Featured

Medicine & Ritual

“I swear to God. I swear at God. I won’t mention what He does to me. I lack nothing I need unless you count everything I want.” –Kaveh Akbar, Calling a Wolf a Wolf

The first journey I ever had, full journey, not the day I sucked on grapefruit all day to potentiate my mushroom chocolates with my best friend freshman year of college, frolicing through the woods at 10 pm watching our hands disappear into the bark. This was deeper, illuminating bits of me I was terrified to see. When I was 25, a man I had been dating three months told me he was moving to Boulder and asked me: do you want to do something new with your life or do you want to stay here and get drunk all the time? Like a gun to the temple, God, that’s a no-brainer. I was impulsive, freshly off house arrest, freshly undressed and growing my hair back after I shaved it in a black out. Adjusted my black bob wig, and said

“Sure. Sounds fun. But I have to ask my probation officer.”

I had lived in Virginia my whole life and was quite literally drowning on a daily basis. Third arrest. Second ultimatum received by a man (stop drinking or else). First time I ever considered the word “addiction” had more personal meaning to me than just something that runs in my family. Maybe a little more close to my chest than affecting those I cared about. The state cared nothing about whether I went to Colorado. I merely had to continue to get my paper signed saying I was attending AA, which I was, and then would resume downing jugs of wine when I got home, purple shit eating grin and no fucking clue where I was or what I was doing but always waking up in the middle of some imminent consequence. They said I had to go to AA. They didn’t say I had to participate.

My ex and I decided to have a big send off and go to Bonarroo, the huge music festival in Tennessee, and though I had quit drinking for my boyfriend, maybe four weeks by then, I told him I was going to have one last festivity. I blacked out immediately upon arrival and remember wearing my iPod at some point while Deerhunter was playing, texting my ex and telling him I was lost. Ended up watching The Wizard of Oz alone and fighting with my boyfriend over text. Undeterred, we bought a bag of psilocybin the next day and I decided to be the bigger person, since I had done this before, and take more than my ex and lead us on our journey.

Cut to me lying on the ground in the middle of the walkway. Cut to me staring at the Ferris Wheel mouth wide open. Cut to me asking him if he can see the scary faces too. Cut to someone high fiving us and offering us a stuffed animal. Cut to me watching a grasshopper slowly walk across the grass as Florence and The Machine played in the background and I heard a voice somewhere, a whisper. I turned to my ex and said “I’m an alcoholic. God told me I’m an alocholic and I don’t care what you do but I’m never gonna drink again.”

Cut to me drinking two beers the next day and poignant. Reflecting on the taste and the way it never seemed to hold me long. The way it enraptured me only in longing, but in actualizing the euphoria faded away. Cut to me throwing out my pack of cigarettes the next day, the ride back. Cut to me never drinking again. Cut to me never smoking cigarettes again. It’s been 12 years since I drank save one time when I drank a THC tincture to get high shortly after my dad died. I felt like he wanted the vodka the THC had been soaked in and I felt no real regret stumbling up the stairs, mumbling this isn’t terrible but it’s definitely not for me. I don’t even think about drinking. I don’t pine for it and if you would have told me that one day I’d tell you I don’t think about alcohol at all, I would slap you in your smug lying face feeling this some subtle acerbic judgement of how I spend my time.

“All I do is think about alcohol. All I do is think about not drinking alcohol, then drinking her again.”

They say you shouldn’t start the story in a boring way but capture the person first. Or exert expertise. Show rather than tell you have the sincerest understanding of subject matter. You are qualified. You are above all entranced by the dance between medicine and drugs, the fine line we draw based on how society has learned to handle the substance, and the depth of each compound. That it contains pieces of God and that it contains pieces of hell. That it is both addicting and freeing. Since that journey, I’ve had many more journeys; psilocybin, acid, thc, kratom, and most recently and even more potent for healing, MDMA. I have experience guiding people through these substances and with them, on them as well. I have experience mixing medicines. Mixing medicines with herbs. Taking too much and having a hard time, a bad time, a panic attack. Taking a small amount and merely seeing the sun shine through a branch and connecting the branch to the cardinal that usually means the dead is nearby. Feeling intuition take over my spine. Feeling the sun on my clavicle. Feeling the levity of death in life.

