Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Sex Ed

Responding to "Real Sex Education" by Cara Kulwicki.

My recent illness has resulted in some discomfort for me, in that my immune system was not capable of handling sex, which I did not realize at the time. Now I'm struggling with bacterial vaginitis and a yeast infection, neither of which are fun at all. Sigh. I was thinking about when I first learned about yeast infections and bacterial vaginitis in an academic setting, and it wasn't until a college level human sexuality course that sexually influenced, but not transmitted, problems were covered. In high school, we learned about the STDs, but not more mundane infections.

I really don't remember much about what I learned in high school. It was a fairly short unit. I do know that we covered condoms, and I assume other birth control methods. My state did not accept abstinence-only funds.

(page 305) "Real sex education requires, in addition to teaching about protection, teaching sex as a normal and healthy part of life that is varied in terms of both preferred partners an preferred acts. Real sex education teaches that sex is more than heterosexual intercourse and should be consensual and pleasurable for all participants."

It was in college that the answer for "Why do kids have sex?" was posed in class, and the first respondent said "Because it feels good." That actually stopped what was supposed to be a lengthier discussion, as everyone just nodded and realized that no matter what other rationalization there may be, that was the most compelling reason to have sex. Because it feels good. There doesn't need to be another reason. It feels good.

At least, it should. If it doesn't, then something is wrong.

(page 307) "...Once you remove pleasure from sex, it has no purpose. Non-heterosexual sex cannot result in procreation, so what's the point? This is the only thing that religious fundamentalists and abstinence-only educators are right about--when arguing that sex is not or should not be about pleasure, gay and lesbian sex does indeed seem rather odd and even wrong.
"This thinking positions sex for pleasure as a waste of time, rather than as an activity that is itself often productive and important to those of all sexual orientations. Such limited education is invalidating to huge number of people, an erasure of their sexual desires and experiences. And the most-affected people are those who are no straight men."

Procreation is not the reason I have sex. I have children, but they are more a side-effect of sex rather than the intent. Which is not to say that I never intended to have children, just that no matter how much I may have wanted to conceive at the time, I did not have sex simply to conceive. No matter how much I may have wanted to conceive, I only had sex when I wanted to, because I wanted sex.

Gay and lesbian sex is not strange or abhorrent, it is about pleasure, and sometimes about love and intimacy. When sex is only about procreation, it seems bizarre that infertile or elderly people would indulge. It seems bizarre that I would use contraception, let alone get an IUD, with that logic. Sex is much more than procreation or even the potential to procreate.

(page 308) "Knowing that sex is normal, healthy, and not uniform also encourages people to learn what is most enjoyable for them, and how to establish sexual boundaries....Once women, who are most likely to be taught otherwise, know that they are supposed to enjoy sex and might not enjoy certain kinds of sex, they also generally learn to start asking for what they want and feeling more confident in expressing what they don't."

Establishing boundaries takes confidence and practice. I have boundaries, especially about touching. I have boundaries that are not concrete, but that change with my physical reality for the moment. What may feel good one day may not feel good the next. For the next week, my boundary is absolutely no vaginal sex while my body recovers. Might I have other sex? It's possible, but not definite.

Understanding that boundaries lead to a healthier relationship to both yourself and others is important. Understanding that boundaries may be fluid, but that no means no and only yes means yes, makes exploring and discovering boundaries easier on everyone involved.

(page 309) "Many men (and women!) don't understand what rape is. That doesn't mean that men who rape fail to understand when the woman has not fully and enthusiastically consented or when they're committing an act that is wrong--they simply fail or refuse to recognize that what they're doing actually falls under that scary word no one wants applied to them."

It's not a good feeling to realize that your advances were unwanted, though enough people in the world do in fact consent without wanting the sex, for myriad of reasons, including wanting to not reject their beloved. There is a difference between consenting despite not being enthused and not consenting.

(page 309) "The goal is that enthusiastic consent models will help to change the thinking from 'sex when someone says no and fights back is wrong' to 'sex when someone doesn't openly and enthusiastically want it is wrong.'"

So what about sex where one partner consents (without coercion) despite not really wanting it? I guess that all depends on why. Is the less-than-enthusiastic sex a gift? Is it some kind of sacrifice or payment? Is it a promise for better, more enthusiastic sex later? Is it a hope for more initiation from a partner who rarely initiates? Is it love? Is it comfort? Is it a struggle for conception?

Relationships are built on compromise and compassion, and sometimes sex can be a compassionate (rather than passionate) act.

