Zeitgeist Zenpuss!
http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2011/nov/20/yvonne-roberts-over-60s-divorce
This is an article in the newspaper today, and there was me writing about the very subject yesterday.
.............................................................................
A footnote: Angie Watts/Anita Dobson performed last night but I couldn't bring myself to vote for her because she reminded me of one of the women who have made my life such a misery over the last six months.
I love older women and I totally want them to be liberated and free, even free to fuck the person that I thought cared for me more than anyone else. I just wish they would do all their fucking and thinking honestly and openly with due regard for my relationship. But no, none of them could be bothered to do that.
See Zakelius.
But good luck to them anyway. I hope they are all enjoying themselves as I hope these silver separators in the making find their way in the world too.
Sunday 20 November 2011
The Female Orgasm
The Female Orgasm
Back in the news this week is the scientific approach to
the female orgasm.
It appears that somebody has finally decided to look at
how the brain functions during orgasm. It surprises me that it has taken this
long to state the bleeding obvious as far as arousal and blood rushing to the
brain. Haven’t we always said that the brain is probably the largest and even
the most important organ in the whole game of love-making?
"The general aim of this research is to understand how the orgasm builds up from genital stimulation and what parts of the brain become recruited and finally build up into an orgasm," said Prof Komisaruk, who presented the work at the Society for Neuroscience annual meeting in Washington DC on Monday. The work has yet to be published in a peer-reviewed journal.
As the animation plays, activity first builds up in the genital area of the sensory cortex, a response to being touched in that region. Activity then spreads to the limbic system, a collection of brain structures involved in emotions and long-term memory.
As the orgasm arrives, activity shoots up in two parts of the brain called the cerebellum and the frontal cortex, perhaps because of greater muscle tension. During orgasm, activity reaches a peak in the hypothalamus, which releases a chemical called oxytocin that causes pleasurable sensations and stimulates the uterus to contract. Activity also peaks in the nucleus accumbens, an area linked to reward and pleasure.
After orgasm, the activity in all these regions gradually calms down.
Well, I could have told them that without being bungled
into an MRI machine – apart from the bit which says these regions gradually
calm down. It takes me quite some time to ‘calm down’ after an orgasm and I
think my brain is still doing somersaults for some considerable time after my
first orgasm of the day.
Of course the thing that really interests me is the
comments made about such a study. There’s the people who moan that we are
wasting time in finding out about the female orgasm and why can we not
concentrate on the man for a change (!). Then there are the oh so not witty
responses about the need for glasses of wine and a fag as part of the female
orgasm. I mean how could a woman possibly climax without one of those drugs?
Then there are thoughtful comments in praise of the study
with the subtle suggestion that if we finally get this right, then sex for men
and women could be vastly improved.
Women have suppressed their sexuality for years due to a
misogynist society and an economic determinant of where a woman’s supposed best
interests lie. Men did not want women to enjoy sex in case they bogged off and
did it with someone else. It suited everyone’s needs, apparently even women’s,
to ignore their sexuality and get on with being the less dominant person in a
family.
I think a change is in the air and it is good that these
scientific tests are taking place so that some credence and value is rightly
apportioned to female sexuality.
However, isn’t it sad that we need a scientific study
such as this to state the bleeding obvious?
Why is it that we rely so heavily on academia when we
should really be concentrating on getting on and enjoying the entire
experience, together, exploring our sexual potential with one another.
And of course, within the entire article there is no
mention of female ejaculation.
As far as I am concerned, I would have thought we had
moved on from whether females have orgasms and what happens to the brain when
they do. Shock horror, there is increased blood action and oxytocin is
released!
But who has done a study into what female ejaculation is,
how it happens and why certain women and more gloriously susceptible to most
natural of bodily functions?
I actually want to know why I gush, what I am gushing and
how come I can continue to pour stuff out of my body even when I have soaked a
towel and a duvet or two. I want to know these things.
And I want to know them now.
I want to know whether there is any link between female
ejaculation and fertility. I want to know why we have been forced to suppress
this essential part of our sexuality and I want to know it now.
I finish with a response from one commentator on the
article.
Interesting, forthright and I love the thing about faking
orgasms.
Female orgasms happen in exactly the same way as male ones; keep rubbing it the right way and eventually you'll get there. Just like male orgasms, in the final few stages, for the final few strokes, it's basically (mutual) masturbation (just like with a penis). In fact, if you look at it under a microscope the clitoris is shaped just like a tiny penis, complete with a perfectly shaped glans.
The reason female orgasms have become so 'complicated', is because of the hangover from the punative taboos around female sexuality; men wanted their woman to stay loyal to them, not go off and and have sex (and breed) with other men, so the best way to achieve this was by making sure women didn't enjoy sex, by punishing and ostracising the ones that did, or who were promiscuous. In some parts of the world they even cut the clitoris off adolescent girls to ensure they don't have an orgasm and therefore are more likely to stay loyal to their husbands. In Victorian England too, the 'little operation' (a clitorectomy) was prescribed by doctors to wives who were regarded as 'hysterical', one of the 'symptoms' being a woman becoming 'over excited' during sexual intercourse.
Today things have changed, but the 'slag' stigma still exists, and inhibits a lot of women from really letting themselves enjoy sex (and have an orgasm) because they might start wanting it with lots of different people, and they might be called a 'slag' and subsequently treated as inferior.
Many women still don't have orgasms during sex, or even through masturbation, partly because women are still governed by the need to behave in a feminine and 'pretty way, and orgasms require one to push quite hard, and not necessarily be particularly 'feminine'. Also, mass media still for the most part tends to show men 'giving' a woman an orgasm through penetrative sex, and this inhibits women (and men too) from doing what feels good & works naturally, making them think they have to do it in a certain way, otherwise they will be thought of as 'weird' or not 'feminine' or 'manly' enough.
For all the men out there, if you really want a woman to have an orgasm, all you really have to do is make sure she doesn't feel inhibited or self-conscious when she's in bed with you, by making her feel good about herself, her body, and that anything she needs to do to come, or needs you to do to get help her come is fine with you. Non- judgemental.
For all the women out there - DO NOT FAKE IT! EVER! HOW ELSE ARE THEY GOING TO LEARN WHAT A FEMALE ORGASM REALLY LOOKS & SOUNDS LIKE?! If you really can't come, (but usually can) it's probably tiredness, or too much to drink, or anxiety etc...men understand this - these are the things that stop them having orgasms too.
Though searching for a clitoris using a microscope, and discovering it is penis shaped?
Oh dear!
Saturday 19 November 2011
Older Women
Before I go any further, I want to make it perfectly
clear that I contentedly count myself as one of women in the title of this
piece. I may not be a Granny or have to dye my hair to eradicate the greyness
but it is only a matter of time, (well the hair dying at least).
I am the right or wrong side of fifty, depending on your
perspective, but I am certainly a mature woman – well at least most of the
time.
Older women seem to be in the news at the moment. Older
women, apparently include women from the age of 31 years old upwards. From where
I am standing, I wouldn’t call a 31 year old woman an “old woman” but I suppose
if you are having a relationship with a 17 year old, then you could certainly
be described as being older.
The other day, I was reading something on the Yahoo
website about how some famous Z-lister was “dating” another wannabee celebrity.
There was total outcry because she was 31 and he was 17.
I’ve now found the link on the Daily Mail website and
have discovered that this woman has had death threats.
I’m not going to go into the age-old debacle of the
hypocrisy involved here, in so far that if the age of the genders in this case
were transferred, people would find it less problematic. It is a well-known
fact that a younger woman having sexual relationships with an older man is far
more socially acceptable than the other way around. Personally, and this really
is a personal view, I would be concerned with anyone in their thirties having
sex with someone who may not be emotionally mature and who has only just passed
the age of consent.
But then again, when are we emotionally mature enough to
cope with the complexities of sex?
