Creative and fucked up sex acts for women

So over recent weeks, I’ve noticed that there is no shortage of names for creative and fucked up sex acts. And most of them are geared towards men.

And many of them are straight-up demeaning to women. But, if I’m being completely honest with myself, I’m okay with most of them because, come on, they’re funny af.

Still, the feminist in me has a serious problem with the fact that there are no real sex acts geared exclusively towards women.

What’s a poor girl to do?

Make some up!

So there should be some sort of encyclopedia of names for creative and fucked up sex acts for women. And, since I won’t have it said that I’ve never contributed anything of value to society, I’ll start it off.

So, the first sex act in the Encyclopedia of Fucked Up Sex Acts for Women, I give you:

The Bucking Bull

When a woman is fucking a man cowgirl style, she gets a disappointed look on her face and says, “Huh…. you’re a lot smaller than your brother.”

And then she hangs on as long as she can.

Of course, if the man doesn’t have a brother, she can always improvise. Instead of brother, she could say something like, “best friend/father/cousin/teenage son/work rival/etc.”  I mean, go nuts.

Extra points if she can stay on long enough to cum.  And 75 bonus points for holding her arm up the way professional bull riders do.

15-des-moines-joc3a3o-ricardo-vs-who-dat1

Like so.

What are you searching for? Part 2

So I figured it was time to update my list of favorite search terms that led people to my blog.  Because really, it’s entertaining as hell.

My husband wears a chastity cage how often should I let him come?  Um, never-ish?  Never-ish sounds good to me.

Guide to female led relationship 2016.  There’s a guide?  Where is this guide?  Why have I not read this guide?

My wife won’t give me the key to my chastity.  Oh you poor dear.

Benefits to a flr with male chastity.  Kind of a lot, actually.

Femdom limerick.  That’s new.  But I actually do have one of those.

Sissy really wants real big tits but is afraid of hormones.  Implants, dear.  Outpatient surgery.

BDSM Dominants vs narcissists.  Oooh, this is actually a really interesting topic.

Why put your man in chastity.  Why not?

Reasons to chastity your husband.  So effin’ many.  Seriously, so effin’ many.

Can wife make you cum in chastity?  Sure she can.  But why?

Turning me into their cocksucker.  Sounds like a fun weekend.

Should I let her put me in chastity.  YES.

Why a husband in a chastity device is better.  So many, many reasons.

Femdom polygraph.  Wait, what?  I can honestly say those are two words I didn’t think would ever be put in the same sentence.

How grave is the evil of female led relationships?  Super evil.  Like, with a cape.

Fuck pinktober.  I agree.

Are Femdom women man-haters?  No more so than any other kind of women.

I am attracted to submissive men.  You too?

Make him wear a chastity cage on my period.  Why limit it to just then?

Fermented ginger figging.  OOOOH!!!!  Sounder, this sounds like fun!!  Doesn’t this sound like fun?

Do women like pegging?  Hell yeah we do.

I think my husband’s cock cage is sexy.  Right?  Cock cages are seriously sexy.

Cum smoothie for wife.  Dude… Wtf?

If I put my husband in chastity will he listen to me?  I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening.  What was the question?

How many men wear chastity devices.  A lot.

Should I buy my husband a cock cage.  Hell yes, you absolutely should.

Sissy forced to take birth control pills.  Hey, I have one of those.

Best forced bi femdom on internet.  Oooh, when you find that, let me know.

A bitch in wife led marriage.  Hey, I’m one of those.

Beg for my tampon femdom.  Umm…. that’s different.  But hey, YKINMKBYKIJF.

Dom wife beats my sissy ass every day.  Lucky slut.

Evil Domina.  *evil grin*

Looking for amateur femdom to humiliate me online.  Is that like a pro, but doesn’t get paid?  Yeah, good luck with that, bro.

Jen yoga hotwife,  Dude, why do these searches keep bringing me to the blog?  I don’t think I’ve done yoga a day in my life.

Turn ons for a Dominatrix.  Submissive, slutty, eager, obedient little subbies who squirm pretty when I do mean things to them.  And a heartbeat.

