Before I start on my own rant, I just want to acknowledge the writers who have already contributed to this awesome, empowering blog. I especially want to commend the Sheriff, who I believe has done an amazing job keeping it active, lively and playful (necessary qualities in both blogs and healthy sex lives). I want to write a blog post about monogamous sex and being in love. Hmm. Kind of boring after some of the previous posts discussing sexist attitudes toward female sexuality, VCH piercings and the like, no? Maybe not, when you consider that some of the best sex I’ve had has been quite recent, and with my long distance boyfriend, with whom I’ve been having sporadic but wonderful sex (when we’re in the same place at the same time) since November.
I want to preface this post with the disclaimer that I am not a serial monogamist by any means. I’ve been sexually active for about four years plus a bit and only on the bookends was the sex I was having encompassed within a monogamous relationship. I’ve had one night stands I regret, one night stands that turned into two or three night stands that I fully enjoyed, a two-week-long no-strings-attached booty call, random sex with people I’ve known a really long time that I never expected would happen, sex with women and group sex with a gay man (another post for another day). And, perhaps surprisingly, I have still managed to come through all of these encounters feeling like I still have a lot to learn about sex and my sexuality.
This leads me to discussing my current situation, a situation that I have never found myself in before: I’m with someone right now that I love so deeply that I can’t really imagine wanting to have sex with anyone else. That doesn’t mean I’m never sexually attracted to other men (it happened once a couple of months ago and it kind of freaked me out), it just means that I am emotionally and physically fulfilled enough by the relationship I’m in right now to forego any kind of panic or anxiety about being devoted to one person indefinitely. This situation has resulted in a number of sexual and emotional revelations for me, as I grow, change and develop into my adult sexual self.
1.Being in a relationship, and specifically a long distance relationship, puts my mind at ease and allows me to focus on my own individual growth, while formulating an understanding of what that personal development means in terms of my relationship. Because I don’t get to be with him all the time, I have to find other things to fulfill me in my day-to-day life, but knowing we both love each other and that I will see him soon puts my mind and sexual consciousness at ease. In other words, I’m not constantly distracted by the hunt for casual sexual satisfaction or male attention.
2.Sexually speaking, I feel like I can take my time. When in the middle of a one night stand, there is a pressure for me (not necessarily put on me by my partner, more likely by myself) to make sexual progress, to do something exciting, and, ok I’ll say it, to come out of the evening having achieved (at least one) female orgasm. When I’m with my current lover, I don’t feel that same pressure to get everything done in one go. The shortness of our visits does help me appreciate every moment we spend together, and of course, every moment we spend in bed together, but the knowledge that this isn’t the last time helps me relax and enjoy sex, regardless of the outcome. Rather than being product-oriented, my sexual relationship with Ginger is process-oriented; I don’t necessarily have to have an orgasm to feel physically satisfied (and then, sometimes, I have three in a row, which is good too).
3.Communication between Ginger and me is a risk free endeavor. Because I am confident that my needs, both sexual and emotional, are important to my partner, and that he will hear them and respond to them without judgment, I don’t ever have to calculate the way I express them. Clarity and honesty are key here. In casual situations, when trying to express that all a girl wants (see Librarian’s post) is casual sex and stimulating (sex) and conversation, it can feel necessary to go to ridiculous lengths not to sound needy, clingy, stalker-y etc… when at the end of the day what it comes down to is craving a good shag! With Ginger, saying exactly what I want, when I want it, whether it’s sexual or not, garners results, usually pretty immediately. Also, feeling like I can trust the person I’m asking, and not having to be embarrassed for wanting anything, allows me to ask straight up and get what I want right away, no games, which I love.
Now that I’ve written this post, it’s feeling a bit like Fornicating Feminists has just provided me a vehicle for bragging about how great my relationship is. That’s not really what I’m trying to do. Despite the immense satisfaction and happiness being with Ginger gives me, things aren’t perfect. There are always ups and downs, insecurities, sexual malfunctions that result in embarrassing conversations or impromptu field-trips to London’s free health clinic, etc… but those are the things that for me, within the context of a committed relationship, make it so easy to feel good about continual excitement and endless potential in our future sexual interactions. There is no limit to what we can do with (and to) each other, and that freedom is refreshing. For me, being in a committed relationship has helped me realize that I’m allowed to make mistakes, to be awkward, and to blatantly ask to be spanked every once in a while without fear of judgment or discomfort.
More on the sexual adventures I embark on in the future and enlightening trysts of the past, to come! Onward, Albright sex fairies, and congratulations on a cheeky, sexy, informed, fun and entertaining blog!
Love,
Venus de Milo
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
On the subject of misconceptions, self-love, and all the rest of it…
Hi all,
I’m a new poster, but not a new contributor to the conversation that all women (and men!) do and should have, with themselves and with each other, on the subject of sex, body image, and personal relationships in general.
I’ve been rocked about on the rough seas of romance, more than some and much less than others. More importantly, I’ve been lucky enough to have a lot of great support from kind, intelligent people. Some advice has been more valuable than others – for instance, I think if I actually made a “Vision Board” to help me accomplish my goal of sleeping with Robert Downey Jr. or Gael García Bernal, I would not be empowered, I would just be a stalker.
The less stalker-y version of this I do appreciate, and this blog post is going to be my first public, “balls to the wall” (what up, Albright Sheriff”) effort to put it out there and hold myself accountable for believing that I deserve it, with the hope that it will encourage other people to do the same. It’s fun. Also, I don’t really know how to talk about it without just saying what I want, because I have NO interest in telling other people what they should want (that would go against my philosophy of Choice with a capital C… more on that later).
