The UnSlut Forum

This is now the official, submission-based forum of The UnSlut Project. Got an opinion on a news story? Want to share artwork, a video, or a link? The UnSlut Project is collaborative and we encourage your submission! Submit a Post. The opinions expressed...

[unslutforum]

An anonymous submission

Broken. That’s the one word that perfectly describes my feelings right now. It’s been exactly a week since it’s happened. The last time I felt this broken was in 11th grade after school. After I lost all of my friends to be with a scumbag of a boyfriend who verbally abused me. Only this time it’s different. I sit on my bed at home, where I’ve been the past week since my parents took me home from college. I stare at a text message from my ‘boyfriend’. We’re not actually dating but if we’re going by technicalities, we’re in an open relationship. He hasn’t been very supportive through this process the past few days. Given, his friend committed suicide last week and the funeral was this past week, he told me that I’m calling him too much.

I stare at the text message I last sent over two hours ago. I told him thank you for not being there for me during the time I needed someone the most. He never answered. My eyes start to fill with tears and everything is just blurred. Have you ever felt just nothing? Just emptiness? It’s nothing I hope most people have to experience. It only makes me feel just a little bit better that my offender is sitting in a jail cell right now for the past 3 days and counting because he couldn’t meet bail. I’m not sure how you’re supposed to feel but I know I don’t want this feeling.

I’m not ready to share my story yet. I will, but right now it’s too soon. It’s something that you will never expect that will ever happen to you. Ever. But it does and it hurts so badly that I can’t even feel pain. This week has been one of the longest weeks of my life. My best friend and roommates just got me Alex and Ani bracelets to show me that I’m so strong. Everyone keeps telling me, ‘you’re handling this so well’ and ‘you’re so strong’. I think the reason I’m not breaking down every day is because I have been through so much. And to think that now this has happened to me, it just seems so unreal. I’ve dealt with so much over the years that at this point when something bad happens to me, I just get numb.

My friends are really trying to be there for me but I don't want them. I just need to heal on my own right now. Going back to school Monday will be hard. Even over the course of this week going out with my family I barely could leave their side, I was so paranoid seeing so many random people. I think the healing process is going to be long and really far from easy, but I know eventually I will be there and keeping this blog will help me heal.

[krissmisseveryday-blog]

The funny thing is, so many people warn me about wearing short skirts, fishnets and high-heels, walking alone at night in a world full of strangers. But any time I’ve been sexually harassed or assaulted, I’ve been wearing jeans and T-Shirt, or in my own bed with someone I’ve known for years.

- krissmisseveryday​ (via krissmisseveryday)

[loveandothercriminalacts]

TRIGGER WARNING: RAPE, SUICIDE, SELF-HARM

Most of my followers know that on September 20, 2013 I was raped in my dorm in Centennial Hall at The University of Minnesota-Twin Cities by an acquaintance I had met in my first couple of weeks on college campus as a freshman. His name is Levi Carstensen...

[unslutforum]

Lock Your Phone

I hesitated to post something here but I ultimately decided that fear is not the answer in this case. 

BACK STORY: I am a 24 year old college student and makeup artist. I spent a few years in a very toxic relationship and once I got out of that I prided my self on living life to the fullest. Being myself, loving my body, being kind and open with people, and having FUN! I follow these same guidelines with my current boyfriend Theo. We are very close and open with eachother about EVERYTHING. I never thought such a boy existed until I met him. As our relationship progressed we began to engage sexually obviously and I became very open to the idea of exploring my sexuality. I think that this is glossed over a lot these days. Many girls lack sexual confidence after being told "sex is bad" and you could be labeled a "slut". Regardless, that's another topic (Lacie Green on YouTube always has great advice and sexual discussions for any of you that are curious. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zYPhYxtDLvM&list=UUJm5yR1KFcysl_0I3x-iReg&index=76) So along the lines of being comfortable and confident with myself, my life, my partner, and my body; I had a few sexual pictures on my phone (nudies and such). And frankly I see nothing wrong with this since I was comfortable doing it and it was in a safe environment. Lately I have been one to think the naked body is a beautiful peace of art. My only regret is not locking the phone with any type of password or downloading any sort of stolen phone apps. 

