What is Sex?

I just realized (again) that I've never talked about what sex is on this blog.

I write about sex all the fucking time, and yet I've never really defined what it is that I'm writing about. I mean, sure, there's a common definition of what counts as sex. I've encountered it, and I think it's really stupid.

See, most people seem to think that the only thing that's "really" sex is some kind of penetrative (enveloping?) intercourse. Vaginal, anal. With a man's (bio) cock. That's it. Everything else is just "foreplay" or "after play" and what's important is the "play" part that only includes fucking.

But, um, I really think that cock sucking is sex. And pussy licking. And finger fucking. And fisting. And using anal beads. Hand jobs in the back of a movie theater. Fucking someone with my dildo. Fingers on my clit through my panties. A mouth on my nipples and really hot, long makeout sessions, too.

The way I see it, if I could have an orgasm from it, or my partner could have an orgasm from it, it definitely counts as sex. If I'm thinking about it for days afterwards, if I could fantasize about it while I masturbate, that's probably sex, too. The things that matter to me are the feelings, the kind of connection I'm experiencing, not some technicality of what body part entered where.

The problem with only considering Penis-In-Whatever intercourse to be sex is that it excludes a whole range of very pleasurable and definitely sexual activities from what we think "counts." I've written before about how the definition of sex as intercourse excludes the activities that make a majority of women have an orgasm. Like, you know, touching the clitoris at all. There's also the fact that lesbians are pretty much unable to have sex under this model. Which is just silly.

The number of people I've actually fucked is definitely lower than the number of people I've considered sex partners. Especially given the women on my list. But I'd rather honor the experiences I've had, honor the partners I've shared my time and my body with, and be that much more of a slut. Because I'm proud of my history, and all the kinds of sex I've had with all kinds of people!

Two Caveats to My Post on Sluthood

**While I'm having sex, I still don't want to hear the word slut directed at me in a way that's connected with shame. Or any other sex negative phrase for that matter, like cock tease or prude (ha, like anyone would call me that). Not only am I not ashamed of what I do sexually, I'm not at all turned on by shame. So trying to invoke that emotion is just kind of weird and jarring and pulls me out of teh sexiness, which I'd rather stay immersed in, thanks.

Tell me I'm such a good slut and so good at sex. Yes, I love to hear that. Please praise me for my sexuality. That turns me on. But don't go to the "you like this so much, don't you, slut?" thing or the "I bet you make all the boys crazy, you tease" thing or the "I'm going to fuck you like a ragdoll, cuz you're a fucktoy for my use" thing. Not my bag.


**I get tested often for sexually transmitted infections and am careful with barrier methods of protection for the sex I have. (Condoms, condoms, condoms! And gloves.) I also have an IUD to prevent pregnancy. Having lots of sexual partners does increase my risk for transmission of disease and unplanned pregnancy, and would increase those risks for anyone on my path. I'm all about sluthood, but it's also important to protect your health. Resources for good ways to protect yourself: Scarleteen and Planned Parenthood.

Rethinking "Slut"

I've written a lot about sluthood before, and about how I had trouble reclaiming that word because of my personal history with it. When I was first called a slut, it was not at all cute or kind. Even though I was fine with the sex I'd been having, the shame behind the word got to me when my closest friends used it against me. It's taken me a long time to heal from that.

But heal I think I have. The more beautiful sex I've had with more people, the easier it's gotten to gladly think of myself as a slut. An ethical one. A happy one. And one who is proud of her sex life and sexual history.

Jaclyn Friedman, editor of the book and contributor to the blog Yes Means Yes, just wrote a lovely piece about what sluthood has done for her. One of the best quotes from the piece is this:

Sluthood...reminds me to enjoy the life I have now, instead of waiting for someone to come start it. It helps me know my heart better, and my libido. It makes me better at communicating about both of them, and much less likely to confuse the two. To my mind, far from ruining me for real love, sluthood is preparing me for it...

