Rabbit Write

Monogamy vs. Polyamory– an Asexual Perspective

Rabbit White — Mon, 06 Sep 2010 03:43:51 +0000

Remember my post about how monogamy isn’t natural, tackling where to go from there? The always stimulating David Jay, founder of the Asexuality Visibility and Education Network, pressed me further on it, and had some interesting insights. This is a G-Chat between he and I a week ago.

David: Ok, here’s what I don’t get– if you’re talking about marmots, whatever, they can have “natural mating habits” because their ability to form social relationships is pretty basic, by human standards. There aren’t many powerful factors other than mating to define how their relationships work

RW: Right.

David: But humans are different, our relationships are highly complex–in the complexity theory sense of the word– they have crazy emergent properties which means that they are, by their very nature, unpredictable from their component parts. So if you take a component part (sexual drive) and put it in the mix you don’t get a predictable outcome (monogamy or polyamory).

RW: Also, from psychology we understand human relationships and sex to be built on things much more complex than biology.

David: Take eating. We have an instinct to eat, right? Pretty primal. But the actions that we take to eat and therefore, our entire concept of eating, is that instinctual or cultural? Going to a restaurant, ordering a burrito, those are the things I do when I’m hungry.

RW: So, you think it’s problematic that we go toward ev psych theories about sex and try to prove everything about human relationships with them?

David: Right, it’s like saying “our ancestors liked food that they could carry around for their migrant lifestyle, and that’s why we like burritos, they’re easy to carry.”

David: It’s all about how sexual instincts interact with the millions of other factors. I mean, do people really think that modern intimate relationships are primarily about human sex drive?

RW: Yeah I know what you are saying. But it seems to an extent, yes–many people assume a relationship ends when the sex dwindles.

RW: But from your view, sex is mostly about relationships/culture rather than instinct?

David: Yes. Well, instinct heavily mediated by relationships, culture and other human needs. It’s not some raw expression of human instinct, sex is as socially constructed as the iphone at this point…

David: I’ve found that the evo bio stuff tends to be a little loose on the actual paleontology, like the book “Why We Love” which argues that human mating patterns are based on the needs of savanna life–how women needed men to look after them, and that shaped their sexuality. The usual argument.

RW: “Sex Before Dawn” argues it’s from the needs of hunter gatherers.

David: Hunters and gathers who lived in tribes of 75-150 which were essentially communes… that’s our whole evolutionary advantage, we’re not polyamorous or monogamous, we’re tribal.

RW : So what do you think should be the take away for modern people?

David: I mean, in my worldview, we’re primarily wired for communities, not partners. Partners matter but they matter in the context of all of the other relationships in your life. So you have to look at the big picture if you want to be happy and figure out how your sexual and romantic needs fit into it.

Everyone has a Self

Rabbit White — Mon, 06 Sep 2010 01:53:31 +0000

Everyone has a self. Remember this, mantra-like.

I imagine it like a house. Each person in the house is mirrored, their body-double also living there. There is me, then there is my self, cushioned somewhere in the cool, dark space under the house. There is my sister, then her self. My Dad’s self is caught in a tree in the yard. My Mom’s is in the attic, or escaped somewhere into the clouds.

“Self” is the psychological and philosophical concept of a true-you, your inner-most being or “soul”, the deep source of love inside that makes you feel whole and healed, that brings strength.

In the house the people are always bumping into one and other. Mindlessly in the hallway, briskly out the door. Sometimes a self will bump into a non-self. And the self will say “That’s ok” or “I am sorry”– but mostly there are non-selves knocking against each other. Their elbows always pointed and out, spreading little bruises to flower.

Imagine across from you, in a chair, sits your Mom– facing you. Now allow her to morph into your sibling. Your best friend. Really, for a second. Now imagine that sitting across from you is your Mother– with a self. Your sibling with a self. Your best friend and their self.

As humans we like to categorize, box people up in a label that makes sense. Good person//Bad person. But this doesn’t work. We are far too complex, too vast. All of us have parts that cause us to act defensively, bad, out of turn. And we all have a self, which is inherently loving, good.

We each have a responsibility to be conscious to our decisions, to be in self. But self-awareness isn’t perfect, it won’t always happen. So what would happen if you remember that everyone around you has a self? When they are destructing themselves, they have a self, when they are happy, self, yelling at you, there is a self. Mom, best friend, sibling–each with a self. What would that change?

Good People, Bad People + Dropping Defenses

Bullying

Rabbit White — Fri, 27 Aug 2010 14:09:33 +0000

I am 15 and in music class. The teacher is deaf. His eyes are lidded with sleep, enlarged in owly-y glasses, ears grown over with cotton-fuzz.

Crystal is assigned to sit beside me. “Eat it” she said, pushing a spitball toward my face. “No” I breathed, a thing flying in my chest. The class faintly rippled. The teacher sat at the desk, his cotton-head fallen against his palm.

She said it louder this time; “Eat It.” Melodie Holloway was beside me, her eyes darted, focusing on the wall. Dirk Hendrick looked at me, a cheek bloated against his hand. He looked away.

“What do you feel towards her” my therapist might ask, of my 15-year-old self. My 25-year-old-self might fumble. For a long time, I think I felt indifference or anger. Shame. It wasn’t something I looked at. It was something I buried. Over and over.

I polled twitter and facebook about bullying. No one said “it made me stronger” or “it made me who I am today.” Instead I heard “It gave me a complex about my weight that I carry to this day. “It gave my social anxiety”. “It made it so hard to trust people.”

When I was 15 and bullied I was called “ugly” or a “slut”. Someone started a rumor that I “masturbated at the Easter dinner table.”

When a friend of mine was in a fight, she would come to me for help– I knew about these things. Over MSN Messenger, we’d send threats in hot pink over-sized text. We might call the girl a “skank” or a “bitch.” I didn’t know these girls. I didn’t intuitively know what scabs to pick. I was hurling things I thought would hurt, things that would hurt me.

Psychology has focused on bullying recently. According to a study, most kids (60-70%) are never involved in bullying, neither as targets or bullies. The markers for being a target, they say, are passivity, non-violence. It’s also thought that bullying is formed early into the bully’s personality, marked by anxiety and early aggression. And bullying parents.

While I shrunk with being attacked, Melodie sat on the other side of me staring, but it felt like her heart pounded in equal beats. Melodie was passive, but not bullied. She was popular, clean-cut and wouldn’t have dated the same guys Crystal did–I might’ve.

But it feels more than that. Maybe I wasn’t as protected– by other kids, by teachers, by my parents. I was going to be passive, but so was everyone around me.

“What do you feel towards your 15 year old self now” my therapist might ask. And– I feel empathy. I feel for her, for the hurt that weighs in her body, a shadow balled up inside of her.

“Eat it” Crystal says. I am shaking my head, my face hot, the room still.

