The Wrong Kind of Paintbrush
When I’m not at work or in class for my law degree, I spend a lot of my time in my apartment. Most of that time is spent either on the computer or in bed watching television. I know, I’m ridiculously lazy. There’s few legal shows I can get into watching any more, thanks to the ridiculousness that is legal show writing. The one kind of show I can get interested in is the true crime show.
They’re on pretty much every network channel and quite a few cable channels. Lately though, I’ve been noticing a disturbing trend that I would like to buck, and one I would definitely like to debunk.
It seems like, in almost every episode of these type of shows the crime that is profiled has some “evil” sexual component. Expanding on that, there are several common themes. The first is that the perpetrator or suspect was involved in “evil, satanic and kinky” sexual acts. There is a hint of truth to the story line these shows are trying to perpetuate. From what I understand, a lot of crime has a sexual component to it, most of which isn’t obvious unless you understand the mind of the perpetrator. I’m not talking just rape here. That being said, just because a person is involved in kinky sexual acts does not automatically mean they are more likely to commit a crime. Does it play a factor in predicting future criminal acts? I will admit it does, even with my limited knowledge of criminal profiling.
Another common theme I’ve noticed, is that the victim is somehow less important and more deserving of whatever happened to them. Let’s back that gravy train up right now. Nobody deserves to have a crime committed upon them. Not now. Not ever. For any reason. And yet, somehow these shows seem to victim blame big time. Whether the victim was a sex worker of any kind, a single mother, or into “kinky sexual games”, there always seems to be something that the victim did that caused the perpetrator to have a reason to justifiably harm them. Victim blaming, in general, is something I absolutely despise, but particularly in the kinky context. So you like sex, and you like doing something other than missionary sex in the dark, while you close your eyes and think of England. That doesn’t justify it, or mean you are less than a person.
But the biggest and most annoying overarching theme that I despise, and has practically turned me off to this genre of crime shows in general, is the idea that all kink is somehow wrong. Whenever the topic of kink or bondage is brought up, it’s instantly brought up in the negative context. Whoever writes these shows paints an entire community with a broad brush. Instead of saying how giving the kink community is, how accepting and how open it is, they say everybody is like those select individuals who take what the kink community preaches and twists it. In every community of people there will be those who choose to not “toe the line” so to speak, and instead want to act out. To say any different, is to do a disservice to every community of similar people out there.
The majority of the kink community is not “evil,” “perverted” or “satantic.” We are genuinely welcoming people, with a love of something that’s not necessarily considered normal. Of course, there’s that general question of what is “normal” in the first place. There are deviants in a community of what a majority of society might consider deviant. But the grand majority are good people.
In a world where those who are non-kinky are seeing these messages, I want to be an advocate and an example of what good kinky people can be. When you look at me, you don’t automatically see “deviant bondage goddess.” I’m the girl next door, more likely to be baking cupcakes and walking a puppy, at least outwardly. Inwardly though, I’m as kinky as you can find. I am a law student. I hold a steady job. I’m a good person who does good things for people I love. Just because I have a love of leather, latex and pain doesn’t make me a bad person, a criminal, or somehow deserving of a violent crime.
That all being said, I do understand the role of these true crime shows. They look for sensationalism; creating drama where there wasn’t any in real life. They play up what their viewers or readers (in the case of published writing) might want to see. But writers of these shows can do it in a way that doesn’t paint all members of the kink community with the “wrong” brush. We are your neighbors, your friends, and your co-workers. We crave and deserve acceptance in the human community as a whole. We are not monsters who dance around fires and practice Satanism, while drawing blood, and pillaging and raping cities. I implore you, true crime show writers: Please don’t paint us as such.
Read moreLook Inward, Not Outward
It’s probably because I don’t buy into the belief that advertising, and portrayals of women in the media, lead to objectification and bad self esteem. Guess what? I see all that stuff too. I see the images of skinny women with big boobs and tiny waistlines plastered on television screens, billboards, and advertisements. I understand the intent behind them too, unlike most people I’ve encountered. They are designed to make people feel bad about themselves. “Well, I feel like crap, but maybe if I buy this (fill in the blank product name) I’ll feel better, and look like that.” That is what the advertising is trying to put in your head. Once you recognize that, and look past it, you can enjoy the images for what they are – an attempt to sell products.