...Sluthood isn’t just a choice we should let women make because women should be free to make even “bad” choices. It’s a choice we should all have access to because it has the potential to be liberating. Healing. Soul-fulfilling. I’m telling you this because sluthood saved me, in a small but life-altering way, and I want it to be available to you if you ever think it could save you, too. Or if you want it for any other reason at all.

I've made so many great connections, had so many fun and interesting experiences, and learned so very much that I wouldn't have if I weren't happy to jump into sex with new, interesting people. There have been a few bad experiences, mostly because of somebody deceiving me or treating me disrespectfully, but that could have happened even if I was trying to have a relationship with them. In fact, usually the reason they were being deceiving and disrespectful was that they assumed I wanted a relationship and that's what they had to do to get me into bed. Dummies.

I've also made great friendships and found really wonderful relationships. My promiscuity has never stopped me from finding love, just the opposite. My life has been filled with love, all kinds of love, from great friendship to a four-year commitment with a man I'm still close to. And so much in between. I wouldn't trade that for the world.

So I'm done hiding from a word that should just mean "someone who has a lot of sex with a lot of people." If that's the literal definition of a slut, well, that's what I am. And there's not a single reason to be sorry for that.

So here's my shouting from the mountain: I'm 23 years old (on Saturday!), I've had 64 sexual partners*, and I'm proud of it. I am a good slut, and happy to be one.


*This is based on my definition of "sex," which holy crap I've never written about here! I will fix that immediately. Update: I wrote about my definition of sex here.

Domination vs. Humiliation

I was thinking yesterday about my kinky proclivities, and the reasons why until fairly recently I've hesitated to act on my submissive desires. I've known that I'm into restraint and submission for a very long time, but I never did much about it. I didn't feel ready, somehow, or comfortable with the idea.

I realized yesterday that a lot of what turned me off of the available images of dominance and submission was the way humiliation is often connected to any kind of sexy power play. Very often along with the spankings and bindings and hittings and tossing arounds, there are words and narratives thrown in about how humiliating it all is. About how the sub is naughty and should be ashamed and needs to be punished.

For me, the desire to be dominated is not at all connected to these narratives of shame. I don't feel ashamed of having sexual desires. It's true that I have been shamed by other people for them and sometimes even felt abnormal and freakish. My response to that, however, was more to say "fuck you" and learn to be proud than anything else.

I grew up in a household where, despite some of the usual discomfort about sex, my parents and especially mother always said "whatever you do is fine by us and we love all of you, including your sexuality." This stood up to my coming out as bisexual, my disclosing that I'm a stripper, and some overnight visits from special friends where we made a wee bit more noise than intended.

This is not to say that I begrudge anyone their enjoyment of humiliation, just that it's not for me. I just can't eroticize words that turn sex into shame. I understand the value of reclaiming these narratives and getting off on them, I just don't do it. It makes me too uncomfortable.

What I like about being dominated is simply the loss of control. I'm incredibly, sometimes destructively self possessed in "real" life. I am able to let go of some of that during any kind of sex (which is one reason I like it so much) but being dominated lets me do so even more. I can hand the restraining of me over to someone else. I don't have to do it, at least for a little while. It actually feels freeing.

I also just love to please and it makes me wet to be ordered around and thrown over someone's knee. I can't necessarily explain the physical response, but as it is, I'm just going to enjoy it. Minus the whole "You've been a naughty slut and need a spanking" part.

Slut

I very rarely use the word "slut" to describe myself.

There are a lot of people who have decided to reclaim it and try to recast it in a positive light. I'm all for that, and I don't think a word that describes someone who has a lot of casual sex should be so negative. I support the efforts to reclaim the word slut.

I just can't do it myself.

It makes me really uncomfortable. I think it's mostly because it's still so overwhelmingly a negative word. It connotes someone who's diseased and irresponsible, as if anyone who has lots of sex is either of these things. (As if people who don't have a lot of sex can't get diseases. Great, double stigma, on sex and disease.)

Slut conveys a complete sexual availability. This is of course not a problem in and of itself. I'm very sexually available, and I think it's great. I like being open to do whatever I want with whomever catches my fancy. "Slut," though, suggests availability to the point of passivity, of loss of choice. A "slut" is someone who "will sleep with anyone." They just go along with whoever wants them. It suggests someone who is often and can easily be taken advantage of.

