Like so many other vaginas, as I grew up I was indoctrinated into a society in which there are acceptable gender roles. I can't speak for other generations, but I feel like the women of my generation are having a hard time figuring out such things. Grease didn't have much to say about segregation or the Red Scare, so we have a highly romanticized view of the 1950's: a nuclear family with a working father, a housewife mother and two or three Baby Boomer babies watching television and drinking Coca Cola. At the same time, we are also influenced by the model of the Empowered Woman: the female doctor, lawyer or CEO who buys her own $600 Prada pumps. Now, it seems like the ideal woman is one who maintains a successful career while still prioritizing the needs of her children and husband... but how does that really work?
The myriad of media messages and social mores out there just confuse matters. We have Paula Cole singing, "I will wash the dishes while you go have a beer," and intelligent eighteen-year-old women going for Psychology and Marine Biology degrees because they want to be homemakers. Then we have Destiny's Child singing, "Depend on no one else to give you what you want," and women who are offended when their men promise to take care of everything and tell them they won't have to work. Even children's entertainment sends mixed messages, with Snow White's "Someday My Prince Will Come" enduring the decades to stand beside Tiana's "I work real hard each and every day / Now things for sure are going my way."
Advertisements are designed to cater to preexisting concepts, but wind up perpetuating them. Television commercials appeal to women to make decisions about their household cleaning products and toilet paper, proving that they already do and showing girls that it will be up to them in the future. Other commercials try to appeal to both genders by showing that this toothpaste or that car insurance is "right" for both the husband and the wife, preserving the notion that important life decisions are made as a heterosexual, married couple. Degree programs advertise a young woman advancing her career as a dental hygenist, perfumes advertise a woman attracting a desirable man, SUVs advertise both the independent spirit of the individual and the safety of the family--because all of these things are "important."
I feel bad for my penis friends. It must be baffling for them. They are still expected to be breadwinners and providers, but they have to support their girlfriends'/wives' careers. They still have to be emotionally stable and strong, but they have to be sensitive. They have to be tough, dominant and decisive; but genteel, well-mannered and soft-spoken. They have to be disciplinarians, but nurturing fathers. They have to hold the doors open for us, warm up the cars for us, open the umbrellas for us and expect no gratitude because in doing so they are not treating us as equals. Gentlemen, good luck figuring out that mess.
But, I have always been disposed to treat men and women equally. That's one of the things that bisexuality means to me: the other person's gender does not matter. His or her personality, intelligence, kindness and sense of humor matter. How do gender roles really work? My answer is simply that individuals must figure out their roles for themselves, based on their interests and aptitudes, and while people in the same gender will often have similar roles, gender is more of a coincidence than a contributing factor.
2011-09-17
2011-09-06
I fantasize about almost everyone.
Elizabeth has responsibilities. She has to pay bills, and thus has to go to work all day long, where I get bored out of my mind. Sure, I keep in shape with kegels. I pass the time thinking about playing with Henry's penis, or remembering good times with former lovers, or wondering what my friends and coworkers would be like in bed. The truth is, I fantasize about almost everyone I meet.
In eighth grade, I had a huge crush on my English teacher, Miss De Luca. She was young, fresh from college and teaching while she worked on her masters. She always dressed nicely, in dresses or blouses and skirts, and she always took the time to style her brown curls. I liked her bright smile and her thin hourglass figure. I can't imagine how many lessons I missed out on, just thinking what she would look like naked.
High school was worse, and college even more so. If my professor was an attractive woman or a straight man within thirty years my age, I fantasized. If I was bored with the teacher, I thought about my classmates... an easy thing to do, in a private northeastern university where every girl wore miniskirts and every guy worked out. Sometimes, when I gathered my books together and stood up to leave the classroom, I'd realize I was wet.
In women, I've become far less attracted to "conventional beauty." Any bimbo can throw on a nice dress and a layer of makeup, though some obviously do it better than others. I like breasts--big or little doesn't matter, as long as they're well-formed and the nipples look nice. I also love the curves of waist to hips and ass to thigh. The only thing that can really ruin it is if she opens her mouth and babbles something stupid. Give me an hourglass figure or pear-shaped lady with something interesting to say, and I'm happy all night. Now that I'm with Henry's penis, though, I only get to play with another vagina if he doesn't mind watching, or--better yet!--if the three of us can play together.
In men, I've always been fond of the slope from broad shoulders, down the back to the waist, especially if it's punctuated by a nice, thrusty derriere. My head may be turned by a rock-hard, sculpted body, but honestly, I don't want to bed anyone too muscled. I'd rather feel a more human body on mine. The beauty of men is in the duality of soft and hard, gentleness and strength. The penis is fun to taste and touch in its various states, and serves as the epitome of this concept, but it is not all. An embrace, a kiss, a playful tickle-fight--each requires just enough strength to dominate me, and just enough softness to make me feel safe through it all.
Great, now I'm all worked up. Time to blow off a little stream... thank you, Redtube.
In eighth grade, I had a huge crush on my English teacher, Miss De Luca. She was young, fresh from college and teaching while she worked on her masters. She always dressed nicely, in dresses or blouses and skirts, and she always took the time to style her brown curls. I liked her bright smile and her thin hourglass figure. I can't imagine how many lessons I missed out on, just thinking what she would look like naked.
High school was worse, and college even more so. If my professor was an attractive woman or a straight man within thirty years my age, I fantasized. If I was bored with the teacher, I thought about my classmates... an easy thing to do, in a private northeastern university where every girl wore miniskirts and every guy worked out. Sometimes, when I gathered my books together and stood up to leave the classroom, I'd realize I was wet.
In women, I've become far less attracted to "conventional beauty." Any bimbo can throw on a nice dress and a layer of makeup, though some obviously do it better than others. I like breasts--big or little doesn't matter, as long as they're well-formed and the nipples look nice. I also love the curves of waist to hips and ass to thigh. The only thing that can really ruin it is if she opens her mouth and babbles something stupid. Give me an hourglass figure or pear-shaped lady with something interesting to say, and I'm happy all night. Now that I'm with Henry's penis, though, I only get to play with another vagina if he doesn't mind watching, or--better yet!--if the three of us can play together.
In men, I've always been fond of the slope from broad shoulders, down the back to the waist, especially if it's punctuated by a nice, thrusty derriere. My head may be turned by a rock-hard, sculpted body, but honestly, I don't want to bed anyone too muscled. I'd rather feel a more human body on mine. The beauty of men is in the duality of soft and hard, gentleness and strength. The penis is fun to taste and touch in its various states, and serves as the epitome of this concept, but it is not all. An embrace, a kiss, a playful tickle-fight--each requires just enough strength to dominate me, and just enough softness to make me feel safe through it all.
Great, now I'm all worked up. Time to blow off a little stream... thank you, Redtube.
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