I’d also like to point out that the age difference is not
an issue here. It is the age of the youngest person involved. For instance,
Catherine Zeta Jones is decades younger than her partner but she did not jump
into a sexual relationship with him when she was still of school age.
And even then, there are times when it is perfectly acceptable.
At that age I was gagging for sex with an older bloke and I think I had the
emotional maturity to have happily been fucked to pieces by this gorgeous one.
Ah, if only.
Diane Keaton was on Woman’s Hour this week. At the age of
65, as a successful film actor, she has had opportunities galore in her life;
opportunities that most of us can only begin to imagine, and yet, half way
through the interview she stated that she had many regrets, one of which was
that she had been too cautious in her previous decades.
I don’t want to wake up at the age of 65 and regret the
fact that I did not seize the moment when the moment arose. I do not want to
wake up in years to come and wish I had taken the opportunity to do the things
that I wanted to do. I do not want to wake up in decades to come and feel
remorseful that I didn’t experience lots of sensational sexual experiences
throughout my life.
I spent years not understanding, valuing or expressing my
sexuality and now that I have discovered all the joys of sex, I’ll be damned if
I am going to put a stopper in my delightfully spunky body now.
I want to spray my stuff all over the place. I want to be
filmed having sex with myself and others and I want to be free to be sexually
proud with whoever chooses to enjoy my sexuality.
This brings me onto another issue that was discussed
recently with a group of friends.
Again, I’m back to the glorious Daily Mail.
This article points out that there are a growing number
of “silver separations” whereby people arrive at an age of retirement only to
discover (or finally acknowledge) that they have nothing in common with their
lifelong partner. They may have been contented and have even survived the empty
nest syndrome when their children fled from the family home, but then, all of a
sudden, they find that they simply have nothing to say or no desire to do
anything with their partner.
The divorce rate for these former Baby Boomers has
escalated dramatically.
And I really hope that part of this is down to the
empowerment of women. I really hope that there are some people who, like Diane
Keaton, wake up one day and say, “I am in my 60s. I have regrets but actually
there is still plenty of life ahead of me and I am damn well going to get out
there and enjoy it”.
Sexual freedom is vital. It is empowering and liberating,
and if, at the age of sixty you suddenly feel as though you want something
different then why shouldn’t you do it? IF your partner is not offering you
what you want, then surely you have an entitlement to look elsewhere. Even if
you partner is giving you everything you need, there may still be a desire to
feel the liberation of another body in your bed.
Circumstances vary from person to person and relationship
to relationship but the issue remains; nobody owns anybody and if it takes
almost a lifetime to realise that, then so be it.
But there is a problem.
Google “STI rise in older people” and you will find that
this is a world-wide problem, well at least in the western world. Americans,
Canadians, Brits and Ozzies have all found that there has been a significant
increase in the number of cases of STIs in the over 55s. Clearly, it is not
coincidence that this is happening simultaneously with the rise in the over 55
divorce rate.
People suddenly free and expressing their sexuality for
the first time in years may suddenly feel as though nothing in the world can
prevent them from enjoying themselves, right up to the point when they contract
the Clap.
It can be an extremely difficult, embarrassing discovery
and unnecessary shame occurs.
With the concerns of pregnancy averted by the menstrual
nightmare clocking off, women particularly are in danger of making assumptions
that they are safe when it comes to sex. I can totally understand this. The
total liberation of knowing that you cannot accidentally conceive must
certainly relieve a nagging issue in the middle of sex. It is also reported
that with an increase in the use of the little blue pill, more older men are
thankfully enjoying sex more frequently but once more, in their elation, they
are sometimes forgetting that it is not all about being hot and horny.
Sometimes, a little care and consideration is required too.
I am honestly not trying to be negative in all of this. I
want women and men to thoroughly enjoy their sexuality. I am an advocate of
people of all ages enjoying sex. I am damn sure that I want to be enjoying sex
as a sexagenarian – lexicographically it seems rather befitting.
Older people MUST enjoy sex and lots of it.
And talking of older women, let’s just celebrate the fact
that finally we can look forward to a life of liberation and an enjoyment of
our sexuality.
Our world is changing and our sexuality with it.
Last night, I caught a small amount of the Children in
Need programme on the television. There was a Strictly Come Dancing session
with four newsreaders (all of them over 40 years of age).
Whether you are a fan of this genre or not, I have to say
that they all looked bloody good. Susannah Reid, who I confess to having a huge
crush on, looked completely gorgeous but the others too showed how to be an older
woman oozing with sexuality and confidence.
The routine culminated with Angela Rippon, aged 66,
appearing from behind the newsdesk just as she had done decades before on the
Morecambe and Wise show, still managing to kick her legs in a full air splits!
Amazing!
Good on them!
Older women, however old they are, are out there and
enjoying their sexuality, and I am proud to think of myself as one of them.
On a final note about older women in the news, I return
to the BBCs Saturday bonanza programme.
At present, Anita Dobson, she of Angie fame in
Eastenders, is currently strutting her stuff on “Strictly Come Dancing”. This
week, she was in the news and was also on “Woman’s Hour”. There was a slight
outcry in the dancing quarters because she apparently performed a brilliant
dance last week, scoring an exceptionally high mark from the judges only to
find herself in the bottom two at the end of the evening.
Why? Well the only possibility is due to her age. Despite
her clear ability and her absolute passion for dancing, she found herself without
the support of the public, and I can only, assume as did the media this week,
that this was all due to her age.
Older women are not deemed to be as exciting and invigorating
as the younger type.
I’m not an avid fan of this programme but I might just
watch tonight and vote for Anita just to support the liberation and the
sexuality of the older woman.
Life begins at 40, 50, 60 or even further along than that
if you explore and embrace your passions, particularly if that passion is for
sex.
Here’s to the older woman and her opportunities in life
so that nobody in the future wakes up at the age of 65 and says, “I wish.....”
Monday 7 November 2011
Girls Just Wanna Have Fun
It was the mid eighties. I was bored. I’d been dumped by
an extremely good looking bloke for a relatively plain looking stick insect.
The fact that she was icy, upper middle-class, soulless and condescending
somehow made matters worse.
I didn’t actually want to be with the bloke in question.
He was a bit of a twat, if I am honest. He was a public school moron with the
politics to accompany the silver spoon that had been left in his mouth.
This new girlfriend of his was far more in tune with him,
although she had no sense of humour whatsoever, and she wore pearls! I’ve not
got anything particularly against pearls but on a 22year old, they just seem
rather misplaced, or certainly did at the time.
We all went out one evening, a whole load of us hitting
the town in the monstrous way that students do. I’d spent most of my evening
with a group of male friends and had been hopelessly hit on by this one lad
with the most enormous mouth. I mean, literally. It was the size of Julia
Roberts’s with an additional pump of Botox, probably before Botox had even been
invented.
He had wavy hair, decent looking eyes and that was about
it.
He was deeply unintelligent.
But I was bored and I was pissed off at seeing Little
Miss Perfect and the moronic one. I didn’t like the way that she was looking at
me. What precisely had she got that I hadn’t apart from a cold and calculating
manner?
What she had in abundance was “class” and money and
therefore I was redundant, though I am obviously not so full of myself that I
did not recognise there was much more to it than that. Some people are just
suited to one another, and these two fitted together perfectly.
They got married in the end.
And probably got divorced too.
Anyway, Botox features wouldn’t leave me alone.
I was bored. So when he sat down next to me on the bus
home, I let him slide his fingers all over my legs. I let him brush his hands
over my breasts as he kissed me, and I decided that I was going to fuck him
that night, not because I was particularly attracted to him but because I just
fancied doing something outlandish. And of course, there was something to prove
to the beautiful ex.
I had my fair amount of fucks whilst at university but
had never had a one-night stand before.
As the bus approached my stop, he followed me off the
bus, miles away from his own house.
I let him.
