Category Archives: Ranty ones
Dear Gillian: please pay women for their labour
I love Gillian Anderson, she’s done some amazing work. Like many nerds, I loved X-Files when I was young, and more recently I loved Sex Education (that bit when all the girls got on the bus together absolutely shattered me). But I would bet every single penny in my bank account that she didn’t work on either of these shows for free. What’s more, I imagine she wouldn’t agree to do this kind of work without being credited. Let’s talk about ‘Dear Gillian‘, her latest project with Bloomsbury Books!
What’s a girl gotta do to get a rape conviction around here?
CN: rape, murder, violent misogyny (including detailed and specific examples).
I’m writing this blog post the day after news broke about Met Police officer and serial rapist David Carrick. He’s admitted to dozens of rapes spanning two decades. During this timespan he was reported to the police nine times – nine times! So why wasn’t anything done? Because, like Wayne Couzens before him, this man was a police officer. They had a nickname for him, on the force: they called him Bastard Dave.
If I earn enough ‘good girl’ points I’ll be loved
Note: this piece tackles some stuff about femininity, womanhood, and ‘worth’. I do not believe that any of the things I say about ‘good girl points’ are true and I don’t encourage you to believe or internalise them. But as with all weird notions, sometimes you have to state it to slate it, so I’m allowing myself to be a bit more open about the dark beliefs that power a lot of my decisions, especially in light of some Twitter discussion I’ve seen about why you shouldn’t just keep trying to be ‘good’ and ‘liked’ all the time. Rest assured I’m working on these things.
The other day, at about 11pm, a guy offered to walk me to the train station. We’d been having a lovely evening together – eating dinner that he’d cooked for me because he knows it’s one of my favourites, watching a weird film that we’d chosen together because he cares about my opinion, then enjoying a teasing blow job because when we started getting horny I specifically requested that he let me be ‘playful’ for a bit. It was fabulous. I felt very content. Very… what’s the word? Very heard. Valued. Appreciated. But when it came time for me to head home, he offered to walk me to the station, and this objectively kind gesture made me deeply uncomfortable.
My Massive ****: Channel 4 please sort your shit out
There’s a documentary currently running on All4 called ‘My Massive ****’ – it’s about living with a huge dick and dealing with some of the down-sides of having one. I’m not here to rant about the concept (which is interesting), but I think there is a huge problem with the show itself, and it annoyed me enough that I’m bumping today’s planned post to Wednesday, so I can spend a little time yelling at Channel 4. Because although C4 does often have some great sex output, this particular programme is appalling from a consent perspective. It treats some pretty extreme consent violations like they’re one big joke, and fails to mention that in some cases violations of this kind may well be against the law. This problem could (and should) have been spotted and solved long before this show aired. Channel 4, please sort your shit out.
Here’s why I hate the word ‘creampie’
Here’s something that has never happened to me in the whole of my slutty life: after a fuck, a guy pulls his dick out of me and shuffles down the bed, so as to get a better view of all the cum dripping out of my freshly-fucked cunt. Never happened. Ever. This is the shining truth at the heart of why I hate the term ‘creampie’.