You stupid, stupid man.
I don’t expect this kind of article from the Guardian. The Daily Mail, yes. But that is why I call them drivel-purveyors to the masses. I don’t want to include the Guardian in this, but….
Their columnist, the aforementioned man, has infuriated me to the point that I feel forced to counter him with an entire post, which, as he is on my List, is more than he deserves.
Nobody would “ask for” rape.
Indeed, you cannot ask for rape, because the idea of rape rests on the premise that the contact was unwanted.
By asking for something, you want it. You cannot want something that it is impossible to want.
Why does logic elude so many people?
And this simple statement of fact negatives many of the myths around rape, because so many of them hinge on the fallacy that women “ask for it”. But that’s impossible. So shut the fuck up.
And so, with that cleared up, I’d like to point out that the analagy of rape as property theft (“We fit locks to our doors and windows. We keep our valuables out of sight”) is also incredibly foolish.
No woman walks around in public proudly displaying her vagina to the world. This is what we would have to do to make that comparison logical.
She may show some thigh, or some breast, or even (*gasp*) have her nipples visible through her top, but none of these things equate to having “our valuables” in plain sight.
Society needs an overhaul. This man, and many others, both male and female, need their brains rearranged.
And lastly, he mentions the risks of women getting “into a drunken stupor in the company of a frisky male”. Well, yes. At the moment this is a risk.
It should not be a risk. Just as a man getting into a drunken stupor in the company of a “frisky” female is not at present considered risky.
What would his reaction be, I wonder, if a man, finding himself very drunk with a woman that he knows as a casual acquaintance, were to be coerced back to said woman’s house, where said woman proceded to insert a large dildo into one or more of his orifices without his consent, or in any way inappropriately touched his genitals?
Would he say of this man, “he should have been aware of the risks”?
I rather doubt it.
And that is where the problem lies.
* Well, heterosexual, male, voyeuristic sex sells, anyway….!
Although I’ve been trying to scale down the number of labels I use for my posts, I may have to create another, specifically for my most-hated publications.
I propose to call it Drivel-Purveyors [...to the Masses].
I’m grumbling now about The Sun. Normally this particular publication flies under my radar, simply because it’s that stupid. However, it has managed to force itself into my consciousness, through a high-profile advertising campaign. Apparently, it is now only 20p.
Sadly, it feels the need to promote this fact through the cunning use of breasts.
As though I needed yet another skinny, yet curiously busty blonde smiling vacuously at me wherever I go. They’re on the sides of my buses now.
I’m not best pleased.
Now I know that advertising is all about appealing to your target audience, and, to be fair, the stereotypical Sun reader probably will be very pleased to discover that he (yes, he) is now only two ten-pence peices away from yet another pair of computer-enhanced nipples, but, well…. I don’t like it.
I don’t like it that the default for “sexy” is white, and female, and blonde, and skinny, and big-breasted, and pouting, and nude.
I don’t like it that breasts are always a symbol of sex, so much so that breast-feeding mothers are vilified for – gasp! – baring their breasts. It kinda goes with the territory, people!
I don’t like it that the only way to sell anything – holidays, insurance, watches, deodorant… – is to put a “sexy” woman in your advert.
And I don’t like it that I’ve become so apathetic about the use of breasts to sell things. I used to be so much more angry, dammit – and rightly so, I feel. I don’t like it that I feel I won’t make a difference to this. I have to believe that I will. Otherwise, what is there?
Apart from breasts on buses, obviously!
Are you thinking of a man?
I’m thinking of me. The euphemistic “touching yourself” doesn’t really describe it, except perhaps in the begining, when my new, womanly bits were still new, and I wanted to see what they were like. And yes, I found a convenient mirror, and yes, I was a little put out that it wasn’t colour-coded like the books always are. But it was a lot more entertaining.
I never felt like I was doing anything wrong, but then, I’ve always been cheerfully atheist, which means I don’t have to subscribe to the organised religions’ hang-ups about womens’ sexuality. Yay for fun sex for women! Or no sex at all, if that’s what they want!
Even so, it was still a taboo subject at school. Which is strange, because it seems to have been common knowledge that every boy did.
So why is female masturbation still so taboo?
Is it because it gives her pleasure, and involves no other person, which just screws up the traditional idea of women as objects for giving pleasure, not receiving it?
Or is it because girls are generally brought up not to indulge in such “messy” pursuits?
Also, I loved reading this description of the Bully Wank. I’m so glad I’m not the only girl that’s fallen asleep on herself!
Thank you Jon, thank you Mark, Hadley, Pete, Dan, Alan, Toby, Steve, Courtney, Shaun, Denzil, Winston, Vince, Fulvio, Augusto, Hassan, Walter, Hoang, Mervyn, Wayne, Darren, Lyndsey, David, Antonio, Colin, Jamie….. every man I know to be a good, decent person, because after wandering the internet I am losing faith in men, and it’s you who stop me losing it entirely.
There is a woman. Over here: Capitalism Bad; Tree Pretty
She writes about politics I don’t understand as well as I would like to, although I do know I lean towards the left.
