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What Do You Say to Silencing Thoughts Concerning Sex and Sexuality?

December 20, 2012

Fuck off. That’s what.

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about the kind of writing I want to do, and about the kind of person I am and how I want to present myself to the world.

I’m a kinky motherfucker. I’m a weirdo. I’ve been around a few blocks.

Call it labeling theory if you must. It may be that hordes of eighth-graders calling me a slut and the teachers that let it happen at Noe Middle School in Louisville, KY (how’s that for a shout-out Ms. Cole? Ms. Wade? You humanity-crushing trolls of human beings?) warped my mind into a twisted mess. And if you want to pathologize kink and sexual freedom, go ahead, but please stay out of my world.

I have had a block about writing about sex, actual sex, for a long time.

Some of this stems from not wanting to upset people in my family.

But none of us would be here without sex. It makes no sense to me that sex is viewed as something to be kept private, to not be spoken about.

As much as I think that human beings are a plague upon the earth, none of us can deny the power of sex in our lives. Sex makes us possible.

When you think about the way that voices concerning sex are “silenced,” and the shaming that occurs to the female, the queer, or pretty much anyone who isn’t singing the praises of jamming their bio-dicks into a female body (regardless of how the person in that female body feels about it), it’s undeniable that the ability to shame the public sexualities of women (and anyone else who’s not straight and male) is one of the most important factors in our shitty, shitty woman-debasing culture. We gaze at half naked women who are photoshopped out of all sense of normalcy on the surfaces of nearly every shop we go into, hanging over our public spaces. We objectify little girls.

I remember thinking I wasn’t pretty when I was little because I wasn’t blond. Lord knows I didn’t get that from my parents. But I knew being pretty was important and I knew I wasn’t, no matter how many times my mom told me I was.

It still is. And I wish it weren’t. I try to kill that a little more every day — the importance of the cellulite that mottles my legs and ass, the saggy tits, the body hair, the double chin. I tell that part of me that mourns a body it never appreciated when it was nicer to shut the fuck up.

The fact is, women’s sexualities are important. Our desires are important. Our inner lives surrounding these issues and our bodies and they ways they are denied power by the sheer fact of their existence as imperfect bodies are important. And the people who say they aren’t are the people who are enemies to freedom. They are scared. And they have their reasons. But I don’t care about them anymore.

Once a week, starting the final week in December and going through January, I’m challenging myself and any readers out there who want to participate, to share sexual experiences. Mine won’t be any bodice rippers. I am, after all, a woman who’s had partners on both sides of oral sex pass out on me (or in me). Real sex. The sights, the smells, the sensations. Stay tuned and comment with your own stories!

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2 Comments leave one →
  1. December 27, 2012 10:23 pm

    “I tell that part of me that mourns a body it never appreciated when it was nicer to shut the fuck up.” Oh yes. Thanks for this, Kate.

    • December 29, 2012 2:30 pm

      Thanks, Julie. I wish that wasn’t the way it is for me. Sorry to hear it’s that way for you, too!

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