THREE DAYS AGO: I lost my phone downtown at around 5:30. I never realized it was missing since I was at Theo's condo and just assumed I had left it at my apartment. At around 11:45 pm Theo's phone rang, it was my younger sister Jody. She screams into the phone for me to get on facebook. Someone had posted a nude picture of me from my phone! I freak! I am shaking rushing around for a computer, I couldn't even type I was quivering so much. And there it was in all it's terrible glory. A picture Theo had taken of me not a few days before. Every part of my body exposed including my face. Without getting too detailed here I will tell you that it was VERY clear I was no virgin in this photo. To make things worse, Theo was tagged in the post and it said something along the lines of "Hanging with Theo, I am such a horny slut." I deleted the post, changed my password and called the phone company to lock my phone down and report it as stolen. I tried to cry but I was still in shock as Theo held me. Our friends, family, and coworkers had just been let into the most intimate part of my life. Before the phone was shut down other pictures of me were sent to my girlfriends on my phone. Luckily the next day I was never taunted and received nothing but hugs and love from my friends saying "at least it was just us." I have yet to find my phone and I doubt I ever will. And I still have no idea who all was able to see the photo while it was up. It could have been anyone I know.  NOW: I am still coping. This is something I am going to have to deal with for the rest of my life. I go through stages of barricading myself in my room, and trying to laugh it off other times. I would say for the most part I am doing well, Theo has been nothing but supportive. I say things like "well at least I'm not famous. If Jennifer Lawrence can survive, so can I". I think what bothers me most is the cruelty of that random stranger that found my phone. What sick pleasure did that bring them to send my life into a spiral? I don't know if I will take pictures again. I'd like to think I still love my body but I'm not sure how much of that I am faking. But for sure I will keep a better lock on my phone and passwords and tell my friends to do the same. 

[unslutforum]

"Actually, you are a slut, a repulsive one at that."

I'm against slutshaming and cyberbullying bc the things people used to say to me really did affect me @UnSlutProject pic.twitter.com/QXC6eENmWy

— sahel (@saharabarnes) December 11, 2014

[unslutforum]

This cover for The UnSlut Project was submitted by Wattpad user FantasyNerd.

[unslutforum]

In the small town of Arlington just outside of Dallas, Texas a group of teens from Young Junior High are trying to make a difference and change in the school. The group, which has no name at the time, is made up of 14 students, all of which are in the 8th grade. It's made up of 11 girls, 3 guys and all are different races, sexual orientation and mind sets. They met with their principal and 2 teachers on Tuesday, October 21st, 2014 to talk about it. Now their voices are being heard and the staff have decided to met again as they have more questions. Here are some quotes from the meeting. Some names have been changed or bleeped for privacy issues. "... I'm terrified to walk down the hallways because mrs. &@%$ will call me out on my 'slutty' behavior..." "... This girl dressed up during the first week of school, she wore heels and then when a student told her to shove it up her #$&%@ she got into trouble for wearing the heels..." "Everybody always has the right to wear what they want without the fear of being shamed of their body or being called a 'sexual object'. It's never the guys fault they always blame it on the girls, just like rape as sometimes it leads to it..."

[unslutforum]

Your tax-deductible donation goes toward outreach to girls who are currently suffering, and toward workshops and lectures to change cultural attitudes about female sexuality. Thank you!

[unslutforum]

Lost and Found

Submitted by Gabby Richards.

Hi my name is Gabby and you inspired me to write this entry. I hesitated before at the thought of writing this, to post it online; I thought it was something I should be embarrassed of but it's the past. Every girl goes through stages we try to figure out who we are and it seems like during that process you come in contact with a lot of negativity. I began to change in middle school. I was going through puberty like other girls at that age, and I lost weight. I was an obese kid and elementary was really hard because of that, but I want to talk about a time where I was labeled a "ho". (In the urban community we don’t so much say "slut" so they called me a "ho".) I was very anti-social in sixth grade, I could fit into a medium, but I still wore my oversized clothes, and I wasn’t into fashion or pretty, girly things. I hung out with guys because they accepted me, and girls didn’t. I dressed like a boy and laughed at their jokes. It was comfortable for a while. Nobody hit on me besides the real perverts that just wanted to be around breasts.