Media does not reflect what society is like. It’s a sad, but true fact. Media reflects, what in an optimal world, we would like to be. It pulls those little thoughts out of your head that even the best of us don’t like to admit we have, and puts those smack dab, front row for you to see. Media takes things we never like to admit we like, and blows them up to a grand scale. If you don’t like what you see on screen, don’t watch it. Simple as that. Just don’t bitch and moan that the whole of it should be pulled, and instead replaced with every day images. We like watching the drama, the extreme, the unusual, and the small segment of society that actually looks like what we see portrayed. Would you watch a show about a housewife from Kansas carting her kids around to soccer practice and doing her grocery shopping? No offense to housewives from Kansas, but that’s not exactly what I call thrilling television.
I will admit that media portrayals get me down sometimes. I don’t look like what I see on television or in movies. The difference is, I don’t let it keep me down. I take what I see and process it, quickly learning that I have to take responsibility for my own self esteem. I see the backlash against the advertising of “unrealistic images” as just another symptom of a society that has lost the concept of personal responsibility. Instead of saying, “How can I fix this?” we blame others for every ailment and problem we see around us under the sun. “Someone else should fix this.” It’s the battle cry of the person who has ceased to take responsibility for their own actions, emotions and esteem.
We don’t like to think about it, but in the end, there is no one who can do a better job of fixing our own lives than us. Look inward, not outward. Sit down, and realistically figure out what to do. It is your life and your body. It’s easy to say, but you need to love yourself. You need to emphasize your good qualities, and not focus on the negatives. Become secure in your own body, however you need to do that. If it’s avoiding all advertising, go for it.
The point is that advertising, and all the other external influences in the world, will not affect you if you don’t let them. You are special. You are unique. You are treasured. You are rare. There is only one of you on the entire planet, be proud of that. Don’t hide behind whatever image you’ve chosen to portray. Be loud, proud, and out. Show the world how beautiful you are inside and the outside will follow. That goes hand in hand with my belief that people that are ugly inside will always be ugly outside, no matter how “pretty” they may appear. You are beautiful on the outside to the world if you are beautiful on the inside. Mothers, teach your daughters these lessons. Pass it on to the next generation. Parental influence is so underrated and so underappreciated.
So I guess, in a way, I’m a good feminist by my own view of feminism. I’ll continue to advocate for personal responsibility and loving one’s self. Nobody can stop me on my own little warpath.
Holidays? Sorry, Mom. I’ll Spend It Alone.
Family. Simple as that. The holiday season means I have to spend an inordinate amount of time with my family. I remember a time when I used to love being around them. I’d look forward to it. I mean, granted that time was probably before I got into my teen years but there was still that time. For as long as I can really remember, the holiday season meant having absolutely nothing to do other than spend pretty much all of my waking hours with my family.
I come from a very small family. It’s just my parents, my brother (who is unfortunately incarcerated and has pretty much on his own since I was 5-ish), and me. We have no family close in the area. My paternal grandmother is so far into the depths of Alzheimer’s that she doesn’t recognize her own children. My maternal grandparents live in Florida, 2000 miles away from my parents and me. I could say I’m sad about that, but quite frankly as time as progressed the generational gap has grown to a point that we have absolutely no common experiences. I can’t talk to them about school because they don’t understand the intensity of law school. I can’t talk to them about current events because they think everybody is out to screw the old people. I can’t talk to them about my friends because they judge them. I’ve tried talking to them for more than five minute intervals and it just makes my brain pulse with pain.
And my parents? Ah, here we have the root of my hate of the holidays. I go to school 35 minutes away from my parents so pretty much as soon as classes and finals end every semester they expect me to drive right home and return to the bosom of my childhood home. It’s a place I’ve just simply grown out of at this point. My warm fuzzy feelings when I get there last about twenty minutes and then I want to leave. That’s about the time it takes for annoyance at pretty much everything they do to set in. My mother picks at the things I eat. She says I wear too much make up, but when I wear next to none she laments I look 12 years old and I’ll never attract a husband (Newsflash, Mom! Ever considered I may want a wife?) I’m subjected to rant after rant about the state of American politics and expected to agree that homosexuals don’t deserve to marry or have the same rights as “normal God-fearing people.” My dad is the sane one of my parents. He understands I have my own life and that if I want to go do something, I have every right to. My mother wants to tag along and see what I’m doing 24/7. She still asks me when I’m going to be home if I go out … at 2pm … to shop. God forbid I want to actually do anything with friends at night when I’m home.
Okay, I know. I’m really grateful to have parents who care. Don’t get me wrong, I completely agree. I’m grateful for the opportunities they’ve given me and the lifestyle I’ve had my whole life. I just don’t like being reminded of it every five minutes it seems. Or have my college degree put down because it didn’t come from the school they both graduated from.
