Daddy Issues

It feels cliche, being a sex blogger who doesn't have a good relationship with her father. A part of me thinks it's petty to wait for Father's Day to unpack a lot of the frustration I have in my relationship with my dad, but today's the only day I really give significant thought to my relationship with him so here we are.

We've all heard that age old wisdom, that women who sleep around, hop from relationship to relationship, dress in revealing ways, or do other things that are regarded as seeking validation from men do so because they didn't have a father or other strong male figure around when they were growing up to show them how they should be treated as women. And that because they didn't have this male influence, they'll chase it for the rest of their lives, rendering them unstable partners. There is so much patriarchal bullshit wrapped up in this assumption.

The fundamental flaw in this logic is that the way for women to be treated well in our society heavily relies on gender roles and expectations. Women are supposed to be homemakers and raise kids while men should work to provide financial stability. "Wifely" women are expected to be docile, quiet, and willing to act at the beck and call of her husband without guaranteed reciprocity. These arrangements leave women and children vulnerable to abuse if they don't have the means to support themselves without their husbands.

Women who buck these expectations by being open about their sexuality or not aspiring to marriage present a problem. Free women threaten the status quo because they desire lives outside of patriarchal expectations. If they can forge their own path in life without a man's help, then what is left for these men? Relationships today require men bringing something to the table more than...just being a man, and that scares men who were raised to believe that they are automatically owed dominion over women.

In today's world, shame is the only real tactic scared men have left to preserve what they think they're owed. The rationale always returns to "you didn't have a father growing up", because the thinking is that these kinds of women weren't treated right by men as children, so they don't know what men are supposed to do for them as adults and it will just take the right man to show them the error of their ways so they'll settle down and be a good woman. Except more and more women aren't interested in adhering to those expectations, fatherless or not. For me, the key lies more in understanding what it's to grow up with exclusively female influence instead of a lack of a male one.

I guess I fit the stereotype. I was raised by a single mom, I don't have a close relationship with my father to this day, and I like sex. A lot. I'm also in a very stable, loving relationship with someone who loves me unconditionally and has never tried to make me fit some mold of proper womanhood. Every woman on my mom's side married an ain't shit man. EVERY.SINGLE.ONE. Sometimes more than once. Abusers, cheaters, liars, you name it, he was probably related to me by marriage at some point. By the time I was born, my grandmother, her sisters, and my mom were all single, by divorce or death. They did the heavy lifting when it came to my upbringing, because my dad was sent to prison when I was 5. He's still there now, and will probably be there for the rest of his life.

Watching the women around me handle their lives without the help of men taught me so much about gender roles and why they're trash. Growing up with women who modeled the beauty (and pain) in getting shit done ingrained in me a mindset of never settling for less. It was not easy for any of the women around me, my mom included, and I saw them struggle, endure heartbreak, but ultimately press on in hopes of a better life for their children and future descendants.

I can't imagine growing up watching these women bust their asses to do right by their families and accept mediocrity from a partner. I've always been able to make things happen for myself, and resolved when I was very young that it would take a special person to walk next to me, because the life I want for myself is not predicated on being a wife and mother and I'd rather be alone forever than compromise my freedom for love. Any person who wants a relationship with me and expects me to come to desire that life should keep moving because I'm not the one. Maybe that makes me an angry man-hating feminist. So be it.

As Black women, there was never a choice for us to live life as a "proper" woman because true womanhood has only been assigned to white women. In a way, our very existence subverts these patriarchal norms and eschews the roles we're supposed to aspire to. The women who raised me still desired this life, but couldn't achieve it for one reason or another. I was raised to see that those aspirations were flawed in the first place. I was destined to bridge this gap, to fully step into the liberated existence that the women before me couldn't. And it's because my dad wasn't there to teach me otherwise.

Without trying to, the women around me raised me to understand that I can truly count on only myself in this world. Aspiring to a proper life as a wife and mother does not necessarily mean that I will achieve it, so what's the point of trying to fit into a mold I've seen end terribly for people around me? Living a live free of the expectations that have bound women for centuries has worked out pretty well for me so far. I don't think I'd see the world this way had my dad stuck around, so his absence is a positive for me in this way. 

