There is an amazing post up on the Feminist LJ Community detailing the poster’s childhood experiences growing up fat:

I was often physically assaulted for being a fat kid.

Boys would attack me on the playground, the bus, the classroom when the teacher had her back turned. They’d punch me as hard as they could in the middle of my back and then run away, laughing. I’d go home after school, my arms and legs covered in bruises from where the boys beat me. I’d get yanked around on the school bus by my hair. I would get told that I was fat, ugly and should just die.

I remember one beating, a particularly brutal one. A kid named Kevin told a boy named Scotty that I had written on the back of a bus seat Kelly + Scotty. He was so embarrassed a fat, ugly, “fucked up nasty piece of shit like me” did that, he attacked me in the school lobby and beat me for several minutes until a teacher was able to pry him off me. He screamed, he cursed, he told me how ugly I was, fat, disgusting, and in the principals office, he told me, “Why don’t you just die?”

Go read the whole thing.

Hey, everybody. Thought it couldn’t hurt to post about the little project the guy and I are working on here! Sorry to my friends who will be seeing this pop up everywhere.

Electronic Quiver: Winter Issue
Call for Submissions

Electronic Quiver, the quarterly print publication from Razee Ink, is looking for submissions for its winter issue on the theme “Choke: The Effects of PTSD”. We are accepting submissions of fiction, nonfiction, poetry, and art on the theme of PTSD, the anti-war movement, and general radical/left-wing politics and activism. A diversity of viewpoints and perspectives is welcome and encouraged; we are interested in seeing work by queer, feminist, PoC, and other minority voices.

Payment is in copies, as we are a small, membership-funded organization.

Deadline: November 9, 2007

Please email submissions to the editor, D. J. Razee, razee@razee.com . Be sure to specify that you are sending a submission for EQ in the subject line.

Happy Columbus Day.

The guy and I almost went to protest the parade on Saturday, but, well, the timing of the protest was unfortunately early in the morning, especially for those of us who would have to commute down to Denver.

So I am spending a lot of time/energy on the business I am starting, Scribe Help and, unfortunately for this blog, trying to focus my blogging energies on that site’s blog.

In addition to, you know, spending as much time with the guy I love as is feasible. And trying to squeeze some quality fiction writing time in there somewhere. And doing a bunch of volunteer work with Druidawn. And being addicted to Facebook.

And getting sick a lot, which has been no fun.

Lisa at Feministe has a great post up entitled Can We Talk About Porn Without Having the Same Fight Over and Over?. Some excerpts:

Sure, mainstream Hollywood movies and TV shows often send messages about gender and sexuality and body image that are just as hideous [as porn], yet no one argues that filmed entertainment is by its nature bad for women. We all know that any actual legal action against pornography is going to be constitutionally troubling and impede access to queer and feminist writing. Because they don’t even begin to substantively address labor exploitation in the sex industry. Because it’s too easy to slide into relatively simple-minded analyses.

We—and by “we” I mean feminists who fall anywhere and everywhere on the pro/anti continuum—desperately need to get past this impasse. But how, when it’s so hard to actually occupy the middle of that continuum? My own experiences trying to hang out there have only pushed me further out toward the pole again, throwing up my hands at the way all attempts to engage seem to lead inexorably to defensiveness, rigidity, and impugning of other people’s sexuality and life choices. And how can anyone not get even more defensive and rigid when called—NB: inaccurately in 99.44% of all cases—a withered sex-hating prude or a slutty brainwashed sexbot?

I can’t emphasize enough just how little I think I have the answers here. But, in the spirit of reconciliation, I humbly offer…

Some points on which I think we can all agree: Our culture’s relentless commodification of women’s bodies and (approved versions of) sexuality is damaging. This commodification is by no means confined to pornography or the sex industry.

Some points I’d like to see some agreement on: Sexually explicit material is not by its very sexually explicit nature always antifeminist. A feminist world can contain sexually explicit material.

