Butterfly Cauldron

This is what my body looks like. Oh, that isn't me. But it's the nearest to it that I've ever seen. (I got it from The Adipositivity Project. Awesome pictures.)

I'm not used to having my body be an object of desire. In fact, I can't think of a single time my body has been desired explicitly for itself. Which is not to say I've never been loved. Being loved and being desired are two completely different things. I have been loved, and by extention, I have been desired. Because I was loved. From the love, the desire followed. But no one has ever looked at me and thought, Yes. I want her. Or if they have, they haven't been bold enough to say so.

My head knows there are people out there who genuinely prefer women my size. I know this. I see their websites, I see their magazines, I hear there are parties for them. But I have never meet them.

When I hooked up with the Boy this year, we had sex. It was nice enough, but it wasn't earth moving. He didn't seem all that interested in touching me, or paying attention to my body too much. He wanted to fuck. Which was fine, because so did I. But at a point it seemed to me that he should have really wanted to touch me some more. Tease me some more. We were just fucking, it wasn't a relationship, but it seemed like someone I was sleeping with should be a bit more enthralled with all the parts of my body. He didn't seem too interested when I kissed about his body or touched him either, so it could have simply been a personal preference. But still.

I have always thought that I could certainly find someone who would love me, because I am a rather lovable person. I'm a good partner. I'm smart, funny, caring, loving, protective, etc. But I always thought I'd be loved in spite of my body, not because of it. That there would always be some small part of my partner that was slightly ashamed of being seen with me. That there would be judgement from their family, that I'd have to prove that I was a good match for their loved one, despite my body.

The thought that someone could want my body, could literally be attracted and aroused by it, is new to me. It feels strange. Good, but strange. The thought that I don't have to explain why I'm eating a bowl of ice cream, or a sandwich, or whatever. Even if I've not eaten anything else all day, you know, shouldn't I be working on that body? It's....odd. I like it, but I just....I don't know. I feel strange about it.

You know how sometimes you ask the Universe for things and then it delivers and you don't know what to do with it? Yeah.

Labels: body acceptance, sex

I love my Pill.

I do. Of all my medications, it may be my favorite. It's benefits are multitude.

No more PMDD. Now, instead I get about two days of moodiness and cravings for ice cream. Used to, I would get two weeks of being possessed by a monster.

No more cramps! Before, I was living on ibuprofen for a week each month. Three pills every four hours. Now? Now, I may need a dose on the first day, but that's it.

Crazy light periods. They've never been very heavy, but now? So light, I can't remember the last time I had to buy tampons or pads. Some days, I can literally go without anything because it's so light it's barely noticable. Whoohoo.

My breasts don't hurt! I have bad, bad, BAD fibrocystic breasts. Basically, that means I've got lots of fluidy lumps in my boobs. And they hurt. All the time. At least, they were getting to that point. My boobs are huge, frankly and the larger they are, the more likely they are to get all cysty. They were getting to the point were they hurt all the time, not just during my period. I was contemplating wearing a bra to sleep in, in order to keep them from keeping me awake at night. So, since I've been on the pill? No more pain! A little tenderness, but no pain! You have no idea, unless you've been through it, how incredibly painful they were. So now? Long live the pill!

No more ovarian cysts. I used to get them fairly frequently and you know what? They hurt too! I'm particularly sensitive, apparently, so even the ittybitty less than a centimeter ones would hurt me. Hmp. But they're gone now! Whoohoo.

Plus, my skin is clearer. Took it a few months for that bennie to kick in, but now my skin is much much better.

Oh yeah, there's also the No Baby effect. Can't beat that :)

So, long live the Pill! Whoohoo!!

Labels: happyhappy, sex, the Pill

Well, I'm well and truely done with the Boy, from here on out to be known as Mr. Fuck and Run. Why? Because that's what he does.

After his first stint of sex, then silence he came back to me, all apologetic and sweet. I punished him for a bit, making him apologize and grovel a bit. It was fun. Then, since he was being sweet and I was decidedly horny, I let him back in. He came over, oh almost two weeks ago. We had some nice kinky sex and he left. (BTW, medical tape is great if you don't have rope or leather straps. And yes, Mermi, you can indeed get it at Target. I checked.) I told him, as he was leaving, that he'd better not go another month without talking to me or I wouldn't be letting him back in again. He said, "Oh, don't worry. It'll never happen." I said, I've got a five day vacation coming up. Find some time and come over and we can do this again.

Have I heard from him? Only one simple word. When I told him my ankle was still marked from the tape, he said: sorry. That's it. No other communication at all. My vaca came and went and did I? Well, yes. But not with any help from Mr. Fuck and Run. And so, it's been almost two weeks and no word from him again, although I know he's around, because he's on Yahoo Messenger. And so, I am done with him. I don't know what I'll do about sex, because I'm horny like crazy now, but oh well. He's worked himself outta lots of sex and he's got only himself to blame. I'm not merely some hole for him to avail himself of when he chooses.

And the thing is, if that's what we had agreed upon I wouldn't have a problem with it. But see, we had agreed to a friends with benefits deal. Which was great, except he seemed to think, once we'd had sex, he could skip the friends part. In fact, he seemed to think he could forget to 'acknowledge her when she speaks to me, unless I happen to want to have sex that day'. Which still, would have been workable, except ya know, when /I/ wanted to have sex, he was unreceptive. When I was all 'throw me on the floor and take me NOW!' he was....not responsive. Not talking to me. Not acknowledging me.

And so...no sex for him.

Here's the thing, he thought he was a lot better than he was. He is under the impression, dear sweet boy, that he's really well hung. Now, the fact is, he's not bad, but he's not exactly anything to write home about. Just about average, really. Nice and straight, but a little on the thin side. And well, despite being young, he's not got a ton of staying power. He had potentional, but seemed adverse to any direction. Trying to keep his fingers on my clit was a chore. I mean, when a woman takes your hand, puts it on her naked body and shows you how to touch her -- LISTEN.

And he was so damned quiet. Who is completely silent when they're having sex? Particularly kinky, rough sex? Well, Mr. Fuck and Run, that's who. I'm getting into it, and he's just....quiet. I mean, how can you work with that? I ask him what he wanted and he was...well, not exactly verbal. And he didn't seem to want to show me either. So, I don't know. I got the distinct feeling he didn't like being offered advice, like he bought into that whole 'men just KNOW how to make a woman orgasm.'

And, frankly, he wasn't nearly as rough as he thought he was. Maybe it's just me, but if you're tying me up and trying to be the Bad Guy, it helps if you, oh I don't know, use your hands or talk or....I don't know, do something more than fuck. *sigh*

But still, I liked having sex, but it was more about having sex, not so much sex with him. And I want to have more sex. But I'm looking for someone a bit more...into me and my personal pleasure. This Boy has no idea how much I was willing to do with him and, frankly, he never will. Because the next time he comes asking? Eh. I don't think I'll be in the mood.

Labels: annoyance, sex

I had a conversation not so long ago with some co-workers about 'young people today' and what they define as sex. None of us could understand how it's possible to not consider oral or anal sex to be, well, sex. Which lead to a discussion about what constitutes sex. (Yeah, this is the sort of thing I do at work when we're on break. Fun, ain't it?)

So anyway, they all found my definition funny. They agreed with it, but, it's funny. See, I think anything that involves any degree of nakedness and someone having a Big O is sex. And actually, the nakedness is optional, since you can do a hell of a lot while fully clothed. You might not be getting off, but if the person you're with is, you're having sex. Maybe not good sex, but still. . .