A very wise, kind person recently told me to make a list of all the things I look for in a potential partner – no matter how small or nit-picky it seems, if it’s important to me, it goes on the list, because as the Albright Sheriff says, we have this pesky tendency to settle… and then what we settle for, to “see how it goes,” sticks around for two years and even more emotional trauma.
Here’s my set of “standards,” pre-this semester. I fondly and somewhat irreligiously refer to them as the Five Pillars.
- Not abusive
- Not a drug addict
- Has a home
- Is in school and/or has a job
- Calls you back
You wouldn’t think this would be a difficult combination to come across, and yet….
Now, I am thoroughly enjoying my independence in every sense of the word, and don’t even feel the need to formulate what I would like in an actual life partner, because I have no interest in finding that right now. Here is what I do want right now, and I’m much happier to take nothing if I can’t have it. Here it is… and it might be a revelation to some guys, because it absolutely does not fit into the Madonna/Whore standard. Newsflash: we do not all want you to put a ring on it. And that doesn’t make us sluts.
I would be open to a relationship if the right person were to come along, but I am absolutely not seeking one. I tried the one-night-stand thing once or twice, and have no regrets, but for me, sex has a lot to do with the personal connection. Unlike many other people, I think, I like to talk a lot with my partner, even if they are only my partner for one night, and I’m not talking about discussing my sexual preferences. I’m interested in human connection, however brief, and for me sex is a culmination of the fact that I have passed a nice evening with someone and gotten to know something about them, and we seem compatible in some way – not marriage material, just something in common, something that “clicks” for the evening. This isn’t dangerous so long as it’s clear that it is one night only. Dangerous territory opens up when they imply that they want to see you again; you get excited about meeting someone half-way decent, and then they, too, turn out to have been feeding you lines.
The moral of this story is that one night isn’t ideal; it isn’t very satisfying for me. Right now, I want someone who wants to spend time with me on a relatively consistent basis. Likes me, doesn’t need to be in love with me. Likes the fact that I’m quirky and a little awkward and talk too much when I’m nervous (or just all the time, as evidenced by this post). Someone to text to break up the tedium of the day with a little flirtatious banter, and that doesn’t think this means I’m trying to trap them into a full-blown relationship. I want good, fun sex, and good conversation. I like to cuddle.
Strangely, this has been singularly difficult to come across, but as I said before, I’d rather have nothing if I can’t have it. Nothing means no drama, no heartache, no anxiety. Maybe a little loneliness or self-doubt, and certainly some sexual frustration, but I have my friends to cuddle with me and tell me I’m beautiful, and the negatives of unhealthy sex or sex with someone I’m not comfortable with vastly outweigh the benefits.
Lots of love,
The Librarian
I’m a new poster, but not a new contributor to the conversation that all women (and men!) do and should have, with themselves and with each other, on the subject of sex, body image, and personal relationships in general.
I’ve been rocked about on the rough seas of romance, more than some and much less than others. More importantly, I’ve been lucky enough to have a lot of great support from kind, intelligent people. Some advice has been more valuable than others – for instance, I think if I actually made a “Vision Board” to help me accomplish my goal of sleeping with Robert Downey Jr. or Gael García Bernal, I would not be empowered, I would just be a stalker.
The less stalker-y version of this I do appreciate, and this blog post is going to be my first public, “balls to the wall” (what up, Albright Sheriff”) effort to put it out there and hold myself accountable for believing that I deserve it, with the hope that it will encourage other people to do the same. It’s fun. Also, I don’t really know how to talk about it without just saying what I want, because I have NO interest in telling other people what they should want (that would go against my philosophy of Choice with a capital C… more on that later).
A very wise, kind person recently told me to make a list of all the things I look for in a potential partner – no matter how small or nit-picky it seems, if it’s important to me, it goes on the list, because as the Albright Sheriff says, we have this pesky tendency to settle… and then what we settle for, to “see how it goes,” sticks around for two years and even more emotional trauma.
Here’s my set of “standards,” pre-this semester. I fondly and somewhat irreligiously refer to them as the Five Pillars.
- Not abusive
- Not a drug addict
- Has a home
- Is in school and/or has a job
- Calls you back
You wouldn’t think this would be a difficult combination to come across, and yet….
Now, I am thoroughly enjoying my independence in every sense of the word, and don’t even feel the need to formulate what I would like in an actual life partner, because I have no interest in finding that right now. Here is what I do want right now, and I’m much happier to take nothing if I can’t have it. Here it is… and it might be a revelation to some guys, because it absolutely does not fit into the Madonna/Whore standard. Newsflash: we do not all want you to put a ring on it. And that doesn’t make us sluts.
I would be open to a relationship if the right person were to come along, but I am absolutely not seeking one. I tried the one-night-stand thing once or twice, and have no regrets, but for me, sex has a lot to do with the personal connection. Unlike many other people, I think, I like to talk a lot with my partner, even if they are only my partner for one night, and I’m not talking about discussing my sexual preferences. I’m interested in human connection, however brief, and for me sex is a culmination of the fact that I have passed a nice evening with someone and gotten to know something about them, and we seem compatible in some way – not marriage material, just something in common, something that “clicks” for the evening. This isn’t dangerous so long as it’s clear that it is one night only. Dangerous territory opens up when they imply that they want to see you again; you get excited about meeting someone half-way decent, and then they, too, turn out to have been feeding you lines.