But this whole exploration of non-enthusiastic but otherwise definite consent is dependent upon a lack of coercion and abuse.

(page 309) "...We do have a responsibility, particularly to young women, to give them the tools they need to recognize abuse."

And one of the tools to recognize abuse is to recognize the difference between consent freely given and coercion.

Monday, September 28, 2009

The Truth Is

I've had a difficult last couple of weeks. Between an out-of-commission car, being ill, having late shifts when my husband has early shifts, and school being in session, I have struggled to do anything more than drive, work and sleep. Blogging has been too much effort.

Today I'm responding to Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone by JK Rowling.

(page 298) "'The Truth.' Dumbledore sighed. 'It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution. However, I shall answer your questions unless I have a very good reason not to, in which case I beg you'll forgive me. I shall not, of course, lie.'"

The truth is a beautiful and terrible thing. Sometimes the truth is liberating. Sometimes it's harmful.

I have long told my friends that they can ask me anything, but it's always been up to me whether I answer. Sometimes I don't.

Truth can be a weapon. When I spoke out and encouraged others to speak out about the inappropriate actions of a coworker, the truth was indeed a weapon. A righteous weapon, but still a weapon. That coworker is now a former coworker.

The truth is that I have much to say, but my thoughts aren't as coherent as they normally are. Rather than jumping immediately back into blogging, I'm easing back.

I will do my best not to be offended by questions, but I have learned over the last couple of weeks that my temper has become more volatile since embarking on my mission of healing my past, as I have discovered a vault of anger that I have trouble keeping shut off. I of course will continue to choose whether I answer anything.

Sunday, September 20, 2009

Looking Good

Responding to "How Do You Fuck a Fat Woman" by Kate Harding

(page 68) "...Women's first--if not only--job is to be attractive to men. Never mind straight women who have other priorities or queer women who don't want men. If you were born with a vagina, your primary obligation from the onset of adolescence and well into adulthood will be to make yourself pretty for heterosexual men's pleasure. Not even just the ones you'd actually want to have a conversation with, let alone sex with--all of them."

Once upon a time I gave a damn about being attractive. And then I had a baby and decided that it was much more important to sleep. I used to have a cosmetics and hair routine, would only wear clothes that fit well to show off my body, and worried when I looked less than perfect.

Back then, I used to read fashion magazines, even knew the names of the most famous ones. Now I don't. I got tired of the same articles on the proper way to remove leg hair, and articles that actually intrigued me were few and far between.

Now I don't put as much effort into being attractive. I try to find haircuts that will look good with the absolute least effort, own only lip gloss, and would actually benefit from a wardrobe update. Most of my clothes are fairly old. But now I refuse to wear clothes that are uncomfortable. I don't need the distraction. I have better things to do than to readjust my undergarments or shirts over and over throughout the day. I really don't care if men-at-large find me attractive. Unless I'm trying to look good in the hopes of attracting compliments, the only people I care find me attractive are the ones I'm already physical with.

Up until recently at work, there was a guy who made comments about the attractiveness of various female co-workers. It was obvious to everyone but him and the higher up men who simply couldn't wrap their heads around the absolute inappropriateness of this practice, that he was indulged in sexual harassment. Many of the women he harassed were in fact teenage girls. I was never an object of his harassment. I would not have let him get away with it. I was not at all intimidated.

Regardless, the guy was in his 30s, was a walking cliche of maintenance men in body type and ill-fitting clothes, did not take pride in his appearance, but still felt completely entitled to judge the women, mostly girls, I work with as to their attractiveness. No one was trying to be attractive for him; they were all doing their best to avoid him. I called him out for his comments on multiple occasions, and he would give me a clueless look, stammering that he was just giving out a compliment. I would just repeat that he wasn't allowed to do that.

(page 72) "Of all the maddening side effects of our narrow cultural beauty standard, I think the worst might be the way it warps our understanding of attraction. The reality is, attraction is unpredictable and subjective--even people who are widely believed to meet the standard do not actually magically become more objectively attractive."

There are a few ways in which I do not and never will meet the cultural beauty standard. Not only do I not have fake breasts, my natural ones are not large. I am not blond. My teeth aren't perfect. I wear glasses. I am quite slender, which actually intimidates some women who see me as competition. Most of them have far more generous breasts than I have, so their focus on my thinness confuses me.

Really, it is far more important to be comfortable in the body you currently inhabit, and to wear comfortable clothes. Once I stopped thinking of looking good as a competition and worrying who was prettier than me, it was easier for me to relate to and empathize with other women. I can look good for me, should I choose to, and that does not in any way have to effect any one else.

