Arbitrary

new post at my new wordpress blog:

http://quietgirlriot.wordpress.com./

Come join me! If any of you have a wordpress blog I will link to it on my page!

X

Questionnaire for potential dominants

1. Are you single? If yes, go to q3. If no, go to q2.

2. Are you and your partner(s) open and honest about the fact you see other people? If yes go to q3. If no, go away.

3. Are you a feminist, or at least an ally of feminism? If yes, go to q4. If no, fuck off.

4. Do you believe we should be making kinky spaces and erotica that is accessible to everyone, including men and women, cis and transgender and gender-non conforming people, LGBQ people, and people from all ethnic origins? If yes go to q5. If no, go and educate yourself.

5. Would you ever consider switching during play or during a relationship? i.e. from D to S, from Top to Bottom? If yes, go to q6. If no, grow a pair.

6. Do you like any or all of Bitchy Jones, Girl with a one track mind, Michel Foucault, Stephen Elliot, Anais Nin, Sappho, Dirty Filthy Things, The Piano Teacher, Michael Hanneke? If yes, go to q7. If no, go and explore.

7. Do you agree with Judith Butler that gender is performance? If yes, go to q8. If no, go to the back of the class. If ‘who is Judith Butler’? just go, and don’t come back till you know the answer.

8. Do you practice safe sex, take responsibility for and talk about contraception with your playmates and partners? If yes, go to q9. If no, get with the programme!

9. Do you think fucktheory is the best thing on the internet since www.drawyourboss.com? If yes go to q10. If no, we need to talk. If ’what is fucktheory’? it is this: http://fucktheory.tumblr.com/

10. So are you going to buy me a drink then?

Moving to wordpress

Hello everyone

I am so chuffed that people have started to comment on my blog, and to use it as a place to discuss a range of issues. Without this interaction with you, blogging would be a lonely business. I have moved my blog to wordpress, where I will focus on the kink and sexual politics aspect of my writing. I will post on here and on the new blog for a while incase you need a bit of time before you come and join me there too! I might leave this here as well in case I still want to write about other stuff.

http://quietgirlriot.wordpress.com

Paradox

He says I am a paradox.

People always say that. Normally they mean it is paradoxical that a feminist and a 'strong woman' like me could be submissive. Let a man walk all over her like that. But I don't see any paradox there. It's just sex. You don't have to re-enact all your political views in the bedroom do you? If so, I expect the Christian Right and the environmentalists have a pretty dull time in the sack.

But he means something else. I know. The way his eyes bore into me the way he told me to look at him, but I couldn't. The way I suddenly got embarrassed when I was undressing and stopped until he told me to go on. He knows that there is a part of me that just doesn't want to do it. That is so shy I cannot quite bear to be exposed like this, naked and vulnerable in front of him. And yet I keep coming back, keep turning up in those heels I can't really walk in. Keep bending over. Expectant.

He says I am a paradox and he is right. But paradoxes can be hot, can't they?

Taken Part Two

When we emerge out onto the grubby street the atmosphere changes, darkens. If I thought it was some kind of game before, I know it isn't now. I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up as fear grips my body. He looks at me again, impassive, unreadable. I think about my flat, the comfy sofa, the bottle of wine waiting for me in the fridge. It seems they are in some other life, that I have left behind. Then I can't think about anything, as he grabs me by the arm and drags me along the pavement, digging his fingers into the flesh of my arm. 'Hurry up bitch'.

An alleyway appears and he leads me in, shoving me against the wall. He parts my legs with his, and pushes his body into mine, with all his strength. Now, I could not escape if I tried. I can feel the hardness of his cock against my clothes. He rubs it against me slowly and deliberately. Then he takes my face in one of his hands and pulls it towards him.

'Look at me' he demands. I force myself to look into his eyes, starting to feel a little faint.

'Tell me you want me inside you'. It almost feels as if I have been drugged. My head is heavy, I want to find the words but I struggle.

'I... I...'

'Say it, whore'. With that he pulls me by my hair, so my head knocks against the brick wall.

'I...'

'Yes?' I feel his cock thrusting into me.

'I want you in .. me'.

'Good girl'.

Suddenly he is undoing his trousers, pulling a condom out of nowhere and putting it on before he pushes up my skirt and pulls my knickers to the side. His fingers find me soaking. There is nowhere left to run.

'You filthy little bitch'

As he fucks me I can feel the back of my legs chafing against the brickwork. I hold onto him as if I might fall. He pinches my nipples and bites my neck, like some kind of animal. There is nothing I can do but take it. Our orgasms come at once, breathless and pained.

When he has finished he does up his trousers and waits while I try to straighten myself out.

Neither of us speak but he beckons and I go to him. He kisses the top of my head.

