before he knew what he really was going to do. Or if that was all there was to it for him. Supposedly that's pretty unlikely statistically speaking. People like this (like what?) usually mature as criminal freaks, with their crimes escalating in severity and violence and seriousness and perversion as time goes on.
What would have happened if my door had been unlocked? What would have happened if I would have opened it? There is such a range of possibilities. Sad. Scary. Or fumbling to retain normalcy.
Oh well. Who cares?? I'm going to Memphis.
But first I'm going to drive to the end of the road. In the twilight. And drive slowly looking in windows lit from the inside. Knowing that he's probably in one of them. A beastly self-centered miserable mystery.
And later tonight I will drive home to my safe city so I don't have to sleep here less than a mile away from where he probably is. So I don't have to lie here and remember what it was like to imagine that someone was outside watching me. To imagine someone was close to my door. To tell myself I had an overactive imagination but then wind up experiencing the bizarre intersection of reality and paranoid suspicion.
Labels: fears, memories, SEX, true crime
Tuesday, September 25, 2001
I can't recall if I ever mentioned this before, but the guy I lost my virginity to when I was 18 is now a registered sex offender. My sister found this out a few years ago quite by chance by punching in the zip code of our small hometown into an online database of level 2 and 3 sex offenders. And there he was. Anyway, I never did find out exactly what he did (online it just says he's a level 2 sex offender and his crime was a "sexually motivated felony").
Well, last night my mom called to tell me that she saw a community notice posted at the fire station (don't ask me why my mom was hanging out at the fire station) warning residents of his move within our town. Why the fuck doesn't he get out of our town?? God! You'd think he'd move somewhere where nobody knows him. WHY has he chosen to reside in this small town for the past six years since his criminal activities? Now he is living up the road from my mom and dad and grandma and grandpa. Which is odd because the last time I drove up that road all the way to the end I had the distinct feeling he was there. Eerie.
Anyway, my mom didn't take the time to read the whole notice (I plan on reading it quite thoroughly when I go visit day after tomorrow) but apparently he was breaking into people's houses and climbing into bed with them. Apparently not raping them but hopping into bed and fondling them. A mother with her four year old son. An 11 year old kid. Who the fuck knows what else. . . .
Are my wierdo-detecting sensors messed up? I used to think he was just being melodramatic when he told me that he was a bad person and did really bad things. As far as I know he started doing this shit long after we were doing our thing together. Who knows, maybe I turned him into a freaky pervert?
There's a part of me that is shock-resistant. That doesn't believe that some people are "worse" than others and that we're *all* capable of doing amazingly crazy, bizarre and violent shit. With him it always seemed as though he were trying to *prove* he was a freak, not that he really was. He believed he was *so* different. I believed he was just obsessed with himself and his perceived differences to the point where he lost all perspective. I remember him telling me about his stepdad coming in and sitting on the bed while he was sleeping. Or *pretending* to sleep. And his stepdad stroking his thigh while he "slept". That's it. That's all. Gross, but apparently that is all the sexual violation he suffered. I then shared with him things that had happened to *me* that were more violating. Not to discount his experience with nastiness, but to just let him know I knew what it felt like.
I remember a year later the subject came up and he had absolutely no recollection that I'd told him I experienced anything like that. His mind was so completely absorbed with his *own* experiences he just had no room for thinking about anybody else. The fact that he seemed to be missing the ability to empathize with others -- that's the one time I recognized that he might indeed be different and bad. Well, I guess that and the time that he told me that he always felt like a million spiders were crawling all over him after we finished having sex.
Labels: memories, relationships, SEX, true crime