Last night I had a dream that has me contemplative today. I dreamt that I demanded of a man that his ass was mine, and he agreed. He was scared, and I promised to use my smallest strap-on, but he knew that I wouldn't hurt him. I woke up rather aroused.
Anal penetration is a scary thought to many people. I've only done it to one man, my husband, and I rather enjoy it. I enjoy giving manual and oral stimulation as foreplay, but not so much as an alternative to PIV sex. Then again, it's rare for me to be satisfied by only receiving manual or oral stimulation as well.
I can understand the fear. My first experiences of receiving anal penetration were extremely pleasurable. I will admit that my first time was not a time of full consent, as I was not asked, and lacked the imagination to dream that it was going to happen. Romance novels really don't detail anal sex. It's taboo, and that's where I learned much of what I knew about sex before having it. Truthfully, had I known his intentions, I would have been too squeamish and icked out to consent, and I would not have learned about how good it can feel.
I'm glad I had a pleasurable initiation to anal sex, because JRS and MZ would have completely ruined it for me. They taught me that anal sex hurts. Ramming in through tight muscles only causes pain and injuries. Rather than pleasure, the repeated thrusting causes irritation. It sucks.
Happily, my husband knows how to ease his way in, to ensure that there is adequate foreplay and lubrication to make sure that it only feels good. I used to tense up some, and now I don't. Talking through the initial penetration helps greatly. Anal penetration requires control, gentleness, and slowness.
Unlike that produced by vaginal sex, the anus does not produce its own lubrication. I've noticed throughout my life that fear, irritation, and discomfort can all cause me to produce lubrication. Wetness does not necessarily correlate with desire. Some guys tell themselves that because a woman was wet, that she must have wanted it, no matter how much she otherwise resisted. That idea is completely false. The vagina lubricates itself to prevent injury. Wet does not mean willing.
For example, I notice that my vagina lubricates itself during routine gynecological examinations, which are awkward and uncomfortable. I get no joy from them. I am not turned on by them. They are disconnected from sex. And yet I am wet because of them. It's protection, not desire.
The anus is injured through unwanted penetration (and clumsiness as well), and does not have a built in protective device. In my experience, anal rape is much more physically painful than vaginal rape. Emotionally, not so much.
And so I understand the fear of anal penetration, willing and unwilling. Done wrongly, it hurts like hell. Done wrongly, it can hurt for days.
And, having given anal penetration, I understand the joy of giving. When I'm doing it right, my husband is incapable of speech, can only moan and whimper his pleasure. It gives me a sense of power over him. And I understand that he feels a sense of power over me when I moan and whimper under him, but that power is mutual, because he also receives pleasure from being inside me.
And I'm a little sad that no one else has ever trusted me enough to try it with me.
Showing posts with label rape. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rape. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
On a Rowboat
Responding to: “An Old Enemy in a New Outfit: How Date Rape Became Gray Rape and Why it Matters” by Lisa Jervis.
Today is a better day than yesterday, and so I'm tackling a memory I've not wanted to tackle. But in the rough seas of my emotions, today I remembered to imagine a rowboat, and then I realized I needed oars, and the Room of Requirement in my soul provided them. Some people would believe that I have called out to a higher power, but whose metaphor is it? I've caught a glimpse of land, and I just have to make my way there. Yesterday it was all I could do to tread water, and all I saw was darkness.
(page 163) [Gray rape is] “…a disgusting, destructive, victim blaming cultural construct that encourages women to hate ourselves, doubt ourselves, blame ourselves, take responsibility for other people’s criminal behavior, fear our own desires, and distrust our own instincts.”
Once upon a time in my late teens/early twenties, I read an essay that described the trauma of another teen girl who had frozen up and not resisted the advances of some boy. She appealed to an older woman, asking for understanding that the girl had been raped, that the memories were crushing her, and the older woman said "you raped yourself."
(page 166) “This is how the language of ‘gray rape’ accelerates the victim-blaming cycle. The very concept the phrase relies on—that a supposed gray area of communication or intoxications means that you cannot trust your own memories, instincts, or experiences—is designed to exploit the stigma and fear that fuel the guilt, shame, and denial.”