Some of what I want from a useful porn-critical theory: A labor-rights argument centered on workers’ experiences (some interesting perspectives and sources of information on how the tenor of current conversations is hindering this can be found here), connected to labor organizing in other industries. Content analysis that doesn’t assume violence as its starting point. A holistic take on body commodification that links by content and message (what does this say about women and gender?), not genre (is this sexually explicit?).

Hear, hear!

And this is my biggest issue with most feminist discussions of porn. I am not anti-porn, by which I mean I think sexually explicit material is a necessary part of the world (since we are animals unduly obsessed with sex and reproduction) and, dare I say it, not in theory an unhealthy thing. Sexual material is not, by its very nature, “bad”, or harmful, and in fact I would argue the opposite. I think an openness about sexuality would serve people much better than this behind-closed-doors, abstinence-only bullshit which only serves to endanger the physical and mental health of, well, everyone, but most importantly the children who are raised to be totally ignorant about their own bodies and options. And I find the argument that porn is inherently harmful, from a feminist standpoint, to be little different in practice from the radical religious objections on the same and similar subjects, though of course, I know anti-porn feminists mean well. (But, well, we all know what the road to hell is paved with.)

And in many cases, I would argue sexual depictions of certain groups could, at least in theory, be empowering, the same way that any depiction in the media of marginalized groups can be empowering. Especially when you have certain groups which have systematically had their sexual identity stripped from them, either made into sexless creatures or objects of fetishization. (Some examples: fat women, transfolk, people with disabilities, people of color, women in general — all of which, of course, are exploited in mainstream pornography and even in less “mature” entertainment, but do not necessarily have to be depicted in such a way, and, I believe, can and are occasionally depicted in ways which are not exploitative, which are healthy and empowering, in both sexually explicit and other media.) I don’t think this is necessarily possible within the framework of the mainstream porn industry, but, shit, am I the only one who’s read some damn good, sex-positive, written erotica around here?

On the other hand, I do have a lot of huge problems with the pornography industry. I have huge problems with most industries, being the radical pinko commie that I am. I know the industry harms women, both those who participate in the making of pornography and those who are exposed to it, and that is wrong and needs to be changed. I don’t disagree with the anti-porn crowd on the harm mainstream porn does.

What I disagree with is how best to handle this — I am more interested in empowering sex workers from a legal and economic standpoint than I am in attacking the industry in a way that risks penalizing those it exploits. I support talking to the women involved and helping them implement their own solutions to these problems in ways which work for them, whether or not I approve of their profession (hypothetically, of course, since mostly I don’t care how people pay their bills), rather than trying to subvert the first amendment with bullshit standards of “obscenity” when one man’s porn is another man’s classical art (or one woman’s porn is another woman’s feminist statement), anyway.

What I disagree with is the definition of “pornography” from which the anti-porn viewpoint operates — so often, the definition seems to be, “porn is sexually explicit material I don’t like, but erotica is that I enjoy, and erotica is fine”. All sexually explicit material is pornographic, and not all of it is necessarily bad. Just, you know, most of it, which is true of a lot of other less controversial things in this sick, misogynistic world. Admitting that there are other ways of depicting sexuality and that not all depictions are bad doesn’t really hurt the anti-mainstream-porn case, so far as I can tell — but using definitions of “pornography” which are not standard and highly subjective is harmful to those of us who use sex in our art and writing as a way of exploring female empowerment.

And it’s so baffling to me that we can come from the same place — “mainstream porn is disgusting, degrading, misogynist, and racist” — and still not manage to even have a rational discussion about the subject.

Oh, yeah, anyway, go read all of Lisa’s post. Damn it.

Expanding a little more on my comparison of queer sexuality and kink yesterday, I really have to say that, for me, the two are inextricably intertwined.

When I talk about my “sexuality” or “sexual orientation” I’m not just talking about what genders/sexes I find attractive. I’m a pansexual submissive with a preference for “feminine”-leaning (whatever that means) people who blur gender/sex norms, who are extremely dominant. In the particular case of my current relationship, that’s a bisexual cisgendered man. (I don’t think I could relate to a cismale who wasn’t a little queer.)