Saturday, September 12, 2009

Love Isn't Enough

A reflection on "Killing Misogyny: A Personal Story of Love, Violence, and Strategies for Survival" by Cristina Meztli TzinTzun.

The cultural narrative that we have is that love is powerful enough to heal all wounds, that if sacrifice and sacrifice, that our love is powerful to overcome anything, but like the concept of a single soul that completely complements your own, it's not a concept based in reality. Love is a catalyst. Love can be a stepping stone to healing, but you have to WANT to heal, and the love that can truly heal is self love.

Perhaps I should out myself as a non-romantic.

Love takes work. It takes effort and communication and compromise on the part of everyone in the relationship, or it will wither and die. It will warp into hate. It will become an unhealthy trap. Love is not easy.

(page 259) "I felt that if [he] could love me above all the other womyn he had abused, that would prove how unique and loved I truly was. I wanted my love for [him] to be my most sacrificial gift: I wanted it to be strong enough to heal us both."

This is a common theme in romance novels, that the heroine's love is so powerful and healing that it cures all that ails the broken hero. Love is hopeful and understanding.

But that is a fairy tale. Love should be a building block to a healthy relationship, not a sacrifice. If one partner is sacrificing and sacrificing while the other gains, then that is not a healthy relationship. That is a one-way street.

Once upon a time I wanted to find a lover to rescue me from my family, but it only led to more abuse. Until I decided to leave and make my own way, no one could rescue me.

(page 262) "...I have torn down my own image as strong and perfect to help in redefining strength as vulnerability and honesty. I have broken my silence and faced accountability."

I am in the process of being vulnerable and honest. So far, I have discovered a deep well of anger living and seething inside me. The past two weeks, I've cried more times than I remember crying all my life, as I work to remember the past and reflect on the present. It's not easy. As much as I celebrate the good parts of my life and sexuality, I am still healing. I still have a great amount of work to do before I become comfortable talking in real life about everything.

I don't like feeling vulnerable, but I recognize that it's something I need to feel before I become truly strong.

(page 260) "I will have to forgive myself for my mistakes and overcome the shame and embarrassment that come with knowing that the men who have most influenced me and whom I have let "love" me have been the most abusive, violent, sick, and selfish men I have ever known."

My first attempts at relationships were with sick and selfish men. Until I recognized that I had deplorable taste in men, that I allowed myself to be controlled and taken advantage of, and found the strength to respect myself, I was unable to find love. All I found was abuse.

I find myself wishing I had stayed the girl who was not willing to sacrifice myself for love. I gave up the strong, brash, brave person I was. I became weak and pliable. I was so afraid that I would never find love, that I mistook weak and violent men as heroes-in-the-rough. I don't know why I was so desperate. They were horrible people who I never wish to encounter again.

(page 260) "I want to challenge the shame and guilt our society creates out of myths about sexually transmitted diseases, sex, beauty, and love."

I hope to raise questions about sex and beauty and love. I want to help weave a narrative that love is not a gift, but a commitment between two (or more) people who want to truly help each other learn to be better people--it is not a sacrifice, and it cannot heal by itself. Sex is more than just a physical act, and beauty is so not depicted in magazines or TV or movies.

As for STDS, I recently discovered that I have an incurable one. I have HPV. I had to have a fairly common procedure, cryotherapy, to remove precancerous lesions from my cervix. Because HPV doesn't always cause symptoms, in fact the most high risk ones tend not to appear as warts, and can take years to develop into cancer, I have no way of knowing when I became infected. It could have been when I was 6 or 7 and my mother's brother violated me orally. It could have been when I lost my virginity. It could have been when MZ raped me. It could have been unknowingly passed on to me by one of the people I love now. I don't know, and I probably never will.

When I first found out, I felt terribly dirty and that no one who didn't already love me would ever want me. It disgusted me. I couldn't believe it. How could this happen to me?

While HPV means that I'll have to be more careful with any future partners I may eventually have, I am overcoming my shame. About 80% of adults are infected. It's typically passed along unwittingly, though there are definitely some people out there who know but just don't care that they're passing it on. I have a common, chronic disease that I have to continue to observe to make sure that it doesn't become dangerous and life-threatening. It doesn't define me.

Healing is a process, and while I have made many strides, I am now working on my most intimate wounds. It's not easy, and my anger is still at an overwhelming stage. I am doing my best to keep it from becoming a destructive force, but it's not easy. Healing isn't easy. It's hard work, and love is a catalyst, not a cure.