I am happy to offer medicinal journeys to people. I am happy to offer my expertise for those who want to journey on their own. I am excited for this new path I am on and to also continue using herbs and supplements to heal as well. Incorporate my herbalism training. Incorporate my reiki certification. My social work experience. Even my doula training. My years of helping and caregiving for the elderly. And my years of being stuck in a labyrinth of shadow, reaching. Learning every nook of myself. Learning the properties of the Earth and the medicine she offered me, almost baneful at times but in the right dose, clarifying. The poultice and the wound often come from the same exact place.

This is merely an introductory post. I am excited to elucidate these journeys more but TL:DR–I am offering guided MDMA sessions and select guided Psilocybin journeys as well. I will share more about my journeys with each. Above all else, please

“just say yes and step into the consequence.”

–kaveh akbar, calling a wolf a wolf

Featured

who am I?

I have been getting so many inquiries and I want to clear up a few things.

I am a kinky provider, alpha and dominant leaning. I offer a variety of services that are listed as plainly as I can list them on my site. Due to obvious reasons, you will in some cases, have to read between the lines. I offer companionship and domination. I also offer a mix of the two together. My motivation is playful mischief rather than total sadism, though I am a bit of a sadist at times. I am also a switch and will switch, over time, for those I have seen a few times and trust.

I also love witchcraft, sex magic and the sensual side.

If you are coming to me because you have a fetish and I don’t fit into your fetish of what a dominant witch should be doing, you are not submissive, sir, you have a fetish. While I do entertain fetishes and often enjoy exploring others’ kinky sides, I am not interested in being dictated to in an order to accommodate your every capricious need. If you have read my site, then you know that I am also here to teach cishet men how to practice consent and behave. I am more challenging than a softer GFE but just as wet.

I am soft.

I am also edgy.

I am assertive.

I am able to set boundaries.

I enjoy men who listen.

If you are confused, read it again.

If you are still confused, go follow my onlyfans.com/catarinakush or twitter.com/the_hard_fox to see how playful I am.

If you are not looking for a mischievous, playful fox, seek elsewhere.

If you like this, email me catarinakush484@pm.me with 1-2 references and linkedin or ID to screen. Deposits required.

Featured

READ MY SITE BEFORE CONTACTING ME

Talk to me:
catarinakush484@gmail.com
NO TEXTING OR CALLS//NO LAST MINUTE APPTS
Include: one to two references with valid website/email. no phone numbers.
your full name, work number, and workplace or LinkedIn (for verification only) or similar verification (picture of drivers license, passport). Deposit (non-refundable) required for all appointments. Cancellations within 48 hours–I expect donation in full to be sent to me.

Look at me:

Twitter: https://twitter.com/catarinakush
onlyfans.com/catarinakush for videos and more pics.
See my stores:
 https://iwantclips.com/store/618584/CatarinaKush 
catkush.manyvids.com (purchase individually or become a member for 50.00 a month and stream all of them)

send me money: c8shapp $catkush

I make customs xx too

Featured

my kink

I have been meaning to write this post forever. This about me. This flowery tale of what I like. This explanation of advertising. This peek into how I got here. I like anything.

That’s the truth.

My partners and I played games. I used to make them submit to my role playing games all the time. Not the regular nurse and sick patient, etc. but just making it up as we go. Introducing new elements. “Now, let’s get the ice cubes,” I’d suddenly say and then I’d swallow them with my hot mouth gone algid. Or I’d make them close their eyes until I said a certain innocuous word like “ok, dog’ and they’d pop them open to see what position I was in. I’d swat them if they touched me during the “hands off” game. “Ok, cat” and then they’d close their eyes again.

I have tried to introduce these games to my clients now but it is hard to advertise that you enjoy “making game up as you go.” That’s precisely it though. And my regulars get to see this side of me more. I ask for discreet likes so i can build on who you are and we can have fun together but I enjoy the spontaneity of teasing; suddenly presenting the flogger when there was no flogger before, to add an element of ploy to our tryst. I clearly had my own agenda all along. My regulars also see my more sensual and wigless side where I focus on the teachings of tantra to build the bond between us.

I like anything but I like the joy that comes from having an open mind and introducing elements into play based on personalities. I’ve outlined it several times: tease, tongues, gaze, dirty talk, instruments, light restraint, etc. but does anyone really understand what that means in motion? What does it mean to want to be in charge? It means I don’t like bossy bottoms. I will do scripted play so long as you allow room for creativity to enter. Ask anyone who has bought a custom from me. You very much are able and allowed to dictate but it better be brief and an outline. It’s not fun to do such detailed scenes. It’s not fun to walk into a pre-set date.

