Sunday, August 12, 2018


As some of you may know, I'm going to attempt my own club again.

Just a tiny little skybox. A smoking lounge. Think leather chairs, low lighting, cocktails, cigars, pipes, etc. Bluesy jazz. Sophisticated and very discerning. Adult. Of course there will be sex. It's my club, after all.

But Macbain's isn't for everyone. It's not even for most. This is a place for a choice select few.

And, yes, it comes with four pages of rules.


Let me show you...
There are too damn many men who still wander around SL looking to get laid that look like this.

I went out exploring today... and, yes, a lot of these photos were taken in the very dregs of Second Life, such as the one above. And below. 
Before anyone jumps my shit for picking on noobs, I had some rules for myself when I went looking, and granted, I was looking for the worst of the worst but all avatars had to be several years old AND have payment info on file.

I'm not that much of a bitch.
This fellow thought I was going to fuck him. Yeah, I know, I was at the Fuck Hall, but come the fuck on. System body, head and clothes.

No, guys. NO.
So four pages of rules.

Because I don't want this happening.
lol... he wishes...
I don't want what happened to Ruined to happen to Macbain's. On Ruined's very first day, someone that I was iffy about anyway, but gave membership to because I'm nice and he was a decent fuck, invited about 20 atrocities to join.

And I didn't boot them all. At first. But Ruined was ruined on the very first day for me and there was no coming back from it.
Can you guys believe Nadine's Fuck Bunker is still around? It is. And it's still as horrifying as ever.

This dude above? Ten years in Second Life.

This isn't what I want for my club and I'm going to be a hard ass about it this time.
Why is his skin blue?! I fucking hate these bodies and skins.
Macbain's is going to be about quality. I don't give a single shit if I have 5 members or 5,000 members. If it doesn't work, it doesn't work.

There is a body code, and a dress code. And I'm really sorry about people not making the cut, but I'd be more sorry if I let them in.
What is even happening with this guy's hair?! Thousands and thousands of hairs available on the MP and he picks that?

It's laziness, and I'm just not having it at Macbain's. I spend hours trying to make myself look decent, as do most women, and (a lot of) men just don't get that they need to put the same effort in.

You do, guys. You really do.
Cut your damn hair.
I get that some of it is just a matter of taste.

My tastes aren't for everyone, but then, my club isn't for everyone.

And I'm sure a lot of people think this makes me shallow... a lot of men. But you know what? When these guys hit on me it's not based on my sparkling personality, is it? They don't know me. They like the way I look.

So why should I settle for any less? Why should any woman?
Macbain's is for Bento. Bento head, Bento hands... fucking Bento tongue. Mesh body... and not the basic TMP freebie bullshit with the ridiculous static fingers.

Macbain's is for suits. Quality suits. Perhaps not a tie... you can still look like a god without a tie. But a jacket definitely. Nicely tailored.

The guy below didn't look so bad underneath the clothes but...
Spot the lurking Macbain!
Put on a fucking shirt for fuck's sake. And sunglasses inside at night? Come on. No. 

Macbain's isn't for jeans. No denim. No sneakers. No fucking sandals on men! No t-shirts.  
This guy didn't look bad at all... if you started at the bottom and worked your way up. Then BOOM. THAT HAIR. Why? Why, why, why?

There is good male hair out there now. Quite a bit of it. It costs the same as that swampy mop on top of that guy's head. GET SOME DAMN DECENT HAIR.
No track suits in my club. That's for lounging on your fucking couch at home scratching your balls watching sportsball, not for going out to a club, enjoying a fine cigar, a glass of Bourbon and seducing the ladies.

When you come to Macbain's, you come dressed to impress. You may not stay dressed, but you'll fucking show up with a look that makes me want to lick you from head to toe.
No bodybuilders, either. And yeah, that's just a matter of personal preference for me. I hate the big beefy, bone-head look.

I hate the Aesthetic body and head and those Nimrod skins or whatever they're called. I absolutely despise them with the white hot heat of a million burning suns.

So yeah, no. Not allowed. Period.
I know you guys love your tattoos, and I don't hate them, either. If they mean something to you, are done with quality and... oh for Christ's sake, no fucking barbed wire on your biceps!

