Ev's kink corner

Hello dearies,

Auntie Ev has decided to share with you all some real life stories from back when she had an interesting life. Here is the first one.

Once upon a time, Auntie Ev was a wild babygoth teenager. She had to wear prescription sunglasses, because the bright Southern California sun hurt her pale eyes and partially blinded her. She wore a long black cloak.

She had a long black cloak because her mother wanted her to wear something warm. Mom wanted Auntie Ev to wear a sweater, but lo, sweaters were Super Uncool. Auntie Ev wanted a badass leather jacket, but Mom was worried people would "think things" if she wore something so butch.

"But Mom," Auntie Ev replied, "those things would be true. I have a girlfriend."

In those days, Auntie Ev was in love with a riot grrl. Riot grrls were grunge feminists who wore flannels and combat boots, shaved the sides of their heads, and listened to Nirvana and Hole. Auntie Ev's girlfriend eventually left Auntie Ev for her best friend, who then started a vampire cult and eventually moved to Florida to build a cult compound, as one does, I suppose.

Anyway, because sweaters were Super Uncool and leather jackets might Make People Think Things, Auntie Ev instead asked for a cloak. Black velour on the outside, some other thick black fabric on the inside. Auntie Ev's mom was Not The Sewing Type, but she made this kickass cloak, with a hood and a big wide three-quarter circle sweep and EVERYTHING. Auntie Ev still has this treasured cloak, which has had so many clasps sewn onto it over the years. Auntie Ev is even less of a Sewing Type.

Once, Auntie Ev was striding around, all intense and gothic after watching Interview with the Vampire or Bram Stoker's Dracula or some shit, wearing her sunglasses at night (so she could so she could) and she majestically crashed face first into a glass door in front of a bunch of people at a cafe. So cool.

So, Auntie Ev had already been to see Rocky Horror Picture Show at the all ages youth hall that didn't allow alcohol. She had slapped away the hand of a 20-something redheaded dude in a kilt. She had pretended to be a statue in downtown Santa Barbara next to lifelike actual statues, terrifying tourists by suddenly moving. She had ridden a shopping cart down the pier, and played tag in the graveyard in the middle of the night. Auntie Ev needed something NEW to do.

A friend of a friend suggesting something new- a live-action roleplaying game! Vampire the Masquerade, it was called. It was NEW! It involved VAMPIRES! And ACTING! Auntie Ev was intrigued.

Well, Auntie Ev went to this game, and must tell you that LARPing can be fun. The problem with LARPing is LARPers. O, my doves, the DRAMA.

Still, Auntie Ev might have really got into it, were it not for one issue. Blueberry Vodka Guy.

BVG (is that a disease?) had, you see, drunk altogether Too Much Vodka, and thus, we must return to the aforementioned problem with LARPing.

BVG looked at Auntie Ev. BVG saw the sunglasses and the black cloak. BVG saw Auntie Ev's budding acting skills. BVG was tatered, smashed, snookered, toasted, plastered, plowed, intoxicated, inebriated... BVG was drunk.

And BVG got An Idea.

BVG decided that, in his altered state, he had finally found it. His prey. What he had, for some time, been hunting.

BVG tottered and swayed, stumbled and staggered. BVG reached into the bed of his pickup truck. BVG retrieved a KEYRING of ACTUAL STAKES.

BVG then suddenly proceeded to attempt to MOTHERFUCKING STAKE AUNTIE EV.

Auntie Ev took exception to this.

THANKFULLY, Auntie Ev had a few things going for her-

1. Ribs and the breastbone are actually pretty thick bones.

2. Super drunk people are shit at fighting.

3. Incandescent rage combined with a CPTSD-(unrelated to this incident)-driven fight trauma response.

Auntie Ev broke that fucking stake out of BVG's hand. Auntie Ev stabbed BVG back. BVG was wearing a thick leather jacket. The jacket was super effective.

Auntie Ev called her parents and asked to be picked up. Auntie Ev went home, hiding the wound in her chest, because Mom was a battle-axe and would have gone on the warpath, and Auntie Ev did not want to give up her wild wandering ways.