The moral of this story is that one night isn’t ideal; it isn’t very satisfying for me. Right now, I want someone who wants to spend time with me on a relatively consistent basis. Likes me, doesn’t need to be in love with me. Likes the fact that I’m quirky and a little awkward and talk too much when I’m nervous (or just all the time, as evidenced by this post). Someone to text to break up the tedium of the day with a little flirtatious banter, and that doesn’t think this means I’m trying to trap them into a full-blown relationship. I want good, fun sex, and good conversation. I like to cuddle.
Strangely, this has been singularly difficult to come across, but as I said before, I’d rather have nothing if I can’t have it. Nothing means no drama, no heartache, no anxiety. Maybe a little loneliness or self-doubt, and certainly some sexual frustration, but I have my friends to cuddle with me and tell me I’m beautiful, and the negatives of unhealthy sex or sex with someone I’m not comfortable with vastly outweigh the benefits.
Lots of love,
The Librarian
Self Love
No, this isn't a post about masturbation, much as I love it. It's about confidence, body image, and loving yourself exactly as you are, and you can bet your sweet ass that this has a lot to do with sex and sexuality. This is a subject near and dear to my heart, so forgive me for making it personal at first, but I promise I will make a point; this ain't no Open Diary shit.
I was a fat kid. Not fat like, oh that's baby fat, but fat like hates the mile in gym class with a burning passion, double servings every night, butter all day every day (I was actually quite good at being a goalie in soccer in 2nd grade...but I hated running and sweating in practice so I quit and read books and talked to myself instead. I got into Smith and am mostly socially adjusted, so I win anyway! Fuck you, naturally athletic people!). It never really bugged me until I hit puberty a thousand years before everyone else. My fat shifted from my rotund stomach to my hips and tits, and you can bet everyone noticed. I got a lot of attention from men and quizzical stares changing in front of my flat-chested, pube-free friends at sleepovers, but it didn't change the fact that I was still fat.
At 12, I had my first (awful, non-consensual) sexual encounter. He called me fat, said I had a disgusting stomach. Almost immediately, I developed an eating disorder and lost over half my body weight over the course of two years. I'd fall asleep in class everyday because I stayed up all night pacing my room, trying to burn more calories and went off to school in the morning with a liter of Diet Coke and a handful of diet pills and Skittles. I spent my fifteenth birthday in a treatment facility (what up, Renfrew) and lost a month of school, as well as many friends who were terrified I would die. On the way back up to a healthy weight, I battled bulimia, and trust me, this was an ugly battle. I won't go into details to spare any of my treatment center alum who might read this (what up, Walden), but most of high school is a blur now looking back. All I remember are epic binges and purging purging purging, sometimes four times a day. It's miraculous I didn't die. Finally, I came to Smith College and removed from the toxic (to me) environment of my hometown, I finally recovered. I relapsed last semester, but feel emotionally and physically healthy for the first time in over a decade. I love my body most days of the week and I've even got some swagger.
But the craziest thing about all this? No matter how dangerously low my weight dipped, no matter what impossibly tiny clothes I wore, no matter that when I lay down on the floor when I had to pee you could see my bladder, I always always always felt fat.
In eating disorder treatment centers, they tell you over and over again: FAT IS NOT A FEELING. And they're right, it isn't. It's a convenient label that women (and not just those suffering from extreme eating disorders...and some men do this too) throw on to encompass feelings of being inadequate, of guilt, of shame, of never quite meeting the standard, of anxiety, of depression, of hopelessness.
When you feel like a fat girl, it has an enormous impact on your sexuality and your self image. You always feel shocked that anyone, let alone anyone moderately attractive, has an interest in sleeping with you. You feel like you should take whatever comes your way and put up with it, even if they cheat or they're emotionally abusive or if they just have bad B.O., because you're FAT and who else would ever want you? And fat chicks are always better at head, and frankly, sex in general despite our girth. Why? Because we have to be. We have to try harder, do more, take it deeper, be freakier to keep our lovers around because they could leave at anytime for a girl with less junk in the trunk. And sometimes, they leave anyway (for more on this, written much more eloquently than I ever could, check out "How Do You Fuck a Fat Woman?" by Kate Harding).
Are you mad yet? I hope you're mad. This used to be the way I felt about myself until about two months ago and even I'm pissed off that women are made to feel so inadequate. But what shifted in these last two months? What's changed that took me from always seeing myself as fat, less than (and also too much), and generally having zero confidence?
Self love.
That means being gentle with yourself above all else. Did you screw up an exam or say something awkward while trying to flirt? It's okay, everyone does! It doesn't make you less attractive, smart, funny, good of a person for one mistake. Accept that you did your best, AND you can do better.
Tell yourself you're awesome, hot, beautiful, curvy, skinny, gorgeous, smart, whatever you need to hear. External validation feels incredible, but you are the only consistent source of happiness in your own life. So be there for yourself, and cheesy as it is, look yourself in the mirror and tell yourself you're beautiful everyday. IT WORKS.
Do something active most days of the week, not because it will make you lose weight or tone you up or flatten your abs or any of that bullshit. But because it will help you live longer and feel happier and, in moderation, is very positive for self esteem. And yes, dance parties count.