My job does not stick to a checklist but a nebulous feeling. Do you want to feel held? Do you want to feel teased? Do you want to feel slutty? Do you want to feel feminized? Do you want to feel both taken care of and dominated with force? First sessions are never that simple. I have people who see me monthly or every two or three months and our bond only gets stronger. I prefer long games: long dates, seeing people more frequently and am beginning to open to more sexual surrogacy services. Getting to know people assists more in how well the evening goes than a detailed email sent beforehand.

I am refusing to be boxed in to a check list. I offer both companionship and domination. My intensity never wavers but I present harsher online to deter certain people, and in person, an angelic sadist. I can develop very fast connections to people and tap into their energy to read the situation better. I repeat this often: things are only as interesting as we both make them. i am encouraging men to explore themselves little by little and be honest about needs while challenging the oppressive side of themselves that says they have to be demanding to be heard. I don’t take demands.

I am a witch and an energy reader. I like games, making them up, teasing men, and playing with different toys to enhance the game. The game is in my persona and speech more than the toys I use or lingerie I use. Feel free to bring your own toys or buy me a costume to wear, but this is not just about liberation from the tyrannical patriarchy but liberation from the shame of sex that was generationally inherited. Fun comes in many forms and if I hold anything close to my chest from childhood it’s that the most fun I ever had is when there was room to make it up.

I hope this clears up some mystery about me. Please stay up with me on twitter where I share glimpses of myself more frequently. I am open to many kinks and my biggest kink is playing games we make up on the spot.

I can’t define myself–
she’s not rigid,
not any kind of structure.

Several parts.
has been symphonic
& discordant. 

now
I feel like I am coming together.
it’s undefinable.
but not misery.

A breakthrough from misery.
the other side of misery. 

happiness but more than that.
triumph like i walked very far for
very long long.

             ketamine,
and can sit
and drink.
and even fumble.

“ketamine”

Censorship pt 2: Disposability

This is my sixth time being locked out. This is my sixth pop up when I go to log in that says “______” instead of taking me directly to where I need to be. This is the sixth time someone reported me to retaliate against me. And then my email was banned.

My dad died December of 2020 ten days before Christmas. A couple weeks before that he had been given two years to live. two weeks before Christmas I sat in front of our dwindly Christmas tree and cried, begged, pleaded for one more Christmas. Four days later, I got that 9:30 am phone call and you know it’s just a blur after that. The following summer  was when my mom finally agreed to move. The house was in terrible shape but we managed to sell it and that September I went home to help her move.. On the way I was rear ended by a guy going 55 mph while I was dead stopped, totaling my car. After the shock wore off, I got out to check to see if he was ok and the first thing he said to me was:

Could you let me go please? I don’t have license and insurance. 

I gestured to my car and said, look what you did. No. Also, I added are you ok?

FUUUUCK!

That’s what he screamed. He didn’t ask if I was ok or if I needed anything. He didn’t console me. I had rubbed my hand on his arm and told him it was ok. He screamed near my ear and walked away leaving me alone in front of my totaled car. Leaving me completely alone on the Virginia highway to think of what to do, where to go–about an hour and a half away from my mother still. The second thing he said to me, the last thing he said to me, can you move my car?

That’s what it feels like when I get an error logging in. That’s what it feels like when I receive some nebulous excuse as to why I can’t access my email anymore. That’s how it feels whenever they tell me I am no longer welcome on their platform. It feels like a man just hit me and devastated my life screaming fuck in my ear without asking if I am ok. How are you going to get to your mother’s? I am sorry this happened.  I am of no consequence. I am somehow interminably wrong. I have now ruined his day, therefore I am the villain of the story. 

I needed that car to move my mother. We were able to hold my mom’s stuff at my best friend’s house and drove up together. She had to return a week later with her sister to retrieve it. The whole way I lived in sheer panic. Getting in an accident scars you. The body remembers that it can happen at any given moment; the thud, the hit, the damage, the shot forward and had the car in front of me not moved, had the light not just turned green, I could be dead. I suffer from great panic already and now the highway has become an even scarier place. I just think of him. I know if I get hit, I’ll still be the problem. Everytime I am logged out of an account, the same fear takes over. My stomach tenses. I sit straighter. Braced.