And while I was reeling, trying to understand what had happened between me and JRS, I started wondering if I too had raped myself. Could it all have been some huge, almost cultural, misunderstanding? Was it only rape in my own mind, and I the perpetrator? And, because of that essay and the comments of a few others, that's what I chalked it up to: my failing.
(page 164) “…everything about so-called gray rape seems awfully familiar: The experience is confusing, makes victims feel guilty and ashamed, and leaves them thinking they could and should have done something differently to prevent the attack.”
Part of my misunderstanding is that I had enjoyed kissing and fondling with JRS before he bulldozed me into sex--sex I wasn't ready for, sex I didn't want.
(page 169) “But here’s the thing: flirting and hook-ups do not cause rape. Rapists and the culture that creates them—with its mixed messages and double standards—cause rape.”
It took more than a year to come to terms with my experience and to move past it. I buried the experience, never quite satisfied with it. I had an easier time recognizing what MZ did as rape. After all, I said no over and over and over with him. He just didn't listen.
(page 164) “…any therapist, sexual assault counselor, rape survivor, or close friend or family member of a rape survivor knows that feelings of guilt, shame, self-blame, and denial are common almost to the point of inevitability, no matter what the circumstances of the crime.”
But I didn't resist with JRS. How could it be rape? At least, that's what I thought at the time.
(page 165) “When the culture teaches you that lack of consent is measured only in active, physical resistance, when your actions are questioned if your date refuses to respect ‘no,’ you’re going to have a hard time calling rape by its real name.”
I've unburied those memories, and I am ashamed that I blamed myself. I betrayed myself in framing JRS as a colossal misunderstanding. It was JRS who refused to pull his head out of his ass and recognize that something was horribly wrong--that I was not willing, that I was not cooperating, that I was just enduring, that I was frozen, that his attention was not welcome.
(page 166) “Despite gray rape proponents’ eagerness to use their phenomenon to shift responsibility from rapists to victims, the fact remains that the reluctance in question is a symptom of the very social disease—sexism, misogyny, men’s entitlement to women’s bodies, and the idea that sexual interaction involves women’s guarding the gates to the land of the sexual goodies as men try to cajole, manipulate, and force their way in—that enables rape in the first place.”
JRS raped me. I did not rape myself.
And I've filed that essay into the "WTF? Lies people say to enable rapists" drawer in my head.
Today is a better day than yesterday, and so I'm tackling a memory I've not wanted to tackle. But in the rough seas of my emotions, today I remembered to imagine a rowboat, and then I realized I needed oars, and the Room of Requirement in my soul provided them. Some people would believe that I have called out to a higher power, but whose metaphor is it? I've caught a glimpse of land, and I just have to make my way there. Yesterday it was all I could do to tread water, and all I saw was darkness.
(page 163) [Gray rape is] “…a disgusting, destructive, victim blaming cultural construct that encourages women to hate ourselves, doubt ourselves, blame ourselves, take responsibility for other people’s criminal behavior, fear our own desires, and distrust our own instincts.”
Once upon a time in my late teens/early twenties, I read an essay that described the trauma of another teen girl who had frozen up and not resisted the advances of some boy. She appealed to an older woman, asking for understanding that the girl had been raped, that the memories were crushing her, and the older woman said "you raped yourself."
(page 166) “This is how the language of ‘gray rape’ accelerates the victim-blaming cycle. The very concept the phrase relies on—that a supposed gray area of communication or intoxications means that you cannot trust your own memories, instincts, or experiences—is designed to exploit the stigma and fear that fuel the guilt, shame, and denial.”
And while I was reeling, trying to understand what had happened between me and JRS, I started wondering if I too had raped myself. Could it all have been some huge, almost cultural, misunderstanding? Was it only rape in my own mind, and I the perpetrator? And, because of that essay and the comments of a few others, that's what I chalked it up to: my failing.
(page 164) “…everything about so-called gray rape seems awfully familiar: The experience is confusing, makes victims feel guilty and ashamed, and leaves them thinking they could and should have done something differently to prevent the attack.”
Part of my misunderstanding is that I had enjoyed kissing and fondling with JRS before he bulldozed me into sex--sex I wasn't ready for, sex I didn't want.
(page 169) “But here’s the thing: flirting and hook-ups do not cause rape. Rapists and the culture that creates them—with its mixed messages and double standards—cause rape.”
