Sex, Hookers, Strippers, Big Girls

So I like sex more than anything. Literally. You could probably name anything, and I'd rather be having sex than doing it.

That is, except if I was a hooker. Now this seems random, but I don't think that I could enjoy sex if I did it for a living. I think all hobbies and things people enjoy can be ruined by doing it for a living.

"They" always say that, "if you do something you love, you never work a day in your life." I think that's nonsense. I loved baking and cakes decorating, I loved learning all about it at culinary school, I hated doing it for a living. Not right away, but after a little while.

I think being a hooker could be fun in the beginning, but after a while, it would take the fun out of sex. I mean, if it didn't include the random beatings/raping by John's and getting shorted on cash and all that shit.

Strippers on the other hand, kind of have it made. They don't (necessarily) fuck anyone.

After going to a strip club not to long ago, it seems like a pretty sweet deal, especially for some of the girls that were at the club I was at. The standard was that you had to tip every stripper. After each girl danced they would come around and collect money from you, and maybe shake there ass/tits at you.

Being a stipper must be AMAZING for your self esteem, in a way, besides the whole low morals, selling your body for money thing. Think about it, you dance around in almost nothing to nothing, and people throw money at you because they are so happy to get to see you naked.

Personally, I don't think super skinny girls are attractive, I don't like heavy girls, like maybe not as heavy as I am but they have to look "healthy," as they say, just heavy enough...

For example, no smaller than this girl

So everyone knows, the media makes everyone think they have to be super skinny.. blah.. blah.. blah, blame the media, Americas fat, all that good stuff. I'm not getting into that, but yeah, you know this jist. I was surprised to find that the heavier set strippers, of which I really only noticed two or three, were walking away with giant wads of cash, I mean, so much money. All for dancing for about three minutes, and then walking around to collect there cash and shake their ass. They easily had double the money of most of the skinny girls.

So I'm surprised, maybe because there weren't that many big girls, or maybe more men (and women if you count all the dollars I was throwing at those girls) than we realize like bigger girls. They looked healthy, they didn't look like a stripper who's done so much crack she can't see straight and hasn't eaten in days, she looks the way women are supposed to. Marylin Monroe style.

The Assault: The Drunken Pass

I have a small and select group of girlfriends. They are all the most amazing people, who I can trust with any information, and to take care of me if I needed it. I very seldom am accepting of new women into my life, I don't trust them. It's an instinctual thing, women are hard to trust because they are more emotional, they are more likely to stab you in the back. Due to this and a thousand other reasons, women are drama queens and to be trusted only at your own risk. I am more likely to befriend a man any day of the week than I am to let myself get to close to a new woman I don't know.

• Women with a childhood history of sexual abuse are 4.7 times more likely to be subsequently raped (Merrill, et al, 1997).
• Of female Americans who are raped, 54% experience their first rape before age 18. (Ibid)
• Of surveyed college women, about 90% of rape and sexual assault victims knew their attacker prior to the assault (Fisher, 2000)
• 69% of teen sexual assaults reported to law enforcement occurred in the residence of the victim, the offender, or another individual (Snyder, 2000).

Changed names...

• My roommates Best friend: Slut
• The guy I'm dating: Joe
• Slut's guy Friend: Creeper

I have always had the feelings that women were drama, and trouble, but while I was at college, I only had so many friends. Sometimes you just need a girlfriend, and while my lovely ladies were at their respective colleges, I had to fill the hole. I let myself get friendly with a rather anti-social girl, because that way, she needed me more than I needed her. After she got crazy and clingy and tried to sleep on the floor of my dorm every night (even though her room was just a few doors down); I had to make a new friend. My roommate was a pretty cool girl, and she was always asking me to come hang out. I eventually became sort of friends with her, and her best friend. I was more friends with her friend because we spent a lot of time hanging out with the same group of guys.

At one point, I was dating this really cute older guy. His eyes were amazing, he was sweet, and I really was attracted to him, in every way. I spent most nights in his dorm, and a lot of time texting him when we weren't together. One particular evening, he was having a guys night with his roommate, they were going to the bar and get wasted. My friends were all either home for the weekend or out at bars, since I was under 21, I had nothing official happening that night.

