A few weeks ago some friends came down for a visit. We drank wine on the back porch and talked about everything from cars to jobs to relationships to sex. My friends have been fighting about their sexual relationship. Since they engaged and blended their families, their job schedules and his depression therapy have gotten in the way of their sex life together. She was particularly frustrated because she found a great deal of porn on his Nintendo DS after he insisted that he did not look at porn.
To put this into context, she is what many guys would consider a “cool girlfriend”. The two of them fashion bizarre sex toys out of household products when they can’t find what they want in a store. She collects vintage lingerie and wears it often, day and night. She has no qualms with her body (and is known to say, “I have better things to worry about than what someone thinks I look like in bed”), no problems with porn and the like, and she even used to work as a dom in a big city dungeon as the foot fetish girl. But after he told her that he didn’t like or look at porn and she found his cache, a fight erupted. Not only did she feel betrayed by a senseless lie (considering that she enjoys some porn herself), but she was also bothered by some of what she saw.
I can’t remember what kind of porn it was that squicked her out so much, but a long conversation ensued regarding our own personal porn theories. Her fiancee maintains that he sometimes just needs a picture or two to get himself hard, it isn’t about sex for him but merely getting off. She maintains that the kind of porn somebody gets off on is a peek into a person’s psyche. She was tapping into a continuum of het sexual deviance — which I found interesting considering that many would find their sex life on the Hell Spawn side of the median — and where he was concerned with the hows of getting off, she was concerned with the whys.
When feminists discuss sexual deviance, the conversation gets muddled with expectations of how we are to think and behave in patriarchal society, and the norms and deviations are similarly confused between the kind of deviant that likes to get tied up and spanked pink and the deviant that breaks laws to get Vlad the Impaler up from the dead. In the midst of all these conversations, we share our own experiences, read and listen to the experiences of others, and engage in the kind of social bookkeeping that allows ourselves to see where we lie on the continuum. This is an asset.
When my friends and I talked, I admitted that I too like to look at porn on occasion, and that the porn I take in is probably rather deviant. When you’re limited to downloading pictures and movies on the internet you kind of get what you get — something looks interesting, you click the link, and you may be turned on and you may be disgusted. What I find is that the line between the two is amazingly thin — it’s something about context (cheap motel room, somebody’s home?), the looks on their faces (coherent, drugged, abused?), and whether or not the people participating in the act seem to be legitimately enjoying themselves. When the acts appear genuinely abusive and not something put on for the camera, trash bin. I won’t kid myself into thinking that porn equals empowerment, but it serves a purpose. Primarily buttering the corn.
Anyway, after the infamous Twisty thread, I was amazed to see how many feminist women were completely turned off by the idea of blowjobs. I was also amazed at how few feminist men who participated on the thread would openly admit to enjoying oral sex (a few did after prompting). Many people were offended at the mere act of oral sex, which on the scale of deviancy really ain’t all that deviant, and I began to wonder if people’s aversion to the act was in part an aversion to the genitals. Or worse, an aversion to the body.
When putting a penis in your mouth is akin to eating a turd, I wonder what kind of sexual experiences the aversers have had. Certainly this aversion for blowjobs, for some, merely be a personal preference, but I can’t kick the thought that many people come to feminism having experienced sexual or other abuses, and similarly, if unfortunately, view some sex acts through the same lens.
A lot of people in the BJ War of 2006 took it upon themselves to exactly intuit the motivations of those women who enjoy giving oral sex. Lines were drawn, blowjobs were declared unfeminist, everyone is now an anti-sex overlord, R. Mildred gave us the fellatio finger (the importance of which doesn’t lie in prostate stimulation, but in that it is the middle “fuck you” finger, as in “fuck you blowjob haters”), and 50% of Twisty’s readership decided they hated her guts for five minutes until they realized she is far too cutel for gut hatred.
Why it was the blowjob conversation that sparked so much controversy is up in the air, but ask your readership about masturbation and you’ll get a million tales about how Dude X normalizes the vector or how often Chica N orders the clam bake for one. I doubt you’d get as much offense and defense from a conversation on exhibiting perfectly normal behavior. God forbid you admit to putting a penis in your mouth, sitting on somebody’s face, or being on the receiving end of a blumpkin.
In any case, I don’t expect a gay dude to give me advice about eating pussy any more than he ought to take advice about sucking dick from me. And further, I don’t care who’s licking what, I can’t bother to get up in arms opposing consensual acts. I have other shit to do.