This 15 year old is a part still inside of me. In this room, still stuck. Inside of me is the house I went home to and the Mother who I couldn’t tell, out of fear, out of shame, out of not knowing whose side she was even on.

“And what do you feel toward the house? Toward your Mother. Toward Crystal?” I would breathe in–out. “I empathize with them” I could now say. Knowing, that they were wrong. That the initiation of violence is always wrong. But also knowing they are not unlike an animal, snapping their jaws at threats which aren’t real. Trying, they way they’ve been taught, to survive.

The next day I am at my locker, for a moment staring, in thought. Suddenly a great force is against my cheek. Hot and stinging, knocked into the side of my face. I am dizzied with ache, the sound of my heart-beat. The air around me is cool and floaty.

It takes 10 seconds to catch my breath, to regain sight. People are milling to class but no one is looking at me. No one is there. I realize, someone has punched me. They must’ve ran, hit and kept running.

I see my 15 year-old self at her locker. I can look at her, where no one else did, and she can see me. My empathy grows, huge from the compacted place of self-love inside– I am not passive in this. And in processing, it is safe.

Rabbit White on the News

Rabbit White — Thu, 26 Aug 2010 17:25:47 +0000

www.youtube.com/watch?v=7EqhwqD7ElA

I had the lovely opportunity of being a guest on The Young Turks to talk about my egg donation article. And then we talked a little about my bisexuality. Then it came up that Ned is bisexual. And then it was hard to circle back to egg donation

Senior Citizens and BDSM

Rabbit White — Wed, 25 Aug 2010 16:30:38 +0000

This piece was originally written for and published in Gapers Block

Errol and I are in the car. He’s been to The Sins Center before and I, well, I have never been to a BDSM club. “So tell me again about the last time you were there,” I ask. He shakes his head. “So I walk in, checking out the place and I notice there are a lot of older people. I sit down and this little old lady comes up. Gray hair, you know someone’s Grandma, here to pick them up. Then this guy starts tying her onto the equipment, pulling out crops and paddles. And she starts taking a beating. She’s got age spots… this guy is whipping them.”

We laugh, but Errol says he felt like he needed to watch to make sure that she was OK, and didn’t have a heart attack.

The club is spacious and clean. Saint Andrew’s crosses hang against the walls, empty sex slings sag in the corner. An older man with a beard flogs a graying submissive — a naked and bulbous woman bent into doggy style. Her purple posterior takes each of his toys: leather flogger, plastic cane, studded paddle.

It has become something of a hangout for older people in the lifestyle. Master Z, the owner of the club, says that about half of the clientele are over 55. “We have a club manager who’s 75, a club manager who is 80. As a matter of fact I don’t think any of our club managers are under 50 here,” says Master Z.

According to sexologist, Dr. Carol Queen, there are precautions that come with age. “Some sorts of BDSM are the erotic version of high-impact sports, a person of any age must take their health and body resilience into account” she explains “Some things to pay attention to with an older partner, is whether the skin is thinning and how their joints are doing. They’ll want to make sure they can communicate about health issues to partners.”

When I ask Master Z if the aging bodies makes him nervous he replies, “Hell no.” In his opinion, it’s the kids that get into trouble with hurting themselves, the newbies. The older people tend to know what they are doing, they are the ones who will stop a dangerous scene, and show you how to do it.

But sometimes older people are the newbies. Peaches’ hair is gray, her face sloped with age. In a voice shaky and warmed by southern twang she tells me she got into BDSM seven years ago.

“Well,” she sighs, ” I lost my husband in 1998. After awhile, my sister was trying to match-make but I was from a small town in Louisiana where everybody knows everybody.” Peaches decided to play the field online. There, she opened up to a guy about her tattoos. “I always liked pain to a certain extent,” she says as she motions to the faded designs on her upper arm. “He suggested I look up BDSM.”

For Peaches, it just clicked. “I was born submissive. I mean my grandchildren tell me what to do!”

Online, she met her master. Propped up next to her, Master R looks like a teddy bear. His eyes are murky and blue in coke bottle glasses. In his 80s, he is a little hard of hearing but is still playing hard.

“[Master R] does the violet wand [electrical stimulation], he does knives, canes, he does staples on me. I mean, he does it all,” Peaches says, looking at him, the lines around her mouth lifting.

Master R has been in the lifestyle for about 15 years. He too got into BDSM when his wife died.

“I think I’ve always been interested in BDSM,” he says. “I remember the comics that grabbed my attention, the light bondage scenes, I kept going back, re-reading those parts.” He brought it up to his wife, but she wasn’t interested. “We did some light bondage but nothing really worked. And eventually she died,” he stutters. ” It took me some time to get over that.” When Master R was ready, the Internet was there.

According to Dr. Queen, the Internet is a catalyst for older people. “I think it’s easier for younger people, in general, to go out and look for partners,” she says. “The Internet levels the playing field and allows older people to seek partners, making it easier to find new romance — or, for that matter, a tryst with a sex worker. It also brings the sexual world to a generation of people who may not have had as much access to explicit materials earlier in their lives, so I think for some, it sparks or gives permission for new erotic interests.”

The only worry for Dr. Queen is that being introduced to sex without much education brings risk. “There is recent research suggesting that [sexually transmitted infection] rates among elders is increasing. Widow/ers and divorce(e)s are out of long-term relationships. With a new partner, a person can reinvent her- or himself sexually, pursue long-held or new interests. However, it’s obvious that being ‘back in the game’ brings risks that these folks may not have had to address earlier in their lives. Many seniors haven’t learned enough about safer sex and sexually transmitted conditions.”

One thing that may benefit older people getting into the BDSM community is that often experience is valued — age can be hot. “I have a number of the younger ones ask me if they could play with me,” Peaches says. “Sometimes you get respect because you’re older and sometimes you get respect because you deserve it.”

While many older BDSM’ers might know how to play, it can’t be denied that as the body ages, play must be altered. Sometimes instead of safe-words, couples losing their hearing will use hand-signals. Doms also become more understanding, careful not to break a scene when a sub can’t get into position.

“There is indication that heart attack risk increases with new partners, so if someone has heart issues that might dictate no electricity play or play that might result in very strong emotions and adrenaline rushes. This last caution would be especially true of someone just getting into BDSM,” warns Dr. Queen.

“My knees burn sometimes, like when I go up two flights of stairs,” Peaches says. She also just found out she has diabetes, which she is learning to play around. Peaches and Master R agree that with age, a lowered sex drive can be a limitation, but that playing is what keeps their sex drive healthy.

When I ask why people are so grossed out by older people being sexual, Master R quips, “No one wants to think that their parents have sex!” Peaches points out that even her conservative older sister and her husband, who sleep in separate beds, are still having sex.

“I’ve heard from more than one woman that as menopause changes their sexual response and how it feels to have intercourse, non-vaginal forms of pleasure gain new prominence,” says Dr. Queen. “One of my post-menopausal friends discovered she really loved anal sex even after she was no longer particularly into vaginal ‘vanilla.’”