Fun with a conservative.

I just find it funny that all you liberals who got your panties in a bunch over conservatives calling Obama names have no problem calling Trump names.  Can’t really take anything you say seriously when you reveal yourself to be a libtard hypocrite.  He’s still your President and he still deserves your respect.  If you don’t want to live your life by honoring this country’s Constitution, then don’t live here.  This country is better off without you gun-hating hippies anyway.

M’kay so this isn’t a political blog, but I couldn’t resist this one.  For, you know, obvious reasons.

Also, just as an aside, I find it hilarious that a) at least one conservative reads the blog, and b) of literally all. the. shit. on this blog a conservative could be upset about, it’s calling the president names that gets the angry “libtard snowflake” letter.

So, dear commenter, I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but did you know our Constitution has more than just the second amendment?

Like, twenty-six more?

I know!  It’s crazy, right?

And one of those amendments, specifically the first one, has a bit to say on exactly this subject.

Like, it says many things about exactly this.

Which you would probably know if you had a basic understanding of how internet search engines work.  Just sayin’…

Anyway, one of the things it says is that, if I want to call Hitler-But-Stupider names, I can.  As often as I want.  As loudly as I want.  Just like conservatives are allowed to call Obama names.  I don’t have a problem with it.

In this case, I’m not a hypocrite because a) I never complained about conservatives calling Obama names, and b) I’m not a liberal.

So I can call Jack-O-Lantern-Gone-Terribly-Wrong whatever names I want.  I can even go further than that if I wanted to.  I’m completely within my rights as an American.  And what’s more, I am honoring and upholding the US Constitution by doing it.

What I cannot do, and what no American can legally do, is to threaten him with violence, or to say anything that would knowingly incite violence against him.

And actually, you know that comment Trump made that all his cult members loved so much?  Oh, it was something about the Constitution, actually.  Man, what was it?  I can’t remember…

OH WAIT…

Now people have been debating what he meant ever since he said it.  I don’t want to get into it here, I don’t care.  Because a) when taking into account his past comments and general character, it’s fucking obvious, m’kay, b) for purposes of this discussion, it doesn’t actually matter that much what he meant, and c) what in the actual hell are “Second Amendment People?”

Just a quick tangent.  Because seriously, what are “Second Amendment People?”

Are there other kinds of Amendment People?  Are there 18th Amendment People?

What I especially love about his comment is that he calls gun-lovers “Second Amendment People,” and the way he says it really kinda implies that he isn’t one of them.  Could it be that your Messiah doesn’t actually support the second amendment?

Gasp!  The horror!

And you know the funny thing about all the psychos who harp on the second amendment (which is the right to own guns, for those who don’t live here)?  I mean, other than the fact that no democratic politician is ever going to abolish it, despite the crazy people screaming that they’ll “Take away our guns!”

And seriously, even if a politician wanted to try and abolish it, it would never work.  Because every Republican in the country would shoot it down, and, contrary to popular right-wing belief, the vast majority of Democrats would shoot it down, too.

Including me, m’kay.  As long as proper precautions are taken by a knowledgeable and responsible owner, I have literally zero problem with guns.  Right now, as I write this, I’m less than 10 yards away from… Oh gawd, I dunno… 8, I think?  But 2 of them are like, crazy old, and I think one of them can still be fired, but it’s not a great idea to test that theory, so I’m not sure if they count.

Oh and my daughter is currently sleeping within 20 feet of them.  And I’m totally fine with that.  Because facts, m’kay.

No one wants to take away your guns.  We just want to make it harder for criminals and terrorists and people with severe mental illnesses to get them.

I mean, right now, literally today, any psycho can go to a gun show, buy an automatic rifle, no questions asked, and then go shoot up a school.  Do you honestly not have a problem with that?

Because, uh, I have a problem with that.

And because I’m not an idiot, I know that outlawing guns, even if it were possible, would be a terrible idea.  Because literally the only people that law would affect are sane, responsible, law-abiding gun owners.  Because they’re the only ones that would turn in their guns.