My strong attractions have always been for charismatic people. Those people who have an inexplicable draw. They might not even be anything to look at or they might be drop-dead gorgeous, but that’s not why people like them. They exude confidence and charm, whether they’re particularly charming in the conventional sense or not. They’re the kind of people who generally have dozens of suitors they don’t really care for who just seem to accumulate with no effort on their part. For whatever reason, they make friends with everybody, and everybody they meets likes them. These people have a charisma that makes everyone around them eager and willing to pretty much go along with whatever they say.

These are the kind of people who compliment me. (It’s ironic; because other people would probably say that I, myself, am really charismatic. And while I’m glad I come off that way, that’s not really who I feel I am inside at all.) I’m shy in unfamiliar situations and tend to be voluntarily withdrawn. I don’t party. I don’t make small talk. I have a difficult time really relating to people and making friends (but I like the ones I do have, thank you very much). I don’t really like talking to most people at all. I prefer to stay at home, cook a nice meal, read a book, paint. I’m an introvert. I don’t like to try new things unless someone else is trying them with me. I enjoy being challenged but don’t challenge myself unless pushed by other people or circumstance. I’m incredibly indecisive. I like people with a more extroverted, commanding presence, who aren’t afraid to just make choices and stick by them.

There’s other elements at work, too. I’m very short: I stand at about 5′1″. I’m always attracted and have always been attracted to taller people. This is not hard to do, most people are. But I mean much taller. My boyfriend is about 13 inches taller than me. The power dynamics are that physically evident in my choice of partners. I also have a strong attraction to men and women who are physically stronger or larger.

And trust is very important. When I mean trust, I don’t mean it in a casual sense. I mean that the more someone has the capability to harm me, the more pronounced the power disparities, the knowledge that I can trust that person makes them exponentially more attractive. I’ve known plenty of guys who were very nice men who I felt safe around to whom I felt zero attraction because they’re weren’t dominant or otherwise wouldn’t/couldn’t have the potential to exercise power over me. And my ability to trust is definitely gendered.

I’ll try to explain. It sounds terrible, but it’s true: by and large, I do not trust men. I go with my gut instinct, and it’s always been right, so I don’t give people the benefit of the doubt anymore. And it’s only ever been men who attempt to intimidate, harass, or threaten me. Because trusting men, especially men who are taller or stronger than me, is such a difficult thing for me, when I actually have met guys that I like, the attraction is much more intense than that for any of the women I’ve liked, even though I like women in general much more. The painful knowledge of how imbalanced power relationships already are and will always be between me and men actually makes them more attractive, even though physically I’m less into them. As my feminist awareness has grown, so has my attraction to men, where when I was convinced the world was totally egalitarian as a teen (or egalitarian enough) I wasn’t really interested in guys at all.

Then there’s the fact that I have a tendency to attach myself to people with more experience (and therefore, often, age) than myself, which is definitely the biggest power imbalance involved in my attractions as far as I’m concerned. (You think the height difference between me and my guy is a lot? He’s two decades older than me and has had more sexual partners than I can even really imagine or grasp in more than an abstract sense, he being my second, ever. Now that’s a power imbalance.)

And I find arguments “against BDSM” (since I don’t see how you can really argue with someone’s sexual orientation; it’s not going to change) kind of weird. The whole idea that no one can enjoy a consensual D/s relationship because of the patriarchy strikes me as a little strange. (Of course, feminists who argue “against BDSM” are really only arguing against Dominant male/submissive female power exchange because they think that’s the only dynamic that exists.) First of all, it’s the person and personality that matter most to me, not sex or gender; I don’t really think about it that much and even if it’s a factor, gender is not even close to being the deciding factor in my attraction. Second, like I said before, I admit to getting a bit of a naughty thrill out of the pre-existing male/female social power imbalance. That doesn’t mean I think it’s right, and if the world were less sexist, I’d probably be even more lesbian than I am.