According to a study by the University of Chicago, more than three-quarters of American men and half of women aged 75 to 85 are still interested in sex. But culturally, we don’t see this.

Dr. Queen has two theories. “There had been an underlying bias in our culture that sex really is, at bottom, for reproduction. That’s one of the things that continues to power homophobia too. After one is out of one’s reproductive years, the notion of sex becomes unseemly and even unacceptable to many. The other thing, I think, is that there is societal pressure on us to fear aging, and seeing evidence of older people’s sexuality brings up our difficult feelings about getting older, our own body image fears, fears of mortality.”

Both Peaches and Master R have tried coming out to their adult kids. Peaches’ kids didn’t want to hear about it, shutting her up with a quick, “Mom, if you are happy, we are happy.” Master R opened up to one of his children, who did not approve. “I know if one of them knows, then they all know, but no one mentions it,” he says.

As our collective lifespans continue to increase, that stretch between 65 and 80 is no longer the last phase of life. “I love Sir and I love being out there in my sexuality. And that’s it. My children have got their own lives now,” explains Peaches. It’s a new section of life, one that we’ve never had before.

Carol Queen Talks about Old People Having Sex

Rabbit White — Thu, 19 Aug 2010 18:24:32 +0000

This past Sunday, I was a guest on the fabulous Kink on Tap podcast. One of the things we talked about is how sex–and adjacently STI’s–are on the rise for senior citizens.

I spilled to the audience something I have been working on: a journalism piece about elderly BDSM. This one is coming soon, but in the meantime I want to share some excerpts.

These are some behind the scenes tidbits from an interview with sexologist and co-founder for the Center of Sex and Culture Carol Queen, whom I talked with about senior citizens, BDSM and sex in general.

How common is it that older people are finding new ways to have sex?

“If we can extrapolate from recent survey research suggesting that STI rates among elders is increasing, I’d say it’s quite common indeed. Widow/ers and divorce(e)s are out of long-term relationships that may have grown sexually stagnant or at least had a set of sexual practices that became the core way of having sex. With a new partner, or on the dating scene, a person can reinvent her- or himself sexually, to some degree, and pursue long-held or new interests, or respond to the preferences of the new person. This can really reinvigorate people, physically and emotionally. As the above-noted stats show, however, it’s obvious that being “back in the game” brings risks that these folks may not have had to address earlier in their lives. Many seniors haven’t learned enough about safer sex and sexually transmitted conditions.”

How has the Internet changed sex for older people, especially?

“I think it’s somewhat easier for younger people, in general, to go out and look for partners. The Internet levels the playing field quite a bit and allows older people to specifically seek partners (long- or short-term) if they wish, making it easier to find new romance — or, for that matter, a tryst with a sex worker. It also brings the sexual world to one’s door for a generation of people who may not have had as much access to explicit materials earlier in their lives, so I think for some, it sparks or gives permission for new erotic interests.”

What is sex drive really like in people aged 65+? Does it dwindle to a stop, as we’ve been taught?

This is a really individual thing, but in general: not necessarily. It may be more likely in women, who often (though by no means always) contextualize their erotic lives in relationship to another person.But really the thing that tends to affect sex drive as we age is health — libido is very often the canary in the mineshaft of declining health, and should always be taken seriously when it changes. Enough older people still have plenty of desire and sexual functioning and pleasure that it should never be assumed that an older person is just too old to want it any more — especially if the drop is unexplained and sudden.

Why are there cultural taboos against old people having sex? It seems these really aren’t challenged.

“They certainly aren’t challenged very openly by the larger culture. I see two things operating here. There had been an underlying bias in our culture –not completely gone yet– that sex really is, at bottom, for reproduction. (That’s one of the things that continues to power homophobia too.) After one is out of one’s reproductive years, the notion of sex becomes unseemly and even unacceptable to many. The other thing, I think, is that there is societal pressure on us to fear aging, and seeing evidence of older people’s sexuality brings up our difficult feelings about getting older ourselves, our own body image fears, fears of mortality, etc. All this may be true even if the older person is nowhere near decline and death! Plus plain old-fashioned ageism is at work too — the kind that makes the lives of elders problematic in many more ways than around sex.”

Do you know any older people into BDSM?

“I have a women friend in her 80s who still puts on her corset and goes to BDSM parties! She’s a wonderful role model for anybody who thinks erotic play and fun is reserved for the young. I’ve also heard from more than one woman that as menopause changes their sexual response and how it feels to have intercourse, that non-vaginal forms of pleasure gain new prominence. One of my post-menopausal friends discovered she really loved anal sex even after she was no longer particularly into vaginal “vanilla.” And many dominatrices have seen older clients, particularly older men. The focus in BDSM is so often on energy, emotion, and skill level that many more kinds of people are seen as attractive and valuable players. The knowledge and experience of many years of play can be really specialized and rarefied — and is valued. What sexuality can be, in this community, is often a very expanded thing.”

So, Humans Aren’t Naturally Monogamous. Now what?

Rabbit White — Thu, 19 Aug 2010 16:44:52 +0000

I talk fast. Here is the text.

With the book “Sex at Dawn” coming out there a light is suddenly shed on research that shows humans are not naturally monogamous. From evolutionary psychology, we know that men are naturally non-monogamous, their urge being to spread as much seed as possible. But it was long believed that women were inherently monogamous, however, not exactly right. We now know that women are actually hypergamous by nature. Which means they are with one partner at a time, but are always looking for a trade-up. A partner who will bring home a bigger boar, who has a bigger cave.

So. Humans are naturally non monogamous. Most of us in relationships are going against our biology. Does this mean that you should just stop what you are doing, open your relationship up?

An easy answer is “it’s just biology, and you can overcome your biology.” This is true. I mean, we’ve been overcoming it for years, right. But I’m not sure that I can argue it has worked out too well. I think that it is important to look at what we know about our natural behavior, especially when culture dictates against it.

I don’t think that monogamy by default is good. I think that when you enter a relationship this is something that needs to be explored, questioned so you can find where you each are.

But, I think in order for non-monogamy to work you have to be ready for it, emotionally and psychologically. Personally, I don’t know that I could psychologically handle my husband having a girlfriend. The thing is that choosing non monogamy might suite your biology but is going against culture, against the world that has been impressed on you, against your thought patterns. I don’t think non-monogamy is any easier an answer. It takes a ridiculous amount of strength in self, and strength in your relationship. And further, blindly choosing non-monogamy can be just as damaging, if not more, than monogamy by default.

But what grounds a good relationship is not monogamy or non monogamy. Relationships are built on some basic tenets and virtues of how you approach life and how you will approach each other. Honesty, communication, self knowledge. I think for the most part, this stays solid, but the rest needs to be fluid.

