Dear all y’all slimy guys,
Hi, slimy guys. How the hell are ya. How’s that closet today.
I happen to know that, in addition to being slimy (shhh, don’t tell on us), y’all have a lot of other traits, too. Like being smart, and funny, and loyal, and other stuff. I know that deep down, you wanna think you’re a nice, respectful person that other people like just because of those traits.
And mostly, you are (nice and respectful and liked for just those traits)!
Here’s the thing, though; You know you’re still slimy even with all that.
You know that cheating is violating and fuckder than fuck.
You know that penetrating people who are excessively drunk or otherwise vulnerable to you without previous clear-headed not-vulnerable consent is super shitty.
You know that pressuring someone every single time you have pre-negotiated sex about not needing the condom they include as part of their boundaries because you ‘got tested’ months ago is disrespectful as fuck.
You know that whining shit like a 5 year old when you don’t get the sex you were expecting is fucking creepy. And gross.
You know that trying to convince someone to fuck you who is unsure about sex with you is pressuring and coercing them. Bonus if you’re pretty sure they were a virgin before you forced your ‘snake’ in her!
You know that fucking someone when they’re unconscious is not ok (also rape. Just sayin.).
You know that throwing a tantrum when someone doesn’t want to let you tie them up/shit on them/blow their dog is un-fuckin-cooth.
You know that withholding basic safer sex information like, say, switching to unprotected sex with another partner without bothering to mention it for months, is fucking shady and god damn near unforgivable.
You know that holding people, who have already come forward with you privately over their concerns for your behavior, to the polite social standard of ignoring or lying or otherwise deflecting your accusatory “Do you think I behave like a creep?!?!?!?!” is manipulative invalidating bullshit #andalsogaslighting #emotionalabuse
(in case you need them, here are some rapey definitions to go along with your rape guidelines. mmkay.)
MMm but do you ever make my dick hard.
Deep down, if not completely, you fucking know it, slimes. And so does anyone else who’s paying attention. It reaks out of every fucking pore you’ve got whenever you enter a room scanning for anyone you think might fuck you. When you creepily try to rub that girls (whose sitting in another guys lap) feet while muttering to yourself after we just played our first and only show together after you raped me.
And deep down, you also know, that not being able to keep your dick in check is not only your personal failing, it perpetuates the devastating dehumanizing notion that even good men, good men like you, are fucking knuckle dragging Neanderthals hopelessly harnessed by their cocks, in upright human clothing.
I’m sure that knowledge is really crushing and awful and that’s part of the reason y’all tend to be so insecure, emotionally vacant and socially awkward. That any moment the slime might bubble up out of your collar and commandeer your brain at any moment, god, what confinement.
I’ve been the slimed out sexual predator type person myself in my fucked up abusive past, so while I don’t know exactly how you feel, I do have sort of an idea, from the perspective of someone who wasn’t born into your world, but who adopted it seamlessly first to survive, and then to get ahead.
I know all too well how shitty it felt to be 20-something me, trying to hide and deny that sex was my pathological, psychological warfare, while attempting to fill the massive spiritual hole I had in me (perpetuated, in part, by my continual sliminess). All with misappropriated sexual validation sought out via that sliminess with people I, frankly, often didn’t even fucking like.
It was extra super hard to hold all that bullshit up while I was in therapy and researching/executing various coping methods, you know, actually working out my fucking shit and learning how to value myself. *nudge*nudge*
Maybe that’s why I’ve historically given slimy guys like you so, so much leeway. Aww. He’s 40 and still doesn’t get this stuff; God, poor him. He’s still working hard to believe he’s not being a slimeball to me right now. Poor guy, jesus, he’s so confused, adrift, in need of help.
But see, here’s the thing, slimypoo (MMmhhh). The thing that makes this all the more awful for anyone who ends up in an intimate agreement with you, you lucky. fucking. bastards. You ready for it? You sure?
It’s the fact that you try to make the people who are trusting in you – giving you the benefit of the doubt, letting you fuck up and violate them and corrode their trust over and over again while you say you’ll do better but are actually keeping your fucking head firmly planted up your ass so you can keep believing you’re not actually being fucking slimy like me – responsible for assuring you that you are, in fact, not what you are being. Which is, let me tell you again takes one to know one; slimy.
Every single creepfest flag-raising boundary-pushing fucking disrespectful asshole I’ve come across in my extensive sexual life has one absolute thing in common: They want validation from from me, the femme they creeped out, violated, invaded; when they know they’ve seriously fucked up.
It’s always about how bad they feel, how helpless they are because the bad feelings, how overwhelming even the thought of accountability is.
