Consent: A Definition

Remember that one time, I wrote a post on consent, and I promised to write more on consent, like how consent can be sexy, and then I never did?

Yeah, sorry about that. Life happened? I was distracted by other blog ideas? I wrote posts that were timely with current events?

Speaking of current events, consent should be a timeless idea, but in the Steubenville aftermath, and to honor Sexual Assault Awareness Month, bringing it up again seems especially appropriate.

Confession: My observations of the political and social climate in the States are clouded by my identity as a feminist. (Shocking revelation, I know).

I spend a borderline-obsessive amount of time educating myself on the gender pay gap (it exists, but whining about 77 cents on the dollarmakes you look like an uninformed idiot), following proposed and enacted anti-choice legislation seeking to limit women’s reproductive health (I then inform Beau of states where we cannot live one day, like North Dakota), and studying sexual assault (the prevalence, the perpetrators, the different forms, societal causes, etc.).

One of the most encouraging trends I’ve noticed in the last year is the appearance, at least, of more people calling for a change in rape prevention. The trendy feminist thing to say is “Don’t teach women not to get raped. Teach men not to rape.” Campaigns include Men Can Stop Rape and Don’t BeThat Guy.

From the new bystander intervention campaign.

One of the most discouraging trends I’ve noticed, however, is the

CAUTION: ANGRY FEMINIST HULKING OUT. SKIP TO BELOW IF YOU ARE AN EASILY OFFENDED MAN.

Disgusting, whiny, misogynistic, uncaring attitude from waaaaaaaay too many men who are falling over themselves to see who can be the most obnoxious and privileged asshole of all time.

Not all men are rapists! I’m offended at the implication! No fucking duh. Look, feminists are a little tired of prefacing every conversation about rape with the disclaimer that we know most men aren’t rapists. But guess what. Most rapists are men. So if we’re gonna talk about rape, we gotta talk about men. GET OVER YOUR DAMN PRIVILEGE.

What, I have to get consent now every time I have sex? That’s absurd! What a mood-killer. You’re a fucking idiot who’s either a rapist or just really lousy in bed. If you can’t find a sexy way to get clear consent from your partner, YOU’RE DOING IT WRONG.

YOU MAY RESUME YOUR REGULAR, INOFFENSIVE READING.

Or, more nicely put, one of the most discouraging trends I’ve noticed is when some men don’t understand what feminists are trying to do and thus lash out with irrational fear.

Y’all, consent is not that scary. No one is demanding abstinence from anyone. But is it really too much to ask that you only have sex (or engage in other sexual activity) with someone who’s an eager and willing participant?

So what is consent?

From the Health Promotion Department of the University Health Center at the University of Georgia:

Consent is a voluntary, sober, imaginative, enthusiastic, creative, wanted, informed, mutual, honest, and verbal agreement.

Voluntary: Your partner knows she can say no. Your partner feels safe saying yes.

Sober: You’ve had a few drinks, but you and your partner both know your tolerance levels, and you’re still capable of making sound judgment. | You’re feeling drunk, but you still want to have sex with your sober partner. Your partner suggests you two cuddle and kiss for some time first, giving you a chance to sober up. | You really like drunken sex, so you talk to your partner while you’re both still sober about having sex later when drunk.

Imaginative: (see Creative, see Informed) Consent isn’t a blanket statement to do anything and everything. Consent is open communication between partners on sexual likes and dislikes. Be honest with your partner about what you’d like to try, before you experiment with something new.

Enthusiastic: When you say “Yes” after saying “No” for hours, because your partner won’t stop badgering you, this is not enthusiastic consent. While judgment varies on whether or not this is rape, your partner cares about her own sexual needs more than your feelings.

From FORCE: Upsetting Rape Culture

Creative: (see Imaginative) Sometimes you both might want sex, but there are obstacles in the way. Creativity includes skype sex (long distance relationships FTW), shower sex (apparently good when kids are in the picture), and other fun solutions other than missionary position in the marital bed.

