Military Sexual Assault - How it Keeps the Ladies Away

When I was a high school senior in 1995, military recruiters called my house about once a month.

I am a smart lady; I would have been a good soldier, but I would not consider joining the military. You could not have paid me enough to join.
 
I learned about Tailhook and other sexual harassment and sexual assault cases through the news. The military was not safe then. It is not safe today.

Sexual assaults will happen - to women, men, boys and girls.  It is what society does about these crimes that matters. The military has a history of doing basically...........nothing.
 
In today's news we learn that Lt. Col. James Wilkerson is one lucky man- convicted of rape but set free by his boss. From the Washington Post: "The pilot, Lt. Col. James Wilkerson, had been found guilty in November by an all-male jury at Aviano Air Base in Italy in what was seen as a test case of the Air Force’s willingness to tackle such crimes."

Why is the composition of the jury mentioned?  One supposes that an all-male jury wouldn't convict one of its own for a frivolous wishy-washy rape accusation. Since a group of men convicted him, Lt. Col. James Wilkerson must have committed Rape Rape.  Since it was Rape Rape, it is all the more shocking that Lt. Gen. Craig A. Franklin, commander of the Third Air Force in Europe, acquitted him and set him free.

Congress is all upset, but Congress sets the rules for the military. If it is not happy with the system it has created, change it.

The Invisible War by Kirby Dick details the stories of men and women who survived sexual assault only to face condescension and outright hostility from their peers and superiors. If this documentary helps change the Armed Forces, and the chew-women-up-and-spit-them-out culture no longer thrives, the pool of young women willing to join will expand.

Aural Hematoma in Pets

Harper and Drew got into a fight over a rawhide chew on the 7th of February. I was unable to get to them with a spray bottle to break it up, so it lasted longer than an ordinary fight. Toward the end I heard yelping. Not a good sign. As usual after a fight I checked the both of them over really well.

While Drew was fine, Harper had a number of minor lacerations to the outside of his ear or pinna.  He shook his head before I could clean him up and stop the bleeding.  I later found blood on my bathroom mirror and the top of my toilet from a 23 lb dog shaking his head.  But the shaking did more than dirty up the bathroom.

I checked Harper's ears the next day and found a squishy but painless swelling the size and shape of a lima bean on the underside of Harper's pinna. Hmmm... lima bean.  I planned to let it go, and if it was still there when my dogs went for their annual visit in March, I'd let the vet know. A week later it was still painless but it had the thickness of large baby carrot and extended about 2 1/2 inches down to the tip of his pinna. The weight of it caused his ear to hang low. The next day the vet pronounced the swelling an aural hematoma.

The pinna is composed of cartilage sandwiched between two layers of skin. If a capillary is injured it can leak out stretching and filling the space between skin and cartilage. For most dogs, repeated head shaking causes the injury.The usual cause for this shaking is an ear infection or ear mites. Harper's ears were free from infection and mites. Trauma was the cause of his hematoma. His head shaking must have busted a fight-injured capillary or increased bleeding from one that was already ruptured from the fight.

My vet explained three methods of treatment, two of which she would not do.

Fandango Sucks. Tribute Movies Doesn't.

This is such a beautiful website:

www.TributeMovies.com

All the information I want without all the ads.

It's not fancy Fandango with all the slow loading graphics. It's not The Washington Post weekend movie section which never seems to load correctly.

It's old school internet.  I love it.

CJLL #7

 

A 1750s engraving picturing a devilish figure with tail, horns, and mustache hammering his cock like a blacksmith to make it longer, one would assume.

 The Cully Flaug'd and a torturous looking orgy

Historic sex toys from the 1700s (two dildos) auctioned off for over $5,000 - Ever wondered if people masturbated in the 1700s? Well they did, and they did it with tremendous kink. 

 

 A tower of ladies getting hit with a birching, and another dirty picture from the 1700s with a bonus hairy cock-shaped lantern on the wall.