Thursday, September 10, 2009

Talking About Sex

Responding to: "Beyond Yes Or No: Consent as Sexual Process" by Rachel Kramer Bussel.

I have difficulty talking about sex, except in clinical terms. I have trouble initiating. I have trouble asking for what I want. I believe it's a reflection of the internalized virgin-whore dichotomy, and that if I ask for what I want, then I'm admitting I'm a slut. I'm trying to get past this, though many many years of habit are hard to break.

(page 43) "The issue of 'consent' encompasses the ways we ask for sex, and the ways we don't.... Without our speaking up and demanding that our lovers do, too, we don't ever truly know what they are thinking, which impedes us from having the sex we could be having."

I must confess, I like it rough most of the time. This is actually a fairly recent revelation for me, at least the degree of roughness that I like. I feel more emotionally safe when the sex is rough, knowing that it shouldn't trigger any trauma or flashbacks. The rapes and abuse were not physically rough. But my lovers like more of a variety and want to be tender with me. Great sex is a process, as if I focus only on what I want, then I'm doing a disservice to my lovers, while if I focus only on what my lovers want, then I'm doing a disservice to me. But we can also decide to focus on one partner for a day, or for an hour, and fulfill unmet needs graciously and lovingly; which is definitely worthwhile.

(page 46) "And if you have been sharing, or trying to share, what you want and aren't being listened to? That's a problem. Recognize that and make it a priority."

Communication is integral to great sex, but it's also integral to having a good relationship. Period. Communication isn't always easy. If one partner is afraid to be truthful, then there is something wrong. Of course, truth can be a weapon wielded bluntly and with force for maximum pain, and truth can be gentle, easier to hear, easier to listen to, easier to act on. I try, but sometimes fail, to be gentle with the truth.

(page 46) "There is a lot more that goes on during sex than simply yes and no, and in the silences, unspoken doubts, fears, mistrust, and confusion can arise."

I feel that this is especially the case when there are multiple partners at the same time. It can be difficult to give more than one partner enough attention, and it can be lonely to be ignored. Speaking up is a necessity, though it may be strange at first to ask who wants to go first or who wants to indulge which desire when.

And even when it's only one partner, saying that something isn't quite working can be intimidating. If this stroke isn't working, am I going to hurt my partner's feelings because it's incredible for him? Talking is a risk, but it's a risk that's absolutely important to take.

(page 47) "Getting more comfortable talking about sex in and out of the heat of the moment means there'll be fewer of those awkward silences and less chances of one person thinking they had the best sex in the world while the other wishes it never happened."

I'm still working on it, but I do believe that I'm getting there--asking for what I want honestly and directly. Of course, it's easier to ask for what you want when you KNOW what you want, and I've started exploring that too.

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

The Trouble with "No Means No" and Recognizing Douchebags

Using the word "douchebag" to describe those men who see women as sexual objects only, who seek to score, who seem to think that women aren't quite human, and so forth, is a recent development for me. I'm not generally vulgar in my terminology, reserving vulgarities for extreme emotion only, yet douche bag can definitely be considered vulgar. The douche bag is an utterly useless invention sold to women to "clean" their vaginae of foul odors associated with sex. Its use is actually far more harmful, leading to yeast and bacterial infections, dryness, and irritation. Vaginae self-clean. I don't think there really is another term that more accurately captures certain people I describe, how worthless they truly are, and how much contempt I have for them.

For this post, I am reflecting on three works. The first is "Who're You Calling a Whore?: A Conversation with Three Sex Workers on Sexuality, Empowerment, and the Industry" by Susan Lopez, Mariko Passion, and Saundra. The second is "On the Supposed Inability of Men to Understand Refusals" by Lauren O. The third is "Speak Up, I Can't Hear You" by Deborah Cameron.

(From "Who're You Calling a Whore?" page 274) "...I did not choose to be looked at sexually by the luring eyes of men and boys since my teens, I did not choose to learn the rules of the date rape game the hard way, and I did not create the conditions in the sexist and patriarchal world that I was born into. This world created me. This inequality was never a choice, and for me, too many times it was a hard lesson."

Obviously, I've had plenty of run-ins with douchebags. JRS was one. MZ was one. But they have not managed to poison my view of all of the male sex. There are men, there are douche bags, and there are boys still learning/deciding who they are. I have hope that douchebags can reform, but it would take a complete paradigm shift in their outlooks, as well as social censure for that to happen. (And, yes, women can be douchebags too.)