But the point is, arguments about kink based on the existence of patriarchal power imbalances are kind of moot. I am queer. Even with a man, I remain a dyke. More importantly, I am genderqueer — I don’t think of myself as a “woman” in anything other than a strict anatomical sense, and I definitely do not adhere to gender roles. I have trouble with the cognitive dissonance when someone does something as innocent as refer to me with gendered pronouns. The very idea that I only submit because “I’m a woman and I’ve been taught to” is bizarre to me — no, I really wasn’t, I had kick-ass feminist parents, and I have always had a difficult time squaring my sense of identity with my anatomy and how it caused people to treat me. That, and I’m the kind of obnoxious rebellious person who does pretty much the opposite of what I think people expect of me just to be stubborn.

But, well, these musings have all been well and good, but the most important aspect of my sexuality is this: whether or not society says men should be dominant and women submissive, whether or not I am a woman, whether or not I am with a man, whether or not I am genderqueer or queer… There is no rationalizing it. Trying to be a less submissive person — not even dominant, just normal — is deeply, deeply upsetting to me. I can’t do it. The very thought makes me feel sick. I can’t physically bring myself to act that way. It doesn’t come naturally. It doesn’t make sense. I have no idea how to even try.

On the other hand, being with the kind of partner who has power over me and uses it wisely and compassionately… That’s the best thing in the world. It’s the only thing that really feels right. I don’t care what anyone else thinks of it. It’s just what I need.

Yeah, I know I linked to this post about radical feminist critiques of BDSM before, but I’m still thinking about it and still had a few things I wanted to articulate in response. (Sidenote — Trinity totally rocks. That is all.)

One thing that has always really bothered me in feminist discussions about kink is the assumption I often see that a woman could only want to be submissive if she’s been abused, coerced, brainwashed — that nobody could possibly be born with these sort of desires, that they’re inherently unhealthy and abnormal and could not develop on their own in a vacuum. There’s this sometimes unspoken, often articulated, assumption that the only way a woman could want what I want is if she has been emotionally damaged.

I suppose I’m just here to say: well, they can develop in a vacuum, and they’re not abnormal for me. I have never been sexually or physically abused by a parent, family member, friend, partner, or anyone else. As much as I desire a relationship where I am not in control, where there is a distinct power imbalance, where I might get bitten and smacked a little, pushed to my limits and beyond my comfort zone sexually, mentally, and emotionally…I have no desire to be abused. Wanting to be dominated consensually by someone I trust who respects my hard limits but not always the more flexible, softer ones is entirely different from being with someone who forces me to do things I really don’t want to do.

(That’s one reason it’s hard for me to find prospective partners: there has to be an enormous amount of trust and understanding. I always have to wonder what part of this escapes people: being submissive makes finding a sex partner I can trust much, much harder, since I am very aware of the fact that it’s possible to coerce me into doing things I don’t want with my tacit “consent”. More on that some other time.)

So now that I’ve laid that out, the real point I’m trying to get at. One thing that’s been nagging at me for awhile is the realization that these criticisms of kink are exactly the same as arguments about homosexuality. The argument, especially, that women are made queer by rape or other trauma. Most of the normally, otherwise very intelligent women I see arguing that BDSM is inherently harmful and degrading to women would never say such a thing about queer women because it’s plainly ridiculous. Most women do not decide to be lesbians because they’ve been damaged by men in their lives. The assertion is clearly and fatally flawed.

So why is it okay to say these things about submissive women? (And it’s always submissive women. The very concept that dominant women could possibly exist seems to fly over these people’s heads — when they do acknowledge the existence of dommes, it’s usually in a sneering, “it’s all just an act they put on for men, they aren’t actually powerful” sort of way. And forget the idea that a submissive woman might want to be topped by another woman.) Why is it not okay to say that I only like women because of some severe psychological trauma, but it’s perfectly fine to assert that I Must Have Nasty Issues if I want to let a partner (especially, heaven forbid, a partner with a dick) to tell me what to do and be in control?