Wanted: You should desire your partner, and your partner should desire you.

Informed: (see Imaginative) Your partner knows you hate ABC, but you love XYZ. You told your partner you wanted to try 123, your partner counter-offered with 456, and you two agreed on 789.

Mutual: You consent to your partner. Your partner consents to you.

Honest: You and your partner trust each other. You and your partner adhere to all sexual decisions made together. If your feelings change about a sexual act, you tell your partner. If your partner is accidentally causing you pain in bed, you speak up. You and your partner maintain open communication about your sexual needs.

Verbal agreement: Your partner starts initiating sex, but you don’t respond. Your partner stops and asks you if you’re interested in sex. Your partner waits for an answer.

This might seem like a lot to remember, but if you’re really good at reading comprehension, you’ve noticed I’m basically saying the same stuff over and over again. 1) Do you want to have sex? 2) Does your partner want to have sex? If you both answer yes, have sex. If either of you answers no, don’t have sex.

CONSENT FTW!

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Wasting Your Vote is BULLSHIT: How Voting Is Like Sex

Have you seen the controversial ad comparing voting for the first time to having sex for the first time?

It's received a lot of attention, and rightly so. From Republican outrage* "Oh, look, the Democratic Party reduces women to their sexual status too!" to this well-written article on hipster sexism.

I don't condemn the ad as objectification of women. Lena Dunham is an extremely self-aware woman who knows what she's doing.

But I don't think the ad goes far enough in comparing voting to sex. I think I can do better.

1. A lot of people are saying, "Don't waste your vote. Don't vote for a third party candidate, especially in a swing state." A lot of people will also tell you not to waste your virginity on someone who isn't your spouse. Both of these statements are BULLSHIT!** Vote for whom you want. Sleep with whom you want.
2. The media has a lot to say about both Romney and Obama and the people who support them. And if you're somewhere in the middle, well, you're insulted by them all. Sound familiar? It's a LOT like the prude/slut dichotomy. As famously said in The Breakfast Club, "It's a double-edged sword... if you say you haven't, you're a prude. If you say you have, you're a slut. It's a trap. You want to but you can't, and when you do you wish you didn't, right?"Guess what. Voting for Obama (or having sex) doesn't make you a bad person. Voting for Romney (or not having sex) doesn't make you a bad person. Voting for Gary Johnson (or only having non-sex sex) makes you fucking awesome.
3. The media is also spewing a bunch of lies about both candidates, who are lying themselves. The media lies about abstinence and sex, too. Like that if you don't abstain, you ruin yourself for your husband. Like that everyone is having sex except you. You need to do your own research about the political candidates and where they stand on the issues. Similarly, you need to figure out your own reasons for abstaining or having sex and make that decision with a partner who respects your choice.
4. Voting for the first time is a big deal, just like having sex for the first time is a big deal. But for the second time is important, and the third time, and the fourth... Voting is NEVER unimportant. My first kiss was a big deal to me, but each subsequent make-out session has also helped shape who I am now as a sexual being.
5. It's up to you if you want to talk about who you voted for. It's up to you if you want to talk about your sexual experience (or lack thereof).
6. Your friends and family will try to pressure you to vote a certain way. You need to vote for the candidate who you think is best. Some men (or women) might try to pressure you into having sex. You need to have sex only when you think you're ready.

I had a lot of fun comparing voting to sex, but I hope it was also a playful learning experience. 

I've already submitted my absentee ballot. I voted for Gary Johnson. As a libertarian, I cannot in good conscience vote for someone who supports big government, which both Romney and Obama do, albeit in different ways.

But the point of this post isn't to tell you to vote for Gary Johnson.***

The point is for you to VOTE. Educate yourself on the issues, find out where each candidate stands on the issues--especially your state and city candidates--and vote accordingly.

Voting is one of the greatest freedoms we have. Don't waste it.

