‘hookups’

A New Voice with Strong Convictions

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Hey there, I’m Lauren Ross, a new blogger and intern for THE LINE Campaign!

I’m currently a senior Women’s and Gender Studies major at Muhlenberg College in Allentown, PA. I’m an advocate of free speech, and film as a tool for social change. I’m an outspoken queer, sex-positive fierce lady, feminist on a mission. I’ve interned at The National Council for Research on Women, worked in a female owned sex shop, researched and written on queer pornography, and worked as part of my campus’ V-Day Campaign.

So, where is my line? Making sure my beliefs aren’t compromised. Whether these be the ideals of feminism, queerness, consent, body acceptance or sex positivity, these all have to be upheld.

I’m excited to be working for The Line, and sharing my thoughts with you, and I look forward to an active dialogue with y’all.

Changing Minds

Photo by Charlotte at flickr.

Photo by Charlotte at flickr.

As a feminist and an activist, I deal with a lot of ignorant and hateful people. When I tell people that I am a Women’s Studies major, I either get an eye roll or a lecture on how it is a useless area of academics. Recently, Miranda posted a great piece that touched a few buttons of men in the comment section. They don’t think men can stop rape. It was typical: nasty “you little ladies do not know what’s what and I (a self considered highly intelligent superior male) have to educate you in the error of your ways” thing, and it got me thinking about people who oppose actions taken in the movement against sexual assault/abuse/rape of women. Opponents of preventive education, anti-rape education, and ending violence against women and the social tendency to blame survivors often focus on three main myths:

  1. That few women are victims of sexual assault/rape/abuse.
  2. That people who are survivors of sexual violence are ever, in any way, at fault or instigators of the violence.
  3. That rape cannot occur in a relationship or with someone with whom the victim has had sex with before.

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A Bill of Rights for Women This September

This summer, I gained a new perspective on relationships and women’s empowerment. There are two main reasons for the feminist thoughts in my head – a teacher and the internet.

In the beginning of summer, I was talking to a teacher about relationships and the term “whipped.” (I had told her stories about friends who had let their partners control their every move because they felt that they were “too in love to care.”) Being the amazing teacher she is, she said:

“You have the vagina in this relationship. A man needs you. Regardless if it is for sex, love, or procreation.”

As raunchy as it may be, it’s true: it takes two to have a successful relationship (or more, depending on your own style). There must always be a division of power in order to have a relationship, and when your partner begins controlling every move, it’s more of an imprisonment. When people respect each other, the foundation is set for a strong partnership.

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Attraction. Intimacy. Respect.

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Author’s Note: I held a mini film screening of THE LINE recently at a friend’s house. I chose people who were from different groups in high school and attend different colleges; the group ranged in age from 18 to 20. This sticker stood out to me that night. I asked the author to write about it. She wanted to remain anonymous.This is what she wrote.

I wanted a one-night stand. I wanted the one-time experience of meeting a cute guy, going home with him, and never seeing him again. He would just be a memory, an image of pure pleasure. There would be no interrupting images of our get-to-know-you dates or the fights we had when I revisited that night in my mind. It would just be his face and bliss.

But of course, things never seem to go as planned. It started off at a party on my college campus, a very small liberal arts college in California where six degrees of separation is an understatement. I saw him from across the room talking to a friend of mine. I had never seen him before, so I assumed he was just visiting. In my inebriated state, it only took a second to work up the courage to walk up and introduce myself. We danced and seemed to make a connection, and it was not long before we were in another room together. Once there, however, I no longer felt like going through with it. It didn’t feel right. I didn’t know him. He didn’t know me. I could care less about him so I was sure I was nothing more than an easy lay for him. I said no a few times, but he kept insisting and after a while, I got tired of resisting and just gave in. I figured it could be fun and maybe he would be good and actually worth remembering.

He wasn’t. It was the most awkward experience I have had, one that would not be easily forgotten since he did indeed attend my school. I had just never noticed him before, and it seemed as though I saw him everywhere after, serving as a constant reminder of that passionless night.

Attraction was all I was looking for; I thought it was all I needed. But even that can be confused in a drunken state. I need that physical spark that can be recognized when we are both sober, not the one that is conjured up by alcohol. But beyond that, I realized I also need intimacy and respect in order to find that passion I yearn for. I want to know the guy, know about him, what he likes and how he likes it and I want him to know me and care about me as well. Only then can we be truly intimate. And of course, I want his respect. When I say no and don’t feel right about something, he should not insist. I should not have to repeatedly refuse.

Talking About Consent Isn’t Awkward: It’s Sexy!

A common question I hear when I talk about consent is “how does one have completely consensual sex?” What the person asking is usually trying to say is that asking for a “yes” during sex kills the mood or makes it awkward; from my personal sex experience, this is not so.

Before I even start to do anything of a physical nature, my boyfriend and I ALWAYS ask each other if the other wants to have sex. Because sometimes you are simply not in the mood- and no matter what the reason, that’s okay. It does NOT mean that you do not love your partner, or that your relationship is bad, or that you do not enjoy sex. A number of factors contribute to sex, and you could be tired, not feeling well, stressed, pre-occupied, etc. Too many people think that once you are in a relationship it is acceptable to expect sex whenever: sorry, sex is not a perk of dating, and consent is still important no matter how involved with your partner you are.

