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 »