It’s the disposability of it. That I am someone who is disposable.For women, safety is an illusion. For sex workers, that safety is removed entirely. It’s not just the accident or being banned, it’s the hundreds of trolls on tik tok that told me what they thought of me. It’s the constant catcalling and street harassment. The punishment in school for wearing a tank top. The backhanded compliments. The carrot dangling. The pushy clients. The actual rape and assault. The what were you wearing? The damsel sidekick I grew up reading in English, forced to read only male authors. Only male athletes being celebrated. Only male artists. Only males. Only males. 

It’s that women are seen as interchangeable orifices. They don’t exist to feel so they don’t need a platform to be seen. They guest star in a fantasy and then our shuffled away once the fantasy is over. We are disposable and silenced. When we speak out, we are silenced. Maybe I should have started with this but I wanted you to read the whole story to get a picture. Everytime I am banned or locked out, it’s because I have stood up for myself. This time I reported someone making phishing attempt after phishing attempt. Mysteriously after I was banned. Seems like they read the email to me and realized Tryst was an escort site, or the man reported me after I told him I report all his emails as phishing. Or they made a grave mistake and lumped me in with a phishing attempt. But every time I am banned, it is after I call someone out for doing something predatory. 
Like being hit with a big truck yelling fuck at you as you ruin his day. Better to hide me away then face it. Let’s face it–what I do is relatively innocuous if not godly–I change men. I break men, I save them. I confront them and teach them consent.  I hand their ass to them. I train them and I give them pleasure. I am relatively innocent but powerful. It is of no surprise that I have been banned six times when I am constantly telling the world the bad things men did. They will always silence the most powerful and they will always make us feel interchangeable so we don’t fight back. It’s the weariness they bank on. They never expect me to keep getting up.

Soporificia: apothecary to the dream world.

Starting a business in the middle of a recession?

great idea!! not but really….

I want everyone to have access to everything that ever helped me heal. That’s why I’m here.  I want everyone to have their moment of silence without all the idyllic white washing we have to perform for the public.  The moment of silence that brings them to a core truth or core resting place where some entropy is necessary. I have written many things about my life across many channels and the thing that shocks most people is I have watched thirteen family members die. I lost both my brother, dad and childhood home by thirty-six. I moved twenty times, including across the country twice. I ran head first into a cement mixer when I was drunk. I spent eight years heavily drunk. Got rear ended by a guy going fifty five while I was dead stopped when sober. Survived the pandemic while being handed stressor after stressor including a lease termination three months into grieving my dad.. Changed jobs like clockwork. Watched friends and clients die too and changed.  All the while changed, changed, changed. Panicked, but changed.

Put a stop to harmful things to pick up new harmful habits.  Found better habits. Found more addiction. Found solution to addiction  and changed. Ad infinitum.

This chaotic carousel  created  anxiety and stress, manifesting as a constant stasis of nervousness and volatility. This transferred into not just  panic attacks, but a feeling of dread. The general malaise of winter. Physical ailments surrounding my stomach and bladder. Food issues. Obsessively sticking my face into a sun lamp. Too much caffeine. Obsessively stimming with straws til my hand hurts. Counting vitamins. Sighing.Walking the block endlessly. T r y i n g so hard to have patience and peace with myself. I don’t take advice from folks who never walked across coals about how to handle the heat. I never ask anyone who wasn’t once poor how to make money. 

 I have been seeking solace my whole life.  The only true solace I receive has always been sleep. When I get it, it is filled with lucid or vivid dreams. And foretelling. I don’t rest much during the day. I need a full eight hours. 