But what about the holiday season particularly emphasizes all this? The close quarters. The weeks I’m off of school and expected to hang out with them every moment. I’m talking over a month. It’s the whole spirit of the season they expect me to get into, though we don’t do anything in the way of holiday parties, gifts or decorations. A few years ago I received an electronic toothbrush, an office chair and a calendar for Christmas. “But you need those!” as my mother exclaimed when I expressed my frustration. Yes, Mother, I did. But in my mind Christmas isn’t about getting people things they “need.” It’s about gifting them with something they’d otherwise not get for themselves. It’s about asking them what they want. Not necessarily lavish presents, but something out of the ordinary. We’re just not a big Christmas gift family at all. My parents think practical; I think unusual. The best present my father received lately? I gave him tax software still wrapped in the bag from the big box electronics retailer and he just about did a jig. This year I’ve requested cash instead of anything tangible. We’ll see if my request is honored.
This year my mother is prodding me to go on vacation with them to a small house they recently purchased in Florida about ten minutes away from my grandparents. Five years ago I would have jumped at the opportunity. Florida in January? Heck, that has to be better than Illinois in January. But then I took a step back and looked at my options. Spend New Years and the two weeks afterward in glorious solitude. Absolute silence. Nobody nagging me, telling me to be grateful. Nobody bugging me that I don’t like spinach, so why am I ordering it? Those two weeks I could work and make money that supposedly I need to save according to them anyways. Two week holiday vacation with my parents? Sorry, Mom but I think I’ll pass this time. Even if it is my last real winter vacation from school.
But the absolute worst thing about the winter holiday season? Christmas music. I just can’t stand the crap. It makes me get a little twitchy. I’m the one walking in the aisles at stores in December with a shaking hand and a twitchy eye.
If you love spending with time with your family during the holiday season, congratulations. You’re a stronger person than me. If you coo over Cousin Sophie’s new baby and sit around telling war stories with Grandpa Mike, enjoy! I’m not trying to discourage people from enjoying what they enjoy about the holiday season. I am saying that there those among us who absolutely despise the season. We’d rather be working and making money than spending time with the families we’d prefer not to see. We’re the ones who turn ugly holiday sweaters and don’t bother with wrapping presents when we’re forced to give them. The misers. The grinches. We’re out here and we’re real.
Chastity – Lessons from This Girl’s Nunnery
- Temptation comes from every angle when you don’t want it, but once you take the idea of sex out of the equation, my interest in these temptations just isn’t there.
About a week after I formally established my vow, offers for sex started pouring in. An old play partner was going to be in town and wanted to see me. He’s a nice guy and we had fun before, but I found I just wasn’t as interested. I could have very easily hopped in my car and let him have his way with me. My heart wasn’t in it. I knew I was looking for something more than just meaningless sex and I wouldn’t find it with him. Soon after that I began corresponding with a nice submissive boy who was interested in me becoming his dominant owner. He knew of my pledge and respected it, and at first I was really interested in the idea of the whole thing. As time has worn on, I find myself becoming less and less interested. Even without sex on the table, it doesn’t seem worth it for me.
It’s so easy to pass on these temptations lately. I know what I’m looking for and what I’m not. These temptations are wrapped in the cloak of mindless sex, definitely something not on my list of things to find. Knowing I’m not going to get anything out of the encounter other than an evening of probably mediocre sex at best just doesn’t do it for me. Hell, six weeks ago I would have been clamoring for any dick I could get, but now I want a dick that isn’t attached to a dick.
- My priorities have changed.
Now it’s not about the sex in a relationship for me. It’s not about the kink. It’s not about how many times we’re naked between the sheets. It’s about establishing that connection with someone and building upon it in a healthy way.
The one time I got close to breaking my vow, I walked away easily. I was in a private office with a friend who has been flirting with me for upwards of two years, showing him my recently pierced nipples and the vertical clit hood piercing he didn’t know about. Not a soul in sight and a nice big desk in front of us. Three condoms in my purse just in case. He saw the goods and I just shut down. I knew I wasn’t going to get anywhere with him and while I know it would have been fun to just say “screw the vow! We’ve been flirting for two years!,” nothing became of it. We walked out and later in the day I told him he probably wouldn’t get another chance because I’d wised up to the fact he wasn’t what I wanted.
- I don’t miss the sex, but I do miss the intimacy.
There’s something to be said about laying in bed with someone, naked and bared before them. It’s a primal thing almost. Knowing they have seen you at a very vulnerable moment. That’s what sex was for me. Showing my vulnerabilities. About looking in someone’s eyes and knowing they want to be there with you in the moment. If someone won’t look you in the eye during sex, that’s probably a bad sign by the way. A little bit of wisdom I’ve picked up along the way here. I’ve found nothing better in life than the feeling of skin on skin. Just laying there, trailing your fingers along parts of another person’s body and having them do the same to you. Feeling the dimples and curves in their body and learning the secrets to another. So often I would rush through the sex just to get to those moments, I’ve learned. Where your hearts are pumping fast and you’re in that blissful post-sex bubble where nothing can break the mood.