Incidentally, the left (as a direction or area, not in terms of politics) apparently used to be associated with femininity, and womanhood. Coincidence, or something more sinister?! (And incidentally again, the word ‘sinister’ is derived from the Latin word for ‘left’. I sense a theme!)
Anyway, a political oponent of hers, and his friends, have resorted to scary, scary tactics.
The “she just needs a good fuck” tactics.
When a woman makes a reasoned, intelligent political statement, you DO NOT ATTEMPT TO DISCREDIT HER BY TALKING ABOUT HER SEXUALITY.
This is irrespective of whether you agree with the statement or not.
DO NOT EVER TRY TO IMPLY THAT WITHOUT HER IMPLIED SEXUAL FRUSTRATION, SHE WOULD HAVE A DIFFERENT OPINION.
Imagine the uproar if it was a man.
The initial comment was, “Nothing a big black dildo won’t fix……”
You can imagine it now, can’t you.
Somebody disagreeing with a stance Gordon Brown has taken and saying “Nothing a big black dildo won’t fix……”
Or saying, “well, he obviously hasn’t had any in a while”
Or “nothing a good wank won’t solve”
Actually, I’m going to go off on one again (go on, label me ‘just another hysterical woman’ if you dare!)
There are two things I find incredibly offensive in those seven cretinous words…..
1 – the implication that women are incapable of forming rational opinions without having regular penatrative sex (with man or dildo)
2 – the insiduous racism.
“Big black dildo”?? Don’t dare try to tell me that wasn’t meant to be about race. I won’t buy it.
I’ve seen porn sites too, you know.
I’ve read the “interracial love” stories on literotica.
What the fuck has colour got to do with anything? It seems to be the last refuge of racism, in porn – and nobody argues overmuch with it, because either they’re wholely against porn, want it banned in its entirety and thus don’t worry about the details of why these things are wrong, or else they use porn and don’t care, or accept it as part of the territory.
It’s still wrong. On so many levels, it’s still wrong.
P.S. I am aware that I haven’t linked to Maia’s oponent in this post. If you want to read it, go through her blog, because I really don’t want to dirty my blog with it.
It really is that bad.
Because yes, I feel it merits a post on its own.
What was your sex ed like? What was mine like? What effect did it have on us? Was it useful?
I am a British national, and although it’s true I am more proud to be a Londoner than I am to be British, I still have some attatchment to my country. I say British here not because I’m an idiot that can’t differentiate between Britain and England; the Scottish and the Welsh, stop waving flags, I know you exist, I promise! I say it because I have a lot of Irish blood in me, and sadly there is no such thing as a ‘UK’ national!
Anyway. As a British national, I can rest secure in the knowledge that children in my country will, by law, be taught of evolution and sex. In some way. At some time. Evolution was Year 7 biology lessons.
Well, for me, there was that bizarre lesson during which the boys and girls were separated, and the girls were told about periods. I never did find out what the boys did during that time.
Then there was my “facts of life” book, which talked a lot about puberty, a lot about babies, and had the same amount of space devoted to beards as was devoted to sex.
It was because of this book, as I believe has been mentioned elsewhere, that I was under the impression that one could only kiss (in a heterosexual way) sitting down on a sofa, in an awkward, mostly-facing forwards position, with hands between legs and on breasts. Perhaps that had something to do with my disappointment at not having breasts for many, many years…
My mother also managed to confuse me quite successfully – I was talking to her about the book, no doubt being arrogant and assuming it conferred on me great wisdom (as was my way!) when she commented “but there are plenty of other things that are ‘facts of life’ that your book doesn’t talk about – like going bald…”
Suddenly the book of knowledge was fallible, just like everything else. Ah, disillusionment. A wonderful thing!
It was around this time that I found a ‘grown-up’ book. I have a feeling it may have belonged to my uncle, who was living with us at that point. In any case, it was a proper grown-up’s novel about proper grown-up’s things, including sex, or rather a lack of it.
My introduction to sex scenes? Well, the Irish heroine was determined to stay a virgin, which immediately put a damper on things! I can recall four distinct scenes, all of which I carefully bookmarked with creases at the corners of the pages. During one, she actually manages to sprain her cousin’s…. well, in the interests of not causing any reading men undue phantom pain, I’ll leave it to your immagination. But I found it fascinating, as an eleven year-old!
Anyway. Apparently it was meant to be a murder mystery……
Secondary school, and things were different.
The mechanics of sex, as such, were biology, and all taught in a very cold, scientific, “…and this is how the female becomes pregnant” kind of a way.
The other facets of sex were PSHE (Personal, Social and Health Education) and that concerned itself mainly with STIs and pregnancy and how to avoid them.
So there was that memorable lesson where one poor girl had to demonstrate putting a condom onto a banana. Classy.
On the whole, I’d say my sex ed wasn’t too bad. It was taught, in a halfway decent fashion.
But the thing is, I wish they’d linked it.