And that, my dears, is why Auntie Ev, who is absolutely NOT a vampire, all rumors notwithstanding, got this scar over her heart.

Now, would you like another cuppa tea, my dumplings?

You know it isn't gonna be great news when the doctor calls you directly, instead of one of the front desk staff. 

Yeah, I have to get another excision. Waiting for oncology to call me to schedule another surgery. I already had one excision at the beginning of the year. Now I'm gonna have to get at least one more. 

Fuck. 

Bbbbb

A medication my doctor sent in never made it through the system because my insurance required a prior authorization form which the fax machine at my doctor's office consumed as a sacrifice. (Quite likely so, according to both the pharmacist and the receptionist at my doctor's office.) The pharmacy re-sent the form, but I also called the doctors office. The nurses have a team that handles prior authorization forms, so they are also going to get together and chant a spell of form summoning and prior authorization manifestation. Hopefully between the two forces, they will be able to summon my tizabadine or whatever it's called.

Being this unwell is so much work.

I made sure to let them all know that I recognize how insane everything is right now and how flooded everyone is. I told them that I can tell they are trying so hard despite being understaffed and overwhelmed, and that I really appreciate them.

I can hear the real smiles and relief in their voices that anyone recognizes it and is being kind instead of taking their frustrations out on them. I know you develop strong armor working in medicine, but everyone is human, everyone can burn out, and everyone has a breaking point. These folks are human. Some are kinder than others, but it really doesn't take much to be kind to all of them, and hopefully pass on a bit of that kindness, too.

I have very little power in my life right now but this, at least, I can do. I hope it makes a difference for somebody. I hope somebody goes home with a little smile instead of crying exhausted over their steering wheel in their driveway.

If I can, then this is enough.

My dear friends,

I regret to inform you that I am not doing well at all. 15 or so years ago I had back surgery that gave me back my life. I was able to do so many wonderful things and cake, take up horsemanship, martial arts, and Japanese tea ceremony as well.

Now it is time to pay the piper.

A few weeks ago as I was getting ready for a hot date with the wonderful Master Bjorn, I started to feel a painful twinge in my back beyond the normal aches and pains that come with chronic pain.

The date has been delayed due to extenuating circumstances, but by the time the rescheduled they came around I was in a lot of pain. At first I tried exercise, thinking it was a muscular issue, but it quickly became clear that it was more serious than that. Every moment I was sitting or standing or walking my nerve got crushed a little more. I believe it is a femoral nerve running down the front of my leg. The pain goes from my lower back through my pelvis around the front of my thigh/groin area, down my thigh and then around my knee. It feels like a giant hand is grouping my knee and my thigh and hip and crushing them while a knife digs into me. 

The pain quickly became absolutely unbearable. The day before yesterday after I managed to get to the bathroom and back I was at a level 9 or 10 for about 4 hours of screaming and writhing and seizing up before I went into shock and eventually passed out. 

The advice nurse wanted me to go to the ER as I was in danger of dying of a heart attack or going into serious shock and dying from it because of the pain. I also stopped being able to feel when my bladder was full. It's pretty serious stuff.

However I have an MRI schedule d for today at 5:30 and once I am admitted to the hospital they will not permit me to go to outpatient appointments. The next available MRI in central New York even on a stat order is in November. My x-ray showed some damage but it just isn't enough to really show us what's going on and give us a treatment pathway. Therefore I've been put on an insane amount of drugs to keep me alive until I can get the MRI. I'm not sure how in the hell I'm going to get through that MRI with this pain. I'm going to have to crawl to the table because I can no longer walk more than about 20 ft and I cannot sit so I cannot take a wheelchair. 

I do not qualify for Medicaid and Medicare will not cover any medical transport except for an ambulance to the ER if I'm bleeding out, a severe trauma case, or going into severe shock. They don't consider anything else to be an emergency. I'm really hating my country right now I have to tell you.

Anyway I don't know what's going to happen or if I can get an effective nerve block or if they can treat this effectively. I may be bed bound and in pain for the rest of my life but I'm very much hoping not because I'm not done living yet. Shit like this is rarely Fair though and we do not live in a just world. What happens, happens we just have to deal with it as best we can.