It took more than a year to come to terms with my experience and to move past it. I buried the experience, never quite satisfied with it. I had an easier time recognizing what MZ did as rape. After all, I said no over and over and over with him. He just didn't listen.
(page 164) “…any therapist, sexual assault counselor, rape survivor, or close friend or family member of a rape survivor knows that feelings of guilt, shame, self-blame, and denial are common almost to the point of inevitability, no matter what the circumstances of the crime.”
But I didn't resist with JRS. How could it be rape? At least, that's what I thought at the time.
(page 165) “When the culture teaches you that lack of consent is measured only in active, physical resistance, when your actions are questioned if your date refuses to respect ‘no,’ you’re going to have a hard time calling rape by its real name.”
I've unburied those memories, and I am ashamed that I blamed myself. I betrayed myself in framing JRS as a colossal misunderstanding. It was JRS who refused to pull his head out of his ass and recognize that something was horribly wrong--that I was not willing, that I was not cooperating, that I was just enduring, that I was frozen, that his attention was not welcome.
(page 166) “Despite gray rape proponents’ eagerness to use their phenomenon to shift responsibility from rapists to victims, the fact remains that the reluctance in question is a symptom of the very social disease—sexism, misogyny, men’s entitlement to women’s bodies, and the idea that sexual interaction involves women’s guarding the gates to the land of the sexual goodies as men try to cajole, manipulate, and force their way in—that enables rape in the first place.”
JRS raped me. I did not rape myself.
And I've filed that essay into the "WTF? Lies people say to enable rapists" drawer in my head.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Rape Culture and Me
I have wondered frequently enough over the years why I didn't fight harder when MZ raped me, when JRS raped me, when JD emotionally abused me. What was wrong with me?
But after all these years, I've finally realized that there was nothing wrong with me. There's something wrong with our world.
Today I added a post from a blog to my links section, Rape Culture 101. It's a description of rape culture.
I'm also responding to Another Post About Rape #3.
"The way men and women interact on a daily basis is the way they interact when rape occurs. The social dynamics we see at play between men and women are the same social dynamics that cause men to feel rape is okay, and women to feel they have no right to object. And if you accept those social interactions as normal and appropriate in your day to day life, there is absolutely no reason you should be shocked that rape occurs without screaming, without fighting, without bruising, without provocation, and without prosecution. Behavior exists on a continuum. Rape doesn’t inhabit its own little corner of the world, where everything is suddenly all different now. The behavior you accept today is the behavior that becomes rape tomorrow. And you very well might accept it then, too."
Growing up, I was a Good Girl. I tried so hard to be a perfect daughter, the smart and athletic and involved girl. I was respectful. I didn't talk back. I didn't get into fights. I didn't embarrass my family by my bad behavior. I didn't curse. I didn't sneak out at night (no, actually, I lied about volunteering an extra hour or so at a car wash...). I didn't smoke. I didn't drink. I never did drugs. I behaved.
And I most certainly did not talk about things that would bring shame to my family. I didn't talk about the incestuous molestation I endured. I didn't talk about the depression that was slowly choking the life out of me. I was GOOD!
When I was 17, I set my sights on JD, who was a decade older than me. He worked at the mall, and I saw him there often. He was charming. I ended up at the mall on my 18th birthday, legal at last, and pursued him. We flirted lots, ended up having sex, and he taught me a few things. The sex was good. His behavior wasn't. He broke up with me whenever I offended him, and told me I was a foolish child who didn't know what she was doing. So I tried to learn how to act to please him, because that's what I did. Pleased others.
A BAD GIRL I befriended saw what was happening, saw how I was being taken advantage of, heard the abuse and control, knew how it could end, and rescued me. She started a verbal altercation in the mall and he snapped. He scared the shit out of me. I never went back.
And it could have so easily back-fired, had she been wrong. I would never have spoken to her again.
I ended up taking a creative writing class with his ex-girlfriend. He'd hit her before she got out. That could have been me.
But a bad girl rescued me.
JRS took advantage of my lack of fight at that time too, as I was reeling from the realization that my "boyfriend" was an abusive creep.
And then there was MZ. He flirted with me, always showing a protective face. He wanted to protect me from the world. He would come around and make sure the boys hitting on me in the boy-friendly shop where I worked in the mall were behaving themselves. He even told a guy that was having trouble respecting my decision not to meet him after work that I wasn't interested.