I let myself into the house, walked straight up to the
bedroom and got fucked.
We fucked quickly and immediately, and then we clambered
into bed where he fucked me again. It was raw, unsensual but quite thrilling.
He had a decent cock and I remember getting rather aroused, not by the bloke
but by the whole raunchy situation. I knew that I had no intention of seeing
him again, and prayed that the dimwit wouldn’t fall for me.
In the morning, he left.
I met him at lunch time where he explained to me that he
had a girlfriend and was going to be engaged to be married within the year. I
didn’t have the heart to tell him that I was not exactly heartbroken at this
news. She was welcome to his rubbery lips and his tailored manner.
I was out of there!
For my own confidence though, I just wish I had been
assertive enough to tell him this rather than allow him to think he was giving
me the brush-off.
But bizarrely, the whole experience was wonderfully
empowering. I hadn’t deliberately dressed myself up that evening in order to
get laid, but as soon as this guy started on me, I just thought to myself, “Why
not?”
I was a relatively decent looking girl. I hadn’t had sex
for nearly a month and in those days, before I rediscovered celibacy or a
certainly a lack of interest in sex, I was rather desperate for a decent bit of
cock.
It wasn’t a big deal.
On Friday night, I was out in town once more; a different
town and different circumstances. I was with a load of girlfriends, the
majority of whom were in a stable relationship, or certainly ones of longevity.
Nobody had dressed to flirt – after all, apparently middle aged or older women
of a certain standing don’t do that sort of thing. Certainly nobody was out to
get hold of a man and have their brains fucked out for the sake of it, not even
me!
But I was surrounded by others with a different story to
tell, not part of my group, but certainly dressed to devour.
Ask teenager girls what they aspire to in life and some
respond with the most horrific of statements; they want to be a WAG.
All they want is to go out into the city, meet up with a
wannabee or established footballer, stick their fannies in their faces and end
up, a few months down the line, as the next Cheryl Cole. I shudder to myself at
their lack of self-worth; not merely for their weird aspiration but because
they feel a need to define themselves by a man. No woman should do that and it
is tragic that we are still in a situation when this happens.
However, on this Friday night, there may not have been
the would-be WAGs wandering around the mild autumn streets, only groups of
women with various reasons as to why they were dressed or semi-dressed up to
the three times threes.
Alert: gross stereotyping coming on.
You’ve all seen them, pottering around on their stiletto heels,
carrying the smallest little clutch bag containing keys and condoms, with their
Facebook pouts at the ready.
They collect or mutate together into congealed
conformity; all long hair, short skirts, skimpy tops, fake tans and a sense of
purpose, clothed in a manner that pays no heed to the seasonal variation of our
climate.
But I must stop this stereotyping at once. There are also
the women who group together and do not tart themselves up to the eyeballs.
They are out in the late autumn breeziness with a far more casual appearance;
free to choose what they want to wear, perhaps holding a can or two of lager in
hand, dying on the spot to be compared with the prospective WAGs.
The night is full of these groups of women. They are
merry and alive and enjoying life, I think.
But we don’t know anything about them, about their lives,
their dreams, their hopes and yet we start to make assumptions according to
what they are wearing and indeed the fact that they are gathered together as a
group.
And the first assumption is that they are out to find a
man!
That is how conditioned we all are.
There must be a reason why they are dressed in a certain
way or giggling profusely. Surely there is only one reason why these girls stay
together; safety in numbers until they can shed their unity to subdivide.
Our fiendish automatic assumption, even the enlightened amongst
us, is that they are officially on the pull.
But it is not that simple and who are we to imagine as such.
And isn’t it tragic that we cannot instantly consider another reason why these
women are out and about in the early hours of the morning; that they are just
out to have fun.
As I am wandering through the night and journeying with
them, I play a little game, I imagine where they have come from, what they are
doing, what they hope to achieve in their evening and indeed their lives.
And I look at them and see a little of the adventures
that I had when I was their age, or certainly the adventures that I would have
liked, for my life was relatively sheltered.
Let’s take a quick look at a group of women then.
There’s the one who really does want to be a WAG: the
exhibitionist who is the first on the dance floor, or the one who surreptitiously
winds herself on the bar in the hope that a wealthy passer-by will grab her
attention, or vice versa.
Then there is another who loves her evenings out with her
girls but would like an alternative too. She is a little more demure than the
previous girl but what she wants more than anything is a man; a boyfriend,
someone to share some time with, almost irrespective of whether there is any
true compatibility. The coupling is more important to them than the connection.
Although there is generalisation here, there is an
element of truth.
Who else is there within this group of young women? Do
they all have the same purpose in life?
Perhaps, amongst them, there are those who just want to
be out with their friends, having fun, dancing, drinking, revelling in the joy
of female company, not in a sexual way.
There is much to be said for groups!
There is much to be said for having a close-knit group of
friends with whom to share a meal or a couple of drinks, and once more, just
because they are a group of young women, rather than the group of women of my
age, we should not assume that they are all desperate for a man to satisfy
their every need. Sadly, as I said, that is precisely what we do.
“Girls just wanna have fun” cried Cyndi Lauper, and that
is absolutely right. So shouldn’t we let them do precisely that?
Or perhaps there is the young woman who is brave enough
to admit, like I did decades before, that they just fancy a fuck.
Have times really changed?
When I see these women, I actually dance in delight at their liberation and their opportunity. It may not be what the feminists strove for but I love the fact that there are more women out there taking power for themselves.
I did it one night, once. I never kissed a bloke without a
serious amount of flirtatious foreplay that would take place, sometimes over a
period of months. Frequently the flirtatious foreplay was so subtle I didn’t
even know I was engaging in such a process.
Nowadays it does feel as though young women do not have
such reticence. If they want something they go for it.
I watch a group in a bar; giggling and chatting, moving
their eyes around the room. I pass them as I go to get the next bottle of wine
for the muttons shying away in the corner.
All too soon, the force of the group of collective women
disperses. They are gradually dissipating from the whole to the fractions, and
the mathematical breakdown soon becomes multiples of two, with a few odd ones
left out of the equation.
There’s safety in numbers, they said. But now there are
only two. And that causes problems. The “one’s” left out feel periphery. The
ones who thought they might find the love of their lives are disappointed but
the ones who have caught the eye of a prospective snogger or fucker are
oblivious in an instant to the needs of their friends.
And all because..........
Why do we have to play this game, and why do I have to
sit on and watch, losing all sense of excitement at their liberty, knowing that
ultimately everyone is just going to play the conformity game, just like I did.
I look again at the group of young women and hope to see
my younger self within.
I find her and I want to grab her by the hand and tear
her away. I want to tell her to be herself. I want to tell her that if she
wants a fuck, then she should be more forthright and admit to herself and
others that this is what she needs. I want to tell her that it is okay to love
someone, to care for them, to feel an ultimate connection with another but she
mustn’t lose herself, her dignity and everything that she is for the sake of
any other human being, however wonderful they may be. I want to tell her that she
has plenty of time. She’s not a bird – she is not designed to be monogamous and
if she manages to catch the eye of a sexual partner now, it doesn’t have to be
forever. I want to tell her that she will be happy and she can have fun and
that enjoyment of life comes from diversity and inclusivity.
That’s what I want to tell her, only I know that she has
a list of counter-arguments about babies and biological clocks and security and
the safety not of numbers but of the number two.
And I cannot argue against that intuitive feeling that I
know she has.
The women sit on the train at the end of the evening.
They are no longer a large group of young women. Their numbers have been
swelled or diminished by the additional men or the loss of some of their party
to the delights of a “result” where the keys in the handbag are unused for the
night but the other article might come in handy.
Nothing is straight forward but I still live in hope that
the groups of girls that I see, be they clad in stilettos or be they simply
enjoying an evening of sipping wine at a table in a heated shelter, learn to be
unconventional, realise their own worth and feel confident to be themselves,
and simply have fun with no expense to others.