You might have to fake it till you make it (NOT your orgasms please!). As an experiment, I've tried walking around this semester with "swagger," if you will. Head up, good posture, a little natural swing in the hips, and a big smile when I make eye contact with people, even when I felt obese and wanted to hide. And ya know what? Compliments began POURING my way. I got asked out at least twice a week by stangers. Most importantly, I feel hotter now. And nothing, literally nothing, had otherwise changed in my appearance (I actually STOPPED going to the gym during this period). And now, I've got more confidence in my bedroom abilities than before and can focus on enjoying myself. So tell the negative voice inside your head to go fuck itself (probs pretty often) and turn your swag on, even if it's just pretend.
Do you find yourself thinking about how fat you must look in certain sexual positions or worrying that your partner notices your bacne/cellulite/stretch marks/birth mark (mine, btw, is white markings framing my vag. No lie. Sign from God that I was to have amazing sex?)? Here's the secret: they'll be so thrilled they're having sex with you, they won't notice. And if they do notice, it won't matter, because they'll be focusing on your hot tits or soft skin or beautiful eyes. To get out of your head and into the sensual gorgeous feelings, try doing some mindfulness in your daily life or in bed. Shift your focus to the feel of their hands on your body or the sound of their breath (this has the added bonus of making you more in tune with what's happening and thus more aware of your likes/dislikes AND more turned on. Mindfulness rocks!). Focusing on the moment gets you out of your own anxieties and more connected to the experience you're having.
Check out the body image myths you tell yourself. Are you a perfectionist? Do you think your looks outweigh all the other facets of your personality? For me, I constantly compared myself to other women to see how I sized up. It honestly got pretty vicious; I'd visit Beefcake at his school, which is mostly full of bratty Philadelphia Main Line/New Jersey daddy's girls who get spray tans and wear Uggs with sweatpants. But rather than being nice or trying to get to know them, out of my own anxiety, I'd say the nastiest things about them to Beefcake as soon as we walked into any party, the cafeteria, whatever. Is it really because I hate Uggs and orange skin that much? Both are pretty atrocious, but no. It's because I was insecure. And until I tackled that insecurity, I let these women reduce me down to nothing but a catty judgmental cunt. But now? They wouldn't bother me one bit. I'm hot in my own way, and they can be their own Jersey version of hot, and it doesn't matter because it's not a competition. As Baz Luhrmann said, "Don’t waste your time on jealousy; sometimes you’re ahead, sometimes you’re behind,
the race is long, and in the end, it’s only with yourself."
For more info on loving yourself, check out these awesome links!
http://galadarling.com/article/how-to-practice-major-mega-supreme-body-love-daily
http://galadarling.com/article/empty-bellies-do-not-beget-genius
http://www.alreadypretty.com/2010/04/tenets-of-self-care.html
Much love (and apologies for the length of this post!),
The Albright Sheriff
I was a fat kid. Not fat like, oh that's baby fat, but fat like hates the mile in gym class with a burning passion, double servings every night, butter all day every day (I was actually quite good at being a goalie in soccer in 2nd grade...but I hated running and sweating in practice so I quit and read books and talked to myself instead. I got into Smith and am mostly socially adjusted, so I win anyway! Fuck you, naturally athletic people!). It never really bugged me until I hit puberty a thousand years before everyone else. My fat shifted from my rotund stomach to my hips and tits, and you can bet everyone noticed. I got a lot of attention from men and quizzical stares changing in front of my flat-chested, pube-free friends at sleepovers, but it didn't change the fact that I was still fat.
At 12, I had my first (awful, non-consensual) sexual encounter. He called me fat, said I had a disgusting stomach. Almost immediately, I developed an eating disorder and lost over half my body weight over the course of two years. I'd fall asleep in class everyday because I stayed up all night pacing my room, trying to burn more calories and went off to school in the morning with a liter of Diet Coke and a handful of diet pills and Skittles. I spent my fifteenth birthday in a treatment facility (what up, Renfrew) and lost a month of school, as well as many friends who were terrified I would die. On the way back up to a healthy weight, I battled bulimia, and trust me, this was an ugly battle. I won't go into details to spare any of my treatment center alum who might read this (what up, Walden), but most of high school is a blur now looking back. All I remember are epic binges and purging purging purging, sometimes four times a day. It's miraculous I didn't die. Finally, I came to Smith College and removed from the toxic (to me) environment of my hometown, I finally recovered. I relapsed last semester, but feel emotionally and physically healthy for the first time in over a decade. I love my body most days of the week and I've even got some swagger.
But the craziest thing about all this? No matter how dangerously low my weight dipped, no matter what impossibly tiny clothes I wore, no matter that when I lay down on the floor when I had to pee you could see my bladder, I always always always felt fat.
In eating disorder treatment centers, they tell you over and over again: FAT IS NOT A FEELING. And they're right, it isn't. It's a convenient label that women (and not just those suffering from extreme eating disorders...and some men do this too) throw on to encompass feelings of being inadequate, of guilt, of shame, of never quite meeting the standard, of anxiety, of depression, of hopelessness.
When you feel like a fat girl, it has an enormous impact on your sexuality and your self image. You always feel shocked that anyone, let alone anyone moderately attractive, has an interest in sleeping with you. You feel like you should take whatever comes your way and put up with it, even if they cheat or they're emotionally abusive or if they just have bad B.O., because you're FAT and who else would ever want you? And fat chicks are always better at head, and frankly, sex in general despite our girth. Why? Because we have to be. We have to try harder, do more, take it deeper, be freakier to keep our lovers around because they could leave at anytime for a girl with less junk in the trunk. And sometimes, they leave anyway (for more on this, written much more eloquently than I ever could, check out "How Do You Fuck a Fat Woman?" by Kate Harding).
