The Devaluing Dong

*I have been working on this piece FOREVER!  Somebody better share this shit!*

So I’m going to talk about penises.  Brace yourselves.

Well, a mix of penises and sex.  So, like, especially brace yourselves.

Are you braced?  Because I’m dead serious, this post in mostly about penises and sex and I do NOT want people telling me they were surprised/shocked/offended.  Because I feel the devaluing dong is a subject that deserves discussion.  And I warned you.  And I suppose I could warn you one last time via shock value, like by posting a bunch of penis pics or something to especially get my point across, but I have been on the receiving end of too many of those to ever do that to you, non-existent followers.

(Seriously, stop doing that.  If I wanted to see your penis, I would ask.  IF I DON’T ASK, I DON’T WANT TO SEE IT.

“Can you send me a PICTURE OF YOUR PENIS?”  [Picture of penis]    Acceptable.

“Hey, do you want to meet up later?”  [Picture of penis]   Completely unacceptable, why would you do that, dear God my poor unsolicited dick pic receiving phone.)

The devaluing dong is what I have decided to call the issue that coming into contact with a penis (other than your own) almost instantly lowers your “value” but possessing a penis somehow puts you at the top of the heap, to quote Frank Sinatra in a way that would probably horrify him.

What do you call a woman who sleeps with a lot of men during college?  I would call her hopefully sexually satisfied and pray that she uses protection (condoms really are important, people) but according to media, she would probably called a slut, a whore, a girl you don’t take home to Mama.  What do we call a woman who sleeps with a lot of women during college?  Confused, questioning, experimenting, lesbian until graduation, and a whole host of other terms that basically state, “Have your vagina fun because it doesn’t really count.”  See, from what I can tell, penile contact is a serious matter.  You can no longer wear white as a bride, your vajanejane suddenly risks “hot dog down a hallway” potential, your sexual value takes a sudden turn because the next penis won’t be the first.  In my opinion, total bullshit, but since my armies haven’t risen yet to create a peaceful global Musique23-dictatorship, we have to deal with the cards we are dealt.

Now I’m going to be honest.  I, musique23, am sexually active.  I have come into contact with the devaluing dong.  And even though I consider myself an active, healthy feminist and human being with all the urges and desires that come with that label as well as a healthy and understandable disdain for what I routinely declare as “patriarchal bullshit,” (which is often either hissed under my breath at the movies or in public or yelled at my television or phone as I read various articles), I had to deal with my own perception of my lowered value after I slept with my boyfriend for the first time.  Sad and shameful, I know.  For you see, despite my parents masterful teaching that value is much more related to what’s between your ears vs. your thighs, I still had a stupid amount of pride in my flowered status.

Speaking from experience as what felt like the world’s oldest virgin (23 years old baby!), I felt a stupid amount of satisfaction in shrugging while my friends talked about their sex lives.  A frustration-satisfaction mix, actually.  (My early twenties were weird.  I would recommend skipping them whenever possible.  If you ever have the chance to just wake up at age 27 with a degree and a job, I advise doing so.)  I knew I wanted some lovin’.  Didn’t know from where, didn’t know from who, but my ladybits were starting to not so quietly warn me that their time to shine had approached.  However, (again, despite my parents doing their best to combat the fuckery that is society) I still thought of women who “slept around” as something shameful and prided myself in my white bridal gown state.

It wasn’t until many moons later, dating and sexing a great guy and laughing with my friends, that the concept of the devaluing dong blew my mind and angered my soul.

So, quick poll: How many people would call a woman who kissed another woman just once in her life a lesbian?  How many would cite a singular Sapphiric night of love as basis that obviously said woman/women are DL lesbians, or at least bisexual?  The answer is very few.  Hell, I kissed a girl in college, and I thought I might actually be bisexual.  (She had very soft lips.  I was mentally disappointed she wasn’t a guy.  Team hetero it was.)  I openly have like 3 lady crushes.  My boyfriend has been informed that if Amber Rose and I are ever trapped on an elevator and we are both feeling it, I have a freebie card in advance.  (That woman is FINE.  She knows it.  I know it.  Ain’t no shame in my game…)  And at no point has he or any of my friends ever suggested that this might be because I am secretly gay.  My best friend is gay, and when I told him, “I think Girl X is cute; am I in the LGBT community now?” he just looked at me and rolled his eyes.

Now, how many people would feel the same way if instead of two women, it was two guys?  One night, when your boyfriend was 19 and on the wrestling team (I’m sorry, but that sport is crazy homo-erotic.  I enjoyed watching them struggle for dominance in the Olympics and all, but that sport is suspect as Hades.), he and his teammate got a little drunk and had sex with each other.  It was only the one time and your boyfriend decided that he didn’t really like it as much as he thought he would, but still, he came into contact with another penis.  Suddenly, it isn’t harmless fun due to youthful curiosity, it is confused men on the DL and unless he wants his heterosexuality to forever be in question, he will tell NO ONE.

This is where the patriarchal bullshit comes in.  (Seriously, that is one of my top ten phrases I use in my private life.  It covers so much!)  To be man is to be successful.  Wait, I can do better.  Masculine attributes are considered the default measure of success.  Feminine attributes are considered the default measure of weakness.  Men fuck, women get fucked.  To fuck is strength, to get fucked is weak.  Now ignore the bad language (Mother and Daddy, may you never read this post), I’m about to blow your mind.

Having a thrusting penis is apparently a good thing.  But receiving said penis-thrust is a bad thing.  Does that make sense?  No.  Is it nonetheless a thing that heterosexual women and gay and bisexual men have to deal with?  Yes.