There are degrees, of course. (I tend to class them as "things that will send me running to the clinic and things that won't", but your mileage may vary.) Maybe I just have an expansive view of sex. Maybe it's because I'm bi and don't think the penis is the end-all-be-all of sexual experience. Maybe it's because I'm into BDSM. I don't know, but I think a lot of things qualify as sex.

I have ego enough to believe my view of sex is healthier than the view that says penis+vagina only. It's not the view I was raised with, so I have an interest in owning it, as it were. Once I got over the whole PIV is THE real thing, I started being much more comfortable with myself and my desires and the things that make me Oh So Happy. The whole body becomes a buffet to be enjoyed, without the goal being fitting Tab A into Slot B.

So, let's here it. How do you define sex?

Labels: desire, sex

Bear with me, I'm feeling introspective.

I started this year off with a request. I asked the Universe to help me become more at ease with my body and the pleasure it can bring me. I've spent the last six or seven years getting acquainted with the pain my body can bring me. I wanted this year to be different. So, I requested that the Universe send me people who would help me do that, help me get in touch with the joy my body can bring me and to help me accept it, regardless of what shape that help too. I'm generally pretty damned picky, wanting partners to be 'just so', dismissing people out of hand. Oh, I can't go out with him, he's too XXX or she's too YYY. I tend to think myself out of things and in doing that, I deny myself a great many experiences. So, this year, it's going to be different.

And, low and behold, the Universe listened. She sent me The Boy and made him very insistant, even when I tried to pull my usual number and ignore what I was being sent. So, I finally give in and just go with it. And it's been lovely. It reallly has, although I'm not seeing a longterm relationship here. But then again, who knows? I've been wrong before.

So, what's my problem? Even when he's touching me, there's this little voice in the back of my head wondering how he can stand it. How can he stand looking at my naked body? It's not beautiful. It's not even close to 'normal'. It's fat and ugly. At least, that's the voice in my head. I don't really believe that, I think. At least, I don't most of the time. Most of the time, I'm certain I'm adorable and desirable and deserving of love and pleasure. And yet, when I'm naked . . . In my head, I keep asking the question. How can you stand this? Don't you think you could do better?

And I want to cry, because I can't stand that I think of myself that way. And I know it's in my head, that it's all me. None of the men I've ever been with has so much as suggested that I needed to lose weight. Even when I'd gained a good 50 lbs., my Ex couldn't stop touching me. He never stopped telling me he thought I was beautiful and it was clear he thought I was desirable. And The Boy? He's so sweet. He seems shocked that I want him. And I don't understand that. Because. . .I don't know why he wants me.

See, I can understand why someone would love me. That's not the issue. I just don't know why anyone would desire me. How awful is that? Confident in my ability to inspire love, but not lust. *sigh* Which is stupid, because clearly, I've been inspiring at least one man of late. (Not that this stupidity is stopping me from enjoying him. Hell no. I'm messed up, but I'm not stupid.)

And then, I wonder, do all women feel that way, regardless of their size? Are we all struck dumb when someone expresses desire for us? Or is it easy for others? Because, if you ask me about anything else, I'm totally sure of myself. But in this one area? I just. . .I know I deserve to be loved and wanted and desired. I just can't understand why anyone would want that. And so, my brain, it hurts.

Labels: fat, sadness, sex

Who knew that getting a little somethingsomething makes you sleep better? Well, probably a lot of people, but eh. Two nights in a row, I've slept the whole way through. Nice.

Amusingly enough, the Boy hasn't called me since. I find it funny, actually, instead of annoying. I suppose if I'd been more emotionally invested I'd be annoyed, but eh. Maybe he'll call, maybe not. I'm still sleeping better. Yay.

Also, have you ever noticed that when you've got one person's attention, you seem to miraculously become more attractive to other people? Seriously, since I've been hanging out with the Boy, I've had a good half dozen other men express interest. How does that happen? What's with the feast or famine? Not that I mind, you understand. Because I'm all about the feasting. Hell yes. The universe owes me, dammit. Pay up.

I've got four or five stories stored up that I want to blog, but I just can't do it. They're too depressing and I'm really tired of depressing. I'll get around to it, I'm sure. But, tomorrow my Mom and Grandma are coming in to see me. We'll have chinese, I'm sure. Yay. Then, I'm going to a sci-fi club meeting with a co-worker. We're watching Pirates 2 and having pizza. Oh yum. So I'll be basking in the socialization glow. Whoohoo.

Also! I got my performance review this week. I exceed expectations. Go me! I'm so not used to having really good reviews, seeing as how I spent the last six years working for Gannett. And they based your raises on your evals and they didn't want to give anyone a raise, so they scored everyone really, really low. Ha. Bastards. So, I get a raise starting my next paycheck, plus I'll be officially a permenant employee on May 6. And you know what that means? It means, since I'm in Civil Service, that I'd have to come in with a gun and pop off a few to actually lose this job :) Yeeeesss...job security! So, now I can actually start decorating my bedroom in earnest, because I know I won't be leaving anytime soon. I can plant some flowers in the backyard and really settle in. Whoohoo. I'm happy.

Also, in six months, I get another raise. Yes. 8 percent in a year. That's more than I got the entire time I was working at Gannett! Gah, I hate those bastards. Grrr. Grrrr!!!

So, anyway, I'm off to contemplate something for dinner. I think I'll make that shrimp garlic manicotti I've been eyeing.

Labels: good news, new job, sex

I was always taught that sex was sacred, but not in a good way. Sex was sacred, in a Sunday-clothing-Amazing Grace-Thou-Shalt-Not sort of way. In a God deems it good, but not for you way. Sacred and unattainable, if you wanted to remain good and decent and deserving of God's love.

Sex was a subject rarely broached in my home. My parents never had the Birds and Bees talk with me. There was no discussion of safe sex or birth control or the emotional ramifications of being physically intimate with someone else. They ignored a lot. For example:

Masturbation. We never had a conversation about this either, but man was I into it. (Still am, being a celibate girl atm.) As a child, I couldn't get enough and I did it in the most inappropriate places. Like while I was laying on the couch, watching t.v. With the rest of my family around me. Oh, sure, I was laying under a blanket, and in my child's mind I was sure they couldn't see what I was doing, but let's be real here -- it was pretty bloody obvious. Hands moving under the blanket? Lips pressed tight together? Riiiight, no one knows what THAT was. And when I say I did it a lot? We're talking nightly, at least. And don't even get me started about the wonders of the shower! In the car, I would use the pressure from the seatbelts to pull my jeans tight against me, rocking back and forth so my panties massaged my clit. While my family was all around me. Hell, my brother was in the seat right next to me! And maybe, maybe no one really noticed THAT. Maybe. But then I found my parent's heated massager and did some experimenting with it on myself. Ahem. Yeah. And mom found it in my room. And when I told her that my back had been hurting, she didn't blink and accepted the excuse. Told me to ask before I used it next time.

And they never talked about it. Never, when it was clear that I was not having lots and lots of backaches. (Otherwise, why didn't they take me to the doctor? Huh? Girl that young should not be having that many back problems.) Subtly, it re-enforced my belief: sex was dirty. It was secret. We didn't talk about it and we ignored it as much as we could. And, if the feelings I was bringing out in myself were so bad we couldn't talk about them, how bad were the feelings /other/ people could bring out in me?

The only "sex ed" I got from my family was the church sponsored Don't Do It class. In which we were all lead through biblical passages that said (so we were told -- I now know that the Bible doesn't actually say anything about not having pre-marital sex, without referring specifically to the financial/patriarchal implications of it) we were not supposed to be having sex before marriage. But after it, we could. And it would be good. Somehow. Even when we didn't know anything about it. Again, sex is a mystery, a secret we don't talk about.