It is normal to be attracted to other people. In my relationship, because we value honesty, I tell my partner when i feel attracted to other people, and when this attraction worries me. It keeps us on top of where we are, and what we feel is okay.

My partner and I are monogamous. Now, when one says something like “my partner and I are monogamous” we have this thing, where we think it has to mean forever. But just because something works for you now doesn’t mean it always will.I think we need to be more fluid in our relationships, and allow for change as we naturally change. Keep an open mind, whether you are monogamous or non.

That Time I Worked at an Egg Donation Agency

Rabbit White — Fri, 13 Aug 2010 13:54:52 +0000

I’d get in at 8:50 and carefully hang my coat while the phone rang. My voicemail would be full of messages, left in that window of infomercials and irrational thought patterns. “ Yeah, uhm. I was wonderin’ about this egg donation that I read in the paper. It says I can make $7,000.”

The overwhelming majority of callers were black girls in their twenties from a lower income and limited education. They sat, nervous in the waiting room, thumbing through photos of their kids with acrylic nails the color of tropical fish.

“Who ‘dis be?” they asked when I called back. I’d put on my phone-voice and ask: How old are you? What is your racial background? How much do you weigh? How tall are you? What is your education level? Have you ever been depressed? Diagnosed with anxiety? An eating disorder? Are you in contact with both of your birth parents?

At least 80% of girls didn’t pass the first round of requirements.

It was a time when the economy was digging itself into a hole. So far, the parents were still paying—a donation cycle at $20,000, which doesn’t include clinic fees or guarantee a pregnancy. The parents were often infertile by age. They were desperate, going a little crazy. I began to wonder if there were any really good parents.

“You just want white bitches” one of my callers said when her application was denied, and hung up. Well. The intended parents were buying genes, they wanted: white, movie star beautiful and diplomas from the right University.

At parties, I would find myself cornered by a flock of young women. They’d seen the ads too. The media even picked it up as a trend: “College students turn to donating eggs in economic crisis!” I was on television twice, answering the phone while smiling: “I’m sorry but you don’t meet our requirements at this time.”

I’d give the girls my spiel: “If you pass the requirements you are put in the system and when an intended parent chooses you, we’ll call and ask if you can go through a cycle. You will get several shots of hormones. Then go through the egg donation process which is done vaginally. You will be put out for the procedure and need the entire day to rest.”

They stood listening eyes a-glitter, breasts pushed out in unconscious knowledge that their female bodies had the ability to give life, that this was sought after.

What was not included in my speech (and what one study would find most egg donors don’t know) was that these shots were drugs that encourage the ovary to ripen several eggs simultaneously, rather than the one egg normally ovulated each month.

Some argue we don’t know enough about this heavy dose of hormones to call it safe. There have been no long term studies on egg donors. Others say a lot about can be learned from the studies on infertility patients, who go through the same stimulation and egg retrieval process. With these patients, cancer is a health concern, which may be from the infertility itself.

Sometimes, I felt awkward when a friend asked about becoming a donor, I bit my lip. Lesbians never made it through. Bisexuals sometimes did, but we had to tell the parent about the donor’s sexuality. I guess it was the whole gay gene thing. Which science has not concluded. But it was also thought that the parents just wouldn’t choose gay donors.

At work, the question inevitably directed at me was “So when are you going to donate?”It was tempting: it wasn’t just a single 7 grand, you could do it up to 6 times. But something about it felt off. Most parents, I’d decided, were not really good parents. I began avoiding my own parents phone-calls.

One afternoon I was alone in the office when a woman called. She was hysterical.”I just don’t understand how you could do this. There are so many babies that need adopting. Why are people doing this?” I was bored. I calmed her down and let her talk. I didn’t tell her that adoption can often be cheaper than using an egg donor.

I do empathize with egg donor parents. I don’t think there is anything morally wrong with choosing egg donation over adoption. But it does seem that children are often, in part, brought into the world for selfish reasons.

A study in Fertility and Sterility reported that about one in five donors experienced psychological effects. Some women reported positive ripples, feeling proud for helping an infertile couple. Others began to ruminate, worried about the strangers raising their eggs– their genetic kids.

As I worked to help people get babies, my mind spinning with my own childhood, I grew sensitive. I no longer grit my teeth when a kid cried on the bus. I saw the Mom yelling. I saw the stay-at-home Moms on parade, ignoring their reaching babies, not hearing the kid say they needed something.

Donor-babies come into life with a delicate background. Potentially, they could live an entire life shadowed by family secret. The donor is not listed on the birth certificate. They may never know half siblings, existing in mirrored ignorance.

If I were to donate my eggs, I couldn’t choose which parents I wanted to help have a baby. It would’ve been about the 7 grand. It would have been just another grasping reason to bring a life into the world.

Consent

Rabbit White — Thu, 12 Aug 2010 02:25:07 +0000

You know that moment when you first wake up? Somewhere between dreaming and consciousness; not yet remembering the night before. I bask in that second. I stretch my legs long in bed and feel some cracker crumbs.

What time did Moira leave? I was sitting at the bar for awhile, a glass broken beneath my foot. The room is gray and I stare at the blinds, shaded light falling in. I don’t remember his name. Face blurry at the bar, a shadow following me into the house. I would just close my eyes and be asleep. I remember the sound of a condom being unwrapped. I looked at the alarm clock but couldn’t read it’s numbers.

Something like guilt or depression fills my chest. I think about Michael Mitchell. I went out with him once when I was 15. He put a condom on, even though I said no. The smell was foreign then, thick and rubbery. His cousin or friend kept silently coming in the room. I looked up and he was sitting in a chair next to the bed, watching us. Then gone. Or in the closet. My Mom was going to kill me if Michael didn’t let me go. I was going to miss curfew.

I’ve watched an hour pass on the clock when I start thinking about my toes. I remember I have a body and feel creeped out.

I get out of bed. I am crashing at Camille’s, but she’s gone. The living room is stacked with dirty dishes and diet coke cans. It smells like damp books. When Camille moved in she started throwing her mail on the floor and never picked it up, the hardwood tattooed with mud-streaked envelopes. Moira is asleep on the couch, cocooned in hot pink bedding. I sit next to her and find some dirty plates, a VHS copy of “Dance Workout With Barbie” and spilled sand art in the couch cushions.

Moira is beautiful. Her skin is buttery and tan. Her eyelashes are long and purple and spilled onto her cheek. When topics of music, art or philosophy come up, Moira looks puzzled but not embarrassed. Her eyebrows crawl a little, and she forms some opinion in the moment, delivered in a sleepy-baby voice you keep expecting to lower, but never does.

At 5:00 p.m Moira wakes up, her hair all halo-fuzzy and lips puffed with sleep-collagen. Looking at her I feel like my heart will explode. She looks so pure, child-like, without the film of the city or Myspace.

