Good Dyke Porn Is Good

I was thinking of that timeless lyric: "Hey fellas (yeah?)/fellas (yeah?)/Grab your left nut and make your right one jealous/"... and decided it needs a lolcat response. And a porn review to go with it. So, here!

Ha! Yes doodz, you now have to grab your own harbls... er nuts.

(Wait, does that even make sense? More importantly, do I care about the sense it does[n't]make?)

It ties in, though: straight folks should be jealous, whether they have nuts or not. I'm not sure they can appreciate this porn of queer fabulousness.

Okay, so maybe watching this awesome porn has got me in a weird, funky, freaky-ass mood. One might even call me Supafly. Or not.

Really, though, how can you not love a porn called "Superfreak" that involves the horny ghost of Rick James (portrayed spifftastically by the director, who is in fact a lady)? Well, maybe you can resist. I couldn't.

Yes, I found some feminist, lesbian, not-for-het-dudes porn, and all I can say is... I'll be in my bunk. Oh, and Dylan Rion can jump my freaky bones any day.

What? I'm a kinky little sex-obsessed perv in my spare time. And by "spare", I mean "all the".

Glad I could share that with you all.

From the Facebook Files

My friend said:

'The Vatican issues a prayer for Catholics to say before sex. Apparently shouting, "Oh God" at the end of sex isn't enough.'

September 2 at 10:32am · Comment · Like

Lemur:

Ooh, I know this one:
"Please god, forgive me for having sex with another willing adult and not letting the religious shame propagated by bitter celibate old white guys get the best of me. I know that God's plan does not involve humans having enjoyment not approved by aforementioned bitter old dudes. My bad. Amen."

That's it, right? I amaze me sometimes; it's like I'm psychic! LOL

What can I say? It was a really good moment. Also, I was funny. Go me.

Thoughts?

Is It Over Yet? Cause Now I'm Pissed.

Is this whole "OMGZ BDSM can DIAF" thing over yet? Can we talk about something else? I swear to Gaia I would rather sit and discuss the Jessica Simpson Weight Nontroversy (thanks Liss) than hear one more comment about how bdsm'ers are pathetic or need therapy or what the fuck ever.

I'm starting to get righteously pissed about this whole thing- because while lying in bed with my partner (after some awesome sex that left me bruised and sore, since you're wondering), I remembered something, and have been given permission to post it on here. Ferret didn't really think about sex til she met me. When we started to be physical with each other, in our late teens, there was a memorable episode wherein she and I both came to realize that she was both Dom and a sadist. She, having not much experience or knowledge about the sexual randomness that's out there, freaked. She freaked completely and wouldn't come near me afterward, afraid she'd hurt me. Afraid she couldn't control herself, that I'd hate her and think she was a monster. Afraid she was actually an abusive bastard who couldn't love anyone without hurting them. 

We worked it out- I got over the shock fairly fast and had a talk with her about BDSM, about how it can be okay, and about how I happened to share some of her feelings about sex and pain. We managed, and happily we found we had complimentary desires, and ten years later we still do. 

But if there hadn't been someone with her who understood? If there'd been someone who held the same views as, say, ND there that night? 

And if someone in the same place Ferret was in- that place of being afraid of yourself, denying that you want these things, hating yourself, wondering what kind of sick freak you are- happens to read that blog, especially the part about how all "those people" "need serious therapy" and "get off on torture" and should just "kill themselves"? What do you think that will do to them? What the fuck happens to that person?

How cruel is it to blast not just strong adults who understand their sexuality, but maybe trigger those people just discovering that side of themselves? How many people have you hurt, ND- really, cruelly, maybe destroyed, because you had to make judgements on a lifestyle you don't fucking understand and haven't really bothered to research? Do you know whether your words have driven any confused teenagers to "fucking kill themselves"? 

Is it worth it, dammit? 

Embrace the Pain, Dammit!

Wow... so this is kind of a scary discussion. There's a whole series of it, by the way, and I am not the only one who's taking offense, apparently.

ND, speaking as someone who generally likes your stuff, not cool. Why would you ask these questions if you don't think there's a possibility of changing your mind? Why, if you're going to discuss BDSM, would you only take on this one aspect of it? And I don't know how you can agree with your commenters who treat the sub (and dom) women (and men) who answer you as though their actual, lived experiences don't matter. As though they're crazy, brainwashed, anti-feminist nutjobs if they're submissive women, and sadistic misogynist serial-rapist bastards if they're men.

I mean hell, where do I even fit in with all that? What am I, chopped liver?

It's hard not to take it as a personal attack on my own agency and sexuality. I'm a bisexual feminist in a relationship with a Dom woman- so what does that make me? Deluded, abused, not actually extant? Is it better because Ferret's a woman, or worse because she's butch, so that makes her "like a man"? 

FFS, nobody "groomed" either one of us to like what we like. We just do. And yes, I've been in relationships that were strictly "vanilla" and it was fine. So? Just because I can be content with that, does it mean I should limit myself to only "plain" sex because anything else is "disgusting"? 