But even then, I was protesting. They used that same stupid example: Would you rather have a new car or a used car? And I, imputant child that I was, asked "Well, are we talking about a New Yugo versus a Used BMW? Because, ya know, used isn't so bad . . ." Got lots of laughs and made the teacher flustered. What did they expect, comparing my body to a frigging car? As if it were something that could be bought. As if it were something that would wear out and have to be replaced. As if it were always in danger of being replaced by the newest model. How dare they?

And then, of course, the fear was pounded in. The extraordinarly fear of pregnancy. Of being trapped. Of having no more choices. And then I couldn't do it. I wanted to. I loved and I desired and I wanted so badly, but I couldn't, because my religious upbringing had damaged my natural desires so badly they couldn't exist in the same universe. So, I had to give up one. I had to abandon my desires and my needs and my wants or I had to change my faith.

So, I changed my faith.

It wasn't an easy thing to do. Sometimes, I still have tinges of. . .not doubt, exactly. . .but that sharp, electric fear that used to keep me so enslaved. Now I can shake them off. Now I can say, you know this isn't Divine. What did Jesus say? I do not send you a spirit of fear? So even in my old faith, the fear was a lie. Only I couldn't see that until I got out of it.

It took years and years of separation and thought and yes, prayer. It took years and years to quiet the voices of other people so that I could hear the voice inside me. Divine is not evil, not cruel, not denying. Sex is not dirty, or a secret, or a mystery.

My new faith celebrates sex. Yes, sex is sacred. But sacred in the ecstatic, dancing, spinning, freeing, healing way. Sacred in the primal, sweaty flesh stuck to sweaty flesh, animal scent way. Sacred in a break the rules and find yourself way. In all the ways I was taught it wasn't.

That's what I desire. That aching, wanting, reaching, transcending. It's not about the orgasm, not really. (Although, I'm not saying no to a single one, thank ya very much.) It's a connection and primal and animal and divine.

Labels: religion, sex

And I'm back for more Celebrations of Desire. This time, it's all about the girls. And oh, how many beautiful girls there are. If you were getting annoyed by all the testosterone, this post is for you.

Amber Benson:


Asia Argento:


Claudia Black:


Eliza Dushku:


Gigi Edgely:


Katee Sackhoff:


Kristanna Loken:


Michelle Rodriguez:


Pink:


Radha Mitchell:

Labels: desire, sex

In celebration of Female Desire Week (so named by my brain-twin Cassandra who is seriously trying to kill me with those pictures!), I present assorted Objects of Desire that I really, really like. Buckle up kiddies, it's Sex Week.


Aidan Turner, actor. Look at him for a moment and try not to..ya know. Plus, he's got the most yummy English accent.


Takizawa Hideaki, actor, musician, too damn pretty to resist.


Santiago Cabrera, actor, Hispanic. What more do I need?


Olivier Martinez. Actor. (Yes, I realize this little information just makes it more objectifying. But oh well.)


Goran Visnjic. Seriously, this man could do pretty much anything he wanted too to me.


Billie Joe Armstrong. So pretty. I can't help myself, although I should feel bad about it. Oh well.


My Chemical Romance. Yep. Pretty much, the whole damned band. If that puts me on the same level as screaming tweeners, I don't care.

Okay. Enough for now. There will be more later, fear not. I have a whole buncha gorgeous girls to get to, after all!

Labels: sex

I identify so well with the wife in this post, I cannot not post about it.

There are so many things wrong with this post, I don't know where to begin. You know, of course, that I've got no problem with people holding whatever religious beliefs they want. Let's get that outta the way right now. That said. . .this is a prime example of how fundamentalist faiths ignore the real damage to real people (often women) in favor of focusing on some airy theory of 'sin'.

A couple of years after our second child was born, my wife, just about to turn 40, asked me to consider getting a vasectomy. Her arguments were almost identical to those of the hypothetical husband in Tim Bayly's post about faith and contraception. She was looking forward to our then-youngest being in school full time, so that she could re-enter the work force at least part time, for the sake of our finances and her own mental health. She had had two C-sections and didn't want to go through another one. And after our second child she went through what I believe was post-partum depression, exacerbated by problems with nursing, although she never sought help for it. To her thinking, having another child would be a "disaster."

I didn't share her fear of having another child. While I didn't have any qualms about contraception, which we used to time the births of our two children, I didn't have a controlling attitude about it. If the children didn't arrive according to plan, or we wound up with more than we planned, it was OK. A pregnancy within marriage is never a crisis pregnancy, never a "disaster," as I saw it. Therefore, achieving 0% probability of conception wasn't a concern of mine. I wasn't insistent on more kids, but if God should send more our way, that was OK. Our first two were both intelligent and beautiful and gifted with musical ability and a sense of humor. We made good babies, and it wouldn't be a bad thing if we made more, but I was content with the two we had.

How do I being to describe the sheer reek of selfish privilege in that last paragraph? He had no fear of having another child. Well, of course not. For him, it's just a few months of putting up with the wife's mood swings and strange cravings. He's not the one whose body is being taken over, whose emotions are out of control, who has to endure a major surgery, who has to suffer the crippling post-partum depression. Why would he think having another child would be a problem? It's not his body, he's not the one really dealing with it.

Alas, my wife did not deem me spongeworthy. She decided to restrict our lovemaking to one day a month, the day after her period ended, the day she felt most confident that she wouldn't be fertile. Because of that confidence, she didn't insist on using any other means of contraception on those days. Even when we were using barrier methods, that was the one "free" day when she'd let us make love without a condom. But by now, she didn't want to risk pregnancy at all. 1% was too great a chance to take.

If we happened to be too busy or tired on that one day a month, we'd just miss sex until the next cycle.

One night, just moments after concluding our monthly roll in the hay, she snuggled up to me and said in a cheery voice, "Just think, when you get your vasectomy, we can do this every night!" I rolled away from her, offended at the timing of her sales pitch.

She began to "accidentally" fall asleep on the couch most nights. She told me later she didn't want to risk getting turned on and having sex. Even cuddling and caressing were severely restricted, for the same reason.

Then one afternoon she came to me in my home office in tears. She told me that she had missed her period and her home pregnancy test was positive. Evidently that one day a month wasn't as infertile as she thought.

He didn't want to have a vasectomy, which I suppose I can understand. But when that results in him having sex once a month? And gets upset when his wife tells him that she'd be happy to fuck him every night, if only she didn't have to worry about getting pregnant? She ends up sleeping on the couch, no kissing, no touching, no nothing. That's the lengths her terror at being pregnant has driven her too. Do you think he gets it yet?

So, she has the baby. And life goes on, but sexless-like

But my wife doesn't want any more, and I can't blame her. This was necessarily another C-section delivery, and the recovery period was slower than the first two. Several years older than the previous two C-sections, she doesn't heal as fast. If she were to get pregnant again, she'd be having a fourth C-section in her mid-to-late 40s, with an increased danger of uterine rupture. Even in a successful delivery, recovery would be even longer and more painful than before.

So she has laid down the law: No sex until I get a vasectomy. Period.

I made an appointment for a vasectomy. When I went in for my initial consult, the urologist asked me why I wanted to get a vasectomy. I said, "Because my wife wants me to." He told me that was the wrong reason.

I rescheduled my appointment for the actual surgery a couple of times for various reasons. At this point, I have no appointment.

So it has now been 15 months since we have had sex or even done much in the way of snuggling. It's not that we don't want sex. She has said several times that she didn't sign up for a sexless marriage. But even more than she wants sex, she doesn't want another pregnancy, another delivery, and resetting the clock for being a stay-at-home mom.

