Dear Mama

Dear Mama,

There are so many things I could thank you for on Mother's Day, from helping me pay for Smith College, to letting me endure the insanity/bad fashion choices of my adolescence to their fullest without censoring it, to just being there when shit got real. But this year, I want to thank you for helping me develop a healthy sexuality.

Moms play a seriously huge role in their daughter's (and ideally, their son's) mores, ideas, and knowledge base about sex. Shaming your daughter for her sexual desires and her newly developing body, or simply not talking to her about them and ignoring the elephant in the room, leaves an enormously lasting and quite negative impact on the way that these women will eventually feel about sex. Thankfully, you raised me in an environment where I never felt that shame.

While my attitudes towards sex and my body had some seriously rough points, you did nothing but to help foster a positive idea of sex. I ran around naked most of the time until I started kindergarten and never felt ashamed or weird for it. At three, when I asked what the pills in the cute pink container with the butterfly on it were (still don't know what butterflies have to do with fucking or babies...), you explained to me that they'd keep you and Daddy from having any more babies, giving me my first introduction to birth control. You didn't lie, or give me any stork bullshit; you simply told me the truth.

When I developed extraordinarily early (and surpassed you in cup size by the 4th grade), you taught me about self-defense and warned me about men but never made me feel afraid or that it was my fault I attracted more attention at ten than I was equipped to deal with. In fact, it was from you that I learned most of my curse words, as you yelled at men who stared a little too long at me at the beach or crossing the street. With the start of my period, you didn't cry or mourn my innocence or any of that crap; you offered me a heating pad and a cup of tea, which was all I needed since I'd known for a loooong time (thanks to you giving me a copy of Our Bodies, Ourselves when I was 8) what my menstrual cycle would be like.

And when it came full circle and I had to ask you to put me on the Pill and take me to the gyno, you didn't try to convince me to stay sexually inactive or lecture me about the consequences. You didn't hold my virginity up as the paragon of what I was; you knew I was smart and kickass and didn't need to hold onto my hymen to stay a worthwhile person.

You've come to photo exhibits and seen naked pictures of me; I've explained my VCH piercing and my Diva Cup to you. While you might not understand, you don't judge, and that's been enormously helpful. When I compare my attitudes toward sex with those of other women my age, I'm astonished by their shame, their secrecy, their complete and total lack of knowledge of even their own anatomy.

Your calm, no bullshit or euphemisms approach to sex probably explains the presence of my participation in this blog. While my sexual psychology still has a lot of holes from growing up fat/the negative nature of my first sexual experience (that's another post...), you gave the foundation and knowledge to enjoy a lifetime of healthy, positive sex. Given the rape-culture that we live in, chock-full of lovely double standards and fear of female and LGBTQ sexuality, that's a beautiful gift you've given me by shaping my attitudes in a way that wasn't oppressive or narrow, but gave me the sensible basis from which to form my own story and sexuality.

So thanks, Mama, even though you don't read this.
Much love,
The Albright Sheriff (or Peanut, as Mama would say)

For my female readers, how has your mother and your relationship to her shaped your sexuality and attitudes towards your body?

WHAT. THE. FUCK.

Evidently, in Australia, wearing skinny jeans counts as consent.
I saw this several days ago, and am still too angry to coherently blog about it.
So here's what someone else wrote about it.
http://www.care2.com/causes/womens-rights/blog/australian-jury-says-you-cant-get-raped-in-skinny-jeans/

Much (angry) love,
The Albright Sheriff

PS--awesome words from Margaret Cho remind me why she's awesome http://yum-and-yuk.blogspot.com/2010/05/and-i-have-lot-of-self-esteem-which-is.html

Body Modification & Empowerment: Or, Why I Got My Junk Pierced

Upon entering the absurdly liberal and very much pierced institution of Smith College(first years are practically required to get a nasal piercing), I had four piercings (all in my ears) and no tattoos, despite a fierce yet brief punk phase in early high school.

Today, as a junior, I've got seven piercings and four tattoos. And one of those body modifications is, as the title may have given away, a genital piercing--the vertical clitoral hood (VCH) to be specific. What's even crazier is that I've had it done twice.

Yeah, I know. I'm a BAMF.

I don't know what exactly put the idea in my head, but sometime in the fall of my sophomore year, I decided to start researching female genital piercings like any good college student would (not gonna lie, I probably saw it in a porno and thought it looked cute). I found out that no one really has a clit piercing, as your clitoris would have to be the size of a grape in order to do that (pretty sure if I had a grape-sized clit, I would never leave the house. Just sayin'). And out of all bodily piercings, female genital and especially VCH piercings heal the fastest because all of that healthy bacteria we carry around to help us heal after babies. And the sexual benefits! DAMN. Although I've never had a hard time getting off, reading a few testimonials about how it changed lives was all I needed to give me the kick in the ass to schedule an appointment and to ask a trusted friend to go with me.

