Stripper. Columnist. Protagonist. Feminist. Enthusiast. Many-ist.

http://eroticmusepdx.com
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Reblogged from nicoleeeer  223,056 notes

Ten rape prevention tips:

1. Don’t put drugs in women’s drinks.

2. When you see a woman walking by herself, leave her alone.

3. If you pull over to help a woman whose car has broken down, remember not to rape her.

4. If you are in an elevator and a woman gets in, don’t rape her.

5. When you encounter a woman who is asleep, the safest course of action is to not rape her.

6. Never creep into a woman’s home through an unlocked door or window, or spring out at her from between parked cars, or rape her.

7. Remember, people go to the laundry room to do their laundry. Do not attempt to molest someone who is alone in a laundry room.

8. Use the Buddy System! If it is inconvenient for you to stop yourself from raping women, ask a trusted friend to accompany you at all times.

9. Carry a rape whistle. If you find that you are about to rape someone, blow the whistle until someone comes to stop you.

10. Don’t forget: Honesty is the best policy. When asking a woman out on a date, don’t pretend that you are interested in her as a person; tell her straight up that you expect to be raping her later. If you don’t communicate your intentions, the woman may take it as a sign that you do not plan to rape her.

beautone:

Colonizability of Africa (1899)
A map by cartographer John George Bartholomew (1860-1920)



I’m going to take the time to type this out, because, you know, holy shit.

The pink: Healthy colonizable Africa, where European races may be expected to become in time the prevailing type, where essentially European states may be formed.
The yellow: Fairly healthy Africa: but where unfavorable conditions of soil or water supply, or the prior establishment of warlike or enlightened native races or other causes, may effectually prevent European colonization.
The gray: Unhealthy but exploitable Africa: impossible for European colonization but for the most part of the great commercial value and inhabited by fairly docile, governable races; the Africa of the trader and planter and of despotic European control
The brown: Extremely unhealthy Africa

I have no words to describe any of this, except to note that this was a genocide that these bastards planned, and carried out, in many many parts.
Next time someone tells you to “just get over it”, it being the European colonization of the world…. show them this. Some things…. you just don’t ever get over. 

beautone:

Colonizability of Africa (1899)

A map by cartographer John George Bartholomew (1860-1920)

I’m going to take the time to type this out, because, you know, holy shit.

The pink: Healthy colonizable Africa, where European races may be expected to become in time the prevailing type, where essentially European states may be formed.

The yellow: Fairly healthy Africa: but where unfavorable conditions of soil or water supply, or the prior establishment of warlike or enlightened native races or other causes, may effectually prevent European colonization.

The gray: Unhealthy but exploitable Africa: impossible for European colonization but for the most part of the great commercial value and inhabited by fairly docile, governable races; the Africa of the trader and planter and of despotic European control

The brown: Extremely unhealthy Africa

I have no words to describe any of this, except to note that this was a genocide that these bastards planned, and carried out, in many many parts.

Next time someone tells you to “just get over it”, it being the European colonization of the world…. show them this. Some things…. you just don’t ever get over. 

She Must Be Special.

My friend Sweet Bird brought me to my first strip club, back in 2009. It was a few months before I would audition anywhere, but I didn’t know that at the time.

She had stripped in San Diego, years prior, and I was nervous as she led me in to the now-defunct Dolphin III in Portland, Oregon.

It was a ‘gown club’, meaning that the girls wore long, sparkly or flowing dresses, and mile-high heels. The music was queued up to a rotating playlist of Top 40 and generic rock songs. There were at least three stages, and to me, it looked as big as a football field. (It wasn’t.)

I sat nervously and sipped some kind of vodka drink. My friend would tip at intervals. I tried to avert my eyes. What were the rules for tipping? For looking? She told me to carry a few dollars to a nearby stage, and cackled when I nervously refused.

"You can tell that girl is new", she said, pointing. "She’s young and unsure, but she’s doing really well." I had no idea, but watched a sweet faced brunette smile nervously as she walked around the pole like a baby gazelle.

"That girl is killin’ it. You can tell she’s a hustler."

Across the room, on a different stage, a red-head strutted and bopped her head, smiling to the room, without looking at anyone in particular. A man, wearing a suit, strode to her stage. What he did next astounded me.

Confidently, simply, he began covering a section of her stage in dollars. It was a small stage, and he took his time doing it. She grinned at him and dipped her chin. She recognizes him, I thought.

I was impressed.

She must be important, I thought. She must be special.

Thinking back, it might only have been $20 that he set down. Maybe half of her stage fee for that night.

The money wasn’t the point.

Look at me. Look at her. Look at this.

Last night, almost six years later, and I’m on stage in my tiny, divey, retro-decorated strip club. My customers rarely wear suits, and the iPod that I’ve brought will select whatever indie and blues rock that suits the mood.

I’d just exited the private dance room. A man is there to see me, he’s a business man, a quite notable Portland entrepeneur. But you wouldn’t know it by his attire.

We’d sat, with our foreheads together. He doesn’t care about seeing my pussy. He wants to hear my inhale and exhale, and we mutter quietly about soft things. He rubs my back and I groan with happiness.

I’m sweating, he’s sweating. I admire the tattoos on his hands and as he wraps his fingers through mine. And sighs.

"Thank you."

"Thank you."

He asks me, “What do I owe you?”

And I know he’s a good customer and a man with business integrity. I try something different; “Just put whatever you think is fair, on my stage.”

Let’s see what he thinks is ‘fair’.

I’m bopping and smiling and dancing to the room, and I see him approaching, and I dip my chin in acknowledgement. I turn to spin, and hear a woman mutter, “Oh my God.”

He’s walking away, all six feet of him. But there is a fan of bills, my stripper eye calculates about $120. He’s paid me twice the rate for the songs.

Look at me. Look at him. Look at this.

I wonder who else saw that.