So, his problem? Well, he wants to have sex, but thinks that birth control would be a sin. (Even though he's done it before, which makes little sense to me, but oh well.) So, what's he to do? Not have sex with his wife, or sin by having the snip?

Frankly, it seems to me that this whole thing is about him not wanting to get snipped. Period. Sure, it traumatizes your wife, this fear of being pregnant, but by Gods you are NOT going to eliminate your fertility! Wouldn't be manly!

Here's the thing -- I get her fear. I have the same fear and it is paralyzing. It makes sex completely and totally unenjoyable. It makes me freeze at the worst moment, it makes me cry and shake and I cannot verbalize why I'm upset. It's crippling and it's exhausting and it's just so much easier to swear off sex all together than deal with that fear.

After my pregnancy scare, all those many years ago, I could barely let my SO kiss me. I couldn't have sex. I just couldn't. Oh, every once and while I'll give in, because I wanted him so badly and I loved him so deeply, but the entire time I was tense and worried and couldn't relax and enjoy myself at all. And it doomed our relationship. There were other factors that led to our breakup, but the lack of physical affection was cheif among them.

If this isn't a fear of yours, it's hard to understand. Even my girlfriends who worry about pregnancy don't understand my absolute terror. And men? Please. They think I'm crazy. And I don't have the same worries about birth control!

So, yeah. I feel for this woman. And if he's not willing to step up and do what it takes, then he'll just have to live without sex. But that means their marriage is doomed. Because you cannot have a sustainable relationship when you're afraid to even touch your partner.

It's still something I struggle with. I'm starting the pill next month, not because I'm seeing someone at the moment, but because I need to have some preparation. I need to know I've got a barrier there, in addition to condoms. And still, I don't know if that'll work. I don't know if I'll be able to let myself go and relax. And that suck big time.

Labels: religion, sex

For very different reasons, alas. My first serving of outrage comes to us courtesy of Allentown, Pa. where a school system covered up the rapes of four first-graders.

Short version: An older child was found assaulting a younger child in the bathroom. Instead of, oh I don't know, calling the police? The school decided to keep it all quiet. They didn't notify the victim's parents, it appears, much less the rapist's parents. Instead, they move the older child to another classroom. Said nothing and guess what? He did it again. Three times.

The district denies wrongdoing and has asked a judge to dismiss the lawsuit. But it has not disputed that assaults occurred, and its legal response has only further inflamed public opinion in one of the state’s poorest school districts.

In federal court last month, the district’s lawyer, John Freund III, argued that under the Constitution school officials cannot be held responsible simply for failing to protect youngsters from assaults by other students.

He cited federal court rulings that say school systems are generally immune from paying damages unless it can be shown that they actually took “affirmative” steps that put youngsters in danger, and that the action taken “shocks the conscience.”

Keep children safe? The school's responsibility? Oh no. No no no. Sorry, can't do that. And exactly how is not 'affirmative' to know there's a sexual predator on campus and do nothing about it? Doesn't that automatically endanger every child on campus? I mean, if the school knew one of it's teachers was a pedophile, they'd be held accountable if he molested a child while at work, so how is it different when the attacker is a child? And well, MY conscience is certainly shocked. How 'bout yours?

Second dose of outrage comes from Boston. (Boston? Really? *sigh*) This time, no children were actually harmed. This time it was the parents' oh-so-fragile sensibilities.

Short version: Elementary school teacher reads a book to his/her class. The book is about a prince who finds love. With another prince. Oh, dear. Mustn't let those innocent children hear about that! Never mind that Mass. is the only state in the country where two men can get married and it's likely that those children will, sooner or later, have a classmate with two daddies or two mommies. Let's just go about denying reality. Let's go about denying the law, while we're at it.

I mean, I highly doubt this book was giving any play-by-play on hawt boyfucking. It's probably Cinderella with a prince cast in the princess role. Wow. So very shocking and damaging to the psyche! The parents may have to actually answer some questions. They may have to come up with answers. They may have to --gods forbide!--actually think through their position on same-sex marriage. And we can't have that, can we?

Look, if you believe in something and you're raising children, things like this are going to come up. If I ever have a child, I'm going to have to find a way to keep him/her from being indoctrinated with redneck values. It's just how life works. You're parents, so parent, dammit. Stop trying to get the whole world to cater to you and teach your children how to have their own beliefs and how to stand by them. You're doing them a disservice, and pissing the rest of us off, when you don't.

Labels: children, outrage, sex

Sex of any kind can harm teens emotionally -- thus sayth the researchers. Except, well, that's not quite what the story says, really. It says that some teens can feel bad after having sex. Even *gasp* oral sex! It doesn't say they were harmed, just that they experienced negative emotions relating to the experience.

Here's MY newsflash -- Some adults have negative experiences with sex too!

Why is this shocking to anyone? Who hasn't had a bad experience now and then? (I recall with sadness the BF who had a rather er, quick, response time. Who also wasn't all that into giving me oral, either. Although, he never asked me to go down on him, so I didn't get too bitchy about that.)

And why is it so surprising that oral sex would leave someone feeling bad? Is it somehow miraculously different than vaginal sex? (Well, you know, aside from the obvious. . .) Why didn't they poll the kids about anal sex? Or was that just too shocking to consider?

And the girls feel worse than the boys? I'm stunned. Really. At least the writer seemed to get a little of why that might be so: "Though the study could not look at the reasons for this difference, other studies have noted that there's pressure on girls to at once be sexually attractive yet resist having sex."

Ya think? Wear these "slutty" clothes darling, but don't you do so much as kiss that nasty boy! Arg! How fucking frustrating is that?

How hard is it to just, ya know, teach girls to be comfortable with their bodies and their sexuality? How fucking hard is it to let them know that they are the ones who get to decide what happens to their bodies -- not their boyfriends or the media or the church or their parents, but them. Full personhood. Fuck the rest of that shit.

The study, according to the researchers, suggests that parents should be sure to talk with their kids about the potential negative effects of having oral sex, not only intercourse.

ARG!!!!

Because focusing on the fucking negative consequences of sex has worked so very well in the past, hasn't it? Everyone here married or virgins? Yes? Yes, I thought so.

Okay, how hard is it, really, to say to girls (and boys): Sex is powerful and amazing, and no one gets to make the choice when to have it but you. Sex isn't about being dirty or shamed or degraded. It's about being loved and desired and pleasure and so much more than that. But the only one who gets to decide when you have it is you. There are consequences, yes. There may be heartbreak. There are ways to protect yourself from unwanted pregnancy and diseases. Sex is not about being dirty and sinful and you're not bad or degraded if you have it.

I am sick to death of hearing how sex makes women dirty.

Fuck that shit. Seriously. Fuckfuckfuckfuck.

Labels: sex, teenagers

So. This is a warning. I've got a nagging fear that this is about to turn into Zan's Sex Blog for a bit. Not complete with pictures or anything, but . . . be prepared for some sex-related topics in the coming days. You have been warned. Now, back to your regular blog-postings.

Here's the thing -- I have sexual issues. Well, actually, it's more accurate to say I have vulnerability issues and when are you more vulnerable than during sex? I consider this to be a personal failing, even though my bestest friend Georgia would, and has, told me it's not a failing. But it feels that way, desparately.

I cannot believe anyone would want me. Stupid, isn't it? I know it's dumb. I know and I genuinely believe that I'm a pretty damned incredible person. And yet. . .the thought that someone would honestly want to have sex with me? It just doesn't occur. Even now, writing this, I'm starting to tear up because I'm so very used to being rejected.

