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Superduper Moderated Thread: Feminism and Kink

[TRIGGER WARNING: The following post and comment thread will contain extremely triggering material. Please read cautiously and heed appropriate trigger warnings]

There are some people who say that all BDSM/kink/WIITWD is incompatible with feminism. I am not one of them. I do, however, think that kink and the communities who practice it can be problematic, particularly from a feminist perspective. People have written scads about how, within the scene, normative gender roles often lead to the erasure of submissive men and dominant women and to the marginalization of alternative sexualities and gender presentations, about the sometimes competitive nature of being the “most transgressive” of vanilla sexual practices, and the dangers of the desire to have others view you as a “true” kink practitioner when someone else makes the standards.

Feminisms and feminists have as much right to be critical of kink communities and organizations as they have any other space where people of multiple genders come together, as we can’t leave our kyriarchical conditioning behind – kink communities do not exist in a void.

BUT. There is a big difference between useful criticism and condemnation, between trying to make something better and trying to make it go away, and between empowering people to do what they like how they like it and judging them for what they like. It’s one thing to say that kyriarchical conditioning is harmful because it causes people to assume that a man is a dom and a woman is a sub automatically, and quite another, harmful, thing to say that sub women are just brainwashed by the patriarchy, and that’s why they like to be submissive.

I am BDSM postive, though I am not uncritical. I am, however, sick to death of people judging the sexual practices of others. I am sick of people extrapolating from one member of a group the preferences and habits of everyone else of that group. I am sick of people misunderstanding the profound differences between reality and fantasy, consensual versus nonconsensual encounters, and making facile, bad-faith arguments that purposely misconstrue people’s actual words. I am sick of people telling others “you are not a member of X group, therefore your sexual practices are invalid or wrong.” This will be a space where you do not have to deal with that. People who cannot see the difference between kink and abuse are not welcome to comment, though people who have experienced abuse under the mask of kink are welcome here.

This is a heavily moderated thread that follows the commenting policy of Shakesville, since the desire for such a discussion space originated there. The greatest rule is: engage in good faith. As long as the comments fall within the commenting guidelines, feel free to address any issues related to the intersection of BDSM/kink, your gender, and/or feminism. Please put appropriate and specific trigger or content warnings at the beginning of your comment.

Judgement of others’ sexual practices will not be tolerated. This is place to talk about that judgement, or one’s own ethical or intellectual struggles with one’s sexuality. This is a place to engage critically but constructively with the intersections of our society and cultural conditioning with our sexualities.

This is both a feminist safe space and a kinky safe space. This is not a feminism or kink 101 space. Have at it!

Personally, the ubiquitous images of sexual violence present in our culture have made deep impressions upon me. I have a morbid fascination with rape I think many women share. It is a fantasy I have played in my head, but have never told anyone about for fear of being misconstrued. I do not want to be raped. I do not want others to be raped. I would, someday, like to play it through with a trusted partner and a safe word. In some ways, I feel that the pervasive images of sexual violence, and the prevalence of rape itself, subtly wound many people. Though some of us may not have experiences actual sexual violence, we are told about it in such detail, see it on big screens, try to comfort our loved ones in dealing with a rape or sexual assault…we know it in a way that is more than hypothetical, and that can be wounding in itself. When I lived at home or in a dorm, if someone came into my room while I was sleeping I would wake in a cold sweat and freeze myself totally, waiting to make out the face and what zie was doing. Walking alone at night, small sounds can startled me into running a few steps, before I realize it was a cat or the wind rustling a plastic bag. My culture was trying to teach me to be vigilant about my safety, but it succeeded in making me scared. Mac McClelland, a reporter working with rape survivors in Haiti who was not actually raped herself, found out the devastating power of secondary trauma. Sometimes I think acting on my rape fantasies might help me work through my fear and my confusion. Sometimes I think it’s just a kink that would be sexual gratifying but not therapeutic. Either way, fantasizing about being raped doesn’t make me anti-woman or pro-rape or “not a true feminist.” I am a human who grew up in a rape culture, and denying the baggage from that, whereever it may manifest in my life, would be anti-feminist. Dealing with it, being critical but accepting of who I am and how I can and cannot change myself, not letting someone take my statement that I fantasize rape to mean that all women fantasize about being raped, or extrapolating from it to conclude that women like to be raped – that is the work of feminism. To have women be seen as agentive, individual people who have a right to do whatever they like with their own bodies, whether it’s the right to say no (the right to not be raped) or the right to say yes (playing through a rape scene voluntarily).