'Thank you' he says. 'Thank-you girl'.

And then he is gone. I stumble out of the alleyway onto the street, trying to remember who I am and where I live. As I walk home my tights ripped and my legs sore, I feel a throbbing in my cunt and I smile.

Taken

It is hot in the city. But underground it's a furnace. My tights are sticking to my legs as I clamber onto the tube with all the other sweating commuters. Hanging from the rail above my head, my underarms are not as fragrant as they were when I left the office. There is nothing I can do about it now.

The doors slide open to let another bunch of wilting workers onto the train. I squeeze myself further back into the vehicle. I am someone who likes her personal space, so the tall, muscular man that pushes himself right up against my body has well and truly invaded. I try to scowl at him but end up staring pleadingly into his dark, inscrutable eyes. His look says 'I will stand where I damn well want'. I cast my eyes down and keep them facing my shoes for the rest of the journey.

When we finally reach my stop I fight through the crowd onto the platform and and over to the escalator that will lead me back out into the humid evening. I do not turn back to look, but I sense someone behind me, so close I can feel his body lightly brushing against my back. I hold my breath. At the station entrance I hesitate, suddenly unsure which way to go even though I have made this journey a thousand times before. 'Hello' says a voice, deep and self-assured. It is him. What happens next is inexplicable, and completely out of character for me. My whole body is screaming at me to run, to ignore this stranger and get myself to the safety of my home. Maybe it is the heat, but I ignore my instincts. I smile weakly at the man, who has now placed his hand on my arm and is squeezing it firmly. 'Hello'. I am now disoriented and don't know where I want to go. Sensing my indecision, he says 'follow me' assertively, and starts to march down the street in the opposite direction to where I live. I do not disobey.

At the entrance to a pub he stops abruptly and so do I. Looking me dead in the eye he tells me, 'You are free to go. It is your choice. You do know that don't you?' I nod, in some kind of daze.

Before I know it I am sat next to him in a dark corner, sipping a glass of white wine, my fingers shaking slightly as I try to look composed. He on the other hand is as relaxed as if we had known each other for years. He wears a shirt but no tie, and the top button is undone to reveal the top of a hairy chest. I don't even know his name.

Suddenly I feel his hand between my knees, pushing them apart. Not roughly, but not gently either. He leans in and whispers in my ear. 'I want you. Now.' The words make me panic. I look around me, feeling slightly nauseous. I am in a public bar. I could get up to leave. I could alert a member of staff. I could scream. But I do none of these things. I am not in danger and yet I am terrified. I am terrified of what he might do to me. I am terrified of what I might let him do to me. I take a gulp of wine and feel his hand move up from my knees along the inside of my thighs. Oh God. I blush red crimson. I wriggle to avoid his fingers reaching in to find me. When I dare to look at him he is grinning broadly. 'Good girl' he says. 'You're a good girl.' Then he grabs my hand, pulls me from the seat and marches me out of the pub into the hot, humid night.

To be continued...

Riding The Third Wave

Feminism has had a resurgence recently. The third wave is finally here! In the UK there are feminist organisations sprouting up everywhere, dealing with issues such as equal pay, violence against women, objectification in the media, sex-work and lap-dancing.

And there's the rub. I do not identify with these feminists, because my attitude towards sex, sexuality and sex work is almost diametrically opposed to that of the 'third wave feminists' around me. If I feel so differently from them on these important subjects, maybe I am not in agreement on many others either.

Two new pieces of Uk legislation, achieved through lobbying by high-profile feminist groups serve to underline my point of view. The first means lap-dancing clubs now have to apply for a special 'sex establishment' license, which costs money to obtain. The second criminalises clients of coerced sex-workers. I oppose these laws. The feminist lobbyists did not consult sex workers about their proposals. The laws will mean sex-work will go further underground, and will probably lead to sex-workers being forced to work in more dangerous unregulated conditions. Also, these feminists seem led by puritanical motives: they feel offended by sex work, and they want to remove it from their sight, from their nice suburban neighbourhoods.

My kink has become more and more important to my feminism as time goes on. Sexuality is a vital aspect of how we express and identify ourselves. When the UK also made a law criminalising viewers of extreme pornography, which passed unopposed by most feminist groups, I realised kink is more than identity politics; it involves the politics of civil liberties and minority rights as well. So now I wear my kink proudly, along with my support of sex workers' rights, my belief in the equality of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender people, and my campaigns against racism and prejudice everywhere.

Your feminism is not my feminism and that's ok. But in setting up this Blog Carnival, I am delighted and relieved to find myself amongst people whose feminism IS similar to mine. I am also looking forward to exploring the diversity of our kinky interests in a safe and accepting space. Let's ride the third wave together and change the way it rolls onto the shore.