I think it's a disempowering word. I don't like all the negative and sexist ideas about sex it carries along with it like eight tons of baggage. I can't divorce it from those things in my mind.

It's also just because it's been used against me and hurt me in the past. Its use can completely change someone's life. Women who are labeled sluts get abused and generally treated poorly all the time, just because they're somehow considered subhuman. I don't want that for myself or anyone else.

I recognize that this could be like the word "queer." People in my generation don't have the same negative connotations for it and so we like to use it as an umbrella term. I find it empowering. Older folks don't like it because it was a very negative slur in their youths. Maybe (hopefully!) the same thing will happen for "slut," but I'm okay with not embracing the word for now.

First Troll

I got my first troll the other day!

I got to be called a whore and hear about how all women are whores (because getting paid for sex is like totally the worst thing ever, right?) and feminism is bullshit. Woot.

Seriously, though, I knew it would happen eventually. It's ironically in the same week as the first time I've been called a (fuckin') whore at my university. I'm more perturbed by name-calling by someone I actually know, but it feels all of a piece.

In writing and talking about and having sex a lot, I've always known I practically invite these kinds of backlashes. I got slut-bashed in high school by people I'd considered close friends. That was very hard and hurtful, but I know it's a nearly universal experience for women. I'll bet that all women have been called a slut (in seriousness not in jest or reclamation) at some point.

I've actually been pretty perplexed that I hadn't gotten more of it since I came to college. I write a sex column, I founded a sex discussion group, I'm open about being very sexually active, I'm an out stripper, I'm queer. I've gotten very little negative feedback, even though I am known as "the sex girl" around here.

The person who called me a whore is someone I slept with once two years ago and haven't spoken with since. It was a generally baffling 4am Facebook message, but I'm not particularly worried about it. A close friend basically told me he's got a serious drinking problem and I shouldn't take it too personally, and I'm not.

Getting trolled, though, online and in person, makes me feel like I've arrived. Like hey, someone thought I was being sexually transgressive and felt the need to punish me. Hey, enough people are reading this blog now that some asshole was able to find it and felt the need to comment negatively. I'm a REAL blogger, now! (Like Pinocchio, but without the growing and shrinking phallus on my face.)

So yeah, I am kind of celebrating it. My attitude is kind of like, bring it on! I don't need to be hurt by these things and maybe it can even be a part of having a larger discussion. Let's go! Have at! Dukes up! Here I am, ready.

I Am a Ridiculous Individual

I just narrowly avoided accidentally having two guys I wanted to fool around with show up in my room at the same time. You know, simultaneous rendezvous.

It was an accident. My friend C had inquired as to my plans for the night and I'd invited him to hang out. He and I hooked up a couple times casually (read: drunk). We've been inching our way closer to sex again for the last few weeks.

The slow pace isn't my usual thing, especially since we've already done the whole sex thing, but I'm liking it. We cuddled and talked for hours the other week and it was lovely. I've been friends with C for years, and while it was weird at first to get sexually involved with him, I really enjoy the time we spend together. I was looking forward to pursuing it more.

He didn't respond, though, to my text telling him I was free and in my room. He'd said he wanted to hang out, but I thought maybe he got sidetracked or was busy. (It happens to the best of us.)

So then I got an instant message from this other fellow, A, who I hooked up with once maybe a month ago. He is in a fraternity, which I find funny, but he's pretty interesting and definitely cute. He's not shy talking in general and about sex, which I like. He asked what I was up to tonight and since I hadn't heard back from C, I invited him over. He said he'd be at my room in a half hour.

Five minutes later, I got a text message from C saying he was on his way to my room.

I had a brief moment of alarm. I would have preferred to see C, but had no easy way to blow off A since he was very definitely coming and was no longer online. I have his phone number, but that would have been either a very awkward conversation or a very rude text message. Since C and I were already friends, I figured I could text him to postpone, see him tomorrow, and it would all be fine.