“GOD. This place is disgusting. This is where you live?” said Somo, a DJ I texted to come over. He introduced the two others, who also said they were DJ’s. One of them picked up a piece of underwear and abruptly dropped it, like a used kleenex. “Okay, let’s all just go out” I said, trying to be upbeat. Moira and I needed to get ready, she borrowed my holographic leggings and we crammed around the bathroom mirror, mouths gaping as we clumped our lashes with mascara. A glued-on red rhinestone stared from beneath my eye.

“Oh my god. OH my GOD!” The guys were standing in a half circle, staring at the floor. I silently join them to see bloody pieces of raw meat, randomly strewn on the floor. I imagine Camille opening the fridge and flinging the meat on the floor, missing the garbage can completely, not caring.

In the car I decide I will sleep with Victor, one of the DJ’s. We are riding with the windows down through the West Loop. Somo is playing the Justice album, which hasn’t been released yet. It’s really loud and really good, I think. I feel pumped. I try to catch Victor’s eye in the rear-view mirror. “Victor is fucking hot” I think. He has sunken moons under his eyes and silvery hair. His eyes are so pale I feel uncomfortable looking at them.

We go to Victor’s studio, in a building tall and lit-up against the Chicago sky– which isn’t black but purple-y-orange, bruise colored. I feel party de-ja-vu. Victor plays us his newest track, while we pass a bottle. I let the whiskey fill the back of my throat and burn into my belly. Moira and I become louder, at ease. The DJ whose name I don’t know and I get into a discussion about bisexuality. “People just like wet holes” he was saying, “that is it, the sex does not matter.”

Later, I’m in Camille’s bed, slamming Victor against the pillows. I wriggle myself on top of him. Then I try to move slow and sexy, imagining how a stripper would move. Victor’s body is floppy, he seems bored or annoyed. I kiss him, his mouth is cool, wet and still. I kiss his chest and stomach, which glow, almost unnaturally the in dark. Victor, face pressed into the pillow, guides me back toward the head of the bed. I wriggle again. I grab his cock which feels thick and fuzzy around base. After awhile Victor opens his eyes. He pulls himself over me, hoisting my legs into the air. This position makes me feel like a turkey. He enters me and I moan. His face is neutral, I look at it making little animal noises but he looks away. Mechanical, impersonal.

The next morning I wake up and the world loops. It is beating, alive. Round and round, a circle-jerk on a carousel. Suddenly I am laughing hysterically. I feel close to Victor. I realize again that I have a body. That I have legs. A mind that reminds me I have legs.

Moira is awake on the couch, smoking a Camel “Number 9″, a sheet loosely against her body. One of the DJ’s making a playlist on my computer. “Hey do you wanna take a shower with me?” She asks. “Sure.”

I strip off my underwear, Moira, her sheet. With her voice washed out from the shower, she tells me about last night. “We were fooling around, and he wanted to have sex. But…. y’know” Moira shakes her head. I nod. Moira is a virgin.

“…and then I thought we did have sex.” Her voice trailed off. “So you didn’t have sex?” “No. it felt different all of the sudden, I thought for a minute that we did.”

I knew he could have… even if she didn’t want to. I felt a burn spread in my chest, to my throat. But it was like I was in on it too. Like Moira was in on it. All of us in this loop, encircling a fight.

I realize Moira has stopped talking, she is staring at me blankly. I look into her eyes, searching for the real, whole person beneath the Moira she puts on. They are large dull-brown pools. They reminded me almost of a drunk person’s eyes, they look at you deeply but unable to focus, as if they are seeing something else entirely.

My voice emerges from the back of my throat. “Do you ever realize that you have a body, and that body is the only body you’ll ever have. You are stuck in this one mind that you can never get out of, locked in.” Moira closes her eyes, letting the water slick back her hair. The corners of her mouth upturn into a crooked smile.

Suddenly, I am 4 or 5. I feel locked in my body then too. My mother was making me nap with her, “cuddle”, she said. It was afternoon and her bedroom was still, dust hanging in the light. The sun creeped through the blinds. I wanted to be outside. I told my Mother no, but she scooped me up and pressed me into her breast.

It seemed like I was in the room for a long time, but the next thing I remember is being outside, alone. Gold leaves crunched under my feet. I felt like that was wrong. She was wrong. I looked at Moira. Her eyes were still closed, hair dark with water. “Let’s just leave. Let’s go.” She turned off the shower.

We tip toed through the kitchen. Moira wrote a note in colored pencil: “It’s been real. It’s been fun. But it ain’t been real fun. Up and out, bitches.” I opened the backdoor and we took off running before it smacked behind us. The DJ’s, alone, stole Camille’s car, wrecked it. It hung over our heads, a guilt, an expense we had to make up.

Where is Our Porn?

Rabbit White — Wed, 04 Aug 2010 13:19:13 +0000

On my laptop there is an ever-increasing folder of images. Some of them, like this one (found here) end up as photos on Rabbit Write. But many, you’ll probably never see. They are, plainly, porn. I have this worry-fantasy, where a friend or someone will pull up my laptop to find these naked bodies projected on the screen, or worse, a video on pause.

This is all the more mortifying if the friend I am imagining is a woman. Women, in my experience, don’t really talk with each other about porn. There seems to be some silent rule which says: “No!” And “…seriously? Ew.”

There are a lot of reasons that women don’t watch porn, aside from the background noise that brainwashes en masse “porn is wrong porn degrades women.” It seems a lot of women just don’t connect with porn. But I don’t think it’s because women aren’t as visual. There is not lot of porn out there made for women, especially straight women. Yet, new research shows that while men are the large purveyors of porn, women audiences are steadily increasing, growing louder in our silence, apparently.

In junior high, boys started talking about jerking off. It was something to roll your eyes at but it was okay–we knew all boys did it. When we talked about masturbation amongst each other it was with the idea that it was just weird and gross. As I’ve gotten older, that has lessened, we do talk about masturbation. But it’s through glamorizing it, Hitachi and the rabbit and Sex & the City, some faint hot pink echo of “you go-girl-isms”. But talking about porn, remains taboo, and kind of embarrassing. Talking about porn gives our masturbation a desire.

It seems women are more open about porn with guys. But in talking with dudes about porn and bonding with them over porn, we often just show we are sharing in their desires, also ogling the women. Not having our own.

I like some porn and I want to like more porn, but most of it is so bad: the telemundo lighting, the army of women that appear to have been poorly cloned from Pam Anderson circa 1986. Even when porn hits the rare hot spot, it often misses straight girls. Have you ever noticed how in porn the men are strangely objectified? We barely get names or faces. Just disembodied penises, bobbing in and out of mouths and various black-holes.

