The “Male Birth Control” Injection Trial Demonstrates Inequality

I’m sure that you’ve heard about the contraceptive injection for people with penises – or, as it is called in the headlines, “the male birth control,” “the male pill,” or “the male contraceptive injection.” I put all of these names in quotation marks because I wanted to make this distinction up front: this is being called “male birth control,” but I fully acknowledge that some men do not have penises and testicles, and not all people with penises or testicles are male.

In places where the reproductive organs are directly pertinent to the discussion and I am not quoting specific language that other people have used, I will try to make it entirely clear which reproductive organs are being discussed. I will use this language because genitals do not indicate gender, and because broadly generalizing all people with uteruses as women and all people with testicles as men is cissexist. Intersex, trans, and nonbinary people exist, and are also regularly harmed by sexist oppression and the medical community, but point of this post is to address the double standard inherent in the existing dichotomy that western culture has distilled gender down to based on sexual organs.

A 320-participant trial of a contraceptive injection for testicle-owners (all identified as men in the study) was halted when 20 of them dropped out because of the side effects. According to the Chicago Tribune, one participant did commit suicide, but the researchers ruled that the suicide was unrelated to the injection. So other than the dead person, these 20 people with penises decided that they didn’t want to endure depression, muscle pain, mood swings, acne and changes to their libido. Even though 75% of the participants said they would use this contraceptive in the future, the researchers stopped the entire trial because the injection DID reduce sperm count, but “the unfavorable side effects may outweigh any further findings.”

Those reactions to the contraceptive injection for penis-owners are just a few extremely common side effects (among many others) that uterus-owners are encouraged to endure for the sake of preventing pregnancy. In addition to those potential side effects as well as cramps, sore breasts, headaches, migraines, weight gain, heavy and painful periods, no periods at all, and bleeding every single day, people with uteruses who choose to take the pill must also accept the well-documented risks of deep-vein thrombosis, stroke, and cervical and/or breast cancer.

No one is saying that the people who dropped out had to stay in the trial. Most of us who are criticizing the abrupt end of the trial are just saying that halting the entire trial because of those side effects is completely unjust when compared to how people who are perceived as women are treated by the medical community. All of these side effects of the birth control pill for people with uteruses are usually deemed “minor” by doctors who prescribe the pill, and were acceptable enough that the hormonal birth control pill was approved by the FDA in the 60s, and dozens of variations of it remain on the shelves today. Doctors say that “the benefits outweigh the risks.”

So in a world where the onus of preventing pregnancy is very often placed on the partner with the uterus, they have more hormonal contraceptive options than people with penises, but are also denied basic autonomy in regard to tubal ligation and hysterectomies. Many doctors in the US refuse to sterilize patients who could be impregnated until they’ve either already had at least one child or have reached a certain age (I’ve heard anywhere from 30 or beyond, depending on the whim of the doctor). The other contraception options aren’t all great either, which means the pill is sometimes the best choice for a lot of people. Doctors will hand hormonal birth control pills out like candy, and not all doctors tell patients about the side effects and mortality rate. Is the fact that a person taking the combined pill has a small chance of dying is just a pesky footnote to the medical community? To put it in short with gendered terms: the chance for a woman to die is an “acceptable risk” to medical professionals, but the trial for the men had to be stopped because of depression and mood swings – two known symptoms of existing hormonal birth control that patients with uteruses have been encouraged to tolerate for literally half a century.

Yaz and Yasmin, two hormonal birth control pills for people with uteruses, were advertised as more effective for reducing unwanted hormonal birth control symptoms, and their side effects were severely downplayed. That’s not opinion – that’s actually what the FDA ruled after a bunch of lawsuits were filed against Bayer, the company responsible for Yaz. The FDA made Bayer change their ads to be more transparent about the risks, and though Bayer eventually changed the commercials, they still weren’t disclosing enough information about the risks. Three years after the FDA’s warning about the commercials, an FDA document acknowledged that studies raised questions about the safety of Yaz and its related contraceptives. In 2008 the FDA put a more serious warning label about the risk on the packaging. Over 10,000 patients have filed lawsuits related to Yaz against Bayer.