The last few days I’ve been craving just being held. Even the strongest of vows and the strongest of wills wears on you. As humans we crave human touch in one form or another and not having it, whether by choice or by happenstance, changes you. It makes you look inward and almost curl in on yourself if you don’t get any form of touch.
- This being alone, being strong thing, it is wearing on me.
When I first “signed up” so to speak for this journey I’ve embarked on, I figured I could do it alone. After all, that was the whole point of what I’m doing. Learning to be happy alone and learning to love myself without depending on another’s attention. Female empowerment at it’s finest. Girl power! Yeah, it’s not going so well. Being strong and independent only goes so far for me. I can’t do it for long. I’m not the strong and independent woman I hold myself out to be most days. I’m this scared little kitten, just wanting to find love and looking for it in all the wrong places.
In conjunction with this point, I’ve learned that I’m not as dominant as I thought I was. A few months ago I was a pure submissive. A snarky one, but a submissive type. Dominance was emerging as a force in my personality and I figured I could continue that as the days and months went on, but that part of me is waning. It’s not something I want any more. I don’t want to have to be this strong woman 24/7. I want the comforting embrace of submission and control. Someone to let me be me, but control things I can’t handle. Dominance is not instinctive path. It may be good for a dalliance every now and then, but ultimately I am a submissive and not a dominant.
- I’ve reconnected with friends I had grown apart from and parted with friends who don’t share my new values.
In my quest for the ultimate sexual encounter, I was losing friends. Not listening to the people I should have. Instead, I was idolizing people I shouldn’t and following a path not fit for me. These people I’ve reconnected with? They’re my true friends. They’ll support me regardless of my sex life. They don’t care if I’m a sex toy reviewer, a kink friend, a chaste nun or a lonely spinster with a hundred cats. The ones I’ve parted with walk a different path in life than I’ve chosen for myself now and that’s okay. I won’t discourage anybody from following a path they desire, but it wasn’t for me. I recognized that and I’m much better off.
Do I have an end to my vow any time soon? I don’t see it ending any time in the near future. I have come a long way, but I still have a very long way to go. I’ve learned a lot about myself, but I want to learn more. The time doesn’t feel right. I’ll let you know when it does. Until then, I’m still under my self imposed proverbial lock and key.
The Assumed Degradation of Women in BDSM
I do a lot of reading. Tons of it. Whether for law school or for personal pleasure, there’s always something I’m reading, digesting, analyzing and discussing. More often than not I enjoy what I read. Well, maybe not as much for the law school stuff. The Uniform Commercial Code and various state probate acts don’t exactly make for stimulating bed time material.
All too lately though I’ve been seeing an interesting and perhaps troubling crop of articles pop up on my “interesting items” feed I maintain. Every so often I see one of these type of articles and while I don’t comment, I do take note and file away the topics discussed for future writings and articles of my own.
So what is this troubling topic? It is something I find very important as a woman who identifies with the submissive mindset. It’s the assumption that women in BDSM situations are automatically being degraded by their mere participation in the scene itself.
It’s the age old debate that has played out for about as long as BDSM has been on the public radar. People far more intelligent and far more educated than me have written tomes on the patriarchical structure of society as a whole and I find that paradigm applicable in BDSM situations and those who look in on them from the outside. It’s this inbred paternalism that views women who participate in BDSM, even those who participate consensually, to be subjects of mass degradation. These women are clearly being oppressed, shouts the vocal leaders of the group sharing this view. Look at their faces! Tears running down their face! Men standing over them with whips, crops, floggers, and paddles. These are instruments of torture, not pleasure!
While there is a nugget of truth in most things we say as humans, I find these statements to be derogatory themselves. As a submissive woman, I can genuinely say the only moments I have felt degraded were the moments I lost control of the situation and allowed myself to be degraded. These moments number in the single digits, probably even as few as can be found on one hand.
But there is something important to learn if you pay attention to my statement there. Even as a submissive woman I am the one who is in control of my situation. I think a lot of people forget that the more you look, the more you’ll realize that it is the submissive that controls a dominant/submissive relationship, romantic or otherwise. At least in my experience it has been the submissives who end up controlling. It is the submissive who willingly gives them self over to the dominant and the submissives who give up control of things they don’t feel are important in their lives. At the same time, the submissives have the ultimate say if the relationship continues in a proper dominant/submissive relationship. He or she always has that out if they find they are not happy with the situation.
