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GIRL PROBLEMS

August 28, 2012 by kim

I’m back from another SUPERNATURAL convention. I’ve been informed there are five of my readers who may not be familiar with the phenomenon, so I’ll catch you up to date in a quick way, because it has little to do with my blog overall. The show is about two really ridiculously gorgeous brothers who fight…. SUPERNATURAL…. entities. I’ve been on the show a few times as a police officer who assists in various ways after my son turned into a zombie and devoured my husband’s intestines, forcing one of the gorgeous brothers to shoot him in the head. You know, as one does.

The fans for this show, or at least the fans who attend the conventions, are mostly exactly like me. Sure, they come in different shapes and ages and colors and accents, but I’ve learned they are almost all, honestly, like me. (Quick side note: If you are reading this and are of the single straight male persuasion, you CANNOT MISS at one of these conventions. For every hundred women, there may be five men. Two gay and two married. Seriously… this is an untapped treasure trove.) So female reactions to meeting celebrities at these events varies from a warm hug and a wink to speechless stammering and trying to touch Jensen’s lips. And that’s just me I’m talking about. However, this time I noticed some confusion among the boys on stage. Girls would say things to me, I’d laugh and respond, we’d go our merry way and then one of the boys would look at me and say, “What the hell was that?”

It made me start thinking about how if a boy hasn’t EXPERIENCED something, they probably don’t get it. For instance, I told a story about working with the two criminally beautiful boys who were probably used to being the focus of unwanted attention. Now I didn’t want to simply extend my hand and say, “Hi. I don’t want to fuck you,” because that isn’t done. When I said that, the room exploded. Women know that feeling. We know there’s a little barometer in just about every guy’s head running through the scales of how much we might want to fuck him and how he feels about that. If we had a way of just disabling that contraption, life would be easier for everyone. So when women started saying throughout the convention, “Hi. I don’t want to fuck you,” and then laughing manically, the boys looked like puppies who had been asked to program a space shuttle.

They didn’t think flinging our arms into the air and imitating a starfish finding her happy place made a lot of sense. We do.

They don’t get the difference between fucking a woman who’s awake and saying, “God, get that thing in me right now,” and the same woman who’s asleep the next morning.

NOTE: FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO MAY NOT HAVE NOTICED, I JUST SHIFTED FROM TALKING ABOUT THE BOYS AT THESE CONVENTIONS TO SOME BOYS IN GENERAL, ESPECIALLY SOME POLITICIANS RUNNNG AROUND. THE “SUPERNATURAL” GUYS ARE SOME OF THE MOST AMAZING SPECIMENS OF HUMANITY ON THE PLANET. I AM SHIFTING MY FOCUS INTO THE LARGER POINT OF THIS BLOG POST, SO RELAX. I’M NOT EVER GOING TO HAVE TO ACCUSE ANY OF MY FELLOW CONVENTION TALENT OF ANYTHING OTHER THAN BAD TASTE. (Sebastian, I may or may not be talking to you.)

Ladies, this is killing me. This national dialogue about what is or is not rape is fucking killing me. I’ve made no secret of my own first sexual encounter and how it took me years to realize it was a rape. Why did it take me years? Because it was being so ambiguously defined. Did she fight back? Did she scream? Did she say no hard enough? Did she go into his room? Had she had sexual contact of any sort with him before? Could she have grabbed a bedside lamp and bludgeoned him with it? Well….. then he probably thought she wanted it.

Rape. Is. Penetration. Without. Consent.

Let’s just say, for shits and giggles, that somehow you got your man to suck some whipped cream off of his golf club. Then you bent him over and rammed it up his ass. On what planet would that NOT be considered rape? But since this rarely happens to a man, some of them have a hard time seeing the difference between, “Hey, she was game to let me finger her on the dance floor,” and, “So once we were in the alley I thought I had the go-ahead.”