That being said, the definition of consent is going to change from person to person. I do not need my boyfriend to seek consent from me before or during foreplay, but some people might be more comfortable if their sexual partners seek verbal consent for and during foreplay. The thruline isn’t about when consent is obtained or for what activity: the point is that consent is important, no matter what your comfort level. Before we have sex my boyfriend always checks to make sure I still want to, and I feel comfortable telling him when “no.” That is something that every single person who has sex should feel comfortable doing.

In my opinion, consent is sexy. There is no bigger turn on to me than knowing my boyfriend cares about me and respects me enough to make sure that I am 100% into whatever we are doing. So I have consensual sex, and I have it all the time. Asking someone, “hey, are you okay with this?” isn’t awkward: it’s sexy.

Looking for the Yes

My whole life as a woman, I was told how to avoid rape. The usual advice of not dressing “slutty”, not parking far away from buildings, not going out after dark, not going places alone. All of these “precautions” were a reaction to the stranger myth of rape and sexual assault- the theory that a woman will be attacked by a complete stranger. It never occurred to me that I could be assaulted by someone I knew: I went on dates with men and never thought to be afraid of them or their roommates, although they certainly also could have raped me as soon as any stranger. Thankfully, that didn’t happen, but certain lines were crossed.

I went on a few dates with a guy I will call “The Eternal Frat Boy” due to his love of drinking and partying- constantly. He was a nice guy, but somewhat of a “player.” Either way, The Eternal Frat Boy and I ended up in his room making out. One thing led to another and eventually he just grabbed my hand and stuck it down his pants. When I froze and didn’t do anything, he became upset. Eventually he just let it drop, but looking back on that scenario I have multiple thoughts on the situation, including the coercion ploy of his being upset, his lack of interest in obtaining consent, the lasting feeling of shame and embarassment that I felt afterward, and lastly: the fact that I am in no way alone in telling a story like this one.

When women assert themselves in not wanting to do something sexual, they are told that they are prudish, naive, and unsatisfactory. It is total crap. We have the right to say when we are uncomfortable, even if our Eternal Frat Boys weren’t expecting it.

Another scenario involves the “California Boy.” We went out a few times, ended up making out and at one point we started to get semi-naked. We were making out when I felt his fingers moving towards my vagina, and I quickly asked what he was doing. He shushed me and stuck his finger inside of me. Was it as traumatic as other forms of sexual assault or rape? No. Was it invasive, scary, semi-traumatic, and wrong? Yes. He never asked me if I wanted him. A common theme explored in “Yes means Yes!: Visions of Female Sexual Power and a World Without Rape,” the anthology edited by Jaclyn Friedman and Jessica Valenti, is the need to focus on exploring the “Yes” of sex and not the “No” of violation. There are too many people that think women who don’t say “yes” still want sex. This is not true.

Sadly enough, I did not really come to terms with what consent was until I began dating my current boyfriend. One night we began kissing and he stopped, looked at me, and said, “are you sure you want to do this?” I was honestly taken aback. Two seconds forever changed how I look at consent. This is how every sexual encounter of any kind should be for everyone: one or both partners looking for the “yes.”

Where I Feel SAFE.

Photo 101

The issue of consent, and our respective lines, came up fairly early in mine and my partner’s relationship. The morning after a night of heavy drinking, he asked if we had had sex that night. I replied that we hadn’t:  he was much too drunk, and I didn’t want to take advantage of him. He didn’t seem to find a problem with sex in such a state of inebriation, explaining that “having sex is something we would have done drunk or sober.”

My partner and I have very different views on what constitutes consent. For him, the green light is given at the beginning of the relationship, while I feel safer granting permission, be it verbally or nonverbally, each time, and staying in full control of my body and the situation. These kinds of boundaries must be reconciled and respected in order for any relationship to work.

I made it very clear at that point that if I am drunk- repeating conversations; blacked out; falling asleep in an alcohol-induced slumber- or otherwise too under the influence to make a conscious, responsible decision about whether or not I want to have sex, then I am to be left alone to pass out in peace. Even more unpleasant than a hangover is the feeling of being violated.

There is no gesture sexier, more attractive, more moving, or more conveying of respect, than waking up to find yourself still in last night’s clothes, curled into the same fetal position in which you fell asleep (with a blanket protectively draped over you), and turning over to see your partner fully clothed as well, surrounded by obvious signs of sexless evening. For me, that strict observance of my boundaries and respect for my line, my sense of safety, is more romantic than any traditional display of affection; consent is the modern woman’s jewelry and flowers and chocolates and white horses and chivalrous brouhaha.

How one defines safety in a sexual situation is difficult, as it is a concept that is subjective, often circular in its logic, and privy to changing at a moment’s notice. For me, however, safety is as simple as being with someone with whom saying “yes” is just as easy as saying “no.”

I’d Tell You: Just Ask!