No person deserves to be judged for hir sexual proclivities, as long as they are safe, sane, and consensual risk aware, fully informed, and consensual. Whether my theory about secondary trauma is right or not about myself doesn’t mean it will hold for others, and they no more deserved to be judged than do I.

So let it out, my friends. What are you into and what does it mean to you?

(Moderation Note: Please be patient about the amount of time it takes for your comment to appear. Because I want this to be a safe space, but I have to eat and sleep and go to work, comments will be individually approved. Depending on the time of day and the number of comments in the queue, it may be slow. Thank you for understanding.)

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Discussion

20 thoughts on “Superduper Moderated Thread: Feminism and Kink

  1. Thank you for this.

    Before I comment in-depth about my own positionality, can I critique your terminology a little? Specifically “safe, sane, and consensual” — it’s ableist, and it makes me feel unwelcome, especially because I don’t think my kink can be necessarily viewed in terms of sanity. A good alternative I’ve seen is risk-aware consensual kink (RACK), which avoids the sanity requirement and also serves to question the safety part — what kink act (or any act of intimacy, really) carries absolutely no risk of harm, i.e. is “safe”? Some acts carry more risk than others, but it should be within the rights of an informed and empowered kinky person to take on consensual risks for hirself.

    Posted by mere | August 1, 2011, 15:56
  2. I followed your link here from the open thread on Shakesville. I submit (har!) that the reason you have seen views but few comments is that anyone who wants to really answer the question you asked is going to have to take some time to write. Certainly I’m looking forward to saying something, but, y’know, job.

    So even though I have a pretty low regard for posts in which a poster does nothing but introduce themselves, perhaps I will do that rather than let the crickets have the space, until I have a little more time to write. I’m a fortyish white dude. I’m at least a little bi (though now that “heteroflexible” has been coined, that may be a more accurate term), at least a little switchy (though maybe “laid-back, flexible top”, etc.), and thoroughly nonmonogamous. I’m left-handed, Buddhist, introverted, and an incorrigible word nerd.

    I think the “introvert” thing isn’t as irrelevant as it may seem. I remember encountering the idea years ago that there are “thing people”, “people people” and “idea people”. As an idea person, it puzzles me to no end that some people — mostly extroverts, I have to assume — can’t seem to make the distinction between an outlook/philosophy/orientation/whatever, and a community. You seem to allude, above, to the argument that consensual flogging is philosophically insupportable because there are social problems in kink communities. Yet I can’t remember anyone arguing that Newton’s laws of motion are wrong because some physicists are jerks. So ideas are not necessarily invalidated by the people who hold them, you ad-hominem arguers. Just saying.

    I like the idea of this thread and would bake you kinky cookies for it.

    Posted by dryfool | August 2, 2011, 06:30
  3. Ok, I’m going to trust that this space is going to be heavily moderated and thus come out with something that I have never told another person.

    I am a young woman and a feminist and I am sexually aroused by weight gain.

    I don’t know what to call it. Here I’ll call it a kink, I suppose, but that feels like I am legitimizing this thing about myself that I consider dirty.

    I am very interested in fat acceptance and I read FA blogs, as many as I can find. I think that making the world a safe and welcoming place for all types of bodies is a great goal, and FA has helped me with my own self image (I had struggled with disordered eating) and with accepting people close to me no matter their size or their health.

    But this “kink”, enjoying seeing people’s bodies expand, has been with me since I was a tiny child. I remember feeling “weird” when cartoon characters would eat too much and then dramatically gain weight. Even if I totally dedicated myself to ratting out and exterminating my kink, I don’t think I could. It’s been a part of me so long I couldn’t get rid of it without fundamentally changing who I am.

    So I live with this contradiction that I can often, but not always ignore. I am aware of feeders and fat fetishists, but feel that feeder-ism, which most closely resembles my kink, is by and large a shitty space for fat people and women. Then again, I have NO experience with people doing things consensually that seem to be non-consensual, so that could be just my ignorance. What I know for sure is that I am uncomfortable, as a woman and as a feminist/FA advocate with the seeming non-consent (force feeding) and seeming sexism (women as sex object) present in feeder porn, but at the same time It does excite me, although those aspects do not have to be present for me to enjoy feeder porn.

