Tall, curvy, an icy gaze that gets you hotter than a midsummer sunburn. Leather corset, thigh-high boots with sky-high heels and a bullwhip to match. Judging by the way she makes you lick her shoes, and whatever weird preconceptions you have, you might think this masterful mistress is a feminist.
Feminism pops up time and time again in The Sun, and with good reason. It’s a hot issue, a loaded word with tons of implications. You might think, for example, that every feminist is a dominatrix waiting to stomp on some poor man’s genitals with the business end of a stiletto. You might even — dare I say it? — hope this is the truth. And you wouldn’t be the only one.
Am I a feminist? You bet your sweet candy ass I am, you little so and so. But I’m no dominatrix, though I can rock stilettos and a corset like I was born wearing them. No, reader, I’m no domme (short for dominant, see? Keep up!). I’m a rip-roaring, ready to go face-down and ass-up, submissive.
What’s a submissive, you ask? The label applies to a person who enjoys relinquishing control or power in an often (but not always) sexual setting for a variety of reasons and in a variety of ways. The foil to a submissive is a dominant, and you can just replace “relinquish” with “receiving” the control or power in such a relationship. These are really broad definitions because they have to be — because there are about as many ways to be a kinky slut as there are kinky sluts, and these are just two ways to do it. I’m betting some of you are kinky sluts and you don’t even know it!
So we’ve established that I’m a slut of the kinky, submissive persuasion. Now what? Just when I’ve got it all figured out, enter feminism to get all up in my junk. I’m over here trying to get a little spanked, a little roughed up, maybe even called some nasty names and be all, “Why yes I AM a naughty girl who needs to be punished!” when suddenly it occurs to me — maybe that’s not OK.
It’s been a long road to reconciling those two parts of my identity. What do you do when your politics and your sex life don’t match up? How do you handle being part of a movement dedicated to ending injustice, and then shut the bedroom door and perform — even request — the very actions you deplore? You’d be in the right if your hypocrisy sensors were going off right now. Mine have been since the day I realized, tied to a bed and blindfolded, that everyone who came into the world via vagina (or, for that matter, C-section) should be a feminist.
Women have been a long time fighting. Fighting for the same basic rights as any other human being, fighting to be able to make the same decisions, to be treated with the same respect. Where we have come from, where we are now, and where we are going are topics that have filled volumes and, at the least, have been widely available to you in these very pages. One of the biggest issues right now surrounds a woman’s agency over her own body. Women, we say, should be the only ones deciding what happens to our bodies. No one else gets to choose for us.
Yet I and many other women look at our male and female partners and, through the ball gags in our mouths say something like “bbbggmmmpphhffff” which loosely translates into “I CHOOSE to GIVE you control of my body for the time being.” And there’s the rub. Choice.
In a healthy dominant/submissive (or “D/s”) relationship, there is always, always, always a strong emphasis on consent. When I make the careful decision to allow a select someone to whip me ’til I cry, it is with the understanding that it is a choice I am making. When I say stop, we stop. I actually have the control in some sort of backwards way. I set the limits and boundaries and discuss with the person on top exactly what those are. That alone is a marker of a strong woman. And what are feminists if not strong women?
I never do anything I don’t truly want to do — and let’s be real, I don’t care if you’re in the most vanilla, “Missionary 4 Lyfe” relationship. You should NEVER be doing something you don’t want to do. If you are, fellas and ladies, get out. If you can’t get out on your own, talk to someone who can help you. Just because you might like being spanked now and again is no reason not to be treated with respect like the intelligent, strong, hot piece of ass that you are. This concludes our PSA.
The point is this: There is no reason for there to be a disconnect between feminism and a person’s sexual nature. Feminism is, after all, about the right to reclaim our minds and bodies and the right to use them in ways that satisfy us. And whether that involves whips and chains or whipped cream and cherries, we should embrace the hell out of whatever gets us off.
So is it hypocritical to be a feminist and dress up like a pony and whinny around the bedroom for your sexy coachman? No more than it’s hypocritical to let your partner blindfold you and rub silk over your skin. No more than it is to enjoy being bossed around or lectured in a schoolgirl costume by your mega-hot “professor.”
Sex can be a political act, but it doesn’t have to be. The way I fuck informs my politics — not the other way around. You’re not discussing foreign policy between moans and groans, so it’s OK to leave your soapbox at the door before you strap on those leather cuffs.
And by the way, if you find the kinky slut within, there are resources right here in Ithaca you can check out. Ithaca TNG (“The Next Generation”) is a casual meetup group geared toward kinky people from 18-35. They have monthly, informal “munches” at Stella’s where anyone can show up and shoot the shit. Check them out, and maybe I’ll see you there!