People looking from the outside in to one of these relationships could mistake a submissive’s actions as being coerced or bullied, but more often than not I’ve found that submissives are happy in their lives and positions. These women, and men for that matter, are not being degraded. Sure, there is an aspect of BDSM that is degrading and some may find pleasure in the degradation fetish, but the relationship itself isn’t inherently degrading.
A proper dominant will help the submissive grow as a person. I have found that when I am in dominant/submissive relationships, I am more confident as a person, a professional, a student and most importantly a woman. I look back at the person I was before having experienced these relationships and the difference is noticeable. I was unsure of myself, wavering often among several options, unable to make decisions, and my confidence in myself was almost nonexistent. People who knew me then and know me now have remarked that the changes in me are apparent and fantastic.
That is what good dominants do for their submissives though. They boost their professional lives if the submissives choose to have them while maintaining the submissive’s personal lives for themselves. Giving up things you don’t feel are important to your life and allowing someone else to control those things opens up your docket for those more important things. You can focus on life’s pressing matters, I’ve found.
But I think the thing that annoys me the most about these commentaries I’ve read about the presumption of degradation is that the commentators don’t seem to have talked to any submissives in the first place. They look from the outside in on a world that either they have no experience with or very little experience. Without talking to a submissive and asking them if they feel degraded, how can you make an accurate observation or statement if you’ve never been in the same position or witnessed it for yourself. Making this judgment call does a disservice to those who have willingly entered into dominant/submissive relationships and continue to be in them. You are painting all submissives with the same brush when we are not all alike. We have our own motivations for entering this lifestyle. For most submissives I’ve talked to, I will admit there is an aspect of degradation to their kink play. But it’s degradation that they enjoy and get off on.
While someone may not understand the mentality of a submissive or identify with it, don’t be so fast to judge something you don’t know. Do some investigating. Talk to some submissives. Ask them if they feel degraded in a bad way. If the answer is yes, ask them why that is. It’s likely you’ll find that it’s because they’ve felt a loss of control beyond what they agreed to and feel comfortable with.
I don’t claim to have all the answers on dominant/submissive relationships. I do claim to present you with my experiences and implore you to look beyond the leather, the whips, the chains and the paddles. It is just a relationship. We just happen to have more fun toys.
A Vow I Never Thought I’d Take
On October 4, 2010, at 9:35 pm CST I took a vow of chastity. Me, the nymphomaniac and sex toy fiend. Me, the girl who has slept with every guy on a first date except two. Me, the girl who was House Girl at a sex party (offering the guests drinks, snacks and use of my body.)
I vowed as of that moment that I would not sleep with another person until it felt right. Not right in that “oh my god I’m so horny” kind of way but in that “this person will treat me as I wish to be treated and there will be mutual enjoyment” kind of way. Also as part of that vow I decided I wouldn’t fool around with or possibly even cuddle other person. There will be no sex in my champagne room until further notice.
As my date for the night I took my vow left my apartment, a lot of emotions and thoughts were hitting me. I stood in the shower washing the smell of him off me and my life came into focus.
I was using sex and the attention I received as sexual creature as a means of filling an emotional void that had long since been festering inside me. I get off on the attention of it. I get off on someone telling me I look good, that they want to bend me over a couch and pound me until I’m screaming. But that attention wasn’t fulfilling me in a way the proper attention should be fulfilling me. I’m a smart, well-educated, well-spoken, talented young woman on the verge of graduating from law school. I have so many other things going for me than what’s between my legs and the two massive boobs attached to my torso.
But those were the things I was choosing to focus on. Those were the things that were making me feel good about myself when they were only giving me empty satisfaction. The emotional void I was seeking to fill was only getting bigger. The right person for me will see all facets of me instead of merely the visual one. They’ll see past the lingerie, the sex toys, the big boobs, the butt and everything else. They’ll see my heart, my soul, my intelligence and my sense of humor.
To really be happy and work on solving the problems I have inside my own head I decided I needed to remove myself from the stimulus that was only perpetuating my problems. I needed full disclosure as a way of aiding the therapeutic process. Full disclosure to myself and full disclosure to the people around me who would support me no matter what image I chose to project.
In the search to find my way in life, I lost myself. I lost my way in life that I was on so long ago before I found the power of femininity. I want to go back to the days of innocence when “boys are icky” and cartoons are the best thing in the world. When life was simple and I didn’t have to worry about being discovered by risking more than I should have ever risked. I played my cards too loose and fast, risking things I don’t want to risk and definitely don’t want to lose.
