December 29th is a day of mourning for all American Indian tribes and should be a day of disgrace for the United States.
On December 29, 1890, the 7th Cavalry sought revenge for Custer’s loss at the Little Big Horn by attacking Chief Big Foot’s band with rapid-fire Hotchkiss guns and mounted soldiers thirsty for blood. The Army assassinated unarmed Lakota men and set out on horseback to chase down the women and children trying to run away in below-freezing temperatures.
It was so cold in fact, the bodies of Big Foot and his Lakota tribe were left on the ground where they died and had to be dug out from the snow by the U.S. soldiers, who then threw them into mass graves.
The massacre of the Cheyenne at Sand Creek in 1864 was a brutal display of evil wearing self-righteous’ clothing. Newspapers of the day described how the U.S. soldiers paraded through town wearing their spoils of war, including scalps of male warriors and fetuses they’d carved out of pregnant Cheyenne women’s uteruses, worn around the soldiers’ necks with pride as if each “trophy” were a fashionable scarf.
Thirty years before, the Eastern and Southern tribes had been made to walk the Trial of Tears, leaving the lush, tree-covered rolling hills of their ancient stomping grounds to walk more than a thousand miles to the alien, barren land of what is now Oklahoma. This was preceded by decades of Indian wars over land that the indigenous tribes could not fathom as being “owned.” The tribes with whom the U.S. was now at war had been the real reason America won its independence from the British to begin with. And even before the American Revolution, the Puritans’ massacres of the Pequot resulted in the murders of mostly women, children, and elderly by setting fire to their village.
American history is littered with murders and atrocities that earned U.S. soldiers Medals of Honor.
I’ve been to the Knee. It is a haunting, sacred place. But then, all of this land is sacred — rich and beautiful. Which is why the American government would do anything to steal every square inch of it.
Considering the hatred our governmental leaders have shown women in 2012, am I really surprised that American soldiers chased pregnant and elderly women for 2 miles along a frozen river, shooting them all for sport? Or that pregnant Cheyenne women were butchered? Or women and children burned alive? No. Militant oppressors always target women because women give birth to the next generation. We give birth to their future enemies.
What surprises me is that in 2012, ignorant baffoons like Rush Limbaugh can call a woman a slut, and we’re outraged, but he calls a scholar a “squaw” and no one blinks. (Hint: “Squaw” is a horrible, degrading term for an indigenous woman’s genitals. How degrading? Call a black person the “N” word. It’s about like that.) Right now, Chief Theresa Spence is on a hunger strike in an effort to help the indigenous people of Canada, and yes, women and children make up a good number of those for whom she’s fighting — starving herself — to get a meeting with Canada’s Prime Minister.
The #WarOnWomen is not new. Patriarchal politics and religions have always hated women and our inherent strength. I’m white, but I’m a woman and a mother. To be targeted because of a woman’s gender always hits too close to home. The insanity and irrationality of racism is mind-boggling to me. But remembering the past can help us come together and end this misogynist tyranny once and for all.
Remember the Knee. We are all connected. Be the change.
December 29, 2012 | Categories: #WarOnWomen, activism, bullying, connection, earth, government, misogyny, OpEd, politics, reproductive rights, Republicans, uterus, women's circles, women's rights, women's sexuality | 3 Comments »
About a month ago, I put out the call for submissions for uncircumcised men to send in photos of their uncut penis. Sure, I got lots of teasing on Twitter, but I was diligent in my self-prescribed duty to look through lots of penis photos to create the collages below.
The purpose of the collage is to normalize the uncut penis in an effort to end routine circumcision. Men who were circumcised as infants face a number of medical issues from pain in the penis to sexual dysfunction and loss of sensation, not to mention the women who often endure painful friction sex with cut men. These uncut men also suffer social ridicule for looking “different,” or “nasty” or “not normal,” when in fact, the intact penis IS what is normal — the circumcised penis is what is NOT normal.
Circumcision is a barbaric, unnecessary procedure of sexual assault on a child and a gross violation of that child’s basic human right to be left whole, particularly in America where routine circumcision is so prevalent. What’s worse is that adult circumcision has been touted as preventing transmission of AIDS and/or HIV, and that is not true. Circumcision is blatant sexual assault carrying a Bible and wrapped in a flag — to paraphrase Sinclair Lewis’ definition of fascism.
For the collage, the men who submitted pics took photos with their phone or laptop camera. (Maybe in the future, we can do a pro photo shoot — with me supervising! YUM.) There is even a photo of a restored foreskin! Can you tell which one? (Hint: the pic is in Photo #1.)