It's trite and tacky and soooooooo embarrassingly frat boy-ish.
Those static fingers, guys. We women notice that shit. And that's why this doofus is standing around in his boxers not getting laid. And again, THAT HAIR.
I didn't even wait until this schmo rezzed before I snapped the picture and took off. What the fuck is going on here? BURN IT.
And just so you guys don't think I'm only picking on you... this shit doesn't fly with me, either. The no-over-sized-body-part rule goes for women, too. I guess this is some fetish thing, and it's at Nadine's Fuck Bunker so chances are it's a dude, but I have known some women who do this with their tits and ass, too. 

Some people find it... sexy? I guess? And that's okay if that's your thing. Go to Nadine's and have at it. But I'm not allowing it in Macbain's.


For those of you gentlemen who do take care to look amazing, thank you. Sincerely. Thank you so much. I love you. 

But the shit above is what we women are dealing with in Second Life and it doesn't make our pussies wet. Well, I suppose it makes some women wet, but not me, and not the women I want joining me at Macbain's.

I don't know when I'm going to open... I'm not especially in any rush. I'll make another post in a few days about what I truly do envision for my little smoking lounge. It actually is about more than looks, I promise...
There's games and shit, too. And tits!

Monday, July 30, 2018

Bethie with the Good Hair

Well, y'all... I have had a rough couple of weeks.
It all started with a visit from my dark friend. 

That's what I call my depression. 

Mind you, all things considered, it wasn't a bad visit. It was more of a meh than a whopper. It was just sort of tickling around at the fringes.

And I know what brought it on... men.
More specifically, men who think I'm a grand candidate for sex, but can't see the woman beyond that.

It's a double-edged sword, isn't it? I have buried myself in the sexual side of Second Life because... well, hell, I like sex, damn it, and I've been so damn sick for years about the way women are shamed for being sex positive.

So I've gone all out with the sex, right? And there's not a damn thing wrong with that... until you realize that most of the men in my (Second)life have started to see me as nothing more than a virtual sex doll.

And I'm really not okay with that.
Because I'm sexual, yes... voraciously sexual even... but that isn't all I am by any stretch of the imagination.

I'm complex and varied. Intelligent and funny. Loyal to a fault. Empathetic to an almost uncomfortable degree. I'm goofy. I work, and pay bills, and I have a family, and friends. I drive a car. I cook. I have dreams. I'm pragmatic.

And a lot more things, too. And I happen to think I'm worth knowing in more than the carnal sense.

I'm fucking date-worthy.
These men in my SL that relegated me to fuck object starting wearing on me. The nights spend alone while they were with their girlfriends or partners. The life of the side chick sucks, in spite of what all the songs say.

I'm not going to be a side chick anymore. If you want to be with me, you'd best be ready, willing, and able to put me ahead of all the other women in your virtual world. I'm not settling for second... or third, or fourth... best anymore, guys.
As I was coming to this realization, and the realization it was time for one of those little breaks from Second Life, my real world got hit by a real storm. A big ass storm that knocked out my power for a couple of days.

And when that power came back on? Dead computer.

It's been acting up for a while now and I thought I might be in for some repairs soon, but when this happened, I also happened to be broke as fuck.

I waited for pay day.

And I'm not going to tell you guys the absolute utter bullshit I went through trying to find someone to work on my computer (when I wanted them to) but there were some tense moments and terse conversations and high fucking blood pressure.
Anyway, after paying $200 for "diagnostics", I found out my motherboard was pretty much melted. I cried. I loved that damn computer. It was a big Frankenstein workhorse that had lasted me years, and it was dead.

And I had to buy a new computer. So this is me on a new computer that I'm still learning, with new photo editing tools because I lost my Pixlr desktop because it was discontinued a couple of years ago but I've been keeping it going because I love Pixlr and loved the desktop app.

But there's no getting it back now so I have to find something else.
These are edited with PhotoShop Express. It's nice but it doesn't have all the tools I want. I'm also playing with a free trial of the full PhotoShop to see how I like it.

You guys... I don't know Photoshop beyond the very most basic. Look, I just want to slap some filters on a photo and be done with it. I have no desire to spend more than 2 or 3 minutes editing a photo of my virtual self.

There is also the online version of Pixlr that I used before I switched to the desktop app. I can go back to that, too, and my photos will look just the same as before.

So I'm weighing my options.
Anyway, all this is to say that I had to take a longer break than I meant to.

But I'm back now with some new priorities.

I cleaned out my friend's list. If you're still on there, that means you're fucking awesome and I love you... or I haven't gotten to know you well enough to know if you're a twat-waffle yet.