I was better at dealing with douchebags in junior high, between episodes of depression. One guy grabbed me, and when he refused to let me go, I clawed his arm off of me, leaving bloody trails from my fingernails. I stood up for myself, and he got the message loud and clear.

Unfortunately, this and my embrace of being nerdcore, made me invisible to boys in high school. And the few I later learned had been interested were much too scared to actually talk to me. Of course, I was too scared to talk to some of the guys I was interested in as well. High school sucks that way. Once I got out of high school, it was suddenly open season on me. I attracted far more attention than I ever had before, and I didn't know what to do with it. I was struggling with depression, learning to be semi-independent, and clueless about guys. Surely none of the guys I knew would be douchebags. Ah, how naive I was.

I still have run-ins with douchebags. I have to deal with customers where I work, and sometimes young men try to pick up on me. Usually my aloofness is enough to dissuade them, but sometimes it's not. For those, saying that I'm married or a snide "dude, I'm 30" is enough to dissuade them, but sometimes even that's not enough. I feel dirty even talking to the ones who "mishear" my telling them that I'm married as me looking for an affair. I'm working, not looking to score.

One of my male coworkers tends to be a nice young man, respectful and studious. He, like most nice people, has a tendency to try to couch and soften his NOs, which demonstrates consideration. Unfortunately, he knows too many douchebags, including his ex-girlfriend, who is stalking him. It doesn't matter how many times he tells her no nicely, until he fiercely stands up for himself, she won't hear it. Hopefully she isn't truly dangerous, as breaking up with stalkers can trigger violence. Stalkers aren't stable. They are scary and emotionally volatile.

It's hard to be direct with a no when you're scared of violence. I look fragile. I'm tall but almost a waif. If I were to take on a man, I'd most likely lose. Escape is my best option, not fighting. In the face of anger, I tend to swallow my own anger and hide my fear so that I can quietly walk away. I may even promise to return with goodies or to talk at another time. That's how I ended things with MZ. He was distracted by life, and I "gave him the space he needed to deal." I promised that after a couple of months, that we'd get back together. I lied. I shamelessly, confidently lied. Lied. Lied. Lied. I even assured him that I loved him. I hated him. I wanted him gone. I wanted him to leave me alone.

When I got home, I told my parents that I no longer wanted to talk to him, but not why (like they'd believe me anyway, and besides premarital sex was wrong, so they'd just call me a whore). Or rather, not the true reason. I asked them to run interference because he called me a bitch, and then did my best not to be home, just in case.

And that is the trouble with the slogan "No Means No." Douchebags refuse to hear the no, especially when it isn't a direct, loud, hostile NO!!! (which then makes you a bitch and why do you have to be that way, they ought to slap you for that, bitch.) You try to "let someone down easy" and they just keep on going, even if you pretend to be ill. You say no and they hear "a few more seconds of foreplay and it's an all clear." They just don't listen. They don't want to hear no, and deafen themselves to anything else. They warp "no means no" to include "and nothing else counts."

I prefer "Yes Means Yes" and the standard of enthusiastic consent. Will it help against douchebags? Probably not. But it will help those who are truly learning about interpersonal relationships, and who actually do want to learn. It will help those who have been told no-means-no and don't know what to do when they haven't heard no, but their date isn't all that interested, and they're supposed to be men (or girls who don't understand that a guy's hard-on isn't consent).





Monday, September 7, 2009

Closet Case

Responding to: Ask Professor Foxy: How Do I Tell My Parents About My Poly Relationship?

I'm very much in the closet about having any kind of extramarital relationships. A big part of this is because I need consent to rip down the closet doors.

We live in a culture that does not value non-monogamous relationships. The most widespread example of polyamory in the US is the fundamentalist Mormon off-shoot of polygamy, which pairs young and undereducated women with older men.

I completely understand wanting privacy. I want a modicum of privacy myself. That is why I am anonymous. The slut-shaming for women who "stray" outside their marriages can be heinous. I don't want to be called a slut or a whore or cheating bitch by anyone. I absolutely believe that I would be named a whore by at least my mother if I came out as married with lovers.

Then there is my husband. He and my parents never really got along anyway, and to be open that I'm happy for him when he enjoys someone else's company would just have them brand him as a cheating bastard, while I've been brainwashed somehow to think this is acceptable.