It's my default position. It happens, over and over again. I am not pretty, not by any conventional standards. And that's not just because I'm fat, but I'm also not...I don't know how to explain it. I'm certainly not ugly, but I'm not pretty. I've never wanted to be pretty, except that being pretty seems to be the key to being loved or even desired. So, I don't want to be pretty. I want to be wanted. And I'm so used to that not happening. I talk to people a lot online and, when they're local and we're hitting it off, you know how it goes -- it's the whole pix exchange and whatnot. And I cannot count the times when all conversations have just stopped, dead, once they see my picture.

Which is stupid, because frankly most of these people? Eh, they're not princes/esses. They're just people, some prettier than others, but still. I'm not thinking "Oh, can't talk to them anymore becuase they don't look like X. . ." So what gives with people having that attitude with me?

So, anyway, as I've said, it's my default position. I just expect it. So, I'm talking to this person, let's call him The Possibliity, and he's all 'send me a pix'. So, well, I figure...why not? (Hearing the conversation in my head as I do, of course. Blahblahblahblahblah...) I send him off to my OKCupid page, which has my photo on it. Thinking, well it was nice having someone to flirt with, lalalalala.

Only, he doesn't get the whole "oh, hell...how did I end up talking to another fat girl?" bullshit. He got even /more/ suggestive...which totally didn't make sense to me and now I'm like...Uh. Okay? Now what do I do?

Cause, here's the problem: He's beautiful. I mean, seriously, lust-inducing, I must paint you beautiful. And beautiful people don't like me. Only, he kinda does. Also, he's 21. And I'm, uh, not.

*smacks head against the wall* Here's the problem: I do not know how to handle this. . .I mean, yeah seriously beautiful. And well, he's 21, so, stamina. Maybe not the most talented or sophisticated, but those can be learned. Definately enthusiastic. And I kinda like the idea of having a Boy-on-Call, ya know? So, why am I stuck stumbling over this sense of...I just don't know how to do this!

That's it, you know. I want and I want and I can't have and then suddenly, I can. I could call him now and he'd be here as soon as he gets off work. And well, neither of us is looking to get married, just have some fun.

ARG! I blame my fucking Southern Baptist upbringing for this angst. I so very do. That and I've been out of the game for sooo long. Wasn't I supposed to get to slowly ease back in? No? Oh. Okay then.

Here's the funny: my "resolution" this year was to end this stupid celibacy streak. Just smash it dead, gone. Slutfest 2007 I called it to my friends. They agree, 'tis time. But I really didn't think I had even the slightest chance of you know, doing it. I've gotten so used to resigning myself to nights with B.O.B., I never thought ahead to what I'd do if I, ya know, had a chance at some human companionship.

And so, of course, when I did my little New Year's ritual, I wasn't /really/ expecting the Gods to hear me. Ha. So now, ya know, step up to the plate, see what happens. And I find, I'm a bit of a coward. Gah.

Bad Zan! Bad! Smash the brainwashing, dammit! Grr. Arg.

So. . .because I'm conflicted, but not stupid, I've added getting a script for birth control to my list o'things to discuss with my new doctor at my appointment. Until them, I'm going to be picking up some condoms. Haven't done /that/ in ages either....Hell, I have some extra in my next paycheck, so I'm going to order a pack of Plan B from drugstore.com. Hopefully, won't have to use it, but better safe than sorry and all.

So anyway, I don't know what the point of this post is. I'm just kinda....rattled? In a weird way. Not a terribly bad way, but....it all comes back to that fucked up religious training. If you plan for sex, if you take steps beforehand and have all your birth control and options lined up, well, that means you're doing it on PURPOSE. You're not just gonna ACCIDENTLY fuck. And that's BAD.

ARG! Godsdamnedfuckingsouthernbapstistbastards!! Shut up, shut up. I wanna get laid, dammit. (Did I mention he was beautiful? And kinky? And twenty-fucking-one???)

Labels: religion, sex

I'm sure most of you have heard of these 'Quiverful' families -- people who believe in absolutely no birth control, in having as many children as is physically possible. Long the provience of of strict Catholics and polygomist sects, this movement is moving more into the mainstream of Protestant thought. It's creepy. Not the having lots of kids, although that's not my thing. Frankly, if you can take care of the kids, I'm not one to tell you how many to have. But the language used in thisarticle just skeeves me out. Seriously.

Some choice quotes:

Quiverfull beliefs are absolutist. Purists don’t permit even natural family planning methods, such as tracking fertility cycles (the only form of birth control condoned by the Roman Catholic Church). Also taboo: any form of artificial fertility treatment. “The point is to have a welcoming heart,” says Mary Pride, a mother of nine whose 1985 book, “The Way Home,” celebrated a return to traditional gender roles. It has sold about 80,000 copies and has inspired many quiverfull families. “You shouldn’t be unnatural in going to a fertility clinic or in trying to avoid having children by regulating when to have sex with your husband,” says Pride.

---

The anti-birth control message appears to be gaining ground among some evangelicals. Albert Mohler, president of the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary, has become one of its most prominent advocates. “If a couple sees children as an imposition, as something to be vaccinated against, like an illness, that betrays a deeply erroneous understanding of marriage and children,” says Mohler. “Children should be seen as good by default.”

---

Though Ken admits life isn’t always easy—last spring, all eight kids came down with chicken pox at once—he says the family became “exponentially happier” after relinquishing control of Devon’s womb to God. He’s counting on his eldest daughter Peyton, 12, to carry on the tradition. She “will stay under my covering until I turn her over in marriage to a God-honoring young man,” he says. Hopefully, he adds, they too will reap a full quiver.

Let's unpack this a bit, shall we? Who can spot the instances of devaluing a woman's right to control her own destiny? Anyone? Anyone? How about the pressure on a young girl to carry on a 'tradition' that her parents made up? Anyone see that? On, and don't forget, you can't decide not to have sex with your husband just because you don't want to have yet another baby this year. Shoulda thought about that before you got married, shouldn't you?

In order to have this kind of family, the mother is required to stay at home. It is simply impossible for her to work and take care of 8 or more children at the same time. However, Daddy's gotta work so much that he's not home much, so Mom takes on the bulk of child-rearing. Plus, she's homeschooling the kids, of course. Let's build up that sense of insolation, shall we? (Can anyone say Andrea Yates? I thought you could.)

I take issue with the notion of children as good, by default. Maybe for most people, they end up that way. But often that's because of a conscious choice on the part of the parent. For me, no, children would not be good by default. A child would be a huge impact on my health and probably would shorten the length of my life. I love that language -- vaccinate against! Oh, if only! Seriously, if we could come up with a vaccine that would make you infertile for what, five, six years at a time, would that not be a GOOD thing? We could end teenage pregnancy, bam! We could give men /and/women a seriously powerful method of planning their families. A freaking vaccine would be awesome, but alas, not in this guy's view. Oh well.

You know, these people never talk about relinquishing control of their reproductive organs to God. It's always, well it's the womb that must be given over. Why? Why isn't it the damned sperm that must be given up? Why isn't Ken talking about relinquishing control of his penis to God?

And frankly, poor Peyton is going to need a ticket to the Underground Sisterhood Railroad in a few years. Listen to the language her father uses to talk about here -- that's now how you talk about a person, that's how you talk about a possession. He's literally going to 'turn her over'. For gods sake, people! This isn't a spare key, you know. It's your child, a living, breathing person who will have her own ideas and desires. What if she doesn't want to have any children? What if she's a lesbian? Or asexual? What if she wants to go to college and skip marriage altogether? What if she wants to make porn, for gods sake? She's got rights, as a person, that go way beyond being covered by daddy and then handed off to hubby.

These people freak me out, because I can just imagine how many closet Quiverfuls live around me, thinking -- oh, if only I could find a woman willing to let me stick it in unwrapped and pop out baby after baby! Gah.