As the hot water poured down on my naked skin that night in the shower, I felt like I was washing away a part of me I wasn’t proud of any more. I was washing away a personality I had assumed in the hopes people would like it when I realized it wasn’t who I wanted to be in the first place. All my life I’d played the role of someone else and now was no different. In high school I was the perfect student, even being voted “Teacher’s Pet.” In college I was the business student in the upper ¼ of my class of nearly 3,000. I the process of pleasing all those around me, I had not pleased myself, the most important person of all.
Now at 24 I’m in the midst of a huge identity crisis and looking for who I really want to be. I know I have a long road ahead of me and one that will be very difficult. But I feel like by making this vow to myself and removing myself from sexual situations that only left me feeling empty and unfilled, I can finally start on the long and arduous path to finding what I really want in life.
Friends have asked me why I’ve taken this vow. My answer? I’ve taken it for me. I’ve taken it for those around me. I’ve taken it for my future. I’ve taken it so I don’t end up as someone I hate many years down the road.
Until the time is right, my legs will stay crossed.
Changes of Attitude
When I was growing up, nobody really told me I was cute. Nobody really told me I was pretty. Nobody ever really told me I was going to “get all the boys when I grew up.” When I grew up, it was important to be smart than it was to be pretty. My grades were more important than my make up. My mother was a teacher and my father is an engineer. Neither of them were really popular with the opposite gender earlier in life so they passed on that view of life to me.
In the area I grew up in, there were some very important criteria to be considered pretty. You had to be tall, skinny and blond. I grew up in a fairly affluent suburban town where anybody who didn’t conform to that standard of beauty didn’t fit in looks wise.
I definitely didn’t fit into that category. I’m 4’10”, of stocky build and have mousy brown hair. As my peers around me shot up, I stayed the same height. We all gained weight at the same approximate rate, but they had a larger body frame to fit the same amount of weight on. All the other girls in high school were rail skinny and a size 0 or 2. At 4’10” I was a much larger size 6 or 8. I stick out like a sore thumb.
Throughout all of this I probably could have developed my own positive body image and sense of self worth, but it would have been fairly amazing for something like that too happen. In the age of Kate Moss, I found myself hating my body and hating the way I looked. I was the “thick” girl when realistically I was no such thing. I had a warped sense of body image for sure.
Years went by. Age 18 rolled past. When I was 19 I had a guy tell me word for word: “I can’t be with you because I’m not attracted to you.” That single moment set me back several years in my sense of self that was just starting to develop. A girl who didn’t see herself as attractive had just been told by someone she found attractive wasn’t attracted to her physically. Talk about disheartening.
So right about now you’re probably saying that I should have developed this body image and sense of personal image on my own. Let me tell you some more information. I was an only child who grew up watching a lot of television. What I saw on TV didn’t match what I saw in the mirror. I had a mother who never placed any importance on looking pretty and a father who said I’d look good if I lost ten pounds or so. I kid you not about that by the way. I still get razz about that to this day. I didn’t have the important external influences to help my internal body image.
Age 21 came and passed and I still really didn’t have any sense of my own looks. I was hidden behind the mousy brown hair, tomboy shirts and wide leg jeans. My senior year of college I started dressing a little better thanks to access to more funds from working and I started pursuing my own interests I’d secretly developed in sex. It would be another two years before I lost my virginity.
Since I graduated college, I can say I’ve come into my own much more. I’ve shrugged off the little girl who constantly thought of herself as ugly. I look in the mirror in the morning, see my body right out of the shower and say “wow, you’re looking really good!” I still don’t fit in that tall, skinny and blond body model of my childhood, but I’m okay with that. Sure, my hair is lighter thanks to the helping hand of Lady Clairol, but it took me time to grown into my own skin. I like my “thicker” legs and have received numerous compliments on them. It’s only been in the last year or so I’ve been comfortable enough to wear shorts that weren’t past my knees during the warmer summer months. I’m now proudly sporting short shorts like all the other girls, no matter how my legs look.
My body image mainly started to take a turn around when I started exploring my own sexuality. By getting in touch with my own body, I grew to love it without the need to have those external influences. When I found what I liked, didn’t like and what I might like, I found I loved my body. Would I like to be those ten pounds thinner my father always encouraged me to lose? Sure. But I don’t need that now.
My body image took time to grow into. I was one of those late bloomers. We are out there. In the time I’ve come into my own skin, I’ve come a very long way. It’s been a very personal and yet fairly public one at that. I’ve talked about it with a lot of people and been happy to find that there are many women out there like me.
To those who are not quite there with their own body image, I wish you much luck. Don’t let anybody push you and try not to feel discouraged if you’re not the spitting image of what you see on television. There are very few who are like that. Remember there’s a reason for that. It’s okay if it takes you longer than those around you. Just know that we’ve all been there at one time or another. I know I certainly have.
