Tag Archives: men

FEMINISM GETS YOU LAID MORE (A guest post)

I have an illness that’s stuck on shop demo.  Since last Thursday I have had a sore throat, fever, dizziness, nausea, motherfucking partial blindness, aches and pains, shivers, cold sweats, a chesty cough and a congested nose.  I haven’t been able to do much except lie in my bed, cry and occasionally roll over and beg for someone to make me tea.  

Obviously in this state, I haven’t been able to write anything so it’s lucky for me that I had a guest writer lined up!  This Blog all about why Feminism facilitates rather than impedes people getting laid is all the more relevant now considering the recent totally rational backlash to feminist ideas surrounding consent, masculinity and sexuality. We seem to be in a bit of a series at the moment, discussing why feminism is not at all anti man or anti sex.  Of course, seeing as my own sexual activity is a bit limited, I thought I should call in the services of someone with a bit more experience in the matter.    

Our Guest Blogger is a noted sex positive feminist, erotic writer and enjoyer of sex who very kindly sent me on this post explaining how by furthering the cause of feminism, you are likely to get laid a lot more.

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Hello, lovely readers of BHT! It’s very exciting be here, talking to you, hoping I might be able to entertain you for a few hundred words.

I’ve had too many conversations with straight horny college boys [henceforth SHCBs] – and read about too many other conversation with SHCBs – who complain about feminism in one breath and complain about not getting laid as often as they’d like in the next. Anti-feminist SHCBs probably don’t make up a huge percentage of this blog’s (lovely, charming, intelligent, sexy) readership, but if there are any lurking – and for the amusement of the rest of you – I would like to offer up a primer on why SHCBs should like and indeed vocally support feminism.

[Note for all the already-feminists: all of the things I’m talking about have vastly huger consequences for women than they do for SHCBs, obviously, and please don’t think I’m trivialising that. But “what about the menz?!!?” is a frequent if stupid complaint and “the world doesn’t in fact revolve around you” is a fact some SHCBs struggle to understand. So here’s an alternative response.]

FEMINISM GETS YOU LAID MORE

Reason #1: Feminism makes it safer for us to respond to you hitting on us (and for us to hit on you)

There’s no cute way of putting it: if I flirt with someone at a party, decide I’m not interested, and then later on they rape me, there is a 5% chance that person will ever be convicted. There is a pretty decent chance that anything I say about their actions won’t be believed, and if they boast about getting with me, their friends will congratulate them.

This kind of puts me off flirting with people at parties.

Anti-feminist SHCBs complain – frequently – about women falsely alleging rape. But believing and supporting rape victims, as well as squashing anyone who says things like “a no is just a yes that needs some persuasion” or catchier, rhymier versions of that complete bullshit, is a great way to reduce the number of rapes. If “rape” is eliminated as a possible outcome of “hitting on cute SHCB” then I will be a whole lot more likely to ask SHCBs if I can buy them a drink.

Reason #2: Feminism does not like transactional sex

If I can buy them a drink? Me, a lady-type, buying a boy-type a drink? Isn’t that all back to front and terribly modern and think of the children etc?

By “transactional sex” I do not mean prostitution. I mean the faux-prostitution of “you buy me dinner, I give you a blow job.” Where sex is something that men want and women endure in exchange for something else.

This is not a good approach. I mean, I like having people buy me dinner because I am a poor student, but there’s no dinner/blow job causation here. Sex happens when both parties want sex, not when one party has spent the required amount of money. Maybe this doesn’t mean more sex, always. But it means sex where both people want to have sex because having sex is fun and enjoyable, not because stuff has been bought. Isn’t that way better? And less expensive?

Reason #3: Feminism does like contraceptive choice

You know what else is expensive? A baby.

If having a baby was a possible consequence of having someone put their penis in my vagina – if I could not get condoms in every corner shop and my preferred brand of the pill for €10/month and the morning after pill for €40 and if all that lot fails then an abortion an affordable Ryanair flight away – if all of that did not exist, I would not be letting anyone put a penis in my vagina. I probably wouldn’t let anyone put a penis near my vagina. I would probably start exclusively dating ladies, in case the proximity of a penis tempted me.

