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Clueless Dweeb Alert
Thu, 13 Jan, 1994
I don't have much time to post at present, but I wanted to comment once
more on this thread before it dropped off the net. Thanks to those who
supported my right to deal with what I percieved as harassment in
whatever way I saw fit and not just sit back and take it like a meek
little victim should. You know who you are .
To Kris and a few others who so confidently announced that "this is
pretty clearly your very first clueless wanna," sorry but you get the
highly coveted foot-in-your-mouth award for that one. It's my tenth or
eleventh, and that's just counting the couple of months or so I've been
on the Internet. If you count the _years_ I've spent on other large and
small online systems and BBSes, that figure begins to approach three
digits. Several of these relatively recent Internet emails have been
from very presistent clueless dweebs, guys who sent me letter after
letter after letter. I've treated them in the manner that works best:
ignoring them (but never hitting the delete key--in case I need to take
other action against such a person, I save his stuff in
descriptively-named files). But this little tiny, probably never-to-be
repeated one-liner ("I want to eat your pussy") was different...for me.
I'd like to explain how so.
My first introduction to sex occured when I was a child of 14: I was
raped (uh, since the sacred 11th commandment of certain asb regulars
seems to be Thou Shalt Not Asssume Gender In Vain, I suppose I should
mention for those of you who would never guess that this act was
committed by a man). After that exciting, dare I say thrilling,
introduction to the marvelous world of heterosexual sex, until about the
age of 25, I experienced four more attempted rapes (none of which
succeeded, thank goodness) and numerous incidents of verbal sexual
assualts, often accompanied by physical agressiveness which stopped
short of attempted rape. What those experiences gave to me were many
many great things which blessed my life and made me prosper. First of
all, for the majority of my sexually active life I have been frigid with
men, deeply ashamed of that frigidity and the inadequacy it represented,
but without the foggiest knowledge or ability to fix it (luckily for me,
this frigidity finally disappeared when I met Donald and started doing
D&S). Second, although I was frigid and did not really enjoy sex, I
thought that I was now ruined, spoiled (maybe you can't really
understand the meaning of these words unless you were brought up female,
as I was, in a strict Italian-American-Catholic family with the typical
domineering, possessive and sexist father). Anyway, my barely adolescent
brain reasoned that since the unique gift/experience I had been saving
for myself and someone very special was now gone with the wind, I might
as well go in the other direction and be promiscuous as hell. This
promiscuity and the attending shallowness of my hetero contacts further
alienated me from the male half of the human race.
Next, the rape experience made me fear, mistrust, and hate Men-In-
General with an white-hot intensity that has not left me to this day. I
am often amazed that I am not a seperatist lesbian. Perhaps if I had
not met Donald, and if dear Miriam had been a little more understanding
about my kink...(shrugging shoulders). I also become silent, withdrawn,
intensely shy and fearful around men. Eventually this withdrawal
developed into a sort of armour or a personal aura I carry around me
which broadcasts to any man in sight: "Stay away! I BITE!" Strange men
haven't approached me in years. Even in relaxed social situations most
men tend to steer clear, talk to or look at anyone except me. That's my
wall of bulletproof vibes at work, and I don't know how to dismantle it
anymore. It's become automatic. I see a strange man and up goes the
barrier. I both love and hate this. I love it because it means that no
one has tried to rape me in nearly ten years. I finally feel (probably
falsely) immune...safe. I hate it because it makes me feel intensely
unattractive and isolated--like I am no longer a member of the human
race. A female leper with her disease written in scarlet emotional
letters across her breast.
I am working on dismantling the wall, and sometimes I even approach an
attitude toward unknown men that somewhat resembles friendliness, but
this is one of those things that's going to take a long time to
dismantle completely. I just feel too pleasantly safe keeping men at
arm's length. Online communicating has been a real godsend for me,
because it is one of the few occasions when I think I actually see some
men as thinking human beings rather than as dangerous walking hard-ons
looking for ports to plunder, pillage, and burn.
I also react in an intense and exaggerated fashion to those many, many
events that "retrigger" the trauma. Hearing someone walking or jogging
with a heavy tread behind me does it. I get all scrunched up in the
stomach and whirl around instantly and wait watchfully (if it's a he)
till he passes me. Often the poor jogger, seeing the fear I can't keep
off my face, will try to reassure me that he's safe and everything's OK.
Walking alone or at dark does it--I clench my fists, become stiff as a
board, but surprisingly, instead of fear, I feel waves of hatred washing
over me (it's automatic now, but I originally tried to stir up the
hatred in these situations because I thought that if I was angry enough
I might be able to tear an attacker's balls off before he has a chance to
do anything to me--and boy,...the desire for such vengence is still so
very strong in me).
I am just beginning to explore what it is like to do scenes with other
people there besides my master, but so far, these other people have all
been women, and the reason I cannot see it being any other way (and in
fact, the main reason it has taken me five fucking years finally to get
to this point) is that when I think of being humiliated or tortured
or played with in front of OTHER MEN, a part of me just goes berserk--I
scream and cry in combined rage-fear that they (men) don't deserve this,
that not a one of them has the right EVER to see me vulnerable or naked
or sexual and that not one EVER WILL. This blended feeling of horror
and hatred at the thought of a strange man having some sort of sexual
advantage over me is gradually easing up, but it is a long and hard
battle.
Finally, I tend to cringe up in a ball and start to cry because I feel this
absolutely helpless rage, terror and shame, when aggressive or
abusive sexual comments are slung my way from a guy or a group of guys
on a street or someone in a passing car. And you know what the most
common comment men yell out at me is? You guessed it: "I WANT TO EAT
YOUR PUSSY!!!!!"
Anyway, this is what it can be like inside the head of a woman who's
been raped, and experienced repeated rape attempts. That's why I
reacted the way I did, rather than the way in which I typically respond
to dweeby wannafucks. It was a very personal thing, it pushed that
irrational button in me that since being raped has said: "Men can get
away with saying and doing whatever they fucking want to me and I have
to meekly take it if I don't want to be raped again." But in this case I
could *safely* do something about it, and doing something about it, in
exposing this creep who had inadvertently hurt me so badly with his--or
her? Yeah, right! Those of you who speculate that it was a her: your
diapers are showing. Get some life experience, pleeezzzzzeee to cover up
those Pampers! The odds are at least 500,000 againts a woman writing
that in this situation [ie, a response to my public post about a
Howard Stern show which involved gooey food acts] and anyone who has
known many women--online and off--knows that. Anyway, exposing that
person who had inadvertently hurt me so badly with his dweebly one-liner
was intensely empowering (there's that word again--I can't seem to get
away from it). I felt great! Wonderful! YAA HOO! I didn't have to avert
my eyes nor walk quickly away and pray that he wouldn't follow me or
they wouldn't gang up on me. I didn't have to fear responding because
he might try to drag me into his car or throw a rope around my neck or
grab me from behind or pull a knife or gun on me! That was one "I want
to eat your pussy" that *I* didn't have to silently and meekly take out
of fear of physical retaliation! And unless you've been in my shoes and
spent years in terror of that half of the human race that has genitals
different from yours, you are probably not going to understand word one of
this.
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