Read moreKnowledge is Power
Knowledge Is Power
Recently, I went shopping. Not that shocking if you know me. I’m a bit of a shopaholic. Where did I go? The local adult toy store. Also not that shocking. I’m there so often I’ve been offered a job and the manager knows me by name. This time though, I had company on my little outing.
I work in a leasing office for a landlord and recently the property owner hired another office girl to help out in our busy move out, move in season. Being in a college town means we have twice the number of whiny college students complaining to use every August. The girl he hired is a niece of the office manager and she’s really nice. I expected to dislike her because she was taking work from me, but she is actually really nice and really open minded. The first day I met her I told her about my side job of reviewing sex toys and being a sex blogger. She laughed and said that she never would have thought I do that but wasn’t grossed out like some people have been when I tell them.
As the summer progressed she and I got closer. I showed her my toy collection and instructed her on some sex toy basics. After all, I feel it’s important to at least be armed with knowledge of the topic even if you’re not interested. Knowledge is power. I take it upon myself to instruct people who are otherwise ignorant of the topic at least in the basics of body safe materials and lubes. Those that are interested in learning, that is.
One day after work last week she and I went on a “field trip” to the local sex toy store. It’s small but decently stocked. Sadly they don’t have the quality toys and products I prefer so I don’t often purchase things from there as much as I used to when I, myself, was ignorant of the properties of sex toys. We perused the boxes of products hanging on the walls, laughing at some of the more outlandish products. I shared stories with her of products I’ve tested and products I’ve liked. I guided her away from the toys with materials that are not body safe (ugh, jelly toys!) and towards better quality toys that will stand up to use.
What I found amusing through all of this is that she’s 18 and heading off to a very religious, very conservative college in a few days. She’s not very religious at all and in fact very liberal in her views. It just happens to be the college that gave her the best scholarships. We joked that she better get her pervy, kinky stuff now because there’s very little chance she’ll find it there. I gifted her with two quality vibes, one regular stick vibe and one bullet. Both are very quiet and perfect for dorm room use.
The whole thing got me thinking about this. Given that she is 18 I felt like I was corrupting her in a way. I’m eight years older than her. We giggled that I was her “fairy kinkmother” for gifting her such items before sending her on her way to college. I told her I felt bad for corrupting her somewhat and she assured me it was no big deal.
As her older friend I took it upon myself to arm her with good, correct information that would benefit her. Not only is knowledge power, it is also a way to counteract all the misinformation out there, of which there is plenty regarding sex and sex toys. As someone who was not allowed to even have the knowledge I’m so bestowing upon my good friend as a child, I think it’s very important that those of us in this community educate others. We don’t necessarily need to preach on the street corners, but if someone asks us for some help or demonstrates they perhaps don’t have the right information, I feel it’s important to correct and teach. There’s no harm in spreading correct information.
The first time I figured out how to use a condom was the first time I had sex. Not exactly what you call the right time to learn. I should have gone into it knowing what I needed to to be fully capable in that situation. I plan on taking my experiences as a sheltered child and turning it around to teach those who may have had a similar experience.
The more you know, the less you have to learn. I want everybody who possibly can learn to learn.
Read moreMarriage Does Not Equal Consent
Marriage Does Not Equal Consent
As a law student working for a public agency for the summer, I have the opportunity to participate in some very interesting court cases. Recently, I watched a trial in which a husband was trying to claim that he didn’t do anything wrong when he made unwanted sexual advances toward his wife with whom he was going through a divorce at the time.
Essentially the argument his attorney was trying to make was that because they were married, the wife presumably consented to any sexual advance her husband made towards her. That what he was doing was normal for them when they were “intimate” and “making love.” Having listened to testimony from both the wife who repeatedly stated under oath that she did not consent to this touching and the husband who repeatedly proclaimed this to be normal for their relationship, I found myself repulsed by the idea that any spouse would claim that the fact they are married automatically presumes consent.
It’s the old “there’s no such thing as marital rape” argument long made in the law. Now, I’m sure many of you are not lawyers nor have you had any legal training. I can assure you though, that there is little to no case law to support this assertion. The defense attorney in this particular case I watched tried to pull statements from a case dating as far back as 1835. Let’s just say the judge wasn’t buying it at all thankfully.
Why does this argument repulse me in every way possible? To me, consent is an essential element in all sexual activity, regardless of the marital status of those engaging in it. Even in the world of dominant and submissive relationships, a world I frequently find myself in, does consent play an extremely important role. In d/s relationships, I feel it is the submissive that holds the power. It is they who consent to being in such a relationship. A healthy d/s relationship in my mind is one where the dominant understands that the submissive is consenting to be there and consents that the dominant be the one “in control.” An intelligent dominant knows that the submissive can stop any play at any time and withdraw consent.