Really, “an abortion an affordable Ryanair flight away” is not good enough (I am lucky enough to be able a) to afford it and b) to be an EU citizen and thus able to come and go as I please – there are a lot of women in Ireland not in that situation), but it has been a long, hard, feminist struggle for all the rest of it as well. Wanting to put your penis in a vagina while wanting to restrict what the vagina-haver does with the consequences of that penis-putting is… my kindest option here is “optimistic.”

Reason #4: Feminism does not like body policing

SHCBs, hands up if you fancy this hypothetical woman: size 8, tallish, able-bodied, white, DD boobs, blonde hair down to her nipples, mostly hairless below the neck, no stretch marks, spots or general standard-issue crinkly bits.

That’s OK, I think she could be hot too.

Now take your hands down if you would sleep with a woman who did NOT match that description.

I really hope there aren’t any hypothetical hands staying up. If there are, lads, I have news for you, you’re not going to get laid very often.

Our culture is really good at making women who don’t match up to all or most of those criteria feel shitty about themselves. That sort of feeling shitty about themselves that results in “No sex with the lights on in case he sees my crinkly bits” or “I’d love a shag, but I haven’t shaved my legs in a couple of days so I told my SHCB that I was busy tonight.” This is colossally sucky for all concerned. Obviously body policing occurs for men too. But the amount of things on their bodies that women are supposed to care about – and feel insecure about – is ridiculous. SHCBs, when you say that women with armpit hair are gross, 1) you’re shitty human beings but 2) consider how much your boner would actually care.

Reason #5: Feminism does not like slut-shaming

“Why won’t any of these disgusting dirty sluts sleep with me?!”

This one should be self-evident. If someone will think less of me for sleeping with them, I am not going to sleep with them. If someone is going to insult me for sleeping with them, I am not going to sleep with them. If someone is going to mock me with their mates for sleeping with them, I am not going to sleep with them.

I’m kind of a slut. I use slut to mean “person who has a lot of sex” and I use it in a neutral/positive way. But I don’t fuck anyone who uses it in a negative way. Because I only sleep with people who like me, and someone who casts a moral or social judgement on women who have a lot of sex does not like me.

 

You know, I could go on. If the average woman didn’t have to work 13.9% longer to earn the same amount as the average man, maybe she would have more average time to have some average sex with him. Maybe I would have been having sex with SHCBs more often this past year if I hadn’t needed to go on so many sodding marches for the sake of basic bodily autonomy! Sex with SHCBs is a LOT more fun than standing in the rain chanting “never again,” but I direct you to reason #3. There are a whole load more things I could list here, but frankly rewriting feminism as a movement to get SHCBs laid more becomes depressing if you keep it up for too long.

Feminism! Good for women, good for horny college boys who want to get laid more often. And now back to your regularly scheduled programming. Over and out. 

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Niamh ‘I’m Niamh Keoghan and I approve this message’ Keoghan

Bank Holiday Tuesday 26th February 2013

This column originally appeared on the StudentStandard.ie on 26th February, 2013.  Additional editing by Keith Broni.

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I think everybody likes breasts.  Who wouldn’t?  They are providers of food, arousal and can be all-in-all aesthetically pleasing.  Let me just make that clear: I’m very pro-breast.  I am a tits-positive feminist.  But also increasingly, I feel like I have less and less ownership of my girlies.  Generally when I see jokes made about boobs, they’re all made by definite non-breast owners. Like Seth McFarlane who had a whole song dedicated to lady bits at the Oscars.  Unless Tina Fey and Amy Poehler had a song dedicated to the cock when they did the Golden Globes, I am going to absolutely 100% file this under ‘sexist bullshit’ (McFarlane was also heaps of unfunny overall, but lets just focus this on tits).

I’ll concede the point that tits are just a lot more aesthetically pleasing than penises (up for debate but generally, I mean), but that still doesn’t condone their massive overuse in media, marketing and advertising. And alarmingly, I don’t feel like I’m in control of mine a lot of the time.  They are disembodied from me: my disembodied tits, if you will.  Floating just separate from the rest of me, two ghostly orbs to be objectified. Both slagged and admired.

