Updated 6/6, 4:30 PM with a note for commenters
Trigger warning for sexual assault and victim-blaming logic.
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It’s because knives aren’t helpful in most cases of assault.
Last night I met up with a body painter/ photographer in a public place. We talked for a while, and I agreed to do a shoot with him right then, because I didn’t have any solid plans anyway, and because I thought he was safe, because I thought I could tell. No one is safe. It doesn’t matter if you’ve checked their references or if you’ve spent time with them, they can still assault you. As someone who grew up with a sometimes-abusive father and faced sexual harassment from teachers— as someone who knows first-hand you can’t even trust the people you’re supposed to trust the most— I should know this.
I should also know how dangerous situations develop. Rarely does assault come out of the blue. Rarely does it clearly feel like abuse in the moment. Rarely do you know to grab your knife.
This man pushed my boundaries further and further, and I let him. Until, all of a sudden, while he was painting my vulva, he started rubbing my clitoris, and then he licked me. He fucking licked me. I said no and pulled away and he stopped. But it was already done. I wasn’t even sure what had happened. I didn’t leave for ten minutes, and when I did leave I just stood up, said, “You fucking licked me,” (to which he responded, “It was an accident”), put my clothes on and left. He tried to grab me, insisting we should “Say goodbye like decent people” and I threw him off and struggled with the five locks on the door. He didn’t help me. I walked back through a park at 11 at night, through a strange neighborhood, to the subway. I was still covered in paint and ink, literally marked, and people were staring at me. I don’t even know how long it took me to get home, because he texted me, “what I have done was unintentional and harmless,” and so I stopped looking at my phone. I do know that the first thing I did when I got home was throw up all the food and drink he’d given me. Then I got in the shower, and I scrubbed myself with a bath sponge, once, and twice, and three times, and four times. I couldn’t get the ink off. So I put down the bath sponge and picked up the foot callous emory board. I got out of the shower and inspected myself in the mirror, and I couldn’t see very well because of the steam, and because I was overly tired, and because I was crying, but I kept finding red ink spots. I took rubbing alcohol to them. Some of them turned out to be raw dermis from the emory board, and it stung, stung, stung. I couldn’t get all of the ink off. It’s probably still on me.
Going back with a knife won’t do my any good. Going to the police won’t do me any good. (“What were you wearing?”/ “Nothing.”/ “Why were you wearing nothing?”/ “Because he was painting on me.”/ “Why was he painting on you?”/ “Because he’s a body-painter, and I’m a model. I’m a nude model.”/ “What was he wearing?”/ “Nothing.”/ “Why was he wearing nothing?”/ “Because he said that that way we were equals.”/”And you believed this?”/ “No! I don’t know!”/ “So why didn’t you—”/ “Because why can’t nudity be a non-sexual thing?!”/ What were you drinking?” /”Wine”/ “Why were you drinking wine?”/ “Because he offered it, because I never turn down alcohol. Because I’m a fucking alcoholic.”/ “What did you say when he told you his wife was in Miami on business?”/ ” ‘Oh, cool.’ ” /”Why did you say that?”/ “Because I think it’s cool to be able to travel for business.”/ “What did you respond when he asked if you thought he was handsome?”/ ” ‘I have a boyfriend.’ “/ “What did you say when he asked you again?”/ ” ‘Uh, sure.’ “/ ”Did he stop licking you when you told him to?”/ “Yes”/ “Did you get up and leave?”/ “Not immediately.”/ ”Why the fuck are you even in our station? You’re stupid, you’re practically a prostitute, and you might as well have asked for it.”/ “I know I’m stupid, and I know I’m practically a prostitute, but I wasn’t there for sex, and we were clear on that. But he decided to just lick me anyway! And he didn’t bother asking me before doing it! And it’s not like he tried to kiss me or something. He fucking started performing oral sex on me. Just started doing it. And then called it an accident! So he clearly knew he fucked up!”/ “Get out of our station.”/ “You don’t just suddenly lick the genitals of people you’re working with because they reluctantly agreed you’re handsome!”/ “GET OUT!”)
I just need to be alone for awhile, or for a long while. Until I establish strong boundaries or until everyone in the world stops being an asshole. And I need to bring escorts to shoots from now on. Or I need to quit modeling altogether. Or I need to walk around with poison on my skin. I don’t even know.
Update 6/6 at 4:30 PM
Note: Any comment containing suggestions for what I could have done differently or what I could do differently in the future will be deleted. Victim-blaming is against the commenting rules, but even if it weren’t, I think I have sufficiently proven here that I am more than capable of berating myself. I don’t need any help with that. Thanks.
Those of you who persist in doing this now will be either warned or banned, depending on how generous I’m feeling.