Are you mad yet? I hope you're mad. This used to be the way I felt about myself until about two months ago and even I'm pissed off that women are made to feel so inadequate. But what shifted in these last two months? What's changed that took me from always seeing myself as fat, less than (and also too much), and generally having zero confidence?
Self love.
That means being gentle with yourself above all else. Did you screw up an exam or say something awkward while trying to flirt? It's okay, everyone does! It doesn't make you less attractive, smart, funny, good of a person for one mistake. Accept that you did your best, AND you can do better.
Tell yourself you're awesome, hot, beautiful, curvy, skinny, gorgeous, smart, whatever you need to hear. External validation feels incredible, but you are the only consistent source of happiness in your own life. So be there for yourself, and cheesy as it is, look yourself in the mirror and tell yourself you're beautiful everyday. IT WORKS.
Do something active most days of the week, not because it will make you lose weight or tone you up or flatten your abs or any of that bullshit. But because it will help you live longer and feel happier and, in moderation, is very positive for self esteem. And yes, dance parties count.
You might have to fake it till you make it (NOT your orgasms please!). As an experiment, I've tried walking around this semester with "swagger," if you will. Head up, good posture, a little natural swing in the hips, and a big smile when I make eye contact with people, even when I felt obese and wanted to hide. And ya know what? Compliments began POURING my way. I got asked out at least twice a week by stangers. Most importantly, I feel hotter now. And nothing, literally nothing, had otherwise changed in my appearance (I actually STOPPED going to the gym during this period). And now, I've got more confidence in my bedroom abilities than before and can focus on enjoying myself. So tell the negative voice inside your head to go fuck itself (probs pretty often) and turn your swag on, even if it's just pretend.
Do you find yourself thinking about how fat you must look in certain sexual positions or worrying that your partner notices your bacne/cellulite/stretch marks/birth mark (mine, btw, is white markings framing my vag. No lie. Sign from God that I was to have amazing sex?)? Here's the secret: they'll be so thrilled they're having sex with you, they won't notice. And if they do notice, it won't matter, because they'll be focusing on your hot tits or soft skin or beautiful eyes. To get out of your head and into the sensual gorgeous feelings, try doing some mindfulness in your daily life or in bed. Shift your focus to the feel of their hands on your body or the sound of their breath (this has the added bonus of making you more in tune with what's happening and thus more aware of your likes/dislikes AND more turned on. Mindfulness rocks!). Focusing on the moment gets you out of your own anxieties and more connected to the experience you're having.
Check out the body image myths you tell yourself. Are you a perfectionist? Do you think your looks outweigh all the other facets of your personality? For me, I constantly compared myself to other women to see how I sized up. It honestly got pretty vicious; I'd visit Beefcake at his school, which is mostly full of bratty Philadelphia Main Line/New Jersey daddy's girls who get spray tans and wear Uggs with sweatpants. But rather than being nice or trying to get to know them, out of my own anxiety, I'd say the nastiest things about them to Beefcake as soon as we walked into any party, the cafeteria, whatever. Is it really because I hate Uggs and orange skin that much? Both are pretty atrocious, but no. It's because I was insecure. And until I tackled that insecurity, I let these women reduce me down to nothing but a catty judgmental cunt. But now? They wouldn't bother me one bit. I'm hot in my own way, and they can be their own Jersey version of hot, and it doesn't matter because it's not a competition. As Baz Luhrmann said, "Don’t waste your time on jealousy; sometimes you’re ahead, sometimes you’re behind,
the race is long, and in the end, it’s only with yourself."
For more info on loving yourself, check out these awesome links!
http://galadarling.com/article/how-to-practice-major-mega-supreme-body-love-daily
http://galadarling.com/article/empty-bellies-do-not-beget-genius
http://www.alreadypretty.com/2010/04/tenets-of-self-care.html
Much love (and apologies for the length of this post!),
The Albright Sheriff
If she act like a ho, than she's probably gon' be.
"If she act like a ho, than she's probably gon' be."- The Cataracs (can't remember which song)
This lyric from one of my new favorite bands highlights a huge problem in today's pop culture. This line assumes that if a girl does certain things, then she is a ho meaning that she is easy and "open for business." I have a problem with this assumption. Yesterday, I read an article in a book entitled "Yes means Yes." This article talked about America's rape culture which creates a dichotomy between the "pure, innocent" sexy but not sexual virgin and the "dirty" ho. Basically, anyone that doesn't fall into the "pure and innocent" category falls into the "dirty ho" category. This author argued that this dichotomy is the reason why sexual violence against women continues to persist because men don't consider it a crime since the woman is already "dirty." The author uses examples such as the Australia skinny jeans case as evidence. (see Albright Sheriff post What.the.Fuck)
This lyric also maintains this dichotomy. The problem is that by viewing women as hos, men think that they can take advantage of them or that everything is invited. I think that this issues becomes clear at parties where women most visibly act like hos (including myself). I enjoy droppin' it low with my friends and with male dance partners. Usually, I don't mind the groping that accompanies this sort of dancing, however, some girls do. Just because a girl can drop it low like a video ho does not mean that she wants to have sex with you nor does it mean that you have a right to touch her girlie parts. Here's my advice to men: Ask a girl if she wants to dance with you. Don't walk up behind her and stick your crotch into her ass. If she does want to dance with you, take cues from her before you try anything more. Girls do want to have sex, they just might not want to have sex with you.