Cleaned out my Skype contacts, too.

No more will I be everyone's for-a-good-time-call girl.
Respect me, and I'll respect you right back and fuck you until we're both sweaty and spent and blissed the fuck out.

What? You thought I was giving up sex? C'mon, y'all know me better than that!

But it's going to be on my terms. You're going to have to spend some time getting to know me before you stick your dick in me. And I won't be your side chick or hide in the shadows.

If you have an open relationship with someone else, great. I have no issue with that. If your girl knows you're fucking me, we can talk. 

But I'm really looking for that one special guy. And I know when I'm looking, I won't find him but there you go. 

I want a partner. Not for monogamy but someone who puts me first above all others, as I will him. We'll play together and separately and with others but at the end of the night, I want a guy who wants to be with me.
And no, I don't think that's too much to ask. I'm fucking all that and a bag of chips. The guy that I pour myself into is going to be one lucky son of a bitch as long as he pours himself right back into me. 

Gentleman, if you think you're going to stick your dick inside me then only come sniffing around when you want to get your rocks off again, just look elsewhere. 

But you're going to be missing out on knowing someone amazing.

Saturday, July 7, 2018


Hey guys! Long time, no see!

Yeah... I've been a bit quiet, haven't I? I've had my hands full, y'all! Of cock!
I'm  having a quiet Friday night, though. It's a holiday weekend for those of us in the states... well, it was a holiday a couple days ago, but a lot of people are on vacation. Did you know that the Fourth of July is my least favorite holiday of them all?

I despise it. Mostly because I don't like loud bangy noises that mimic bombs. I think that's tacky and uncalled for in this day and age. Boys with their toys, amirite?

Also, yeah... I'm not so very patriotic these days.
Truth is I never have been. I value being human over being American. I cringe at the creepy Pledge of Allegiance. I often find myself ducking into the bathroom just before the National Anthem plays just so I don't have to stand for something I find pretty distasteful.

It would be different if this was a great country... and yeah, I was a bit more patriotic during the Obama years but now we've got the giant orange turd - pussy-grabber, daughter-luster, wife-cheater, just all around asshole in chief. And his grotesque sycophants who I find even more repulsive.

They man could literally rape a puppy on Fox News and his bootlickers would find a reason to justify it.

But enough about my dislike of the Fourth of July and utter hatred of the monster.
It's hot, isn't it? We're having a bit of a heatwave.

And when I built my house, I neglected to install AC. Does anyone have AC in their Second Life homes? Mine is all glass, and I know there's a metaphor in there about people living in glass houses and all, but I love it.

So, no air conditioning and a quiet Second Life night where all my fellas are either occupied or out of town... or sleeping, I suppose, at this time of night... nothing to do but climb aboard my pegacorn float and try to cool down.
Speaking of pegacorns, did I mention that I saw Taylor Swift last weekend??

If you know me at all, you know I fucking love Taylor Swift with a white-hot passion. I want to be her bestest friend, have sleepovers with her, do each other's makeup, eat junk food, dance around like we're 22, talk about boys and practice French kissing.

I would eat that pussy so good. Lick her from front to back and front again. Get my face right in that juicy little pussy and make her cream all over my tongue. I bet her cum has glitter in it. Her tits? Those nice little breasts she has with those yummy little nipples... god... I could spend hours sucking and kissing and biting them. And then I want to scissor with her... rub out pussies together, our clits all swollen and aching and just grind on each other until we pass out.

Where was I? Oh, yeah... I saw her last weekend. I'm not usually a concert goer, especially not a stadium concert goer when it's like 100 degrees, but I was given the opportunity at the last minute to chaperone a group of teenage girls. And no, I did not mention any of the above to them.

I just danced my ass off and sang and even shed a tear or six because I'm a big dork.

And then I went home, alone, and masturbated like the sex fiend I am... lol!
That's it for the big excitement in my real life.

In Second Life, though... I've had a string of fucking amazing luck hooking up with some of the most sensual, kinky, handsome dirty men in Second Life.

knocks on wood

I don't want to spoil this run of fun.

Where are the pictures, you ask? Hidden in folders to never be seen by anyone other than me and them. Why? Er... different reasons.

Some are partnered, and yes, they're also swingers but have rules about public photographs, and I totally respect that even though I've got some fucking hot pictures I'd love to share.

