shun straight men is menstruation backwards.

in other news, i'm writing my paper on eroticizing authority.

all i want to talk about in gender discussions recently is asexuality and anti-sexualism.

quite out of the blue: really struggling with sex positive solidarity with S&M advocacy. found myself in a sentence today that really described my confusion. it was something like: what if a black afrikan amerikkkan male created a platonic partnership with a white man, and through the consensual slave/master relationship - in which the slave was whipped and beaten and oppressed by inordinant amounts of unpaid labor (gosh, etc etc etc etc) - was the source of pride, empowerment, deep satisfaction, and trust for both men?

for me, this is a disturbing parallel to consider.
pamela is a wonderful friend and helped me process on this for several hours today.

i really should write a long description of my experiences at DAV prom. especially those that involved men trying to sit with me, or actually sitting with me, and how icky it felt to be leg against leg with a booze-breathed scumbag who believed that
1. since i borrowed his lighter i have imagined where this might be going...
2. since i told him "uh sure" he could sit down on this big chair with me, that ACTUALLY meant i was inviting him to touch my inner left thich - a reassurance that my scoots over were accomodating him nicely.
3. since i quickly got up saying 'you know what i'd really rather stand.' he should go into some awkward thing about how he just had surgery and needs to sit and we really could share...he just needs to sit.

the person with whom i was ORIGINALLY talking (until this asshole sat in my seat - not on any other very near and available seating) starts to dissolve this tension by only talking to the scumbag. this was beyond weird. here i am, just got fucking interupted, fondled, and out of my chair when these two men, both at chair level just start talking without looking at me.
i don't know what i was thinking...at all, in remaining in this situation. my thought at the time was: are you kidding?????????????????????????????????????
so my polite inner WASP took over and i stayed in conversation, i crouched down.
suddenly my whole world was very david lynch. crouching down means i'm actually below the fucker, his legs spread wide, his genitals level with my face. And his mood is reinvigorated. I think he even gave me a grin.
I'm fucking serious.
So that other guy makes friendly eye contact with me. What the fuck?
And as if i have no peripheral vison the scumbag looks me up and down. I've had breasts long enough to know when someone is looking at them, especially when they scan my entire body.
i start to feel sick, my face level with his cock. As this happens i begin to re-adjust my position. As I do this, still not looking at him, he swivels his stolen chair so that no matter where i moved his dick was swivelling right along with it.

After that I don't remember what happened. I wish i could say I threw a drink in his face/castrated him. Yeah I fucking said it I wish I became some womyn from a graphic novel that sat back down with this drunk-ish bastard, put my hand on his right thigh and then fucking castrated him with some trimming shears in my purse.

But that didn't happen.
I just did like i do and went back inside to dance with my friends. THE END.