Some boys take a beautiful girl
And hide her away from the rest of the world
I wanna be the one who walks in the sun.
Simple, even simplistic lyrics but I want that sunshine
back on my back.
Saturday 29 October 2011
Erotic Capital
My dear Tanya. You’ve got me all going again on a fine Saturday
morning but not necessarily in a positive way.
Ms. Gold is fed up. She is quite right to be so. She
complains that women are still not getting a fair deal. She explains that there
is still a 15% pay gap between men and women which cannot possibly be right in
the 21st century. She cries in pain at the failings of the feminist
movement and the fact that there seems no spunk (excuse the pun) in their
activities. She says that the media is to blame for frothing women into nothing
but consumers whilst simultaneously filling our minds with trivial irrelevances.
As someone recently stated, there is an off button if you do not want to watch
crap, and there is a choice for all not to read rubbish in the press.
Which brings me carefully back to Ms Gold’s article.
When oh when oh when are women going to stop bickering
with one another and get on with the job in hand (I’m doing well with me
innuendos so far)?
I am serious. And so is Tanya.
There is plenty wrong with the way that women are treated
and portrayed in life, in the media, in the home.
Women do not earn as much as men for a variety of
reasons. Firstly, there is an inherent misogynism in this country. Our world is
ruled by men, for men. They have the ultimate power and until women realise
their own worth, not as a man but as a woman – collectively – this is not going
to change.
Secondly, women are paid less than men over a lifetime
because they have time off work for having babies. Not only does this
interruption halt their pay for a period of time, but it prevents them from
climbing the professional ladder at the same pace as their male counterparts,
unless they are a particular type of woman who is probably playing the game as
a misogynist in tights and a pencil skirt. Thirdly, women do not have the
confidence to use their erotic capital – and more of that later.
There are lots of other reasons why women do not earn as
much as men but these are just three to be going on with at the moment and, as
Gold points out, there are other factors to do with women being more prevalent
in caring professions or public sector, therefore they are feeling the punch of
redundancy more than men at present.
What Ms Gold and many feminists fail to appreciate,
however, is that we are failing so many women by not empowering them with their
own minds and their own bodies.
And that is the biggest tragedy of all.
Ms. Gold opened her comments with a snide hit at the new
BBC television programme which appears to be a cross between Mad Men and the
Virgin advert that had a group of gorgeous women marching through an airport.
She is fed up with these images belittling women and putting them down as
nothing but a sexual commodity.
Here’s the thing, Tanya, and I say this as a woman who is
deeply committed to the feminist movement. We are a sexual commodity and we should damn well celebrate the fact.
Catherine Hakim recently wrote a book all about the
subject which I believe I have referred to before.
“Why do some people seem to lead charmed lives? They are attractive, but also lively, friendly and charismatic. People want to be around them. Doors open for them. The answer, this book shows, is in the power of erotic capital - the overlooked human asset that is at the heart of how we work, interact, make money, succeed and conduct our relationships.Catherine Hakim's groundbreaking book reveals how erotic capital is just as influential in life as how rich, clever, educated or well-connected we are. Drawing on hard evidence, she illustrates how this potent force develops from an early age, with attractive children assumed to be intelligent, competent and good. She examines how women and men learn to exploit it throughout their lives, how it differs across cultures and how it affects all spheres of activity, from dating and mating to politics, business, film, music , the arts and sport. She also explores why erotic capital is growing in importance in today's highly sexualised culture and yet, ironically, as a 'feminine' virtue, remains sidelined.Honey Money is a call for us to recognize the economic and social value of erotic capital, and truly acknowledge beauty and pleasure. This will not only change the role of women in society, getting them a better deal in both public and private life - it could also revolutionize our power structures, big business, the sex industry, government, marriage, education and almost everything we do.”
Ms Hakim was understandably defensive about her work
every time I saw her on the television. She debated with many people who I
greatly respect, for example the capable Laurie Penny, who writes so well for
the New Statesman and occasionally the Guardian too. Zoe Williams had a
terrible run-in with her over lunch and in my opinion, missed some important
points in Ms. Hakim’s work.
For Ms. Hakim is trying to highlight an important issue
even if that point was not particularly well made in some people’s minds.
And it is this.
As women, we have erotic capital. We have the natural
curves and kindness that enables us to have something to offer that no man on
earth can. We have sexuality in our tits and in our pussies, in our legs and the
way that we cover them or leave them bare. We have the ability to dress
confidently and courageously without looking as though we are the local
slapper. We have the opportunity to enhance our already beautiful features with
an array of products or just plain soap and water, if we are sensible.
Women are beautiful. The female form is the most stunning
thing known to human life, both men and women, and we are not capitalising on
this and never have.
Feminists had a vital role to play throughout history.
They were fighting important battles; for recognition, for enfranchisement, for
equality in the workplace, for opportunity. And I for one am eternally grateful
for their efforts.
However, as I have stated on more than one occasion, they
did it at a cost. The feminists of the 60s burned their bras quite rightly
because they wanted to make it perfectly clear that they were not at the beckon
call of men. They were not mere sexual objects that could open their legs
whenever a man desired as if this was their only function in life.
But what they forgot was their own enjoyment in all of
this, or perhaps they had never actually found it.
Women are sexual beings and are as entitled and capable
of enjoying sex as much as any man.
And we have got it! They haven’t.
Which is why I hold a slightly different view to Ms.
Gold.
When I see that photograph of the actresses cum
trolley-dollies in their bright red Virgin outfits, I stop and stare too.
Admittedly, I am not so keen on the idea that this array of beauties prevents
me from getting on with life or becoming interested and empathetic to the Miner’s
strike or any other political story of the time, but I sure as hell look and I
sure as hell get excited, not just for their beauty but for the fact that these
are confident women, using not abusing their erotic capital and getting what they want, not what Mr. Branson or any
other capitalist man wants.
This is true feminism; a woman empowered through her own
body to aspire and to achieve, to be confident with her own body to ensure that
she gets the things in life that she wants. Yes, she is sexy. Yes, she is
stunning. Yes, she may well be using her looks to gain access to a professional
ladder that may well not be there without them but why shouldn’t she?
But it is she
that is making the choices.
If I looked as good as these women, I’d use my erotic
capital.
This thing about choice is really important. In the past
some feminists have suggested that whilst women think they are making a choice,
in actual fact all they are doing is fulfilling the dream of the misogynist.
Let us take these Virgin flight attendants as a point in
question.
There is the suggestion from feminists that the women
here have made a choice in their career but that choice and even that career is
solely there for the purpose and at the discretion of men. The only reason that
they have this career is to titillate and excite a man as he travels across the
Atlantic in is power-driven world, offering a kindly release from meeting after
meeting. The choice of them being there is man’s and all the stupid women are
doing is playing into their hands.
Well, yes, there is a possibility that this is partly
true or certainly was in the past but we need to move on. We need to ensure
that the choice is right back with women and that there is every possibility that
some women choose to be a flight attendant because a) they want to travel to
interesting places and b) they like their bodies, they are proud of their looks
and they get a little sensual or sexual excitement from others appreciating
them too.
It is the most subtlest of shifts that is required and
like a tipping point, if all women would stop this talk of a misogynist
take-over, then we could really start empowering ourselves for ourselves rather
than it having anything to do with men whatsoever.
Recently, I attended a Burlesque evening. What made me so
utterly content was that there were these women on the stage who were not
necessarily the most beautiful girls in the world. They were not the smallest
women, they were not the typical perfect size and yet they were there,
performing and being exceptionally proud and delighted in their ability to be
themselves. They were performing for men and women alike but most importantly
they were making a statement to say, “Yes, I have something. I have something
that is good and natural and I am celebrating it, in front of you all, and I am
happy to do so. I am doing it for me, not for you, though if you enjoy it too,
so much the better.”