Seventeenth century Japanese Natsuke Figurines (rope bondage)

Renaissance Royal Revels - 15th century - looks to me like pony play with a bridle and whip; A sketch taken from Last Judgement 1541 - that may show anal fisting; 1600s woodblock - Pan's got a boner

A No Good Rotten Day

Yesterday was a pretty bad day. 

It was so noisy: three helicopters over my house in the morning, honking cars on the way to Georgetown in the afternoon, construction in the parking garage that was deafening and audible in the upper floors of the building, more helicopters over my office, rain on the roof, barking dogs. Sometimes I just hate noise.

I showed up to my psychiatrist's office two days early.  I called the day before to confirm my appointment, but apparently the phones were down so they could not call me to tell me that my appointment was Friday.  Maybe I expect too much, but if I knew someone would be driving all that way to come on the wrong day, I'd use my personal cell phone to make a one minute call to let them know. But as some libertarians say, While I cannot push you into a fire, it is not my responsibility to pull you out. Sometimes I wish I could be so callous.

I ran into my psychiatrist in the hall.  He said that if I got my chart he could fit me in. The lady at the front desk didn't believe me and told me I'd have to wait about 3 hours, and she didn't want to give me my chart. I told her I'd wait as long as I needed to. But Jesus Christ, just do what I fucking ask you to do. Give me my fucking chart.

Anyway, got the chart and sat down to wait, then I started to cry out of pure frustration at myself for having such problems getting appointments right and at the fucking universe for having the nerve to have nonfunctional phones.

My wonderful psychiatrist fit me in almost immediately. After initial hellos, the first thing out of his mouth was "Are you going to the big S & M event in DC this weekend?" I told him that I was not going to Fetfest but I knew some people who were. He said he knew about it because a group he likes, the Kinsey Sicks, will be playing at the event.

My psychiatrist is a man well into his 70s. He just got back into the office after hip replacement surgery. And he loves the Kinsey Sicks.  (Video below) He's a pretty cool dude. And yay for nonjudgmental, sex-positive mental healthcare professionals.



By the time I got back to my office, I was on the verge of cussing everyone out.  My lovely coworkers talked me out of most of the bad mood.  I went to the grocery store after work, had a veggie pizza and cleaned a bit.  The sense of accomplishment in putting some stuff away helped lift my mood.

I watched Nature and Nova on MPT.  The Nova episode, Earth from Space,  blew my mind wide open. My Ms. Drew laid pressed up against me on the couch, emitting her signature silent but deadly farts. Introducing the new fragrance Deadly(TM) by Drew.

By bedtime I felt OK. 

When I have a bad day, I'm reminded of how well I'm taking care of myself, staying on my meds, working hard in therapy, making good choices about who I have in my life, what I do with my time, and how I handle setbacks. Almost every day was like this a few years ago.  Now a rotten day is rare, and I'm very grateful for that.

We Are All On The Warm Side Of The Color Wheel

Unfortunately had to steal the image from Jezebel.

Lose yourself in Humanae by Angelica Dass.

From the palest pink to rose to mauve to tan to copper to chocolate, we are all on the warm side of the color wheel. A similar project based on eye color would be awesome.

Marquis Coffee Shop by Galt Museum & Archives on The Commons

Guess I Heard That Wrong

Fresh out of the oven: A fast shot to heaven
Buckingham: By a lucky hand

Coming Out As Kinky

In this Savage Love Letter of the Day, Dan Savage argues that BDSM is something a person of any sexual orientation can do; it is a sexual activity, not a sexual orientation.  Therefore, it isn't anyone's business. The diversity consultants at my workplace say something similar:  Talking about your sexual activities is inappropriate, but you can discuss who you get sexy with.

I tend to agree with this regarding acquaintances, but just about everyone I'm close to knows I'm kinky. I feel like I'm hiding something if I don't discuss my membership in the community.  If I don't, I seriously feel like I did when I exclusively dated women and someone assumed I was straight.  I have a hard time putting words to why this activity requires disclosure, while my other activities like wildlife rehabilitation and photography do not. I guess it's sexual activity and part of my core all rolled up in one. 

Slap Me Baby. Hard.