I am so very grateful for my beloved Ashigeru and my dear friend phr3ak. Without my men I would not have survived this wrong. They have worked so hard to help me, and struggled with feeling helpless and having to be caretakers, but they have done everything for me without complaint. 

I love them so much, and all of you, my dear friends. Never forget that I love you. I am not sure how much time I have left on this earth, but above all else, know that I love you, and that love will continue. May it warm you long after my body is cold. 

With love,

-Ev

Ah, the incredibly mild tragedy of being a clotheshorse who loves dressing up and costuming who is surrounded by "just get naked right now" dominants. But, but... I have some really sexy stuuuuuffff

Corsets, lingerie, flowing, ethereal, innocent white gowns, Sluddy little skirts with o-rings, fishnets, sexy shoes, velvet...

Ah, well. 

Content Warning: law enforcement, non-consensual coercion including sex.

I'm a bit of a speed demon.

That is to say, I'm "a bit" like a country road in Upstate New York is "a bit" dark in the middle of the night. That's where I found myself, driving home from a dinner event in the Adirondacks. It was such a deep and moonless night that even the deer weren't having it.

How to stay awake on my long drive? Well, I had the perfect solution- my little sound-activated toy, buried inside of me as I hurtled down the road, blasting Nightwish, Woodkid, Wardruna, Depeche Mode, Rammstein- anything with a nice heavy beat and lots of powerful chords. I was enjoying my drive immensely.

This is where we get back to the speed demon bit.

I didn't know that part of the countryside very well, so, admittedly distracted as I was, I didn't see the speed trap. I didn't notice the very bored cop who didn't even have the aforementioned missing deer to clock.

He sure the fuck noticed my little blue car, though.

He must have been looking for some excitement, because he ran code and everything- sailing up behind me and blasting me with lights, sirens, the whole deal.

"Pull over, roll your window down, turn off your vehicle, and put your hands on the wheel," the loudspeaker blared. I shakily complied. Oh gods. I could not afford a ticket. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

Boots crunched on gravel as a dark figure approached, a looming silhouette haloed by the bright lights of the high beams behind me. The cop raised his arm, and the blinding effect of the headlights was intensified by his maglite.

I hadn't counted on an encounter with The Law that evening, so I was wearing my typical summer "going out" outfit- a skimpy red top with a bralette underneath that sported little black ropes criss-crossing my breasts, a black velvet mini-skirt, and a pair of nice black boots. The silence of the night was something of a shock after Rammstein, and I almost thought I heard a little groan coming from the back of his throat. Intimidated, I wished I could see his face.

I decided to try for a tremulous smile. "Hey officer, how are you doing tonight?"

A deep voice replied, "a lot better than you're gonna be. Your eyes are looking a little glazed, there. Been drinking tonight?"

I shook my head. "No, officer! Not a drop. It's just a long drive, and-"

He cut me off. "I'm not interested in your excuses. You were speeding. Do you know how dangerous that is?"

"I'm sorry officer. I didn't realize! There was no one else around on the road and-"

"Yeah, sure," he interrupted, "and you're totally innocent. This is what you're going to do. A quarter mile up the road there's a turnoff. You're going to turn right, go down the drive, turn around at the end, and drive back up enough that there's room for me behind you. Do you understand?"

What the fuck? "Yes, officer?"

"Good," he said. "Be smart and comply. You don't want to get yourself into any more trouble tonight."

He thumped the top of my car, making me jump in my seat, and strode back to his vehicle. I still hadn't seen his face! I hated that I couldn't see his face. Couldn't make a connection. Couldn't play "aw shucks officer" and mention the cops I trained with like I could have back in California. New York cops were a totally different breed- they were total assholes, from what I'd seen.

I slowly pulled from the shoulder of the road, using my turn signal and everything, speakers off. I could be good, right? Maybe he'd appreciate how safely I was driving. Maybe he just wanted a safe place to run my plates and write a ticket that wasn't on a narrow country road. My heart was hammering in my chest as I tried to convince myself.

I wasn't buying it.