And so I thought I owed him the appreciation of going out on a date with him. He repaid me by raping me. But I was a good girl and I owed him my appreciation for his protecting me. Maybe he just couldn't control himself or something, because I led him on? What was wrong with me that he didn't understand that I said no?
What was wrong with me?
Really, the only thing wrong with me besides crippling depression was that I didn't know how to protect myself when there wasn't a threat of violence.
I was taught to be a good (and passive) girl.
But after all these years, I've finally realized that there was nothing wrong with me. There's something wrong with our world.
Today I added a post from a blog to my links section, Rape Culture 101. It's a description of rape culture.
I'm also responding to Another Post About Rape #3.
"The way men and women interact on a daily basis is the way they interact when rape occurs. The social dynamics we see at play between men and women are the same social dynamics that cause men to feel rape is okay, and women to feel they have no right to object. And if you accept those social interactions as normal and appropriate in your day to day life, there is absolutely no reason you should be shocked that rape occurs without screaming, without fighting, without bruising, without provocation, and without prosecution. Behavior exists on a continuum. Rape doesn’t inhabit its own little corner of the world, where everything is suddenly all different now. The behavior you accept today is the behavior that becomes rape tomorrow. And you very well might accept it then, too."
Growing up, I was a Good Girl. I tried so hard to be a perfect daughter, the smart and athletic and involved girl. I was respectful. I didn't talk back. I didn't get into fights. I didn't embarrass my family by my bad behavior. I didn't curse. I didn't sneak out at night (no, actually, I lied about volunteering an extra hour or so at a car wash...). I didn't smoke. I didn't drink. I never did drugs. I behaved.
And I most certainly did not talk about things that would bring shame to my family. I didn't talk about the incestuous molestation I endured. I didn't talk about the depression that was slowly choking the life out of me. I was GOOD!
When I was 17, I set my sights on JD, who was a decade older than me. He worked at the mall, and I saw him there often. He was charming. I ended up at the mall on my 18th birthday, legal at last, and pursued him. We flirted lots, ended up having sex, and he taught me a few things. The sex was good. His behavior wasn't. He broke up with me whenever I offended him, and told me I was a foolish child who didn't know what she was doing. So I tried to learn how to act to please him, because that's what I did. Pleased others.
A BAD GIRL I befriended saw what was happening, saw how I was being taken advantage of, heard the abuse and control, knew how it could end, and rescued me. She started a verbal altercation in the mall and he snapped. He scared the shit out of me. I never went back.
And it could have so easily back-fired, had she been wrong. I would never have spoken to her again.
I ended up taking a creative writing class with his ex-girlfriend. He'd hit her before she got out. That could have been me.
But a bad girl rescued me.
JRS took advantage of my lack of fight at that time too, as I was reeling from the realization that my "boyfriend" was an abusive creep.
And then there was MZ. He flirted with me, always showing a protective face. He wanted to protect me from the world. He would come around and make sure the boys hitting on me in the boy-friendly shop where I worked in the mall were behaving themselves. He even told a guy that was having trouble respecting my decision not to meet him after work that I wasn't interested.
And so I thought I owed him the appreciation of going out on a date with him. He repaid me by raping me. But I was a good girl and I owed him my appreciation for his protecting me. Maybe he just couldn't control himself or something, because I led him on? What was wrong with me that he didn't understand that I said no?
What was wrong with me?
Really, the only thing wrong with me besides crippling depression was that I didn't know how to protect myself when there wasn't a threat of violence.
I was taught to be a good (and passive) girl.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Fantasy
Responding to "The Fantasy of Acceptable 'Non-Consent': Why the Female Sexual Submissive Scares Us (and Why She Shouldn't)" by Stacey May Fowles.
Last night I found myself unable to sleep because of a rather vivid sexual fantasy I couldn't stop thinking about. The kind of fantasy I had is considered a rape fantasy by the mainstream lexicon. It came complete with a safe word.
My fantasy involved my partner(s) trespassing boundaries that I normally hold as unbreakable, and doing so in a forceful manner. I may even ask for my fantasy to become true someday. Who knows? The vulnerability and trust required are enormous.