It was one of the most nerve-racking experiences of my life. The piercer (a male, of course) tried to put me at ease but when someone is coming at your junk with a needle, it's hard to relax. When everything was prepped and sterilized, I took a deep breath, squeezed my friend's hand, and exhaled as I experienced one of the most conflicting sensations I've ever had.

It was simultaneously painful (like a really hard pinch) and also deeply pleasurable. It almost felt spiritual, honestly.

After we left, I was in such disbelief that I'd done it, I kept peeking down my pants to confirm that I did, indeed, have an adorable lil barbell just sitting on my clit now.

I discovered the next day that the testimonials did not lie: the first time I went for a jog, I came while running from all the friction (it's amazing I didn't start running marathons). Sex with Beefcake, already pretty damn good, became mind-blowing. It was the best investment I'd ever made. Until I took it briefly and it closed up within a few hours (all that fucking healthy bacteria!). SAD.

It took me a year to get up the guts(and money, as the piercing's about $80 without tip) to get it re-pierced. And I'm so thankful I did (a friend came along and got hers done at the same time, which made for fabulous bonding), not just because it looks cute or it makes cumming much easier.

For me, choosing to pierce my VCH was about empowerment. I made the conscious choice to modify my body in such a way as to enhance my ability to derive pleasure from it, and for someone who has fought an eating disorder for the past nine years, I can't overstate the power that enjoying my body more has brought me.

It's also why I've acquired my tats; seeing something beautiful that tells my story inked on a body part I previously disliked or even hated has made me much more compassionate towards my body, despite its (perceived) flaws. My latest addition was a birthday present to myself and I got the Smith spirit mark, the Fury, tattooed on my hip. It's so incredibly fierce and I adore the way my hips look in bikinis now because of it. I look at my body modifications not as ways to improve my body, but as ways to improve my relationship with it. And that has been incredibly empowering, to have the agency to cultivate the self-esteem and body image I want and deserve. That's why I encourage almost every woman I talk with to at least consider getting her VCH done. The sexual benefits are amazing, but the feeling it gives you is even better.

Plus, it makes you a BAMF.

Much love,
The Albright Sheriff

For the sake of Virginity

I study the Middle East and spent last semester studying in Amman, Jordan. Gender relations over there are incredibly different from here for multiple reasons, but the issue that I want to highlight in this post is the recent phenomenon of hymen reconstructive surgery. Honor is a big deal in the most of the Middle East but primarily Jordan. The reason (according to most academics) is that tribes have always had a need to establish the parentage of every child because resources are so scare. Each tribe has rights to certain pasture lands or water-areas (remember its the desert). It also needs to control the size of the tribe to only the number of people that it can sustain. Over time, this developed into a sense of honor and shame, defined through the actions of women that pervades society today. Sexual activity before marriage is a big no-no but happens all of the time considering that most people don't get married until their mid-twenties. This seems young for us but remember that you are expected to spend your teenage years and the beginning of your adult life not having sex. In an effort to control sexual behavior, men commit "crimes of honor" against their sisters, wives, and daughters. Any women suspected of illicit activity might be killed for her behavior. (There is debate about the prevalence of honor crimes. When I left Jordan in December, 18 had been reported in the country, although some probably went unreported. One of my friends peer tutor told my friend that she had a secret boyfriend. My friend asked what would happen if her family found out. The girl responded that they would "probably not kill her" but would probably remove her from University.) Crimes of honor are prosecuted as crimes of passion under the Jordanian Criminal Code which means that a man who kills his sister, daughter, wife did so b/c the shame that his family would face caused by her sexual behavior threw him into a fury of passion in which he could not control his actions. (However, this has recently begun to change. Judges have started throwing out the "passion" defense and prosecute honor crimes as regular homicide.) I give this lengthly introduction to provide background information to this article.

http://en.ammonnews.net/article.aspx?articleNO=7676

I have mixed feelings about hymen reconstruction surgery. It does prevent the murder of women who engaged in sex before marriage. In an ideal world, women shouldn't need to lie to their future husbands and families about their sexual conduct. But it does so without challenging the notion that a woman should remain a virgin until she is married. Women shouldn't need to lie to their future husbands and families about their sexual conduct. I have major problems with the glorification of female virginity because it leads to and justifies things like honor crimes. I think that a woman's sexual decisions should be her own to make. In my opinion, virginity is not this special part of you that is lost forever once you have sex. That's my problem with hymen reconstruction surgery, that it continues to accept and does not challenge the societal expectation of female virginity until marriage. Society continues to allow men to continue to expect and to "protect" female virginity. Of course, the question is how much do you resist a part of the system to cause social change, and how much do you work within it?

Lots of Love,
Lady Lola

Not in my heaven

"Of the delights of this world, man cares most for sexual intercourse, yet he has left it out of his heaven." --Mark Twain

It's crunch time. I'ma try to avoid blogging for a few days, but in the mean time, dear college students, take deep breaths, get some sleep, and remember it'll all be over soon.
Good luck on finals!
Much love,
The Albright Sheriff

buttsecks lol

I should really be wrapping up my paper about America's cognitive dissonance regarding the equalization of funding for schools. But no, I'ma write about anal here instead.