Two hours later I'm pretty satiated and very much looking forward to tomorrow, when I get to see C. Which is why I am a ridiculous individual.

Lord knows either of said gentlemen could read this post and be miffed, but I'm hoping for the best. Everybody knows I don't do monogamy...it might be time to have a chat and disclose to C just how little monogamy I do, so there are no surprises.

Nearly-Anonymous Sex?

I've been really wanting to fuck someone I don't know very well. Just for fun.

I want that dirty sex, the kind that feels a little tense, maybe removed, where the release is more psychological than physical. I'm frustrated by my usual restraint; I want to break it down, push it through, fuck it.

It's been a really long time since I've had this urge; maybe since my freshman year. These days it's so easy for me to have friendly, gleeful sex that I haven't tapped into that part of me that's influenced by the taboo, by what I used to call the "dark side" of sex. I'm not entirely sure what's brought it on.

This kind of urge, for me, is usually directed towards men. I guess it's easier to engineer casual sex with them, but I think it has more to do with why I feel this way in the first place. I want to exercise and exorcise something I feel is going on with my gender and the men around me.

I don't know whether I'll actually act on it. There are very specific circumstances in which I feel comfortable with casual sex, and they all involve mutual respect and a very clear understanding (as much as I can ensure those things after a brief acquaintance). Unless I can find someone in my upstate NY city who can respectfully negotiate disrespectful sex, I can't really see it happening. We shall see, though. Maybe the blow job queen is back for a limited engagement.

Sexuality Feminism

I’ve been struggling, like many feminists interested in sexuality, with the issue of self-identification. I am clearly neither an anti-porn feminist nor a sex-positive feminist. I very much enjoy porn, but I think its trends and messages are extremely problematic. I'd much rather see a new, different kind of pornography as an alternative to what we've already got.

In the past, I’ve identified most closely with sex-positive feminism. When I was growing up, I was socially attacked and ostracized for being a woman who was openly interested in sex. This hurt me. When I encountered sex-positive feminism, it was like a light shone down from the sky. There were other people who thought that sex was important, that women could be sexual, that I was really an okay person even though I had a sex drive.

On the other hand, I don’t agree with a total lassiez-faire attitude towards porn. I think it’s important to recognize the systematic misogyny in porn. I don’t want to ban porn at all, but we can’t do any better for sexuality if we don’t recognize its problems. That “pornified” misogyny is part of what creates the idea that women can’t be sexual unless they’re whores (in other words unless their sex is in service of men). I can see that, and think it’s important.

Therefore, I am coining a new term for myself. I am a sexuality feminist. I believe that sexuality is central to gender inequality. I think that addressing sexual inequality is a very crucial step towards decreasing overall gender inequality. I make sexual equality the main focus of my activism.

This term could, in fact, apply to both the anti-porn and the sex-positive feminists. It says nothing about whether you’re in favor of mainstream porn or not. Maybe it could even let us work together sometimes.

It doesn’t mean we have to give the word “pornography” a new meaning in order for the average person to understand what we mean when we define ourselves. It doesn’t suggest that those who oppose us are “sex-negative” or anti-sex. Rather than putting us in opposition to something, it gives us a realm in which to work, rebel, agitate, create, define, and live.

Who knows, maybe it could catch on. I'm claiming it here and now: I’m a sexuality feminist.

Note: This is an excerpt from my in-progress honor's thesis on porn and feminism.

Tuesday Review: Pornography: The Production and Consumption of Inequality

Okay, I know the Tuesday Reviews are kind of sporadic, but I'm a busy woman. I do my best.

This week's review isn't exactly a recommendation, more of an exercise in stretching my brain and my opinions on porn. That's important to do, and books like Pornography: The Production and Consumption of Inequality by Gail Dines, Robert Jensen, and Ann Russo are the background for dialogues about porn and sex work today.

In the interest of full disclosure, I'll admit I read this book for a research project I'm doing for my Women's Studies honors thesis. I'll be examining "feminist" porn and the tactics it uses to address critiques like the ones brought up in Pornography. I'm starting by reading a whole slew of books written by anti-porn feminists so that I can be fluent in their criticisms of porn.

