Slut-Shamed for Being a Sex Blogger

Since launching my blog in February, I have been so delighted to tell people that I am a sex blogger. And as I watch my growing subscribers and social media followers I am excited that people actually enjoy reading about the things that I write. Even though I only just launched in February, this blog has been years in the making.

I originally started blogging about sex and relationship back in 2006. I was a newly single, sophomore at a college smack dab in the middle of a major city.  I’d recently broken up with my boyfriend of two-years and found myself back on the dating scene; loving every minute of it. I was young, free and running wild. Over the years, a lot has changed about me, but that is one thing that hasn’t. I’m still young, free and running wild and I know this will always be true.

Since then, I’ve written on several other “safe” blog topics: beauty, language learning, motherhood and marriage, but sex and dating is my OG.

I stopped blogging about sex after conceiving my daughter. I just figured I wouldn’t have much to blog about anymore. I certainly wasn’t planning on going on any dates any time soon and things were different. Being pregnant made things different as I explained here in Free My Postpartum Sexuality.

It has taken long, way too long for me to journey back to this place where I feel at peace to openly express myself sexually. The reason why it has taken so long to get back to this place is largely due to fear. As a small town run away, I was concerned about what people might think of me, what my grandmother might say, how it would make her feel, and how it might affect my employment. I was also very self-concious about my postpartum body. I certainly had a lot of growing to do. Although it has taken a long time, I realize I needed every bit of that time to grow into myself and rediscover my passion for intimacy and connection through sexual intercourse.

Even so, entering the arena of sex talk and topics, I knew what I’d be up against. It’s the twenty-first century and sex is still very much taboo. We write songs about it, make movies, watch videos, but we are only just now, in this precise moment beginning to have truth conversations about sex. The topic of sex makes even the most sexually liberated individuals squirm a little mostly because of our cultural conditioning.

We are the sex positive individuals but we still live in a sex negative society.

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And even though I know this, I was still a bit taken aback by my recent slut-shaming attack on a blog forum. I won’t name names or places but I joined an open forum where bloggers are welcomed to introduce themselves, share what they blog about along with a link. Cool, I jumped right in and introduced myself as a sex blogger and shared the link to my blog. **SEND**

Shortly after my post, I received this reply from Girl1,

Are you saying you are sexually active or sexually deprived? A lot of people who boast about themselves sexually on the internet are actually sexually deprived. I lose a tad bit respect for the attention whores (this one cut me deep). May I ask why sex is your main theme? I have to write an essay about prostitution for English. So any insight on sexual exploitation would be helpful.

My goal in life is to always take the high road. In the words of Michele Obama, “When they go low, we go high.” That doesn’t always work out for me though but I try. I responded,

Fortunately, I don’t do this for respect or attention. Your perception of who I am is merely a reflection of who you are. If there’s anything you’d like to learn about me, what I do, or why I do it, you are welcomed to visit the blog. I’m sure you’d find some insightful information to add to your paper. Sex is my main theme in the same way that teachers love to teach and doctors love to save lives. It is something I am passionate about.

Then another joins in on the “hoe-bashing” and asks,

Girl2: “Do your partners know that you’re writing a blog about them?”

Me: “Sure, the ones that are in my life currently. They’ve even suggested names they’d like to have used when I talk about them.”

Girl2: “I find that both shocking and maybe a little disturbing.”

She then goes on to explain that she’s not trying to be hostile but like Girl1, she doesn’t like when people talk about their sex lives on the internet. Then she starts asking me about what if scenarios that I honestly had no interest in responding to. I simply told her that it was my experience. I own it and I will write about it if I want to. As long as I’m not naming names, it will be fine.

Later, Girl1 returns to the conversation,

I’m not into BDSM and talking about sex in that way makes me uncomfortable. Unless you are married then that’s a different story. I am a mother. I don’t publicly broadcast about sex. My blog is about battling anxiety, depression, social pressures. That kinda thing. I’ve mentioned a couple of things like marriage, and Cosmo subscriptions. BDSM is a fairly popular topic probably due to the popularity of 50 Shades which I don’t plan  to read.