*Yeah, like I actually believe the Republican Party cares about this.
**TM Penn & Teller, who are both fucking awesome.
***I'm kidding. You should vote for Gary Johnson. You won't regret it.

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The Sexiest Virgins Alive

Twitterverse is obsessed with Mean Girls. The world stops whenever it's on television, and I'm pretty sure all women aged 18 to 25 spontaneously orgasmed when Mean Girls finally became available on Netflix.

Sorry, that was a gender generalization, which I normally try really hard not to make.

Via nicomillionaire.tumblr.com

But as much as I see anons tweeting quotations from Mean Girls, I rarely see much discussion about what we can learn from the movie.

The definition of sex has become rather broad and often confusing in today's American culture. Even this asshole our former president doesn't seem to get it.

So what is sex? What is virginity? Does a definition even matter?

Well, no.

But our society is obsessed with it, and as a self-proclaimed virgin who blogs about sex, virginity, and everything in-between, I'm not exactly helping de-emphasize the "importance" of the distinction.

But I AM provoking discussion and sparking debate and challenging preconceived notions of virgins.

Last Friday, I went to a sex shop for the first time ever (and then applied to work there). Naturally, I tweeted about the experience before blogging about it. The reaction was... mixed, to say the least.

Some friends thought this was a brilliant idea. Like me, they thought it would provide great inspiration for my blog.

Or like me, they thought sex toys were a positive thing for women to enjoy, either with or without a partner.

Some friends thought I should I admit my sexual experiences make me less than virginal.

And others questioned if I'm honestly a virgin at all.

I might not have enjoyed the entire discussion, and at one point, so many followers were jumping in that I could no longer keep up with my timeline. 

But. 

Not only was it eye-opening, but it proved that there is an ongoing need for my blog, with all my thoughts on sex and virginity.

There is still a prevailing attitude that virginity means the exact same thing for everyone.

If we can't agree on the definition of sex, then how can anyone expect us to agree on virginity? 

Which brings me back to my first point. 

Does it even matter?

Sexuality is incredibly personal. Yet, for whatever reason (I'm blaming patriarchy), sex is very much in the public eye. Between those trying to control sex and those trying to exploit sex, anyone trying to figure out their sexuality on their own has public pressure adding to their confusion.

To anyone in the gray zone between sex and virginity, to anyone like me, this is my advice.

It's your body, your experiences, you sexuality, your label.

I started this blog before I had ever owned a vibrator, or seen a man naked, or participated in skype sex. I guess you could say I was "more virginal" when I started this blog than I am today. 

The boyfriend and I have drawn our line at coitus, or PIV sex. We're saving that for marriage. Until then, we'll both refer to ourselves as virgins, because we can, but we also both know the label no longer matters.

At the end of the day, we're a young couple in love, and we're making choices about our relationship based on our own happiness, not anyone else's.

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Losing My (Sex Shop) Virginity

I look hot tonight.

I’m wearing my new Rock Revival jeans, a nice little bonus I received from my boss this week. Topped with a simple black button-down (with gathered elastic over the bust!) and accessorized with red wedges & a red necklace. Plus I’m actually wearing a touch of make-up: my roommate and our friend Sue* worked magic on my eyes, which I complimented with a hint of lip gloss.

The purpose of looking hot?

Feeling old enough to go to a sex shop.

Legally, I’ve been old enough for… awhile, to say the least. But I didn’t fully embrace myself as a sexual being until I finished undergrad (and moved to France), and I didn’t embrace my attraction to women until about a year ago (after two years of kissing women in France). So the idea of going to a sex shop has honestly only crossed my mind once or twice before tonight.

Seriously, the thought of it used to make me blush and stammer and try to joke like I wasn’t shocked, but my friends always saw through me.

Tonight, though, tonight, I became a woman.

Tonight, I lost my (sex shop) virginity.

*happy dance*

SteampunkTink and Sue had plans to go after work today. I had nothing going on, so my roommate invited me to join them. They were almost as excited for my first time as I was!