While I was on my trek from my car to the dorms, Slut pulled up next to me to see what I was up to. She had a case of beer in the car, we parked, and knocked back some beer. After we put a big enough dent in the case, we grabbed the last of them and headed back to the dorms. At the time I was a two beer queer. We weren't supposed to have beer in our dorm, but Slut had a friend who was over 21, so we went to Creeper's room, so if he got caught with the beer, he was old enough to have it.

I was already drunk by the time we got to the room, Slut kept asking me about Joe and how everything was, and what he was doing tonight, I didn't think anything of it, I was drunk. She kept passing me beers, and I didn't know my limit, and because it was happening so fast, probably not everything that I had drank had really gotten to me yet. I kept telling Slut that I wanted a cigarette, I wanted to go outside, and then I wanted her to take me to my room. I was so drunk at this point that I could barely keep my eyes open.

She asked to borrow my phone, gave creeper a hug and a big smile, took my phone, and left. Apparently, Slut had no plans of coming back for me. She was busy calling Joe and trying to get him to hang out with her because she wanted to fuck him, and she didn't care what that cost me. As I began to fade in and out of consciousness, Creeper started try and make moves on me. I pushed him off and told him I wanted to go to my room, he said he would take me soon.

As the time between conscious and unconscious grew, I woke up to Creeper on top of me, he was, rather vigorously, fucking my limp unconscious body. I tried to say something, but as I lifted my head I blacked out again. The next time I woke up, I was laying in his bed, half dressed, feeling very sick, and with a very sore vagina, he wasn't around. I managed to put pants on, and grab the rest of my clothes. I can picture walking up to my room as if I were watching myself, but I don't remember doing it. I just had a bundle of clothing and kept falling into the wall, trying to find stairs, trying to find my room, trying to be anywhere but there. I don't remember getting back to my room, but I remember waking up there, sore, and with the familiar feeling of being dirty all over. I stayed in bed most of the day, my roommate got my phone back from Slut, but I didn't want to do anything anyway.

Eventually Joe asked me to come see him, it was the only thing that seemed to make me feel better. He mentioned how Slut kept calling him from my phone, but he barely knew her and didn't understand why she wanted to hang out with him. I felt safe because Joe and I weren't having sex, never did, and he was a big guy so I trusted him to protect me. I remember falling asleep in his arms, and then him waking me in the middle of the night. He said he really had to pee and asked if I wanted to go for a walk. Why one of those things led to the other I'm not sure, but that's what happened. We walked around the dorm building, and he finally stopped somewhere to pee. As I was standing there in the middle of the night, in the dark, freezing, wearing nothing put my pajamas, and wrapping my arms around myself for warmth, I felt something come out of my already very sore lady parts.

That feeling is very hard to describe, but it scared this shit out of me. I had no idea what just happened, for all I knew, I just had a miscarriage and there was a very small baby laying in my underwear. I was terrified, but didn't want to tell Joe was had just happened. I started bouncing up in down, and telling Joe to hurry up, I was cold, and needed to go to the bathroom. We made it back to his room, and I ran into the bathroom to see what had happened. That's when I saw it, it was just there, smashed up, almost unrecognizable, a ripped condom. Which Creeper must have lost while he was violently thrusting into me.

That was followed by the standard fears that anyone would have if a condom ripped during consensual sex. What if I get pregnant? What is this fucking ass's sperm actually got to one of my eggs? What am I going to do? How long can you wait until you take the morning after pill? Will is still work? What are my chances? I spent the next day waiting at planned parenthood for the pill, I had seventy two hours, after the incident to get the pill, which would, by the grace of God, kill whatever devil seed that prick may have put inside of me.

I only trust a few girls, because bitches are back-stabbing, and usually just out for themselves. Slut got me drunk, and then passed me off to some creeper, with no regards what he would do to me, but she wanted me good and drunk, so she could take my phone and try and fuck my boyfriend.

Evolve One, Evole All

From the people who bring us those incredibly entertaining commercials about STDs.