My friend Fruzsina and I were loudly discussing bisexuality, over a jukebox and pitcher of beer. “So I think that women are just trained to see other women as sexual, because of advertising and art and televison, we are groomed to look at them as sexual objects.” I was into this. “The male gaze” I confirmed. Most porn is made by, and can only be viewed through, the male gaze. It avoids lingering on the woman’s point of view in a blowjob, passively capturing images of penises or ab muscles.

There are more women directors than ever. Feminist, lady-friendly porn is being made. Although, a lot of it is queer, not directed at straight women. Burning Angel is a straight porn site that boasts popularity with women. They also try to employ hot young alt guys. But the way the site is set up I can’t search for James Deen or Zak Sabbath. There’s a drop-down “choose a girl” section, but what if I want to choose a guy?

While the numbers are rising, I don’t think the majority of women are watching porn. But I advocate that we start talking to each other about why we don’t watch it or do, what we like or don’t like. And let’s take a cue from the boys I knew in junior high and share our finds. Here, I’ll go first. This and this is good. This and this also this and this and sometimes this and this also this is helpful for finding new stuff and this as a guide for renting/downloading. Our collective muffled moans are getting louder, let’s use them for good.

What I’ve learned about Sex from Asexuality

Rabbit White — Fri, 30 Jul 2010 16:09:35 +0000

Yesterday I was in the shower, the warm-cool space where I do my best thinking, and I realized that so much of what I’ve learned about my sexuality has been through asexuality–from somewhere invisible in sex-positivity, in feminism, from somewhere that isn’t sexual at all. Asexuality is the lack of sexual attraction. It’s not like celibacy, which is a choice.

I don’t consider myself asexual, but from talking with asexuals, I’ve learned a lot about my own relationships, sexual and non. Here are excerpts from interviews I’ve done over the past year with David Jay, the founder of AVEN, illustrating my education in sex and not sex.

Friendships and relationships aren’t that different.

“In the asexual community the word single doesn’t exist. Because single implies that if you don’t have a romantic relationship you don’t have a valid source of intimacy in your life. A lot of “single” people have extremely valid sources of intimacy worth talking about. Instead, words like romantic and aromantic get thrown around to describe relationships. When asexual people gossip we don’t just talk about the relationships we are in, we talk about the relationship models we are in. Every asexual person ends up with this elaborate world view of how intimacy words and their relationships work.

We have to ask, what makes a relationship different that a really close friendship? What is monogamy? At what point would I be cheating on my romantic partner with my best friend? What commitments do we need to make in order for us both to feel safe and trusting? You have to go deeper than some sexual couples might, where that line is drawn by sex.”

Being open and honest about sex is great, but how you do it matters.

“The desire to create a dialogue of sexuality in our marketing driven culture can easily turn into over-celebrating sexuality and glamorizing or fetishizing it. I think that you should be mindful of the way that you are glamorizing sex or treating sex as intrinsically different or better than other ways of connecting with people.

We think that if your goal is to create an open honest dialogue about sexuality, you should be talking about asexuality too. By celebrating sexuality, you should also be celebrating the fact that sex is sometimes boring and that there are other ways to connect with people. Right now even in sex positive spaces if you start talking about how sex is sometimes boring it has the weight of I have to lower my voice and have a hand on my back in order to talk about it.”

Often, it’s really intimacy we are talking about, not sex.

“I would define intimacy pretty broadly, I would say an intimate relationship is one where you feel comfortable being vulnerable. In our society intimacy is really strongly correlated with sex. The ability for someone to fully emotionally connect with someone else is largely sexualized. There is a strong case to be made that not all important relationships are sexual and not all intimacy on an emotional level is sexual.

I’ve definitely had conversations with a lot of guys that start out expressing what they’ve label as sexuality. And if I kind of prod, there’s a lot of other emotional stuff that’s under that. And it may or may not have anything to do with sexuality, they just may not have another language set for expressing it.”

Gender is sexual

“Part of the boogeyman that gets you if you don’t gender perform right is that you won’t be sexually attractive. So, if you’re female you have to be feminine or you won’t be attractive and that means you won’t be in a sexual relationship with someone. But if you’re asexual that’s already not happening. And your only incentive to be feminine is if that is a genuine expression of who you are. And so I think, with that incentive stripped away, there’s less emphasis on gender but in some way, the emphasis left is kind of a little more genuine. Because it’s driven by self expression.

So much of how we express our sexuality is gender. The expression of our sexuality ultimately often is the expression of our gender. And we are still trying to figure out what the expression of asexuality looks like, learning how to have an empowered gender identity without sexuality is really tricky.”

The Case Against “I’m so Fat”

Rabbit White — Thu, 29 Jul 2010 16:24:07 +0000

Txt: See ed note in bold

Too many of us have made those three little words our mantra: I’m so fat. I’m arguing that you should never say them again, and not because “you’re totally not” even though that might be true.

When you say “I’m so fat” what you are saying is that your looks, your body are the most important thing about you. And “fat” is the worst thing that you can be. It’s reinforcing the idea that the value a woman brings to any relationship or situation is ultimately her looks. We are so much more than this.

As someone recovered from an eating disorder, I know that saying “I’m so fat” can be reflective of a deep-seated problem. It’s a rumination. If you are obsessing over your weight, know that you are dealing with a part of yourself that is illogical. The goal should be to not speak from that part, to not let it take over. But instead to say, oh “there’s I’m so fat” again. Hi. Whatcha doin.

Because there are consequences to letting that part speak for you. Who knows who you might be triggering: the woman in the dressing room next to you, your sister or daughter. What kind of message does this send younger people especially? It’s planting the seeds for the same obsession and body-hate in them.

When you say “I’m so fat” you are fat-shaming. It’s a body-slur that contributes to a greater prejudice against fat people. As a culture we really hate fat “teh fatties”. And it’s proven totally acceptable to look down on these people, make hateful remarks.We also also know a lot of it is genetic, many fat people can’t help that they are bigger. And even if that’s not the case, it’s not okay to bully and demean people for their life choices, for their bodies. Think about what you are saying.

But what I want to know, what is really beneath “I’m So Fat”? Obsessing over your looks or weight is an excuse to not ask yourself who you really want to be in life and how you are going to get there. Its a tool to hold you back.

If you are with a friend who says “I’m so fat”, know that they are speaking from a ruminating part of themselves, a part that is kinda crazy and you can’t engage crazy. So don’t argue with them. when they say “I’m so fat” just say: That’s not cool. That’s not cool to you or fat people.”

No related posts.

Getting a Sex Education: Behind the Scenes of the Man Project

Rabbit White — Sat, 24 Jul 2010 20:24:13 +0000

Grant Stoddard is the much loved underdog of the sex-writing world. His “I Did it For Science” column at Nerve gave us a hands-on account of his personal exploits, which saw him tackle everything from dressing up like a baby to doing a sample Real Doll at the factory.