It started with chamomile. Well, it started with studying herbalism for a year after deciding I didn’t want to pursue my Master’s of Social Work afterall. Another incredibly trying time was being a mental health case manager for four years and trying to go to grad school.  Helping  thirty-three people through crisis regularly will knock the literal wind out of you.  So, it started with taking care of myself and leaving that industry. Moreover,  learning about chamomile and how to make infusions. Chamomile is the first herb I played around with: making tincture, infusion, and skin balm. The sedative and nervine effects are manageable and gentle and it is the herb I recommend first. Felt a sense of calm come over me. Began to fall asleep faster. I moved less and less and became content with sitting still. It wasn’t a miracle herb by any means but a slow building one.  I used it more and more. A cup of hot chamomile became an evening ritual. Then I moved to valerian which gave me such intense dreams and such deep sleep. (Forgot to mention I suffered from insomnia for about four years).  I felt a bit groggy in the morning but was able to tamper with that dose to find a better solution. Waking up became easier and my night was restful.  Valerian also showed me my creativity through an active brain at night. My dreams were patently premonitory. Often what I wrote down would happen that same day or shortly thereafter. It felt like each herb was building on where the other left off and taking me deeper into a recess of mind that was allowing me to access deep knowledge. And I’ll devote another blog to my dreams about my dead dad and brother.

Then I used the whole apothecary: marshmallow, slippery elm, St. John’s wort,  lemon balm, holy basil and wormwood to calm myself and aid my stomach; a budding problem starting from years of too much acid including coffee. I started using jasmine and geranium oil to set flowered boundaries. Lots of ylang ylang, black tourmaline, cayenne pepper, charcoal salt, smoky quartz, sigil and mugwort.  Oh, mugwort. My favorite of favs. Connector to gods and thinner of veils. Mugwort and my intro to divining deserves an entire second blog as well. But I became more calm. There were periods of panic that I shared on my website, but I found solutions. Breathwork. Learned how to manage my day. And I am humble nenough to admit I still need work, but I found aids. I took baths nightly. I sprinkled my oil, lit my candles, lined the tub with stones and sipped my chamomile, my nettle mix, my mugwort tincture. Immersed myself in salt, votive, and prayer. I spent an entire winter in the bath once just to feel my body sit. 

I resent the notion that people don’t change. People need change and they do change. They thrive in it. But they need slow incremental changes. We have forgotten the word slow. We judge things based on output–have they received an accolade for their accomplishments? No? Then they didn’t really try or succeed did they? Did it happen in this short year or this short lifetime? Can we touch the new and different body? Change isn’t palpable or measurable all the time. It’s invisible. It spans decades and generations. We change with the help of others cheering us on, feedback from the community, guidance and aides. Optimism. Tools.  I hope to help bring all of that—from tinctures to tarot— to folks struggling with all things that stem from anxiety and trauma. Research has proven that those with childhood trauma are more than 50% likely to develop a sleep disorder, and if someone is able to sleep after a traumatic event, they are more likely to recover faster. “Compared to adults with few or no ACEs, adults with a significant amount of childhood trauma are more than twice as likely19 to have trouble falling asleep and are also twice as likely to feel tired after a full night’s sleep. The effects of ACEs on sleep can last for up to 50 years20, with each ACE experienced in childhood increasing the risk of not getting enough sleep as an adult by 20.” (https://www.sleepfoundation.org/mental-health/trauma-and-sleep)

Insomnia, interrupted sleep, fidgeting, nervousness, digestion issues and a general feeling of tension and muscle aches are all hurdles to quietude and the amity we so desperately deserve to give ourselves. We deserve rest. We deserve a pain free life.  We have all experienced so much in this short life. We survived the pandemic. We survived so many wars, death and political upheaval. I also hope to connect people to their dreams, premonitions and to the spirit world if they so desire. This apothecary’s main focus is helping to regulate a dysregulated system, as well as expand connection to the liminal and beyond. I recommend chamomile to start. Then lemon balm and marshmallow. Then mugwort.

Work with various herbs to find which one works hardest for you. Godspeed, and I am here if you need me.

I carried little pieces of God
everywhere;
whittled pine needle,
robin feathers,
a baby garnet for luck.
besides the
straws, I liked
natural things; Earth

to touch during
sedentary moments
quell the fidget inside.
today, a pint-sized celestite
entertained my skittish fingers.
it was a part of a larger cluster,
but I liked the cyan sparkle
so I broke off a piece.

I am surrounded by repentant men
with wolfish outlines.
my “allies.”
fellow addicts.
I nod when they say
they feel a guilt greater
than their desire. I having
consumed an entire night’s portion
before walking here.
when they want my approval,
they usually begin with things
like
I took advantage of her.

feel a poke in my index finger
and I cross my legs.