I even recognize that my fantasy may have more to do about destroying certain memories, but that's less important than the pleasure I hope to receive.
I would say that my fantasy is tiptoeing into the world of BDSM.
(page 121) "For BDSM to exist safely, it has to be founded on a constant proclamation of enthusiastic consent, which mainstream sexuality has systematically dismantled."
Something I've just recognized, more by accident than anything, is that I'm not sure MZ would consider himself a rapist. And yet, I clearly and repeatedly told him no. There is a cultural narrative that no is just a yes in disguise so the girl can think she's not a whore, and that men just need to keep going unless the girl puts up a fight. Never mind that she might be scared you'll just rape her more violently.
And here I am fantasizing about something that looks like rape from the outside, but because I'll be the one requesting the activities, it's not. I'll be asking for a mild degree of violence, for some of my normal needs to be ignored, and for me to be restrained and to submit to activities that could be considered degrading.
But I have full and utmost confidence that nothing will happen without enthusiastic consent.
(page 120) "...by it's very nature BDSM is constantly about consent. Of course, it's language and rules differ significantly from vanilla sex scenes, but the very existence of a safe word is the ultimate in preventing violation--it suggests that at any moment, regardless of expectations of interpretations on the part of either party, the act can and will end."
Ultimately, I would be in control the entire time, able to stop everything with a single utterance.
When I was raped, I had no control. I had no agency. I was violated. My humanity was rendered moot. I didn't matter.
Should this fantasy come to fruition, I will matter. I will have the power. I will have control and agency, despite appearances to the contrary.
And, in all honesty, I don't care if the rest of the world finds it acceptable. I do.
Last night I found myself unable to sleep because of a rather vivid sexual fantasy I couldn't stop thinking about. The kind of fantasy I had is considered a rape fantasy by the mainstream lexicon. It came complete with a safe word.
My fantasy involved my partner(s) trespassing boundaries that I normally hold as unbreakable, and doing so in a forceful manner. I may even ask for my fantasy to become true someday. Who knows? The vulnerability and trust required are enormous.
I even recognize that my fantasy may have more to do about destroying certain memories, but that's less important than the pleasure I hope to receive.
I would say that my fantasy is tiptoeing into the world of BDSM.
(page 121) "For BDSM to exist safely, it has to be founded on a constant proclamation of enthusiastic consent, which mainstream sexuality has systematically dismantled."
Something I've just recognized, more by accident than anything, is that I'm not sure MZ would consider himself a rapist. And yet, I clearly and repeatedly told him no. There is a cultural narrative that no is just a yes in disguise so the girl can think she's not a whore, and that men just need to keep going unless the girl puts up a fight. Never mind that she might be scared you'll just rape her more violently.
And here I am fantasizing about something that looks like rape from the outside, but because I'll be the one requesting the activities, it's not. I'll be asking for a mild degree of violence, for some of my normal needs to be ignored, and for me to be restrained and to submit to activities that could be considered degrading.
But I have full and utmost confidence that nothing will happen without enthusiastic consent.
(page 120) "...by it's very nature BDSM is constantly about consent. Of course, it's language and rules differ significantly from vanilla sex scenes, but the very existence of a safe word is the ultimate in preventing violation--it suggests that at any moment, regardless of expectations of interpretations on the part of either party, the act can and will end."
Ultimately, I would be in control the entire time, able to stop everything with a single utterance.
When I was raped, I had no control. I had no agency. I was violated. My humanity was rendered moot. I didn't matter.
Should this fantasy come to fruition, I will matter. I will have the power. I will have control and agency, despite appearances to the contrary.
And, in all honesty, I don't care if the rest of the world finds it acceptable. I do.
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.
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, August 25, 2009
An Enthusiastic Standard
A reflection on "Toward a Perfomance Model of Sex" by Thomas Macaulay Miller
(page 37) "Rape apologists argue that once consent is given it cannot be withdrawn; that acquiescence under the influence is consent; that women who do not clearly say no assume the risk."
This attitude assumes that once sex enters the picture, men become little more than drooling idiots unable to control their little heads, and can't tell when their partners aren't enjoying themselves (or that men shouldn't have to care whether their partners are enjoying themselves). While some douchebags simply really don't care about their partners' pleasure, most people want to be thought of as good lovers, which means they care that their partners ENJOY what's going on. If someone is too self-centered to pull his/her head out of his/her ass long enough to realize that his/her partner is, at best, tolerating what he/she is doing, then he/she is no where near a semi-adequate lover, let alone a good one.