Confession: My sex shop virginity mirrored my real life virginity. As in, I had technically never been in a sex shop before tonight, but I had browsed a Good Vibrations catalog, researched different options at amazon, and, uh, enjoyed a toy or two or three.

Going to Hustler Hollywood tonight was like every other sexual “first time” I’ve had. I was excited, and curious, but still a little nervous.

I mean, what if some creepy guy hit on us? What if there was a back room for viewing porn? What if the store was trashy?

Luckily, my nerves were for naught. The three of us seriously had SO much fun tonight.

(Not THAT kind of fun. Pervs.)

The first thing I noticed when we walked in was the wall of sexy bustiers, bras, and panties. I would LOVE a nice bustier, but I’m pretty certain with my figure, I will need to custom-order it. Gargh. 

I also checked out the sexy Halloween costumes—pretty sure the beau and I are going as Commander Riker and Deanna Troi from Star Trek: The Next Generation—but it never hurts just to look! I wouldn’t mind dressing up as a naughty schoolgirl at some point… And by “naughty schoolgirl,” I clearly mean a sexy Hermione. Duh.

Sue tried on a sexy football “uniform.” Um. Clearly these things are designed for smaller ladies. The large barely covered half her bust. SteampunkTink and I couldn’t help laughing. She just looked so sad, and the fit was just so comically bad.

The next amusing part of our trip was being IDed for the “adult” section aka where all the toys are displayed. After the salesman checked our IDs, I asked how old you had to be to go back there.

18.

The three of us have all been out of undergrad for awhile now. We all passed that 18^th birthday many many ages ago.

Apparently even my hot outfit isn’t enough to compensate for my petite frame. Drats.

Hustler had an awesome selection of toys, including the butterfly vibrator I picked out recently (and the boyfriend purchased for me). The saleswoman was really helpful, really honest, really nice, and really funny. She was just all sorts of awesome. Basically, all three of us would like to one day own a few of the high end toys (like, $200 toys).

She explained all their cool features and all the research behind the design. I couldn’t help myself from exclaiming:

“It’s like the perfect combination of my nerdy side and my sexy side!”

You would think discussing the features of toys that stimulate both the clitoris and the G-spot would be awkward… But even when the man was helping us at one point, it was just very matter-of-fact. No big deal.

I loved it.

Which is why I’ve applied to work there part-time.

I mean, why not? I have the time, I could use the extra cash, and this is writing gold. You can’t make up this kind of stuff.

Besides, I believe there is a huge untapped market of sexually frustrated virgins. I could help these people! Sex toys are basically the most pleasurable alternative to sex. What better way to hold on to your V-card than some really satisfying solo time?

So. Fingers crossed!

I’m just glad teenage!Belle can’t see sexy!virgin!Belle.

She would be praying for my (our?) soul.

*Fake name. Duh. Also, I lied when I said I didn't know SteampunkTink. She wanted to be uber-anonymous at first. Now she's okay with being identified as my roommate.

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Joyeux Anniversaire à Moi... (les 9 et 10 juin)

The entire month of June is devoted to celebrating my birthday, in case anyone was wondering.

I forgot to write in my first birthday post that the day before (le 7 juin), I treated myself to a facial* and a manicure. Nothing says eternal youth and beauty like glowing skin and sparkly nails!

Blue and silver

On Saturday, the boyfriend and I exemplified our nerdiness by going to the Ontario Science Centre. Our original plans of visiting the nude beach were rudely interrupted by a forecast for thunderstorms all day (which never materialized, of course). After a very late lunch and a stop by the liquor store for champagne (well, sparkling wine, but from Ontario, which I thought was cool!), we headed to the tattoo parlor!

