from it takes ass to whip ass: understanding and confronting violence against sex workers, a roundtable discussion with miss major & mariko passion, from the revolution starts at home, edited by ching-in chen, jai dulani, & leah lakshmi piepzna-samarasinha, 2011
[“Q: What are ways you, or other sex workers you know, have found to stay safe from violence( from cops, customers, lovers and partners, child services, the med- ical and psych establishments, immi- gration, and other sources)?
MISS MAJOR: The thing about this question that you have to keep in mind is that there are different kinds of violence: spiritual, psychological, sexual, physical, and emotional.
Each one is going to have a different effect on us, and those effects impact each of us differently. For example, someone who is FTM will be different than an MTF because socialization will affect the results of the violence- how you receive or resist it. Taking that into consideration, one of the things I tell the young [trans women] is that you've got to find ways to stand up for yourself that don't incur more wrath on you. For a trans man, they're usually not over 5'7", and because of their size, I've noticed that the aggressor often takes it to an extreme. They will go beyond verbal assault to show that they are a “real man." With trans women, they're less likely to overpower us one-on-one because we're bigger than the average bear. It's more likely to be in groups or from a distance (for example, throwing shit from a car). The funny thing is, they'll attack people they think are fags because they think they're weak and effeminate but with black trans women, well, we have a reputation in black communities. You don't fuck with the sissies and queens. Going back to the 1950s, you hear them say it about trans women: “You can chase them but don't back them into a corner!"
So, with violence, you go through stages:
—You can fight back physically
— Sometimes you can't do that, especially for girls who are prostituting, so then we'd sometimes carry two bricks in our purse. Two red bricks, and reinforce the purse straps so that it wouldn't snap off when you'd hit someone with it.
— If girls had cars, we'd get little kids' baseball bats (about a foot long), soak them in water for two weeks. This way when you use it, it won't break. Then dry it, cover it with electrical tape just the exact width of your hand. One side of tape down, one side up so that once you grabbed it, it was in your hand till you were through. We'd keep these under the front seat. Necessity is the mother of invention.
— We would go to bars, take cue balls and put them in two socks. Girl, it takes ass to whip ass- if you're gonna take a piece of mine, I'm gonna take a piece of yours. Some of the girls would match the socks to whatever they were wearing. Had to be flashy!
— We would work in neighborhoods together. If we saw a girl running all she'd have to do was scream and we'd all wait for the boys to follow Then we'd all run behind the boys. We'd listen for this because we kne we weren't in a safe zone. When the girl knew we were behind her, she usually stop. And then it was on. We don't always win, but ... we've gotta protect ourselves because we can't afford to be hit in the face or in the chest and have our tits messed up. This reminds me of a scene in the movie To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar where it's the transgender woman who kicks ass— not the sissy or the gay boy.
-If you can't fight, you buy a gun.
MARIKO PASSION: In my personal escort work, I hire a security person to stay awake with me during my graveyard shift and check in and out of shows[ jobs]. He has a car and we've talked about emergency plans. He has copies of my driver's license to get me out of jail on my own recognizance and he has my car/ house keys. I carry a stun gun, pepper spray, and am currently training in self-defense!
I try to always screen well and not be in a hurry or desperate for cash, but that doesn't always go as planned. I know that neither the police nor my security person will help me during my next incident of violence, but they will be able to help me after, or hopefully help me out. I de-escalate angry customers with logic, calm, and nonviolence. I retreat before fighting. I blog about my experiences of violence to the world. I perform pieces about it. I Facebook about incidents of violence as soon as they happen.
I had a few friends while I was with my last boyfriend who helped encourage me to get out of that relationship. It was horrible to call the cops on someone who you lived with and loved for almost two years knowing that they were on probation and could go to jail. When the cops came to my door, they gave me the “No Excuse for Domestic Violence" training talking points. The cops did get me to see that this relationship needed to end. In my relationship both of us were on probation, so any run-in with the cops would be a violation. We were very aware of domestic violence laws and even sang a song by Snoop Dogg: “First one gets to the phone, the other one's goin' to jail ..." that captured this sentiment on our romance.