In “vanilla” relationships, consent is just as important. Just because a couple may be married does not mean that the woman automatically consents to every sexual advance her husband may make towards her. To think anything else would be to relegate women to second class citizens and throw the feminist movement in reverse several decades. As society has come to recognize, a married woman is not her husband’s property. She has every legal right he does under the law, separate and distinct from him. While I don’t consider myself a strong feminist, in this matter I definitely am.
Do I think a man has to stop and ask for permission before every sexual advance he may make towards his wife? No. But at the same time it’s a matter of being smart. If a woman is saying no in any way, whether verbal or non verbal, she is not consenting. Don’t be a jerk or worse do something illegal and persist in your efforts to have intercourse with her when she doesn’t want it.
Bottom line is that rape is rape, whether married or not. Don’t ever forget to receive consent for your actions or you may find yourself in my courtroom one day, a place you don’t want to find yourself.
Read moreOn Love, Lust and Infatuation
There’s been many a time I have found myself infatuated with someone. I find myself fascinated, thinking about them constantly and to be perfectly honest, somewhat obsessed with them. They’re constantly on my mind and the first thing I think about in the morning and the last thing I think about before I go to sleep.
Normally this wouldn’t be a problem, but when I really started thinking about it, I got worried. How am I supposed to tell the difference between being infatuated and being in love with someone? It’s so easy to confuse the emotions and feelings in each. In both you fee this deep desire for someone. They appear to be perfect and can do no wrong in your mind. You feel needed and wanted. There’s that physical attraction and quite frankly you could hump like bunnies for hours.
I’ve been infatuated many times. My infatuations come along almost once a month and they go just as quickly. I meet new people, I talk to them, and suddenly I find myself infatuated with them. Perhaps this is largely due to my obsessive and slightly addictive personality. When I collect something, I have to have every color in which it’s available. When I organize my closet, there are categories and areas for specific types of clothing. When I first went to Vegas, I found myself planted in front of the slots saying “just another $5!” Remind me never to try behaviors that are actually addictive. That won’t go over well at all.
I’m slowly learning the difference between love, lust and infatuation. For me, lust is mainly a physical attraction. Those are the one night stands where you wake up and hope that Mr. Hottie from last night is already gone because he sure as hell couldn’t make conversation. It’s that fire burning bright in the pit of your stomach, but it’s a fire that can’t be sustained for long. It’s the great phoenix that burns so bright it incinerates itself.
Infatuation is the mental equivalent of lust in my book. It’s the obsessive to my compulsive. It’s wanting to know everything about someone and wanting to talk to them for hours. It’s lusting after someone’s mind, but not necessarily their body. It can include physical aspects, though it doesn’t have to. But much like lust, infatuation fades. Unfortunately for me (or fortunately depending on how you look at it) infatuation fades quickly. Sometimes it fades even faster than lust. Ultimately though, infatuation cannot last by its nature alone. There needs to be something more to build a relationship on.
I’ve tried for many years to develop a proper definition of love, one that works for me. Love is something so personal, so private that it changes with every person in our life we love. It’s the love of a best friend, a family pet, a child, a parent or a significant other. Trying to define and describe love for me is like trying to specifically describe a taste on my tongue. It’s almost impossible. Only the people feeling that emotion can tell if it’s love or something else. Nobody can tell you different.
Try as I might, I tend to go with this working definition of love. It’s the combination of infatuation, lust and so much more. It’s being emotionally, physically and intellectually attracted to someone. It’s being able to trust them with your life and know that they will return that trust. They have not only earned it but they also trust you with their life. You can curl up with them and spend hours just talking without any need for sexual activity. It’s wanting to spend every minute of the rest of your life with someone and most importantly, it’s a feeling that lasts. Days, weeks, years pass and you still feel the same way about that special someone. It continues to burn bright long after you first feel it.
Sure, love can fade. Lust and infatuation can eventually change into love. That is the constantly changing dynamics of emotions. Time changes a lot of things, but the one thing I hope it doesn’t change is true love. I look forward to the day that I’m with someone where no matter how much time passes, that lust and infatuation I initially feel for them mixes and combines so thoroughly with the love I have for them that nothing else matters. The world can crumble around us, but we will still have each other.
When it comes right down to it, I think most relationships have a healthy mix of love, lust and infatuation. The best thing to do though is make sure they’re in balance. Make sure you don’t have too much of one and hopefully your relationships will last for a very long time.
Read moreBrighten her Mood!
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