    I don’t know how to deal with this contradiction at all, and so take some small refuge in the fact that I prefer drawn porn to photo or video porn, and otherwise I just avoid thinking about my kink or masturbating.

    Posted by uglyinpink | August 2, 2011, 07:16
    • Do you feel it’s dirty because of your interest in FA? Or because of the seemingly exploitative/objectifying/nonconsensual nature of feeder porn?

      You’re very brave to share this and I’m wondering why you feel like it might be something to try and get rid of…

      Posted by startledoctopus | August 2, 2011, 10:17
  4. Well, to a certain extent because there is a line drawn in the sand (I think) between sexual depictions of people who are fat, which are celebrated in some fat acceptance communities, and then the sexualization of eating or gaining weight. I feel like I fall on the “wrong” side of this line, but I’m not sure entirely why I think so.

    On the one hand, I think in places like “Hey Fat Chick” I feel like I can accept and embrace the fact that the pictures, which are usually submitted by the person who is in them, can be considered beautiful, cute, and sexy.

    Then there are places like “Adipositivity”, where fat women are consistently portrayed in a specifically sexual way. It is less obvious that the women in the photographs have control over the way they are portrayed, but the sexual nature of the photos is seen as a tool, a way of paying some long overdue attention to the existence of the beauty in a fat body. I think that ultimately, looking at the photos on offer on Hey Fat Chick and Adipositivity is seen as a way of affirming and supporting the reality that some people are fat and that fat people are both sexual and sexy.

    In contrast, the weight gain stuff that I am drawn to does not seem to reflect much about the reality of being a fat person or about the real way that weight is gained. I think it could be like your experience, but that diet culture caused some damage to me early on that resulted in my fixating on this particular representation of bodies and food. But I think I feel most dirty about it because I feel like the weight gain porn involves fat people in a narrative that real fat people don’t seem to actually be a part of. I do know that FA-ers get a lot of shit from people who actually believe this face-stuffing fantasy of weight gain. That makes it hard to look at the stuff that I am attracted to and feel O.K. about liking it.

    Posted by uglyinpink | August 2, 2011, 13:42
    • I hear you, that makes a lot of sense. I hadn’t thought of how it feeds into the cultural fantasy of how weight is gained.

      I would say it’s awesome that you’re aware of the problematics involved!

      Posted by startledoctopus | August 2, 2011, 15:20
      • Actually, writing about this has made me think that maybe feeling dirty about my kink is not justified. I mean, some dominance and submission narratives have been harmful to society, but I don’t think that people who think that BSDM is hot are responsible for that, and I don’t think that practicing risk aware consensual kink, in the context of BSDM, is at odds with a belief that all people have worth or a practice of fighting injustice. So maybe, just maybe the same could be true for me?

        I have a long way to go before I find a resting place on this, and I have no idea where that will be. I am already glad that I decided to talk about it and I thank you for making this happen.

        Posted by uglyinpink | August 2, 2011, 23:20
  5. Hi, I’m incandescent quill over at Shakesville and I’m realizing I have way too much to say about this topic than I can put in a comment, or a blog post, or a couple of blogposts, so I’m starting a blog of my own. (I intend to cross-post this there, also.)

    I have not had much interaction with the scene, and I’m also in the US and fairly young, so I haven’t had many partners and I don’t consider myself terribly experienced. I rather like the fact that “kink” is a non-specific term people may use or not use as they prefer. What a given community considers “depraved,” “extreme,” “kinky” or “unusual” sexual behavior is going to vary enormously by community: some folks will consider oral and anal sex to be atypical acts, others will consider handcuffs and light spanking/slapping to be vanilla and passe. Some of this intersects with the ways that queer sexual acts are still considered bizarre in some places, and the ways that women stepping out of their expected sexual roles is viewed critically (eg pegging).

    For me, a major part of making kinky fantasy and play acceptable in my own head was about consent and the difference between harm and hurt. I have been harmed by verbal abuse and threatening and controlling behavior from my parents, and processing that took quite a bit of work. I have been cheerfully slapped, hurt, pinched, spanked, mock-threatened, and punched by friends and play partners. The difference is similar to the difference between sex and rape: it is all about consent.