When I was younger, anal seemed just incomprehensible to me. Why would you want to do something that would be inherently painful, why would a guy want to place his precious manhood inside an asshole, what kind of woman would have so little respect for herself as to do something like that?

But in my ripe old age, I began to question these assumptions, slowly. I won't lie: I watch a lot of porn, and even the most bland, hetero-normative porn out there usually features at least one scene of anal (though they usually call it something much nastier, like "Dirt Pipe Milkshakes." No, I did not make that up. For more LOL-worthy titles, http://www.cracked.com/article_15830_15-most-sexually-unappealing-porn-titles.html). I consider myself a very open person, willing to try new things and began thinking about it (this is not always a positive attribute). And seeing something like that performed over and over again makes one wonder.

So Beefcake and I tried anal. This was a mistake.

Practically anyone who has met Beefcake knows that he has what one guy friend of mine referred to as a "donkey cock." The man is seriously hung, a fact that is not lost on him. He has never been accused of modesty: he is the type who walks proudly (no, he doesn't walk...he struts) around without a towel in the locker room.

Despite obviously knowing this, we didn't really bother with much penetration (just some rimming which was surprisingly enjoyable...expand your horizions!) before just trying to shove all of his very big self into my very little self. After less than a minute of biting my lip in pain, I had to ask him to stop. I walked around for the next few days a little oddly, being very careful before sitting down. UNPLEASANT, to say the least.

Unfortunately, the image we're presented in porn goes something like this: man spits on blonde white chick with implant's asshole, shoves his cock (without a condom!) inside her, and she's coming within seconds. Of course, her asshole is hairless, she seems to be in no pain, and there certainly is no evidence of fecal matter afterwards.

I did some research into this: female porn stars get paid $900-1500 for anal scenes, versus $400-1200 for straight sex scenes. They perform enemas on themselves (ew) before doing the scene and avoid eating beforehand to make sure things don't get messy. There's usually a lot of behind-the-scenes-lubing going on to make it somewhat more comfortable for her (male readers, please remember: spit is not enough lube for anal sex. It just ain't. And even if it was, ask before you spit on someone--it can be very degrading).

All that being said...if anal sounds like something you want to try, I'd recommend the following:

• Lots of lube
• Shaving might make it more sensitive
• GO SLOWLY
• Be sure it's with someone who will respect you and communicate well with you
• Breathe deeply and try to relax
  
• Be able to laugh at yourself in case something goes disastrously wrong
• ...maybe buy cheap sheets, in case said disaster occurs

Happy experimenting!
Much love,
The Albright Sheriff

Femininity

Thanks to the reference of a friend, I encountered this gem of a blog: http://truefemininity.blogspot.com/

I can't imagine any subject material more antithetical to what we're doing here at Fornicating Feminists. It's almost hard for me to take her seriously; she's so very earnest about her desires to be a housewife.

I don't mean to demean that position either; while I might never have kids and certainly have ambitions to spend most of my life working outside of the home, I recognize that it is a huge amount of work to create a home environment that is loving, safe, clean and to raise children while maintaining an ounce of sanity.

However. The very title of her blog implies that there is one true concept of femininity, and the brief introduction I've had to her writing illustrates that it's an extraordinarily narrow concept at that: Christian, child-bearing, home-schooling, subservient, people-pleasing, and of course, hetero-normative. What about infertile women? Or Jews? How about career women? I won't even waste my time wondering about how this applies to gay/trans/queer folks, because clearly she doesn't.

Spewing this kind of hate (and yes, it is a form of hate that permeates through the way she talks about feminists and even women as a whole) just makes me sad. Women are so wonderful and expansive and there is so much more to femininity than people-pleasing (and if I may be so bold, I think the mere variety of women on this earth is evidence enough that God agrees with me).

As the Patron Saint of Feminists, Eve Ensler, wrote in March 2010's Glamour Magazine, "The act of pleasing makes everything murky. We lose track of ourselves. We stop uttering declaratory sentences. We stop directing our lives. We forget what we know. We make everything OK rather than real."

That last sentence gives me chills. Life is far too short to let yourself exist in way that's less colorful and passionate and full than you deserve because you want to make everyone else happy first in a misguided religious goal.

Real femininity, to me, is complicated and messy and passionate. My femininity wears combat boots and dresses and shaves when she wants to; brings you a cup of tea when you're sad and rubs your legs when you're tired. Real femininity means saying "hell yes" to the things that tickle your heartstrings, regardless of how other people feel about them, and "no thank you" instead of overextending and taking on just one more burden for someone else. It's carrying your own luggage and opening the door for other people and paying your share. My femininity is warm hugs and tough compassion and being there for the ones you love. It's being in control of my sexual health and being knowledgable and responsible for myself because no one else will do it, and also strong enough to ask for what I want and need in bed. My femininity means respecting everyone but groveling to no one, especially not my future husband, if I ever have one. Because my femininity also means that I am a complete and full person if I don't get married.

Much love,
The Albright Sheriff