I am wearing brown tights, brown
heeled boots and a cream turtleneck
sweater dress.  my hair is
short, uncombed and strange.
I am mostly plain.
save light blush, mascara and
chapstick..
it is important as a woman
to catalog what you were wearing
and how you generally look
in any moment.
also I had gained some weight
before I  rediscovered
starvation.


when you tell the audience the story
they can gauge their reaction better.
were you homely, girl?

I was neither homely nor
exceptional, a frozen
brown blob blending
into the cream walls
and watching the blue chips
of nail polish flake onto
the floor. as he spoke
of his life of
trespassing,
I suddenly found my hands
to be urgent.

and remembering the whisper
of the woman who shushed
the last girl who shared her rape
in a room just like this,
I watched a speck of light blue
crystal join the floor,
saw the red swell and trickle
into a dot capping my finger.
blood      I
watched the tiny celestite break.

“fury”

I blow
when charged.
not always fit for ground.
when standing,
an unbearable pressure.
more reasonable in
flight– even in
vehemence.

I kiss her fingers and
say:
you are a jungle.
I stretch,
yawn
and out falls a
knuckle.

What does love feel like?
she asks.
I turn to
cough
and out falls another.
kiss her flowered mouth
through my tight teeth
and say

like a wet machete
ripping through

the jungle.

“camouflage”

but i’m a martyr for this,
I crave
repercussion;

even self-abnegation
needs an audience
or else it’s just plain masochism
                  lonely and caustic
without the gentle recompense,
the moist poultice,
the final amends:
the touch of her
sadist’s fingertips
after she laid her.

all cathedrals use pain as payment
and my crucifixion,
while self inflicted;
is just as baneful.
my bloodletters will wash
the splashes from my feet,
take their time
with each laceration;

stitch
my gashes
into temples.

“Lilith”

Censorship part 1: defamation, or the little lie that predators tell.

*excuse my gendered language. I am only telling my narrative of my life as a cis woman with mostly cis men* 

As we speak, I am locked out of my account. This is the fifth time this has happened. I posted a screenshot of a man’s email to me; a copy and paste email he has sent to multiple women in the area. This email included no private information and nothing personal. His PUBLIC work email was listed.  I posted this because this man has emailed me FOUR times  asking to work together. Each time I have said no.

File this under my umbrella file: rape culture.

The first time I told him no, we had an extensive drawn-out conversation over email about fetishization and the use of terms to denote my whiteness–snowbunny, BBC, etc. This person denied using any kind of racialized or fetishized content. When I clicked his Many Vids I just saw the tags over and over: “BBC” “Interracial” and “Asian” for the one non-white costar he worked with. “Asian” in the title. “Asian” in the tag, in the description.  This was his exact quote: “Actually if you see my post DONT have labeled remarks such ass: white, BBC, interracial, etc.” Which he had many. He had no content with anyone else but white women. 

File this under my daughter file: gaslighting. 

He sent me THREE MORE EMAILS and I finally replied telling him I said no and to take me off his mailing list. His reply: “I didn’t see your response.” I posted this on my twitter merely to point out that men are highly coercive, rejection sensitive and can’t take no for an answer. He retaliated by reporting the post and my header which caused me to get locked out of my account losing access to my livelihood. AGAIN. 

File this under: targeted harassment.

While he continues to do this as a hobby…. While he continues to do this as a hobby, he pushed my account into darkness–a place where I make my only living. Something I have always done for survival.  I won’t legitimize that comment with a trauma tour through my life but I am doing this for survival. Touring the sex work industry, they are easy to spot:, often RTIng as many women as they can to get their attention. They hope to get their attention, commenting on every post. Hope you’ll retweet their dick pic. Hope you’ll comment back and laugh at their joke and soon it’s fucking and frolicking on and *off* (that’s the key) camera.  Often being able to hold onto one or two good references; someone they didn’t use or manipulate to go on to manipulate dozens. Similarly to photographers, they consume female bodys in an effort to create more and more product neglecting editing in their lust to shoot more content. When contacting references, we hear back “yeah he was a little handsy, just have good boundaries” or “he kept insisting on being nude the entire time and getting overly close to me, just have good boundaries” or “he made me cuddle with him after” “kissed me after the shoot” “harassed me over text following our shoot.”  We are told have good boundaries.  He told me, “I’ll shoot you nude for sex if you dont have money :).” We are told to stand strong. “He kept putting off sending me the content we made. It’s been six months.” We are told we invited it. “After the scene was done he climbed on me and kissed me.” We are told we should be thankful we are not homely. “He asked me to cuddle after. I didn’t know what to say. He was really insistent.” Catalog what we were wearing. “Well it’s a porn shoot, what do you expect?” “Well it’s a nude shoot, what do you expect?” Well, he’s a man, what do you expect? We are told to get over it. 