    I think “violent sex” and “sexual violence” are really extremely different entities, that our culture confuses them for broken, awful reasons, and that there is some simulated/limited conflict and roughness inherent in violent sex. Most humans seem to like some kinds of simulated conflict. To me, that includes sparring/wrestling, contact sports, spirited debate, and martial arts. The difference between all of these and harming people is consent, and the ability to safeword out/tap out of the conflict. For a lot of people, simulated non-consent /does/ make things more exciting: sparring without really trying to win the fight is less interesting than really going at it and giving it your all.

    Given that my sexual desires are rather violent and often involve power/dominance/aggression stuff, this took a while for me to really understand. I think it is helpful for people to realize that they are not alone, no matter what they desire. Also, reality is distinct from pornography and fantasy: which is an important thing for people who feel guilty about their fantasies to internalize. The amount and kinds of sex with acquaintances/strangers/movie stars that many people get off imagining are nigh-universally acknowledged as imaginary and often not things people even want to do.

    Oddly, since I’ve gotten more familiar with kink/BDSM and started experimenting in real life, I’ve had way more consensual or minimally coerced fantasies than violence/assault driven ones.

    Posted by Quill | August 3, 2011, 07:17
  6. For me, kink is an identity, and one I struggle tremendously to accept or even tolerate within myself. So all this talk about “useful criticism” is complicated — are you criticizing my innermost desires, or how they manifest involuntarily in my everyday life? Are you critiquing something I know as an indivisible part of myself? That is not “useful” to me, as a feminist or as a marginalized person, because I carry so much shame. I recognize my kink as a product of my marginalization, yes, but it was formed as a subconscious way to resist that marginalization; the only marginalization I receive on its behalf is a result of society’s vilification (or, indeed, “useful criticism”) of people like me.

    By all means, critique spaces in which kink happens. I don’t think any space should be viewed uncritically — idealization leads to stagnation and the permission of abuse. But there is a huge difference between looking askance at a community space or the ethics of an action and looking askance at the involuntary, deep-seated desires that spawned both those things. The former is often imperative; the latter denies kinky people their personhood.

    I think, too, that there is a tendency to transfer one’s discomfort with kink into hypercriticism of kinky space (this also works in the reverse: kink-positivity is hardly infallible), and I understand the impulse but find it deeply flawed. Kinky people aren’t kinky because they are unethical, so kinky spaces are no more likely to be abusive or absent of ethics than any other space that is highly politically charged. Here in this comment thread we are engaging in “good faith,” which does not preclude the possibility of harm. So why do we (as feminists or as citizens of a kink-negative world) have to assume that people endeavoring to satisfy each other’s atypical desires by creating a community in which those desires are safe to speak aloud are doing anything less?

    Posted by mere | August 3, 2011, 19:59
    • I think the second and third paragraphs of my post address your concern, but to be even clearer: I think it is appropriate to critique kink communities and organizations, and never appropriate to critique the risk-aware and consensual practices of people.

      Posted by startledoctopus | August 3, 2011, 22:06
      • It has to be a matter of not just the practices, but also the impulses toward them. Personally, I don’t practice my kink in real life: I live in a small community and don’t know anyone compatible, much less interested, and I have been made to cry in the supermarket because I couldn’t purchase related items out of shame. But I still deserve validation as a person who is kinky, and when you critique “kink and the communities who practice it” you critique my desires too.

        As a person who meets the diagnostic criteria for paraphilia, and as a person whose specific kink seems to be shared almost exclusively by survivors (which I am not, of any specific trauma event I can recall) . . . I guess I am just really sensitive to the message that my proclivities are WRONG; that they HURT FEMINISM and disability activism (as a disabled activist); that they ought, somehow, to be fixed. There is a very big distance between tolerating someone’s sexuality and accepting it and the things it represents, and even in most “sex-positive” feminist spaces I find myself trapped in that gulf.

        Posted by mere | August 3, 2011, 23:33
    • I have a lot of respect and sympathy for your comment, as do most people in kink, I think. Many people go through a period of not being sure how to navigate their desires, and/or being actively uncomfortable with what they want. I definitely think that there are some feminist communities that ask people with less-normative sexualities to examine and explain their desires for gross reasons.

      I’m a fan of “examine your desires” in general, because so much of what we want is edited by advertising and the people around us. I decry the tradition of accepting heterosexual cisgendered folks’ more socially expected desires, including things like amount of kinkiness and desire to raise children. The people whose desires aren’t privileged as ordinary probably do more thinking about what they want and more worrying about if that means they’re awful people without feminist and similar communities reifying that stress.