Often I have reflected, while lounging in the bath pouring water over my head from a plastic jug because our showerhead doesn’t work, that my girls are a good reflection of who I am.  They’re a bit lopsided and awkward, but they dress up nicely (in a nice bra they can be killer). They’re a bit small but they’re also resilient and determined. Essentially, my breasts are just some plucky kids trying to make their way in a crazy mixed up world.  I can empathise with their struggle.  But sometimes even though breasts are everywhere in our culture, I often feel like my girls are not my own.  I feel like they’re out there in the public realm despite the fact they live here, under my shirt and very few (very lucky may I add) people actually see them.

I see a lot of dudes making the breast-related humour and breasts being used to sell to them.  I read the A Song of Ice and Fire series (on which the Game of Thrones HBO series is based) and have often noted how Daenerys Targaryen seems to be extremely aware of what her tits are doing at any particular moment. Are they swollen, bouncing, swaying gently in the breeze? Doing their accounts for the year? Sometimes the way they are described is as if they’re like a little principality beyond the rest of her body: sharing a landmass but also a state unto themselves.  This is a mistake a lot of guys make about breasts: they assume that ladies are super aware of what they’re doing at all times. I think a lot of guys assume tits are the same as their penis.  Having to gently explain to a seventeen year old boy that no, squeezing them will not arouse a lady nor is it a particularly pleasant sensation was quite mortifying.  It took the girls a full year to recover from the awkwardness of that ill-advised grabbing.  [EDIT- After being told by a good griend that this seems to generalize a bit on what ladies like done in the boudoir, let me expand just a tiny bit on the story.  I left this part out of the standard column because it is a reputable publication and not a place for my sexual misadvantures to be recorded- that’s what this blog is for. The unfortunate boy I was referring to here grabbed onto my girls as we had an awkward, unpleasant shift in an alleyway out his back garden.  He, not being schooled in the ways of actual subtlety or indeed, basic human biology, sort of kneaded my girls the way you’d test a melon for ripeness or a piece of bread for freshness, and then asked the immortal question- ‘Are you gonna come?’ No.  No, aimlessly poking at a girls boobs is not the way to make the vast majority of women orgasm.  This is also the boy who could not locate my vagina while his hand was up my skirt.  ANYWAY.  Poor boy.  Left my girls in a state of trauma for years.]

It’s like we all love tits, but they’re public property so we’re not allowed own them.  The sort of tits you see exposed (in mainstream non-porn media anyway)  are a very specific kind of tit. Usually white, not too big but not too small.  Kate Winslet and Emilia Clarke are both famous owners of great tits and I’m struck by how similar they are.  Again not too big, small or ethnic.  Just your good garden variety, well-proportioned, English breast: the sort you’d grow in a garden or buy from an organic farmer’s market.  They are the golden ratio of boob.

Because most things are advertised to the heterosexual white male, the power and appeal of the boobs are placed solely in their hands.  I’m not allowed to make jokes about tits aimed at other women. How many comments are there going to be about this very column calling it ‘brave’ or ‘honest’ or indeed ‘fucking disgusting’ when ALL I’M DOING is talking about these poor beleaguered breasts that I’ve been hitching along for the ride since they arrived from the puberty fairy in 2004?  This isn’t bravery: it’s just me owning me bleedin’ body, lads.

Tell me anyone who doesn’t like breasts?  Straight men and lesbians of course like them and within consensual jolly sexy times they are a wonderful thing to share.  Children like them because food and the often overlooked fact that they make a lovely soft pillow with built in mother’s heartbeat to fall asleep to.  Gay men and straight girls can appreciate tits for their aesthetic qualities: how they look in bras, how they move and how women can just rock them.  I know there’s a whole spectrum of people I’m leaving out here but I still stand by my point: give me a person of any gender or sexual identity and I will give you back a person who can appreciate breasts.  Of course individuals can not like breasts, but what I’m saying is, we’re generally living in a pro-tits world. But maybe we’re just a bit boob drunk, and we need to lay off them for a bit. Maybe we need to get off everyone’s tits, collectively.