The progestin in Yaz/Yasmin, drospirenone, is the ingredient that is specifically linked to the increased risk of harm. Birth control pills with drospirenone are no more effective at preventing pregnancy than the other options on the market. In 2012 the FDA announced that they acknowledged there was a higher risk of blood clots linked to drospirenone, but they said the benefits outweighed the risk and Yaz would not be removed from the market… even though there are loads of alternative birth control pills that do not contain drospirenone. In addition to Yaz, there are 7 other hormonal birth control pills on the market that contain drospirenone: Beyaz, Safyral, Gianvi, Loryna, Ocella, Syeda, and Zarah. Gianvi and Beyaz are also manufactured by Bayer.

The reason I mention Yaz is that when people with uteruses are involved, the benefits always seem to outweigh the risks. There is no shortage of birth control pill brands on the market, almost all considered equally effective at preventing pregnancy, but doctors are still prescribing Yaz, and the FDA still permits it to be sold. Yet when researchers start testing a hormonal birth control option “for men” they STOP THE TRIAL because “unfavorable side effects may outweigh any further findings.” In fact, a direct quote that the co-author of the research paper gave to The Independent stated:

“Although the injections were effective in reducing the rate of pregnancy, the combination of hormones needs to be studied more to consider a good balance between efficacy and safety.”

I’m sure that most of us agree that people with any configuration of reproductive organs deserve effective and safe contraception options, but the only symptoms of this injection that made themselves apparent during the study were symptoms that were considered acceptable risks for people with uteruses.

If this double standard doesn’t stand out enough on its own, consider the cultural context: studies have shown that men and women are treated differently in medical settings, particularly those involving diagnoses of severity and pain management. The research paper The Girl Who Cried Pain cites multiple studies that demonstrate this. One study coined the term “Yentyl Syndrome” – women are less likely to be treated as aggressively [as a male patient would be] until they “prove that they are as sick as male patients.” Men are more likely to be given narcotic painkillers, while women are often given sedatives, indicating that perhaps they are perceived as anxious instead of “in pain.” In a 1994 study of over 1,000 cancer patients, they found that women were significantly less likely to have their pain adequately managed than the men were; the ratio is 1:5.

In an online survey of over 2,400 women living with chronic pain, 75% (1,732 of them) said that their doctor has told them: “You’ll have to learn to live with your pain.” If you’re interested, you can read a collection of anecdotes along this line that were gathered from the write-in portion of the survey.

People with uteruses are not taken seriously in the medical community. We’re always told that we’re exaggerating, that we’re just anxious, that we can’t be sick because we don’t LOOK sick, or that our medical conditions can’t be solved. Got a uterus? Doctors and the FDA think that when it comes to oral hormonal birth control, “the benefit outweighs the risk.” Got a penis? The trial for your hormonal birth control option ended because “the unfavorable side effects may outweigh any further findings.”

From where I’m standing, a desire to protect people with penises from unpleasantness coupled with the willingness to put people with uteruses through painful and potentially lethal side effects is not health justice. It is not equity to shield the privileged from the same side effects that the oppressed have been resigned to for decades, especially when doing so continues to place the burden of hormonal contraception on the oppressed.

We need to push for equality and an overall higher standard of care in the medical field, especially as it pertains to people who are already marginalized. The first step to doing this is acknowledging the imbalance of power and the violence inherent in the system. The next step is action.

 

Review of Showtime’s Submission

So I watched/livetweeted Showtime’s Submission under the hashtag #ShowtimeSubmission, and then I wrote over 1,000 words analyzing the power dynamics and how they were portrayed and they contrasted… but I didn’t finish it. And then I said, “This is not what I want to post about Submission.” At least… not right now. So here’s my basic review of Submission.

Content warning: sexual assault (largely by way of questionable consent).

SPOILERS AHEAD.

Submission Summary

Ashley leaves her shitty-in-bed asshole boyfriend and moves to a new town to live with her best friend Jules. Jules lives with her roommate Dylan (played by Skin Diamond, who is sexy as hell). Dylan is a submissive to Eliot, and brings him women to have sex with.

Eliot flogging Dylan - Showtime Submission

Ashley finds Dylan’s copy of a BDSM novel by Nolan Keats and is intrigued. She gets a job at the local coffee shop and sleeps with her boss (Raif) one night while they’re getting drunk together. Shortly thereafter Eliot notices Ashley at a party and Dylan tells Eliot that Ashley is off-limits. Eliot swoops in and saves the day while Raif is drunkenly trying to push himself on Ashley at the party.