One of the things that was striking to me in reading this book was the way the authors framed their arguments in relation to sex-positive feminists who they called "sexual liberals." The first couple of chapters were devoted to naming and disputing "sexually liberal" criticisms of anti-pornography feminism. As the book went on it got a little more nuanced, but the first two chapters set the tone for the narratives about porn.

I'm probably not going to make myself popular with people on either side by saying this, but I have a huge problem with the divisiveness we see surrounding the issue of porn in feminism. It's a problem on both sides, and I think it's really unproductive.

I agree with the anti-porn feminists that a lot of porn does represent and reinforce the patriarchal gender roles of our society. Including a tendency towards violence against women.

I agree with the sex positive feminists that porn can be a very powerful tool for exploring and expressing female sexuality. I think that any consciously navigated choice to be sexual as a woman is an act of rebellion against the stupid virgin/whore complex.

Which, by the way, is hugely at play in the conflict between these groups. The anti-porners basically call the sex pos-ers whores for advocating for what they see as the always patriarchal representations of sex in porn. The sex pos-ers call the anti-porners prudes for criticizing sex and porn and fucked up power dynamics between men and women.

It's a bad show.

I'm having a real "Ack! I've been identifying solely with one side of this argument, but I think the other has solid points too!" kind of moment.

I still think that the sex positive movement has a more productive approach to porn: actually making porn and REconstructing gender roles in it by altering the circumstances of its production and consumption. However, I don't think they'd be much of anywhere without the efforts of the anti-porn movement to highlight the sexual inequalities that are prevalent everywhere.

I think that where the anti-porn movement reacts to a negative sexual situation in our country, the pro-sex movement acts to change it. That's why I'm writing about feminist porn; I want to see how they're doing.

After that long word vomit, back to the book. I did really like the last few chapters where the authors talked more about their personal interactions with porn and how it affected them emotionally. These three closing essays showed, finally, a much more complex view of how to deal with porn.

I think that in the end these three are somewhat open to dealing with sex positive types (or "sexual liberals" as they're called in the book). I hope that we can all find a common ground. We're all working towards the same thing anyway: equality between men and women.

Cross posted at Fourth Wave Feminism

Juicy Campus: A Cultural Gross-fest of Slut-Bashing

One of my friends just sent me a link to a new "social networking" site called Juicy Campus. According to the home page, "this is the place to spill the juice about all the crazy stuff going on at your campus. It's totally anonymous - no registration, login, or email verification required."

What this means is that students have free reign to post whatever, anything at all, about anyone or anything. So of course it's a huge racist, sexist, classist, sizeist, ableist, just-prejudiced-in-general party.

If I had any extra time this semester, I'd want to write a research paper about this site. It takes all the bigoted tensions under the surface of our culture and brings them right out into the light. I mean, it's pretty awful stuff on there and it kind of sucks to read it, but it's fascinating nonetheless.

I've never seen more obvious examples of slut-bashing than on the site. I'd say a majority of the posts on the site (or at least on the pages for my college) are about specific girls and their sluttiness. (They cut off search results at 150 posts so I couldn't compare the number of "slut" posts to anything.) It's just a reminder of how hurtful that stuff can be.

There were a couple of girls from my school who were specifically targeted over and over again. One of them bravely stood up for herself on the site and said that she knew the posts were mostly made by a guy she rejected. Shocking, right, a girl labeled "slut" because she wouldn't have sex?

If you read Slut! Growing Up Female with a Bad Reputation by Leora Tanenbaum, which I highly recommend, you'll find out that the slut label is often completely disconnected from sex. Not always, of course, but a lot of the time it's just a way to punish girls who aren't "normal," who dare to be "deviant" in some way. It's a punishing word, a weapon.

It is also, of course, a word that reinforces sexual stereotypes and the female gender role. By forcing girls and women to toe a line between being called a slut and being called a prude, patriarchal culture keeps our sexuality strictly controlled. We have to fight hard in order to have a respectful, healthy relationship with our own sexual desires. It's yet another way the patriarchy strips our personal power, leaving us so caught up in living up to its standards that we don't notice how ridiculous they are and throw them over.