Women are much more complicated than these two categories. We need to change our conceptions of women and sexuality to reflect this.
Lots of love,
Lady Lola
This lyric from one of my new favorite bands highlights a huge problem in today's pop culture. This line assumes that if a girl does certain things, then she is a ho meaning that she is easy and "open for business." I have a problem with this assumption. Yesterday, I read an article in a book entitled "Yes means Yes." This article talked about America's rape culture which creates a dichotomy between the "pure, innocent" sexy but not sexual virgin and the "dirty" ho. Basically, anyone that doesn't fall into the "pure and innocent" category falls into the "dirty ho" category. This author argued that this dichotomy is the reason why sexual violence against women continues to persist because men don't consider it a crime since the woman is already "dirty." The author uses examples such as the Australia skinny jeans case as evidence. (see Albright Sheriff post What.the.Fuck)
This lyric also maintains this dichotomy. The problem is that by viewing women as hos, men think that they can take advantage of them or that everything is invited. I think that this issues becomes clear at parties where women most visibly act like hos (including myself). I enjoy droppin' it low with my friends and with male dance partners. Usually, I don't mind the groping that accompanies this sort of dancing, however, some girls do. Just because a girl can drop it low like a video ho does not mean that she wants to have sex with you nor does it mean that you have a right to touch her girlie parts. Here's my advice to men: Ask a girl if she wants to dance with you. Don't walk up behind her and stick your crotch into her ass. If she does want to dance with you, take cues from her before you try anything more. Girls do want to have sex, they just might not want to have sex with you.
Women are much more complicated than these two categories. We need to change our conceptions of women and sexuality to reflect this.
Lots of love,
Lady Lola
Monday, May 10, 2010
Fuck perfection
A few nights ago, my Albright Sex Fairies and I were watching American Pie (yes, we have high-falutin' taste in movies...and yes, my posts might involve them for the next few days but bear with me). For those who have lived under a rock since 1999, the film centers around four high school boys who make a pact to lose their virginity by their graduation and of course, ridiculous hilarity ensues (to this film we owe the word "MILF," a necessary contribution to our lexicon. To what else should women of maturity aim but to be a MILF? ...perhaps a successful career or a fulfilling life? But I digress).
Between giggling over the fact that it was, looking back now with our college sex knowledge, a pretty accurate portrayal of high school boys, I got moderately annoyed with one of the female characters, Vicky (played by the always classy and sophisticated Tara Reid). Vicky is absolutely convinced that her first time with her boyfriend, Kevin (played by some dude who has starred in nothing of consequence since American Pie), should be totally, completely, relentlessly perfect.
First of all, first time sex (whether your first time EVER or simply your first time with that individual) is never perfect. It's messy and moderately awkward as sweaty unfamiliar bodies come together in all sorts of contortions (and make all sorts of sounds...). It's a recipe for disaster. It's amazing, given all the things that can go wrong, that anyone has the desire to come back for more. Furthermore, it's unfair to put the burden of perfect sex, let alone a perfect first time, on the other person. "Perfect" sex does not exist, because sex is as individualized as the people having it. The sex I love (the wilder/harder/deeper, the better) is another woman's hell. To try to standardize something as organically unique (which, admittedly, my beloved porn does) and make it "perfect" in a one size fits all package is impossible.
The idea of perfect sex (heterosexual, the female cums fast and often, they both cum in unison as he finishes while calling out each others' names) ruins what could be perfectly satisfactory sex because people take their legitimately enjoyable experiences and tarnish them by constantly comparing them to a false ideal. Ladies: Do you take forever to cum? FANTASTIC. Do you only get off in certain positions? AWESOME. Do you have no interest at all in cum shots? DELIGHTFUL. Men: Do you have a hard time with endurance? BEAUTIFUL. Do you want your partner to touch your anus? WONDERFUL. Is your dick maybe just a little bit short? INCREDIBLE. Whatever you're working with and whatever you want (as long as it's consensual and doesn't involve animals/children) is absolutely spectacular and exactly what it should be.
Second of all, nobody is perfect. We've been sold this idea by advertising companies and corporations that perfection exists and is attainable...if you're white/blonde/rich/tan/thin/toned. And if not, don't worry! There's a product that'll take you damn close.
But no one, no one, is perfect. To expect their appearance or personality or body to be perfect is absolutely ridiculous and fruitless. Perfection is BORING. It's always the same. I'm not fabulous because I've got huge tits or blonde hair; I'm fabulous because I'm short but sassy and I've got big hips and I belch freely and I write this insane blog about my sexual exploits for you fine people. People don't love perfection; they love quirks and unique facets of your personality and body.
Don't be like Vicky. Please know this: The sex you are having is good enough. YOU are good enough. And if the sex isn't everything you want it to be, do something about it! That's part of being a sexually empowered person, knowing simultaneously that what you're doing is perfectly fine and can always be improved. But do it in a a way that feels appropriate and pleasurable to YOU, not what you think you should do. No one needs to know what goes on behind closed doors, except you and your partner. So fuck the expectations of bland standardized perfection and make your sex amazing and personalized.
Much love,
The Albright Sheriff
Between giggling over the fact that it was, looking back now with our college sex knowledge, a pretty accurate portrayal of high school boys, I got moderately annoyed with one of the female characters, Vicky (played by the always classy and sophisticated Tara Reid). Vicky is absolutely convinced that her first time with her boyfriend, Kevin (played by some dude who has starred in nothing of consequence since American Pie), should be totally, completely, relentlessly perfect.