So what does that leave?  It leaves criminals, terrorists, and people with severe mental illnesses.

The only effect that outlawing guns in this country would have is that only outlaws would have them.

I mean, really?  Is that what conservatives think we want?

Yeah, sure.  We already have like a ridiculous problem with mass shootings.  Like, there have been 121 mass shootings (defined by 4 or more people being shot in one incident) in this country so far.  As of yesterday (so that number is probably higher now).

Sure.  So let’s make it so that only criminals, terrorists, and mentally ill people will be able to get their hands on them.  That’ll totally fix it.  It’s a fantastic idea.

Yeah dude, we’re not that dumb.

Which you might realize if you weren’t so busy screaming about how anyone who isn’t a “Second Amendment Person” wants to take away your guns.

But back to my original point….

So when your beloved Fuhrer said that his supporters should use their second amendment rights with Clinton, he was literally breaking the law and VIOLATING THE UNITED STATES CONSTITUTION, on national television, because he was encouraging violence toward another individual.

So of course you wrote him an angry letter about upholding the Constitution or not living here, right?  All you “true patriots” did, right?

Oh wait, you didn’t.  You loved it.  No but it’s cool, he’s gonna drain the swamp.

Does anyone know the definition of a hypocrite?

I can’t say anything that would knowingly incite violence against him, or say anything directly to him that would knowingly provoke extreme distress.

So you know, if I walked up to him and told him his ass looks fat, and he curled up in the corner crying because he just can’t handle it when everyone doesn’t worship the ground he walks on, and he doesn’t know how to handle a strong woman who isn’t afraid or intimidated by him, then I would be exceeding the limits of my free speech.  Because I’d say it knowing that it would cause him severe emotional distress.

Because he’s a child.

And an idiot.

Interestingly enough, the sex stuff I talk about is less protected than me calling the president A-Fart-In-An-Elevator-But-With-Hair.  Because it appeals to the “prurient interest,” and potentially encourages others to have a “morbid interest in sex.”

Not even kinky sex.  Just regular sex.  Anything that encourages a lot of interest in sex is not protected by the right of free speech. But literally saying, “Trump should be disemboweled, gangraped, fed his own testicles, and then buried alive!” is protected.  Because even though it’s a threat, the Supreme Court ruled that “threats may not be punished if a reasonable person would understand them as obvious hyperbole.”

So I can talk about graphically murdering the president, as long as I don’t mean it (or as long as it’s funny, but only if the person you’re talking about is a public figure), but I can’t encourage an interest in traditional sex between consenting adults.

Because that’s a thing that makes sense to American lawmakers.

Now, I actually am protected in this case because my blog, taken as a whole, has literary and informative merit.  It’s not encouraging sex just for the sake of encouraging sex.

But I’m just saying that I’m like, basking in a sea of American rights by calling Cunty McTwat every name I can come up with.

And no, I don’t respect Trump.  Like, at all.

Could you tell?  What gave it away?

I do however, respect the position of President of the United States, which Daft Drumpf currently occupies.  And as someone who, despite our many, many, many flaws, is proud to be an American, I will protect and defend that position, even when it’s occupied by an orange penis capable of semi-intelligent speech.

Which means, if I were to find out about any threats to him, or anything like that, I would report it asap.  If I were ever unlucky enough to be in the same room as him, I would gladly protest his very existence.  Loudly and passionately.  Right up until someone were to try and attack him or otherwise physically harm him.

And then, because he is the president (and you have no idea how painful this is to write, by the way.  I intend to avoid ever being in the same room as him specifically to avoid the infinitesimally small possibility of this ever happening, because it would scar my soul for life), I would do whatever is in my power at the time to protect him.

Ugh, seriously, my jaw is hurting now from clenching it as I wrote that. Painful.

But I expect that of myself as an American.  And I expect it of any liberal or Trump protestor.  Just as I would’ve expected it of any conservative when Obama was in office.

Whether or not you’re a fan of the embarrassment to our country that the current president embodies, that’s your job.  That’s the terms and conditions, and your continued residency and citizenship implies agreement to all the terms and conditions.

