sexuality

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The statement that all people are “a bit bisexual” is harmful. And why? Because fluidity of sexuality and bisexuality are two separate concepts and are not interchangeable. By saying that all people are bisexual to one degree or another only erases the identity of people who do identify as bisexual. This creates the culture in which “We’re all told bisexuality is a phase that everyone goes through and grows out of, and no one’s a ‘proper’ bisexual, even though everyone’s bisexual really,” as Marcus Morgan puts it.

Sarah O’Rourke, “I think everyone’s a bit bisexual”: identity erasure and biphobia (via owlswearglasses)

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I was at a party last night and I was talking to this woman and somehow pretty girls came up.

She got all excited and was like, “wait, you’re into girls?”

And I was like, “…yeah.”

She was all, “well? What are you?”

I thought it was a super weird way to phrase it. Because, you know, what I am is a person. But I humored her. “I’m bisexual.”

“Like 50/50?” she asked.

“Uh,” I thought about it and approximated, “like 70 girls, 30 guys?”

She laughed, “how old are you?” I figured she was about to be like oh yeah all girls your age claim they’re bisexual, blah blah blah.

“22,” I replied.

“Oh, yeah, that’s what I thought when I was 22, too,” she winked. “And now I’m just a lesbian.”

I was kind of relieved that she wasn’t trying to tell me I was just some straight girl. But, I realize her trying to tell me I was just a confused lesbian was just kind of just as harmful.

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I have a little problem with being insatiable.

I sort of can’t help myself once I really get going.

Which sounds kind of sexy, until the other party is kind of worn out and I’d like to keep going. 

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Ugh, nail on the head.

I love being choked in a sexual way. But then when I really think about what’s going on I’m stuck thinking to myself, “I probably shouldn’t be doing this.” Because facts stand that someone could really screw up. And I always go back to the actual violence of the gesture and what it is normally used for, like when I mull over some other fetishes like (consensual, in my case) non-consent. There’s a moment where you stop and think that for a lot of people, this isn’t sexy. In another context, this would be horribly wrong.

But I still can’t deny how it makes me feel. 

littlegirlyone:

i know there’s huge ethical/legal/moral controversy about choking as a sexual practice.  i understand the risks. sometimes i even freak out about them in a panicky, ‘i’m not gonna do that anymore’ kinda way. but when we’re fucking, there is no more controversy. there’s only our bodies. our trust. our hands. our throats. and in that context, the risk is worth the reward.

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Fear is an incredibly powerful aphrodisiac.

That means you don’t have to approach every encounter with genuine excitement and assuredness. Sometimes it’s good to be reticent, afraid. So long as you’ve consented and you trust anyone involved, being frightened of what is to come can be just fine. In fact, you might even enjoy it.

With a lot of the female libido being dependent on anticipation, build-up, words, foreplay, preludes to the main event than the actual finalized actions, naturally fear is a great tool when wielded correctly. It’s just another suspension of time, another little subplot on the way to the climax.

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My Simian Mobile Disco phase coincided with me coming to terms with my sexuality. So, naturally, when I found this video, my theories were confirmed. (Not to mention I totally set to plotting how to get this to happen.) And, while I’m totally nostalgic, I can only imagine the sleazy conversation, probably over some pizza and beer, that went on when they were writing the treatment.

“So, okay, it’s a bunch of girls at a party. And they’re sitting in a circle and they are playing telephone. And then…they all just start makin’ out, man.”

Which is fine by me, but apparently this is the UK version. The US version has a bunch of models on pedestals eating junk food and luxury items and then vomiting until their faces get all disfigured. Social commentary aside, why the hell did my country pass up girls making out at a party for a really creepy video with ralphing models?

Oh, America. You don’t make a lick of sense. 

(Source: https://www.youtube.com/)
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This man was extremely formative in defining my sexuality. 

I was about twelve or thirteen years old when Songs About Jane first came out and, after hearing a few of its singles bouncing around the radio, I asked for a copy for my birthday. I remember bringing it up to my room that morning after my mother had given it to me, putting it into my boom-box, laying down on my carpet, and listening to the whole album through. 

I didn’t understand all of his lyrics. I assumed the phrase “keep her cumming every night” meant to have her continue to visit his house each evening. A ton of innuendos zoomed right over my head. But, somehow, it resonated. I felt it. I understood him without even beginning to understand.

I remember sitting in the back of the car, having the album on in my walkman, and hearing my mother say to my father, “just let her listen to it, they like to have things to themselves at this age”. It was how Songs About Jane felt to me. It was something I had with myself. It was this little secret thing I could listen to over and over as I tried to align myself to the lyrics. I wanted to understand. He seemed so much deeper than the sex ed lessons I was getting in middle school, and he was actually answering the questions I did not realize I had.

I learned lust. I learned sexual envy. I learned sexual greed. I learned what it meant to want. In school, I learned the mechanisms. In his songs, I learned what turned them. And, I learned that I didn’t want to just be the women in his songs, I wanted to be with them, even though he had spelled out their problems very clearly in his songs. 

Not to mention his voice is pure sex. That counts for something.