Sex-Positive, Recycled Click Here To Comment!

[Cross-posted ... recycled AGAIN? ... from Vox.]

I hope recycling is ok here … I wrote/blogged this in December 2005
… thought I'd clean it up a little and add it here for, you know,
target practice or something …

I think of being "sex-positive" in two ways. First, some women (a lot
of women) have many layers of "issues" around sex. It therefore makes
some women squeamish to discuss it, enjoy it, admit to enjoying it …
etc. As for me, there will always be some issues for me regarding sex
but I guess I want it known that I have done a lot of thinking,
reading, feeling, exploring … and I'm particularly open to finding
another woman who has done some personal "work" on her issues. I don't
think we ever entirely resolve our early training or damage, but I'd
like to meet someone who is at least self aware about her feelings
about sex.

Second, this is a political term for me. There are
many schools of thought within feminism. With regard to sex, there
appear to be two polarities. Note: I am exaggerating part a) to make a
point. Please don't make me put on my kevlar!

a) Sex is bad. In
our society, sexuality has become a way for men to control women. Women
should not look or feel "sexy" as that means they are just buying into
the entire male package. All porn is bad. Expressions of attraction are
bad – hell, being attracted is bad. Sex is about possession, ownership
and exploitation. It can only be safe with strict rules and covenants
between the people involved to make sure no one feels anything "bad".

b)
Sex is a normal, healthy human expression of intimacy and this should
be RE-CLAIMED from the bastards who took it away from us. It can be
(should be …?) a treasured, playful, rich aspect of every intimate
relationship. Exploring the physical/sexual self is a natural
progression of exploring other aspects of a relationship. Learning what
turns each other on can involve a wide range of activities, some of
which might include reading or watching porn, talking, touching,
writing, etc. If viewed by outsiders, some sexual interaction might
look like dominance, submission or other politically offensive things
but such interpretation is best left to the participants. Sex can
either be sensual intimate play between lovers or part of building a
long-term foundation … can be a one-time thing or a life-long journey.

Oh, and sex is not always exclusively about orgasms.

Ignoring,
trivializing, or otherwise discounting the sexual aspect of a
relationship is akin to ignoring, trivializing or discounting each of
us as human beings.

I took a minute to look up a "real" definition of sex-positive and was intrigued to find that Wikipedia divides the world into sex-negative feminists and sex-positive feminists, too!

I
was also intrigued to find that a related term is "individualist"
feminism, which is a term I've been seeking for ages and am thrilled to
find it, finally. Back in one of my first posts on this blog, I spoke
about a "milestone" that involved me deciding that my "personal is
political" statement was going to be about my own personal success as a
human being. That as an "individualist", I did not fit into the
predominantly socialist model of feminism with all its focus on
collectivism and such. I feel that each individual woman – actually,
each individual person – on the planet has to take an active role in
their own well-being first, and only then can they actively support the
well-being of the rest of the planet and the people on it. The flaw, as
I see it, in collectivism, is that it easily allows an individual to
abdicate their own responsibility. Furthermore, it seems to require,
inherently, that the entire collective share a similar philosophical
topography. When someone strays or has a different or new idea, they
are easily ostracized by the group-think mentality, effectively driven
by insecurity and suspicion of anything out of the defined topography.
I've been ostracized by more groups, both single gender and mixed
gender, than I care to name simply because I don't always agree, don't
always keep my mouth shut like a good girl, and I propose bold and
"risky" initiatives that others feel threatened by. It is an odd,
unfortunate truth that a woman who honours her individual vision while
participating as part of a collective is usually interpreted as being
"controlling" or "contrary" when, in fact, honouring an individual
vision is a pre-requisite for any good leadership. And, to return full
circle, we must be "leaders", each individual, before we can really
give back in any meaningful way. Sadly in our current society, men can
get away with and, in fact, are rewarded for, the very behaviours that
women are punished for. I'm 42 and this is still going on. Truly, t'was
ever thus.

No wonder one of my high-level needs is simply to
"belong" to something – some clan or tribe or group that "gets" me, and
treasures my rugged individualism. So, tell me, is this where all the
individualist feminists hang out?

Baby Skin Click Here To Comment!

[Cross-posted from Vox.]

This memory is accurate in that way that
memories are accurate. With the gaps shaded
in, filling and connecting.

Just a bit of shading.

I remember saying this to you when we first met.
Annie Lennox and Eric Clapton played for us,
do you remember?

Stolen moments, very sweet.

And you looked at me over breakfast
tea, jam, muffins – and asked why
I was crying.

I tried to explain.

Looking for a glimmer of understanding
in your eyes of this place I find myself
in, time to time.

I took a breath.

Right now, I have baby skin, I said.
Warm, soft from your touch, yearning
for more of that.

You smiled, of course.

Translucent skin, I continued,
holding light, making me visible and
not entirely comfortable.

Your smile faded slightly.

Most of all, my skin is very thin now,
easily brusied, especially by love attempted
but not understood.

I couldn't read you then.

Then your face flashed as it does when
exasperated, frustrated. Your tea mug clanged
when you picked it up.

You stood up, clearing.

I felt my hand patted and I heard soothing words.
You were gone, to the kitchen behind me
rattling and busy.

Rattled and busy.

I knew then that my job was not to have baby skin.
Not to wear this skin that I do not wear well
yet that persists.

Certainly not to share it.

My skin did not change but my spine did
in that moment. I felt, again, the steel that
my mother put there.

Still feel it today.

That steel that keeps me upright and moving
forward. Hard to knock down, focussed.
The steel is right there.

Under the baby skin.