Here’s the thing that makes me uncomfortable regarding sex. It’s things like hook ups. Tinder. Grindr. If anyone here is blogging about hook ups, then I’m out. Been there. Why does everything have to be about sex?? And thank you for agreeing with me, Girl2. I have an issue with it because unless I go seeking sex advice, I’m not asking for it nor should I feel obligated to read someone’s blog about their sexcapades.

At this point, I was done being nice but I still wanted to remain on the high road. I also wanted to end the conversation. So I told her,

Girl, get your panties out your ass and remove the stick while you’re at it. No one is forcing you to read a blog about sex because is that even possible? Free speech is a thing and people can talk or blog about whatever they want. There are people who exist outside of your comfort zone and will continue to do so regardless of how you feel about it.

I am also bisexual and non-monogamous. I am a mother as well who has no interest in getting married [again]. The hetero-monogamous Christian narrative is not for everyone but you never stop to think about those of us who don’t appreciate having it shoved down our throats from birth. Imagine how uncomfortable that makes us but we are expected to just accept it, which is precisely why I started my blog.

At the end of the day it is simply about respect. You don’t have to agree with anything I do in order for me to get it done. That will happen regardless. Good day, lady.

I was surprised to discover she had been an admin of the group. Oh, wow! Needless to say, she is no longer an admin. One for open sexual expression; Zero for sex negative slut-shaming.

Yes, this slut-shaming incident is quite unfortunate. However, I was very proud of the way I stood of for myself and what I stand for. I felt the fear and I did it anyway. I was also very proud when a different admin stepped in to inform Girl1 and Girl2 that it was an open blog sharing forum and that any and all were welcomed to share the link to their blog. And that, indeed, no one was forcing her to read it.

Overall, I was very proud of the conclusion of this experience. I know it won’t always end this way. But this shows me that I am ready to stand by the thing I am most passionate about (Finally!). . .open sexual expression.

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A Touch of Self-Love

I’m curious, what is your relationship with masturbation? As I’d said in the Creating the Sexually Liberated Woman post, I have been masturbating a long time, however, my thoughts, approach, style, perspective, and even my technique has evolved over time.

Female masturbation is not talked about very often. I’ve heard great things about its many health benefits including a couple I’ve observed on my own: stress relief and sleep aid. Masturbation has spiritual benefits as well. In my personal experience, it fosters an intimate level of self-awareness, sexual confidence, and self-love: physically and psychologically. Friends who know me know I have no reservation about telling someone that I masturbate should they ask. Asking me when’s the last time I masturbated is no different than asking when’s the last time I drank water. They each occur at roughly the same frequency. . .roughly.

There is an art to masturbation. Something like an artist applying paint to a canvas, waiting for each layer to dry before applying a new coat or color, and then finally leaving Her signature. Yes, the evolution of masturbation is much like this. With each new revelation and the increase in frequency, I feel closer to creativity, closer to the Goddess.

Feelin’ Myself

Growing up I was taught that although inappropriate, it was normal for boys to touch themselves and masturbate as a means to release their sexual urges while going through puberty. I guess girls don’t have sexual urges. Any who, we’re certainly not allowed to release them.

As a girl, I was taught that a vagina is a smelly place, that my cycle was a disgusting punishment bestowed upon women by god and that I should never touch down there unless to clean, wash, or wipe. Funny, I do not recall being taught very much about other people touching. But since it was such a dirty and smelly place anyway, I wasn’t very comfortable allowing others to touch. If they “knew” what I “knew” why would they want to touch it anyway.

When I was a girl about eight years old, every night after my bath, I’d place the big mirror over the closed toilet lid, squat down over it like I was gonna go, only my legs were a bit more opened, and admire the way my vulva looked. It was mostly dark pink like someone had taken a drop of black paint and mixed it with pink. The color looked bright against my brown skin. On my inner labia major there was a dark mole. Surprised, I remember thinking, “Oh, moles can be down there, too!?”