First of all, first time sex (whether your first time EVER or simply your first time with that individual) is never perfect. It's messy and moderately awkward as sweaty unfamiliar bodies come together in all sorts of contortions (and make all sorts of sounds...). It's a recipe for disaster. It's amazing, given all the things that can go wrong, that anyone has the desire to come back for more. Furthermore, it's unfair to put the burden of perfect sex, let alone a perfect first time, on the other person. "Perfect" sex does not exist, because sex is as individualized as the people having it. The sex I love (the wilder/harder/deeper, the better) is another woman's hell. To try to standardize something as organically unique (which, admittedly, my beloved porn does) and make it "perfect" in a one size fits all package is impossible.
The idea of perfect sex (heterosexual, the female cums fast and often, they both cum in unison as he finishes while calling out each others' names) ruins what could be perfectly satisfactory sex because people take their legitimately enjoyable experiences and tarnish them by constantly comparing them to a false ideal. Ladies: Do you take forever to cum? FANTASTIC. Do you only get off in certain positions? AWESOME. Do you have no interest at all in cum shots? DELIGHTFUL. Men: Do you have a hard time with endurance? BEAUTIFUL. Do you want your partner to touch your anus? WONDERFUL. Is your dick maybe just a little bit short? INCREDIBLE. Whatever you're working with and whatever you want (as long as it's consensual and doesn't involve animals/children) is absolutely spectacular and exactly what it should be.
Second of all, nobody is perfect. We've been sold this idea by advertising companies and corporations that perfection exists and is attainable...if you're white/blonde/rich/tan/thin/toned. And if not, don't worry! There's a product that'll take you damn close.
But no one, no one, is perfect. To expect their appearance or personality or body to be perfect is absolutely ridiculous and fruitless. Perfection is BORING. It's always the same. I'm not fabulous because I've got huge tits or blonde hair; I'm fabulous because I'm short but sassy and I've got big hips and I belch freely and I write this insane blog about my sexual exploits for you fine people. People don't love perfection; they love quirks and unique facets of your personality and body.
Don't be like Vicky. Please know this: The sex you are having is good enough. YOU are good enough. And if the sex isn't everything you want it to be, do something about it! That's part of being a sexually empowered person, knowing simultaneously that what you're doing is perfectly fine and can always be improved. But do it in a a way that feels appropriate and pleasurable to YOU, not what you think you should do. No one needs to know what goes on behind closed doors, except you and your partner. So fuck the expectations of bland standardized perfection and make your sex amazing and personalized.
Much love,
The Albright Sheriff
Guest post: Another global feminism issue!
Breast “ironing” is a process which utilizes heated stones or tools to massage down breast tissue. It is practiced in order to prevent breast maturation. In Cameroon, it is estimated that 1 out of 4 young girls will undergo the ironing process. The picture below* shows some of the tools used in order to carry out the technique.
Mothers tend to fear their daughters’ developing silhouette will attract the sexual attention of males and lead to unwanted pregnancy. “I didn’t want my daughter’s breasts to grow, so I used this stone to press her breasts,” one mother explains. After holding a rock over a fire until it becomes warm, the stone is kneaded into a girl’s chest. This practice varies in frequency: some mothers will practice as much as two times a day.
Breasts are equated with sexual maturity and readiness; therefore, by restricting the growth of the young girls’ breasts, it is hoped that they will be spared from sexual aggression. According to a Washington Post report, “in Cameroon, being young and pregnant is not uncommon. Additionally, an estimated 30 percent of women have unwanted pregnancies, according to local health-care workers.” Mothers view ironing as taking action to provide their daughters with an “upper-hand” against these odds.
The problem in Cameroon, like many West and Central African areas practicing this method, is obviously not the mere fact that females develop breasts. It is a complete lack of sexual education to combat any misinformation. Instead of teaching females about their personal development, fear propels many mothers to destroy their daughters’ delicate bodies. Additionally, there is no formal educational process for males to learn about proper exercise of their sexuality. Breast ironing only treats one small symptom of a larger social illness.
Although the rate of breast ironing in Cameroon has been questioned, the fact remains that body mutilation is employed in certain places in order to combat early pregnancy. As Cameroon grows, females are becoming increasingly educated. This notion that breasts need to be restricted in order for daughters to achieve great things in their lives is flawed.
What’s your opinion on breast ironing? Doesn't ironing expand upon the double standard of sexuality responsibility? Should-- and how can-- the government get involved?
Check out this startling, but well-done video and this article* (photo used is from this gallery) to learn more.
With love,
Kiss My Ash: Novice Guest Poster/Sex Fairy Fan.
Mothers tend to fear their daughters’ developing silhouette will attract the sexual attention of males and lead to unwanted pregnancy. “I didn’t want my daughter’s breasts to grow, so I used this stone to press her breasts,” one mother explains. After holding a rock over a fire until it becomes warm, the stone is kneaded into a girl’s chest. This practice varies in frequency: some mothers will practice as much as two times a day.Breasts are equated with sexual maturity and readiness; therefore, by restricting the growth of the young girls’ breasts, it is hoped that they will be spared from sexual aggression. According to a Washington Post report, “in Cameroon, being young and pregnant is not uncommon. Additionally, an estimated 30 percent of women have unwanted pregnancies, according to local health-care workers.” Mothers view ironing as taking action to provide their daughters with an “upper-hand” against these odds.