Labels: fundies, sex, stupid people

Growing up in the grip of fundamentalist religion can only result in a few outcomes. One, you'll be a good fundy like you're taught you should, not because you really believe it, but because you're too terrified to do anything else. Two, you'll be a bad fundy, terrified constantly because you know it's crazy to expect a human being to live up to that crap. Three, you'll leave the church completely, never to darken its doors again and spend obscene amounts on therapy putting your life back together. Four, you give up and kill yourself, probably before you reach adulthood.

Myself, I took option three with a pretty close call at number four. I do my best to avoid thinking about the things I was taught, trying to live my life by my own principals. However, sometimes I see stuff like this and I have to say something.

Sadly, I don't find that letter the slightest bit surprising. Having sex when you've been told, over and over and over again, that you shouldn't. That it's painful. That you'll get pregnant. That you're life will be over -- well, it's not easy. It should be, shouldn't it? It's the simplest thing in the world, exploring with someone you love. And yet, I see so much of my younger self in that letter I want to cry.

I left home, and the church, when I was 17. I didn't have sex until I was 19, but during that time I was dating, seriously, one man for over a year. I knew I wanted to have sex with him in the first two weeks. But I didn't, for almost a year. Why? Partially, because I'm not the sort to just jump into bed with whoever. But mostly, it was because I couldn't. Not physically. But mentally, emotionally, spiritually even, I could not do it. I wanted to. I wanted his so badly it made my physically hurt. But I couldn't do it.

We came close over and over again. It must have been agonizing for him. I know it was agonising for me. I lost count of the times we'd end up in bed together, naked and ready, only to have me completely freak out at the last minute. I loved this man. I desired this man. I was so turned-on I was shaking. And I could not do it. We had protection, we had privacy, we had a committed relationship. And I couldn't do it. I would sit in bed and sob, because I wanted to and I couldn't and I didn't know why I couldn't.

During that time I sat and thought hard over what was going on and I realized -- even if we'd been married, I couldn't have had sex with him. The very thought of having sex panicked me. My heart would race, I couldn't breath, I felt trapped, I was terrified. I would have full-blown panic attacks and my poor boyfriend didn't know what to do for me. He wasn't asking me to do anything kinky. He wasn't asking me to do anything unusual. He wasn't asking me to do a damned thing I didn't want to do, but I couldn't do it.

Sex had been painted as this important, life-altering, traumatic event. I wasn't abused as a child. I wasn't raped or molested or had anyone so much as look at me inappropriately. Physically, I had never been abused. But emotionally? Emotionally I was tormented constantly. Repress your desires. Repress your longings. Don't think about men. Don't think about sex. Don't think about anything physical. If you do, you're bad. Damaged. Broken. No one will want you. No one will love you. You'll be all alone and you'll deserve it.

I don't know if I can explain how horrible it was for me, being completely incapable of having sex with the person I loved more than anyone else. I don't know if I can explain how broken that made me feel. I don't know if I can explain how it made me feel like a failure. He never said anything cruel to me about it. He was nothing but supportive and understanding. He never once attempted to make me do anything. When I said stop, he stopped, no hesitation, no question. And that, eventually, is what helped me get over it. If he'd once attempted to coerce or talk me into it when I'd said no, I'd have walked out and been justified in it. But he never did. Instead, he let me take control. We only did what I was able to do. Instead of sex, we'd take showers together or we'd bathe together or we'd just lay naked together, touching and kissing but not having sex. Because I was terrifed of penetration (all those stories of bleeding and pain and sobbing wedding nights had done a number on me), we started slow, just fingertips or tongue, until I was ready to try more. Because I was crazy afraid of becoming pregnant, he was willing to use any contraception I wanted him to. (The boy was willing to wear two condoms at a time, if it made me feel safer. Compare that to so many men who don't even wanna use one ever...Such men don't deserve to have sex. Ever.)

I was able, after a full year of slowly building up to it, to overcome the revulsion my family's faith had created in me for sex. And it wasn't amazing or anything, but it wasn't the terror I was expecting it to be. Because I'd had time, I was with someone who was patient and loving and who geniunely wanted me as I was, not just a body to use for pleasure. I cannot imagine being a "good" girl who doesn't do more than kiss or hold hands before the wedding and then going right into sex immediately. I could never have done it, and I wasn't really that invested in retaining my good girl status. A lot of the things I did with my boyfriend would have gotten me kicked outta lots of churchs. Hell, I wasn't even supposed to masturbate. (And the guilt I had from that is a whole different post in itself.) Good Fundy Girls do not shower with men before marriage. They do not let him run his hands over and into their naked body. They do not sleep naked together without a wedding ring -- and they really shouldn't do it then either. And if I hadn't done all those things before the actual Act itself? I'd have never been able to do it at all.

And now? Now I've found myself on a spiritual path that celebrates the physical body. Still not one for casual hook-ups, but no more hang-ups about sexuality anymore. And I grieve for the girl I was and for all those girls growing in with those same beliefs today who are going to go through what I went through. For those who aren't going to ever be able to reconcile what they were taught with what they want. For those that will, but only by leaving completely the life and family they've created. For alll those people that think it's okay to live a life where you can't enjoy your body, can't enjoy the sensations it's capable of, because....why? I still don't know why.

Labels: childhood trauma, fundies, religion, sex

Let's talk about sex, shall we?

There's a new article, blogged about here among other places, that details how hard it is for women who are virgins at 'advanced ages' to lose their virginity. Advanced age in this case being into the 30s. The article doesn't talk about male virgins, but I'm assuming they have some of the same difficulties. I'm not sure though, so if I have any male virgin readers, feel free to chime in.

The thing is, I don't see why virginity is such a big deal. You are either a virgin or you are not. You either have green eyes or you don't. You're either left-handed or not. You're either going bald or you're not. It's just one state of being, neither better nor worse than any other state. I also don't understand the apprehension of being someone's first time if they're an older virgin. Or a younger virgin, for that matter. This may be because I've been someone's first time before, but I just don't see why it's an issue. So long as you engage in any sexual act with passion and respect for your partner, why does it matter what he/she hasn't done before?

I was one of those persons who skipped the high school dating/fucking scene. First off, I terrified most of the boys in my school (and wasn't aware or capable of acting on my attraction to women just yet) and I just didn't want to chance ending up pregnant. I had plans, I had things I wanted to do and so...no sex for me. And I admit, at the time I did feel a little weird about it. Everyone else seemed to be hooking up and I wasn't, I didn't even get any offers (see: terrified boys at my school) so I thought something must be wrong with me. There, wasn't, of course, but it seemed that way to me.

I felt ancient as a 17-year-old virgin, so I can imagine how it feels to people much older than that. (And it's not all that uncommon. I have a friend, 32, a lawyer, who is a virgin. I had another friend, a professor, who was a virgin until she was 30. I have male friends in the same boat, I'm sure.) At 19, when I slept with my boyfriend for the first time, I thought I was the oldest virgin on the planet. Dumb, but that's how it felt at that age.

Our society is way too sexualized. (Duh!) We put so much pressure on people to have sex, or to not have sex or to conform to some unrealistic idea of sexual behavior. I grew up in FundyLand, so I got the No-Sex-Until-Marriage lecture over and over and over again. Partially, it stuck. Even when I was embarking into sexual activity, I was scared and nervous and ready to be struck down at any moment. I was, however, more practical than most. I didn't expect the first time to be incredible. In fact, I expected it to be terribly painful.