In the last year or so, I've been on a personal crusade to stop slut-bashing when I find it. It doesn't always work, of course, because some people are stubbornly mean. There are lots of people, though, who don't think about what they're saying when they call a girl a slut. "Do you mean she has a lot of sex? Sex is fun. Why is that bad?" actually gets a pretty thoughtful response, especially if someone's using the word in a way unconnected to sex. "Do you mean you think she's mean and you don't like her?"

So I encourage all of you to combat "slut" when you hear it. It's such a "small" thing, but it makes a big difference in individual people's lives, and it's the combination of a million small things that leads to big patriarchy.

Cross posted at Fourth Wave Feminism.

Blow Jobs, Annihilation, and Growth

When I was younger, I was a blow job queen.

My first real boyfriend told me that I sucked his cock on our second date. I don't remember this, but I believe him. I can't actually remember when I started seeing or playing with his dick. I've played with it and other cocks so many times since then that the first time has blended in with the other memories.

He was uncircumcised. I remember that; I could tell. Often he wasn't completely hard by the time I started playing with him, so there would be some extra skin when I first put my mouth on him. I didn't know what I was doing at first, but I'd looked up on the internet what to do. I knew to avoid teeth, to use my lips, hands, and tongue. I learned to respond to his movements. I made him come in my mouth.

After we broke up, I didn't stay celibate for long. I had a good girlfriend who I lusted after but didn't think I could be with. She was too Christian and I was too timid.

So I blew her ex-boyfriend. It didn't occur to me then, but I know now that the only reason I had any chemistry with T was that I'd hung out with him and my friend together. We'd all cuddled on my bed, and my sexual tension with her had leaked into my interactions with him.

T kissed like a dead fish, all lips and no tongue. By the time we fooled around, I didn't especially like him, but I was bored and considered him a challenge. He was selfish in bed, wouldn't do anything at all for me except fumble in the general area of my clit with thick fingers. He said he'd go down on me if I got him off, which I found out a few weeks ago has still never happened for him with another person. He was also even more Christian than my friend, hated his own and others' sexuality, and was very politically conservative.

Every time he'd leave my house or drive me home, I'd feel like a whore. I might as well have been paid for what I did. There was very little physical gratification for me, just the vague eroticism of serving someone, the humiliation of feeling hated because I was giving away physical pleasure. It was masochistic.

I had a few similar flings during the next few years, between more serious relationships. Boys who'd call me when they wanted to get off, or who I'd call when I was alone at night. I'd feel this intense need to be touching someone, to be giving something, and I didn't know any other way to satisfy it than by finding a boy to blow. Some of my motivation was simple loneliness.

Mostly, though, it came from a need to feel annihilated. When I was feeling empty or in pain, I could hurt myself by finding someone who'd think less of me for having sex with him. I could stop feeling anything by being with a person who did not see or understand that I was a human with emotions. I was reduced to body parts, objectified, fucked. It was everything those old feminists talked about.

One day, after a few months of therapy and a decision that I didn't want to do it to myself anymore, I finally said no. A boy I'd blown was leading me back drunk from a fraternity party, and as we started to pass my dorm I said "Wait, I don't think I should do this. My shrink says I shouldn't have sex for a while."

He gave me a funny look and said goodnight, which is what I'd wanted. I wanted him to think I was crazy so it wouldn't hurt his feelings. It had worked. I ran off, almost giggling, to my room. Awkward though it was, I'd finally drawn the line and walked away when I wasn't actually into the guy or the sex.

I haven't had that kind of sex since then, the kind where I give up my humanity to have a physical connection with someone. I have casual sex, yes, but I do everything I can to make sure it's with someone who will see and value my humanity even while we're fucking. I can't always tell ahead of time whether this will be the case, but I can get a pretty good idea.

I'm glad I had the experience of objectified sex. It gave me something to contrast with what I wanted, to grow from. It allowed me to understand what it is that I don't want. I'm just as glad, though, to have moved past it into fulfilling sex with people I like. It's just so much more fun.