Free speech is part of those terms and conditions.  And I’m gonna take full advantage of that right.

Don’t like it?  Don’t live here.

Health update, and yay, new pills!

So I saw the oncologist last week, and he ordered like a million blood tests.  One of the tests has already been analyzed and I saw the results.  And there’s good news and bad news.

The bad news is that the numbers make leukemia even more likely.  Like, unless I have some weird, rare, undocumented condition, that’s what it is.  But the good news is that the numbers point to the chronic types, not the acute types. Which is good, because the most common type of leukemia in adults is Acute Myeloid Leukemia.

Which is basically a death sentence.  My age and the fact that I’m otherwise healthy help my odds, but even when people respond well to chemo, reoccurence is more likely than not, and one doctor said that he sees an average of 3 or 4 years between when people are diagnosed and when they pass away.

So that was a a definite worry.  But that’s something you would’ve seen in a complete blood count.  My numbers are high, but they’re not that high.

It’s the difference between, “well that’s concerning,” and, “bitch, you dead.”

Both the chronic types are easier to treat, slower to spread, and have higher survivability.  I can absolutely deal with that.

But now I have to wait another 2 1/2 weeks for the next step.  And I don’t know which tests he ordered, or whether he’ll want to do more blood work, or if we can just skip to the bone marrow biopsy.

Which is what I would prefer, actually.  He said that, because the test is so brutal, he doesn’t like ordering it unless he absolutely has to, and all he had was my basic blood work results, so it’s understandable that he’d want the more detailed test results before going that route.

I’m just hoping he ordered them all, and got them all done at once.  I mean, I have literally never had anyone take that many vials of blood at one time before, so it’s likely he ordered them all, but I won’t know until the results are analyzed and posted.

It’s always the waiting that sucks the most.

But I do have some fun things to keep my mind off of it.  Like the new birth control pills I got for Sounder.

He hadn’t been taking them for awhile.  An interesting side effect we noticed is that he completely lost his ability to jerk off, or cum like a man at all.  The only way he can cum now is through prostate stimulation.

Like being fucked like a bitch.

Which I find amazingly awesome, by the way.

But I was curious to see if it was reversible.  So after his 2-month supply ran out, I wasn’t in a rush to get it refilled.  I wanted to see if Tammi Lynn would regain function.

But it’s been months and months, and nope, he still can’t cum like a man.  So at this point, I’m assuming it’s permanent, and there’s no reason not to put him back on the pills.

So I went to see my gynecologist for a prescription, and to ask for a brand with a higher dose of estrogen.

And that’s where I discovered a bit of a problem.

As it turns out, all the leukemia bullshit interferes with a doctor’s willingness to prescribe hormonal birth control (I knew I shouldn’t have told her, dammit.  I usually don’t tell doctors anything they don’t absolutely need to know.  I broke my own rule and shot myself in the foot).

And it’s not like I could tell her the pills weren’t for me.

So she wouldn’t prescribe it at all.

But

My internist, who is an incredible doctor and easily persuaded, wanted to see me that afternoon for afternoon follow-up from a recent ER visit (I’m fine. It was “stress.”  Because apparently no one told the ER doctor that female hysteria isn’t a thing anymore.  Turns out, it was actually another symptom of, you guessed it, leukemia).

So I convinced him to prescribe the same pills he’d given me before.  It’s a low dose of estrogen, but it’ll work.  And I’m likely going to have to get approval from my oncologist if I want to up the dose.

So the low dose is as good as it gets for now.  But I liked the effects it had on him before, so that’ll work perfectly until I can just flood his system with estrogen.

Because even though the effects so far have been relatively mild, they’re still there, long after he stopped taking the pills.  His tits are still softer, his hips are still rounder, his ass is still perkier.  Putting him back on the pills will likely cause some more awesome (and permanent) changes to his body.

Isn’t that exciting?

It’s pink!

So, as I may have alluded to previously, I recently got to do some amazingly fun, super awesome shopping for my darling sissy slut.

And I picked out the loveliest of lacy pink bedsets, and eagerly awaited the delivery.