And so, I don’t mean to dump this on you, dear internets, but I need to relieve myself of this burden. Call me corny, but I believe that blumpkins are the ultimate in tension release, not to mention that you can simultaneously drop a deuce and caulk the bathroom tile in one fell swoop. I realize that some find this kind of thing irredeemably disgusting, but consider for a moment what it takes to participate in the act. Really, think about it. If performed within a loving relationship, this is an acknowledgement that a person accepts their partner, completely, fully, poo and all.
I can’t think of anything more body positive.
So you really do have to eat shit now to show you’re not sex negative?
Yep. Prove it.
Précisément. Different strokes, guys, different strokes.
I don’t mean to dump this on you
So you didn’t get my Craigslist response, then?
By the way:
she found a great deal of porn on his Nintendo DS
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA[snort]
Oh, good god, now we’re formalizing the vicar? There are some things we’re not supposed to tell. Fantasies do not demand revelation. Is cache-clearing not part of safe-sex? I wouldn’t eat a sandwich without the proper condiments.
What are we going to do when the technology enables us to broadcast from our brains?
We are so doomed. It’s all going to implode. None of this stuff will sound nearly as horrifying when it’s told by old folks around campfires. Or will it?
Ok I went and looked up the definition of blumpkin and now I wish I hadn’t. Now of course if someone ever mentions the term and wonders what it means I’m sure to blurt out “oh I know what that is!” And my sister will tell me to stop reading blogs for the thousandth time.
Oh well, learn something new very day I guess…
Yep. Prove it.
I knew it.
McBoing is Goldstein.
Ok I went and looked up the definition of blumpkin and now I wish I hadn’t.
I’d be glad I didn’t look it up, but I think I can guess.
Blumpkin? Step away from the Urban Dictionary, McBoing. It’s only giving you deviant ideas.
I was similarly amazed at how many women said they didn’t like the idea of using non-applicator tampons (or worse, Keepers and the like) because, basically, they thought that was icky – this on a thread at Pandagon (can’t remember the exact topic of the post, but Amanda wrote something about tampons, I guess). I was scratching my head that so many feminists would have such hang-ups about their bodies.
I knew it.
McBoing is Goldstein.
Ouch. Don’t hit below the belt, dude.
Ouch. Don’t hit below the belt, dude.
I always thought Goldstein was all about hitting the face. Hitting below the belt – that would make him gay!
I was scratching my head that so many feminists would have such hang-ups about their bodies.
I’m not. It’s becoming pretty clear that as a society we are turned off BY mere bodily functions — from blowjobs to menstrual blood to poop (hence the blumpkin addition) — to the point that all bodily functions are hidden unless they are part of a kids’ movie and somebody needs a fart track to cover up bad writing.
I read an essay by Thomas Somethingorother several years ago that talks about going to rural Ireland and having to crap outdoors and attend a real Irish wake, and realizing exactly what a radical change it is from American culture where everything remotely connected to bodily function is pushed under the rug because it indicates some sort of dirtiness or unattractiveness. Fucked up — I mean, everybody poops. Everybody dies. Dead bodies rot. But instead of facing it, Thomas-dude’s thesis is that we are too sanitary to face the nastiness that is life. I’ll see if I can dig up this essay. The guy is a poet and undertaker, and if I weren’t too lazy I’d do a search.
Oh, the guy is Thomas Lynch. I decided to run a search.
I always thought Goldstein was all about hitting the face.
Only with his penis.
as a society we are turned off my mere bodily functions
Is it not okay now to be turned off by your mere bodily functions?
(Less grammar police, more “Isn’t it ironic, don’t you think?”)
(Less grammar police, more “Isn’t it ironic, don’t you think?”)
Blackflies in chardonnay are objectively disgusting.
Changed it, grammar cop.
Is it not okay now to be turned off by your mere bodily functions?
Absolutely not. Anyone who claims to be turned off by a blumpkin (either giving or receiving) is merely experiencing false consciousness.
“I mean, everybody poops.”
Heh… speak for yourself. I, for one, am too pretty to poop.
However, I do love a good, long fart.
You and I should get together, Jill. I’ll show you a good time.
Anyway, thinking more on the Lynch essay, I think this goes along with sex too. The issue being that many are mortified when some gross noise or substance slips from the genital region — or hey, that awesome farting noise you get when air gets caught between two sweaty chests? — and this signifies some sort of failure on the part of the sexual partners, i.e. inability to maintain this sanitation during the sex act which then leads to the fear of being seen as dirty or gross. I could think of more examples but it’s almost 4am and I ought to be in bed.