My boyfriend was my driver and he helped me stay safe, although reluctantly. Although he was paying his rent by being my driver, he was not exactly thrilled that I was having sex with people that he was driving me to the front door of. I wished he would get a job and he wished I would not be a sex worker.
The sex worker and driver couple can easily become a Bonnie and Clyde duo if they want to. Except because it's illegal to employ a driver, your boy- friend is then legally defined as your “pimp," and this can be another violation of probation. We had discussed that if he or we were pulled over in a prostitution sting that we were to tell the cops that we were NOT in a relationship and that we did NOT live together and that he did not know what I did behind closed doors. Those are the things that police try to link to pimping in an arrest.
The violence of the system has it so that the systems or people that you enlist to protect you become the targets of unjust laws, discouraging us from using our own systems of protection where the police have failed.”]
Bodyguard was forged in the backwaters of a deep-southern American swamp. He was brought up in a busted-up trailer with his unruly brother and deadbeat father. His entire world was centered around conflict and disrespect growing up.
He never really knowing his mother, she overdosed before he could form memories. He could only go off what his dad’s drunken recollection of her, which wasn’t a pretty picture.
Bodyguard’s brother was a few years older and already molded by their backwards household. Passing the mistreatment of their father onto his little sibling, there was no real solace for Bodyguard as a kid.
The local religious school he attended was the only place he could find power. Bodyguard would quickly cement his place as top dog out of his class of 16 students.
He was the kind of cartoonish bully that you’d only see in a decades old sitcom. He wasn’t liked by his peers, but he was feared enough to have a small gaggle of inbred cronies that crowded in his shadow.
In an a regular school district with some funding Bodyguard would likely have been expelled by the third grade. Luckily for him, his school faculty took a more darwinist approach to their student body.
Bodyguard would remain unchallenged in the classroom until graduation, his only real superiors being within his broken household.
More things were thrown than said within the dented walls of their mobile home. It was a lawless place where any rule enforced was made on the spot. It taught Bodyguard everything he knew about the world.
Bodyguard would chain smoke stolen cigarettes indoors then wash it down with stolen booze when his father wasn’t home. The place always reeked of tobacco and his father was always wasted so it always went unnoticed. Sometimes his brother would join him, other times his brother would use it as leverage to get favors out of Bodyguard.
His brother was selfish, greedy and aggressive. He was everything Bodyguard dreamed of becoming someday.
A day didn’t go by without a brawl between the two. Their home was a museum of their past disagreements, with broken furniture and punched out windows telling a depressing story. His brother always won.
Strangely their constant dueling only brought them closer, it was their only real way of expressing emotion. Broken bones and all, their fighting was a bonding activity for the two.
One summer night in high school, Bodyguard waited patiently behind the door with a 2x4. He planned to get the drop on his brother and finally win a scrimmage. His brother never came home that night.
Killed in a drunk driving accident, Bodyguard’s only real companion was buried in their backyard next to his mother. It felt like he’d died that day as well.
Bodyguard got much more erratic after this tragedy. He went on a rampage through the town in the following weeks, roughing up anybody who looked at him funny. He nearly maimed one of his buddies outside the school, only stopping to drunkenly vomit in the bushes.
He’d really taken to his father’s example of drinking away your problems and found himself faced with the consequences of the lifestyle.
Bodyguard had gotten quite audacious with stealing liquor from his dad. So much so, that he’d be violently confronted by his father one evening where Bodyguard had been especially generous with what he took.
The two drunkly fought in the living room, nothing their household hadn’t seen before. Only this time there was no fraternal companionship in their fighting. Bodyguard threw his fists with pure hatred, and he kept throwing well after his inebriated father had succumb to his power.
His father died on their living room floor that night from internal bleeding, a fact Bodyguard would have to soberly face the following morning. He went to school as usual, leaving his father’s corpse to fester in their home.
He didn’t say much that day. He knew what he had to do next.
Bodyguard walked straight to the police station after school that day, dead sober. He wasted no time reporting and admitting to the drunken murder of his father, immediately being taken into custody.