After chasing Raif off, Eliot follows Ashley to her room, notices the book, and asks her about it. Eliot discloses to Ashley that he wrote the book, which intrigues her. He steals Ashley’s underwear after she leaves the room and makes the random chick that Dylan picks out for him wear the underwear that night while he sleeps with her.

To prove that he’s Nolan Keats, Eliot has a manuscript of the next Nolan Keats novel delivered to Ashley. He calls her and starts seducing her on the phone. Eliot begins ignoring Dylan, which Dylan hates. Dylan bugs Eliot to pay more attention to her, and Eliot eventually tells her to fuck off. Eliot kinkily fucks Ashley and lays claim to her.

Eliot and Ashley - Showtime Submission

Dylan steals video footage of Eliot fucking a bunch of different girls with her in his dungeon. She blackmails Eliot and makes him turn Ashley over to her for a night, and Dylan torments her. Ashley endures the torture. Dylan decides to move out of the house. As Ashley catches her leaving Dylan gives her the videos and tells her that Eliot isn’t Nolan Keats – he’s Keats’ copy editor.

Ashley is hurt and betrayed. She ignores Eliot, he shows up at her house, and she tells him to leave. Dylan shows up on Nolan Keats’ doorstep with her bags. The show ends.

There is other drama in the show about Jules’ relationship with her boss, but, frankly, I find it irrelevant to the main plot and only feel like discussing it in my extended power dynamic analysis.

What they did right

Eliot makes Ashley pick a safeword. Good! SAFEWORD GOOD. Although he does flog her while she’s deciding, and as someone from the “we don’t play until the safeword is set” school of thought I wasn’t a fan of that.

Eliot mummifies Ashley with saran wrap, which is something she is terrified of initially when she sees the saran wrap in his dungeon and he explains what you do with it. The kink play in this scene is surprisingly solid – Eliot takes it slow, he communicates with her, he gives her water. He’s very attentive.

The kink in Submission was nice to watch if you ignored all the fucked-up shit going on around it. The gear used was cool and authentic. Where can I get a web of chains for my dungeon?

Quotes I liked

“Most men think it’s just smut.”
“What’s wrong with smut?”

“Society wants us to believe that women are these pathetic little creatures that live and die by a man’s happiness.”

“My goal is to open you up, not shut you down. You will never have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

What they did wrong

Other than Skin Diamond and a random guy that she fucks, the entire cast is white. They’re also all thin, non-disabled people. But I expected that. Diversity is important, but here’s what pissed me off even more:

Ashlynn Yennie, who plays the main character, Ashley, said in an interview with The Daily Beast:

“I hope our show, Submission, can shatter that glass ceiling of false belief and show the world what it truly means to trust, communicate, and finally feel free to talk about what you want and don’t want sexually in a consensual and healthy way.”

Consensual? Healthy? Consent was portrayed VERY poorly in Submission. Raif makes a move on Ashley and has sex with her after she says, “No, we’re not doing this, because I’m drunk… and you’re kind of drunk.” At a party the next night a drunken Raif thrust himself upon Ashley, assuming that their single night of previous sexual interaction meant she consented to it again.

Dylan and Eliot’s relationship goes from a functional, consenting M/s scenario to a fucked-up trainwreck where Eliot never verbalizes the withdrawal of his consent and Dylan (who wears a collar that we assume is from Eliot), thinking he’s still into her, tops from the bottom. She says “I’m getting tired of you telling me no.” She misbehaves, seeking punishment. Finally she handcuffs herself to him and forces him to fish the key out of her vagina to escape. It was a painful disaster to watch. The show portrayed this scene as a minor inconvenience that didn’t faze Eliot and just pissed him off, but it was assault, and it was not cool. Then when Eliot tells Dylan to fuck off for good she (nonconsensually) blackmails him.

And finally, even though Eliot seems like sort-of-an-asshole-but-mostly-a-decent-guy because we see a few scenes where Eliot is an experienced dominant that focuses on consent and care, he also forces Ashley outside of her comfort zone (not in a good way) and manipulates her into subbing for Dylan so that Dylan won’t blab his secret to her. Ashley specifically tells him that she doesn’t want to be shared and that other people are a big NO for her, and Eliot shames her into it, telling her that it’s the ultimate act of trust and submission and that she has to explore and take risks to know what she wants. Consent-tastic! As someone who was coerced into sexual abuse as a child and has been manipulated with an almost identical narrative from my emotionally abusive fuckface ex, I felt so great about that scene!

