Professional volleyball player Gabrielle Reese is promoting a new memoir, My Foot Is Too Big For The Glass Slipper, which hops on the bandwagon of a somewhat popular theme for memoirs-by-strong-ladies these days: she says her life and marriage have improved by being “submissive” to her husband, pro surfer Laird Hamilton. Keep reading »
Recently I went home with a kinky man after our first date. The experience phased in and out of being consensual throughout the night. I distinctly left his apartment feeling violated and I continued to feel violated for several days after.
We found each other online because both of us were interested in dominant/submissive (D/s) sex, particularly in spanking. I thought this man would be dominant in bed, as per his online dating profile and a conversation we’d had about it on our date. But instead of just dominant, he was controlling. Before we started playing, I told him the “safe word” I wanted to use. A safe word is a word or phrase used by kinky people during sexual play that they want the play to stop immediately; I never play with a partner without one. To my surprise, this guy told me that safe word I chose was “terrible” and to use something else. That raised a red flag right off the bat.
Another red flag came at one point during play when he called me a “bitch.” I’m not against being called names in bed. In fact, with a partner whom I know and trust, being called a “bad girl” or a “slut” can be really hot! But we never had a conversation about using words like that, and if we had, I would have told him that the word “bitch” was not OK with me. Keep reading »
If you’ve been reading the blogosphere lately, you’ve likely heard about Alisa Valdes and her memoir, The Feminist And The Cowboy: An Unlikely Love Story. Valdes is the author several romance novels and the debut novel The Dirty Girls Social Club (as Valdes-Rodriguez), which landed her all kinds of accolades. She was even named one of the top feminist writers under 30 by Ms. magazine. Then, somewhere along the way, her feminist principles started to chafe: she felt like men were emasculated (“icky ‘liberal’ men,” she calls them in the book) and she resented feeling like women wore the pants. Soon Valdes fell for a Fox News-watching, macho cowboy who exuded an alpha male sexiness and she started to submit to him in their relationship. As the Amazon.com description of The Feminist And The Cowboy says, Valdes discovered ” “when men … act like men rather than like emasculated boys, you as a woman will find not only great pleasure in submitting to them but also great growth as a person.”
Alas, it didn’t quite work out the way. In fact, following the publication of The Feminist And The Cowboy, Valdes has now come forward to say the cowboy raped and physically and emotionally abused her. Keep reading »
A few years ago ….
Today, in 2012, I avoid him as much as I can. But my friend (?) Richard used to joke (?) that I only called him when I broke up with my boyfriends. Kinda true, kinda false. Regardless — a few years ago — I don’t even call him this time, I just end up at his apartment for some small party.
He scents the pain in me, and suddenly we’re in a back room, alone. One of the reasons he’s so good at this is that he smells vulnerability like a shark smells blood. I don’t remember whether I ask him to hurt me, or he just grabs me. “Something’s close to the surface,” I tell him, while he leaves bite-shaped bruises on my upper arm. He knows me; he doesn’t leave bruises in places I can’t cover with a t-shirt.
“What is it?” he asks, and I choke on it. I’m already starting to cry. We’ve only been doing this for a moment.
“Red,” I say. The safeword. I’m sobbing. “Red.” Richard stops immediately. “Tears,” I say. “Tears were close to the surface.” Keep reading »
“You know what’s so funny is, I actually think there’s a new feminism that is completely different and I don’t think either is better or worse. Any kind of feminist has valid views for herself about what it means to be a feminist, but, as a new-age feminist, I would say I quite like the transference of strength I feel by submitting to a man – being under him. I actually wrote a song about it on my album, it’s called “GUY” and it stands for “Go Under You.” So wearing makeup, smelling delicious and having suckable, kissable, edible things between your limbs is something I find strengthening because I know that when I pick the right guy, I can let him have it. Some women feel oppressed by make-up and clothing, and here’s to them, they have every right to feel that way as well.”
– Lady Gaga actually says the resonant thing about feminism — to me — that that I’ve heard a pop star say. Yes, it’s possible to be a savvy businesswoman and multi-million-record-selling pop star but also submit to a man in the bedroom for sexual fantasy! And yes, it’s possible to be a feminist and choose to wear makeup! And yes, it’s possible to be a feminist and choose not to wear makeup! I don’t know quite what Gaga is rambling about with the “suckable, kissable, edible things between your limbs” part, though. Guess she likes to play with her food? (Ironically, however, this photo was taken while she was visiting accused rapist/Wikileaks founder Julian Assange in London, proving there is no “perfect feminist.”) [Stylist UK] [Photo: Bauer-Griffin]
“Call me in one hour and tell me your boyfriend dumped you,” I told my girl friend as we stood outside the movie theater where we had just seen “Magic Mike.” “If the party’s weird and I want to leave, I’ll say ‘Oh my God, are you okay? I’ll come meet you!’ Got it?”
“Sure thing,” my friend promised.
“I’m texting you the address I’m going to right now,” I told her, tapping on my iPhone. “Just in case these people turn out to be rapist-murderers.”
“I’m sure they’ll be fine,” she soothed me. We hugged goodbye and parted at a street corner. “Have fun!” is what she called as I walked away.
Have fun at your spanking party is what she meant. Keep reading »
I flogged a man last night.
Despite my Bettie Page-lite haircut and a propensity for sexual experimentation, this is not something I have done before. I did have a very brief flirtation with the field of professional dominatrix-ing, but I never got beyond the training phase due to both a poor collegiate work ethic and feeling massively silly. And in my personal life I tend to swing firmly toward the “S” in the “D/S” yin-yang.
But in all my genital adventuring, I have never gone for the type of melodramatic, overwrought boning that I think of as “sex nerdery.” Spank me, call me names, hold me down, but don’t make me wear some kind of pleather costume or call you “master” while you do it. Keep reading »
I texted him as soon as I woke up.
“What do you want me to wear today?”
I brushed my teeth and washed my face while I waited for him to text me back.
“White button-down shirt. Tuck it in. Your jeans. Flats. Put your hair in a ponytail. Send me a photo.”
I dressed as instructed, then stood before the wall-length mirror in my apartment’s hallway. Smiling into the mirror, I snapped a photo on my iPhone and sent it to Ben*.
Thirty seconds later, a text message: “Very nice.” Then I knew I could leave for work.
Ben was not abusive. I was not being hurt, nor was I unhappy. We were in a dominant/submissive relationship — or playing at one, anyway — and following his orders got me unbelievably, unbelievably turned on. Keep reading »
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