I also have to consider how it would affect my loved ones. How would they feel if someone revealed "I think your spouse and best friend are having an affair?" out of the blue. I don't want to put either my husband or my best friend in the position of suddenly having to defend their marriage/friendship.

At the same time, I'd like to be free to show my affections. I also don't want my husband to have to hide his affection for others, should he wish to show them. I know I have the air of obliviousness that would allow me to simply say "They're good friends" and change the subject if I'm not willing to explore the subject of polyamory at the time or with that particular person.

Regardless, I am currently in the closet, and unless and until all those who will be affected by my openness give permission to be dragged out with me, I will remain there.

Sunday, September 6, 2009

Respect

Responding to "Hooking Up with Healthy Sexuality: The Lessons Boys Learn (and Don't Learn) About Sexuality, and Why a Sex Positive Rape Prevention Paradigm Can Benefit Everyone Involved" by Brad Perry.

(page 199) "Why aren't we all socialized to expect and proactively ensure that every sexual interaction is marked by mutual enjoyment and respect?"

Let's think about this question, let it simmer in our collective consciences, and stew on it awhile.

Sex should have mutual enjoyment and respect? Every time, no matter what? Really?

Why not?

Because sex really should be all about mutual enjoyment and respect every time no matter what.

Yes, ladies, sex really should be more than submitting to your husband and procreation.

Yes, men, sex should be more than scoring or getting off or punishing someone.

Envision better. Act Better. Expect more.

Even when sex is a casual hook-up one time only thing, it should come from a place of reciprocity. "All about me" sex may satisfy a physical need temporarily, but giving someone an orgasm is better for the ego.

Even when sex is paid for, there should be respect. Another person, a human being just like you and me, has negotiated certain services for a particular payment. They have limits, and those limits need to be abode. Non-payment, violence, and going beyond the agreed upon limits are all wrong.

And even in a marriage, NO must be heard. And when one spouse is deeply asleep, it is not acceptable for the partner to do sexual acts without their knowledge.

Violence is unacceptable.

Coercion is unacceptable.

Rape is unacceptable.

Every sexual interaction MUST be marked by mutual enjoyment and respect. Or it doesn't belong in "The Number." It doesn't count, and depending upon the circumstances, it deserves a name other than sex.

Friday, September 4, 2009

More Than Appearances

Responding to "A Woman's Worth" by Javacia N. Harris.

(page 64) "I'm not advocating that women ignore or hide their bodies. A woman's feeling good about her body and learning to enjoy it can only help her in the journey toward a healthy and satisfying sexual life."

The magazines regularly edit models and celebrities to depict bodies impossible to achieve in nature. Teeth are whiter than the most bleached ones out there. Absolutely no fly away hairs. Blemishes are nonexistent, and skin tone is magnificently even. I guess we're all supposed to be plastic mannequins, both thoroughly anorexic but somehow curvy, and then we'll all be perfect and happy.

Is it any wonder that even the highest paid, most fabulous supermodel may be completely insecure about her looks? No one can ever measure up.

Like many, if not most, American women, I often feel unpretty. I have stretch marks, mommy breasts, and a slighted rounded belly. I'm also practically anorexic. I shock people when I admit my weight, because they always forget to take my height and "childbearing" hips into account. Yet I fear I'm fat. I constantly get carded, yet I fear I may look old.

The impossibility of American beauty "standards" (perhaps fantasy is a better word) makes me want to hide beneath overly-large t-shirts and jeans. I feel ugly far more often than I'd like to admit.

(page 64) "My focus shifted from what my body looked like to what it could do, and I finally felt fabulous."

It's not always easy to focus on what my body can do, especially once I derail myself by spotting my flaws. But once I get started, I can accomplish many things with my body. My hands produce art. My arms hold and comfort my children. My feet can walk forever and not give up.

And while I may not always like the way my body looks, I love the way that it feels. My hair is soft. My nails are strong. My skin is soft, smooth, and velvety. My joints are very flexible, allowing me to move in surprising ways.

I'm not so hung up on my body that I can't enjoy myself in the light while I'm nude. The occasional acne or ingrown hair (aka blemishes) sometimes make me long for the dark, but that's fairly rare.

(page 64) "I have fun when I dance because I am enjoying my body, not putting it on display for someone else's pleasure."

Whenever I do stop worrying about how I look, relax, and have fun, I seem to draw attention from the male gaze. Supposedly, it's quite complimentary (according to men, at least), but I got over being told I'm cute a long time ago, about the same time I got over catcalls and guys honking and yelling when I happened to be out and about walking. Now it's just obnoxious. I'm more than eye-candy, and I prefer to be complimented on my accomplishments, not my face and body. Beauty fades and standards (fantasies) change.