In seventh grade, I made female friends. My clothes got more fitted but I still considered myself an ugly duckling. I had that awkward middle school hair - I went to school with cornrows. But my friends thought I was pretty, they followed me, I was the leader. Each day I made a change, not with appearance really, but personality. I made more friends. Here it comes: eighth grade, the year you're more mature, you think you understand yourself; you basically blossom, you have boobs now, you’re trying different styles, boys are interested. I was a duckling who became a duck - a nice looking duck - I’m not going to say a swan, because let’s face it, it was middle school. No more braids, I put on tight clothes and gained superficial confidence. When a guy would ask for my number, I began to think that was what I was worth. The amount of guys that tried to talk to me, if a lot, did that mean I was pretty? My group shrank a little, friends I called my besties decided they didn’t like me as much anymore. To them I had changed, but I just thought I had just gotten prettier and more likable. (Forgive my arrogance - oh my god, I was so conceited, but I really didn’t even like myself. I just knew other people liked how I looked, so I tried to suit them.) The boys around me at school would slap my legs when I wore a short skirt. Grab me, squeeze me, pull at my top and grope me. I always tried defending myself but never realized why it didn't work. They thought I was easy, a "ho", because of my clothes. Oddly I got use to it, and if it was from a guy I knew, I wouldn't say much. My old friends started talking about me, spreading rumors. It hurt a lot because they would smile in my face. My mother hated the way I dressed, and my older sister thought I was having sex because of it. I’d say things like, “When I was fat I couldn’t dream of fitting this, so while I’m skinny I want to wear whatever I can fit.” I never slept with anyone, but my family thought I was looking for trouble. I had my first kiss a year later. Cars would honk their horns, men would stop driving to talk to me. All of that was scary but my mindset was so out of place.

I got a boyfriend. He was sixteen, I had just turned 14, and he was the worst. Leroy would drink and smoke - he actually brought alcohol to school in Arizona bottles. We dated for six months. He followed me to high school but broke up with me because we never even kissed. I didn’t trust him; he used to cheat with older girls. I even almost got into a fight over him, and all he wanted was my virginity. I knew that, but I still liked him so much. He made me laugh, he was easy going and he said the sweetest things, but when I look back I had just wanted a boyfriend to replace my friends who had left me out. I couldn't relate to them so I dated Leroy. He didn't defend me against the other boys; he’d let them feel me up because he didn't want to fight and everything was a joke to him. I must have looked like the dumbest thing. Leroy even had problems with the law. He took another girl to prom. He even asked out my friend when we broke up.

I was cyberbullied: the girls who didn't like me wrote things like "look at that ho" on my MySpace pictures - "she became such a ho, always got the boys touching up on her." After the break up I decided I couldn't trust boys. I didn't want to have sex. My mother raised me up thinking sex was bad, sex is for adults, and if I did it she said she would know. I’m now 18, still living with those words. I understood why she told me things like that and I prefer to stay a virgin until I’m officially ready, maybe after marriage or whenever. I dealt with a lot towards the ending of eighth grade.

I tried keeping my weight low, and I ended up with a eating disorder. I was eating under 700 calories a day. That number kept shrinking. I was always dizzy, passing out in the train, I was so afraid to be fat again that I did drastic things. But a beautiful lady named Eva - I’m using her real name - she was my mentor, my friend, my guidance counselor for three years until she moved. She helped me eat again slowly, she worked with me, I’m not sure how she did it. My arms were like sticks but I saw a whale in the mirror, but she helped me. I owe her my life. I didn't even know how bad not eating could be. My mother still doesn't know about anything. I damaged my metabolism and in 11th grade I gained thirty pounds in one year - I’m chubby again, but I accept my body. I’m happier with meat on my bones.(This time I mean it - I’m not fat, I’m just bigger in some places!) I just graduated and I start college in January. Wish me luck. Let's not judge each other; girl power is the best thing in life, besides lasagna.