      When I talk about criticizing communities and organizations, I’m talking about stuff like attacking FetLife and criticizing sexism and ickiness from companies that make kinky content. I don’t think it is acceptable to criticize people for having fetishes or for acting on them in non-harmful ways. (Consensual aggression/slapping/pinching/etc., in this case, are not considered “harm.”)

      On the flip side of your comment are people who, because they’ve been attacked and marginalized by radical feminists and members of the social justice communities, are deeply reluctant to admit that their organization is not all rainbows and fairies. “If we talk about abuse in BDSM we’ll make kinksters everywhere look bad oh noes!” has been used as a silencing tactic against victims. I know most kinky people, especially ones coming here from Shakesville and places like that, have not said that kind of thing and do not think that way.

      I have a post coming on meeting diagnostic criteria, as it is something I think needs discussing in more depth.

      Posted by Quill | August 4, 2011, 05:44
  7. Thanks for hosting this, startledoctopus. I plan to write more but I just wanted to let you know I am reading and thinking.

    Posted by Ethyl | August 3, 2011, 23:05
  8. I think it’s safe to say my desires are FUCKING EXAMINED — I do have multiple scholarly papers planned, anyway! (I’m not angry, but emphatic. Sometimes those look the same in print?) But this is the case because I have intellectual/academic privilege, and examination is what makes sense to me. I know there are many people in situations otherwise similar to mine who can’t say the same, for a variety of reasons, so I think that positioning critique as a REQUIREMENT for engagement in kink (or anything else) gets really ableist really fast. Not that that’s necessarily what you’re advocating, but I have an adviser who did.

    I absolutely hear you about heteronormativity. As a queer person whose kink fits heteronormative scripts in a lot of ways, I am often RIDICULOUSLY conflicted. Add to that the fact that I am questioning my gender conformity as a function of my kink, and also that as my body becomes less recognizable as my “kinkself” (and I fear the time when it won’t be recognizable at all) I am experiencing body dysphoria for the first time in my life, and, well, gosh. It’s really fucking complicated over here.

    But it’s simply not functional for me to critique my materialist desires. Deconstruct? Interpret? Contextualize? Of course. But I spent enough years without the tools to think anything other than that I was an awful person, and absent the space to tell ANYONE about it, that I just can not voluntarily indulge in something to which the path of self-hatred is so easily linked. Even if I won the goshdarn feminist medal.

    (Oh, and hi, I’m a mostly-lurker at Shakesville. I am, shall we say, invested in this progressivism thing.)

    Posted by mere | August 4, 2011, 10:38
    • Mere, I think you’re misinterpreting the call for critique. Of course examining your desires is a good thing to do – to understand yourself. But no one is asking you to critique yourself! The critique is for communities and organizations – of the ways they marginalize certain people (for example, the queer, the disabled, sub men and dom women, etc), of the ways kink communities are unfriendly to certain sexualities, genders, and kinks. The point about critiquing these communities is not to exclude anyone, but to have them be more inclusive by not marginalizing or erasing anyone themselves.

      Posted by startledoctopus | August 4, 2011, 12:36
  9. Hi, this is viajera from over at Shakesville. I read this several days ago and have been pondering what to say, and I’m still kind of pondering, but thought I’d write up something.

    I’ve been knowingly into BDSM for a good decade now, having first discovered and starting to explore my interest in D/s back in about 2000-01. My first D/s experiences were disappointments – my first dom was fat-shamey, and my second – a long-term partner who was emotionally and, occasionally, physically abusive* – was kink-shamey at first, then changed his mind. But submitting within an already-abusive relationship was too much of a mindfuck for me, so I called it off again.

    After finally leaving this relationship, I decided to stop being ashamed about my interest and went out actively in search of a Dom, posting on Craigslist and Fetlife. This is when I discovered there are a LOT of creepy, ultra-patriarchal men posing as Doms at these sites, and even the so-called “feminist” boards at Fetlife seem to adhere to gender roles that were outdated back in the ’30s. I agree that there absolutely is both reason and need to criticize sites like Fetlife, and that this can be done without criticizing kink itself, particularly individual manifestations of it.