We also need to discard the idea of the ‘perfect tits’. It’s a fallacy and we’re only limiting ourselves.  We need OWNERSHIP.  We need a revolution in private ownership of the breasts.  I now implore you all, as I oft implore, to stand on a chair/table/raised platform, grab your breasts through your shirt with both hands and scream “THESE ARE MY GIRLS AND I WILL HAVE AGENCY OVER THEM.” We need to reclaim our girls, ladies.  It’s okay for us to share them with our partners and our children and everything, but we need to do so with the firm conviction that they are OUR girls.

The world gotta understand that there are ours; that we are sole purveyors and monopolists of breast. We need to topple this empire of the golden ratio.  I want to see everyone with ownership over their respective girls: big, small, black, white, working class or high society.  But always owned and operated solely by the body they’re attached to.  I’m calling this social movement pro-tits feminism.  Say it with me now (if you’re still standing on that chair/table/raised platform so much the better) loud and proud: I AM A PRO TITS FEMINIST!

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Niamh ‘Girls just wanna have fun’ Keoghan

Tales from the wreck of the Friendzone

*Angry Face*

I hate the friendzone.  I hate the word.  It’s a shockingly clever concept- a catch all term for shaming women who turn a guy down, or decline their romantic advances, or just plain don’t want a relationship.  It has a close connection to the concept of ‘leading one on” wherein a woman is oft accused of stringing a hapless everydude into her web with those feminine wiles only to cut him off cruelly for her own amusement.  Most troubling for me is how women have started to use these terms I’ve heard girls say ”’he friend zoned me” or ”I wish he hadn’t led me on”.  Hell, I’ve used these terms because there are out there people who will mess you around a little bit, and flirt outrageously.  But these people aren’t friendzoning you.  And generally this is a guy on girl trope- Some of parlance has begun to creep into lady talk, but it’s an institutional of hetrerosexual men to begin with.  (Note- Not all straight men are ‘Nice Guys’in the way I describe them here.  I have a lot of male friends and I’m not hating on the menfolk at all, just commenting on something I’ve experienced.  Blah, I don’t hate men, these sexist concepts hurt men too, whatever  x)  

They might be kind of dick, but they’re not friendzoning you because and this may shock you so hold onto your hats and assort beverages the friendzone doesn’t exist.  Sorry everyone.  It’s just not real.  I’ve seen women get messed around by men and men messed around by women, and I’ve never seen evidence of a real life friendzone.  I did do a bit of research I stood around while my friends talked about relationships, and have also been in a few disastarous ones, and been on either side of the ‘let’s be friends’ equation.  It’s also linked to another concept- that of Nice Guyism that we’ll talk about and discuss why it’s really fucking creepy.  Bad romance is my specialist topic- so let’s talk the friendzone.

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In the zone

In basic parlence, the ‘friendzone’ is where men who have romantic and sexual notions on a woman are placed when those women declined their advances- ususally with a phrase like ‘I don’t want to mess up our friendship’or ”Í don’t think of you that way’or ‘I love you!… as a friend!’ The zone is the purgatory men go to when women selfishly withold the sex that they are entitled to.  Because hey, why does that girl have to be such a bitch and turn you down?  You’re a nice guy, you treat her really well, you’re always interested and looking out for her.  But okay.  Here’s the thing nice guys- Somebody being nice to me is my BASIC prerequisite for continuing to even associate with someone.  A guy being polite, courteous and listening to me is my baseline for being his friend- It’s not some magical perk that will automatically make me spit out a sexy time token, and that’s what it’s really about at the end of the day.

Nice Guyism

And further, the whole nice guy… thing is a bit creepy to be on the receiving end of.  Lads, we know when you’re genuinely being nice and when your interest is forced only to make us think you’re nice.  I have plenty of male friends who have little to no interest in hearing me discuss the finer points of my as yet unfinished novel, and in return I have no interest in hearing about the details of their record collection.  You don’t have to take boundless interest in every single thing I care to mention or be involved in; all encompassing adoration and undying interest are as unsettling to receive as it sounds.  It’s not nice.  It makes me feel like I’m living in a world of plastic automatic yes men, all poking my ego until sexy time coupons pop out.

The scary thing is when men, after frantic and endless prodding, delude themselves into thinking a sexy time token HAS popped out, and that they ARE entitled to more of me than I am willing to give.  That’s when I politely decline, and they scream, with arms thrown to heaven ”’FRIENDZOOOOOOOOONED!”