The cop rode my ass the entire time, not giving me room to even think about pulling a runner, not that a Saturn could outrun a lame donkey. The drive went back quite a bit further than I expected, and when I pulled around and parked, the darkness seemed to deepen, somehow. I was really all alone out here. Nobody was going to pass by and see me.

His car door slammed.

The officer walked to my door, and I cringed a tiny bit with every step. He hadn't paused at all in his car to write anything down or call anything in. I shivered.

"You need to step out of the car for me," he said.

I hesitated.

"I said get the FUCK out of the car," he growled in that aggressive cop voice used on noncompliant perps right before they were going to kick their asses.

I moved.

The moment I was out, he was grabbing my shoulders and spinning me around, pressing me against the side of the car.

"Put your hands behind your back. I don't believe you've got nothing on you. This is for your protection and mine," he said coldly.

I still. Couldn't see. His face.

As I moved my hands behind my back and felt the cold sharp press of metal closing around my wrists, my heart began to beat against my ribs and my breath came out in quiet little pants. Fuck. OH FUCK. My toy. Every time he spoke or made a noise, it vibrated. Could he hear it in the night, over the crickets and the frogs?

"Walk with me to the trunk of your car," he said, gripping my arm and levering it up just a tiny bit, to show me how easily he could make it hurt if I didn't obey him. Asshole.

That's right, self. Keep that brave face on. Chew him out in your mind. Don't let him get in your head. That's what I told myself. It wasn't working.

He turned me to face the trunk of my car, and ran his hands down my sides. I shuddered, hard. I couldn't help it. His hand gripped my thigh for a moment. This wasn't how a cursory search went. He wasn't using the backs of his hands. My stomach dropped.

He spun me towards him and ran his hands over my breasts, which are massive, I have to admit, not that I can help that. His hands paused for a moment. I felt balanced on the edge of something I couldn't see.

"Fuck," he said under his breath, then louder, "you could have anything hidden there. Hold the fuck still."

I whimpered, and he plunged his hands down the front of my bra. I cried out in shock, then, feeling him roughly palm my breasts, digging his fingers down my cleavage, then under them, yanking them up out of the top of my bra and top.

"Nn. Goddamn," he groaned, and my traitorous little toy buzzed, making me squirm, mostly in fear. Mostly. "Turn around. I know you've got something on you."

In me. Oh gods he was going to find it. I froze up again.

"I said turn the fuck around!" he spun me around and shoved me onto the trunk of my car, bending me over. I felt my skirt flip up and tried to stand again. His hand planted between my shoulder blades and shoved me back down again. "Bend over and stay there," he roared at me.

I stayed, pressing my thighs together, whimpering. His hand moved away from my shoulders, and I felt my panties being yanked down.

"Open your legs," he ordered. I squeezed them tighter. Suddenly, a sharp, stinging blow landed on my ass. I squealed in surprise, flooded with embarrassment immediately. "Open your legs or you're gonna get hurt," he bellowed, and, frightened, I did as he said at last.

His knee slammed into my pussy, and I screamed, that time. He was going to do it. He was. He was.

"You aren't gonna keep me out. If you fight me, it's just gonna hurt more. Hold still," he told me, and I heard a rustling sound, then the snap of latex gloves and the sound of something squeezed out of a tube, followed by wet, squelching sounds. "What have you got? Drugs? Is it drugs you're smuggling?"

"No, please, I don't have any drugs, please don't-"

"Don't you fucking argue with me. Stay down."

Glove-clad fingers coated in cold lube probed my pussy lips, pinching them and spreading them open, sliding between them, first the outer, and then down the seam of my pussy. they paused on the silicone-coated antenna of my toy.

"I fucking knew it," he said, and yanked it out of me, hard enough that I screamed again.

I heard him groan quietly again. It was a hungry groan. He plunked my toy down on the trunk of the car, right in front of my face. "You ARE a naughty thing, aren't you?" he rumbled. "don't. Fucking. Move."

I felt one hand press down on the small of my back, pinning me in place A finger probed against my opening, pushing in, deeper and deeper, rotating around as he explored every inch of me he could. The moment he rubbed against my g-spot, swollen from my toy on the trunk, I writhed. He hooked his finger roughly against me and yanked upwards, hard. I cried out, and he responded by shoving a second finger into me. It hurt, stretching me, plunging into me, and then he was pumping both of them in and out of my cunt, hitting that spot every time.