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The Assault: The Story

Being the victim of a sexual assault hurts in a lot of ways, emotionally, physically, it makes you sick, and it's often embarrassing. For that reason, and for other reasons, even though I knew the person who assaulted me, I'm going to refer to him as "the boy." It's a hard story to tell, and I think that most important part, even more so than the actual events that ensued, my feelings, as it was happening, and after it happened.

I'm about 15 years old, I meet a boy with the prettiest blue eyes I'd ever seen. He was cute, he thought he was a bad ass but really he was very nice. The first few times we hung out, if we would walk somewhere he wanted to be on the street side, that way he protect me if something happened. He said on top of that, in some places, if you are walking with a woman on the street side it meant she was for sale, like a hooker. He seemed like a really nice boy, and I thought he treated me well.

My mom took me to his house one day and dropped me off, she didn't really like the idea, but she knew I was going to want to start hanging out with boys. I told her that I would call her when I needed a ride home. When I got there he was outside playing on his skateboard. His house had a wooded area behind it. We walked through the wide field and he said he wanted to show me something in the woods, he told me I'd like it.

We walked through a small winding trail, it seemed as if were forgotten, barely visible. As we came to an opening there was a little bench, the branches and leaves wrapped around the bench like a halo. They left just the right amount of room for two love birds to sit together. When I saw the bench up close it had a faded poem carved into it. I don't remember it exactly but it said something about the spot to come and sit, and love.

I told the boy that I thought it was really sweet that he brought me there, and the poem on the bench made it even more special. He agreed and said that he liked it because even though you could see people hiking through the wooded area, they couldn't see you. The boy liked the privacy, I didn't really understand why at the time. He started to kiss me, it was nice, almost special. He started to move his hand up to my breast, and I pushed it away. Again he tried but this time, he slipped his hand under my shirt.

Again, I pushed him away. He didn't like the way things were going for him. He tried to be sweet, say nice things, tell me how he liked me. He again tried to make a move on me. I still wasn't interested, he asked me why I didn't want to make him happy. I didn't understand. He gave me a hug and the next thing I know he has my arms forced behind my back. I try to fight him off, but I didn't think that he was going to do anything so I didn't try hard enough.

He pushed me towards the ledge of the space where we were, he pulled my shirt up to my neck. He asked me if I could see the people below, I could. He asked if I wanted him to push me off, I didn't. He pulled my bra down to reveal my breast to the people below. They weren't looking, but if they had looked up, they would have seen a scared barely teenage girl, more exposed than ever before.

Then he let me go, I quickly covered myself back up. He laughed, he thought it was funny, he didn't think that it was a big deal. I didn't understand. Then he started acting really sweet again, he didn't think I would get upset, no one was looking anyway. It was just a joke, he was sorry. He hugged me, told me to come sit with him on the bench. I joined him on the bench, against my better judgement, because I thought maybe he was sorry.

After sitting there for a minute I stood up, I told him we should go. He held my hands and started sweet talking me again. I told him to get his skateboard, I told him we should go, to pick it up, we'd leave. I'm not really even sure how it happened but he did something with his legs, and knocked me to my knees. He kept pushing my head into his crotch. I'd push my head back. He put his skateboard in front of me and told me to kneel on that so I didn't get dirty. He didn't let me go, but he was trying to make it seem like he was being nice.

There was a back and forth battle of him trying to get me to blow him by pushing my head, and me pushing back. When I'd get my head up, I couldn't get my arms free, so I couldn't get away. He told me that he could push me right off the ledge on that skateboard. I didn't seem to have many options. Eventually he pulled his boy penis out and forced me to put it in my mouth. The pushing situation seemed to work to his advantage. Any time I would start to pull my head up farther than he wanted, he would push it down as far as he could. His penis would push against my throat and I would gag.

As tears streamed down my face onto his lap, he ejaculated in my mouth. He finally let my head up. I spit out the salty, warm, slimy mess. I wiped my mouth, wiped my tears, and he tried to console me. I pushed him away. We walked back to his house so I could call my mom. I would let him touch me again.

My mom took me home, asked if everything was okay, I told her I was fine. My neck was killing, my pants were dirty, and I felt dirty all over. I pretended nothing happened. I hate myself for that. I thought of, and can still think of all the things that I could have done differently. Things that I could have done to get him off of me. I can go on for days about what I could have, or should have done.