A few must reads:

Experiment: To attend and participate in an Orgy

Experiment: To have a threesome with a woman and another man

Experiment: To literally have sex with Myself

Experiment: To have sex with a Real Doll

He’s since published a memoir, Working Stiff: The Misadventures of an Accidental Sexpert. Paramount Vantage bought the motion picture rights and Stoddard signed a deal with 20th Century Fox Television. For The Man Project, he opens up about doing it for science and how he got his sex education.
Do you think it’s harder for men to write about their sexual experiences than it is for women?

We think there’s something gross about reading about a straight guy and his sexual experiences. The whole premise of “I Did it For Science” was that I was the least likely person for the job. I started interning at Nerve when they gave me the sex-writing job as a joke. I was vastly inexperienced. It was kind of like I was being forced to do it, but I think that made it palatable for readers to hear about a man’s sex life.

Who’d ever suspect that a guy who’d make a mold of his penis and fuck himself with it was inexperienced?

All of a sudden, I was dressing up like a baby, convincing a masseuse to give me a “happy ending,” getting fucked in the ass by a friend. I was like: “I wanna deal with normal sexual stuff, the stuff I am supposed to be doing with my youth!”

As a guy, what have you learned from exploring the vast rainbow of sexual experiences?

Women are given great sexual latitude to do a number of different things—bondage, kinks, even lots of different vanilla sex. Men are really sort of reduced to just wanting to fuck something, and that’s it. There’s a huge downside with what’s expected of you, and how you’re expected to behave in the bedroom. It’s very limiting.

It’s a double standard we hear about over and over.

There is also the double standard of consent. If you go on a date, and the girl doesn’t want to have sex with you it’s accepted. But if a guy is offered sex and he declines, it raises eyebrows. This happened to me once, and then it was all these questions: What’s wrong with him? Is he gay? The idea that I just simply wasn’t in the mood [wasn’t allowed.]

What about the male-female double standard regarding bisexuality?

Oh, yes, “You know, I wanna suck a dick. I don’t want to conform to a lifestyle or necessarily move to Chelsea. I just want to suck a big one.” If women [want to eat pussy], it’s cool, but for guys it’s, “Oh, so you’re gay?”

Maybe homophobia hasn’t gone away, but now it’s a personal thing? Like, “That’s okay for you, but NO, I am not gay!”

It’s very strange. My friends who are supposedly liberal and comfortable sexually cringe when it’s implied that they would be implicated in any [form of] gay sex.

What is your relationship to masculinity like?

Tenuous. I’ve lived in Manhattan for most of my adult life (although, he was born in England). [Masculinity is] not highly regarded as it would be elsewhere. I’ve definitely benefited from the fact that it’s not in vogue. I was actually playing with the idea of writing a book about how “un-masculine” I am. I just bought an apartment and I don’t know how to do anything. I’m looking at these ugly light fixtures now, and I have no idea how to change that. I’m gonna need some sort of tools. I have no tools. I have no hair on my chest.

Is there something you feel needs to be addressed about male sexuality, or changed?

I’m not exactly sure how you would go about instituting it, but the way that men use language. They talk about banging girls, finger banging or fucking. It’s something mechanical that sort of gets done. I hope for them it’s actually a little more complex than that, a little more considered. But anything other than some sort of Anglo-Saxon terms for what you do to a woman as a man is viewed as somehow weird, or creepy, or it makes you a sensualist.

Do you think that stems from our cultural insistence that men not use “flowery” language? We tend to view men as just thinking with their dicks.

To some extent, we do. I would agree with the sentiment that men are sexually oriented. What I disagree with is that it only manifests itself in one way. Sexually, we are forced into a box and not allowed to express ourselves in many more ways than society allows.

Growing up, where did you learn about sex?

My friend showed me this hardcore French pornography. I was nine years old. I’d never seen anything like it before. I was shocked. [He] was just like, “Yeah, everyone does that. Your mom and dad did last night!” Later, a friend found an illegal porn dealer—[it was] like crack. We’d meet him in the parking lot of a Home Depot. I’d spend my allowance—or morally support my friend if he spent his allowance—buying porn.

That’s a common thread: learning about sex through porn and friends, rather than in any sort of formalized sex education.

In Sex Ed, we had a gym teacher putting rubbers on bananas and stretching out dental dams. I couldn’t keep a straight face. I was so excited, I got thrown out. I got a report card with an annotation I had to sign saying I was too immature to be in a Sex Ed class.

You’ve come a long way, from getting thrown out of Sex Ed to writing a book about your sex life.

I feel like in writing about sex, I got to become myself. I’m glad that I did all this stuff. My penis: bringing good to the world.

How Babies end up in Trashcans or Trying to Fit In

Rabbit White — Fri, 23 Jul 2010 13:19:56 +0000

Freshman year, we went on a field trip. We filed from the school bus with it’s soggy-sandwich smell into the county jail, which smelled like Mr. Clean. The only thing I remember was the guy on the news. The one who had killed a baby, smashing it against a wall. He was in a holding cell, waiting to be transferred. I pressed to the glass and saw his face. He looked poor. His face looked like anyone’s face.

That was the year of the ten commandments. Adults and churchy teens rallied. They tacked the commandments in the high-school. There for a week, then gone. Our small town made national news. Our town with it’s newspaper that printed who was arrested that week and for what. With it’s proud Wal-Mart and Baptists, cemeteries with rows of stones and yards in rows with rotting trash.

The things that mattered seem foreign now, and yet completely the same. In junior high, my mom still cut my bangs, straight across my forehead, drunkenly crooked. This was accepted in gradeschool but now there was the embarrassing prayer, an LED sign’s infinite scrolling: please let me be popular…Then freshman year, with highlighted hair and new jeans, maybe I could.

Kelsey never went through those phases. She was tan with huge teeth, hair like cornfields. Kelsey had been my best childhood friend. Her best friend now, was Chelsea. Chelsea was hot. She wore tight clothes, her ribcage visible, perfect moons of cleavage.

Kelsey and Chelsea were trying to fit in too, but not in the same way. I was trying to fit in with the other 7th graders. Trying to be asked to dances, to get Tommy Girl perfume for my birthday. They were sneaking out with college guys, having sex with drug dealers. Kelsey showed me a letter from one of her boyfriends, he was in prison, and so hot, she said. I mostly didn’t understand, but I got the underlined parts, the ones about wanting to have sex again.

Freshman year, I had algebra with Chelsea. She would take algebra all four years of highschool, never passing it. She stared through the wall during class, eyes glassy with blue contacts. Or she turned around and talked to me.

One day, gray and boring, she was going to tell me something, a secret. No one knew, and I swore-to-god. Kelsey, Chelsea said, was pregnant. She wasn’t sure whose it was. Every other week, I’d bring it up. “Still pregnant” she said, all of us hoping it would just go away.