I am not damaged. I am not queer because of abuse. I am not submissive because of abuse. I have been both queer and submissive my entire life. I can recall having both of these desires from an incredibly young age: an unusual attachment to female friends and a near total absence of crushes on male peers, and a persistent desire to be “owned”, an eagerness to please and take care of everybody in my life. These are the things which fulfill me. These are the things that I need to be happy. Attempting to deny me that because it’s “un-feminist” or “unhealthy” denies and undermines my actual health (mental and emotional, by extension, physical) and my very real dedication to women’s rights.

I should not have to justify my submissive identity (and it is that — it is not simply a role I adopt in the bedroom, it is a basic cornerstone of who and what I am) anymore than I should have to justify my attachment and attraction to women. Would the feminists demanding that I “examine” the roots of my kinky desires for their entertainment ever dare to say the same thing about my queer desires? Of course not! Even if (and this is important!) I did feel I were only attracted to women due to an abusive past, it still wouldn’t be relevant, it still wouldn’t mean there’s anything wrong with my same-sex attractions, and it still wouldn’t be any of their damn business. Because there is nothing inherently wrong with my sexuality, in the queer sense or the kinky sense.

I find the allegations I’m not a real feminist actually hurtful. It’s like someone saying that because I like to play video games with fake violence in them I can’t be part of the anti-war movement. One has pretty much almost nothing to do with the other. While it’s definitely worth looking at how violence is normalized in our culture and how that feeds our willingness to do real harm to others, my personal recreational habits don’t disqualify me from standing up for my pacifist principles.

And kink is the same. Real abusive relationships, which are disproportionately a matter of violence committed by men against women, are terrible, evil, horrible, and wrong. My submissive desires, which, if they were unwanted, would in some cases constitute abuse, do not harm women as a whole. My submission has nothing to do with anybody else’s relationship. Just as it’s nobody’s business which variety of genitalia I entertain in the privacy of my own home, it’s nobody’s business whether I want to be spanked, either. It’s not okay for other people to tell me it’s wrong for me to sleep with a woman. It’s not okay for other people to tell me it’s wrong to be submissive.

Let’s try another example, if that one doesn’t work: it’s like arguing that since I personally am not attracted to most men, I’m a horrible misandrist man-hater bent on overthrowing the patriarchy and instituting a repressive matriarchy. It just doesn’t make sense. There’s a small subset of people who believe in female superiority (which I think is way more harmless than the converse concept, since matriarchy enjoys less widespread popularity). There’s some people who believe intimate partner violence is acceptable. Obviously, that doesn’t mean all feminists want to oppress men. Why isn’t it equally obvious that not everyone into BDSM wants men to be able to rape and abuse women?

I’d like to be charitable and believe it’s just ignorance that leads to this glaring gap in logic. But I don’t actually. I think it’s just that people who make these arguments honestly know they’re being disingenuous and hope nobody will call them on it. Well, I’m doing it, because I’m damn sick of reading this tripe spouted as if it’s some brilliant new idea no one’s ever thought of before, as if it’s a criticism that can actually survive the barest scrutiny by someone who actually knows what the fuck they’re talking about.

So the other day I finally got around to shaving my head, something I’ve been threatening to do for months but apparently no one took seriously. I showed them. Donating my massive amounts of hair to Locks of Love.

Read the rest of this entry »

Maybe. But the idea of not posting anything else ever is way too painful, even if I never actually get around to it.

I really want to write up some stuff on BDSM in feminism from a submissive angle…I think this is important because there isn’t really enough information out there from the point of view of feminist submissives. By which I mean there’s practically none and what there is isn’t really easy to find.

But I’m trying to start a business and negotiating the beginnings of a relationship. I met an awesome hardcore feminist guy a couple weeks ago with the dominant kind of personality I need in a partner. I know, it’s amazing. I was beginning to think such a person didn’t exist, since most guys with an “alpha male” personality tend to be total misogynistic assholes, or at the least they think my feminist thing is really weird. The other feminist guys I’ve met are very nice and so staunchly egalitarian on principle they would freak out at how I like to be subservient and do whatever my partner tells me to, and if they are kinky they’re not dominant and there’s no chemistry. I also think he’s totally sexy, especially his brain. Some people like dirty talk, I like literature and pinko liberal commie politics, uh, talk. It helps that he’s got a sexy voice. Whew, is it hot in here? Sorry for the tangent.