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Hello, everyone! My name is Sarah Haack, and I am part of the new crop of bloggers here at Where Is Your Line?

Originally from Richmond, Virginia, I now attend American University in Washington, DC (along with the fabulous Carmen Rios, fellow Vagina Monologues cast member and she-ro) as an Environmental Studies major. I will be studying Linguistics and Scandinavian Studies at the University of Gothenburg in Sweden next year, but in the meantime, I am living in New York City, interning with the Girl Scouts of the USA, and learning the finer points of navigating bureaucracy, planning potlucks, and empowering women and girls.

I toured AU during the April of my senior year in high school, taking in the campus one last time before sending in my acceptance letter, and vividly remember the painted t-shirts strung throughout the student center in preparation for Take Back the Night, part of Sexual Assault Awareness Month. One statistic struck me in particular: that one in three women are sexually assaulted. Still in high school and rather naive, this number resonated as tragic, but hollow, sympathetic but not empathetic. Two years later, I found myself standing on the before those t-shirts as a survivor. It is selfish, I admit, to not really take up a cause until it affects oneself directly, but when I was puff-painting my own statistic on that white v-neck after a realization that took a full year, I finally understood the impact of today’s hookup culture and its implications, and how important it is to open the lines of communication not just about sexual assault, but about sex itself. The perceived “gray area” of sexual assault needs to be eliminated, and replaced with standards where a YES! is just as important as a no.
I was drawn to Where Is Your Line? by its sex-positive attitude and celebration of sexuality. Consent is more than knowing when to say no, but also knowing you can say yes; it’s feeling safe enough to enjoy sex that meets your standards, whether it be with a long-term partner or a total stranger, and being strong enough to draw a line that is either non-negotiable or ever-changing. The pervasive rape culture in which we find ourselves dictates that our demeanor, our alcohol consumption, and even our outfits, are all indicators of our willingness to be sexual- and can be interpreted as such without any discussion. And yes, my miniskirt and five-inch heels are an expression of my sexuality, but that does not (necessarily) mean I want to share that with you. Believe me, if I did, you’d know it. I’d tell you. Just ask.

My Line Is What Makes Me HAPPY.

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After the film screening of THE LINE at Barnard College, I was asked to fill out a sticker with my answer to the question “where is your line?” It was difficult for me to put into words what my line specifically was, because it is constantly changing. I thought, well I guess my line is this and that, but wait, what if I had a bad day, I wouldn’t want anyone near me! It is so hard to express what my line is in one sentence- my comfort levels can change with time, my environment, and sometimes even what I am wearing.

My decision to have sex made it difficult for me to express a line in high school. Back then, rumors about my sexual past made boys think that I would automatically have sex with them because I had already done certain things. But having sex was a decision that I made because I thought I was in love and I felt that I was ready to lose my virginity, not an invitation for dirty text messages or naked pictures. Those rumors made establishing my line a lot more difficult during high school. I didn’t like upsetting people: I wanted to make a guy happy by playing along with flirting, regardless of whether or not I felt comfortable.

Looking back at this, I thought of my answer: “My line is what makes me HAPPY at the end of the day.” Over time, I realized that the most important thing about any decision I make is my own happiness. I believe that any decision is justified as long as I can look in the mirror and still be proud of the person that I see standing before me. I have learned to be more comfortable speaking about my sex life and saying no to sex. My sexual life is supposed to make me happy, and regardless of what I choose to do, I want to be able to look in the mirror and know that I did it for my own happiness.

Is Sex Blogging Consensual?

500_Porque no hablamosIt’s an average Thursday night at American University. I’m the only fully straight (and fully sober) person in this room, I hear Lady Gaga blasting from a few rooms down, and I’m blogging about sex.

Blogging about sex, like sex itself, is dependent on interaction with other people. They both hinge almost entirely on open communication, and without the ability to communicate, you’re not gonna write a good post (or have a good sex life). My feelings about blogging about sex relate to my feelings of sex in general – the contradictions regarding consent and privacy, emotion and openness, that are inherent in communicating such personal things, possibly some of the most personal things, to other people. Sex is THE most socially constructed element of society, and we put a massive emphasis on its privacy, which is why we don’t see more people openly fucking in the streets.

Destroying rape culture and promoting openness and consent is a worthy fight that can be done on a grassroots level, by speaking out, telling personal stories and behaving with respect in all sexual interactions. As a straight feminist cisgender man, I want to be able to use my personal life to help the cause. I believe in open sexuality, nonmonogamy, and communication at all times – I don’t identify as queer, or polyamorous, or most sex labels, mostly because I don’t want to leech onto a label to define myself or my sexuality.

But how could I write on a blog, about consent of all things, personal details about MY sex life, which of course involve other people? That I’d share without their knowledge or consent? Or course I won’t use their names, but a hookup is (or should be) built on a foundation of trust and communication. Part of that is the assumption (and hope) that one party won’t share private details with everyone they know or go bragging to a vast amount of people – which is essentially what I would be doing by sharing it here. Outside of writing on a blog, in my real life, I want to be open with the people around me – especially the ones I’m sleeping with.

How can I talk about my sexual experiences and not cross the line?

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