It wasn't, thank god. It wasn't particularly wonderful, either. It was fast and over with before I could get a real handle on what I was feeling. Afterward, I felt lied too. Not by my BF, who was great, but by all those people who made such a big, fucking deal out of virginity and the first time and how it was so important and would change your life forever. No, it didn't. It really, really didn't. All it meant was, hey, I'd had sex. I was still the same person, with the same thoughts and passions and ideas and problems and whatever as I had been before. So, what was the big deal?

The idea that everyone is running around having all this hot, crazy sex? Bullshit. Some people are, I'm sure, but I don't know these people. Their life doesn't look anything like mine or most of the people I know. Most of the people I know my age are focused on work and paying the bills, not trying to get laid. So, if someone is a virgin at 35 or 40? So what?

The truth is, if you're enthusiastic and engaged and willing to talk to your partner and find out what they like, it's unlikely anyone is going to be able to tell you're a virgin. The pressure to be amazing the first time is stupid. No one can live up to it, but that doesn't mean it has to be awful. I wouldn't have a problem dating a virgin -- unless they were hyper-religious and wanted to convert me. But that wouldn't be about them being a virgin, that'd be about them being fundyish.

Also, we seriously need to revisit our definition of sex. Just because someone hasn't had PIV sex, doesn't mean they're a virgin or inexperienced. There is soooo much sex that can be had without penetration, to limit your defination seems counterproductive to me.

Labels: childhood trauma, religion, sex

WARNING: This post is a bit more 'Dear Diary' than usual. Read at your own peril. You have been warned. Don't bitch at me because I get a little emotional.

Lately, it seems all my friends are dating. A lot. Not a single one of my friends seems to be dateless. It's strange to me, because I'm not dating. I'd like to, I think, but it just doesn't seem to happen for me. And I'm pondering a bit why that is.

Attraction is a tricky thing. Personally, I've noticed I have 'types' that I get hooked on. I'm trying to work out just why I like what I like, but I can't always put my finger on it. Physically, I like men with wide shoulders, dark hair and dark eyes. I like women with dark hair, too. Big, expressive eyes. Lush lips. Plenty of curves. I want a partner I can really get my hands on, really feel. I don't like super-skinny, because I'm honestly afraid I'll hurt them. But attraction isn't strictly physical. There's something about a person. Something about the way he smile or she laughs. I like women with attitude, who are certain of who they are, a little aggressive. I prefer my men on the sensitive side, but not wimpy or spineless.

What makes a person attractive? What makes me attractive to other people? And frankly, why isn't it working lately? (I'm not intending a rant here. I'm just a bit caught offguard how suddenly, everyone I know has gone from being happily single to being in a Date-a-thon. If I go a bit off tangent, forgive me.)

I fight, as most fat people do, against the society-implanted impuse to believe I'm single because I'm fat. This is demonstratable untrue. I have always been fat, but I haven't always been single. These friends who are dating? None of them are skinny women. Ergo, fatness itself is not a detractor. And I'm pretty open about what I find attractive too, even though I do have preferred types.

So how does it happen? What makes one person click with another? My friends tell me I'm too cautious and they are probably right. And yet, I can't escape wanting to be wanted. It's a human enough reaction, but for some reason part of me feels....annoyed by it. I'm complete on my own. I'm perfectly capable of handling my life and all it's many, many fuck-ups.

Part of me is angry. Not that I'm single. That's fine. But part of me is angry that I've gone through so much on my own, how dare anyone else presume to know what that's like? How dare they come into my life now? Where were they when I needed them? Where were they when I was on a revolving door of doctors and tests and lab results and medications? Where were they when I was in so much pain I couldn't move? Where were they when I cried myself to sleep night after night because everyone thought I was crazy, but I knew I was sick? It's almost like, if she/he couldn't be bothered to show up then, why do I need them now? It's a whole irrational feeling, I'm aware, and yet there it is. I went through the hardest period of my life on my own. It wasn't easy, but I did it. And I survived and created something decent for myself out of that mess I was working with. So, now, what could a partner offer me?

And yet, another part of me is scared. What if I meet someone and they don't value what I've been through? What if I open up and trust someone and they don't realize just how huge those experiences were? And will continue to be, seeing as how I've got a chronic illness? Or if I meet someone when I'm healthy and then get sick and they bolt? Sure, it's survivable, but why would I want to do that?

Of course, I won't date assholes. I'm repulsed by them, truthfully. So those fears are, mostly, unfounded. But they show up, every time. I think I've dampened the part of me that registers attraction. It's been ages since I've meet anyone I was geniunely attracted too. Why is that? Is it because I'm really not attracted to that many people? Or is it because of some deeper fear that just won't let me go there? Is that what people are picking up on? I've been told all my life, by men anyway, that it's clear I don't need them. Which is true. I don't need another person in my life, but that doesn't mean I don't want one.

Does wanting trump needing? In my mind, it does. I'm much rather be wanted than needed. Needing means there's a task, a role to be filled. Which means anyone could do it. Wanting is more specific, it's tailored to the person. You want me because I'm me, not because I'm there. Is it possible to want someone with all their flaws? No one is perfect, yet it seems that's what people are expecting. Is it so strange that I prefer people with flaws? That I like them? That I mistrust 'perfection' on it's surface?

Labels: relationships, sex

I'm skeptical of this report. I need to track down the center that did the study, to evaulate any potential bias they may have. But frankly, I just don't buy it. Music with sexually explicit/degrading lyrics leads to early teen sex? You know, I just don't believe it. I was a teenage metal head (which would be a great name for a book) and, listening to the stuff now, the lyrics were pretty misogynistic and I didn't have sex until I was 19.

The more often teens listen to sexually degrading songs — marked by obscenities and stereotypes of women as sex objects and men as sexual predators — the likelier they are to have sex at an early age, according to a new study.

A sex drive is, of course, a natural thing for adolescents, but the Rand Corp. study released Monday points out that engaging in intercourse too early can lead to unwanted pregnancies and sexually transmitted diseases, or STDs, making the matter a public health concern.

“People have been concerned about the sexual content of music lyrics for decades. The concern is not new,” said the study’s leader, Steven Martino, a psychologist. “What’s new here is that we conducted a study that as closely as possible establishes a connection between the type of music kids listen to and their sexual behavior.

Now, I'm not going to argue that kids -- or anybody, really -- should be indulging in a musical diet of sexual degradation. I'm all for keeping track of what your kids are listening too and, if it gets too rough, putting the kabash on it. (Much to my shame. I rebelled against my parents for doing just that.) I'm an adult. Some of the stuff I listen to, I'm not letting my young niece or cousins hear. Or at least not without me being right there with them, to talk to them about what's being said and how it would really play out in RL, ya know?

That said -- music isn't making kids have sex at a younger age. No way. If it had that power, I'd have been making like a bunny by age 12.

Not to say teens won't blame some of their choices on music. (Or tv or the book they read or whatever.) I remember, my senior year in high school, riding on a bus with some classmates. We were, of course, listening to the radio. One song came on, some romantic thing that I couldn't stand, and the girl sitting next to me makes this coy remark about the song "making" her do things. And even at that age, I was smart enough to know that was bullshit.

And, being cheeky, I told her as much. She insisted she'd only done what she'd done (though she wouldn't tell me what it was exactly) because of the song on the radio.

Riiiiight. Because hormones have nothing to do with it. Because social station, the imagination, sheer curiosity, a sense of rebellion, of sheer teenage invulnerability had nothing to do with it. Uh-huh.

“The lyrics we categorized as degrading are especially degrading in their treatment of women, but nevertheless girls were affected in the same way boys were. The more they listened to music with degrading sexual content, the sooner they initiated sexual activity,” Dr. Martino said.

The study, which first appeared in this month’s edition of the scientific journal Pediatrics, was funded by the National Institute of Child Health and Human Development and performed by researchers from Rand Health, a health policy research group. The scientists were based in Pittsburgh, Santa Monica, Calif., and Los Angeles.