Now I can only wait for time to heal my wounds, as I write this, I'm working through it. It has effected me for a long time. It has had a control over me. I hope that one day, the idea of it won't make me feel dirty, embarrassed, disgusted... One thing that I can be sure of, without a doubt in my mind; I'm a much stronger person now than I was then. For that reason, if the boy ever crossed my path, I couldn't be held accountable for my actions, I might even kill if I had the chance. I think about it often, what I would do, but I know in my heart, no matter how much the idea of confronting him scares me; I'd make him feel my pain.

The Assault: The Facts

Sexual Assault:

• When the act is intentional and is committed either by a) physical force, violence, threat or intimidation; b) ignoring the objections of another person....
• noun: Conduct of a sexual on indecent nature toward another person that is accompanied by actual or threatened physical force or that induces fear, shame or mental suffering.
• A sex act committed by one person on another pr son, or against that other person's will
• A sex act occurs when one person's genitals touch another persons mouth or genitals, or when a substitute for a person's genitals, such as fingers or an object, touches another person's genitals.

Pennsylvania Law: Considered a misdemeanor of the first or second degree. They can carry a 9 month to 2 year sentence, if convicted.

• Girls who were raped are about three times more likely to suffer from psychiatric disorders and over four times more likely to suffer from drug and alcohol abuse in adulthood (Kendler, et al., 2000).
• Female students who have been physically and/or sexually abused by a dating partner in the 9th through 12th grades are at increased risk for substance abuse, unhealthy weight control, risky sexual behavior, pregnancy and suicide (Silverman, et al., 2001).
• 23% of all sexual offenders are under the age of 18 (Snyder, 2000).
• Female adolescent abuse survivors are more likely to develop eating disorders - 18% binge and purge, while only 6% of non-abused adolescent girls do so - and are more likely to use illegal drugs - 30% compared to 13% of teenage girls who were never sexually abused (The Commonwealth Fund, 1997).
• The cost of crime to victims is an estimated $450 billion per year. Rape is the most costly to its victims, totaling $127 billion annually. (Miller, et al., 1996)
• On average, from 1992-2000, only 31% of all rapes and sexual victimizations were reported to the police(Hart, Timothy and Rennison, 2000)
• The overall probability that a rapist will be sent to prison for his crime: 16.3%. The average sentence: 128 days. (National Center for Policy Analysis, 1999)
• 1.8 million of the 22.3 million adolescents in the United States have been sexually assaulted (Kilpatrick and Saunders).
• Teens 16 to 19 years of age were three and a half times more likely than the general population to be victims of rape, attempted rape, or sexual assault (Rennison, 2000).

The absence of injuries often suggests to others that the victim failed to resist and, therefore, must have consented. Often, rapists only need the threat of violence to control their victims.

Everyone has the right to change their mind - even about sex. One form of sexual contact does not necessarily open the door to other sexual activity. Even if the two have had sex before, the perpetrator does not have the right to force sex on the victim.

There are many ways a person can be forced into sexual activity. Sometimes perpetrators use physical force or a weapon, but more often they use coercion, manipulation, or psychological pressure.

Allowing survivors to discuss sexual abuse/assault helps them heal. Speaking out about sexual assault might be an essential part of the recovery process. It empowers the survivor to erase the shame and stop the silence of sexual violence. However, no survivor should be forced to speak, publicly or privately, before they are ready. Every survivor is the expert on their own recovery. For many, recovery becomes an ongoing process of change that may continue for 1, 5, or 20 years.

I may have mentioned my incident in passing, but never to the full extent. I know that when I first ever discussed it, there was not assault mentioned. Chunks of the story were left out, and I made it sound like something normal. I've blamed myself for a long time. A really long time. I spent a lot of time not thinking that it was an assault, it was just my fault, and I deserved it. I know that it isn't my fault, but I still haven't come to terms with that. I still feel responsible. The first time I told the story, I explained it to my shrink, not in full detail, but overall. She said that it's good to tell my story because it takes away some of the strength and control it has over me. Therefore, I will work on my story, and eventually, the drafts I write I will be able to post, and let myself tell the whole thing, just how it happened.