They were using their erotic capital to good effect.
They were using their erotic capital not to get the
better of anybody but because they were simply enjoying being a woman, and this
is something that some feminists appear to want us to ignore.
Tanya Gold is right. We need more women in parliament. We
need equal pay and not this ghastly gap between men and women, but we also need
women to be women and to be proud of the fact. We need women to be sexual
beings and ensure that there is as much right to be sexual as a woman as it is
for a man.
There is no competition. We just need to lose this idea
and get on with being who we are.
And when it comes to erotic capital, well even this
phrase is slightly wrong.
Yes, we want women to capitalise on their womanhood, and
yes, this sometimes means expressing their sexuality to the point of being
erotic, but really, in most cases, we just want women to enjoy being women just
as men, I hope, enjoy being men.
Men and women are
different but we really have to get over this issue we have about the possible exploitation
of our sexuality by men. In some ways we are doing more exploitation by not
accepting the fact that we have this erotic capital. We are preventing some
women from being who they want to be.
And one final little gripe, Ms, Gold. You mention how
deplorable it is that women are seen as mere consumer fodder and then you add a
sentence like this.
“When the Chartered Management Institute (CMI) polled 34,158 male and female executives in the private sector last year, they learned the average pay gap between men and women doing the same job is £10,031, and the average woman will, as such, be cheated out of £330,000 in her lifetime, which is a lot for a feminist, and also for a consumer.”which I assume suggests that you think that some of the £10K shortfall would be spent on consumer products should fair pay exist because that is what women do!
Be careful.
We can twist and turn any argument and any sentence and
my point in doing this is to emphasise that we need a little conformity here.
We need to unite and not fight. We need to accept the difference between men
and women but most of all we need to empower women to be women and part of that
means reclaiming their sexuality and stop pretending that this world is full of
misogynists intent on having pussy all for themselves and their own purpose.
It is time for women to capitalise on being a woman and
being themselves without any glaring snarls from feminists or misogynists
alike.
Sunday 23 October 2011
A Blissful Train Journey
He stood on the concourse and waited for the
announcement, quietly, not thinking about anything in particular.
2.05: platform 3, and he was off, ready to relax in the
garden, looking forward to enjoying this unusual of warm afternoons, sipping
wine and having a good browse through the paper that he had just bought.
He was looking forward to seeing her tomorrow. In fact,
he couldn’t wait. He was longing to feel her in his arms. He was dying to lead
her upstairs and undress her; lay her in his bed and watch her face as she
responded to his amorous touches. Cascades of loveliness consumed him.
He smiled at the thought as he walked onto the train,
taking his phone from his pocket to text her.
He sat down and started to compose the message.
And then he looked up.
The woman was sitting in front of him. Dark, wavy hair
was tumbling down her body, swept to one side, covering her ample boob with a
streak of smoothness. He instantly imagined it falling on her naked breast,
realising the joy of gently sweeping it aside to view the dark and delicious
nipple.
The text. He must send this text.
But his eyes averted once more to the young woman before
him.
He allowed his gaze to naturally fall further down the
woman’s body. Her dark skin was shining with the slightest of perspiration. Her
skin was the most perfect colour; a golden olive that was as natural as the cascading
hair.
She was utterly beautiful.
But then he became stuck.
He could not avert his eyes. They seemed glued to her
legs. He couldn’t move, could hardly breathe.
She sat with her legs ever so slightly ajar but closed
enough to contain her womanhood. Not that this stopped his imagination. What
was she wearing underneath the frothy skirt? Was her pussy covered in white or
black? Thongs or lacy panties like the ones his lover wore?
Was she shaven or natural? Did her labia protrude with an
open invitation to feel her clitoris?
How would those legs feel underneath him? Would she wrap
them around and leave her feet on his arse as he entered into her? Would she
allow him to spend time just running his hands up and down them in mesmerised
delight? He could have spend hours just looking at them, feeling them, kissing
them. He longingly looked at her neat ankles, beautifully contained within the
subtlest of straps that led down to a glorious heeled shoe that he hoped she
would keep on when he fucked her.
The text. The text needed to be sent, only how could he
keep his eyes off this woman for long enough to tap out the message. What if
she was getting off at the next station? He only had a relatively short amount
of time, and yet he felt a burning desire to share his good fortune.
His eyes reluctantly moved away from this majestic
montage of beauty but before returning to his phone, he looked up and caught a
second of her face looking at him, before he started keying in his note.
“Meeting went well. Just looking at the most gorgeous
creature on train. Legs to die for. x”
He clicked the send button which enabled him to return to
the subject in front of him as he tucked his phone away once more.
When was the last time he had felt like this? Had he ever
actually felt like this before where the desire for one person, a complete
stranger, was so intense that he felt he had to do something about it?
But it was ridiculous. What on earth would she say? She
was young enough to be his daughter but that did not cross his mind. All he
could see was those legs, and all he could imagine was grasping those thighs
hard as he penetrated her.
He had to have her. How was this remotely feasible?
He lay his paper down on his knees.
He was semi-erect and wanted to hide the fact, just in
case she noticed and was somewhat alarmed to see a fifty year old man with a
hard-on that was clearly initiated by thoughts about her luscious body.
He looked down at the paper, unable to read out of
infatuation, unable to read because he couldn’t move right now to reach for his
glasses.
He looked up once more as the train passed through the
two stations before his own.
She was still there.
She saw his gaze.
She raised her eyes above him, as though she was reading
the map.
She raised her arm to feel the back of her neck, and then
gathered her hair together, tossing it all behind her back, leaving her breasts
in full sight, wonderfully contained in a perfectly white bra that he could see
through her T-shirt; lacy and tasteful – just as he liked, just as he had
imagined.
She stared at him.
She opened her legs with the slightest of movement that
only the very observant would have noticed.
He returned her gaze.
The station was approaching.
It was now or never.
What was he going to do?
The phone buzzed. The text was being responded to.
He couldn’t look.
The station was less than a minute away.
Their eyes locked.
They both stared at one another.
28.... 27.... 26.... 25 ............
The valley of the station was being entered into.
17.... 16.... 15.... 14 ...........
He had to move to signal that he was leaving.
And still they stared at one another. No smile. Just total
engagement.
9.... 8.... 7....
6 ........
He got up.......
......... And she so did she.
Those fucking gorgeous legs, offset in the most
incredibly sexy shoes. Her skirt delicately flopped down above her knees,
floating slightly with the air conditioning.
4.... 3.... 2.... 1..........
The door opened.
They walked in synch to the door and stepped out into the
heat of the afternoon.
They walked side by side for a few steps towards the
stairs.
And then he turned to her.
She stood still and looked up to him.
He moved towards her and gently slid his right hand down
her left leg, keeping his eyes fixed on hers, his left hand resting on her
shoulder.
She stood there for a second as he reached the end of her
skirt and lifted it an inch to feel the lower end of her thigh.
And then they lurched towards one another and kissed with
such vibrancy that a passionate urgency was awoken.
They stood there grabbing one another, tossing their
heads from side to side as they plunged their tongues into one another, rushing
their hands over one another’s backs.
He pulled her further towards him with his hand firmly clasped
over her buttocks. She reciprocated bringing his erection closer to her clothed
cunt.
He grabbed her hand and rushed towards the steps.
She eagerly obliged and ran up the stairs.
They barely waited for the traffic to part as they raced
across the busy road.
They ran along the pavement on the other side; he,
practically pulling her along as her long waves of hair danced by the side of
her face in rhythmic symbiosis to the thumping of her heart.
Abruptly he stopped, and held her face in his hands.
He looked deeply into her eyes as she stared back at him.
He kept her gaze, holding his palms carefully, firmly on
her face, asking her, asking her without a single word being spoken.
Her eyes were beginning to water and she effortlessly
motioned for him to kiss her.