Consent can be withdrawn at any time. "Ow" means "Stop!" unless pain was negotiated and consented to prior to starting. When enthusiasm stops, pleasure stops, and so should the activity. Why is this a foreign concept? Sex is supposed to be enjoyable.
Good sex takes two enthusiastic participants, and while enthusiasm may not necessarily equal pleasure, without it, one partner is masturbating while using someone else's body. That's not the kind of sex I want, for me or for anyone.
(page 39) "Under a performance model, ... sexual interaction should be creative, positive, and respectful even in the most casual of circumstances, and without regard to what each partner seeks from it."
Sex takes (at least) two partners who tune into what each other wants. A healthy and enthusiastic sexual relationship leads to exploring new things, communication, and pleasure. It may not start out with instant fireworks, but mutual fireworks tends to be the goal. It gets better with time.
Without respect and communication, it gets worse over time, not better. If sex with you means that we do what you want even though I hate it, how long do you truly expect me to continue sleeping with you? If sex with you means we both have fun and occasionally you ask me to do something that I don't really care for, but do anyway because you like it so much and I enjoy pleasing you, then I'll continue to want to sleep with you. Collaborative sex is fun.
And guys, if you want to hook up from time to time with various people, but only take what you want without caring if you give pleasure in return, I hope that you understand that you're earning your reputation for being a douchebag.
(page 40) "If our boys learn from their preadolescence that sex is a performance where enthusiastic participation is normal and pressure is aberrant, then the idea that consent is affirmative, rather than the absence of objection, will be ingrained."
The reason so many women have experiences like mine with JRS is because of a cultural attitude where sex is all about "getting some" and "scoring." When all you want to do is "score," then you don't really care if the sex is good or pay attention to the the signals that your touch isn't welcome. You are settling for terrible sex, and may even be raping someone. Is that what you truly want?
I have wonderful, mind-blowing, forget-my-name sex with my husband and lover(s), but even quickies are satisfying because we care about each others' needs. We listen. We watch. We give mutual pleasure, which in turn increases our own pleasure. Sex should be fun, not endured, each and every time, otherwise what's the point in having it?
(page 37) "Rape apologists argue that once consent is given it cannot be withdrawn; that acquiescence under the influence is consent; that women who do not clearly say no assume the risk."
This attitude assumes that once sex enters the picture, men become little more than drooling idiots unable to control their little heads, and can't tell when their partners aren't enjoying themselves (or that men shouldn't have to care whether their partners are enjoying themselves). While some douchebags simply really don't care about their partners' pleasure, most people want to be thought of as good lovers, which means they care that their partners ENJOY what's going on. If someone is too self-centered to pull his/her head out of his/her ass long enough to realize that his/her partner is, at best, tolerating what he/she is doing, then he/she is no where near a semi-adequate lover, let alone a good one.
Consent can be withdrawn at any time. "Ow" means "Stop!" unless pain was negotiated and consented to prior to starting. When enthusiasm stops, pleasure stops, and so should the activity. Why is this a foreign concept? Sex is supposed to be enjoyable.
Good sex takes two enthusiastic participants, and while enthusiasm may not necessarily equal pleasure, without it, one partner is masturbating while using someone else's body. That's not the kind of sex I want, for me or for anyone.
(page 39) "Under a performance model, ... sexual interaction should be creative, positive, and respectful even in the most casual of circumstances, and without regard to what each partner seeks from it."
Sex takes (at least) two partners who tune into what each other wants. A healthy and enthusiastic sexual relationship leads to exploring new things, communication, and pleasure. It may not start out with instant fireworks, but mutual fireworks tends to be the goal. It gets better with time.
Without respect and communication, it gets worse over time, not better. If sex with you means that we do what you want even though I hate it, how long do you truly expect me to continue sleeping with you? If sex with you means we both have fun and occasionally you ask me to do something that I don't really care for, but do anyway because you like it so much and I enjoy pleasing you, then I'll continue to want to sleep with you. Collaborative sex is fun.