Tuesday Review: Bitch Magazine

This is more of a rave than a review, but I figured it counts.

If you spend any time in the feminist blog-o-sphere, you already know that Bitch Magazine has been in trouble. They've been holding a donation drive to raise enough money to put out their next issue (which they did, thank god) but there is a big question about how they will create sustainable strategies to keep going as an independent magazine.



If you're convinced already, donate here to help them keep things going. Subscriptions give them money and get you the magazine, and like they said even small amounts help. I'm not exactly rolling in cash on my work break, and I gave my $20.

Bitch is a wonderful magazine. I've been reading it since I was a freshman three years ago, and it's one of the things that made me feel comfortable to start calling myself a feminist.

Yep, that's right. For about six months at the end of high school, I was one of those "I'm not a feminist, but..." types. You know, finish the sentence with any variety of "I believe in equal rights for men and women." If you read my blog, you already know that I'm still not 100% satisfied with the word "feminist," but I do proudly and loudly identify as one. I am definitely an activist and strongly believe in sex equality. I am a feminist.

Bitch also introduced me to sex-positive feminism. They ran an article about the different kinds of feminism, followed by an interview with sex-positive heroine Susie Bright. It was the first time I had encountered anyone who had an ethical, activist, intellectual interest in sex, who thought it was a legitimate thing to be interested in.

I pretty much cried with relief. I got on the phone with my then-boyfriend and told him all about it. I'd been enduring the slut label for years and it hadn't occurred to me that there were other people around like me. There were people I could look up to, people I could learn from.

Bitch prints all kinds of feminist pop culture goodness: essays analyzing movies, books, and music, interviews of pertinent people, discussion of various feminist movements (because there are many), etc. They are probably the most important feminist voice in the last decade.

So Bitch is a winner, check them out and help them stick around!

Eroticizing Patriarchy Makes It Stronger My Ass

The idea that eroticizing something solidifies it in your mind, protects it from critical thinking, and maintains the power structures that resulted in that eroticization does not ring true to me.

I just realized this.

I am very critical of the things I eroticize. I try and figure out why I do it. I want to know where the little kinks come from and why they've become sexy and I'm constantly analyzing my feelings about sex and my sexual actions. Yeah, I don't always change what I do based on what I figure out. Sometimes it's okay for me to eroticize something like power relations or patriarchy because I know that's what I'm doing. It's a way of dealing with my feelings about these things, it lets me reclaim them. Sex is something over which I have control. If I can exercise control over an area where I am powerless by making it a sexual thing, kudos to me.

So yes, I do sometimes eroticize patriarchal things. I know this. I am feminine and a bottom in sex. I like it when others initiate sex and are in control. Some of that is because I am a girl and I have been harassed for being a "slut" and I'm afraid to show sexual desire. I don't want to be treated badly as a result of my sexuality, so I am more wont to let someone else approach me. There are other reasons, like the fact that I'm very reserved in general, but I acknowledge that it's largely my reaction to being put down because I'm a woman.

I do (usually successfully) challenge myself with this. I definitely can and have and do approach people with the intention of romancing or seducing them. But I also allow myself to be turned on by someone approaching me, by someone else being the top during sex, by letting go of control. I don't think my continued enjoyment here is undermining my understanding of its source.

Another note:

I like to be tied up because as I said I am very very reserved...restrained, even...in real life. I do not let go of control, I am very driven, I am powerful, and I'm almost always on guard. I talked a couple weeks ago about how I keep my feelings close to my vest. I like to be restrained (by a man or a woman, I have no preference here) because when I am physically restrained I feel psychologically freer. I don't have to rely any more on my psychological restraints because I am held in physical ones. It feels safer and risky and hot all at the same time, and even allows me to get closer to my partner. It is closely tied in with trust and emotion.

This has nothing to do with eroticizing patriarchy. I thought about that. I've had to deal with it as I've been learning about feminism and creating my opinions on sex and gender and relationships and then trying to apply them to my own life. I don't think anyone should be dismissing certain behaviors as necessarily or inherently patriarchy-induced because we can't know the root of a behavior unless we're the one doing it. We should all have the right to decide for ourselves.