They locked once more in a kiss before he stopped it as
violently as he had started, grabbed her hand once more and started once more
along the pathway to his house.
They reached the gate, almost panting.
He got his keys out and unlocked his door, pulling her in
behind him.
At the door, he pushed her towards the wall.
She leant into it, arching her knees slightly as he
smoothed his hands over her shoulders, down across her breasts and longingly
towards those legs, feeling their warmth, their slight moisture, before tossing
up her skirt to feel the upper extent of her thighs.
He rushed his hand around to her buttocks, feeling their
emptiness and imagining the thong between her. He grabbed her arse urgently,
still kissing her with as much vehemence as on the station.
She pulled away.
He stared at her.
She stared back and started to smile.
“I need a piss” she said with a hint of a eastern European
accent.
He took her hand and led her to the downstairs toilet,
opening the door for her and stepping aside so that she could walk in.
She walked towards the door, and closed it before she
could enter into the small room.
Grabbing his hand she led him into the kitchen beyond.
He walked passed her and stood at the sink, watching.
She stood there in front of him, legs together, with her
arms swooping her hair high above her head.
And then she moved her legs into the lengthiest of
inverse V’s with her strappy stilettos making their station in the tiles beneath
her.
Her arms flopped to her side, and she ruffled up her
skirt either side of her body, to reveal a pair of the most perfect white
panties.
With her skirt tucked up around her tummy, she stood
there, and pissed all over the floor, keeping her eyes firmly on this man of
desire in front of her.
He clutched his cock, still hopelessly contained in his
trousers as she continued to stream this fluid out of her body.
The moisture of the urine poured out of her, soaking her
little covering to reveal the most glorious state of darkness between her legs.
She tossed her head back in relief, and revelled in the
glory of this most deviant of acts.
She then let her skirt fall, and she reached to the side
fastening, unclipped it and stepped out of it, placing it carefully on the
kitchen table.
She looked at him once more as she clipped her fingers
into the now sodden panties and removed them, plonking them on the floor
beneath her opened legs.
She stepped around her mess and moved towards him, with
her pussy wet and naked. As she was walking, she whipped her t-shirt off, and
started to unclip her bra.
By the time she got to him, her hands were behind her
back, unfastening the penultimate garment, ready to fling it to the floor so
that he could see her in her full glory.
She wrapped her arms around his neck as he mesmerizingly placed
his arms around her waist, with his hands loosely resting on her buttocks.
And they kissed once more; tenderly this time, like
lovers who had just made love.
He released her a little to take in every inch of her
body.
She once more moved her head high to feel the length of
her hair across her back as he looked thoroughly over her entire body.
He dragged her towards him and kissed her again.
She then reached to his belt, undid it and pulled his
trousers to the ground.
He stepped out and rapidly pushed his knickers off,
revealing the biggest erection that she had ever seen. His cock protruded
intensely, waving about with the weight of his need.
He took his top off and then felt her nakedness next to
him.
She stood back and worked her hands towards her own cunt,
opening her labia and slightly crouching so that he could see the pinkness
emerging from the blackened pubes, offset in a mirage of bewilderment that was
the top of those incredible legs.
He had to get into her but he also had to have his time
with those legs.
He sank to the floor and kissed her knees, holding her firmly
in his grasp as he worked his way around her torso, delighting in the fact that
she was already fingering herself as he did so.
He moved around her on his knees, kissing her arse and
running his hands from front to back, delighting in the slight response that
his touch was creating.
He stood up, taking his hands from her hips in a parallel
movement up to those dark, imagined nipples, taking them in his mouth as he
gradually climbed into an upright position.
He took his hands from her breast and joined with her
fingers inside her pussy.
He felt right in there, loving the feel, exciting at the
moisture still present from her piss, feeling it growing some more, ready for a
climatic ejaculation.
He curled his fingers over and over inside her, taunting
her, tempting her, willing her to release something entirely different.
She leant towards the sink and he could feel her insides
bubbling up to the point of....... yes!
Total release all over his pubes.
He removed her hand and his, and pushed his cock deep
inside her, as she stood in those shoes and allowed him to fuck her intensely.
He kissed her passionately with every thrust. She responded,
moving her hands all over his face.
He turned her round, and entered her from behind, feeling
her sweet tits subtly bobbing in time.
She moved back round to face him, with her hands on her
hips.
He stood in front of her with his cock in his hands and
wanked himself to a rapid cum that he aimed all over her legs. He needed his
spunk on those legs, and after he had exhausted his climax, he rubbed his
juices into her shins, polishing them off, ensuring his sperm was wrapped all
over her wonderful calf muscles.
And then he slumped into a sitting position, still
clutching his cock, closed his eyes and flopped.
She reached down to the floor, picked up her bra and her
T-shirt, placing them back on her exhausted body.
She walked passed him, gathered her skirt together and
placed it back over her body.
She swept down to the floor to retrieve her sodden
panties, opened her bag and placed them in there.
She picked up her bag as he clambered up from the floor.
He stood there in his rawest state, overcome by the madness
and sanity of what had just happened.
She walked towards him, raised her hand to stroke his
face, kissed him on the cheek and said,
“Thank you for letting me use your toilet”.
And with that, she walked towards the door and let
herself out into the day.
He stood there, naked.
Had he imagined it all?
He stood there for some minutes before looking over to
the puddle on the floor.
His phone buzzed.
Another text.
“Fuckable? x”
“Yes very x” he managed to write back.
“Would I want to her fuck her too? x” was the immediate response.
He dressed himself, walked out into the garden and sat
down with the paper.
“You would have loved to have fucked her, if only I had
managed to get her name and number! xx”
Saturday 22 October 2011
How was it for you?
Don’t make me feel embarrassed to talk about sex!
This is the slogan for a sex positive petition that Brook
are currently running to try and get quality Sex and Relationships Education
(SRE) into schools throughout the country.
There is also a petition that can be signed, again to
help the cause in getting young people the access to quality learning and
teaching in this area that they deserve.
So who will sign? Or are we even so terrified of the
subject that we cannot even put our name to a cause such as this? Have we
become totally intolerant of sex, and totally incapable of holding our hands up
to say, “Yes, I like sex. I want sex. I want to talk about sex” whilst at the
same time allowing sexually inappropriate messages to convey themselves to
children and young people through television, music and appalling clothing for
kids.
I don’t know about you but my sex education was crap.
It was crap in school and it was crap through my first experience
of penetrative sex. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing, even though I was
doing it with a relatively experienced bloke.
I had no idea what a clitoris was let alone where it was.
I only knew that somehow and at some time, he was going to stick is dick into
my vagina, and it might hurt.
It has taken me years to recover from both experiences.
In fact, it is still taking me time to recover from it. Nowadays, whilst I am
at least more confident to talk about sex, having experienced the very best sex
that one could have, I am still lacking in confidence to be as sexual as I sometimes
feel, and I still get embarrassed to ask
for sex. I still don’t like doing that, however much my mind, body and soul are
crying out for it.
And then I get cross with myself for being such a
demanding dimwit.
But I do hope I am no longer embarrassed to talk about
sex and will happily do so with anyone who wants to listen.
Sex is vital.
End of.
And we need to get it right NOW before another generation
of people are misinformed about the brilliance of it all - unable to be
liberated by sex and unable to make wise choices and decisions about sex.
We need to talk about sex now, and we need to do it in a
way that ensures young people do not diddle around before they understand what
they are doing. We need young people to know that sex is so bloody wonderful
there is no point in ‘doing it’ just for the sake of it. There is every point
in delaying until they fully appreciate every facet of its wonderment.
So what was your experience of sex education?
The lessons on sex in school occurred about a year after
my first period – wonderfully age-appropriate then!
A large reel film was placed in a blackened room where
every person passing by knew exactly what we were watching because it was
timetabled for the same week each year with the same year group. The boys
wandered up and down trying to get a glimpse of what we were watching and for
some bizarre reason, this session was delivered by our PE teachers.
