Society has stereotyped The Feminist as a man hater, a dyke, a ‘feminazi’ bent on world domination. What most of society doesn’t understand is that men take part in the feminist movement too! In fact, a YouGov poll showed that after being given the definition of a feminist, 51% of men said they considered themselves to be one. After attending a Planned Parenthood conference in D.C. this past month, I had a little “encounter” with one. My partner was male, but yours definitely doesn’t have to be! Here is what happens when you get down with a feminist:
They ask for consent to kiss you. Touch you. Do that with you. In fact, if it’s something s/he wants, they ask you first. And that makes it so much better.
“Your body, your choice.” You have body piercings? Cool. Tattoos? Um, awesome. You don’t shave? Not even down there? He does not care. At all. S/he respects the decisions you make regarding your body. S/he doesn’t want a conveyer-belt vagina—s/he wants yours.
Politically and sexually progressive, amirite? Maybe I’m wrong, but what you believe in politically transfers to the bedroom. And let me tell you, this two-party system is gonna be broad-minded. Open to suggestion. Flexible. O.K, I’ll stop making jokes, but feminists are usually willing to try anything twice.
“I really want to please you.” Ugh. This gets me every time. It’s getting hot and heavy. The panic begins to overwhelm me. I start thinking, “I don’t know what to do with a penis! I don’t have a penis! Porn, why have you failed me??!!” But then he says those two magic words: “You first.” (Sigh) Yes. Please.
There’s no guarantee your partner isn’t going to do some annoying pre-Third-Wave crap (“Do ya like my big dick? Do ya?”). But treat yo’self, and be with someone who cares about the social and economic equality of the sexes.
I witnessed this encounter in a DC metro station several hours ago. It was right after my friends and I passed police arresting a very young black man. We didn’t see much of what had happened, but as we were lining up to go through the gates, we witnessed three black men fighting. Two were metro workers/security, and the other was a pedestrian. The pedestrian was yelling.
Pedestrian: He’s 14, man! What the fuck don’t you understand? These are your people!
Metro 1: No… [Inaudible; disagreement]
Pedestrian: Dude, they raped our mothers, they killed and enslaved us for hundreds of years! Why you not doing anything? … [Walking away] Fuck you guys, fuck you! Fuck you all, you’re niggers! You’re a nigger!
Altogether an upsetting scene. I looked to a friend, and I thought I saw tears in her eyes.
This is a perfect example not only of the systematic stereotyping that police officers engage in, but also the outrage people feel regarding this abuse of power. It made me wonder if there was some tension in the black community about the Black Lives Matter movement. Perhaps the dissenting workers were afraid they would lose their job if they agreed with the pedestrian. Maybe they thought the police were in the right.
I can’t tell you what to think. I have changed my opinion on the dealings in Ferguson and South Carolina and etc.. so many times, and it never gets easier. The best I can say is that the pedestrian fighting for that boy was incensed. To feel like the system is failing your community is heartbreaking.
A spewing bit of something that may turn into something else. The “poetry is the food of love” quote comes from Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice (which is an infinite source of inspiration.) Thank you for dealing with me.
To lose someone after changing—
a mouth biting into dark chocolate and heating
Sickness has made me regret my selfishness.
I’ve thrown away time like it was sand into the sea,
never realizing I could have used it to make castles
and other beautiful things.
“But all sand washes away,” says he who denies love and god.
You are right, you are write… I cannot help my wishes.
Poetry is the food of love, and I am starving.
Due to some family matters and work responsibilities, I will be less frequent in my postings, at least until I feel energized enough to give Cafuné my all. I will still post awesomely, but they will probably be little bits of things.
I love you eternally,
*This is a draft of poetry, because sometimes my thoughts are in a scramble
On most days, he is Pooh bear with a
Tummy of honey; a bearded
Face that knocks down walls
By chance—she never means to tell
‘Til she does, and he is a mirror
She breathes on until it fogs up.
In that mist, he draws his Other Woman,
who stands a foot below