I couldn't stop, then. I couldn't stop moaning. I couldn't stop squirming. I couldn't stop my body from responding, until the moans were sharp little pants, until I was begging, pleading, "please, please, please," and I wasn't even sure what I was begging FOR any more.

And then, he made it happen. He forced me to cum.

"Yeah, that's what you really are, isn't it? You're a hungry little cumslut. I knew it. I fucking knew it," he taunted, pulling his fingers out just as violently as he'd ripped out my toy. I shouted wordlessly, and he told me, "oh don't you worry. I'm not done yet. Not by a fucking long shot."

I heard a belt unbuckle, the sound of a zipper, then the crinkle of a wrapper. Oh gods, no. "Please don't," I breathed, trembling. "Please..."

He smacked my ass again. "You're in no position to make demands, little cocktease bitch," and he pressed down on my back with his hand again as I felt the head to his cock begin to press into me. I was tight with fear but slick with lube, and I could feel my pulse thumping in my clit with sharp little aftershocks of the orgasm he stole from me.

"You come into MY territory, thinking you can do whatever you want, speeding along like a spoiled little bitch who always gets her way, is that it? Do you always get whatever you want? Shut the fuck up, I don't even want to hear it. You're not in control here, I am," and with that he began to slam his cock into me, pounding so hard the entire car shook with every thrust, his hips battering my ass.

He beat my pussy from the inside, over and over and over again. Every time I tried to flinch away, he'd slam into me even more for a few strokes, punishingly hard.

I was screaming, and he laughed and told me "No one can hear you out here, slut. Nobody's coming to save your ass. You're mine until I say otherwise. You're my fucktoy now." Tears joined the moans and screams, but I felt it building again, that urgency, that slick and throbbing need, until I came, screaming, clenching down on his cock. I felt the rhythm of his thrusts grow sharp and choppy, and thought, "he'll be finished soon," but then he pulled out with a roar.

"Not yet. I'm not done having fun with you yet. I'm gonna play with you, bitch, and then I'm gonna paint you with my cum so you have to wear it all the way home," he purred, and I heard a snap being undone behind me.

Something cold, hard and blunt pressed against my opening. Something thick. "I know you're plenty wet, I could hear it every time I shoved my cock in you," he said. "Take it. That's right. It's not going to stop, it's going in, so you'd better relax and breathe, because you're getting it either way."

It pushed inside of me, stretching me open, spreading me so wide and tight. My breathing slowed, deep and shuddering and overwhelmed. His hand left my back, and I saw the flash of a camera light the rear window of my car. "Gotta have something to enjoy later," he said, and then I could hear the wet sound of him jacking himself off as he fucked me with his baton.

I was beyond words, then, unable to even beg. I was shattered. I could only take it, only feel, only ride it. There was no stopping it. The wave, as it began to build and crest, overwhelmed me, the shock of it taking me over until I came and came and came. "Yes, give it to me, cum the the pain, give me everything," he ordered, and it kept building and coming until he finally hit my g-spot one more time and pulled it out. The pressure peaked, and I felt my cunt contracting, hard, felt the wetness, the spray, as I squirted all over my panties and the ground.

A moment later, I felt something hot and thick and wet splash onto my back, all over my ass, as he groaned and came, coating me with thick, roapy strands of it.

He planted his hands on either side of my hips, panting, and didn't move for a minute or two. His breath was hot on the back of my neck.

"Pull your panties up," he told me, stepping away. The air felt cold on my hot skin, colder now that he had created some distance between us.

Shakily, I pulled my panties up, over the evidence of what he'd done to me. Wet with his cum, and mine. I would have to sit in it the entire way home. No way in hell was I stopping for anything, once I got in that car.

I wobbled to the driver's side of my car, barely able to stand, and dropped into my seat, sucking my breath between my teeth when the impact of it went right to my sore cunt.

I turned to him, silently, and finally saw his face. His eyes bored into mine.