When I was in Winnipeg I saw something that will damage me forever. It was ten below zero, celsius, but the girls were wearing skirts that showed ass cheek and made it clear how they chose to shave their bikini region. When I was leaving a club, I saw a young man get out of the back of a parked car, fastening up his pants. His friend then undid his and went in. There was a girl, passed out, skirt up around her waist, and the boys LOOKED AT ME LIKE THEY WEREN’T DOING ANYTHING WRONG! I was pulled away by my friend because I was ready to fight. I mean, I was full-on ready to claw some eyes and tear some testicles. But it was explained, “That happens all the time here.” ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?

Okay. Back to my original point. A lot of men don’t understand things they haven’t actually experienced. But most men are good, kind, loving human beings who deserve to get laid without concern and without guilt and without the lingering fear that the next morning he will be arrested. So let’s do our part, shall we? No, not our part in not getting raped. The thing about rape is that we have no part in it. But let’s do our part to help guys know what consent looks like, shall we?

Step one. If you want to fuck a dude, ADMIT IT TO YOURSELF! This is a good thing. This is the best thing! If you’re waiting for him to CONVINCE you that you want to fuck him, then you’re doing nobody any favors, least of all yourself. You can always change your mind, that’s the beauty of being honest. If you decide, “That one right there, in the Affliction shirt,” and then when he gets closer you realize his Drakkar Noir cologne is so strong it’s overwhelming your cucumber martini, well, game over. But truly if you want to be in charge of your own body, you have to decide what the hell you want your body to do. Not making that decision would be like getting in the driver’s seat of a car and then saying, “Could you just turn the wheel?” Be proud. Be honest. Be aware that the chances are pretty fucking good if you make it clear you want him, it will be reciprocated. (I’ve heard that guys are actually pretty damn easy. Don’t know if that’s true, but I’ve heard….)

Step two. If you want to fuck a dude, BE NICE TO HIIM! Smile. Laugh at his jokes. Listen to him. Treat him like he’s a human being. Backing up to his crotch on the dance floor and bending over is all well and good, and it makes your intentions very clear, but nine times out of ten…. those are not the girls who actually take the guy home. THOSE are the girls who don’t want to fuck, they just want to be wanted. The ones who play the games that get the rest of us in trouble. It’s the physical equivalent of singing nyah nyah nyah na nyah nyah. If you really want the dude, be nice to him and don’t play power yahtzee.

Step three. Now sure, a lot of us are nice to guys we don’t want to fuck. So to clearly cross that line, touch him. Touch his arm when you laugh at his jokes. Touch his neck. Touch his leg. Wipe something off of his lip. Stare at his mouth. At this point, any red-blooded male will be thinking, “Holy shit! I think she wants to fuck me.”

Step four. Smile, nod, and say, “Yes, I want to fuck you.” Okay, there may be zero subtlety in this step. But subtlety can be misconstrued. If we are going to take charge of our lives and our bodies, I believe we can no longer afford grey areas. Even fifty shades of them. Now you may choose to vamp on the theme I offer here, but make it clear what consent looks like. It looks like the word yes, be that verbally, or, for those of you who are more physically expressive, putting your hand on his by-now bulging crotch and smiling. Then put your tongue in his mouth. I gotta say, that’s a pretty clear yes.

If more men experienced this kind of attention, I think more men would understand what NOT experiencing it looks like. Let’s stop playing the game of making them beg or get us drunk. Let’s stop being ashamed of wanting to get laid. Let’s take this into our own hands and mouths and vaginas.

Again, I repeat, you may always change your mind. But if you’ve been clear with your “yes”, you’ll be amazed at how clear your “no” can become. It will NEVER NEVER NEVER be okay for a man to have sex with a woman without her consent. But when we make our consent obvious, it will do two things: It will get us laid more frequently, and it will make us more sure when the answer is GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF ME OR I WILL SHOVE YOUR NASAL CARTILAGE UP THROUGH YOUR CEREBRAL CORTEX, YOU FUCKTARD! Because I don’t know about other rape victims, but if I had known and been proud of what “yes, please” felt like, then it would have been a helluva lot easier to say “no, thank you”. And the more men experience both, the better they will be able to land the Mars Rover Curiosity. And maybe legislate in a way that doesn’t use phrases like “legitimate rape” or suggestions to “just enjoy it”.

Oh, see? Now I want to remove someone’s gonads and choke him with them again. Find a happy place! Find a happy place!