And then the scene with Dylan was not… stellar. It would have been hot if Ashley had wanted to be there. “Tonight I’m not your roommate, I’m the bitch you answer to.” Like… YAAAAAS… if it’s enthusiastic and consensual. But it wasn’t. Is BDSM that you don’t really want to do but agree to because of coercion and stubbornness a type of sexual assault? My signs point to yes.

Conclusion

It was interesting. The kink and the food for thought re: power dynamics were enjoyable, but I did not find the plot especially inspired. Especially the way Dylan is cast aside by Eliot. It’s a sad trope that you see in a lot of popular BSDM media: a submissive (usually a woman) is collared by a dom (usually a man), then her dom loses interest in her and tosses her aside. It’s practically ancient – that’s how The Story of O ends (master claims sub, master demands sub bring him other subs, master ditches original sub). Endings in which the sub gets screwed over do not represent the lives of many real people in happy, long-term M/s relationships, but it’s a risk that exists, just like it does in vanilla dating.

Should you watch it?

If you want to see kinky softcore sex and don’t mind the show’s flaws and “meh” plot, sure. I usually enjoy livetweeting things, even if they’re mediocre, but I probably could have found better uses for my time, like painting my nails, findomming strangers on the internet, or writing reviews for vibrators that felt like a million butterflies fluttering over my vulva.

The Creep Factor

Ella Dawson’s post titled The Boner Backlash (subtitled: STOP TELLING ME YOU WOULD STILL FUCK ME) hit home with me in a very personal way, and I imagine that anyone who writes about sex can relate, particularly if they’re perceived as women.

People tend to get overly familiar when you write about sex, perform in sex, or work in the adult industry. To some degree this is fine, because many of us want to educate and are more than happy to discuss things to that end. There is a culture of sexual openness that I try to perpetuate as a sex blogger. I think we should be able to talk about sex openly, but there’s a big difference between discussing sex in a non-threatening way and telling someone you wanna stick your dick in them. There’s a difference between saying, “Tell me how that big dick feels when you slip it inside yourself,” and asking me how a particular dildo feels. There’s a difference between someone calling Tantus’ customer support line to learn more about how a particular toy works and calling customer support to nonconsensually talk dirty at the person on the other end of the line.

When a woman mentions sex in any way, creepy people (most often men – why is it always you, men?) lose their heads and assume that these women are welcoming all sexual discussion and advances.
As Ella says in her blog post:

Readers—male readers, let me be clear—often think they know exactly who I am after reading a few of my essays. They are usually wrong.

These men assume that they know us because we expose an intimate part of our lives, and they assume that they’re welcome to associate with us in overly familiar terms… terms that most of these guys (hopefully) know not to use on a first date, or even a third, yet they’ll tweet and e-mail us using those familiar terms without even knowing our names.

 
It’s like they think that by reading about our sexuality they’ve been transported into our bedrooms and we’re sitting around in lingerie, waiting. What they don’t realize is that if we’re sitting around in lingerie waiting for someone it is not them. They are STRANGERS to us. This overly familiar feeling is completely one-sided. If these men appeared in our bedrooms we would be terrified because they are uninvited strangers barging into our homes.

 
And don’t think that apologizing or claiming that you’re not a pervert when you try to barge into our home helps. After all, Ella’s reader that wrote to her assured her that he wasn’t a pervert:

“To put that all together, and also read about how much you enjoy sex without condoms physically-speaking, everything just points to what a wonderful, sexy, and confident woman you are. Honestly, I was just like “WOW, this girl is just so damn sexy..”, and I don’t mean it in a perverted way at all.”

Yes you do, you piece of shit. “WOW, this girl is just so damn sexy…” I really hate that this is supposed to be a compliment when it really just makes most of us feel pretty damn gross. I’ve heard this on Twitter, and I’ve heard it on Fetlife, and I’ve heard it OKCupid, and it really just makes me annoyed. Yes! I am sexy! And I don’t need some dude to tell me he thinks that. I don’t want to know when I’m desirable to some stranger, especially some cis man – sorry boys, but “Dick is abundant and low value.” Cis males are the key perpetrators of harassment like this and because of that I just have less tolerance for this shit from y’all.