"Now, I'm going to let you off with a warning this time, but don't you go speeding again. Be safe out there, you hear me? You may go now," and with that, he swaggered back to his vehicle, leaving me to flee into the dark in my car... but not as fast as before.

I'm a sentimental soul.

I get attached. I love. I feel guilty. I worry about making final, hard decisions, letting go of possibilities. I fall prey to the fawn response, and when I've loved someone, especially, I have a very difficult time setting boundaries when things need to decisively end.

And so, as a result, though my ex dumped me almost a year ago, he left open the possibility of getting back together some time in the future. Having spent enough time around him, I knew that any honeymoon period would eventually dissolve into freak-outs, anger, and emotional attacks. It is a constant cycle with him, in most aspects of his life- something new is great, it's all gonna be good from now on. It'll be different this time. This time is really it. Then something small will happen, or maybe not so small, but not PERFECT, you know, and he'll start spiraling into anger, despair, he'll give up on the thing, usually with a fair amount of anger and an attempt to leave a big exit wound. In that state, he'll lash out at anyone who is near, trying to do as much damage as possible. Yeah. And he isn't willing to get mental healthcare of any kind. So.

You shouldn't have to pay the price of pain, of a degradation of your self-esteem, of fear, of stress, of enduring someone's fits of rage, to "earn" their love and the good times when they make you laugh and smile. And also? The price for being protected from others shouldn't be not being safe from the person who is supposed to be protecting you. Really. Truly. It shouldn't be. 

So, even though I cared about him, he proved to me, time and time again, what the pattern really was. I was avoiding being the one to set that final "it's not going to happen, ever again" boundary. Maybe it's hard for me as a sub, maybe it's hard because, like I said, I'm sentimental. I'm loyal, more than I should be, sometimes. I don't want to hurt anyone. I want to make sure my family is safe, and that I'm safe, and my misfiring "fawn" response tells me to placate, please, and keep my head down. 

But sometimes you just have to do it, stand up, and say, "I'm sorry. Part of me will always want you and love you, but we aren't good for each other. It was really bad for my mental health, being with you and trying to weather your rages. I can't do that again. I'm working on pursuing healthy, safe relationships. I deserve to be safe and happy and not abused. I can't go there with you again. I have to say no, but I really hope that you can get the help you need."

It was painful, and there will be painful processing, but I also feel a weight has been lifted. I don't have to worry about deflecting and fending anything off. I can much more firmly say "no." I don't have to worry about being tempted into something toxic with him again- I was quite clear. He was having an ok day, so he didn't try to damage me, and we parted ways kindly.

And I feel even more free to reach for healthy relationships with good people. Relationships where I can be good for them, and they can be good for me. Relationships with mature people who will, of course, have flaws, but who will also be willing to do the work. Relationships that are mutually respectful, considerate, and loving, like the one I have with my beloved Ashigeru.

Sometimes we have to say goodbye to what we wish could have been, to make better room for something truly good that is real and here and now, and potential that CAN be nurtured into fruition in this life, not in dreams of another life. 

May we all find the strength to let go of the attachments that cause us suffering, and to reach out and find our joy!

"Submissive" doesn't mean "automatically yours" or "weak doormat," and if you come at me with something like "hi slut" by way of introducing yourself, I'm going to assign you an equally insulting name. The last person who tried this got named "Bitchcakes McGee." 

Just don't... don't do this. Where did y'all internet "doms" get these ideas from? They sure didn't come from being a part of any real life community, or reputable book, or reputable online class or community. Shitty porn, maybe?

Anyway. Don't test me. Or anybody else. Grow the hell up and learn some respect, or no genital access of your choice for you!

*cw, bigotry, homophobia, suicidal ideations, religious abuse*

I was reading something on Reddit today, something unrelated to my life, where someone was acting just atrociously judgmental and abusive towards a stranger because she didn't approve of something completely harmless that she was doing.

And.

It reminded me of when I was a teenager, in church. The nasty power-tripping church people that were so hateful and judgmental. The ones who loved to order me around, who loved to rant at me. I was the pastor's daughter, so they could take things out on me when they couldn't get to Dad. I was the pastor's daughter, so I didn't dare defend myself because I wanted to protect Dad. I saw how loving he was and how much these people could hurt him with their pettiness. It wasn't my job to protect him. I was a kid. I get that, now, but protecting others was how I coped with my trauma as a kid. OK. Still is.