Just because I can enjoy sex and relationships with men, does that mean I shouldn't be with my Ferret, because Xtian fundies think it's "disgusting"?  

Because my partner enjoys being dominant, rough, and violent in bed with me, that makes her an abuser, sick, demented? Because she enjoys that dark side of herself, she should kill herself? Come the fuck on.

I enjoy the adrenaline rush that comes with fear during sex-- it's controlled fear like a rollercoaster, not the sickening helplessness of real rape-panic. I enjoy the endorphin rush that accompanies pain done well, and wouldn't do it with anyone I didn't trust totally. 

I love my partner and I'm sorry but I get a little offended at anyone telling me that what I like is "sick" or "abuse". I was in an abusive relationship, thanks. He never beat me, the sex was vanilla, and I was still miserable. Now I have a partner who sometimes whips me with a belt during sex and I've never been so happy. I've given a LOT of thought to BDSM and its feminist implications; thought about whether I'm defective, thought about whether I really enjoy it or whether I'm just doing it because Ferret loves it. 

Is it kinda weird? Yeah. Is it abuse? I'm gonna say no. Do I know the difference? I think so.

I can understand why ND feels the way she does; I get it. It's hard for me to watch a man tie up and flog a woman and NOT associate it with "actual" torture, even knowing the woman in question has not just consented but probably requested this treatment- because she enjoys it. Because yeah, women have been and still are abused that way and it's hard not to see enjoyment of it as a pathology. 

So I get how it would horrify her. 

But...but! It's not the whole story, and it is indeed a long and complicated story. And reducing it to a few sentences- leaving half the numbers out of the equation- means you get a flawed answer. And telling the multitude of men and women who swear they enjoy BDSM that they are sick, deluded, or brainwashed doesn't give enough credit to the agency or free will of strong, intelligent adults- myself among them.

Dear Hollywood

...Can we, pretty please, just once, have a movie where an unexpectedly pregnant woman actually gets an abortion? 

I know it's too much trouble to ask that she not be horribly scarred for life by it. 

But seriously, mainstream movie guys... could you ignore the "choice" part of pro-choice a little more? I can't hear you out there in delusion-land. Everything in the movies can be resolved happily in under two hours. 

In real life, though, there's usually no deus ex machina to save the day for a woman with very few resources and not enough options. 

Could we maybe have some art actually imitating life, please? I know realism is too much to ask from you, Hollywood, but it'd be great if you could manage to let go of the fantasy and take one step closer to showing the world how it really is.

Because I Can

I will now provide you with a link to one of the weirdest blogs on my blog list, "Desperately Seeking...Something?" It has penises. (Penii?) It has commentary ON said penises. It's where I go when I've had a bad day, and it's funny as hell. 

The reason I'm sharing it with you today?

Because if you scroll down to the last picture,  there's the comment "...Don't you understand guys? You think you are offering us some hot lovin' and ALL we can see is the shit you are going to expect us to pick up." 

I read it, and then had to clean tea off the monitor. Maybe I'm just easily amused.

Of course, I'm thinking that anyone who needed this advice probably wouldn't be linking here. But you could email it to some unfortunate dude, if you know any like this. 

Anyway, if you like making fun of this kind of thing, or just, you know, laughing at it... go see. 

It's my Blog Endorsement of the Week. 

(You know, if you guys want some of this stuff to be regular features, as opposed to me just pretending it's a regular feature, say so. I might actually make an effort. Just sayin'.)

Femme By Default

So as I'm wandering the blogosphere, avoiding the job search, I come across this post by Sinclair and then SublimeFemme's response to it. Both, at the end, ask about us, as femmes. What are our femme markers, and along the same lines, how do we define them? Do we define them in relation to butch? How do we define femme for ourselves, and in what ways do our bodies or sexuality shape that femme-ness?

All very good questions, to be sure. And then I had a moment wherein I realized: I have no fucking clue. I have no fucking clue and it's driving me up the wall. How do I define my femme self? What about me makes me femme? It should be an easy question to answer, because I'm like Princess Psychoanalystica, especially when it comes to the workings of my own twisted brain. Yes, I do find myself that fascinating and I know it's narcissistic, thanks very much.

Every time I try to think about it, I shy away. I try to treat it like my partner treats butch: "This is what I am. If people don't like it they can fuck off. That's all there is to it." (Yes, that's a direct quote. I love my Ferret.) The thing is, that's how she handles almost everything; introspective she's not, as a rule. And I can't work that way. I have to think about everything, take it down to its component parts, analyze it, toss out a couple extra springs, and then reassemble it all before I'm satisfied. When I have an opinion, make a major decision, or claim a new 'label' for myself, this is what I do. 

But I didn't do that when I claimed 'femme'. I just kind of thought, "Okay, this is my partner, who's undeniably butch. I'm not a butch, or not as much as she, and I seem to have all the femme markers (which at that point to me were: long hair, acknowledgement of boobs, girly undies, and the willingness to wear a skirt sometimes). Femme it is!" I applied Sinclair's Dress-Up Test to the dynamic and called it good. Keep in mind, this was several years ago. I'd just been introduced to the idea of butch/femme. 