While awaiting trial, Bodyguard was certain he’d be behind bars for life. After all, he’d murdered his own father in cold blood. What’s lower than that?
To his shock, the judge and jury were both deeply sympathetic to his abusive upbringing. In the end, he allotted the insanely light sentence of 2 years in a local prison.
His good behavior had him out even sooner, though he wasn’t too happy to hear of his increasingly shortened sentence.
Juvie was the first place he’d found people like him outside of the home. The rugged and chaotic nature of his peers made him feel like less of a monster after what he’d done. By the time his release date came he felt like he couldn’t possibly re-acclimate to the outside world, despite being locked up for less than a year.
His first few days out of the slammer were a muddied mess, Bodyguard had no clue what to do next.
He didn’t return to school. He didn’t reunite with his old buddies. He made no attempt to re-enter the world. All he could bear to do was drown away the sorrow.
He got wasted at his trashiest local bar, the one that never carded, nightly. It was there that he’d be approached by the owner with an offer.
He’d taken notice of Bodyguard’s gargantuan build, seeing him as a prime candidate to watch over the bar on busy weekend nights.
Bodyguard proved him right on his first shift, disfiguring a guest who made an unwanted sexual pass at their bartender. It seemed he’d finally found his calling.
He did this work consistently for about a year, gaining a reputation as “the tank” around town. He didn’t care much for the praise or accolades, but it was nice to have a place in society after what he’d been through.
He nearly missed the invitation Hopes Peak University sent out for him, he didn’t check his mail much. When he finally did read it he couldn’t understand why they would want him of all people.
After seriously considering ignoring the letter in favor of his comfortable new job, Bodyguard opted to at least give it a shot. After all, what did he have left to lose?
Meteorologist was born on a rainy day baring a silver spoon. Her crying didn’t stop until the storm had passed, nobody thought much of it. Nobody thought much of her.
Growing up, loneliness was all Meteorologist ever knew. Being an only child raised by rich parents, she didn’t have much company besides the maids and nannies employed by her vacant parents.
It always seemed to her that they’d only conceived her as a formality, a necessary step in life that they can now cross off the list. This didn’t cause her much pain as the headaches took her full attention most days.
Suffering from chronic migraines, it seemed Meteorologist was at risk of falling into an immobilizing agony. These episodes could last minutes to days, seemingly without explanation.
She was shuffled around a gauntlet of doctors and specialists, all failing to come up with an adequate diagnosis for her. She was simply cursed.
One day, one of her rotating nannies joked about how she used Meteorologist’s headaches to predict the rain. She initially questioned her on this, until her next migraine came just a few hours before heavy rainfall.
She began paying close attention to this phenomenon, comparing the severity of her headaches to the following downpour. It was seemingly a perfect match.
Meteorologist eventually shared her findings with her parents, promptly being ignored as always. Years went by with Meteorologist documenting this strange pattern on her own.
She was casually teased by her private school peers for her regular outbursts of agony. It was what defined her to anybody who stuck around long enough.
She never received any real help for this, classmates and school faculty both choosing to ignore or ridicule the issue. After a while she’d learned to just try and keep it to herself. Though, it would eventually be acknowledged by her family.
During a dinner party being thrown by her parents, Meteorologist sat at the table with her head in her hands like she often would. One guest couldn’t help but step in and insist that Meteorologist tell her what’s wrong.
The family friend dragged her over to her disaffected parents, questioning them on their daughter’s claims. They explained it away as “just our daughter’s mysticism.” For once, Meteorologist would push the issue.
Seeing an opportunity for intervention, she coldly told the surrounding adults the exact minute that it would begin to rain that evening: 8:57pm. Her parents quickly hushed her away back to her comfortable silence, hoping party guests could excuse their daughter’s proclivities.
8:57 eventually arrived, and with it came a steady downpour. Meteorologist once again made herself the center of attention, pointing to the fact that she’d perfectly predicted the weather.
Most brushed it off as a strange coincidence, but a few had more questions. One family friend questioned her on when the rain would stop, which apparently was 9:55am the following morning.