The original plan was to not tell him when it got in, and go to his house while he was at work, set it all up on his bed, then leave so he’d never know I was there.  He’d come home, just like any other day, and walk into his room to see it there waiting for him.

He’d know it was coming, of course.  I mean, I’ve only been talking about it for weeks.  Of course he knew it was coming.

But he didn’t know when.  So it would be a fantastic mindfuck.  Not only would there be the shock of the bed itself, but also everything it represents.  It’s the first step in sissifying his entire house, I’ll have him gangbanged on it, when he sucks his friend’s cock, it’ll be on it, every night it’ll be the last thought he has, and every morning it’ll be the first.

That was the plan.  And it was a good plan.  I liked the plan.

However, there’s something about me that my subs know, but my readers likely don’t.

I am a total child when I’m excited about something.

In a good way, mind you.

“Giddy” is definitely an accurate descriptor.  And, for as much as I work to cultivate my super-intimidating-totally-terrifying-evil-bitch persona, “giggly” is just as accurate.  I have literally been known to squeal like a little girl at a Justin Bieber concert (is he still a thing?  Or is that reference obsolete?  Nevermind, I don’t care).

And this applies to every part of my life.  For example, I think there’s been once that I’ve managed to wait until the appropriate gift giving occasion to give something I was excited to give.  And I realized early I had to give Kazander the authority to keep me from giving the spawn her Christmas/birthday/whatever presents early.

Waiting for a particular date or something is easier, because there’s nothing I can do.  I’m excited to go to Cancun this fall, but it’s easy to wait because I can’t just up and go earlier.

Dates are easy.  Things are hard.  Secrets are hard.

Seriously, I’m like a kid on Christmas morning.  Total child.

And I’ve been beyond freaking excited about the bed.  I was checking the tracking info like every twenty minutes.

When it finally got in, I tore into it immediately, saw how unbelievably pretty it was in person, and my excitement went through the roof.

Christmas morning and Justin Bieber concert all rolled into one.

And I couldn’t wait.  I told Sounder right then that it had gotten in.

And man, it is pink.  My sister in law saw it as I put it in the washing machine and said, “What is that?  That is really, really pink.”

Which, naturally, I had to relay to Sounder.

I went to his house with the bedset in the original bag it came in (but I’d taken the picture and label off.  I didn’t want him seeing what it looked like).  Even though I couldn’t keep the surprise, I still wasn’t going to let him see it until it was all set up and beautiful.

I took it upstairs, told him to stay downstairs, and stripped his bed.  And began the thoroughly enjoyable process of transforming his bed from something any masculine man would feel comfortable sleeping in to something indescribably pink, frilly, lacy, and delightfully feminine.

And I’m usually not a perfectionist, but I certainly was that night.  I wanted every pillow perfectly placed, every piece of lace trim meticulously positioned, every detail just so.

So that when he walked in, and saw it for the first time, the image would be forever seared into his mind.

I think I achieved that goal.  Truly, it was spectacular.  I was beaming when I finally told him he could come up, and I watched him walk (much more slowly than he usually walks) into the bedroom.

He looked at it, sitting there in all its pink glory, then took a deep breath and said, “Yeah, that’s worse than I expected.”

I think I squealed out loud.  I know I definitely did in my head.

And he, being the sweet, obedient bitch that he is, picked out a new lingerie outfit to commemorate his new bed.  Something pink and frilly and equally humiliating to match the bed.

So he put it on, and goddamn, it was so fucking hot.  It was definitely the most feminine, delicate, girly thing I’ve seen him in.

And he picked it out all by himself.

Or, perhaps more accurately, herself.

It was time to christen the new sissy bed.  I put him on all fours in the center of the bed, his back arched and his boy pussy out and ready.  It was an incredible view.

I didn’t waste any time, and slid a big cock in him.  His soft moans were so cute as I fucked him.  And then he came with my cock in his ass and his face pressed down in the pink sheets.

It wasn’t my strapon, though.  I didn’t touch him at all as I fucked him.  The only sensations he felt were the the pink bedset under him, the soft lingerie against his skin, and the cock inside him.