Sexy Time Tokens

I know I’m the last person that should be complaining about romantic attention heck, usually I’m complaining that nobody’s into me and how much that sucks.  But the opposite extreme is scary and unpleasant.  I was trying to quantify what makes one a ‘nice guy’ in the sex coupon seeking way I just described, and I have a very handy litmus test to discern between genuinely nice people, and ‘nice guys’-

If asked to give you some space to think and breath, a genuine person will do just that, and back off.  They might be confused sure, or hurt or think you’re being dramatic, but they will still give you the space you’ve asked for and respect your feelings.  A Nice Guy however, will ignore your requests for space and continue to bombard you with increasingly false-sounding declarations that they will understand and listen to you.  They’ll completely ignore the fundamental point of what you’ve asked, and continue to steamroll you.  And that’s the point of the Nice Guy, and the Friendzone.

In this whole unpleasant scenario, the woman is just an object to the nice guy.  His feelings and his ego are the important things.  It doesn’t matter how scared or uninterested or even hostile the object is, she still owes him something; He can wrap it up as a relationship, but in the end, the object becomes his possession, and in that possession there are obligations the object must fill.  And if you refuse to play the game, check out and decline the thrilling chance to become an object?

Well, you’re just a frigid bitch who dumped that poor nice guy into the friendzone.  You MONSTER.

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Niamh ‘Offside in the friendzone’ Keoghan

I am so hot for Feminist men

I am so hot for feminist men.

God, it’s ridiculous.

There is just something about a guy who actually sees your views as something not to be eye rolled out, or made fun of outright.  It is dead sexy to be considered as an actual intellectual equal.  It makes me do a little ‘hnnnnnnngh’ sound when I think about it.  I am so hot for any man who understands that there is a relevance to what I have to say and what I think about the experiences I’ve had.  It is so devastating attractive when I am viewed as a partner in crime (‘crime’ here meaning ‘sexy things’) and not as an object.

It makes me hot for them.  I want to shag guys who apply the Bedchel test to films.

In that age old (i.e. from about 2009) debate, ‘can men be feminists?’ All I can ever say is OF COURSE.  OF COURSE men of this generation are feminists.  They are the sons of working women- the telephonists and receptionists and university lecturers and all the rest.  They are the product of an age transformed by the women’s movement- not even the organised movement, just the basic idea that WOMEN ARE NOT PROPERTY.  I am big on that.

I am hot on men who do not consider me to be their property.

I am hot for men who are pro choice, and agree that in the abortion debate, the two genders are coming at it from very different perspectives and that, in the end, it is me who has to actually *have* an abortion.  I am very pleased when men say that women have more of a say in abortion policy.  I like men who don’t think it’s silly that I want to keep my name if I ever get married and don’t bullshit me about it being ‘nice for a family to have the same name!’  I am hot for men who understand that it’s not a battle and it’s not man VS woman.

I am very hot for it not being a battle.

I am hot for men who understand that periods are just a fact of my existence, and are nothing to be grossed out by.  I am attracted to sympathetic nods of solidarity when a week is lost to cramps and hysterical sobbing.  I am turned on by guys who  don’t think women are just naturally ‘more emotional’ when debating.  I am very, very hot for men who know women can be just as funny as other men.

I am hot for men who accept that they can’t tell me what to do with my uterus.

I am also very hot indeed on men who aren’t just saying things to impress me.  I am very into the idea of debating, of discussing and in being talked to like a grown up.  I don’t like guys who roll their eyes when I say ‘I’m a feminist’.  It does not make me hot for them when they scoff and go ‘of course I think women are equal- I’m just not a feminist.’ This is okay for them to say- There is hope for them.  In a culture of free speech, it is okay with being critical of feminism- heck, I have my own problems with some aspects of feminist theory under the big umberella of ideas that is ‘FEMINISM’ with a captial F.  It is okay for them to not call themselves feminist.

I am hot for respect.  I am well hot for good humour.

But I am so hot for men who say they are feminists.

I am so hot for feminist men.

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Niamh ‘I am also hot for cardigans’ Keoghan