Yesterday was the Slut Walk in NYC (or as the autocorrect in my phone reported to my dad, the Slur Walk). I was out and about passing out some pins on behalf of The Pleasure Chest with my friends and they were a hit. We passed out pins that said Consent is Sexy, Ethical Slut, and everyones favorite SLUT PRIDE (all caps).
September was a challenging month for me. Work was intensely busy with the Pleasure Chest’s 40th anniversary celebrations and I got the news that a few of my employees would no longer be in New York. There are times when I feel that I am always spending my life playing catch up, which is half just the nature of the job and half my fault for involving myself in so many projects. I just hate not doing anything; especially in New York where there are so many events and causes to participate in.
Within minutes of arriving at Union Square for the Slut Walk I was recognized by the Daily News and asked for an interview, which I thought was pretty neat. I was recognized by a lot of other people as “Brandon from The Pleasure Chest”, and my friend joked that “of course you’d be famous at the Slut Walk”. If people knew how boring my life truly was outside of industry related events they would probably be somewhat disappointed in this myth of sexual awesomeness surrounding me. When I am not working or performing at an event, I am usually just sitting on my roof staring at the sky, watching the sun set. I am an old woman at heart, and I want to do nothing more than just sit and do NOTHING when I am not booked to be somewhere. I may as well be a piece of patio furniture on my roof for the amount of time I just sit there being useless.
Right before the Slut Walk I was walking around Union Square and some random person who was unaware of the event asked me why I was all dressed up. I explained the event and what it was for, and without any prior suggestion that she should relate she said “That’s really a great thing that you’re doing, I was raped when I was twelve and something needs to change.”
The casualness of how she explained the experience to me reminded me of so many other people who have experienced sexual abuse, myself included. When you are the victim of sexual abuse you feel all the usual things, but there is also a moment for many where you realize you have to make a choice: let it bring you down and forever be mournful of the fact that it happened, or pick yourself up and go on with your life. I chose the latter, and so did she, and after she took a picture of me with her new iPhone that she confessed she “didn’t know how to use yet”, she smiled at me ever so subtly and said “Thank you for fighting for me.”
It happened and it’s real.