My body is amazing, and that's what I need to remember. I'm not a mannequin. I'm not plastic. I'm flesh and blood, and I love it.

Thursday, September 3, 2009

Burning Rage

Responding to "Shame Is the First Betrayer" by Toni Amato.

Today I am filled with Rage. I've been filled with Rage for a few days now. I believe that I've finally admitted to myself that the guilt and shame that I've felt for most of my life is not mine to feel. It belongs to those who willed themselves blind, most especially my mother.

Over and Over again I heard my mother profess how trained she was to recognize symptoms of abuse in children, how well she was trained in uplifting self esteem and strengthening the confidence of the kids she dealt with on a professional basis.

But what about me? What about your daughter? Did you not see the multitude of symptoms? Did you not recognize the so very typical behavioral patterns? How fucking blind did you have to be? You even SAW it. I remember your statement. You SAW it!

Over and Over again, when I would cry myself to sleep, I was told to stop feeling sorry for myself. Over and Over, when I detailed the actions of the bullies who preyed on me, I was told to ignore-it-and-it-will-go-away. I want to punch people who say ignore-it-and-it-will-go-away, they are fucking delusional. Bullies don't go just go away. Over and Over again, I would complain about my brother's song of Anon-is-retarded, of how he would call me fat and stupid daily, and nothingNOTHINGnothing would happen. Over and Over and Over and Over.

(page 225) "The willing assault and violation of another person's most intimate self is an act devoid of love and devoid of compassion. To survive such a terrible thing is to know in our skin the effect of cultural shame and hatred, and for LGBTIQQA folks especially, that violence has yet to be fully named and fully confronted. Without naming, there is no healing, without healing the shame will continue to burn."

But the shame isn't mine. I owned it for most of my life, but it shouldn't have belonged to me. The shame shouldn't have been laid upon my shoulders. It was not my burden to carry, and I don't want to carry it anymore. It was never my responsibility to save my family from the horror of its secrets. I was just a kid.

And the shame crippled me. If my own mother would name me liar instead of dealing with abuse, was it any wonder that I fell prey to more abusers? That I had trouble escaping them? That I froze? That I was powerless?

The shame isn't mine.

But this anger sure is.

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

What Counts

Responding to: "The Process-Oriented Virgin" by Hanne Blank.

Reading this essay led me to reflect upon my "number" and change it.

Even in the ancient world, when it was obvious that women were property and bargaining chips, women from cities that had been invaded, resulting in mass rape, were still considered virgins and marriageable.

(page 289) "What happened to you sexually was not necessarily what you were as a person."

Most people seem to agree that rape, especially in children or by strangers, is an assault and not sex. It doesn't count, especially when the victim has no other sexualized experience.

(page 290) "This didn't just broaden the spectrum of what might be understood to constitute virginity, as a (at least potentially) contextual quality. It also placed, at least in some cases, the determination of whether someone was or wasn't a virgin in a place where it almost never rested otherwise: namely, in the virgin's own hands."

So why should it count for those of us who are sexually active, married or not?

I was a full participant in "losing" my virginity. My motive was more curiosity than anything. There was a guy I knew, attractive enough, very flirtatious, an outsider like me. I gave him my number. He called, asked me when I'd come over. We were both clear that I'd be coming over for sex. I didn't have any illusions that we'd start dating. I got directions, lied to my parents about plans, and one Saturday we got together.

I'd read enough romance novels to understand that there might be some discomfort, but that if I was excited enough it would be enjoyable anyway. All in all, I had a very positive experience. Wish I could say the same about the rest of my experiences.

(page 294) "As an assertion of unconscious, psychological truth, the statement that a given woman's virginity ends when the individual says it does, for the reasons that she says it does, is unassailable. It destroys the historical relationship between authority figures and virginity by cutting out outsiders--anyone from priests to parents to virginity testers--out of of the picture entirely, divesting them of any voice in regard to what virginity is and what it might or might not be worth."

I think post-virginal sex should also be defined by ones experiencing it.

I've revised my number--or, more accurately, I now have two numbers. One is the number of people I've had sex with; the other number is relevant only for medical inquiries. I've shed some experiences, recognizing them for the garbage they are.

(page 293) "The sex that counts for these young women is sex in which they are involved and invested."

JRS does not count. I wasn't involved. I was a masturbatory aid, nothing more that day. That was not sex. It was "not-rape," though with the "surprise" anal sex, I've begun to shift it into the rape or sexual assault category.

