Refuse Refuse

DORÉ, Gustave (1832-1883)

“Horrorshow” - (The) Scars (1979)

Completely unfamiliar with the work of The Scars, the obscure post-punk band that hailed from Edinburgh, Scotland, until some hours ago, I was mind blown after just listening to the opening moments of their 1979 stone classic debut, inspired by Anthony Burgess’ seminal novel about a psychopathic teenage gang leader named Alex De Large, which was adapted into “A Clockwork Orange” by Stanley Kubrick.

“…The Scars however, despite being a part of the Art crowd, always managed to be a little different … They were openly literate looking to poetry, smart authors like Ballard, Burroughs and Burgess and Hollywood Film Noir for inspiration … Musically they specialised in short guitar figures played over thunderous bass riffs – in the same vein as late Joy Division and Crisis but with real power…”

#oh my god #look at this #how it starts off with reds and oranges and purples #bright colors #and then it gets continuously darker towards the end #it’s so fitting to the story #and then there is that strip of white at the end #which has to be the king’s cross scene #and it’s just #light #in a dark time #which is extremely beautiful

My super simple and completely complex guide to getting it on with me:

Whether or not anyone can make me come starts in the very first moment I meet them. This is true for guys I’ve hooked up with and for everyone I’ve dated long term. Because for me, I can’t come - let’s be real, I can’t even really get wet - when I don’t trust a guy, when I don’t feel like they’re actually with me, when they aren’t someone who can laugh with me when the sound of a queef inevitably happens, or when we both get so tired and realize no one’s going to come and we just collapse into a sweaty, breathless, relieved, hug. That nebulous feeling of trust, that IT, is why I’ve come to loooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooove sex. That IT is how I learned to let myself orgasm, in whatever loud, messy, shaky way it manifests each time. And I’ve had it with new guys just the same as guys I’ve been with six months or a year or even in a rare, pure, bright spot, at the end of a broken relationship. I had it just last week with someone I’ve only known a few weeks, who I’m falling for, and maybe it will fall apart or fizzle out, but for now, he’s making me wet and he’s making me come because for the moment, we’re CONNECTED. (pun intended)

Like many of us, I was raised, however subliminally, to think sex was okay before marriage, but only reeeeally okay if you were in love; like eventually be married kinda love. Not real, equal, generous, healthy love, but societally appropriate love. So one day of course, I did find myself in a sexual relationship for the first time with someone I really did love, who really did love me. But his shame around sex was even deeper than mine. He mostly made me come with just two lazy fingers while he fell asleep and his jizz slowly trickled out of me onto the sheets. For years I felt like a dirty afterthought and a used up vessel, because I literally was. I came to believe that sex and orgasms maybe just weren’t really for me. Why did I put up with that? Why did I believe that? Why am I mentioning this bummer story in this guide to getting it on with me? Because I thought that’s all there was, and now that I don’t, I need you to be someone who understands that Sex isn’t a man thing. Or even a man v. woman thing. Sex is a human thing. To put it bluntly, I don’t bang dudes who aren’t feminists anymore.

Why not? Because I don’t know any women who haven’t gone through similar things, and that fucking sucks. I’m a teacher, and sometimes I look at the young girls I teach, whispering about crushes at recess and passing notes to boys, and I just hope by the time they really want a dick inside them, they’ve been taught to want it for themselves in a way no woman I know now knew before. We all had to go to therapy and read stacks and stacks of memoirs by wise women like Caitlin Moran or teach ourselves about women’s lib in the 60’s because they didn’t teach it in history class. And in sex-ed, teenage boys are taught that they will have wet dreams and that it’s okay. Where was that for us girls? I need you, potential sex partner, to see how this is bull shit.

Because I had no idea what it meant to be a sexually alive person, or that being a woman who liked, wanted, fantasized about, experimented with, and just fucking freely had sex when she wanted was indeed very OKAY, I slept with a short string of guys I despised for a while. I thought casual sex had to be with someone I didn’t want to be with. I really didn’t trust them, but did those dudes technically make me come? Yes. But only through oral. And I’m telling you this, future sex-friend, because it’s important for you to know. For some women I know it’s the only way (which is okay, of course!), but for me, oral doesn’t always count. Even the worst pussy-eating can make me come in just a few minutes if I haven’t already come in the last hour. It’s truly so easy to do to me a sandpaper-tongued cat could do it. GROSSED OUT? Good. I hope that means you’re getting it.

DISCLAIMER: I’m aware there is a certain kind of male out there who is such a true monster he doesn’t even do cunnilingus. I very much believe there can and should be no love without cunnilingus (unless you’re two dudes, then you’re off the hook.)

IN THE WORDS OF AMY POEHLER, “IF YOU DON’T EAT PUSSY, KEEP WALKING.”

So why doesn’t it always count? Because the difference between oral sex that’s part of sex together and oral sex that’s just oral sex to get the female orgasm out of the way, or oral sex that’s just about how many times a guy can make you come for his own weird pride is the difference between whether or not my vagina and my emotional being are both actually open enough to fit a dick in. The amount of times I’ve allowed my vagina to be rubbed raw after some oral that made me come too quickly before I was even totally wet is WAY TOO MANY. Can we use lube when necessary or just ‘cause we feel like it? Of course. But please, please, please don’t assume it’s the only option. The more we do this sex thing like it’s not just about getting off, the more likely I am to actually get off. #PARADOX #DEALWITHIT

Vaginas are truly as unique as every painting Georgia O'Keefe ever painted. If you’re not sure you’ve got a dick that can do the trick or just not sure how to take care of me, just communicate. The sexiest thing for me is talking about sex with someone I WANT; while it’s happening, before it’s happening, after it’s happened a million times. Because ultimately, that’s what it comes down to for me. Not your technique, but your attitude. Even in the small sampling of 10 dudes I’ve fucked in my lifetime, I’ve never been touched, licked, humped, kissed, slapped, bitten or held the same way. And I’m SO glad. If I wanted to have sex with people from the past, I’d still be with them. I just want it to be WITH the someone I’m WITH right now. Like in the moment, fully present, sharing an experience kind of WITH. That may not be it for everyone, but that’s it for me.

Should everyone do their best and care about the other person’s pleasure? Duh. Will I sometimes say, “faster/slower/a little to the left”? You better listen. Do I want to be with someone where we can talk about what we want, make requests, try specific new things, and fail at them together sometimes? YES, PLEASE. But I’ve been in the relationship where “perfect” sex is what he thought could heal broken trust, and it just can’t, and I’ll never let someone obsess over that with me again. Once the communication stops, my sex drive bottoms out completely and forced orgasms just make me sob. So please, just talk to me. Tell me how you feel and what you want. Ask me what I need. In and outside the bedroom.