this is a cycle that can cure depression
vanitas no carte (2015-?) by mochizuki jun
If you call pedophilia a kink please unfollow me and never talk to me again
Isn’t it disgusting that 23 people just unfollowed me
Unfollow me too
this goes double if you call paedophilia a disability. unfollow me twice
and if you call pedophilia an “orientation” or in any way compare it to being LGBP+ you can unfollow, delete your blog, and set yourself on fire.
I just lost 50 followers.. bye
clearing out the trash
GO ON AND S M A S H THAT UNFOLLOW BUTTON
BUHBYE U McNASTIES
I’ve seen this circulating forever and genuinely thought “no way do I have any of them following me” until this week when it turned out I had all these fuckin “MAP” (pedophile) followers sad to find out I’m an “anti” (normal person) Please leave and also please get guinea worm.
I really hope no one that follows me is like this but for real, if you are, please unfollow.
Ditto
Buh bye, no thanks
Csa survivor with zero time, patience, or tolerance for pedos/MAPs/apologists/whateverthefuck you sick fucks are calling yourselves.
Unfollow me if it’s your kink…sick freaks (if not, then please stay! :3)
SO IF YOU HAVE THAT KINK- S M A C K THAT UNFOLLOW BOTTON, AND ILL SEE YOU… LITERALLY NEVER AGAIN BYE
Let’s see them unfollows
Damn the last time, I lost 32 creeps…. Let’s see how many more this time (Though I’m really hoping y'all don’t support pedophilia ☹️)
I…..gained 4 follows after reblogging this earlier? None of them better support pedos or we gon have a problem
everyday of my life
Let’s see if girls run Tumblr :)
“Maybe the sunlight doesn’t fall through the window quite right, or maybe the beer in my hand isn’t cold enough, or maybe my fingers twitch when they start to struggle to hold the pages apart but still it hits me again like lightning in slow motion and the waves of warmth cascade through every nerve in my skin and every synapse in my brain, and I realise that it doesn’t matter - and right there, right in that moment, this is it, this was always it. I look back at every foolish day I spent wondering how to capture happiness and how it could be seized and labelled and bottled and defined and how, how, how could I have known then what I know now? That all I had to do was find a good book and good beer and good music on a sunny day like this and just let the waves fall on me until the tide came in.”
— 28/05/16 (via wired-messiah)
A lot of people don’t know this but there is a science to save words. It can be something that you make up however the amount of syllables that go into the safe word plays a big part in it. For people just starting out with BDSM I recommend using a small one syllable word.
I know your probably thinking what does syllables have to do with it. Well the amount of syllables you use have to do with the amount of experience you have. For example a word like tea is a word you would use to start with. It’s a small one syllable word that allows you to get it out quickly.
As you gain more experience you learn to push yourself farther it’s better to have a multiple syllable word. Something like cinnamon.
Using a multi syllable word allows you to catch yourself. You may find yourself wanting to stop but when you have a multi syllable word you can say the first one or two syllables of that word and then catch yourself. This allows you to push yourself further if you so choose to.
I always preach that you should build trust with your partner that you’re practicing this with. The words however are entirely up to you as the submissive. It is entirely up to you how far you would like to push yourself.
I also always preach to everyone that do not let the dominant push you past your limit. The dominant is only there as the safety. He or she is the one that is guiding you on your journey. The minute that you feel they are pushing you you need to stop and either check your partner or take back that gift of control you have given them.
Make sure that you’re always playing safe and you always have a safe word. If you were experimenting with choking then I always recommend having something in your hand that you can drop so that the dominant nose to stop.
Play safe everyone.
When I was seventeen I was violently raped. It was horrible, but I got through it and did not believe it affected me overmuch. It did not inhibit me sexually; in the years following the experience I was promiscuous, even aggressively so. Sometimes I had sex without really knowing why, but that seemed true of many, many people at the time. Then one day when I was nineteen something happened. I was with a guy and we were fooling around on my bed, still fully clothed. Playfully, he raised himself over me, grabbed my wrists, and pinned them. I went completely blank. I don’t know how else to describe it. As he put it later, my body went limp and my eyes “empty.” Scared himself, he let go of me and said something like “What’s wrong?” I said, “I thought you were going to start hitting me.” Shocked and upset he replied, “I would never do that, how could you think that?” I said “I don’t know,” and I meant it. I had no idea how much fear I’d been carrying and was so surprised by my own blanking out that I didn’t even understand it at first. We talked some—I don’t remember if I told him about being raped or not—but sex was out of the question. That incident made me realize that I was sometimes having sex because I was afraid that if I didn’t I would be raped, even when the men in question did not threaten me in any way. This was definitely not always the case, I had natural feelings. But sometimes fear motivated me without my being aware of it until that one boy’s gesture brought it out of hiding. Even then it was so physically present in me that I couldn’t stop having sex I didn’t fully want for almost two years after I realized what was going on.
Because of experiences like this—not just mine, but those that other women have described to me—it’s hard for me to see the Lovelace story as a simple matter of lying or not. Even if there was no gun and Lovelace knew it and lied—I can’t see that kind of lie as coming from one simple motivation. Maybe Lovelace enjoyed what she did to the point of wallowing in it, including the abuse that came with it, and then years later, when she was ravaged, angry, and broke, rewrote it and came to believe the revision. Maybe she started out liking it and came to hate it, or liked it sometimes and hated it other times. Maybe she never liked it, but was masochistically aroused by it, or maybe she hated it straight- up but did it anyway. Not many people could describe experiencing any of this accurately let alone honestly, especially if it was all true, that is, if she felt all of the above in some hellish combination, and was so torn by the opposition that she developed a fragmented public self, one which smiled and was delightful when prompted, or which assumed an antiporn stance when prompted, with nothing fully developed in support of either. This last, terrible idea makes me remember my stunned blank- ness of so long ago, blankness that I acted out of for years and that, frankly, was not about a single act of rape. Blankness is a kind of dead zone, and action that comes from blankness happens in fragments. I know what it’s like to be pulled in too many directions to make sense of, but to want to live and to engage so much that you act regardless. It’s a hard way to be, but at least I had the space and time to try and understand my experience as best I could. Lovelace didn’t have that ordinary luxury because of her fame. Being famous for being yourself is now an American fixation; Linda Lovelace lived the dream, and how. But what would it be like to be famous for being yourself if you didn’t know what your “self” was? Imagine projecting and being projected into the world, on a massive scale, as someone who has no complex emotions, who is all persona, in this case a persona that is all about having one particular kind of sex with whomever. Because people liked the persona, it must’ve felt good at first, hell, it must’ve felt great. Some of the worst things in the world feel that way. At first.