Some I'm just not ready to go public with yet, for various reasons, the least of which is that I'm sort of in a "it's nobody else's business" kind of place.
Too hot... must get in the water...
I'm having a really good time, though. A REALLY good time. Orgasms out the wazoo... lol. 

So yay me!

There's nothing serious there with any of them. I'm a bit gun shy about getting gushy and lovey-dovey with anyone after my last clusterfuck of a relationship. 

Does it get lonely sometimes? Yep. But I'm also not getting my heart damaged, so that's cool. 

Fucking hell, it's hot. Even the water isn't cooling me off. Quite the opposite, in fact.

See, when it gets hot like this, I bitch and complain about the heat... but I fucking love it. The heat and the humidity just go right to my crotch and make me want to fuck like I'm a jungle beast in heat.

So even though my skin is flushed, and I can't find a comfortable position even in this nice cool water, I'm aroused as all hell.

No surprise there, right?
I find myself kneeling in the cool sand with the water sloshing around me... the salt filled sea breeze awakening every one of my senses... I can smell it, feel it, hear the waves lapping against the shore.

So easy to just push my wet panties to the side and touch myself. The wetness I feel isn't only from the sea water. It brushes against my clit just as my fingers do.

Goosebumps on my skin, even in this oppressive heat. Nipples peaked and swollen... aching.
It doesn't take long... it rarely takes me long to reach that point. My toes curling in the sand, my fingers dipping inside my tight pussy, rubbing that spot that makes me spurt... my palm pressed to my clit rubbing tight little circles on that swollen little nub.

I think about my lovers, these men that make me melt for them. The ways they touch me, taste me... the ways they fuck me, and I cum.
I cum so hard, from so deep inside... the heat spreads through my entire body, making me arch and shudder and spurt. I love the creaminess of it... love the taste of it when I bring my fingers to my lips and taste myself.

I collapse into the shallow water, my face just barely above the calm... thighs spread wide, exposed, open... an offering to the night.
Stretching, momentarily sated but knowing the heat is just barely held at bay... I need more. I always need more. Crave more. The men, my lovers... their thick, heavy cocks.

Just floating on the waves, the little quakes still rocking in my pussy... drifting on the bliss of it all.
Stripping my sodden clothing and tossing it in a wet heap onto the sand... free now. Wet, shaking slightly... but oh-so relaxed. Tracing my body with my fingertips...

Ecstasy... never far from reach.
The world would be a much nicer place, I believe, if we all had more orgasms. It doesn't matter if they're shared with lovers, or alone. My hands know my body better than anyone, and I bet yours do, too. Know your body, that is.

Go ahead... reach down there and touch whatever you find. A cock? A pussy? No matter... just touch. Grip, rub, stroke, finger... let it carry you away. Do it for me, and perhaps next time we'll do it together.

Let yourself cum... do it for me.
And then whisper in my ear... tell me how you touched yourself, how it felt... tell me the thoughts in your head, and about the mess you made. Tell me about how you felt after you came. Tell me how much you want to cum with me next time. Share with me. Cum with me. Cum for me.

Monday, June 4, 2018

The Eating of the Crow

One of the very best things about having my own blog is being able to speak my mind without having anyone there to temper my words.

One of the very worst things about having my own blog is being able to speak my mind without having anyone there to temper my words.
Fresh Catch
I stand by all the things I said in my post yesterday, but I failed to look beyond my anger and see other sides of what is a many-faceted problem that needs more discussion than I could handle in elebenty bajillion posts.

I left out some things, and glossed over some others.

Let me say this first of all:

Falsely accusing someone of rape is just as vile as raping someone.

Both of these actions destroy lives, and I'm just pretty much generally against destroying anyone's life.

I shouldn't have gendered my post. Men are victims, too. Current statistics say it's as many as 1 in 6 men have been sexually harassed, abused, assaulted or raped. It's also an incredibly UNDER reported crime, just as rape against women is.

And none of that takes into account the abuse that the trans community receives.

So, no, it's not just women. And all of it is abhorrent.

Secondly, I didn't give nearly enough thought or words to those falsely accused. It happens, and it's probably happening more and more now that the "me, too" movement has taken off and people like Bill Cosby and Harvey Weinstein are paying for their crimes.