(I would like to note that I came up with this concept before the Insecure episode “Guilty as F**k” aired; however, that episode is a great example of kind of what I’m talking about, especially sexuality wise.  Also, should Issa Rae ever come across this, know that I think you’re brilliant.)

Having a penis equals power.  But coming into contact with  that instrument of power equals weakness.  (I’m going to give everyone a minute to have a proper laugh at that statement, because it is funny, but I couldn’t think of any other way to word it.)  It affects so many things.  Let us be honest here, men are what make people uncomfortable in the LGBT rights struggle.  (Side note: people should not be uncomfortable; people are stupid.)  Girl-on-girl porn is widely and openly watched, but put two penis together and suddenly the frat boy has a moral obligation to announce that he doesn’t like that gay shit.  You just put a jello shot in my hand and cheered when I smooched my sorority sister; yes, you apparently do.

Why the stupidity?  Calling someone a pussy (especially a man; actually, I’ve never  heard a woman call another woman a pussy) is supposed to be a deep insult, saying that they are weak or something stupid.  My official resort to seeing/hearing that phrase is now proclaiming loudly, “You WISH you were that strong.”  Because I saw my sister give birth.  Like, I saw my niece before my sister did because I saw when she came into this world and my sister was still pushing.  And then hold the whole HUMAN BEING she had pushed out her body and smile.  And then smile at her husband, who had kinda helped put the whole human being into her body but just had to hold her fracking hand through contractions.  And then, like, live her life and just continue being awesome.  And THAT is what a pussy is.  But also not at all because I hate that phrase.

Look, I’m a heterosexual woman.  I have come into consensual contact with a penis.  Inversely, as a heterosexual man, my boyfriend has come into consensual contact with a vagina.  But when’s the last time you heard about grandfathers whispering that they couldn’t believe the groom had the nerve to wear a certain color on his wedding day?  Never!

So let us put an end to this devaluing dong concept.  My value as a woman, partner, and human has NOTHING to do with what/who/how many penises I’ve entertained any more than any of my male coworkers are somehow better men due to how many ladies they’ve had sex with.  I realize it is all tied up in Christian, hetero-normative nonsense, but being aware of it is that first step of fighting it, and I don’t want anybody to be able to say “Well nobody has ever put it that way before…”

And just to be more direct, think of it this way:  There are still areas in the world, in 2018, where the belief that a woman is less than worthy due to contact with a penis, even if it isn’t consensual.  And there are still countries where it is not a crime to harass or hurt a man for being gay.  And people DIE.  The devaluing dong KILLS people.  And I can quip about it safe in my bedroom in Detroit, and I can offer up witty observations that blanket a secure plea to do better, but honestly, think about this shit.

Oh, right, positive closing note.  Keep fighting the patriarchal bullshit?  Yeah!  Keep fighting the patriarchal bullshit!

Because seriously, this is some bullshit.

I’m Trying, Honestly….

Okay!  I am back.  I was gone.  I was gone for a really long time.  The last thing I posted was in March of 2017.  My bad.  I AM SORRY.  It was a rough year, okay!?

Some quick updates/explanations:

  • I lost my job and was unemployed for basically all of 2017.  It sucked, it came out of the blue, I still don’t really understand why, and creative juices really dry the fuck up when you are in your late 20s and your parents have to pay for everything again.
  • My laptop broke!  This was one of the bigger reasons.  Some stupid hacker got my laptop and locked me out of my own laptop and I gave my laptop to my beau Scott and to fix and I just didn’t have a functional laptop for like 4 months.  And I tried writing posts on my Kindle, it wasn’t for me.  However, this “nicely” (you’ll see the reason for the quotation marks in a second) lead into the next biggie…
  • Scott and I parted ways.  And it sucked.  And if I’m being honest, random people on the internet and maybe a few coworkers who I gave my card to (I’m trying to be legit here, people!), every time I even thought of writing something, break-up melancholy would seep into my soul and no one wants to read that.  But you will!  Because I need to get it fully out of my system and oh the fuck well, don’t read it if it doesn’t float your boat.
  • I got a new job!  And a full time one at that!  Look at me, being a whole, actual functional adult and member of society with health insurance and shit!  However, my full time job, which I LOVE, involves staring at a screen all day and I just haven’t had it in me to open up my private laptop after work and stare at another.  But I’m going to try to.  Because I love writing.  (And they encourage us to basically use small words at work for our notes and if you know Musique23, you know that I do enjoy my verbose vocab.  Why use one word when you can use four?!)

So, that’s been what’s up.  Again, sorry non-existent readers for abandoning you.  But I have had some experiences over the past year and I am going to try to get back on it and grow this more.  A lot of people don’t know this, but I’m trying to turn this into my legitimate side hustle.  I want more readers, I want to own this blog outright, I want other people to hire me to write stories/essays for them, I want authors to think “Yes, that young lady is brilliant and thoughtful and funny and I would love to hire her to edit my own work.”  (I would also like for book people who scour the web for bloggers such as myself who have had novels in the works since they were like 12 to find me and offer me a nice check cause I am ready to sit Sallie Mae down and talk to that hussy about our relationship.  Just saying…)

So bear with me.  And read what drips out of my head, through my blood and out of my fingers.  (That was horrible.  Just awful.  But I have a BA and not a BS in Psych and I don’t feel like thinking of a better visual for the creative process.)  And hopefully, I’ll make you laugh, make you feel, and soon enough, make you sing my praises.

Thanks,

Musique23