And why the fuck hasn’t anybody picked up the blumpkin line? Too obvious? I’m waiting for somebody to continue arguing that nothing we do in consensual relationships is remotely degrading. I should have gone with the Dirty Sanchez.
Blumpkins are not remotely degrading because I do them (is “do” the proper verb there?) and it’s consensual and I like it*.
*Lying.
[...] But despite the very real frustrations, I think this has been good for us (or at least, it’s been good for me). I feel like I’ve learned a lot. I’ll read McBoing, or Amanda, or PunkassMarc and I’ll think, “Right on!” And then I’ll read Bitch|Lab or piny or Amber and it’ll stop me in my tracks because, damn, they’re right about a lot of things, too. Of course there are bits and piece that I take issue with, and I’m not sure I can say that any other feminist blogger speaks for me — but they sure have some good things to say, and they teach me a lot. [...]
I was similarly amazed at how many women said they didn’t like the idea of using non-applicator tampons (or worse, Keepers and the like) because, basically, they thought that was icky – this on a thread at Pandagon (can’t remember the exact topic of the post, but Amanda wrote something about tampons, I guess). I was scratching my head that so many feminists would have such hang-ups about their bodies.
I remember reading that one reason bath poofs, sponges and washcloths are so widely used in the US is that people have real hangups about touching their bodies. Even, apparently, their arms and legs and non-erogenous zones.
I continue to be surprised at how few hangups I have about my body relative to the general population, when all the cultural messages I receive tell me that my body, being fat and all, is more disgusting than usual.
I use a bath poof because it’s awesome at creating lather. Not because I have a problem touching myself.
And my mother gave me a “gentle exfoliation sponge” yesterday. Connection?
Wierd. I guess this is the time to be proud of eschewing all that stuff in favor of hand-to-skin soap application.
I do like using bath poofs with gel because of the aforementioned superior lathering with less product, not to mention exfoliation. Thus, saving money. But I got no problems with touching myself. I use o.b. tampons!
“normalizes the vector”
Thanks, now I will never be able to do vector algebra calculations again without thinking of sex. Wait, I think about sex all the time anyway….
Poofs do indeed provide the best lather. Washcloths have always annoyed me.
Hooray for o.b. tampons! Seriously, I’d do ads for them (and I could use the cash). I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that so many women would have hang-ups about period-related issues, considering that Americans are pretty screwed up about body issues in general, but I just figured women outgrew that sort of thing once they exited their early teen years (you know, like being embarassed to even be seen carrying a tampon).
Back to the original subject of the post, the only time I really feel bothered by a boyfriend’s porn habits is if our sex life has hit a dry spell, which happened with an ex of mine. That feels shitty, because it feels like you’re being rejected in favor of some pixels, which, well, you are. Of course, it turned out the ex was looking almost exclusively at gay porn and in my opinion is in seriously deep denial about his sexuality, so I was able not to take it too personally. Phew. Tom Collins, anyone?
McBoing:
many are mortified when some gross noise or substance slips from the genital region — or hey, that awesome farting noise you get when air gets caught between two sweaty chests? — and this signifies some sort of failure on the part of the sexual partners
Too many people, I think, feel sex is serious business, and if something comical happens you have to ignore it (as opposed to, say, laughing about it) lest the sex go all wrong. Seems to me if you’re not having fun, you’re doing it wrong, but de gustibus non disputandum est, I suppose.
oh, come on now people… I’m tired of this ‘uncomfortable with our functions’ crap. I mean, everyone enjoys taking a shit, picking their nose (or their ass…) and as a woman, I find I truly enjoy my once a month bloodyness. I like it. It connects me to my womanness. Granted, I don’t shit with the door open, something in me rejects the idea of oral while on the rag, and I can’t say I dig other people’s fart smells, but I’m pretty down with my own funk. My boy asks me not to wear deodorant cause it’s just good like that. I say accept yourself and find someone who accepts you as well, just as you are, and then lick each other all over the place until your tounge falls off. We are animals, people… we should touch ourselves daily. and I know that all of you secretly sleep with your hand on your crotch. I call it ‘the good snuggle’ when I’m curled up with my hand all tucked between my thighs… sigh.
I know that all of you secretly sleep with your hand on your crotch
Um…
you know you do…. probably right now… hand all tucked in warm and cozy… then you wake up and smell your fingers… yeah.