[unslutforum]

Emily chats with Dr. Carol Queen at an 8-minute preview screening of "Slut: A Documentary Film" at CatalystCon West.

[thedecisionbookseries]

Olivia in THE DECISION: JASMINE’S STORY is slut shamed, so Lizzie talks to Emily, founder of unslutproject - please follow this important project on Tumblr!

1) Why did you decide to found The UnSlut Project? I had heard too many stories about girls who, after being...

[tacoorbeerchallenge]

The UnSlut Project's Emily Lindin Takes the #TacoOrBeerChallenge and makes a donation to Texas Equal Access Fund.

[unslutforum]

I took the #tacoorbeerchallenge and made a donation to the Texas Equal Access Fund. You're up next!

[unslutforum]

How it goes

This is how it goes: a woman is dressing herself, but she’s doing it for another one. She goes out to the street and she hears someone telling her how pretty she goes. Someone who is talking about the face she has, the boobs she has got, the way she walks.

This is how it goes: a woman is naked in a magazine. But not in the usual form. So you can hear the people saying the ugly it is. The nasty, the sick. Just because that way of naked is not the sexual naked they like to watch.

And this, this, this is how it goes: you dress yourself, you strip yourself, but you never do it for you. Only for them. And if you say: I’m not dressed like this for you. They laugh and reply: why you show your tits if is not for me to see it?

Because this is how it goes. Every day. Every hour. Don’t take so bad, babe, it’s a joke. Take it easy, kitten, is just a compliment.

Don’t say you’re a feminist, because it doesn't sound egalitarian.

And I want to know why, if they are so feminists as them say they are, they feel you’re attacking them if you say a word that includes the prefix 'fem'. Why they think is so bad using a word that is telling the world that they support women. Why if you call them something that sounds femenine it seems to hurt their masculinity.

Because be feminine or a female is still degrading for they. Because they still thinking that we are not equals to them and the word not sound egalitarian for them but degrading. They want to have equality but not lose patriarchy. It's like: you could be a feminist but only if it doesn’t bother me.

And this is how it goes too: I want to bother you. I want you to know that if you feel you can judge all women for their aspect, you're not treating them as equals. And I wan that bothering you. I want you to feel upset about it in the same way I feel upset when you do not respect me.

You should know too that if you flatter her like you flatter a vase, you aren't treating her as an equal but as an object. You don't treat me with equality when you tell me that fighting for the rights you were born with is egoist or even disturbing for my part. You’re treating me like something than doesn’t deserve it.

You know what more? If the feminism bother you so much, you aren't being egalitarian because you’re acting like an egoist, even male chauvinist, who thinks that is not necessary a fight for nothing because we don't deserve more than what we have. 

And I shouldn't bother anyone for wanting to be respected by men. I don't hate men, I want to be their equal. And fo that I’m being egalitarian. And I'm being feminist.

And you know how it goes? Feminism and egalitarian mean the same, but only one of two words bothers you.

Can you guess why?

[unslutforum]

Where Has the Blame Gone?

I’m sitting in the detective’s office with sweat pooling between nervous fingers and stinging the hangnails I’ve been biting for the past half hour. My body parts already photographed and categorized and sent away for collection, backlogged behind the arms and legs and breasts and thighs of women I will never meet yet, now, know better than I know myself.

 I survive the basic questions, my cheeks stained by embarrassment and my chest bruised by a tattered, lingering pride. My eyes rest on shaking knees as I nod appropriately, describing in detail what should only be shared between two lovers or best friends on a wine-soaked evening. I was beginning to feel robotic, as if my humanity has been stolen between forced legs and restrained hands. Then the detective asks, “Well, with the sexually-charged conversation the group had earlier that evening, is there a chance you could have given him the impression you wanted it?”

I look up. I search for reason in a shrinking room. I look for understanding in the wrinkles of an exhausted twenty year career. I peer into the eyes of the victim’s advocate for my voice.