So, anyway, totally haven’t got the time. I’ll try to get around to it, eventually. No promises. Hell, I could write a whole rambling post just about how frustrating it is looking for a partner who understands how to treat you with respect, as an equal, and has an basic grasp of feminist theory, while still wanting to tie you up and spank you. Maybe I will.

Watch the feed.

Roy over at No Cookies for Me (discovered just now through his guest blogging at Feministe — yay!) posted a wonderful, thought provoking entry regarding discussions about the sex industry and how they neglect the actual reality and humanity of the sex workers involved:

I sat there at my desk, talking about sex workers and sex work and porn like they were abstractions… but they’re not, and mythago rightly called me on my shit. It took me a while to realize that, but it was a totally fair criticism. My sitting there saying that stats show this and stats show that and look how many sex workers were this or that… none of that helps them now, and talk like that does make me more likely to find myself allied with religious conservatives who have a “moral interest” in condemning sex work… and sex workers.

And when I allow myself to ally with questionable or even flat-out bad groups, I have to accept that the damage they do in the name of our cause is damage that I’m contributing to. I can’t wash my hands of the harm that my allies do if they’re doing the damage in the name of our mutual cause. If I’m rallying behind the cry of “PORN HARMS ALL WOMEN!” and I allow myself to get backing from a group that’s adding “BECAUSE DIRTY SLUTS ABUSE SEX!” then aren’t I at least somewhat culpable? Because, ultimately, don’t my actions help further that cause, as well? And doesn’t that mean that the damage they’re doing is to some extent, on my hands?

Because those people have made it absolutely clear that they don’t care about the women involved. They’re not working to help end the abuse of sex workers. They’re not condemning poor working conditions. They’re not working to help sex worker’s rights. They’re not even remotely interested in making sure that their voices get heard. They’re interested in keeping the whores out of their neighborhoods.

This is my big problem with a lot of (radical, particularly) feminists. I don’t disagree that most pornography is harmful to women* — and not just in a vague, nebulous sense. I believe a great deal of it has a real, tangible impact on the women involved. The industry can be unsafe and abusive, and sometimes it cheats the women out of the money they thought they were going to make by having sex on camera. Not to mention how it’s clear that depicting women actually experiencing pleasure is apparently pretty low on the priority list. (Because women exist for men to enjoy. Whether we enjoy ourselves isn’t important to a lot of people. It’s actually terrifying.) And it hurts women who buy into it, who think that they have to have labial surgery to be acceptable as a sex partner.

But trying to criminalize porn will not help anyone. The women who are harmed will be harmed more because they will have even less recourse. When people discuss sex work in impassioned, black-and-white moral terms, so often they forget that sex work isn’t just about feminist theory. It’s about the actual women who do it, for whatever reason. The lives of women are not abstractions. They are real people with real lives and their ability to make a living however they can manage is incredibly important.

Is it right that a woman’s only option to support herself might be sex work? Absolutely not. (Although if she really enjoys doing it, and, yes, I think that’s possible although perhaps rare in a world this fucked up, and she can make a living on it, more power to her.) But it doesn’t matter if it’s right or wrong. What matters is that this is a human being who needs the money to live.

And one would think, one would hope something feminists could agree on is that women being able to live is important — but somehow, we manage to forget that for many women that’s exactly what’s on the line. The lives of sex workers get lost in the discussion and suddenly they don’t matter. I wouldn’t argue that most people are intentionally devaluing the lives of these women, but that’s the end result. Isn’t treating women’s lives as negligible exactly the attitude we need to get away from?

1. I also don’t think porn should be criminalized because I don’t think it’s inherently harmful or wrong, but that’s another discussion entirely.