I don’t need a stranger to tell me I’m sexy. I don’t need a stranger to make conversation with me just to get closer to me with the intention of getting in my pants. I don’t WANT those things! I’m so sick of a world where we pretend that men are doing women a service by getting all up in their grill and singing songs of how fuckable they are. It’s not a compliment – it’s an affront.

 

I’ve had people say they’d like to date and/or fuck me, and from certain people I have established relationships with it’s very flattering, but from the rest of you it’s a pesky buzzing noise like you’re some kind of fly circling my nethers. When in doubt use this handy rule of thumb: If I don’t start flirting with you, don’t try flirting with me.

 

Back to Ella’s letter from her “fan,” I also get this manipulative element from his message. Did you catch it? That sort of “I-have-low-self-esteem” thing, saying something like, “I don’t expect you to write back.” It’s like he’s trying to downplay the entitlement in his message. Trying to guilt-trip her into a response? As if the goal is for Ella to write back and say, “Of course I was going to write back since you sent me such a lovely letter! We’re soul mates after all, because you realize how wonderful I am!”

 

And it’s also just so awkward for everyone involved whenever a man tries to disguise his unwanted advances as hypotheticals: “if you did write back and one day we actually got to do ‘it’”. Do you know how this differs from the men that say, “When we fuck I’m going to do x, y, z to you?” It differs because the men who write in hypotheticals can shuffle backwards with their hands raised when we call them on their shit. “I was just saying if it ever happened! I didn’t mean it! It was hypothetical! I wasn’t being a creep!” Stop trying to cover it up. You were being a creep and we both know it.

 

There’s not a lot for me to say that Ella hasn’t already said in her own post, but let me just lay the bottom line out for you folks again: when we write about sex we are never doing it for you. We are not inviting you to tell us about your dick. We are not saying we will date or fuck you… we’re not even saying you’re a candidate! And the minute you approach us spewing this repulsive harassment that you’ve tried to disguise as a compliment, you’re permanently ruling yourself out as a candidate, because you are actively demonstrating that you feel entitled to us.
As Ella says:

I do not exist to arouse. Sometimes I write erotica, but that does not mean I am personally interested in your arousal. And I am a woman who writes about sex, but I am not a woman whose sexuality you are entitled to.

Preach!

I Know What Boys Like

Gang, I’m so fucking sick of hearing about what men want.

Video not particularly related.

Seriously, every time I look at media aimed at women it tells them two things: impress men and look pretty (presumably to impress the men that they missed the first go around). Don’t believe me? Have a look at all these magazine covers. Take your time. I’ll wait.

If you’ve found the common thread you win a cookie.

I’m not even going to begin to scratch the surface of all the problematic shit on these magazine covers. (Gender binary, fat blasting, “Could Your Man Be Gay?” Uh, fuck off?) All I’m here to say is that I’m sick of the assumption that a woman’s life revolves entirely around a man, and I’m sick of it for a couple reasons:

  1. To all of my nonbinary fam and female-identified queer and lesbian sisters – I see you. I know you’re being erased by this cissexist heteronormative bullshit. Erasure sucks, and it’s super damn annoying to pick up a Cosmo for some fashion tips and to have to bypass a quarter of the magazine because it’s telling you how to appeal to the male hivemind.
  2. Even people who are into men have more to our lives than men.

In retrospect how many times in my life, even when I was convinced that I was a hosebeast doomed to die alone, did I sit around wondering what men wanted and how I could make myself more appealing to them? Honestly?  Not nearly as many as most of you would expect.

Maybe this is because I have never viewed men as unattainable aliens from the planet Boner who use 1,052 different inflections of the word “bro” to communicate in lieu of the English language. Maybe it’s because I grew up with so many male friends that their minds were never particularly mysterious to me because they were constantly telling me what they were thinking. Maybe it’s because I have spent a lot of time feeling like a man, or wishing that I was a man rather than wishing that I had a man.