I can remember the stifled giggling, and the heads turned
away when the baby was popping its head out. I remember the cartoons and the
photos of sanitary towels and tampons. I have a vague recollection of the
teacher telling us that tampons might be rather difficult to use until the
hymen was broken (for fuck’s sake) whilst simultaneously telling us that any
girl with their hymen intact was clearly a virgin.
I begged to ask the question whether sticking a Tampax up
your fanny therefore made you sexually active but I never had the nerve.
Of course, afterwards it was clear that good girls used
sanitary towels whilst the local slappers were all practiced in tampon
insertion.
I mean, can you believe this?
The sad thing is that I am not sure that it has changed
that much since I was at school.
The other thing that I remember was that either the
teacher or the film told us that it was probably better not to go to the toilet
too often when we were on a period, or perhaps I have just made that up for I
am still sitting here thirty odd years on trying to understand why on earth
this advice would have been given.
Like most children and young people, I got to know about
sex through conversations with friends and peers. And nobody ever talked to me
about delaying sexual activity or what it actually entailed other than
penetrative sex. Nobody ever told me about masturbation, and even when I was
regularly getting myself off with the corner of a cushion, still I didn’t
realise that I was wanking.
I didn’t even know what rape was until I was eighteen, so
I wouldn’t have known whether someone was touching me inappropriately other
than my common sense. I remember distinctly a couple of boys at school grabbing
my arse one day whilst I was on my period, and laughing at the fact that I had
a sanitary towel on. I cannot believe that I did not report them for their
gross invasion on my privacy. I never did because there was no way that I could
talk about it to anyone, and so they got away with it.
I was lucky. It went no further. But I was not and am not
the only ill-informed young woman who has endured inappropriate touches and it
breaks my heart to think that there are still young people out there who do not
understand what is happening to them because we are all still too embarrassed
to talk about sex.
But those are the negatives.
What we really should be doing is talking about the
positives.
I wish someone had told me what it could be like, so that
when I had sex for the first time I would have known that it wasn’t just in my
imagination. It really was crap.
I do feel that it is paramount that those who have
experienced sex as it should be have a duty to tell the world. If they keep
their mouths shut then children, young people and adults are never going to understand
or appreciate what they could be getting, could be experiencing.
If you have had decent sex, you should be screaming out
about it.
No sex at all is bad. Mediocre sex is probably even
worse, especially once you have experienced the best that sex can offer.
Having decent sex is fine but if you have the opportunity
for the best sex, then perhaps that is what you should be aiming for, but if
you do not know about it because the likes of me have not explained what
proper, wonderful sex entails, then how are you ever going to know what you are
aiming for?
Magazines like Cosmopolitan have been blamed in the past
for providing a distorted view of sex. Critics have said that if you read
magazines such as these, it gives the impression that everyone is going at it
like bunnies, having the most mind-blowing orgasmic sex and that if you were
not having such a brilliant experience then there must be something wrong with
you or your relationship.
There was a time when I agreed with the critics. Surely
this could not be happening? Surely it was normal to only have sex once a
month, if that, once you were in an established relationship. Surely it was
normal for the bloke to hump himself into you and cum after four or five quick
shoves. Surely it was normal for a woman to just lie there and satisfy her
partner without ever worrying about having an orgasm for herself? Well that was
what the pillow was for when he took a shower post-coital.
And then I woke up. I then I got it. And then I found Satori.
No wonder I still crave it.
I accept that a large majority of people do not have the
type of brilliant sex as outlined in such magazines but that does not mean to
say that we should all keep quiet so that the uninitiated feel better. Nobody
should suffer mediocre sex. Nobody. I would even go as far as to say it is a
right of all to really experience wonderful sex at least once in their lives.
For those of us who have, we need to keep on telling
people what they can have. We need to carry on having wonderful sex and we need
to make sure that the world knows about it.
As far as young people are concerned, they need to know
how brilliant it is too so that they can know what to expect. But it is also
important that they know there is no point in starting too soon.
The best sex is a combination of heart, mind and soul.
That is what they should be aspiring too and that is what
we should be telling them is possible.
And now – I have guests just arriving. So I will stop
talking about sex because that is not on!
Oh when will I be free to be me?
Sunday 16 October 2011
A Non-Conformist Approach to Life
I recently attended a family birthday celebration.
Sat at my table was an intriguing group of people.
There were young women dressed as though they had been
stamped with a conformity mark of the 1950s; dressed in twin set and pearls. I
was seriously worried that they were about to pop off to the hairdresser for a
blue rinse and perm – at the age of 25.
And to what did these young women aspire? 2.4 children
and a happy marriage.
That was their raison d’etre. That is all they actually
wanted, and every social event seemed to be a possibility for meeting up with the
intended one.
The young woman started to chat. Her sister leaned over
to me and said, “She’s got a new man!”
Intrigued as to where she had met the wonderful new bod, I
asked her a few questions and she explained that she had been at a party and
just clicked with this bloke. He seemed pleasant enough according to this young
woman; a little quiet and reserved but essentially, decent company.
“He’s not quite the man of my dreams, and is certainly
not marriage material” said the woman, “but I suppose he will do for now”.
And I sank deep into my chair, only to pipe up, “But is
he a good snogger and more?” to which she smiled and said, “Definitely”.
At the other end of the table was an older man who was
explaining to another who he was and how he was connected to the Birthday Boy.
He told his companion that he had been happily married for over forty years but
had been trying to find a blond mistress for years – to no avail.
He was joking, of course, but was he? Satisfied with
conformity and comfortable living he may have been but secretly was his jocular
statement a real aspiration?
Immediately opposite me was a woman who had plenty to
say. She appeared to be genuinely interested in people and listened attentively
when others spoke. Explaining her history (isn’t it intriguing how much people
feel a need to justify themselves through a regurgitation of their life
story?), she mentioned that she had been married for twenty years before the
relationship disintegrated. Her mother-in-law had responded to the news of her
impending divorce to say that she always knew the marriage would fail. She had
said as much on the day that she had married.
The woman laughed and said, “Actually I thought that 20
years was a sign of a relatively successful relationship!”
And she was right. Twenty years is a success of sorts.
The greatest success, of course, is for all concerned to recognise that it had
been a good innings but it was now time to return to the pavilion and wait for
the next outing to the crease.
The same woman was there with her second husband.
Now this is something that I am genuinely interested in.
What is it that makes people marry for a second time? Those who do it for a
third, fourth or fifth in my humble opinion need to be sectioned!
Obviously, this excludes those who have lost their first
spouse to death. I understand that some people like marriage and want to be
married but if the first marriage has faltered, why on earth would you do it
all over again?
Suzanne Moore wrote about marriage and civil partnerships
in the newspaper this week and echoed my views from a couple of blogs ago,
taking it a step further.
What is the point of it all?
In the article, she rightly argues against the
Conservatives announcement that they were going to “allow” gay marriages.
She rightly argued that this isn’t a delightful dose of
liberalism but a shackle to the homosexuals of the world to conform to the one
thing that everyone allegedly aspires to, i.e. a lifelong marriage.
This is conformity and conservatism personified, and all
the Tories are doing is enabling those who have been seriously abused and
rejected in society to join the rest of us brainwashed masses in participating
in the holy state of monogamy.
“Gone are the days of transgression or even deviation from the norm. Marriage is an institution set up to protect property and patriarchal rights that we choose to overlay with our need for sex, romance, passion and companionship. Extending this right to gay people may seem generous, and may still be seen by the haters as destroying the sanctity of marriage, but something else is going on. This is not about conservatives accepting homosexuality, but about making homosexuality conservative.”
What the hell have we come to?
Moore continues within the article to explain that she has issues with civil partnerships as well. She also argues that there should be the ability to have a straight civil partnership so that one can choose between having a civil partnership and being married.