The guest took the bait, saying they’d set an alarm for 9:50am and if the rain started when Meteorologist had foretold then they could be certain she had a gift. Her parents agreed to this proposition, hoping to prove this strange delusion of their daughter’s wrong for good.
Her father woke up to a call at 10am the next morning. His daughter was a psychic.
Suddenly her parents took immense interest in this quirk of hers. Meteorologist was happy to answer their questions. This time was the closest she’d ever felt to her parents.
They spent a lot more time with her, analyzing her headaches with the coinciding storm. After a number of impossible coincidences, they knew they had found something special in their daughter: a new asset.
Meteorologist would do a slew of local news interviews surrounding her strange condition. She felt completely uncomfortable on camera, but kept up appearances at her parents’ request.
She soon would make national headlines, scoring interviews with major talkshows and publications. With that, her career path had already been decided for her.
The day she turned 16 and could legally work she had offers from several news outlets looking to exploit her abilities. Fearing letting her parents down, she took up the offer of the station with the lowest viewership. She didn’t want fame.
Unfortunately her inclusion skyrocketed the broadcast’s ratings, quickly cementing her as a money maker for the network and her parents.
Audiences across America were captivated by her awkward charm and innate ability to predict the future. She had no choice but to accept the spotlight.
She was set up for life already, so the following invitation from Hope’s Peak University was pretty meaningless to her. She would have ignored it if not for her parent’s hunger for social capital.
Meteorologist would reluctantly depart with a designer bag full of luxury clothing and intentions of throwing the audition.
Hailing from the sunny West coast, Reality Star came into this world with an arrogance. His early years would be colored by an unshakable confidence and bravado.
Reality Star was always seen as a winner, it quickly became the core of his identity. Losing was simply something he didn’t do.
Raised alongside his antisocial twin, Reality Star grew up hogging the limelight. He bested his twin socially, athletically and eventually financially as well. Reality Star led a life of victory.
This winning streak extended into his school life as well. Reality Star was held in high regard by his peers due to his natural charisma and confidence. Even the school faculty would give his roughhousing a pass because of his charm. He felt unstoppable.
Naturally, this all went to his head pretty quickly. Reality Star always thought of himself to be above the rules. In a sense, he was.
Him and his rotating gaggle of cronies would terrorize his classmates that fell lower on the social hierarchy. Their bullying naturally went unchecked due to Reality Star’s golden boy status.
The only loser safe from their laser sights was his twin brother. Reality Star would secretly defend Historian from his malicious peers, which was surprising given their dynamic.
Reality Star was not shy about looking down on his brother in the home. He’d shame the poor kid for just about anything.
He never payed much mind as to how this might affect his brother, he didn’t pay much mind to anything really. Reality Star only cared about one thing, and that was Reality Star.
This unchecked ego would continue to fester throughout his school years.
Eventually, in his early high school years, Reality Star came up with a brilliant, groundbreaking idea. A prank Youtube channel.
This shitty pet project of him and his shithead buddies would quickly garner him much more attention than expected when one of his inhumane pranks went viral.
Overnight, he went from the golden boy of his hometown to the internets latest controversial trend. His cruel content quickly amassed a devoted following, so much so that he began getting offered massive opportunities.
The most significant offer he’d receive would be from a TV network hoping to cast him in a reality show about unruly teenagers. Seeing major monetary potential, Reality Star bit at the opportunity to get his face on television.
The show only ended up running for one season, and it managed to grow Reality Star to greater heights. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a good thing for him.
Reality Star found himself in the center of something he’d never been able to overcome before, controversy. His time on this short lived hit reality show would end with him seemingly being the most hated teenager in the USA.
For the first time in his entire life, he didn’t have the publics favor. Making it worse, he also would be denied the immediate forgiveness he felt entitled to.
After digging himself deeper into controversy, his new management team decided to step in. They strictly prohibited him from speaking publicly until he could behave.
They went to work crafting him a new, more palatable persona. Like many in his category, Reality Star chose the spiritual route. Durning this incubation, a miracle would strike in the form of an invitation.