We are told our Twitters are locked for telling other people about it. 

Any time we try to post about a predatory encounter, we are threatened. Both by the platforms that hold our entire visibility in their massive AI pocket and by the men we are calling out. By the men that simply see it trolling their way through dozens of profiles aimlessly looking to “take down” a woman. By the men that don’t like us and have been waiting. Like little barracudas stumbling upon a slow school. And when they post themselves shirtless in their avatar or header, they are protected. When they DM us, dick pics, they are protected. They can hurl insults in our DMs, post pictures of us without consent (there was a facebook group for a longtime calleds “Girls being sluts in bathrooms” where men uploaded pictures without consent. That Facebook group lasted but saying “Men are trash” will get you  banned”, they can harass you day after day creating new accounts to do so and Twitter will let it stand. All of these experiences I’ve had. I’ve received dick pics over Instagram and they sided with the predator. I’ve reported men for targeted harassment for making an new profile that was clearly targeted at me and they sided with him. I have reported men’s profiles that say “Rape all women” and it has stayed. I’ve reported men’s profiles that do nothing but chastise women and they stay. We have Andr*w T*te. We have what’s-his-face telling folks to report strippers. We have the red pill party. We jhave four-chan, lue links, Reddit and Gamer Gate.

 They can have the words “bang me” in the header and it’s fine. They can post their torso hinting that they are touching their own dicks all day long but I can’t post myself fully covered depending on the material of the dress.  Depending on the pose. No boobs, no sideboobs, no ass. Just the provocation. Just the hint of sex is all it takes. Just the idea that nipples lay below the bra-line somewhere buried. Just turning to a certain angle and they can make out our hip shape and that’s enough to get you banned. But you can still see yourself circulating on the web. It’s a sure bet you’ll have tons of content stolen and leaked on the web. I  have had men make almost minute long previews of our shot. I have had a person post HALF OF THE POLAROIDS (about 7) of me sucking their dick on their TL without any thought to ask me if that was ok. I have had men post my entire pussy on the TL in graphic detail, up close without asking if it was ok.  Because they need the exposure. 

Because they get off on the exposure. Because they don’t need the money the same way. Because they are doing this for status. Because they think this is fun. Because they are entitled to do anything they want with our content (including refusing to give it to me, as one local content creator did). Because leaked images of penises will never be as harmful in society’s eye as leaked images of pussy. Because a male porn star is applauded. Because they want to be applauded. Because they want to be exposed and they want our full attention.

Posting about them, posting about our experience, we are silenced. Reported. Surveilled. We have no recourse but to keep whispering to each other over text, in conversation. Why was the Amber Heard trial publicized? Do you even remember what started it? Amber alluding to abuse without naming a name until Depp dragged her through the mud good and well dead from it all. And i’m not here for this “mutual abuse” talk or to take sides, I am here to point out that when someone tried to share their experience of abuse, they were sued for millions of dollars, forced to stand trial for all of the world to judge them and still could not discuss her abuses publicly in the end. Silence was the punishment. The money was just the piss on the fire. Some facts of the case (https://www.nbcnews.com/pop-culture/pop-culture-news/johnny-depp-amber-heard-defamation-trial-summary-timeline-rcna26136: )

2018

Heard writes the op-ed for The Washington Post at the heart of the defamation lawsuit. In the op-ed, she writes: “I became a public figure representing domestic abuse, and I felt the full force of our culture’s wrath for women who speak out.”

Heard’s article mentions her experience with abuse from her childhood to adulthood. It does not include Depp’s name.

At the crux of the article, Heard asks for support for women experiencing domestic violence.

“We have an opening now to bolster and build institutions protective of women. For starters, Congress can reauthorize and strengthen the Violence Against Women Act,” she writes.

2019

Depp sues Heard for defamation, claiming the Post article was a ruse for Heard to gin up positive press for herself. Depp also claims she is not the victim of domestic violence but instead the perpetrator.

Depp seeks $50 million in damages.

Because they want to villainize us once they can’t consume us anymore.