So you’re sitting here going, “Well you’re married to a man, you’ve got it all figured out, it’s not relevant to you.” I am married, but I have nothing figured out and I am, presumably, still a relevant demographic to Cosmopolitan. And you know what? I am more concerned about what appeals to my cat than I am concerned about what appeals to men. Even if the “male mind” were completely different from the “female mind” I simply would not give two shits about what was inside it. 

So sure, maybe it’s because men aren’t mysterious to me… or maybe it’s because I have always known that am not the problem that needs to change.

Smile followed me!

“Smile because men like positive girls.”
Let me get right on that.

Woe to the unsuspecting person that tells me to do something because men like it. And apparently they want it both ways! If I’m not smiling, strange (inevitably cis) men on the street tell me to smile, and then when I’m holding their severed testes in my hand and grinning manically they keep yelling for me to stop smiling. Make up your minds, gents.

The female-identified and female-perceived do not need the guidance of men to be attractive. Women don’t need men to tell them what “sexy” is. The female-identified and female-perceived do not exist for your gaze. Women don’t need to change who they are to be more palatable to men. I don’t need to appeal to a demographic of people to own my sexuality, and this just in: neither do you, so stop thinking you do.

You are hot, handsome, beautiful, gorgeous, sexy, powerful, whatever you want to be, and you just are that way. You are that way because of what you do, who you are, and who you want to be. Don’t spend your life trying to please someone else or change your body and mind to become more attractive to the masses.

Women: stop giving a fuck about what men think of you.

Why is there this overarching assumption that women must aspire to be in a relationship (with a man) and it should be of the utmost focus?

Do you know what many women I know are dealing with right now? They’ve finished finals and they’re walking the stage at their college graduations. They’re on month 14 of a frenzied job hunt. They’re nursing their newborns. They’re finding child care for the summer. They’re closing deals and signing contracts. They’re making pitches and presentations. They’re writing novels, essays, articles, blogs, and letters to the editor. They’re programming apps. They’re making pottery. They’re welding pipes. They’re saving lives. They’re nurturing their friendships. They’re binge-watching Orange is the New Black in preparation for season three.

They aren’t doing these things because they care about what men want, and I think it’s time for the world to recognize that. Everyone has a life outside of their relationships, and more importantly: women have lives outside of what men want!

"I don't give a fuck about what men think! Neither should you. Because we don't need to have sexy defined for us."

P.S. As much shit as I gave Glamour for the Jake incident, Google image searches reveal that they’re actually not nearly as bad about this as other magazines aimed at women. Good on you, Glamour.

Dear Glamour: Say What You Mean

I read an interesting article in Glamour the other day. This article was by a nice young man named Jake. Jake’s column is called, “Jake: A Man’s Opinion.” As a new reader of Glamour I was instantly relieved that they took the time to ask a man his opinion on something, because when I’m flipping through magazines aimed at women there are two things I want to see: make-up tips and what men have to say. I think that on the whole everyone in my readership can agree that women (Glamour’s assumed audience) in particular never hear enough male opinions.

Anyway, here I am flipping through a “women’s” magazine filled with ads for fashion design by men, perfumes by men, and articles on how to meet men, and I find this piece written by a man titled, “We Need a New Word for Cuddling.” It’s an opinion piece where Jake tries to be funny while he pleads for us to abolish six words from our dating and sexual lexicon: cuddling, chemistry, G-spot, make love, doggy style, and orgasm.

I hope you’re wearing your rain slickers because there’s a storm a-brewin’.

In Jake’s opinion the word “cuddling” is juvenile and you can’t have a serious conversation when you use it. “Say ‘cuddling’ five times out loud and you instantly feel like a five year old.” Okay, fine, you know, I will admit that there’s something about the “dl” sound in cuddling that does make it feel youthful. I will also admit that cuddling, by nature, is something that many of us associate with young things: we cuddle our kids and we cuddle baby animals. Jake thinks we should call cuddling “couch time” or “pillow time.” Because those don’t sound childish at all.

Next up: “Chemistry.”

“I don’t want a science experiment; I want a connection. (But I don’t want to say ‘connection,’ because that’s too New Agey for a first date.) How about ‘vibes’? ‘Dinner went well – we had good vibes.” I could say that with a straight face.”

“Connection” is too “New-Agey” but “vibes” isn’t? In my mind Jake has morphed into a beach bum carrying around a guitar and a bong. Anyway, whatever you want to call it is fine with me. I like vibes, but I think that when Jake says good vibes he’s not talking about my kind of good vibes.

