Okay, I admit it: I enjoy the role of the rebel.
I’ve always derived a good deal of amusement and entertainment from hearing people say, “You can’t/people don’t/that’s wrong/that’s sick!” and then turning right around and doing them anyway. Likewise, I’ve always been fascinated, amused and confused in roughly equal measure by the odd double standards Western society imposes on sex, sexuality and related matters. It just never made any damned sense to me, and I mean literally as far back as I can remember, it never made sense.
Do you apologize when you want a drink of water?
How about when you’re really, really hungry and a cheeseburger sounds like the best thing in the world?
What about when you get out of that movie that kept you on the edge of your seat for two and a half hours, through a Coliseum-sized Coke and half your body weight in popcorn, only to have your bladder start the ten-second countdown to find a restroom or suffer the consequences?
It seems ridiculous to apologize for any of these things, doesn’t it?
But we do it ALL. THE. TIME. When it comes to sex.
Even worse, we try to make other people apologize for desires which don’t have a damned thing to do with us because [whatever] is “icky,” “nasty,” “mean” or even “abusive” as viewed by the observer. (In most cases, when all parties have given informed consent and where all parties remain firmly within the boundaries of what has been agreed to, outsiders are not qualified to judge “abusive” behavior. When this is not the case, or where obvious harm is being caused, that’s a significantly different matter. We’re not talking to these people, it’s not their part of the show and frankly, we don’t want them around any damned way.)
So, you like your cheeseburger with some ketchup, mustard, pickle and onion. The classics. I like mine with fried egg (discovered this soon after moving to PDX; who knew?), crispy bacon and garlic aioli, and keep those veggies in the ground so my food has something to eat, thanks!
The point is, some people like their appetites and needs fulfilled this way. Some people like it that way. Some people think no-frills missionary is the way to go, while others like collars, cuffs, floggers, clown porn,* brownie mix and ball gags. Your cheeseburger, my cheeseburger.
Or, as we say in the kink world,
My Kink Is Not Your Kink.
I have long identified myself as a feminist. I believe in equal pay for equal work and proactive steps to eliminate the wage gap. I believe a woman should be allowed to wear the same amount of clothing as a man, or none at all, and be safe in her body and her agency regardless of where she is. I believe women’s voices should receive just as much attention and consideration as men’s. I believe a woman should have the ability and right to decide to be a homemaker, an executive, a Mistress or a slave of her own volition and without societal pressure to choose something which goes against her nature. I believe all of the above should be true without regard to one’s race, color, orientation, gender, gender identity, gender expression, religion or political opinions. It’s called equality, people…and in 2017, we need to get on the fucking stick about making it happen.
But I can’t tell you how many times someone has told me, “YOU can’t be a feminist!”
Huh. Seems like the entire platform I laid out above is kind of the epitome of feminism. So…does my wedding tackle somehow prohibit me from believing in feminism? Are my only choices to be a silent ally or to join the MGTOW movement?
I reject that set of choices, because they do not reflect me or my reality.
Yes, I have two slaves. These women have entrusted me, by their own will, with large swaths of their lives. Both these women are strong, intelligent, beautiful people in their own right. They have chosen me to be their strength when they need to be weak, their motivation when they lack it, their deepest fantasies and darkest fears in one package. They have elected, of their own volition, to kneel before me.
It is probably one of the most feminist things they have ever done. Because they decided to follow their hearts and their own beings. Because they didn’t settle for the first Dominant to happen by and say, “Here’s a collar. Now you’re mine.” Because they recognize they have a choice in whether they remain in my House or not.
Who am I…and for that matter, who is ANYONE…to deny them that right of choice and the freedom of action they can only find in submission? Who am I to tell them they must lead and not follow, if that isn’t where the compasses of their hearts direct them?
And who are these people who say my girls and myself are not feminists to try to define or judge us and our relationship by their own yardsticks?
That’s not feminism. That’s just tyranny under another flag.
And I won’t stand for it.
I am a feminist. I believe the most feminist act anyone can ever perform is to accept women’s choices on their own terms, whether you agree with them or not.
If that’s not being the “right” kind of feminist, then I’ll fucking well be the wrong kind, and be damned to anyone who doesn’t like it.
*I don’t even know if clown porn is a thing. Truthfully, I kinda hope it isn’t. If it is, please feel free not to share with the class, mmmkay?
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