A schadenfreudal orgasm.
Delightful.
Author's Note: This lengthy diatribe was inspired by a sf-drama post -- a forum I do not attend, nor do I desire becoming invested in -- which elicited a severe twitch of irritation within me. I, very reluctantly, said nothing. After all, why would I, somebody who devotes massive amounts of their time into Dare-I-Say-PC research, ever want to ( Read more... )
Author's Note: This lengthy diatribe was inspired by a sf-drama post -- a forum I do not attend, nor do I desire becoming invested in -- which elicited a severe twitch of irritation within me. I, very reluctantly, said nothing. After all, why would I, somebody who devotes massive amounts of their time into Dare-I-Say-PC research, ever want to ( Read more... )
Another interesting thing. Sex work has only enhanced this, and it's a difficult mannerism to shed, which is particularly frightening given how unconscious it's become at this point. I'm conditioned to, to put it bluntly, pretending to earnestly give a shit about what imbecilic men have to say. Now, this mannerism has fortunately carried over towards how I interact with women, but the difference resides in the fact that with women, it's actually meaningful. This attribute pre-dated my feminist learnings, for what it's worth.
Anyhow: So I'd have this similar habit of unconsciously flirting with men, while simultaneously talking shit to them. Horrible pot-stirring, really, which is also unconscious. I've heard it once described as "The Hot-and-Cold Coquette", which is really just a fancy way of describing abusive behavior. It's not a matter of noticing when I'm accommodating and then kicking myself -- as I mentioned, it's all primarily impulsive, and I often have to arduously reign myself in -- both from letting the invisible hands instigate a smile, and from being a douchebag.
What's also astounding is that women, generally, tend to interact with me as they would with men. I can't really explain this well -- rather, I'm relatively uncomfortable elaborating on this publicly, because I haven't figured out how to articulate this yet. I'll expand on this in IMs, later on. To simplify here: It's not the "pretending" component, but rather the component of "masculinizing" me, whatever that even means. And the difference is that you and I respond towards men differently than how these (usually heterosexual) women interact with men. That's all I can say, for now.
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What's unfortunate about sex work is that "triggers" are so versatile, and you often forget which abusive or coercive incidents occurred while on the clock, or which took place in personal life. Everything blurs together incoherently. Sometimes, with more serious customers, they intersected: I recall dozens of paid creepy dinners with clients; receiving "personal" gifts (books on Egyptian civilization, sociology, Brazilian Portuguese -- one customer had inscribed a poem he had written for me in calligraphy, and framed it, which I should probably scan for you sometime.) I perpetually associate my gift-storage with being massaged, fondled, groped, their fingers climbing spiderlike down my skin.
Even the majority of my personal relationships -- particularly with male friendships -- were poisoned by this foreboding eclipse. Premonitions would occur, to which I'd be eventually proven correct in spotting their agendas, which would then be rationalized exasperatingly by them: "Yes, sue me for finding an attractive woman ... attractive." It was rather contemptuous to me, considering I prioritized intellectual companionship first and foremost, and I had wanted to believe they were fascinated by my cerebrum rather than my pulchritude. "Oh, but god, can't it be both?" For me ... No.
The notion of women being communal property is hardly a novel one. Similarly how Dworkin described the "piles of faceless bodies", I visualize piles of encounters, montages of invasive tactile sensations; distinguishing them is impossible. When I attempt to un-bias my perspective and "see the other side", a degree of self-blaming commences ... I, after all, was always brazenly outgoing, making even terrible people feel welcome in my presence, and then I could never get rid of them.
Aside from that, I cannot divorce the concept of "normal" advances with "unnerving" ones -- this shallow notion of "let's hook up so I can get to know you" was always fucking absurd to me. Regrettably, I also internalized notions of advancements and was rather aggressive with women myself. The concept of lesbianism is obviously not "I adore all women, and accept their advancements, every time" -- so I speculated if my being relatively un-threatened by women was rooted in the conception that women aren't supposed to be threatening. I also pondered if it was some degree of projected bi-phobia (swinger-phobia?); after all, most women who advanced on me were married or otherwise "taken", and it registered to me that I could be an afterthought to them rather than a goal.
And yes, we'll also chat on AIM.
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