It’s always how much they say they want to be there for me while I process their fucking transgressions, while having no experience or skills to serve as such to themselves letalone anyone else (cue bad memories of my own transgressions: I’m sorry I was such a shitty wife, Rob).
It’s always: Selfish self serving fake non-apologies that maintain that they are not slimy “I messed up! I got the feels sooo bad!! SOOO BAD! Would a slimy guy feel THIS BAD??!”
It’s always: Focus on how they’d like the effect of their cause to go “Don’t mind me, I’m just compulsively violating your boundaries AGAIN to contact you after you told me to leave you alone to tell you I wanna be friends still and I respect you enough to encourage you to take all the time you need to come to the conclusion I want to be friends still and I don’t even need SEX to offer this, sugarpuss! God, your pussy tho..”.
It’s always: “I did a bad thing, but I [insert fishing for validation comment here | expression of how they’d really like the conflict to end in their favor here | proclamation that they don’t deserve the fallout bestowed here]”.
If they DO say in mouthwords that it won’t happen again, count your lucky fucking stars for that small respite, they don’t say how or why, and eventually, it does fucking happen again. (keep an eye on this one, ladies – they’re slippery, and they’re the ones that might MIGHT MIGHT MIGHT eventually unslime themselves, but probably not ever… with you.)
They’re always so worried that they might lose my friendship, that I might think that maybe they’re a fucking slimeball, that maybe their (sometimes years) of frequent disrespect and idiocy might finally have some kind of repercussion for them that doesn’t just involve me grimacing painfully for their plight, holding their hand and telling them it’s ok.
They continue to hang onto their sliminess, and continue to move through life thinking that’s not what they are being, because it fucking works.
Because people like me help them make it work.
And because, ladies who are nodding and laughing and crying all at once right now, they bank on their niceness outweighing YOUR truth when they prioritize their satisfaction over your well being.
See here’s the bottom line, slimes; I’m not gonna keep taking this on for you guys.
I’m not gonna keep offering you my insights and suggestions on how you might maybe come off as less of a creep to people in response to you fucking ME over with your fucked up sideways self involved rapeyass bullshit.
I’m not gonna keep setting you up with other women thinking that maybe I’m just too sensitive and am taking all your slimy shit the wrong way and you just need someone hotter/sluttier/stupider/more desperate than me. HELLO FUCKING INTERNALIZED MISOGYNY: WOW.
I’m not gonna keep mentioning therapy, suggesting educational resources, mentioning therapy, getting over your violations, mentioning therapy, sucking your dick, mentioning therapy, making up with you, mentioning therapy, while you sit on your fucking ass and do nothing for yourself to progress as a fucking human being and either wear proudly, or fucking dump the slime act.
I’m not gonna keep telling you it’s ok, you’re just dense, or scared, or lonely, or uneducated, or inexperienced, or immature, after the 7th fucking ‘respect 101’ rule you’ve broken via your undeserved access to my fuck canal.
I am not going to keep fucking you. Not with rules, not with protection, not with bribes, not with a thousand Cillian Murphy face Batman Begins castings bukkakeing all over my heaving chest; not no way, not no how.
In fact, Slimy McSlimersons In Perpetual Denial; I think I’m done giving anyone who even marginally smells like one of you a remote chance in fucking hell of ever blazing my trail at all, ever, ever, ever ever EVER.
EVER.
AGAIN.
After nearly three decades of collecting slimy stories, I’ve paid my dues for my previous slimeball life. And honestly? Cutting your kind out of my sex life is the compassionate thing to do. I have learned beyond a shadow from living both sides that unsliming is something you accomplish by knowing and healing yourself to the point that your honor outweighs your need to validate yourself through sex and violating boundaries, not by fucking clawing your way into any chance you can to practice make-up sex on other people.
I truly hope y’all figure your shit out and learn to either stop or properly represent the fact that you behave the way you do.
I, for my part, am fucking fed up with dealing with this, through punishing myself for having ever been like you are, and, frankly, I am up to way too much fucking awesome to put myself at risk so slimes in denial can maybe someday behave like better fucking people one day in the future for probably four girlfriends down the line from where I am.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for a 5-year shower and a gallon lysol douche, and to start the first day of my new life; where I stop pretending rape isn’t fucking rape, and cease the narration that you ever even came close to deserving me.
SIN-GODDAMNFUCKING-CERELY,
-nee (former self involved slime ball rapist)
(note: This entry should really just say people, since this is an issue for all gender identities including nonbinary. ‘guys’ rang better, and having identified for most of my life as a straight female my experience is with them was specific. Also; this is a rant, and I don’t give a fuck if you’re offended by it. SG sympathizers tha fuck outa here.)