And he came, hard and often, like a horny little slut.

Then, when his ass was raw and throbbing, I fingered him to a couple more, grinning as he squirmed and writhed on the bed.

It was every bit as hot and humiliating as I wanted it to be.  And now he has a gorgeous sissy bed.  And I can’t wait to take the next step in sissifying his entire house.

Sexism rambling

Dear Domina Jen,

I have a rather random question. At many restaurants and upscale venues, the waiter will generally defer to the man when serving a couple. He will hand the man the wine list, pour it for the man to taste it, he will automatically hand the bill to the man, etc. Does this bother you, and if so, how do you deal with it?  How do you deal with sexism in wait staff’s attitudes.

Um, sexism?  That’s a strong word.

No, it doesn’t bother me.  I honestly just don’t care.  If I want to place the wine order, all I have to do is tell the waiter I’ll do it.  If I’m going to pay the bill, all I have to do is tell the waiter to give it to me when he attempts to hand it to the man I’m with.

But honestly, stuff like that just doesn’t bother me.  I mean, traditionally, yes, waitstaff tends to defer to the man.  But the dude is just doing his job.  He doesn’t know by looking at us that I’m the one in charge.  And I don’t intend to tell him.

And for the record, people are always going to make their own assumptions about what they see.  A couple weeks ago, Kazander, Star, and I went out to dinner at a nice place.  After the hostess sat us, a busboy type man came and asked us if we were expecting anyone else, or if he could remove the extra place setting.  We said no, it was just the three of us.

The man looked to Kazander, grinned, and said, “Oh, lucky guy.”

I thought it was amusing as hell.  And I mean, maybe that’s what most people think when they see a man with two attractive women.  I don’t know.  Never paid attention.

And I didn’t bother to correct the man.  Because why?  What’s the point?

Should a comment like that have been made at a place like the one we were in?  Probably not, that strikes me as more of Denny’s type comment.  But again, who cares?

He’s hardly sexist for saying that.  Unprofessional, maybe.  But not sexist.

And a waiter deferring to the man is not sexist, either.  There are plenty of things in this country that are sexist.  A waiter doing what he’s trained to do is not one of those things.

Now, if I were to tell the waiter I’ll order the wine, and he were to ignore me and refuse to speak to me, and speak only to the man, that’s sexist.

I mean, I’ve literally never had that happen.

And I’m no stranger to sexism.  I even have types of sexism I prefer.  And interestingly enough, this came up just the other night when Kazander, Sounder and I had drinks together at a bar.

At one point, Kazander leaned over and showed me his phone, where he had written this paragraph about a guy standing behind Sounder, who kept staring at my rack.  Apparently he was being obnoxious about it, and when Kazander gave him an “evil eye” or whatever, he just scoffed and kept right on staring.

On the way home he told me he was about to have Sounder stand up and the two of them create a “wall” to “protect me” from the “offensive staring.”

And then tonight, we were talking about breast feeding in public, which turned to men staring at women’s boobs.  Which started what is now one of my favorite conversations ever.

Me: I can’t find fault with a man checking out a woman.  Mostly because I do the same damn thing to men.  And women.

K: Yeah, looking is absolutely fine.

Me:  Weeeeellllll……  It wasn’t fine the other day at the bar.  You had a serious problem with the guy at the bar.

K: That’s different.

Me: How is that different?

K: Because those are my boobs.

Me: I’m sorry, what did you just say?

K: I was kidding!  I was kidding!

(I actually love his sense of humor, but that didn’t stop me from giving him a few good spanks)

Me:  But seriously, why is it different?

K:  Because he saw you with two men.

Me:  He didn’t know I’m with either of you.

K:  But that’s just being an asshole if you’re staring at a woman who’s out with guys.  It’s safe to assume she’s with at least one of them.

Me:  So checking out a single woman is okay?

K: Wait, I didn’t mean it like that.

He did go on to explain the difference between an appreciative glance or two, and the kind of obnoxious staring the bar guy was doing.