I wish they’d said, Ok, this is the procreation bit, this is “when a mummy and a daddy love each other very much…” but before they become “a mummy and a daddy” these people might be “a girlfriend and a boyfriend” and do exactly the same things.
Because they separated it so far that sex for teenagers seemed somehow different to sex for “a mummy and a daddy”. And that’s not right.
I also wish they’d talked about sexualities other than hetero. They never really did that, that I can remember. Oh, there might have been a few passing comments about “some girls liking other girls” and “some boys liking other boys”, but never in any serious way.
Never in a grown up way. And being bisexual was only mentioned as ‘a phase’, if at all, and anything else, like transsexuality…. nope, never mentioned.
In fact, if they were mentioned, it tended to be in the context of discrimination, and not sex. I don’t mean that they were actively discriminated against, by the way, I mean that it turned up in PSHE as “is it right to discriminate against people who…… X, Y, Z…. etc…… No, children, it’s wrong, so don’t do it”.
I’d say something needs to change. I might start a string of posts about things everyone should know……
…As the saying goes!
Idly browsing, I come across a spectacularly bizarre article about spectacularly bizarre people (well, young, rich, conservative Americans, anyway!). Within it, I find this quote about female promiscuity:
“I think one sexual partner for every 2-3 years is acceptable for a girl from a good family. Sex just isn’t something girls should be doing if they are interested in marrying me.”
*Space indicates blank silence which should, by rights, follow such a statement!
Shall I bother to comment? Er… yeah, ok….
Frankly, this, er, man, sounds like the kind of person second only to Creepy Guy on my list of people to avoid!
I’m not sure which implication puts me off most –
– “I’m so good, I’m worth the wait”
– “sex is something I shall enjoy, and my wife shall tolerate”
– “sex is something my wife doesn’t really want; therefore, she would never cheat on me”
– “my wife shall be from a ‘good family’ because I deserve no less” (I’m intruigued to know what counts as a ‘good family’ in any case – no convicts, lords or lunatics, perhaps?!)
I’m sure, though, he never meant the inference I drew from his comment, namely –
– “my wife had better not like / want sex, because I’m really, really crap in bed!”
You’ve got to laugh, really, haven’t you?
Actually, it made me quite smug to think that this man will never, ever go out with someone like me. Just think what he’s missing!
Children – and childhood – seem to be disappearing.
I almost… almost feel like an old, whinging madwoman saying this. But I’m not, so here goes:
When I was a kid, I dressed in jeans and t-shirts, flat sandals or shoes, fleeces, party dresses that came down below my knees, those little-girl white socks with the foldy-over bit of lace at the top.
But now, all I seem to see are little girls of seven, eight, nine… all dressing like teenagers, like adults. It’s like being back in the Victorian age, for goodness’ sake! What’s happened to childhood, to having those things that you’ll remember for childhood?
I know kids try to dress older, act older, but really, it just doesn’t feel right for them to be dressed in little miniskirts, high heels, knee-high boots, those little jackety things that are there just to cover your breasts — except that they don’t have any, because they’re eight!
I can remember just one girl in my year at primary school who dressed like that, out of probably fifty-odd girls. And she was the weird one.
And actually, I know I’m not wrong on this, and I know it’s not right, because recently a man was given a fairly light sentence for “statutory rape” of a ten year old.
His defence? She dressed like she was sixteen, acted like she was sixteen, told him she was sixteen. Therefore it was consensual and he didn’t know any better, so he can’t have been to blame.
This should never have happened.
And I am so, so sad for that child, who seems to think that trying to be a sixteen year old, way before her time, is an appropriate thing to do.
Poor girl. When I was her age, I was playing make-believe stories where sixteen was an impossibly big age to be, grown up and unattainable.
And I thought that sex happened like it does in James Bond films, where they take their tops off in bed and kiss and roll around lots, and in the morning she wakes up with underwear on.
And it was always really embarressing to watch those things with your parents there, because you were always really interested and never wanted to seem like you were.
If I have children, I want them to think exactly the same thing, until they can screw up their courage to ask myself or their father about it.
And I won’t just give them a “Facts of Life” book, either. Not the one I got, anyway!
It took me ages to work out where all the legs went, after looking at the anatomical diagram. The man and the woman – helpfully colour coded in blue and pink respectively – seemed to only have half a leg each, and using Barbie and Ken to try to figure it out didn’t really work!
I’m not saying for a moment that I’d give them a copy of the Kama Sutra, but seriously, from a real explanation point of view, that book was crap.
You know, in a kind of, “when a man and a woman love each other very much….” kind of a way, that tells you fuck all.
I thought you had to kiss on a sofa, sitting mostly properly – that is, facing forwards – with just the very top part of your bodies turning towards each other, and one of his hands on your breast, because of my book.
And I thought you had to move your hips and nothing else, once you were actually having sex. I thought there was nothing between the two – that you’d automatically go from kissing on a sofa to sex in a bed. I could never quite equate the James Bond films with this, either.
Oh, yeah – and I thought that you’d get pregnant every time you had sex, so you’d only be able to do it once every nine months.
Oh, for those years of innocence…..