When I was saying it wasn't a witch hunt, what I meant and didn't articulate at all, was that when it's he says vs. she says and she says and she says and she says a dozen times over, there's a pretty damn good chance the accusations are true.
I much prefer steak.
When it's he says vs she says, with no other accusers or witnesses or proof, what should we do? Who is to be believed?

I don't know. I really don't.

When trying to compare the viciousness of the crimes in my head, it's difficult for me. Rapist? Lock them away forever. False accusers? Yeah, lock them away, too.

There are unquestionably different degrees of sexual harassment, assault and rape, though. There's the 18 year old dating the 17 year old that gets locked up for statutory rape and ends up having to register as a sex offender for the rest of his life. His life is ruined, and I think, hope, that we can all agree that is wrong. There are violent rapists who deserve to burn not just in the pits of hell, but in a pit of our own making here on earth because fuck them and fuck showing them mercy.

Are there different degrees to those who make false accusations? This isn't nearly as clear to me because I can only see someone who would do that to another person as pure unfiltered evil. Not only are they destroying an innocent man's life (and I'm using genders here because I've never heard a case of a man falsely accusing women but I'm sure it's happened), but they are also destroying the credibility of women people who are real victims. They are making it much more difficult for those real victims to come forward.

It's worth talking about, isn't it? Calm, rational discussion rather than my angry blog post from last night? I should have spoken to those women privately, one on one. I have had a conversation with one of them today who read my post, the one who made the witch hunt comment. We're both on the same side. I made unwarranted assumptions regarding the basis of her comment.

I was wrong.

Simple as that, given context, I was absolutely wrong.
Maybe a nice salad?
Turns out that she has a friend who was falsely accused and lost everything - job, wife, reputation, everything, and you can't get that back. The accuser finally admitted she made it all up. This gentleman was accused and convicted without the benefit of a trial. The clock couldn't be turned back, the damage couldn't be undone.

That is terrifying. It's absolutely terrifying that that can happen. I have no idea what the woman's reasoning was, but does it really matter? She absolutely destroyed him with lies.

This can't happen, for all our sake. For the men who are ruined and for the people who are true victims of sexual crimes that are afraid to speak out.

Our justice system is fucked. We do not hand out punishments that fit the crimes, from murderers who get a slap on the wrist to some dumb kid smoking a joint in his car that ends up in prison for three years and a felony on his record forever. Ethan Couch. Alice Marie Johnson. Countless others that the justice system utterly fucked the fuck up on.

So what do we do?

We keep talking. We keep being civil to each other. Oh, and just as important, if not more important, is listening. We have to hear each other.

And for the record, I'm guilty, too. In my younger, drunker, stupider years, I know I grabbed a few asses in bars absolutely without consent. It never once entered my mind that what I was doing was wrong. We're conditioned to believe that men enjoy it.

With the benefit of age, I know now that what I did was wrong. Absolutely wrong. Being young, drunk and female is no excuse. I've had the opportunity to apologize to one of the men because he was, and has remained, a friend over the last quarter of a century. The others... I barely remember them, didn't know them, so let this be a blanket apology to ALL men who've been on the flip side of the coin and had some sloppy drunk chick paw on them in a bar.
Eh, what the hell... I'll go all in.
And that's why we have to keep having these conversations. Yes, parents need to teach their boys about consent and all that it entails, but they also need to be teaching their girls as well. Consent - giving it and receiving it. It needs to be a gender-fluid discussion. Men, women, and every possible identity in between.

I'm still learning, folks, and I hope you are as well. I made a mistake based on assumptions. Hell, I've clearly made lots of mistakes based on assumptions. Crow is something I've learned to swallow. It's never pleasant, but is always necessary.

But no matter what, let's keep having the conversation, okay?

A word of warning, though... I'm probably not done with this topic. I didn't even touch on the sloppy drunken bad sex that happens in college where women wake up with regrets and decide they were raped. Campus rape is a real problem, but so are bad decisions and binge drinking. If a drunk woman is incapable of giving consent, a drunk man is equally incapable. Put those two together and it's a recipe for disaster.

99.5% of the people I've encountered in my 48 years have been wonderful, thoughtful, caring, kind people. The true evil ones, thankfully, have been few and far between. I believe most people are basically good, if misguided... and I include myself in that sometimes.

You'd think I'd have learned by now that sometimes words come from people's mouths without the intent to cause harm, considering I do it myself so often. Let my mistakes be a lesson... and remind me when I spew things without thought, that there are multiple sides to every story. I'm not unreasonable... just passionate.

