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May 12 2011 118 notes Source Source
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I hate the lie that sex has to mean pain for girls.

suburban-babydoll

I remember when I first learned about sex from my mom, I was probably about 6 or 7 and I had been coming home repeating sexual terms I had heard from older kids on the school bus. My mom didn’t want me to learn about sex from a bunch of vile porn-obsessed young boys so she decided to teach me about it “properly”. She ended up showing me videos from the 50’s and 60’s and telling me that sex was supposed to hurt for girls, not even just the first time but the next few times after that too. She told me I would bleed, she said I might cry, and I was outraged. I told her I’d never ever do it if it was going to hurt! Why did I have to let a man hurt me one day, why was I expected to accept that?? She laughed and said I’d want to do it for the man I loved, that I would want to make that sacrifice and endure pain to please him if I really loved him.

I was so heartbroken that just because I was a girl I was the one expected to sacrifice and be hurt. But I was stubborn and I refused to believe that it absolutely HAD to be that way. I knew I was bisexual from a young age because when I dreamed of marriage and falling in love, my day dreams could star a girl or a boy depending on my current crush. And I thought maybe I’d end up falling in love with a girl first and having my first time with her. But I also wanted to prepare incase I ended up falling for a boy since no matter how hard I tried to control my crushes as a child personality always outweighed gender. I couldn’t force myself to consciously control who I fell for which I guess was a silly thing to try to do and only lead to frustration with myself. I thought that maybe if I did fall for a boy that he would at least comfort me after he hurt me. I was lead to believe that even getting a man’s empathy was a rare and a lofty expectation.

My dad’s shitty old computer became infected with a virus when I was 12 or 13, and one day I heard my stepsister screaming in the basement. I rushed down the stairs to find the screen filled with overlapping pop-up windows showing women being violently penetrated in all positions, pain evident on many of their faces. Men’s voices shouting misogynist slurs erupted from the speakers making them crackle. My stomach sank to my feet. This was what men may one day expect they can do to me, my friends, my stepsisters.

At 15 my “friends” ditched me at the mall and I was attacked making my way to the train to get home. The man told me he was going to destroy my body and that he’d done it to other’s before me, he slashed my arm with a knife while I fought to get away. A group of people walked too close and distracted him enough that I broke free. I ran until I had an asthma attack in the mall lobby. When my mom came to pick me up after a tearful phone call I didn’t tell her. I claimed to be upset about my “friend’s” betrayal and that was all. I didn’t want her to take away my freedom out of fear.

At 16 I began researching ways to have a “pain free first time” with little results, most articles urging me to just accept it and maybe take some Advil before to prepare. Some articles telling me that I should be proud knowing that “popping a cherry” made men feel great about themselves. That I was a conquest, that my blood was like a trophy for a man’s accomplishment at winning consent to violently enter my body. Most searches told me that my shame was a small price to pay for boosting a man’s ego, and that it’s only a “short but very sharp pain”. Most searches told me that my hymen would magically disappear along with my “virginity” when I would later learn that it heals just like any other skin. And sex is gaining a new experience not a “loss” for me and a win for him.

At 17 my high school had a woman from the city’s sexual health centre come to teach sexual education. She taught and entire unit on consent, she taught us methods all couples could us to have safe sex not just straight couples. She taught us that the hymen is not supposed to “break” or “pop” and how to avoid it, and that if it did tear it would heal in 48hours on average. She called it a vaginal corona not a “cherry” or a “seal”. She taught us that women’s pleasure is just as important than men’s and ways to achieve it. She taught us that pain during sex was not normal or something we should accept. I wanted to jump out of my desk and hug her every class she came to teach.

At 18 I fell in love with a girl, but I was too shy and she got a girlfriend before I could manage to say anything. Then a boy I’d always had a bad feeling about got a crush on me. I was constantly pressured to give him a chance because he was “funny” and “nice. And I actually started to because I felt I should. Until at a party he pinned me down and shoved his tongue down my throat until I couldn’t breath and began to have an asthma attack from the panic. In my desperation for air I shoved him into my friend’s dresser so hard he was left with deep purple and green bruises, and I stumbled down the hall to my friends. I later found him bragging about it and getting high fives from other boys at the expense of my reputation. He asked me on a date the next morning and I began to get stomach aches whenever he texted me. I kept putting off the date until I finally rejected him, he told me my rejection was “harsh” that it was “blunt”. Chocking me with his tongue was what was harsh.

At another party months later he asked me why we couldn’t make out again, he asked me what had happened to “that thing” we had between us before, he told me about how his father had died of an overdose, he pulled me into his lap, he tried to touch between my legs. I called my dad and left. The next day he asked me out again, I refused. Two days later I found out that after I left the party he had a very drunk girl give him a blow Job until she vomited all over him. I felt so hopeless and disgusted.

Still 18 at the end of grade 12, on graduation night I started flirting with a boy I had tried to ignore I had a crush on because I thought I had no chance. Other boys had pinned me up against the wall to smell my hair that night, other boys had tried to touch my thighs as they sat down next to me that night. This boy just sat next to me and talked about chess even though I was too drunk to follow and he was too drunk to clearly explain anything. When another boy’s father rented a limo to drop everyone home safely, he sat next to me and talked about ice cream and our hobbies and never touched me. And when I rested my head on his shoulder he rested his head on mine.

When we had our first kiss in the high school lobby he leaned down and asked if it was okay first. The first time we made out at a party that summer he asked if it was okay first. He was so careful in making sure we both agreed and were comfortable about every new thing we tried sexually that I was never nervous. He went down on me so gently and lovingly that I teared up because I never thought anyone would ever touch me like that. And then when I offered to return the favour he said I shouldn’t feel like I had to reciprocate just because he’d wanted to do it to me.

