It’s no secret that I despise rules that encroach on personal liberties. Big, little, shiny, and dull, I dislike them all mainly because they insult me on a cerebral level, as if I don’t possess the cognitive ability to decipher life’s mysteries on my own. It makes me wonder what the hell I was doing when the great Oracle was dishing up heaping bowls of common sense. By and large, rules, to me, make broad sweeping generalizations on complex and dynamic subjects and beings. I find those rules governing a woman’s sexuality particularly frustrating, especially when they come from within our gender.




Feminist burned their bras for our freedoms*. These women sacrificed their time and energy, exposed themselves to mockery and hate from man as well as brainwashed women for the sole purpose of granting their fellow sisters the opportunity to bask in the glory of their individuality. They fought for our equality amongst men. They spit in the face of female objectification; sexual independence was their call to arms. No man had the right to place restrictions on our sexuality. We were intelligent beings, capable of making personal choices without the interference of men. We would define ourselves. Our judgment, not theirs!


Then why, in the face of mounting evidence to the contrary, do they deem us sexually ignorant? I hear the cynics, “But Tracy, they don’t think women are ignorant.” Okay, then why do they insist on defining what’s proper sexually for us? Why do they condemn their fellow sisters for polishing up their fellatio skills? Why does the mention of doggystyle stick in their craws?


What are the accepted positions? Missionary? Nope, can’t have a man on top. Riding him? Nope, we’re doing all the work while lazy-man gets his kicks. Hand job? Out of the question, here again, the woman is doing all of the heavy lifting. Cunnilingus? Oh yeah, baby! But what about the sex acts that are inherently degrading to women? Now, I’m just spit-balling, but, I’m pretty sure a kneeling blow job and taking a shot to the face would probably get you kicked off the island. I guess I can toss out my copy of the Karma Sutra—I wouldn’t want to get caught with heretical literature lest I be burned at the stake.


My problem is this: There is no such thing as partial liberty. A person can’t be almost free anymore than a woman can be a little pregnant. You either are or you aren’t, so don’t waste time quibbling over the fine points. This is especially true when it comes to our sexuality. See, sexual liberation put women atop a mighty horse, intrinsically making us masters. We were told our horse would take us to our sexual dominion and beyond; atop this bright, shiny new horse we were invincible, shackled to no man. Oh, but wait. What we didn’t observe at the time were the boundaries drawn around us by the people who put us up there. No matter, some said, as long as we stayed within the confines of sisterhood we could gallop to our heart’s content. However, one wrong step, and we’re shot in the head and the horse gets a one-way ticket to the glue factory.


I like to consider myself a rather sharp person, but in this I find myself at a profound loss. In essence, by freeing ourselves from the male dominated world of sexuality and adopting the feminist lifestyle of sexual “freedom” we women have exchanged one yoke for another. We’re complex creatures with strange and indescribable standards of attraction that are just about as unintelligible and arbitrary as our individual tastes in literature, music, or fashion. Therefore being yoked to someone else’s sexual ideology should feel, to us, as unnatural as Dolly Parton’s breasts. It begs the question, why as free thinking adults do we implicitly or explicitly cower to others’ ideals?


I’m aware these contradictions go farther than feminism itself. Passing judgment on others’ sexuality is indeed part of our culture. It’s what we do. And women are apt to stone another female whom she believes lacks moral principles while she herself isn’t living the life of a nun. Pardon my bluntness, however, I must say this as plainly as possible: To allow anyone jurisdiction over your body and judgment, male or female, is to go against your conscious. This is not only unsafe but fucking stupid. No one can give you self-worth; therefore, no one has the right to place restrictions on you or dictate how you should live your life … sexually speaking or otherwise.


Personally, I don’t care for bukakee; but, if a woman wants to have multiple men ejaculate in her face, then I’ll hand her a towel. Just because someone else’s sexuality doesn’t jive with ours doesn’t mean they’re perverse, it simply means it’s not our taste. That being said, there are no fundamentally degrading sexual positions/acts because the intimacy of a moment can only be understood by those engaged in the act itself. To have such a belief, to marginalize certain acts as inherently degrading is to, again, make a broad sweeping generalization about something so complex, so dynamic, and, ultimately, too personal for anyone other than the participants to mediate.

So, I call upon all ladies to mount those horses and ride like the wind!



* I don’t completely grasp how saggy boobies assured my future happiness but I’m told that by the time the bonfire smoldered to its flickering end, my sexual liberties were all but guaranteed. Thanks ladies...er, I guess.