The problem in Cameroon, like many West and Central African areas practicing this method, is obviously not the mere fact that females develop breasts. It is a complete lack of sexual education to combat any misinformation. Instead of teaching females about their personal development, fear propels many mothers to destroy their daughters’ delicate bodies. Additionally, there is no formal educational process for males to learn about proper exercise of their sexuality. Breast ironing only treats one small symptom of a larger social illness.
Although the rate of breast ironing in Cameroon has been questioned, the fact remains that body mutilation is employed in certain places in order to combat early pregnancy. As Cameroon grows, females are becoming increasingly educated. This notion that breasts need to be restricted in order for daughters to achieve great things in their lives is flawed.
What’s your opinion on breast ironing? Doesn't ironing expand upon the double standard of sexuality responsibility? Should-- and how can-- the government get involved?
Check out this startling, but well-done video and this article* (photo used is from this gallery) to learn more.
With love,
Kiss My Ash: Novice Guest Poster/Sex Fairy Fan.
Male Misconceptions
I could write a book about male misconceptions of female sexuality (and probably will, given the amount at which I'm dominating this blog...sorry, other Albright Sex Fairies that I can't shut up!). But today I'm going to focus on a particularly pervasive one that came up during a discussion with Meatball.
Poor Meatball often winds up getting grilled by me about sex as I try to pick his brain (and those of his project group members...what up, WPI) to find out a) his personal preferences and b) some semblance of reason for the general male attitudes towards sex (that I extrapolate from his responses to all men is an unfair burden, surely, but too fuckin bad).
A particularly irksome one that he revealed recently was that when he first became sexually active, he thought women didn't want sex, and that he was a pig for initiating.
...bitch, please.
Aside from the fact that this blog wouldn't exist if women had no interest in sex or didn't want it (or if the blog did exist, it'd be fucking boring...also, please take note of the fact that we have the clitoris, a body part solely for pleasure), this deep seated assumption that gets passed down brings up many much larger issues.
By assuming that women don't want it, it's implied that in order to "get some," men have to go to coercive lengths, i.e., alcohol and throwing "game" at their target. It sets up a dichotomy of predator and prey that's downright dangerous.
Since it's Senior Week and I'm at Smith with jack shit to do, we watched Superbad and drank sangria last night, and while I laughed endlessly at the boys antics , their whole plan for their night centers on getting bitches drunk so they will have sex with them, giving not a second thought to the fact that these women might want sex, or even want sex sober with them. Nope, gotta get these bitches impaired so they'll "give it up." It's perfectly embodied when Seth, the fat one, says "You know when you hear girls say 'Ah man, I was so shit-faced last night, I shouldn't have fucked that guy?' We could be that mistake!"
But is that what you (and by you I mean those with dicks) really want to be, an alcohol-fueled mistake? Would we rather have a world like the one Evan envisions when he says "Just imagine if girls weren't weirded out by our boners and stuff, and just like wanted to see them. That's the world I one day want to live in."? While I don't crave seeing boners, I love sex. Most women love sex (in varying amounts and forms and ways, but want it nonetheless). The main premise of this movie, and much adolescent ideas about sex, are based on this dangerous and deeply erroneous presumption.
So let it be known, yell it from the rooftops: WOMEN (usually) LOVE SEX.
Much love,
The Albright Sheriff
Poor Meatball often winds up getting grilled by me about sex as I try to pick his brain (and those of his project group members...what up, WPI) to find out a) his personal preferences and b) some semblance of reason for the general male attitudes towards sex (that I extrapolate from his responses to all men is an unfair burden, surely, but too fuckin bad).
A particularly irksome one that he revealed recently was that when he first became sexually active, he thought women didn't want sex, and that he was a pig for initiating.
...bitch, please.
Aside from the fact that this blog wouldn't exist if women had no interest in sex or didn't want it (or if the blog did exist, it'd be fucking boring...also, please take note of the fact that we have the clitoris, a body part solely for pleasure), this deep seated assumption that gets passed down brings up many much larger issues.
By assuming that women don't want it, it's implied that in order to "get some," men have to go to coercive lengths, i.e., alcohol and throwing "game" at their target. It sets up a dichotomy of predator and prey that's downright dangerous.
Since it's Senior Week and I'm at Smith with jack shit to do, we watched Superbad and drank sangria last night, and while I laughed endlessly at the boys antics , their whole plan for their night centers on getting bitches drunk so they will have sex with them, giving not a second thought to the fact that these women might want sex, or even want sex sober with them. Nope, gotta get these bitches impaired so they'll "give it up." It's perfectly embodied when Seth, the fat one, says "You know when you hear girls say 'Ah man, I was so shit-faced last night, I shouldn't have fucked that guy?' We could be that mistake!"
But is that what you (and by you I mean those with dicks) really want to be, an alcohol-fueled mistake? Would we rather have a world like the one Evan envisions when he says "Just imagine if girls weren't weirded out by our boners and stuff, and just like wanted to see them. That's the world I one day want to live in."? While I don't crave seeing boners, I love sex. Most women love sex (in varying amounts and forms and ways, but want it nonetheless). The main premise of this movie, and much adolescent ideas about sex, are based on this dangerous and deeply erroneous presumption.
So let it be known, yell it from the rooftops: WOMEN (usually) LOVE SEX.
Much love,
The Albright Sheriff
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