Perhaps too passionate at times. 🌝

Sunday, June 3, 2018

Slut Shaming & Victim Blaming

I haven't done one of these posts for a while. Lately it's all been about sex and Second Life and I haven't touched so much on real world topics.

But I need to get this off my chest.
Last weekend I was in a club, dancing, having a good time when the topic of conversation took a turn. The DJ made a joke about something, I think maybe the claims against Morgan Freeman but I'm not sure. I was only half paying attention.

But then one of the women chimed in about how sick she is of the Me, Too movement. And then another chimed in, agreeing with her, and then another.
I had to leave before I got in a very heated argument with them. It wasn't the time or place, but...


No. Just fucking no.

I'm (mostly) sexually submissive, yes. I do think men and women are different, yes.

I'm also a fucking feminist and have been around the block several fucking times. Maybe they're just young and haven't been in that position before. Guess what? I have. Many fucking times growing up. Once I hit puberty and got tits, a lot of men decided they were, literally, up for grabs.
I mean, I understand WHY they wanted to grab them, but...
I came of age in the 80s. My body matured young... when I was 12, I could easily pass for 18. That got me in some situations beyond my control, but let's look beyond that.

I was 16 when I got my first job. I was working part time after school in a store owned by a friend of my dad's. This friend, my boss, used to come up behind me when I was standing at the counter and grind against me. When we'd close the store at night, he'd say things like "why don't you come home with me and we'll take a bath together?" I'd laugh awkwardly, as a 16 year old does, and jump in my car to get away from something that I knew was wrong... but didn't really understand what and why.

These things weren't talked about then. Date rape was something that was just beginning to be a thing. Oh, and, yes, I did have a date with a guy I'd had a crush on for years that took me parking, put the keys down his pants and tried to shove his entire fist in my pussy. Did I say no? Well, I moved his hand quite a few times when his fingers were creeping towards me and tried to keep my thighs clamped shut. But I was shy. And I was alone with him out in the woods. And I didn't fucking know what I was supposed to do, so I eventually stopped fighting it and took it.
Is that consent? No, it really fucking isn't. He didn't manage to get his fist inside me... hell, I hadn't even had a dick inside me at that point, but he certainly left some damage. I didn't realize how much until I got home and realized my panties were soaked in blood.

(Karma's a bitch... a couple years later his miserable ass got drunk and thought it'd be funny to play Russian roulette. He lost and I got the chance to spit on his grave.)

Was that the last time? To that extent, yes, but there have been dozens and dozens of times over the years where men have grabbed my ass in a bar, or a date kept getting handsy even after I'd swatted his hands away over and over. Dozens of times when men didn't take no for an answer until I had to say something along the lines of "Jesus fucking Christ, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

Was I raped? No... but as you can see from the two stories above, I was certainly sexually assaulted.

Did you know I lived and worked in Hollywood during the years Harvey Weinstein was at the top of his game? I did. I was old enough by then to not take shit from men, but I knew a lot of young actresses trying to get a fair shot at having a career.
I could tell stories and I could name names, and they would be names you know. These women didn't keep quiet about it then... they told their friends, their agents, whoever was around. We'd get together and have drinks and the stories would come out. "Oh my god... he did that same thing to me!" was something I'd often hear. I could tell you some shit. Some names wouldn't shock you, but I bet I know a couple that would.

These women who are coming forward now with their accusations about men in Hollywood aren't lying, folks. They've been coming forward forever but it wasn't until Ronan Farrow, a man, wrote an expose that anyone listened. That anyone fucking cared. I'm thankful to Ronan, but god damn... why did it take until a man wrote about it for anyone to take it seriously and do something?
Any woman who says she's never been in that type of situation with a man is either lying, or grew up incredibly sheltered. You feel powerless. Confused. Angry. Hopeless.

And it's not even a case of thinking no one would believe you if you told your story... it's that no one cared. Everyone in Hollywood knows it's happening and everyone for decades has just turned their heads and looked the other way. The women all knew that if they went to the police, it would be their word against his. His powerful lawyers against the barely-passed-the-bar ambulance chaser that's all they can afford. They were all told by women older and wiser to keep their mouths shut if they wanted a career in Hollywood. Their agents, publicists, managers... all told them to hush their pretty little mouths.

And now they aren't, and these imbecilic men are being held accountable for their reprehensible, inexcusable actions, finally. Fucking finally.