Magic Wand Original

 

NEXT!

“G-spot: I feel gross even typing that. But it’s not just something you can ignore. Can we just call it ‘the zone’? As in, ‘You are totally in the zone now.’”

Why does G-spot make him feel gross? Because it’s in a vagina? Because of that study that claimed that female ejaculate was nothing but pee? I mean, blessedly for Jake’s girlfriend he recognizes the G-spot’s importance, but he never explains why it’s gross. Did he have a run-in with a G-spot in the midst of a bacterial infection? Has he seen a horror movie where a woman’s G-spot exploded in a rain of spiders? Does it have to do with pus? I think everything is gross with pus.

But I don’t think any of those things happened. I don’t know what happened. What I do think is that it’s pitiful that a grown-ass man is frightened and disgusted by the very mention of the G-spot. It turns him off! What a shame for Jake, because some of us are turned off by his alternative, which makes me think of football and city planning while my vagina dries right the fuck up.

“Make Love” is up next, and he thinks it sounds like something you’d hear in a Saturday Night Live skit. His alternative? “Melt.” I have no opinion one way or the other on “making love” but I can say with certainty that I don’t want to replace it with the word for what a face does when you look at the Ark of the Covenant. You’re not batting a thousand here with your suggestions, Jake.

 

We’re finally approaching the end of the list. “Doggy style” should be replaced with “wrestling” as far as Jake is concerned. I’m sorry to tell you this, puppy play enthusiasts, but Jake is certain that no one wants to be compared with a dog. “I repeat: no one.” All I have to say about this is that if we took Jake’s suggestion I would actually watch Wrestlemania.

And finally “orgasm” reminds Jake too much of sex-ed class. It’s too clinical, but “cumming” is too pornographic. God forbid we use clinical or pornographic terms to refer to sexual activity.

Jake’s complaints that I have the most issue with are the obviously ones where he says certain words are “gross” or “too clinical”. One person’s discomfort prevents him from using real adult words to say what he means. This is like when we deny children agency over their bodies by calling their genitals things like, “Wee-wee,” and “Coochie,” because we’re too ashamed of words like vagina and penis. It’s ridiculous. Words have meaning. Say what you fucking mean.

Jake ends his article with, “And next time you’re melting with your boyfriend, I hope he’s in the zone.”

What a sweet sentiment. This is for you, Jake:

be less of a cockburn

Pretty For a Fat Chick

Since I’ve re-entered the dating world I’ve heard things like “you’re beautiful despite your size,” and “you’re beautiful because of your size.” Neither of these is what I want to hear. Am I being too picky? I don’t think I am.

They say, “You’re beautiful despite your size.” As if no one could be beautiful at my size, and as if my size cannot be a part of what makes me beautiful. “Your fat is an obstacle that you have overcome by virtue of having a cute face! Good for you! Part of you is pretty enough to make up for the fact that I consider you deathfat!”

The other ones, the fat fetishists, say, “You’re beautiful because of your size.” That’s a little closer to what I would like to hear because it’s always nice to know that there are people out there who do not consider obesity to be the most disgusting thing in the world, but it’s still not perfect. I don’t want to be admired solely because I am a person of size. I am sexy, but I am not a sex object and my body is not something to be fetishized. I don’t want to be distilled down to a body that I’ve spent years wrestling with and that I fight every day to accept. I’m not a walking, talking Rubens painting that fucks for your enjoyment.

A full body photo from 2012

Sugarcunt circa 2012, repping the Obesity Cabal.

Don’t make this mistake with other fat people, admirers. I know I can’t speak for all of us (you know, the OBESITY CABAL), but I have heard this sentiment voiced by a few people of a similar size. I’m sure your intentions are good. You want to say, “Your size doesn’t make you less desirable to me.” That’s not a bad thing! But unless I’m in some kind of self-hate spiral about being fat I don’t need you to say something to assure me that my fat is not a dealbreaker.