Worrying about the future is the root of anxiety, and I shouldn't be doing it.  However, when I find myself thinking about a future relationship, I might worry that I'll fall for some dude who isn't kinky and has no interest in exploring.  That I'll be rejected for it.  In reality, I'd have to reject him, but in my worries I'm always the victim.

As much as it is important to me, as much as I want it to be a part of my life until I go to sleep for the last time, I don't see BDSM as my orientation. (I'll give this more thought.) But there are people who do. In the same column, Dan Savage posted an interesting  and very long letter from a young man who sees BDSM as his orientation. The letter writer describes it this way:

We live in a culture where those of us who are weird enough to have similar experiences have absolutely nowhere to go, which is why I want it in the public consciousness. Which is why I'm "out," why I intend on staying that way, and why I think being "out" is so important for those interested in BDSM. I belong to the local kink group, go to munches, etc., and we get a lot of people in their 50s who have been having sex for years and are just now getting interested in kink. I've been interested in kink since I was three and am only now—at age 24—getting interested in more vanilla-type sex. I prefer feminine-but-androgynous partners, but I'm bi and have played with members of both genders (if you believe in a binary, and many genders if you don't), and I'd much rather whip someone I was unattracted to than have just plain old sex with someone I was. And there are other people like me, regardless of how rare. My playmate between ages four and seven. My current partner. And there have to be others.

I don't care what you call what I am (although I'd be very curious about what you'd call me if not "BDSM-oriented"), but I'd like it to be known that people like me exist. Eventually I'd love to see it inserted in the public dialog, hopefully so the next generation has it a little easier. It's no fun being trapped in your own head, unable to talk to anyone and convinced that what turns you on, something you totally didn't ask for, is destined to eventually turn you into a predator and a monster.

We are all different, coming to BDSM in our own ways. The when and why of disclosure and the question of orientation will be on my mind for a while.

Art From Books

Cara Barer Fine Art Photography

Just had to smile today because I have six wonderful men in my life, friends I've met through work, my vanilla life, and my kinky life. All of them non-judgemental and kind to a fault. I'm doing something right!

The Queen of Crushes on the Act of Confesssion

During our most recent session, my therapist called me the Queen of Crushes. She's never had a client with more crushes, she said. I crush on everyone. It's ridiculous. Male, female, young, old, teacher, friend, coworker, Budget Manager (yum), acquaintance, dog walker. If I had super high self-esteem, I'd probably crush on myself. We discussed why I get them, how they have very little to do with the people they involve, and how it's about me and how I react to certain situations.

One thing I've learned over the last year is that one must shine a light into the corners so one can see what's going on. Confession is an industrial-strength flashlight. Whether I confess in person, by accident, or confess to the empty internet, the result is the same: I'm able to let it go. Effortlessly.

Orange Crush soda by Olivander, on Flickr

The same thing happened at work.  A coworker stormed into the office one morning, frazzled and tired, ranting about how her husband abuses her and the children. I've heard this before from her and called social services, because child abuse will not go unreported on my watch. Anyway, I got harsh with her and said that by staying she was letting her children be abused.  I just wouldn't let it go, saying it over and over.  Your letting your children be abused. Of course this was pushing personal buttons because my mom stayed allowing my father to verbally abuse all of us. Finally I busted out with, "My mom allowed us to be abused and I'm still angry at her for it."

Over the next week or so, I was able to let that anger go. I'd been working on that for years, but saying it out loud in that way changed something. It still hurts, but I'm not angry anymore. I'm glad to be able to say that and mean it.

There is something about the act of confession.  

Even though I have many problems with organized religion, I think the Catholics were on to something with Confession. (Of course if one has ever watched the Borgias, one may be forgiven for assuming confession served as a place for secret communication, a place to organize illicit liaisons, and a way to gather information on the failings and weaknesses of your enemies. But I digress.) So in its holy and pure form, untainted by mendacity, confession could be a life saver. Secrets can keep you stuck. The act of speaking your truth can be liberating.