And that shit is going to trickle down. From Hollywood, to Washington, to your neighborhood store. Men are going to learn that, no, they don't have the right to any woman's body. We aren't just "things" that men can use as they see fit.
And then I hear these women... women... making excuses for these men. Blaming the victims. "They knew what they were getting into."

Oh for fuck's sake! Haven't we moved beyond that? The whole "she was asking for it", "she shouldn't have dressed that way" bullshit? Just when I think we're making some damn progress, I realize there are still women... not men, no, they were wisely keeping their mouths shut... but women who are perpetuating this fallacy that a victim is in any way responsible for what happened to her, and it fucking infuriates me.

These are actual quotes from women:

"to be honest I getting a bit sick of the "me too" crap... Most knew exactly what they got into before it happened.. but now they all jumping... best sentence "I coundnt do anything against it while I was a nobody, but now im mighty!" just lol.. she just got to this exactly bcuz of IT"

"ffs...guys are afraid to get on an elevator alone with a woman or tell  her she looks good much less flirt!!! omg they'll get sue for that!  zup wit dis chit?"

"but its a bad topic for a party ^^ lets drop it *smiles* lets be happy that we arent millionaire "bitches" who need publicity ^^"

"while that's true, I'm seeing a "witch-hunt" develop. Where people just need to point an accusing finger and someone looses all their work and gets sentenced without a fair trial"

What in every hell is wrong with these women?
Regarding quote number one, no, they really fucking couldn't do anything about it when they were nobodies. These men have dozens of lawyers at their disposal and on retainer. These women at the time could barely afford food and/or rent. She got powerful because she was sexually assaulted and that's supposed to be okay? No, it fucking isn't. In order to pursue the career path they'd chosen, that they had every single fucking right to pursue, they had to put up with being treated less than human, like fucking fleshlights. Fuck every single thing about that.

The second quote, that's just ridiculous fucking hyperbole unworthy of comment beyond that... except for maybe learn some basic grammar and spelling.
Third, these "millionaire bitches" don't need the publicity. What they need is for men to stop acting like horse's asses, and to stop holding their careers for ransom to be paid by being a limp rag doll that they can paw and hump and drool all over.

Fourth, it's not a fucking witch hunt. When woman after woman after woman comes forward with the same damn story, when a fucking pattern develops, it's not a god damn witch hunt. These men  have teams of lawyers, publicists, agents, and private investigators that they use to destroy these women. To absolutely obliterate them. Blacklist them. Ruin their reputations. They spend millions on this shit.

No young actress in Hollywood has those millions to blow to go against these men. That's why it's so important that they come forward with their stories so they can band together and use the truth to take down these men.

Is every accuser telling the truth? Certainly not, and I strongly believe thay anyone who makes false accusations should pay a harsh price because every time a woman lies, it makes it harder for another woman to be believed.
Outtakes... Flamingo photo-bomb
I'm just sick to death of it, y'all. 

Enough is enough. Ladies, stop embarrassing me with your backwards 1950s repressed Stepford wife bullshit.

I'm pretty fucking pissed at myself over it, too. No, maybe it wasn't the right time or place for me to school them but I really should have anyway. I have immense respect for the gentleman who owns the club; he was AFK and unaware of the discussion happening. I didn't want to want to make a scene so I... I just left. How should I have best handled it? Maybe a conference chat between the four of us? Individual IMs to each one? Educated them in local? You see, there is still a stigma about speaking up. I didn't want to be that harpy.

But these are serious issues that have been facing women since cavemen dragged their women around by the hair. It gets better little by little. Two steps forward, one step back. I feel like we're on the cusp of breakthrough, though... even with the pussy-grabber in chief sitting in the Oval Office.

Anyway, ladies... yeah, don't do what those other women did and blame the victim. If it ends up not being true, like in the Duke case, yeah, throw her to the damn wolves... but for every liar, there are hundreds, if not thousands, that are telling the truth.

And more importantly, no woman ever deserves to be assaulted or raped. It doesn't matter that she went alone to his hotel room (a suite in these cases) for a business meeting, it doesn't matter what she's wearing, it doesn't matter what her chosen occupation is (even prostitutes).

The only person to blame is the person doing the assaulting, the raping... the pussy-grabbing and tit-mauling, groping, drooling oafs that can't fucking control themselves in the presence of women.

Blame the rapist, not the raped. It's not that hard.

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