I mean, I didn’t notice.  I noticed that Kazander was tense, but didn’t know why until he showed me his phone, telling me what the guy was doing.

When I read what he’d written, I just laughed and said, “You say that a) like it doesn’t happen all the time, and b) like I care.”

Let me explain something, ladies and gentlemen:

20170330_021147

Exhibit A through 38F

People staring is nothing new.  I literally don’t even register it anymore.  If some asshole wants to reduce me to nothing but my impressive rack, then fine, whatever.  I don’t care.

As long as he keeps his mouth shut and keeps his hands to himself, he’s completely invisible to me.

And with both Kazander and Sounder with me, if he had decided to not keep his mouth shut or keep his hands to himself, I have a sneaking suspicion he would’ve quickly come to regret that decision, and would’ve found himself seriously pondering the series of life choices that brought him to that particular moment.

Is that guy a sexist asshole?  Eh… maybe.

I mean, it wouldn’t be sexist for Kazander or Sounder or Star or Steel or Southern to admire my tits (and as an aside, I just noticed that all the nicknames for my subs, excluding Kazander, start with S.  Weird).

Apparently he was a jerk about it, so maybe he was a sexist asshole.

But between that guy and Kazander, wanna know who I was more annoyed with?

Well, not annoyed.  That’s too strong a word.  The one I rolled my eyes at was Kazander.

Because I’m not a child.  I mean, there may be times when I legitimately need a knight in shining armor to come save me.  Literally everyone does at some point in their lives.

Protecting me from some lonely drunk douchebag, that I literally didn’t even notice, is not something I need.  I can hold my own.  I can deal with it myself.  I don’t need to be shielded from the bad man.

And we actually spoke about this a bit that night at the bar.  I brought up that one of the areas I was interested in when I wanted to join the military as a teenager was the infantry.  And I was immediately informed that women are not allowed to join the infantry.

I was given two reasons.  And one, I don’t agree with necessarily, but I can understand.  And that’s the fact that, if an average-sized man was injured, an average-sized woman may struggle to carry him to safety.

I was throwing around 100-lb bales of hay when I was 14 years old, so I called bullshit on that, but I’m also taller and broader and stronger than the average woman.  I get it.  It is a legitimate thing.  I mean, it could easily be solved by height/weight minimums and rigorous physical testing, but whatever.  I get it.

The second reason pissed me the fuck off, and I was so disgusted with the recruiter’s attitude, it turned me off to that entire branch of the military.

So here’s what he said, in a nutshell:

Imagine that you and a man were captured by the enemy.  Your captors threaten to hurt you, or maybe they do more than just threaten.  The man will feel compelled to protect you, because you’re a woman, and will more readily give up information.

Yeah sorry, that sounds like a you problem, not a me problem.  If you’re incapable of seeing me as your equal, and must therefore protect me at all costs, that’s your problem.

If you can’t handle seeing a woman being hurt, and would choose me over an entire country, just to make yourself feel better, that’s your issue.

And that’s all it is.  I mean, don’t get me wrong.  I’m a fan of chivalry.  I love being treated like a lady.  I love when the man I’m with is a gentleman.

But (and this is just speculation) a war zone or POW camp really isn’t the place for that shit.  And even if it was, being chivalrous is one thing.  Being unable to see me as an adult is something else entirely.

One of the first big arguments I had with the ex just before Kazander was because he freaked out when I got into a fight with our 6’5″-ish roommate, and he slammed me against the wall.

I was holding my own.  I could handle it.  I knew he wasn’t going to full-on punch me (and even if he had, that would not have been the first time I’d been punched in the face by a man.  Or the second.  Or the third.  When I was a martial arts instructor, I was expected to take all the same hits that my male coworkers were).

But my ex lost his shit, stuck his nose in where it wasn’t wanted  (which I made very clear to him), and further complicated a situation that, while volatile, I had control of.

Later, I berated my ex for it.  And the conversation went something like this (paraphrased, because this was a few years ago):

Him: You’re my Dominant.  You’re the woman I love.  It’s my job to protect you.

Me: Even when I tell you to stay out of it?