MZ does not count. MZ was my "boyfriend" for far too long--a few months. He raped me six times and coerced me into sex about weekly. Over and over I'd tell him no. It was like hitting pause on a busted remote where the moment you lift your finger, it continues playing anyway. I found out he'd gotten me pregnant when nature too care of that problem for me before I'd realized I had a problem at all. I stupidly told him even though we'd broken up, thinking it was The-Right-Thing-To-Do. He raped me again. That entire "relationship" doesn't count.

One more experience doesn't meet the involved and invested requirement. It doesn't count either. There really wasn't anything bad about it; it just doesn't measure up. I didn't seek it. I didn't NOT want it. I just went along with it. Not good enough. Not sex.

The mischievous part of me wonders how the douches I excised would react if I told them that they don't count, but that would make this retaliatory, rather than being true to myself. I don't care to encounter any of them again, so I won't be seeking them out. I'd prefer to focus on the enthusiastic sex that does matter, that does count, that fills me with joy.

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

Jumping at Shadows

Responding to "In Defense of Going Wild or: How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love Pleasure (and How You Can Too)" by Jaclyn Friedman.

(page 314) "I hereby declare my right to be wild and still maintain my bodily autonomy."

I know a couple of women who drink beyond the blacking out point on a regular basis. I am scared for them. Don't they know that it only takes one creep to abuse them in their vulnerable state? I hope for their safety, but know it's just a matter of time before they get hurt (or hurt again). I find myself struggling not to slut-shame one of them, but I have to make a conscious effort not to.

(page 315) "Sure, there are plenty of ways drinking and/or sexing can be bad for you--any pleasure can be manipulated or abused for any number of reasons. But there's nothing inherently wrong with either, and when you force women to choose safety over pleasure in ways men never have to (and when you shame them for choosing 'wrong'), you teach women that their pleasure is not as important as men's."

All my life I've been hearing about the dangers of daring to be female in public after dark. It's sad really. Walking after dark in a quiet area is so very peaceful. I enjoy the night sky on clear or partly cloudy nights.

Recently, my best friend and I went out to a bar, no men attached. With loving concern, my husband cautioned me to be careful and not drink too much. After all, there are predators in every town. Turns out that in the early hours of morning that very day, a woman took a short-cut home, and someone attacked her, raping her.

I was relatively safe in a low-key bar, walking on well-lit streets to find one of the plentiful taxis. The extent of misconduct I experienced was a single inappropriate comment, by the cab driver of course.

The night life doesn't scare me. Even as a foolish teen I took precautions. I had extremely sharp pencils in my purse. I drove myself instead of trusting some guy to see me home safely (strangely, this upset my parents--that I'd insist on driving myself. Weren't men chivalrous enough to pick me up? Was I ashamed of them?) While I occasionally found myself the lone girl at an athletes' party, once anyone seemed more than tipsy or I got a bad feeling, I left. No harm done.

No, being female at night in public left me unscathed.

It was my "boyfriend" who told me to "put out or get out"--in my own car. The "surprise" anal sex happened in the afternoon--at work.

(page 316) "If we want to raise awareness about the links between drinking and rape, we should start by getting the word out to men (who are, after all, the overwhelming majority of rapists) that alcohol is likely to impair their ability to respond appropriately if a sexual partner says no."

Yes, the nightlife can be dangerous--especially when men have been drinking. The cases of questionable sex or date rape that men I know have told me about involved their drinking alcohol in all but one case.

When I go out to enjoy myself, I don't want to jump at shadows or contain my joy. I want to be free to celebrate. It's up to everyone to exercise the restraint to be sure of their welcome, no matter how tipsy or drunk or wasted their object of desire is.

(page 319) "If we spent even a fraction of the time we use to teach girls to fear for their bodies teaching them to use their bodies for their own protection instead, there'd by a hell of a lot less for any of us to worry about. Because the most practical way to reduce the risk of rape for all women is to create a culture in which the rapist has to worry that he'll get hurt."

A distant cousin of mine one tackled me and threatened to rape me. I didn't know how to get him off me, except by threatening to bite him. I knew I couldn't take him in a fight, but it worked. I'm not sure how serious he was, even to this day, but a simple display of my backbone stopped him. So in addition to teaching our sons that only yes means yes and that alcohol may hinder their ability to recognize that a yes shouldn't count, we need to teach our daughters to hear and use their voices. This world could be a better place.