I know some people are like, “Well what does she want? We can’t like her fat, we can’t hate her fat, and now we can’t mention it in passing either?” Honestly… yes. Pretty much that. Another person’s body is not yours to comment on, no matter what the size. If you want to have a conversation about my fat and our relationship supports that sort of topic, let’s talk about it plainly, but with tact. Trying to slip it into a compliment is not tactful. I don’t need you to compliment me in some kind of code that tries to discreetly address my fat. You don’t have to acknowledge my fat like it’s another person in the room that you don’t want to ignore for fear of seeming rude, so you don’t have to add further qualifiers onto “you’re pretty.” Just say I’m pretty. Don’t tell me I’m pretty… for a fatty.  I don’t need you to other me by using my body to set me apart from the “normies.”

All I ask for is someone who appreciates me as a whole package. I don’t want a partner that tolerates or ignores my fat because they like everything else, and I don’t want a partner that focuses on my fat before everything else.  My husband is one person who handles this with grace. He isn’t a “chubby chaser,” and he doesn’t cringe every time he sees me naked. He likes to see me naked, in fact! He would never make the stupid mistake of tacking something about my body onto the end of, “You’re beautiful.” Why is just plain, “You’re beautiful,” so hard for some people to say? Just stop talking after the second word. Why does my size have to come into it at all? Why can’t I be beautiful AND fat? Why is there automatically an assumption that my fat must impact my view of my beauty and self-worth? How about you just worry about loving me, and let me worry about being fat.

Monogamy, Mythology, and a Smidgeon of Economics.

“We believe it’s okay to have sex with anybody you love, and we believe in loving everybody.”

– D. Eaton & J. Hardy, The Ethical Slut

Still no sexy posts, you guys.  Believe it or not, even when my visible sex organs are being constantly stimulated, I insist on writing about what goes on in the one in my head.  Shame on me for thinking!  Jack Hutson would be so disappointed.

I ruminate a lot on the monogamy myth.  It actually leans heavily on another myth, which is the myth of the “incomplete person,” and it also leans on (American) economics.  (I live here, so I can’t address international situations.)  Keep in mind that once I start talking about the economy, I might be missing something, because I don’t study economics by any means – these are just economic “necessities” that I have seen influence relationships.

Let’s break the title down.  If I lose you, just smile and nod like you normally do when you read my posts and I start to wax verbose.  If I don’t lose you, I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.

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Sugarcunt’s Dorm Sex Flowchart

I don’t sleep.  I also don’t get to jack it while I sit awake at 6 AM.

To explain this unfortunate phenomenon, and what college sex is like for me in general, allow me to present

Sugarcunt’s Dorm Sex Flowchart.

Go ahead and click that shit so you can actually read it.  And read the line key!

Airing Some (Plus-Sized) Lingerie Part 1 – Clothing Edition

I know this blog is about dating, kinky shit, putting things in my vagina, and gender (when I get around to it), but there’s also something very distinct in my life that I make sure to mention in my descriptions, and that is totally relevant to my sex life, my sexy outfits, and my gender identity (and social, body, and gender dysphoria): that I’m fat.

No, I really am.  I’m not “model fat,” where I’m actually average (between US size 10 or 14) and Torrid is using me to promote a site geared toward people who are actually plus-sized.  My body is strangely-proportioned.  I’m 5’ tall, with enormous hips and thighs, a big, round ass, a short waist (or maybe it seems that way because of my hips), and broad shoulders that accompany not-overly-generous breasts.  (I’m a strangely-shaped D-cup.  It’s not an impressive cup size for a female-bodied person of my body shape.)  I’m literally somewhere between “pear” and “hourglass” shaped… hourglass because of my shoulders, though – not that you can tell much about my waist under my clothing.  My hip measurement is twenty inches more than my waist measurement.  I buy the biggest panties that Lane Bryant offers, and they do not all fit equally or ideally.  Most sites, when they offer underwear catering to anyone that’s actually my size, strictly offer tummy-sucking, high-control, high-waisted underwear.  Plus-sized clothing companies, especially the ones producing lingerie, believe that the women they’re actually building for are over 5’6 and have little-to-no hip span, and no ass.  They also believe, for the most part, that the bigger we are, the more we want to suck and tuck so that we look as smooth and tiny as possible, rather than wear something that lets us get naked and bone the nearest thing with legs.

Are you beginning to detect that I have a problem with this?  You can read much, much more below.  Or you can ignore the text below the cut and wait until I post about sex again – that’s your prerogative as the reader.

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