Look Alikes: Hillary Clinton and Big Edie Beale

Today, after several postponements due to a stomach virus, fainting and blood clots, Secretary of State Hillary Rodham Clinton testified before a Senate committee about the attack on American state department personnel in Benghazi, Libya. She looked as well as ever and gave impassioned testimony.  This photo was on the front page of the Washington Post website this afternoon:

The Washington Post

When I saw the wide-rimmed glasses, the long wavy hair and the slight magnification of her eyes, my first thought was Big Edie Beale! The look isn't identical, but the essence of the image is.

www.raycaspio.com

I love both of these women.  Hillary Rodham Clinton is an icon to me, and while no one is perfect, she is someone I admire. Big Edie is the matriarch of Grey Gardens, a run-down estate in East Hampton, and mother of Little Edie, one of the most quotable ladies of 1975.  You understand.

American Soldiers with Photographer by Woodrow Wilson Presidential Library Archives

Morganatically

A new word I've discovered describes the way the aristocracy handles the transfer of fortune and privilege. In this type of marriage, a person of higher status will marry one of lower status based on the condition that neither the spouse or the couple's children have claim to the title or estate.

That's very harsh.

 I've just started watching Downton Abbey so I do not know if the union between Lady Sybil Crawley. (Jessica Brown Findlay) and the former chauffeur Mr. Branson is a morgantic marriage.

((((((mummification)))))))

The title is wrapped in layers. It's mummified, get it? AHEM, sorry for the bad joke.

I had the most wonderful experience with mummification a couple months ago.

So HB (a variation of his scene name) wanted to try mummification so I let him practice on me, wrapping me tightly from my shoulder to knees. He enjoyed the practice wrapping, and I enjoyed the feeling of plastic wrap on my skin and the increasing inability to move.

That was kinda it until I said, "You know what would be fun?"

Months ago I watched a scene with two men and two women. The women stood face to face while the men wrapped them from shoulders to feet in plastic. The guys pushed the ladies back and forth between them. It looked very fun.  Later in the scene they pushed the ladies onto the floor, punching with fists and shocking with a mini cow prod. Then the ladies started to "yellow."  At that point, I was a little disgusted but the scene wrapped up quickly.

I wanted to recreate the plastic-wrapped lady toss.  He brought over another guy, Sexy Dude (SD), one that I had my eye on for a couple months as just a really nice looking dude with all these muscles and stuff.  This new guy was kind and asked right away if he had permission to touch me.  As I was already immobilized and feeling a little helpless, I appreciated that.

I stood between as they pushed me just a little. Then they got a little further apart at which point they had to catch my weight.  HB said "Give her some shoulder!" and SD did, but I told them that I did not consent to hard impacts.  This is important to understand as a bottom, because consenting to one thing does not mean you consent to everything, and that even in the middle of a scene you have the right to refuse what you don't want.  Any play partner worth your time will respect that.

I kept my eyes closed as the falls grew longer and longer, so long that I screamed out because I felt like I was going to hurt myself if I plopped on the floor. (Even if I did fall, there would have been no breaks because we were on mats. Safety first!) That was so fun and so scary at the same time.  If I do it again, a blindfold would be fun.

Then the two put me over a wide spanking bench and hit me with riding crops and gently with their fists.  Two men at one time.....my fantasy!  :-) When the plastic wrap came off, I went from sweating hot to freezing cold in about 10 seconds.

After a bit of recuperation, HB bent over a spanking bench for a nice paddling.  I was the first time I used my West Virgina paddle for almost the length of an entire scene and the first time I topped a man. Also the first time that I've switched with a person the same evening.

It was almost the first time I tried buffalo, when HB and I, along with two others, went out for a 1am dinner in Dupont Circle. I got cheesesteak instead. 

Slowly I'm learning that sexual freedom does not eliminate the need for emotional intimacy. A year into my exploration of the BDSM scene, I've gained an appreciation for my body while engaging in some very fun scenes. I've developed a massive crush on an unavailable man. I've honed my ability to walk up to strangers and start up a conversation (I love your outfit!) But I'm no closer to developing close friendships or romantic relationships than when I started. If I'm truly honest with myself, relationships with others are what I'm after.  They're what everyone is after. They give meaning to life.

Yeah, a little frustrated and lonely tonight.