Shortly after this, Ferret and I split up, to go our seperate ways. We would not be lovers for a good four years. For two of those years, we wouldn't even speak to each other. Obviously, we reconciled our differences and now you couldn't part the two of us without a really big crowbar. Uh, metaphorically.

So now we've been together for some time. I've not been in any butch/femme relationships in that time. In fact, I tended to be slightly 'butch-er' when I was with another woman, and I wasn't all "high heels and low cleavage" with a guy. I've become "femme-by-default", and I don't know 

just what i consider my markers to be, or how I define myself as femme, other than in relation to my very butch Ferret.

Which disturbs me. I want to be femme on my own, not just because I'm with someone who needs me to be, so we balance out. It doesn't bother me to be the femme, I don't think. I just have to know I have my own reasons for doing it. So now I have to figure out what they are.

I need to identify my femme-ness and work out my issues with being one of them (you? us?).

Sadly, this post feels like "exploring my angst", and not so much about "coming to productive conclusions". Oh well, maybe that'll come later.

PS: I'm working on a post about women and symbolism. Check it out when it goes up (sometime soon!); it'll either be really cool and possibly a little original, or it'll be some half-baked random crap! It's a mystery!

Easy Like Sunday Morning

Boys are jerks. Sorry. I know not all of them are, but seriously? This dude commenting in this post gives anybody with a penis a bad name. If you scroll down, there're a couple of trolls, and one of them makes a reference to the writer of the post lying about her experience. He then calls her 'easy', and asks for her number. Hur, hur, hur. Someone tell him "please take your penis back to the Stone Age where it belongs, until both you and it are ready to come back and play nicely”. The thing is...

Easy. I hate that word. I hate what it's come to mean, I hate when guys use it, and this troll reminded me of another jerk. True story time: I had an ex of mine, usually not a total misogynist, say 'easy' when he referred to the first time we got together. Why did he say this? Well, because later on in the evening of our first meeting, I decided: Hey, he's cool, I like him, and I'm single and horny with nothing better to do tonight. So I did something characteristically bold- I walked into the bathroom of my friend's house, removed my undies, walked out, and dropped them in his lap, saying, "So, you wanna?" No, I'm not kidding. Yes, the undies were clean (and lacy if I recall, not that it matters). Yes, he wanted. Yes, I did have (safe) sex with him that night. I wasn't really thinking about anything other than that I wanted this, and so did he. And I was cool with that. And you know something? He decided he liked me and asked me out, and I said no. Eventually I changed my mind, though- we ended up being together for 2 years. Not that that matters, either. What matters is, when we were talking about it months later, he made a comment like "Are you kidding? You were so easy that first night."

I actually got rather pissed about this. Let me explain why to you now, even though I couldn't explain to him then. 'Easy' implies that I am a contest, a conquest, something to challenge his manly skill, something to be won or attained. It feeds right back into that myth that "Women don't really want sex, so men have to persuade/coerce them." It completely leaves out any indication that I might have made a choice in this. In his case, it takes the agency away from me and gives it to him, even though I initiated the sex that night.
So then, 'easy' sounds like he didn't really have to try that hard to get my panties off. Well, technically he didn't. At all. ‘Cause I decided I wanted to have sex with him. And asked him. And had a condom in my purse. And took my own fucking panties off, thank you so fucking much.

I'm not a video game. I'm not a math quiz. I'm not a rape victim, either ('easy' also brings up the shudder-y connotation of some girl you got drunk because you knew it would be, ahem, easier for you to fuck her without all that pesky rational thought in the way). I'm not a box of pudding mix.
I'm not any of these things. I'm not a thing at all. I make decisions, I have autonomy, I want or don't want things, I have sex. I, I, I. Me. And if you're involved it becomes 'we'. We have sex. Me and you.

I like sex. I choose, usually, not to have casual sex because it’s less personal and I like learning what makes my sexual partner happy, and having that favor returned, which usually takes more time than a one-off involves. But if I want to have sex with a willing partner, I will, and I very much resent being slut-shamed for it.

I actually dislike the sentence structure, "X fucked Y". It automatically sets it up so that there's a subject-verb-object structure, very often with a woman as the object; "he fucked her".
(I won't even get into the linguistics wherein "being fucked" means someone has cheated you or done you wrong, or you're in trouble. That says so much about our society.)
And frankly, I hate it! Part of feminism is sexual equality; if you're having sex, do it as equals, as partners, as two people coming together for mutual pleasure. It's not that bad, really! You can do it!

Fucking isn't something you achieve with me as a vehicle or vessel. It's something we do together, if I want it and you want it.
And, dude? If we're having that sentence structure, if anybody's fucking anybody, it's gonna be me fucking you.
By the way, that doesn't make me 'easy'. If anything, it makes me difficult as hell. Deal with it.

Sex-Positive... So What's Sex-Negative, Then?

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