Growing up with the women around me as feminist role-models set my life in motion in such a way for me to be able to get in touch with all facets of myself. Living a life free of these expectations is challenging at times, and feeling shamed for some of my decisions (like this blog) is something I have to work through every single day. I wish I had a better relationship with my dad, if only because I think children should have good relationships with their parents wherever possible.

I missed out on my relationship with my dad, and getting to know him as a whole person and not the man I've had to come to learn about from stories, monitored visits, and letters. That hurts, and that loss will never be fully healed in my heart. But that being said, I don't think I've suffered in my development as a woman because of his absence. There are those who think my willingness to be open about my sexuality is an indication that I have suffered, but what do they know? They just spend their days insulting strangers on the internet. 

HAPPY PRIDE MONTH!

It's June 1st, also known as National Donut Day and the beginning of LGBTQ Pride Month.

As a quick history primer: Pride Month is celebrated in June to honor the Stonewall Riots, an uprising led by Black and Latinx queer and trans people in response to police violence in Manhattan, New York in June of 1969. This riot is known as the beginning of the modern-day LGBTQ+ rights movement that continues today.

After Stonewall, the last Sunday in June was known as “Gay Pride Day” around the United States. In 1994 a group of organizers selected October as Gay Pride Month. Over time, October became LGBTQ History month and the designation of Pride Month shifted back to June. With this shift, the scope of the celebration expanded from just gay pride to the entire LGBTQ+ spectrum.

This is the Bisexual Pride Flag. It becomes relevant soon.

This is the Bisexual Pride Flag. It becomes relevant soon.

My relationship to Pride Month is constantly evolving. I don't think I genuinely knew about Pride Month until I was in college, so around 2013/2014. I'd questioned my sexuality since I was a kid, because I knew I was attracted to boys and girls during elementary and middle school. By high school, I'd convinced myself that it was a phase, even though my first crush and the first person I ever kissed was one of my childhood best (girl) friends. I somehow convinced myself I was straight for the better part of 4 years, because I couldn't agree with the concept of a more expansive sexuality, I thought you had to pick a side, and I knew I wasn't a lesbian.

Couple that with being part of a super-religious Black family, and I honestly decided that trying to figure out who I really was wasn't worth the headache. I've still never had an open conversation with my family about my sexuality and don't really plan to unless it's necessary, as in I start dating someone who isn't a man. I feel like I'm fighting battles every day for my existence because of my other, more visible identities, I'm not sure if I could handle more.

Once I got to college I met new people, joined organizations, and went to lectures and events geared to LGBTQ identity because I considered myself an ally. These experiences gave me the language, history, and validation needed to start processing my feelings toward my sexuality again (spoiler alert: I'm bisexual). The thing about coming to an epiphany about your sexuality while you're 2 years into a long-term relationship with a cisgender man is that it's hard for people to believe you, for lack of a better word. It's why I consider myself eternally closeted. 

I've been told so many times to my face that I'm just a straight girl who wants attention. And i'd be lying if I said that those statements didn't get to me. If I'm in a heterosexual monogamous long-term relationship, does the fact that I'm bisexual even matter? It's not like anyone can tell by looking at me or my partner. I'm "straight-passing" for lack of better words, and while it gives me a level of privilege many LGBTQ don't have to be free from harassment about my relationship, it also means that my identity as a bisexual woman isn't seen as legitimate and I feel constantly on the fringes of the community. Which comes with its own pros and cons, because the mainstream LGBTQ+ community definitely struggles when it comes to supporting most of the letters in the acronym that aren't "G". 

I wish I could say that I've reached closure regarding my own identity and the general idea that all sexualities are valid regardless of how they're presented, that you can't judge a book by its cover, etc. but these feelings of confidence in my own identity are few and far between for me. When it comes to Pride Month specifically, I normally opt to take a back seat to the more marginalized whose voices should be heard more often. And I still plan to do that this year, but maybe I'll also choose to be more open about my identity and experiences in the hopes that it makes others feel seen and heard as well. 

Race, Representation, and Desire: Black Panther and Fetishization 101

This post was originally published via the Sex-Positve Blog, run by the Houston-based adult retailer Mystiq. Check them out on Medium and Twitter @MystiqStores!