    Interestingly, my current Dom and partner – who I met through that Craigslist ad – is the most feminist man I have ever known. We both agree that it is only our deep-set belief that we are equal – both during and outside of playtime – that allows us to have the amazing relationship, and amazing playtimes, that we have. This relationship has proved to me that, far from being anti-feminist, kink and feminism actually go hand in hand. In fact, I believe I’ve become a “better” feminist since fully exploring my kink side, as it’s taught me to speak up for what I want and not be ashamed about it.

    * I have to wonder if my D/s interest wasn’t part of the reason – one of MANY reasons, I stayed as long as I did. Going back even further, I had a verbally abusive and controlling mother, which I suspect plays into my interests in being controlled and made to do things. I know it contributed to my staying in this relationship as long as I did.

    Posted by viajera | August 8, 2011, 00:56
  10. [TW: objectification, exploitation of power imbalance, I guess, though about as vague as it comes]

    Yeah, so — as a mostly-straight, mostly-toppish guy, many of the ideas that turn me on are just the sort to be considered ripe for critique by the sort of feminist who is looking to get some critique on… As it happens, years ago when I was a baby kinkster just making sense of all these new possibilities, I sorted them into broad, more-or-less independent categories along the lines of the overlapping abbreviations in “B/D/S/M”: beating (or more broadly, sensation play), restraint, psychological domination. I lumped “role play” into this last category and had no interest in it; the only narratives that appeared in my fantasies were literally “I am spanking/tying up someone who enjoys being spanked/tied up”. I was certainly not raised to think that women disproportionately enjoyed such things; my parents were (and remain) idealistic proto-hippies who kept us as untainted by gender essentialism as they possibly could. It was a bedrock principle of my social upbringing — so deeply embedded that I don’t remember it being stated, simply known — that people like different things, and the only way to know for sure what someone likes is to ask. Not necessarily any use resisting prejudice, of course — bigots want what they want just like anyone else — but it does have the advantage of never silencing anybody. The more social-context-dependent tastes and ideas that are now part of my palate — exploiting power relationships, verbal degradation, all the way up to enslavement and rape — were contributed by submissive female partners who found some appeal in them. I have not, generally, demanded that they analyze or justify that appeal; like I say, I was raised to believe that they’re entitled to like what they like. As an introvert, I’m obviously a big believer in introspection, and as with most other deep interests, I’m excited to meet someone who shares it; but no one owes me an explanation, either.

    I find that my experience of kinky sex is heavily conditioned by my view of its theatrical dimension. I’m not suggesting that fiction is immune from critique, of course — but on one level, the whole point of it is to confront the audience with a situation they may not encounter in reality, and invite them to react emotionally. We see a cartoon predator confounded by the unforeseen repercussions of his own plans, or by the superior cleverness of his prey, and we laugh. I am not in a line of work which will ever provide me with a secretary, much less one assigned to tend to my sexual desires — but give me a partner who finds that idea amusing or exciting, and we can have fun with it for a few hours. There are people who want to make it a “24/7” thing, and while I don’t want to marginalize them, I don’t expect to ever really “get it” either. For me, the background knowledge that playtime will be over soon enough is part of what makes it fun.

    Because, despite my ethical internal voices that don’t want to reduce women to objects, to possess and control them and use them according to my wishes, not theirs? I have other voices that do want exactly those things. Not all the time; if we did it all the time it wouldn’t be fun. Only now and then, and only knowing that my partner is enjoying it in her own way. (I guess this is why I’m not “really” a switch; if I were, I’d understand firsthand how both top and bottom enjoy a particular scene. As it is, I feel like all I can do is recognize that it’s very unlikely that top and bottom would enjoy a scene in the same way, and trust her to enjoy it her way. And — I hope it goes without saying — check in with her, and trust what she tells me.) And it strikes me here that the very familiarity of the word “objectify” may be hiding something interesting in plain sight; I think that what gives this transaction its erotic power (for me, anyway) isn’t the “object” part, where I, as the subject, gain power and status over the object; it’s the “objectifying” part, where someone who I know to have agency and original desires explicitly surrenders control to me for our mutual entertainment. If she really was just an object, that wouldn’t be exciting. It’s knowing that she chose to be an object, specifically so that I could do what I’m doing to her; and that when we’re done, we’ll be able to look back on it and savor the memory as equal partners, that makes it exciting.

    Oh, and Quill, your point about distinguishing between “violent sex” and “sexual violence” is beautifully concise and illustrative.

    Posted by dryfool | August 9, 2011, 19:34

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