And I didn't want Dad to lose his job because of me.

Mom and Dad never knew how bad it was. I'd stopped telling adults about the really bad stuff when I was 7, because nobody saved me then. They weren't omnipotent beings after all, the adults I loved and trusted. But they knew a bit. I know it really upset dad, feeling torn, feeling like he couldn't really protect me enough, either.

I didn't tell them how often I would think "I'd rather be dead than have to go back to that place," how I'd been thinking it for years, back in El Centro, too. What I went through there, either.

I was suddenly seized with the urge to write, of all things, a google maps review of the church in Santa Barbara. I wanted to give a shout out to the church youth group director in the mid-90s, who told us all that gay people were evil sinners who could never be redeemed. That they would go to hell. I remember being so angry. I remember some of the older teens whispering about him getting way too close with some of the younger teen girls, too. But it was that hateful homophobia that hit me the hardest that night. He ranted at us for an hour. I lost it at him at last. I don't remember what I said. I think I finally refused to go back to youth group after that. The shout out was for that guy being so hateful that it finally helped me escape the abuse of the church by breaking away and shutting down.

A lot happened there, and in El Centro, too. So much bigotry, hatred, abuse, harm. Never from my Dad. He was a good Christian, one of a small number I have known. Or my Mom. But there was cruelty and corruption lurking beneath the sanctimonious surface.

I stopped myself from writing that review. I told myself, "it's not the 90s any more. It isn't the same people."

I went to the church website for St Mark's. It says:

"ALL ARE WELCOME

St. Mark United Methodist Church embraces diversity and seeks to be inclusive.

We affirm that all persons are individuals of sacred worth. Our welcome knows no boundaries of age, race, ethnicity, culture, gender, sexual orientation or gender identification, economic condition, family status, ability or disability. We embrace and seek to preserve the beautiful, amazing diversity of God's creation.

We recognize that there are differences among us, but believe that we can love alike even though we may not think alike. We proclaim this statement of welcome to all, but especially to those who have known the pain of exclusion or discrimination in the church and society.

We invite all people to join us in our faith journey toward greater love, understanding, and mutual respect. "

I started to cry. It was a good thing to see, but I also felt so much grief, so much anger. I was filled with this outrage. How dare they. How DARE they say these things NOW, while sweeping under the rug all the harm that was done before? Why is there no apology for that? No answer to that? Why do they not speak to it, and pretend it never was?

And why couldn't it have been like that for me, when I was there?

I feel no draw to Christianity. It is not my faith, not my path. I don't think it would have been even in an inclusive church. I was called by my gods, and in them I found home.

But I feel like my pain, the way I was treated, the way other kids and teens were treated, has been erased. I want to call them and demand, "I know it wasn't you, but how can you act like all of it never happened? Where is the justice? What reparations can you offer? What is your answer to what was done?"

But the people who did it would only spew more hatred. They people who didn't, I cannot hold accountable for, because it was the actions of others.

The church, though? Maybe some day I will be able to let go of the emotional attachment to the harm that it did. Maybe writing this out will help start that process. Maybe it'll start peeling away the layers to the worse shit that happened to me in churches. But I won't ever forget, and don't ever, ever want to go back.

And I want to stand up and shout, "I am NOT a sinner, I am NOT evil, I am not WRONG or VILE or an OFFENSE to ANY god because of who I LOVE. I am NOT ASHAMED. And I will NOT be SILENCED! I'm still alive! You FAILED TO BREAK ME. I WON!"

Me: "OK Ev, you are very interested in this dom. You find him intriguing and attractive. You must bring forth the demure grace of your tea ceremony training, you must be alluring with just the right amount of coyness. Catch his eye, but let your submission shine through!"

Also Me, when encountering said dom: "AYYYYYYYYY!" *finger guns* *gives a hug and attempts a back thump, but very loudly slaps a fleshier part of his lower back instead, creating an echo across the classroom*

D: 😱 D: 😱 D:

*crawls under a log deep in the forest*