I suppose it was surprising because the skin of my labia is not like the skin on my face, chest, or hand which are the other places I had moles. My labia minor were fleshy and slightly wavy (it’s more wavy, now); the color formed an ombre effect from pink to light brown as it extended to the outer edge of my labia. I had no good or bad thoughts; just pure fascination.

Usually, I would get dressed and place the mirror back behind the gas stove, but one day I forgot. My grandmother scolded “What took you so long in that bathroom? You know other people have to bathe. You got this mirror on this toilet like you been looking up your ass.” That likely could have been enough to shame me into never taking a peek at my vagina again.

The Peeping Tom

In third grade, while using the restroom a girl peeped inside my stall. When I walked out all the girls were quiet and staring at me. Eventually, I asked, “What?” And one girl told me that another had peeked into my stall and said I was nasty because I was playing with myself. Given the limited restroom time that we had, I doubt that I was actually playing with myself. Perhaps I was touching myself a bit longer than she felt appropriate. Either way, I can’t recall. I do remember that they seemed to be staring at me like I’d committed an offense punishable by death as they awaited my response. I simply replied that she was nasty for looking into my stall. They all agreed and that was the end of that.

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After I got my cycle, I didn’t look at my vulva for a very long time. I didn’t masturbate for a very long time either. Whenever I did, which was rarely, it was stealthy, over quickly, detached, and impersonal. I eventually learned that masturbation is absolutely inappropriate for girls however, boys were always “beating their meat”, having wet dreams, and after school porn watch parties with jacking off contests and this was completely normal. It was more acceptable for a guy to touch you than for you to touch yourself. No wonder men fetishize women masturbating.

Sophomore year in college, I began masturbating regularly, again. I had my own, private room. I didn’t have to worry about doing it sneakily in the bathroom or waiting until I thought everyone was asleep or concerning myself with who might pop in on me. And while I had really, really great sex during this period of my life, there is no intimacy quite like the intimacy of pleasuring one’s self. That release had been a long time coming; All puns intended.

Love Yourself, Touch Yourself

Now, masturbation is a sacred ritual and while I enjoy using toys, I mostly prefer to use my hands. I love the way I feel; the way I swell as I become aroused; the way my vulva becomes a frictionless surface, the way my body pulsates through my climax, and as I reach resolution. I am both comfortable and open with masturbation. I masturbate at least three times a week whether I’m having sex regularly or not.

Masturbation is my way of showing love and appreciation to myself. I use it to complete my stress cycles and release excess energy before bed. Night time puts me in nesting mode. When I’m preparing to masturbate, I like to lie with my back slightly arched, legs opened and relaxed. I explore the entire surface of my bare mons and vulva. With my fingers, I slowly slide two inside my vagina to smell and taste. I love the way I taste and smell. No one knows my body better than I do. I roll my hips in full circles as I climb higher and higher, pinching my nipple between my index and middle fingers as I squeeze my breast in one hand the other between my legs. My relationship with Desiree is a slight obsession. I love her so much. I like to express my love in others ways as well. Here’s a portrait of her I recently drew.

self portrait

Self-portrait “Desiree”

My favorite things to use during masturbation are coconut oil and my imagination; no penetration. I enjoy exclusive clitoral stimulation only. I have the sexiest imagination. Although, I don’t have access to another imagination to compare. All I know is once it works its magic, no lube necessary.

Occasionally, I like to have more elaborate masturbation rituals which involve Marsha Ambrious, Trey Songs, some sexy mirror dancing (this girl is talented with these hips), incense, and crystals. I’m such a romantic and there are few things I enjoy more than not waiting for someone else to romance me. Especially given the fact that I am more single than I’ve ever been yet I’m having my most accepting, self-intimacy sex life ever.

 

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