And guys, if you want to hook up from time to time with various people, but only take what you want without caring if you give pleasure in return, I hope that you understand that you're earning your reputation for being a douchebag.
(page 40) "If our boys learn from their preadolescence that sex is a performance where enthusiastic participation is normal and pressure is aberrant, then the idea that consent is affirmative, rather than the absence of objection, will be ingrained."
The reason so many women have experiences like mine with JRS is because of a cultural attitude where sex is all about "getting some" and "scoring." When all you want to do is "score," then you don't really care if the sex is good or pay attention to the the signals that your touch isn't welcome. You are settling for terrible sex, and may even be raping someone. Is that what you truly want?
I have wonderful, mind-blowing, forget-my-name sex with my husband and lover(s), but even quickies are satisfying because we care about each others' needs. We listen. We watch. We give mutual pleasure, which in turn increases our own pleasure. Sex should be fun, not endured, each and every time, otherwise what's the point in having it?
Monday, August 24, 2009
Sex Negativity
Responding to "Offensive Feminism: The Conservative Gender Norms That Perpetuate Rape Culture, and How Feminists Can Fight Back" by Jill Filipovic In Yes Means Yes.
My response focuses on pieces of the essay, as it relates to me, and not the essay as a whole. This will be true of all of my responses. There is much that I've read that I am not including in this blog, whether I have a reason beyond space for that or not.
(Page 17) "The idea that women might want to have sex for pleasure without having to carry a pregnancy for nine months afterward and then raise a child is quite contrary to conservative values."
I don't understand the sex-negative, supposedly "pro-life," mind set, except at a reflection that women should be punished for having sex. If a girl doesn't know where or how to procure birth control (common with abstinence-only sex ed) and ends up in a relationship that leads to sex, even if that sex is coercive, she is then shamed as a slut for ending up pregnant (never mind that he should be just as responsible for birth control as she is). And despite the "pro-life" view that the fetus should have rights and be carried to term no matter what, the same people who protest abortions turn their backs on providing social services and financial support to mothers once the baby is born. How is that anything but punitive?
My focus, however, is not on conservative hatred of our so-called welfare state. This slut-shaming is why I am posting anonymously. A girl merely being sexually active is reason enough in too many minds for boys to go for the score instead of making damn sure that the girl they're with truly consents. Boys will be boys & girls should watch out, right? Wrong. Men who truly enjoy sex have a much, much better time with an enthusiastic woman. What's the fun in fucking someone who's scared stiff or just quietly lying there because it's easier than arguing? Sex should be fun.
(Page 20) "Men are rational human beings fully capable of listening to their partners and understanding that sex isn't about pushing someone to do something they don't want to do. Plenty of men are able to grasp the idea that sex should be entered into joyfully and enthusiastically by both partners, and that an absence of 'no' isn't enough--'yes' should be the baseline requirement."
Once upon a time when I was 18, I met a guy, JRS. JRS flirted heavily, and then never stopped. While I had grown up standing up for myself fairly often, I didn't stand up for myself that day. He ended up taking off my panties, lifting my skirt, leaning me against a table, and doing as he pleased. I froze. My response was nil. No sounds, no squirming, no delight. I just stood there.
And then he flipped me over and continued using my body by fucking me in the ass. It was excruciating. I yelped in pain. He said oops and kept on going.
Eventually he flipped me over yet again--which lead to my first yeast infection. And I was left wondering what the hell just happened --how had I LET that happen? Did he rape me? I never said no. What should I call this?
Sadly, this is a much too common experience, and shortly after I found myself in a relationship with a man who raped me repeatedly. But that's another story. I do wonder, though, how much my emotional disquiet from this "misunderstanding" and the emotionally abusive relationship I'd just left kept me from leaving that relationship more quickly. I was reeling.
My confusion as to how to name and understand my experience made it all the harder to process and grieve, remember my voice, and move on. I eventually labeled it a horrible misunderstanding, which I now find problematic, but I made myself re-learn how to say no forcefully before I allowed myself to date again.
Now my partners simply stop if they don't get an enthusiastic response from me. I have no worries that my husband or lover(s) will continue pushing unwanted attention when faced with hesitation from me. They get no pleasure from non-enthusiastic sex.