On Being a "Slut"

In high school, my friends called me a slut. A couple of them went with "nympho," but mostly it was slut. I have always been very open about being sexual, a little trick I picked up from my mother. She taught my sister and me about sex in our infancy, always told us to use birth control, and occasionally told us more than we wanted to know about her sex with our father. So I talked about sex a lot, and then of course whenever my friends were angry with me out came "slut" like the ending of any conversation.

I struggled with that as a teenager (I say from my advanced age of 20) and I have had and still have trouble integrating the parts of me that are sexual with the parts of me that are intellectual or nurturing. I'm getting better every day, but it's taken some time to bounce back from the stigma and all its consequences that I bore in high school.

That said, I've noticed something very, very different since I've been in college. I still talk about sex all the time. In fact, I have sex all the time and talk all the time about the sex I'm having all the time. I'm crass, I curse, and I am definitely no wilting violet of a girl. I don't hide the fact that I'm a stripper; if someone asks about my job, I'm happy to tell them what it is and answer reasonable questions about it. I run group discussion about sex in the student clubs I'm involved in, and I readily dish out advice and resources when people tell me they're having a sexual problem. Hell, I'm even trying to start a student club completely based around discussion about sex.

So that part hasn't changed. But here, in college, I have completely avoided being branded as a slut. Entirely. I haven't even gotten a single negative reaction from anyone when I've told them I'm a stripper. Those who don't know me well always seem to expect that I'll be delicate and shy when it comes to sex. A frat brother I hooked up with two years ago recently apologized to me for being an asshole because apparently he'd been leading me on and using me for sex. Which, of course, implies that I wasn't leading him on and using him for sex.

And it's not like I go to a liberal college where this would make sense. One girl on my freshman hall earned the moniker "Popcorn Pants P" because she gained a reputation for sleeping around. My friend T, the one who got me into stripping, recently heard about a conversation an entire fraternity had about her. Apparently they were telling stories about how she'd had sex with animals, and mass quantities of group sex, and how she's in porn, etc. She is no more sexual than I am, and even less public about it, and yet she is definitely branded as a campus slut and has trouble finding men (she is heteroflexible) to take her seriously as a romantic partner.

I have not had to deal with any of this. Which is damn confusing. Last night when I was talking to T about her reputation struggles, I started to wonder why. Why would I somehow be exempt from the backlash that being comfortable with my sexuality usually has in our culture and on this campus? I definitely don't mind escaping the issue, but there's something at play here besides just the amount of sex I have and talk about.

I looked at my friend T. I think she is gorgeous, but she is what she calls "curvy." I am a thin girl, just as a consequence of my genes and metabolism. T also has a very fair complexion, and while she is definitely white, she looks very Irish, as though from a newly immigrated family. I am a clearly WASPy woman; I've got pale but unremarkable skin, an average but pretty face, and generally look like an All-American girl next door. T tends to be aggressive in conversation, and is loud. I'm not exactly soft-spoken but I tend to be more manipulative (a lovely trait I've inherited from my mother) than pushy

P, too, was slightly overweight and blonde. She was very pretty and had an hourglass figure. Very Marilyn Monroe. I have auburn hair, and I'm tall and thin. Not "blonde, big tits, your average nightmare."

So......what? I look harmless? This is an issue of how I look? It's an issue of my privilege as a white, anglo-saxon, protestant, thin, accomodating, friendly, woman? Fuck that, it makes me angry. I try to avoid my rich white guilt and use my privilege for good rather than evil, but it's so hard not to get fired up by it. Nobody wants the slut label, nobody wants to be treated like shit that way, but I shouldn't be exempt just because I look like a "nice girl."

Nice girls "don't." I definitely DO. But I never get tickets when I'm pulled over by the cops. I don't even cry, I just look complacent and get a warning. I don't get shit on by the customers at work as much as some of the other girls. I just smile through it. Just because of the way that I look, I am held to different standards of behavior, dress, and even speed than everyone else.

And wow, that's fucked up.