I find emptiness. 

How does this happen? How can we hold men accountable for the societal expectations of providing for their family or publically parading their masculinity or holding down a successful 9-5, yet allow them to pass go and collect 200 non-consensual belt-notches? Why are a man’s sexual urges a woman’s responsibility? 

We have been told for decades that men are more capable. They are stronger and smarter and more reasonable. They are not plagued with unbridled emotions and bleeding hearts and those ridiculous annoyances called feelings. We’ve been stapled to the pillars of sexual inequality yet do not hold men to the very foundation those pillars stand on. As a result, women are not only held responsible for their actions and words and wardrobes, but for every erection they may or may not provoke.

It is as if god made Eve from the now missing bone in Adam’s penis instead of the rib held so closely to his heart. 

I’ve searched for answers since that day in that suffocating police station. I find solace in dear friends and relentless advocates and men who understand the difference. The difference between a child and an adult, respect and degradation, sex and violence, love and hate. Who are as disgusted with the lack of accountability as the women who have suffered under its unwarranted weight. Who simply cannot understand the inability of some to control urges as basic as pissing or shitting or speaking.

But I still don’t know where the blame has gone. I’ve seen its shadow in the wrinkles of an exhausted twenty year career and in the eyes of a victim’s advocate and in the walls of a shrinking room.

And then I realize. The wrinkles and eyes and walls were all staring at me.

And that is where the blame rests.

[solikebasically-blog]

What the hell is happening??

So about a month ago I posted to the #YesAllWomen hashtag on twitter & spoke openly as a rape victim. When I did this, I got inundated with a ton of harassment & rape threats.

https://twitter.com/solikebasically/status/479962835192004608

https://twitter.com/solikebasically/status/477665289803296768

Most of the time my response would be to block & report, but once in a while I’d take a screenshot of what the person said & then reply telling them to fuck off eternally into the night, etc. One of the people who harassed me for speaking up about my rape happened to be a 13 year old kid. I did not know this, because I was getting hundreds of replies & I don’t thoroughly investigate every account with 15 followers that responds to me with bullshit. I responded with this scathing little gem 

https://twitter.com/solikebasically/status/481205303984144384

& then a follower of mine, I guess looked at this person’s account & saw it was a kid who had recently posted a link to his personal facebook. The kid’s entire timeline at that time was him responding to/trolling the #YesAllWomen hashtag, arguing with rape victims & condemning feminism, you know, because that’s the world we live in right now. So this guy, crushingbort responded to a separate tweet the kid made about how comedians who make rape jokes are totally cool, & he posted a picture of the kid hugging his cat from his facebook, saying something like, “Joshua, you should really lock your facebook” or something. I thought this was hilarious because honestly, if you’re big boy enough to harass rape victims for being raped, you’re big boy enough to deal with the consequences. I had nothing to do with this, though. Then, about a month later, some pathetic Men’s Rights Activists found this exchange & went fucking ballistic, focusing all their rage on me, saying I “sexually harassed a child”, that I “doxxed a child” (I had nothing to do with the posting of his photo, but that’s not even doxxing at all, the kid himself said this). They went on a crusade against me using this kid as a flimsy excuse because they hate women & want to punish them. I received a ton of rape threats & even death threats.

https://twitter.com/solikebasically/status/489749497153462272/photo/1

https://twitter.com/solikebasically/status/489801725448970240/photo/1

https://twitter.com/solikebasically/status/490168888064086016

https://twitter.com/solikebasically/status/490242273997639680

I had to lock my twitter account to slow it down because I was getting about 4 per minute. They posted my personal information on 4chan & apparently attempted to post my little sister’s information too, but that was a tip I got & I didn’t see it anywhere so I’m not sure if it really happened. I started reporting all the threats to the FBI & got set up with a civil rights attorney, but a judge said I wouldn’t get the result I was hoping for unless the threats were “more direct”, like mentioning my location within the threat, my personal information within the threat, etc. 