Do you think maybe those girls were lacking other things in their lives? Maybe it's not the music, stupid, but the society. Maybe it's the fact that girls get told, from the time they're old enough to listen, that their role is to be secondary. That they're here to perform for men. That their self-worth is directly tied to how many men they can get affection from. That they're nurturers and mothers and really, let the men do all the thinking, won't you just stand there and look pretty? Girls are given very narrow parameters for their lives. They have to be thin and pretty and not too smart and not too ambitious. They have to be supportive girlfriends or wives. They're supposed to differ to the man's judgement.

Bullshit.

It's not the music, as bad as it may be. A girl who doesn't know who she is, whose never been allowed to develop a true self, isn't going to be able to stand up for herself. She isn't going to know she's allowed to say no. And maybe, she's a little too ashamed of that fact to acknowledge it. So it's easier for her, and society, to blame the music she hears than to admit that we've failed our sisters and daughters and nieces horribly.

Labels: crime, music, sex

Why, oh why, don't they hold one of these down here?

Masturbate for Charity -- it's a win for everyone.

Being a prisoner of Deep Red Jesusland, I've never heard of these, even though they've apparently been held stateside. Probably by those liberal commie queers in San Fran. (Oh, my people, how I miss you!) They're making a movie out of it, so maybe I can get off Netflix. Or, ya know, take part here. To express my solidarity for the cause. Whoohoo. When's my new Adam and Eve order getting here?

But seriously, 55 minutes out of every hour? Are you allowed lube? You'd have to switch hands, because you'll get cramps. Or pull muscles. For those of us with arthritis, well....good thing they allow toys. And would your friends be allowed to help ya out? A little mutual masturbating for the cause?

And I must tip my hat to the person who can rub it for almost nine hours straight. It's all good, but come on, I can't do anything for that long without zoning out.

So, my friends, August 5 -- join in in solidarity with the other wankers of the world!

(Also, check out the winged penis here . It's just too much.)

Labels: funny, sex

Molly has an excellent post on the benefits of modern marriage to women. And she's got some good points. I just...I have issues with marriage personally and I'm not sure even the promise of an equitable divorce can coax me out of them.

My marriage issues are kind of strange, I suppose, given that practically everyone in my family has a history of marriage success. There have been exactly two divorces in my family and both were caused by an abusive spouse. So, I've got lots of examples of good, functioning, equitable marraiges. And I still can't bring myself to take that step.

I came close once. I was vastly in love with a man I dated in college. I could see the two of us together longterm (and well, we were. For nearly seven years.) and yet...and yet I just couldn't do it. He knew that too. He told me once, if he thought I'd say yes, he'd have asked me to marry him after our first year together. But he never did, because he knew I'd say no. We lived together for several years though. And that, maybe, is what really sealed my opposition to marriage.

See, I was in school full time and working, so I made all the money. And he was in school full time, but not working. So, he was home a lot more than I was. And it always seemed to me that I was paying for everything. I paid the rent, I had the car, I bought groceries, I paid for our nights out and for renting videos. Hell, I even paid for all the birth control. (Which, frankly, I will continue to do. If I pay for it, I know we've got it, so none of this "Oh, I don't have a condom. Just this once won't hurt..." shit.) It built a great deal of resentment in me. He would get to be home while I was working and he'd read or watch tv or play on the computer or hang out with friends and...the dishes wouldn't get done, the laundry wouldn't get done, the vacuuming wouldn't get done...and I'd come home and he'd be all snuggly and kissy and I was just so tired and pissed off that nothing had gotten done at the house....And when I finally got on him enough to get a job, he found one in another town, which meant he had to move and that really spelled the end for us. Because I got my life back. I got my freedom to do what I wanted back. I could do the dishes at midnight if I wanted. Or I could skip them. If I wanted, it wasn't a forced thing.

And then, I started to get really, really sick. And he wasn't there. He wanted to be, I think, but he was working in another town and could only come up on the weekends. And at first, it was fine. He'd take care of me and we'd be together and it was okay. Then it got to where...he wanted to be with our friends, not staying home taking care of a very sick girlfriend. And there goes more resentment, more anger, more certainity that this whole relationship thing wasn't for me. Eventually, he moved to Texas and that was it for us.

It took me a few years to get over that, but I did. And I meet another man who I just loved. I can't explain how much I loved this man. It was...it was scary, actually. He was great, he understood me and he didn't care that I was sick. It was amazing. But as good as it was, we also fought like crazy. No one has ever made me feel as incredible or as awful as he did. There was no middle ground with us, we were either on top of the world or tearing each other's throats out. I know now, it was a very unhealthy relationship, but at the time...at the time it was like a drug. We'd finally reached a sort of even balance when he moved. Literally left the country. He was originally from Europe and he just went home. Just...gone. And he didn't even tell me he was leaving. No goodbye, nothing. Just, one day he was there, the next he was gone. He sent me an email when he got home, saying it would have been too hard for him to tell me goodbye in person.

Seriously. Fucking hell. Just...poof. One day it's 'you're my best friend' the next it's 'Hey, anyone seen K?' Arg.

So, after that, I kinda decided this relationship thing? It doesn't work for me. (Actually, there was at least one other man who did something similar to me, but two examples should do, no?)

So, for me, the thought of a long-term/marriage relationship is possibly the most frightening thing on the planet. In the end, material things don't matter that much to me. I can get another car, find another apartment, get new furniture, pay off credit cards, whatever. But the emotional damage a divorce/breakup can do is just...I know I can survive them, but how many times should I be expected to?

And yes, I realize not all men are this way. Not all women are, either. And I believe, should I meet someone that I really felt drawn to, that I'd be able to have some kind of relationship. But the thought of taking vows? It just....I don't know that I could.

Because after the vows comes the expectations. Where are we going to live? When are we having children? (Uh, never. Sorry.) What happens when I start to get sick again? What happens when/if I get so sick I can't work? How are we going to pay the bills? How are we going to blend our families? What happens when my father decides he hates him? (And he will. I have yet to find anyone good enough for me, according to my father.) What happens when his mother decides she hates me?

I know, intellectually, that all those things can be worked out. I know, because I've seen it. But I haven't been able to live that sort of relationship. I wish I could, but I don't seem to be able to manage it.

Marriage to me feels like a trap. It feels like I'd be giving up who I am to become A Wife. My poor mother...for the longest time, she was always 'Zan's mother' or 'Lee's wife'. She wasn't herself, ya know? People didn't seem to know her name or what she did or what she liked. She was always seen in reference to someone else. That was so very unfair. And I thought, no one is ever going to do that to me. No one is ever going to not know my name, not like that. I'm never going to live my life for someone else.

And yet, my parents have a happy, stable marriage. They've been married for 35 or 36 years. So clearly, they know something I don't. My brother has been married for probably 8 years now. They're happy. My paternal grandparents were married until my grandfather died. They seemed happy. (Of course, my grandmother is perfectly happy on her own too.) So, I don't know. It's such a deeply personal issue, it seems almost wrong to bring political views into it. (There's certainly room to critque the historical problems with marriage for women. Even critique modern problems too. Maybe it's me, but my objections to marriage, for myself, are much more personal than that.)

So, where does that leave me? Am I fated to be single for the rest of my life? On one hand, I don't really mind that too much. I'm happy enough and I can certainly take care of myself. On the other hand, it would be nice to have someone to come home to. It would be nice to have someone I could count on when I get sick. But marriage isn't a guarantee of those things, it's not some magic pill like a lot of people seem to believe. So, I just don't know.

Labels: marriage, relationships, sex