Yup, I now have a black fleur-de-lis on my back, just under the left side of my bra band. It is beautiful.* The boyfriend was very supportive, holding my hand the whole time. It didn't hurt nearly as much as my foot tattoo, though.**

Sunday was gorgeous, and I wanted to enjoy it outside. We skipped Casa Loma and headed to the zoo! Basically we spent half our time looking at the polar bears. The boyfriend and I have decided to have a pet polar bear one day.*** They were just so cute! The Toronto Zoo has a polar bear cub right now, and he was seriously the most adorable thing ever. The adult polar bears were awesome as well.

All in all, it was a fabulous weekend.

Don't worry. We enjoyed lots of naked time too. ;)

*Checked off two goals from my list of 101 Things in 1001 Days!

**NO ONE IN MY FAMILY KNOWS! DO NOT TELL THEM!

***I wish we could actually have a pet polar bear. Alas. Only in our dreams.

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Joyeux Anniversaire à Moi... (le 8 juin)

Last Friday was my birthday, last weekend was my birthday weekend, and June is my birthday month. Let the celebrations continue!

My birthday weekend was practically perfect, despite almost nothing going according to plan. (And I LOVE to plan things very precisely).

The plan: Spend Friday at the pool with the boyfriend, and after school, the kids too. After dinner, go to the cool adult after-hours event at the Royal Ontario Museum (ROM) with the boyfriend. Drink champagne. Go to the nude beach on Saturday, head home to shower, get my tattoo, and go somewhere nice for dinner. Spend Sunday at Casa Loma.

What happened: The only event that went according to plan was getting my tattoo. But the weekend was still awesome. :)

The boyfriend left work early Thursday and drove to Toronto so I could wake up with him on my birthday. He brought me this beautiful cake.
 

I used Paint to hide my real name (in M&Ms!) and age

Friday morning my kids "surprised" me with cards and presents. Sam* had made a lot of very pointed comments during the previous week about how happy I would be to receive a gift card to Indigo (like Barnes & Noble, but Canadian). Amy* had been working on her card for me after school, where I could see it... Annie* had asked if pink was my favorite color, if I liked pink roses, and if I liked bows.

Clearly I went to Indigo immediately

So when Sam and Amy presented me with homemade cards and a gift card to Indigo, I acted surprised, but I had expected it. (Technically the giftcard was from my bosses, but semantics). To an extent, Annie did surprise me when she gave me bow earrings and a rose hair accessory. I thought she was hinting about real roses with a bow tied around them.
 

My favorite things: Starbucks, Diet Coke with Lime, the boyfriend, my kids

She loves me as big as the moon.

After we took the kids to school, the boyfriend and I returned home to make one of my all-time favorite breakfasts: Eggs Benedict. He's so precious. I had asked him months ago to learn how to poach eggs and fry bacon (I usually under-cook it or burn it) for this exact reason. (I already know how to cook many many complicated things, so I figure he can learn a few cooking techniques I haven't mastered). I made the Hollandaise sauce (from scratch!) and toasted the English muffins while he poached our eggs and fried the bacon. It. Was. DELICIOUS. We ate it so quickly I completely forgot to snap a photo.

After some, ahem, alone time, we hit up the mall so I could buy some new shorts from H&M and spend my gift card at Indigo. I bought the next Phillipa Gregory novel, another by Tracy Chevalier, and a nerdy book full of advice from the smartest people in the world.**

After dinner, the boyfriend, the kids, and I skyped with my parents, my brothers, my twin brother's girlfriend, my best guy friend Joe,* and his girlfriend. I then opened my presents my parents had mailed to me.

My mom is hit or miss with books

The books are "token" presents. The real gift is getting my pearl & diamond ring repaired when I'm home this summer. One of the pearls fell off in January, and I really want it replaced.

When I got off work, the boyfriend and I went into the city. The line for the ROM was ridiculous, so we gave that up and searched for a bar with champagne, to no avail. Eventually we gave up and went home, to my disappointment. But the boyfriend promised we could get champagne Saturday night.

Annnnnnd this is a really long post. I'll sum up Saturday & Sunday in another one.

*Fake names. As always.

**Still confused as to why I wasn't consulted... Maybe they also had an age requirement?

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