I’m not sure what point there is in the differentiation.
Of course, a civil partnership between either heterosexual or homosexual
couples could be a legal security – in which case, why bother going through a ceremony?
Why not just nip down to the Town Hall and sign a couple of documents?
If you want to declare your love and commitment to one
another, then you can go the whole hog and place the official signing of
documents within the marriage, declaring yourself off the shelf and unable to
love outside that marriage ever again.
But honestly, is getting married really viable? Can
anyone be so committed to another person that they can sign their life away
with the complete totality of a life dedicated to one other person – knowing
this for sure, as a fact?
It may possibly be the case in the twilight years but at
the age when most people enter into matrimony I am completely convinced that
this cannot be.
Moore suggests that there should be another way whereby
if people want to sign a contract with one another or to declare their
commitment, then perhaps they could have a ‘pick and mix’ of options for the
ceremony or document signing.
Would more people go for this option? Possibly but it
still does not overcome the idea that one person for life for many people is
not what they want.
A friend of mine wanted to get married once but was only
prepared to do so if his wife-to-be committed to regular sex, and on the
proviso that if her interest and frequency to sex diminished in any way, then
he was entitled to look elsewhere for that.
The married.
Needless to say, she went off sex and he found sexual
stimulation elsewhere. So they ended up getting divorced.
But what would have happened should she have agreed to
this in writing? Would they have stayed together for longer had it been signed
and sealed, stating that this was an integral part of the contract? Would they
have happily worked, lived and loved together with a few ground rules forever?
I’m not completely convinced on this either but it may
have worked.
Take polyamory – ah yes, back to that one. Wouldn’t it be
easier for all concerned if the ground rules are established at the beginning;
where everyone concerned knows the precise situation and that the established
relationship is clearly the most significant? (hee hee)
Wouldn’t polyamory work more effectively if those
involved in the initial relationship were more or less committed to a
continuous relationship, with others being involved but not taking away from
the first relationship in longevity or intimacy?
It is just not that simple and every part of my rational
mind knows it is as such.
You cannot legislate for feelings. You cannot sign
contracts for a future that really could be just an illusion. You can be
completely committed to a relationship but still not know what is about to bite
you on the backside. You cannot rule out anything.
I like friendships that last. I am actually very
committed to quality and long-lasting friendships.
I like the idea of meeting someone and knowing that they
are going to be in your life, possibly, or even more than possibly, for the
rest of your life.
I am just not sure that signing any piece of paper makes
that friendship or relationship more viable and more likely to last for a
lifetime, no matter what type of friendship or relationship it is.
Of course, we all want security apparently, and this is
what we are actually looking for in a marriage or a civil partnership. The
declaration of love is almost an aside. What we are actually saying is, “Sign
this paper as a guarantee that I am going to be provided for should you decide
to fuck off with someone else”.
Those who do not desire or need that security do not need
to get married, and in some cases will only do so to placate or please that
most significant person in their lives.
So what would this alternative non-conformist civil
partnership pick and mix have in it?
Who knows but perhaps there could be a tick list of
aspirations rather than complete expectations,
·
Thou shalt fuck whoever thou wants
·
Thou shalt be free to have dinner three times a
week with another
·
Thou shalt sleep with the designated civil
partner more than others
·
Thou shalt insist on independent financial
arrangements whereby either party live independently from the other, and
possibly in different accommodation
·
Thou shalt ensure the financial security of one
another whilst having a pot of money available for your own personal use that
outweighs any joint pot
·
Thou shalt go on holiday with the civil partner
at least as frequently as with others
·
Thou shalt aim to bring children into the
partnership with equal access at all times and this will not be contested in a
court of law. This is an absolute
·
Thou shalt abide by all human rights articles,
looking together at the full list and the implications of partnership prior to
signing any document
·
Thou shalt be committed to compassionate living,
ensuring that at all times empathy, trust and lovingkindness is the absolute of
the partnership
And so the list would go on, but it still does not
resolve this entire issue of signing a piece of paper that essentially ties you
to another person, and no matter how much you love someone or how well you feel
as though you know them, can this ever be a realistic commitment?
Maybe I am too cynical.
If only the entire world was slightly more enlightened,
including myself.
If the world would ‘conform’ to my non-conformity, then I
would be such a happier person, but I cannot convince myself that the world is
ready for such a relaxation of the expected mode of behaviour. I cannot
convince myself that the people at the centre of my own issues are really as
non-conformist as they suggest.
Suzanne Moore states that she does not want to get
married or enter into a civil partnership.
“Personally, I don't like marriage. I share the feminist critique of its history of sexism and patriarchy. I would not want to get married. But as a democrat and human rights defender, I support the right of others to marry. This is a simple issue of equality. The ban on same-sex marriage is discrimination and discrimination is wrong, full stop.”
I am with her but I go a step further.
The reason that we do not get to know ourselves, the
reason why we do not always believe in ourselves or develop a greater sense of
equilibrium is that we have been told throughout our lives that there is one way
to be, i.e. in a relationship, and if we are either not in a relationship or unhappy
within one, then we do not feel fulfilled.
We do not allow time to find ourselves before we find
others. We cannot know who we are at a young age. We are not completely sure of
who we are at any time in our lives though I am convinced that those who are
older have a far greater idea of who they are.
My point is that it is bordering on an infringement of
human rights.
Consider this.
If the default position was that we did not expect or
aspire to part of a couple or a partnership, then would be more engaged in
finding ourselves and loving ourselves, and in doing so, I suspect we would all
be better partners and friends should we choose to spend the majority of our
time with one or many others.
If we choose to
commit to one person for the rest of our lives, then that is a choice. If we
choose to commit to one person for a part of our lives then that too would be a
choice.
If we choose to have multiple relationships that also
would be a lot easier because everyone would be truly independent in their own
right with no expectations and therefore would be far more contented with the
sharing of each other.
Those accused of serial monogamy where it is suggested that
they are lacking in some way would not be stuck with this abhorrent label.
If we chose to formalise such arrangements of partnership
as a security for either the individuals involved or the children from such a
partnership, then that makes a certain amount of sense.
But ultimately, our lives are own and that is not really
legislated for at all.
On a personal note, I know what is right but I am also
very aware that I am living under a brainwashed existence where decades of
conformity are gradually being eroded. But it is never just about my own
personal journey. It is about the views, expectations and assumptions of others
too, and that is where it is more difficult.
I am not sure that I can be as non-conformist as I want
to because of the expectation of friends and family. I am not completely happy
with others being non-conformist because of onlookers assumptions about their
friendships with others – because it is not just me who is brainwashed.
Whether we like it or not, people think and assume no
matter how many times we tell them that there is nothing more than friendship
happening. Other people look and put two and two together to make the wholly
conformed number of one.
With my solution being independence for all, this would
be eradicated, I think!
But then I am a little bit of an idealist.
Returning to the people that I met at the family
celebration, I wonder what they would make of the non-conformist way of living.
The 25 year old woman would just enjoy the relationship
she is about to have with this man without worrying about his credentials as a
father or lover. She would just get on with enjoying the snogs and the fucks
immediately.
The older guy would go and have his dalliance or even a
longer term relationship with his younger blond. The twice married woman would
not have had to go through the difficulties of divorce and would not have had
to marry once more unless that had been her choice.
As for me, well my life would be so much happier.
This non-marriage existence in life does not and would
not mean that you could no longer have one significant person in your life. That
could still happen but it would not be seen as the default. Furthermore, even
if you did find a significant other or a soul-mate, it would not preclude
others enjoying their company, their sexuality, their vitality because they can
still maintain a relationship with you and you would still be contented because
ultimately your life is about you.
Perhaps this is my real aspiration in life – for me, for
all.
I am sure many would see flaws and pitfalls but it is
certainly worth considering, and thank you Ms Moore for making me think a
little further into it.
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