On his 18th birthday after we sang happy birthday people shouted about “birthday sex” and he reminded me that he didn’t expect or feel entitled to anything I wasn’t ready for. We didn’t try intercourse until almost two months later after I’d been on the pill for a while, the day before I turned 19. He’d gone down on me so long beforehand that I knew I was ready and had suggested it out of the blue. He reminded me that I could still wait as long as I wanted or change my mind and he left to get condoms. I lay there knowing I was sure, knowing I could trust him. He was so nervous about hurting me that he had trouble staying hard. Until he gently touched me and saw that I was relaxed and felt good.

I got on top, it felt very odd and unfamiliar but it felt good. He asked if it hurt at all and I reassured him that it didn’t. We laughed, and we kissed, and we held each other. And when I admitted that I hadn’t had an orgasm he went down on me again until I did. We snuggled and had a nap after and he held me and kissed my head, and I fell asleep feeling so loved and happy and blissful. I felt like I was floating above myself I was so relaxed and happy. And we are still together to this day.

I wish porn was not held as the standard, that pain and fear were not expected for girls. When my mom found out I’d had sex “for the first time” (even though in my opinion I’d been sexually active having different forms of sex long before having intercourse.) The first thing she asked was “did it hurt?” As I blurted out my indignant “NO it did not hurt!” I thought back to what I’d told my mom as a child. That I refused to ever have sex with a man if it was going to hurt and be humiliating and bloody. I wanted to scream “I told you! I knew I didn’t have to accept that! Why do people tell girls to accept that???” I never thought my sexuality would be anything other than a duty, and a fearful unpleasant burden. And I am so glad I didn’t let porn, and the uneducated (often sexist) opinions of others convince me otherwise.

Reclaiming your sexuality is not about reenacting violent porn to “please your man”. It’s about you too, it’s about refusing to settle for anything but love and tenderness and joy. You can “spice things up” in the bedroom without relenting to anything you don’t want to do. Sex is about being actively involved and being able to enjoy it, not just allowing someone to act upon you as if you were an object. You have the right to tenderness and care, you have the right to refuse to accept pain from your partner. Don’t let porn or society tell you what you have to put up with especially from the person who is supposed to to love you. Never let porn tell you what you should like or be okay with.

Nov 2 2018 1,070 notes Source Source

Things I don’t do anymore

creatingnikki

1. Stay up all night. I used to think of that as an achievement as a kid and then as a lifestyle as a teenager. Now I know how dysfunctional, unnecessary and unhealthy that is. 

2. Read their letters, our old conversations, my old diaries. They bring up emotions that belong in the past. They bring up desires that have no place in the present.

3. Hate on the girls my ex boyfriend or crushes date. I don’t see their beauty or intellect as something that pokes my insecurity. To be honest, some of them inspire me. And for some of them I feel like warning them about the jerks they are getting involved with.

4. Think I’m old and mature and wise and must get everything right. I wasn’t that way 5 years ago, won’t be so in another 10 years and so it’s okay to make mistakes as I grow.

5. Wish to live a happier live than them. Because you know what? I don’t care anymore. I don’t keep a track of how happy she is or what she is doing. Happiness isn’t something that has to be divided between us. It’s not like if she is happy then I have to be less happy. It doesn’t have to work that way. She can be happy and so can I and there is no correlation and there is no race. All I have to care about is what I am doing with my life and whether that is going to make me happy. Not happier than her. Not happier than him. Just happy enough for me.

6. Assume things about people. Most assumptions are based on stereotypes, physical appearances, rumours and people’s past actions. And all these things are horrible bases. Neither do I assume what people think or feel about me. That’s more toxic than you realize.

7. Get into arguments and discussions with those who eat meat about whether it’s better being a vegetarian or a non vegetarian. Honestly live and let live, right?

8. Believe it’s my duty to help every person who is sad. Because the truth is everyone is and I can’t live my life this way. I need to be here for me too.

9. Decide for myself that I’m not good enough for something before I even try it or apply for it. I’m going to do my part and apply for all the jobs I want. They can decide whether I’m competent or not. I don’t have to decide that for myself. I am going to tell my crush I like him. He can say no for himself. But guess what? He might just say a yes.

10. Ignore what people say about them. If they tell you they are selfish or manipulative or messed up, believe them. Just do yourself a favour and believe them. Believe what they tell you about themselves rather than what you would like to believe about them.

11. Use language of hate and blame for myself. Being mean to yourself is never going to help you. Give yourself the benefit of the doubt, embrace your awkwardness, stop apologising to others for your weirdness and learn to say sorry to yourself when you say something  derogatory about yourself, even if only in your head. 

Oct 21 2018 1,067 notes Source

She thicc

terroristcells

Thoughtful
Honest
Interesting
Caring
Compassionate

Sep 13 2018 293,731 notes Source Source

420moshdad

you dont wanna mess with me i cry easily

Sep 6 2018 869,324 notes Source Source

bastille

Why the fuck would you go big when u can go home

Aug 4 2018 245,799 notes Source Source

baddiebabbie

anxiety: they hate you

me: who hates me

anxiety: they

Aug 4 2018 428,066 notes Source Source
  • Me: I'll just lay down for a couple of minutes and then I'll start studying
  • Narrator: she knew very well she was not getting up again for the next five hours
Aug 4 2018 102,774 notes Source Source