In speech class we had to give a speech on abortion. I wrote against it. I found points on-line and re-wrote them on little note-cards. Only one student gave a pro-choice speech. A senior, a popular girl in an Abercrombie and Fitch shirt. She explained that if she were to get pregnant, she would get an abortion. It was her right, and this thing inside her shouldn’t be valued over her. Another senior, a boy who was popular in a churchy way gave a pro-life speech. He passed out pink plastic fetuses. Abortion-sized babies that fit in the palm of your hand.

That Spring, Kelsey and Chelsea asked me to hang out. It was happening! I got ready, choosing orange spaghetti straps with Mudd jeans. Kelsey had been at my house 15 minutes when her Dad called. She was yelling then crying. Kelsey stood in the doorway of my bedroom, hiccuping. Her face was red and loose. She was wearing a pale pink tank top from American Eagle that said “vintage motel” with pink rhinestones. She heaved, her belly moving up and down. It was hard and round, a globe. She was 6 months pregnant.

Kelsey’s dad, the lawyer, got a package in the mail. It was from the boyfriend Kelsey had in junior high, the one in prison. He was going to blackmail Kelsey’s parents. In the package were polaroids of her naked, them having sex. There were more.

It was later when Kelsey would be riding in the car with her mom. “Kelsey….when is the last time you had your period?” She asked. Kelsey responded , “I don’t know, Mom.” They yelled at each other a little. “Kelsey, I think that you are pregnant” the Mother said finally. It was their secret. They would stay overnight, out of State. I felt crushing relief when Chelsea told me.

This is how we breed. At the time I realized as much about it, as I did about how it started. Kelsey is only a month older than me, the popular senior 3 years, the local jail celebrity, 4. Kelsey’s aborted baby’s father, 5. I give in, emerged feral from childhood. I need them, all of these huddled people, walking backwards. “Please tell me I am doing this right.”

Some weeks are about rising above, and others rumination, uncertainty. I’m here, running my tongue over it again, a shape I know.

How do you Know your Gender? Behind the Scenes of the Man Project

Rabbit White — Fri, 16 Jul 2010 14:13:07 +0000

Known as “the man with a pussy,” Buck Angel has become a cultural icon. He’s a successful porn star—who’s addressed audiences at Yale University. Angel does the talk-show circuit, but when he took Howard Stern up on a dare to ride the Simian Sex Machine, the joke was squarely on Stern.

Angel is redefining gender and educating us all on the fluidity of sexuality and gender identity politics—and it’s not about what’s between your legs. Angel is 100 percent guy. He identifies as a man, and has thought long and hard about what that means. Everyone’s journey is unique, but his is more unique than most. Here are some excerpts from The Man Project. What he’s learned about gender, and what that means for all of us, may surprise you.

RW: When I pitched this piece to you, I mentioned that the majority of sex writers seem to be women. Why is this?

BA: I don’t think a lot of men care. I don’t think exploring sexuality is an important issue for them. If you think about it the world has been dominated by men. It still is dominated by men. Men don’t have to prove anything, but women do.
Women have to say” look my sexuality is this.”

RW: There’s data that suggests trans people (female to male) report a different inner sexual experience after the transition; from a biological side they want to “top” more. The way they view sex has changed.

BA: I’m doing a feature film on that specific topic: transmen and their partners and how the hormones have affected their sexuality. I believe 100 percent that the hormones are that powerful. Every guy I’ve interviewed has had the same experiences. Sometimes their sexuality changed. Where before they were just into women, now they are into women and men. Or now they’re just into men and identify as gay. Their sexual drive has changed. Their turn-ons and turn-offs have changed. That’s just hormones in your body and how that can literally change the way your mind thinks about sex.

RW: How did you experience the transition?

BA: I think and act, interact totally different from how I did when I was female and had little testosterone in my body. Even though I was a very masculine female. But I was much more sensitive, I cried easier. I looked at things differently my sexuality. My sex drive was intense for a woman. But I would say it is much more intense for me now. And the way I view things sexually has changed

RW: How so?

BA: Little things turn me on. I notice myself looking at her tits through her shirt and getting totally turned on by that for no reason. That would have never happened to me before the hormones. Sometimes I just think, I don’t know dirty thoughts. I wonder how that woman’s underwear smells after she’s been on that bicycle seat for an hour. I would have never done that before and that’s from testosterone.

RW: So I know that before you transitioned, you considered yourself a dyke. Coming from that community, what do you think of genderqueer as an identity, which seems to see gender as something that floats on a spectrum.

BA: Yeah, that is out there. The problem that I have is that I think a lot of people are changing for the wrong reason meaning female to male transsexuals. Feeling masculine doesn’t make you a man.

RW: I’ve often wondered if some aspects of the genderqueer politics (rejecting the notion of two genders) could be seen as disrespectful to transpeople.

BA: My gender was a life or death situation for me. The fact that people are molding or unmolding their gender so easily takes away from the fact that it is a life threatening situation for us. If I am fighting to get out of this body because I believe I’m male what does that mean? That means gender exists. At the same time, I tell people instead of looking at someone as a gender, look at them as a person. People are so obsessed with gender. And with sexuality: are you gay are you straight are you bi. I think people are attracted to people.

RW: I am curious how you experienced your inherent maleness.

BA: I’m a man. I do believe that is inherent. Though you have certain aspects of yourself that are more masculine or feminine. I believe that I’ve always had a more masculine part. And I was pushed back from exploring that. Very masculine women are not accepted in society. The dykes and the hard core ones get pushed the hardest. People don’t like to see very masculine women or they don’t want to see very feminine men.

RW: Part of what we’re skating around is that it’s hard to define. So many parts of us are fluid. We all have masculine parts, but then there’s the part that makes you “you.” And there’s biology there. There’s psychology there…

BA: When someone asks me the question what does it mean to be a man, it’s really difficult to answer.

RW: As a philosophical question, I can’t answer what it means to be a woman.

BA: It’s a very weird question because it means something different for everyone. For me, it means my physical body is now in tune to my inner being. Now I can look at myself in the mirror, now I can take my clothes off, now I can interact with people and feel like they’re looking at me. To me, that’s what it means to be a man—that my outer body resembles a genetic male body.

RW: What have you learned about masculinity, living as a woman?

BA: To be honest with you, the best thing to happen to me as a man was to live as a woman. I wouldn’t have said that before, but now I feel it was a blessing in disguise: to have experienced life from a woman’s eyes in society. Now I am a much more sensitive man. I’m not embarrassed to talk about things that turn me on or that might be a little weird. I don’t think a lot of straight men feel comfortable talking about their sexuality—not so much their sexuality, but what turns them on and how they feel. I think there is a misconception of men. They are more emotional than society lets them be.

Why do you think transsexual male-to-female porn is the number two in the industry? Number one is gay. Who is the consumer of transsexual women’s porn? Straight men. It’s a way for them to suck cock or get fucked. They don’t have the tools or the freedom socially to say, “Hey, I’d like to suck a cock a little once in a while, and that’s okay.”