The kid himself knows that these MRAs are using him as an excuse to persecute women for whatever reason, & has told them to lay off, but you can’t reason with these idiots. 

https://twitter.com/solikebasically/status/490604177328832512/photo/1

I’ve started ignoring it & they’ve eased up on the threats & have moved on to filing false reports with the Houston police department trying to say that I’m a pedophile or a child abuser & trying to blackmail me for being a child abuser or some shit, but that doesn’t bother me because it’s obviously all false. 

So essentially, this is just what women with a voice have to deal with online. This is all because I spoke up about rape & being a rape victim, & this is just what I have to expect now. If I get any other threats that are “direct enough”, I’ll definitely jump on pursuing it legally, but until then, this is just what I’m dealing with. NEAT, HUH?!!?!?

[unslutforum]

"This is all because I spoke up about rape & being a rape victim, & this is just what I have to expect now."

[blueandgreenhearts]

Pretty red lipstick

Shakily lined eyes

A hopeful look on her face

And an innocent mind

A fake I.D in her pocket

Her adventure awaits

Bags packed and makeup set

Her heart beats, her hands shake

Pretty red lipstick

Faded eyeliner

Sweaty face

Radiant smile

Electric thoughts

She feels...

[unslutforum]

I still am afraid, but I am no longer ashamed.

This is an anonymous contribution to The UnSlut Project forum.

I have been raped. There I said it. I have been raped twice. I have been raped twice by two different men 4 years apart.  It took me 2 years to even talk about my first sexual encounter because it was rape. I found a friend who had also been through sexual assault and was comfortable sharing my story with her. Once I was comfortable enough to tell my closest male friend, he sympathized with my attacker. He told me I must have secretly wanted it and because I was dating my attacker, it wasn't rape. He asked me what I was wearing. When I told him I wearing jeans and a T-shirt, he said I must have been doing seductive things. I didn't tell another male for a while after that but I was comfortable enough sharing my story with other close female friends.  My second rape happened while I was at a party. I had only had one drink, and no, I was not drunk. I was drugged. According to other party-goers I willingly went with my attacker and no one thought anything of it. They all thought I was drunk and was going to make a poor life decision. No one tried to stop me. After this encounter, I woke up with a note in my bra telling me to go buy Plan B, and $20. This story spread across my college campus like wild fire. Only 3 female friends believed me when I said I was drugged and I did not want to have sex with that man. The men and women on campus made me feel horrible.  I figured at this point, if everyone think I'm a slut, why not act like one? So, I started sleeping around. I soon realized I hated myself for this. This is when I noticed first hand how different men and women were treated when it comes to sex. While I was sleeping around, everyone was calling me a slut and a whore. I had people sit me down and tell me they were concerned for me and I need to "lock it up". I will never forget that. Yet, the men I know who had just as many sexual partners as I did, if not more, were being high-fived and were receiving accolades for their conquests.  Soon after realizing I hated myself, I tried to stop sleeping around. It was like quitting smoking. Every male expected me to sleep with him and even when I finally did stop sleeping around, many females still were talking crap about me behind my back and men were still expecting me to sleep with them. I have graduated now and left the university but I am sure people still talk about me even thought I have been in a very committed relationship for two years now.  The reason I want to remain anonymous is because I am afraid. I am afraid of what my friends would say if they knew this was me. I'm afraid of what my attackers would do if they knew I was finally telling my story. I'm afraid of what my family would say as they have no idea what I have been through. The reason I didn't tell them is because I was ashamed. I was so embarrassed of what had happened to me, I didn't want anyone to know; that's why I couldn't talk about it for two years. I still am afraid but I am no longer ashamed. I realize now that I did nothing to deserve this, I wasn't asking for it, and the only thing I did wrong was not report my attackers when I was raped.  I hope my story can encourage others to speak up and to help the bystanders, friends and families of victims sympathize with the victim, not the attacker.  Feminism is about equality between the sexes and this includes sex! If a woman wants to sleep around with 15 men, go for it! Why do we, the general public, get to tell her how to live her life? Who are we to judge her decisions? Especially since we don't judge men who do the same things.