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Marvel’s Black Panther changed my life, and in only the best kind of ways. From the cinematography to the costume design, the writing, the social themes addressed by the movie, I am thoroughly impressed with Ryan Coogler’s storytelling. It was incredibly refreshing to see people like me on screen saving the world while still having human flaws. It’s something that we don’t see often enough, especially on the scale of Marvel/Disney.

I could go on and on unpacking every piece of the movie, but you can read those takes in another (thousand) article(s). Suffice it to say, I was thoroughly impressed with the story, and possibly more impressed with how ridiculously attractive all of the actors were. As problematic as his character was, Killmonger is my imaginary boyfriend, and no one can take that from me. More than that, the movie wasn’t all about the characters running around being hot. There were moments of sexual tension for sure, but that’s not all there was to the story or the characters’ motivations.

 

                                                                    *licks scre…

                                                                    *licks screen*

As a Black woman who exists at the intersection of multiple marginalized identities, seeing sexuality as a normal part of the character’s lives instead of either their primary or sole motivation, or conspicuously missing entirely…shocking, because of how infrequently it happens. I attribute it, in part, to the dearth of popular media in which Black people are allowed to tell their own stories authentically without having something to prove to the mainstream (read: white) gaze. Historically, Black actors are mostly cast in roles designed to either completely desexualize or oversexualize them, perpetuating stereotypes about gendered and racialized sexuality.

It’s important to acknowledge that anyone can have (and share) feelings about who they find attractive, but when those people are part of a historically marginalized community, it’s important to tread lightly and analyze where some of those feelings come from. For example, Winston Duke (M’Baku) is attractive as all get out. However, for someone who isn’t Black, finding him attractive doesn’t mean it’s okay to refer to all large Black men as M’Baku or make references to wanting to be taken to his cave in the mountains. The previous references are paraphrases of tweets I have seen since the movie came out, which got me thinking.

It’s hard to explain how uncomfortable it makes me feel to see things like that. It’s something that has to be lived to be understood. I’ve always had to reckon with either not being seen as attractive at all because I’m a Black woman, or only being seen as attractive because of racist sexual stereotypes and prejudices. Even in the sex-positive community, I see racist sexual stereotypes proliferate under the guise of “sexual freedom.” Freedom for whom, exactly? While Black Panther can open the door to important conversations about who society considers desirable, the fetishization of Black people is a media-driven continuation of racialized violence that has existed since slavery.

Think of the Black servant archetype such as Viola Davis’ and Octavia Spencer’s Abileen and Minny in The Help or Morgan Freeman’s Hoke Colburn in Driving Miss Daisy, not meant to be seen as a sexual beings at all, despite normally being parental figures. On the other hand, there are Black characters whose ravenous sexual appetite drive most of their actions. For women, these are characters such as Halle Berry’s Leticia in Monster’s Ball or Kerry Washington’s Olivia Pope in Scandal.

For men, there are fewer examples in modern media because the Black Buck stereotype tends to be overtly violent more than sexual when present at all. Think of the generic criminal in any major crime drama. The violent Black man will show up sooner or laterHonestly, take a trip down the “interracial” category of any porn site and the sexual aspect of the Black Buck stereotype makes itself apparent, especially when paired with the “pure” white woman.

I’m speaking specifically to Black fetishization since that’s where I have the most experience (personally and academically), but members of all nonwhite cultures have to reckon with racialized sexual stereotypes. The Spicy Latina and the Demure Asian Woman, for example.

I should clarify — it’s not inherently racist or fetishistic to be attracted to people of other races, but when your attraction (or lack thereof) is rooted in stereotypes about sexual prowess, they should be reevaluated. There has to be a middle ground between completely rejecting people of a certain race based on stereotypes and exclusively being attracted to them for those same reasons. We don’t live in a vacuum. Even the most socially aware of us are still influenced by the society in which we were raised and inside of which, we learned to view the world. Having these kinds of perspectives is not a sign of a character flaw, but unpacking them indicates an openness to be honest with ourselves as we work towards a more sex-positive future.