Hopes Peak University had reached out for an audition, which was no surprise for an overconfident Reality Star. His management saw it as the perfect opportunity for his rebrand.
Raised by a socially estranged single mother, Yarnist never really stood a chance of fitting in. After all, you can’t have friends over when your windows are covered with newspaper and paper bags.
Yarnist never even got the chance to meet other kids her age, or anybody for that matter. She was homeschooled and never left the side of her deeply unwell mother.
Having no clue of how abnormal this was, Yarnist never took issue with this it was all she’d ever known. To make it worse, the attitude the public took with her and her mother only reinforced the paranoid delusions of her mother.
In their house, it was an undeniably reality that the world was against them. In fact, they wanted the two dead.
The social torment they faced was all coordinated and planned, hoping to corner and isolate them. Once vulnerable, these distant oppressors would finally violently strike.
Everything was proof of this theory.
Their neighbors would watch as Yarnist and her mother drove by. People would murmur to each other while they passed. Sometimes the ‘police’ would even try to get into their home. The world was out to get them, surely.
TV wasn’t a thing in Yarnist’s home. According to her mother television was a psychological operation to turn her daughter into a homosexual.
Instead, Yarnist spent her time picking up artistic hobbies to pass time. She enjoyed knitting the most, as it was something her mother would often do alongside her. It was a rare moment of comfort they’d share.
With an entire childhood of isolation, Yarnist would grow incredibly proficient at knitting, especially for somebody at her age. She’d create herself strange garments based on the occasional glimpses of what she saw other girls wearing around town.
Yarnist’s only real tastes of the outside world came in the form of running anxiety ridden errands with her mother. She could only assume how these depraved strangers must live.
She could only fill in the gaps with the information fed to her by her mother, which was a web of paranoid delusion.
While fear was the driving feeling behind Yarnist’s relationship with the public, there was a twinge of envy lurking behind. Seeing all the beautiful young women dressed in the cute and youthful clothing her mother denied her only made her crave it more in private.
This complete quarantine from society would finally end in what would have been Yarnist’s Sophomore year of high school.
After years of reports from their obviously concerned neighbors, the authorities would finally step in. CPS quickly removed Yarnist from the home after discovering their state of living, and a judge would find her mother unfit to care for her.
Suddenly Yarnist went from being completely isolated from society to being thrust into the adoption system. A change she clearly did not take well.
For the first 6 months, Yarnist truly believed herself to be kidnapped by some sort of cabal. Everybody in the facility she was kept in was part of some grander plot, she just didn’t know what for yet.
She resisted any care the service workers tried to provide, notably eating as little of their provided food as possible. A handful of trauma therapists tried to straighten out her behavior to no avail, she simply was too certain of her own delusions.
This hardened shell was only cracked by a very kind girl a few years younger than Yarnist. Even after months of rejection and retaliation, the girl didn’t give up on Yarnist like the social workers did.
The two grew very close after some time, the girl functioning as Yarnist’s only connection to the rest of the people around her. The girl spent hours a day answering Yarnist’s questions about the world while she anxiously knitted.
She eventually would warm up to the social workers just enough so that they could get her to eat and bathe, which were huge steps for her.
Little did she know she was about to be thrown in the deep end.
A crisp envelope was handed to her by a caretaker at her facility, inside it would contain her radical new future.
Hopes Peak University, an institution she’d never heard of, had invited her to audition for a spot in next year’s class. Her immediate instinct was to reject this letter, but her only friend implored that she take them up on this opportunity.
With the pressure of her friend and the good wishes of the people watching over her, Yarnist would set off on her next chapter in life alone and afraid.
i feel like this is a good example of just how SOLID and STRONG cows are !!!!
i see a lot of ppl worrying abt cows being ridden or petted super vigorously, and thats super fair! it can look painful to an outside observer! but cows are actual brick shit houses. these guys almost ran full force into the side of one and she didnt even fall over!
baratheonpilled
yousharknotpass
stormborns
pixelskylines
annaxmalina
dailybridgerton
germansingergirl
areudirty
jacobvanloon