Last week a woman I work with explained that in the last weeks of their relationship, her ex-boyfriend continued with intercourse even though she locked her legs together against him, shielded her breasts from his hands with her arms, and even grabbed the bed to resist him. "I didn't say no," she told me. My response to her was "that's rape." She resisted, and he ignored her. A lack of verbal no is not an excuse.
I've committed to teaching my children that only yes means yes. Hesitation means no. Lack of response means no. Removing wandering hands means no. Admitting to being uncertain and neverous--all of it means no.
And my decision to teach enthusiasm as the standard is why "horrible misunderstanding" now seems inadequate to explain what happened with JRS.
My response focuses on pieces of the essay, as it relates to me, and not the essay as a whole. This will be true of all of my responses. There is much that I've read that I am not including in this blog, whether I have a reason beyond space for that or not.
(Page 17) "The idea that women might want to have sex for pleasure without having to carry a pregnancy for nine months afterward and then raise a child is quite contrary to conservative values."
I don't understand the sex-negative, supposedly "pro-life," mind set, except at a reflection that women should be punished for having sex. If a girl doesn't know where or how to procure birth control (common with abstinence-only sex ed) and ends up in a relationship that leads to sex, even if that sex is coercive, she is then shamed as a slut for ending up pregnant (never mind that he should be just as responsible for birth control as she is). And despite the "pro-life" view that the fetus should have rights and be carried to term no matter what, the same people who protest abortions turn their backs on providing social services and financial support to mothers once the baby is born. How is that anything but punitive?
My focus, however, is not on conservative hatred of our so-called welfare state. This slut-shaming is why I am posting anonymously. A girl merely being sexually active is reason enough in too many minds for boys to go for the score instead of making damn sure that the girl they're with truly consents. Boys will be boys & girls should watch out, right? Wrong. Men who truly enjoy sex have a much, much better time with an enthusiastic woman. What's the fun in fucking someone who's scared stiff or just quietly lying there because it's easier than arguing? Sex should be fun.
(Page 20) "Men are rational human beings fully capable of listening to their partners and understanding that sex isn't about pushing someone to do something they don't want to do. Plenty of men are able to grasp the idea that sex should be entered into joyfully and enthusiastically by both partners, and that an absence of 'no' isn't enough--'yes' should be the baseline requirement."
Once upon a time when I was 18, I met a guy, JRS. JRS flirted heavily, and then never stopped. While I had grown up standing up for myself fairly often, I didn't stand up for myself that day. He ended up taking off my panties, lifting my skirt, leaning me against a table, and doing as he pleased. I froze. My response was nil. No sounds, no squirming, no delight. I just stood there.
And then he flipped me over and continued using my body by fucking me in the ass. It was excruciating. I yelped in pain. He said oops and kept on going.
Eventually he flipped me over yet again--which lead to my first yeast infection. And I was left wondering what the hell just happened --how had I LET that happen? Did he rape me? I never said no. What should I call this?
Sadly, this is a much too common experience, and shortly after I found myself in a relationship with a man who raped me repeatedly. But that's another story. I do wonder, though, how much my emotional disquiet from this "misunderstanding" and the emotionally abusive relationship I'd just left kept me from leaving that relationship more quickly. I was reeling.
My confusion as to how to name and understand my experience made it all the harder to process and grieve, remember my voice, and move on. I eventually labeled it a horrible misunderstanding, which I now find problematic, but I made myself re-learn how to say no forcefully before I allowed myself to date again.
Now my partners simply stop if they don't get an enthusiastic response from me. I have no worries that my husband or lover(s) will continue pushing unwanted attention when faced with hesitation from me. They get no pleasure from non-enthusiastic sex.
Last week a woman I work with explained that in the last weeks of their relationship, her ex-boyfriend continued with intercourse even though she locked her legs together against him, shielded her breasts from his hands with her arms, and even grabbed the bed to resist him. "I didn't say no," she told me. My response to her was "that's rape." She resisted, and he ignored her. A lack of verbal no is not an excuse.
I've committed to teaching my children that only yes means yes. Hesitation means no. Lack of response means no. Removing wandering hands means no. Admitting to being uncertain and neverous--all of it means no.
And my decision to teach enthusiasm as the standard is why "horrible misunderstanding" now seems inadequate to explain what happened with JRS.
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