Him: I couldn’t let him hurt you.

Me:  He wasn’t going to hurt me.

Him:  I couldn’t take that chance.

Me: (Now pissed the fuck off) No, you don’t get to make that choice.  It’s not yours to make.  And you’re not going to take it from me.  I didn’t give up my free will when I collared you.  I told you I could handle it.  I told you to stay out of it.  You refused to respect my wishes.  You refused to respect my decision.

Him: Because I didn’t want to see you hurt!

Me:  Because you don’t see me as your equal.  You don’t respect me as your equal.  You see me as something fragile that must be protected.  Had your brother or your best friend told you to stay out of it, you would’ve listened.  I tell you to stay out of it, and you don’t.  Because you don’t think I’m capable of handling it on my own.

It’s the same with the infantry POW scenario.  It’s not my problem if a man can’t see me as his equal, and feels compelled to protect me from all the evil in the world.  It’s not my problem if he can’t handle seeing a delicate, fragile thing get hurt.  It’s not my problem if he decides to put me over the safety of everyone else in the unit or whatever.

That’s his weakness.  Not mine.  And if that’s the case, the recruiter was right.  In that scenario, one of us should not be allowed to join the infantry.  One of us should not be trusted with information that could affect the lives of many.  One of us is too weak to do what needs to be done.

Quick, guess which one that is.

That’s the kind of sexism I hate.  The sexism disguised as caring.  I can handle the obnoxious assholes who stare at my tits.  I can handle the loud and proud misogynists.

If I had to choose between being locked in a room with a vocal misogynist or a caring sexist, I’ll take the misogynist ten times out of ten.

And yeah, Kazander creating a wall to protect me from the bad man would’ve annoyed me.  Because he doesn’t get to decide when and how I am protected.  He doesn’t get to decide what situations I need to be shielded from.  His comfort is not more important than mine.  And his desires are not more important than mine.

Men have done that all throughout my life, and it never gets less annoying, and it never feels any less demeaning.  It feels as if my decisions, my choices, my ability to handle any given situation doesn’t matter.  He’s the big strong manly man, and he’s going to swoop in and make it better whether I want him to or not, because I’m just a girl, and I can’t handle it myself, and even if I say I can handle it, I must be wrong, because I’m just a girl, and I don’t understand the situation the way a man does.

Literally, guys.  That’s literally what that feels like.  Every single time.

You may think it’s harmless to want to protect the people you love, and yeah, it comes from a good place.  It’s sweet.  A guy feeling protective of me makes me feel loved.  And when it’s wanted, it’s greatly appreciated.

But when the people you feel protective of don’t want it, and you’re forcing it on them anyway, you’re very literally telling them that they are not as important as you are, their choices and desires do not carry as much weight as yours do, and you don’t respect them enough to respect their decision, or their request that you not protect them.

It’s demeaning.

Also, my body is mine.  Not Kazander’s.  Not Sounder’s.  Not Star’s.  You think I don’t know the reactions I get when I wear that top?  You think I’m not aware?

I’m fucking aware, m’kay.  Quite.  There’s a reason why I own that top, plus two of the exact same, but in solid black.

I know how I look when I go out dressed like that.  I know this and choose to dress like that because I’m okay with the reactions.  I’m okay with the staring.  I made the decision when I put that top on.  It was my decision.  Because it’s my body.  Not his.

If I were to ask the man to stop staring, and if he were to refuse, then I would be okay with the wall, and whatever else Kazander and/or Sounder felt appropriate.  But I didn’t.

For him to try and shield me, without stopping to get any input from me, shows that he feels entitlement of my body.  Only the people he approves of are allowed to gaze upon my greatness.  And only if he approves of the way they’re looking at me.  My thoughts and opinions on the matter are irrelevant.

Yeah, no.  I don’t work that way.  Which I explained tonight.  And Kazander understands now.  He didn’t realize what he was doing and quickly apologized, promising to be more mindful in the future.

So I mean, sexism exists in a lot of places.  There’s no shortage of it.  I just don’t see the need to create it in situations where it doesn’t exist.