Below, you can see the wonderful variations in the penises’ shapes in the shaft, head, curvature, and coloration. You will also notice how the skin covers the glans/head differently on different men and in various states of arousal. I particularly love how the foreskin covers and even extends beyond the tip like it’s the wrapping on a present — a present for me to open… Just sayin’.
In photo #3 of the erect penises, you can see how the foreskin slides back, creating the ridged band on the anterior of the penis and the frenular delta (triangle of attached skin) on the underside of the penis head.
To join the anti-circumcision discussion, make a profile on the brand new ArousedWoman Forum. On Twitter, use the hastags, #i2, #nocirc, and #circumchat, and use #4skin for talking about foreskin restoration.
All photo collages are Copyright 2012 by ArousedWoman.com which is owned by Trish Causey. If you post these photos on your own blog or social media page, do not remove the copyright notice (which I have embedded on every penis) and please provide a link in the Reply box below so I can see.
And YES, I hope to do more collages, not only on the penis, but the testicles, and to celebrate the differences in women’s vulvas, clits, and breasts. As my mantra goes, “The human body is beautiful. Sex is beautiful. Orgasm is natural. Reject any dogma that shames what is beautiful and natural.”
To the guys who submitted photos – THANK YOU!!!
- Anatomy: Male Prostate – the Male G-Spot
- AskTrish: Stop Ejaculating and Have Multiple Orgasms Already!
- AskTrish: Man With Large Penis Worries About Causing Girlfriend Pain During Sex
- OpEd: Fucking Cherokee Men (and Other People of Color)
- DailyOJ 08-29-12: Stormy Weather, Labia-gasms, & Emotion
Click on an image to enlarge.
December 7, 2012 | Categories: activism, anatomy, body image, body mutilation, bullying, circumcision, clit, lingam, male orgasm, male perspective, NEWS, OpEd, patriarchal religion, penis, reclaiming sexuality, religious oppression, sacred sex, sex education, sexual abuse, sexuality, yang | 20 Comments »
Just when you think the GOP vagina hate-fest can’t get any more absurd or obscene, Mitt Romney went all out during the second presidential debate last night. Though he was trying to impress America with his affirmative action stance of hiring women just because they have birth canals, his wording again reveals the depths of his disdain not only for women, but Americans in general.
His comment about keeping “binders full of women” made me wonder… If Romney keeps vaginas in binders, does he also have Binders full of Gays, or Binders Full of Liberals, or Binders full of Atheists?
All I see is that the GOP, Right Wing Nut Job Republican faction can crawl into my Binder Full of Assholes.
From a mandatory ultrasound prior to an abortion to saying pregnancy starts 2 weeks prior to conception, the Republicans are systemically legislating our bodies via their religion, their politics, and complete lack of understanding of the female body and basic biology. They are insinuating their dogma into our vaginas and uteruses, stripping away our self-autonomy rights as individual human beings one misogynist law at a time.
Any woman who actually votes FOR these assholes clearly hates herself, her daughters, and all women.
Below are a few highlights from the 2012 election year — the year that brought us the War on Women, #WhereAreTheWomen, and #VAGINA as a trending word on Twitter:
- NEWS: Rep. Todd Akin Defines ‘Legitimate Rape’ for All of Us Pretend Rape Victims
- NEWS: Michigan Lawmaker Reprimanded for Saying “Vagina”
- NEWS: Republicans Still Waging War on Women – ‘Paycheck Fairness Act’ Dies
- NEWS: What If Men’s Reproductive Rights Got Snipped?
- NEWS: List of 31 Senators Who Voted Against the Violence Against Women Act (& the Coward Who Didn’t Vote at All)
- NEWS: The War on Women
- NEWS: No Women on House of Representatives’ Birth Control Panel
- NEWS: Susan G. Komen Finally Shows Its True Colors – And It’s NOT Pink!
October 17, 2012 | Categories: #WarOnWomen, #WhereAreTheWomen, 2012 elections, activism, bullying, government, male perspective, men, misogyny, NEWS, patriarchal religion, politics, religious oppression, reproductive rights, vagina, women's rights | 1 Comment »
1 – The events of this day were very powerful to me on an orgasmic and a human level. I needed time to process them.
So back at the drawing board here… my headspace has been so filled with the memory of my rape and reading readers comments, telling me about their rapes, that Friday seems blurry… like it was 18 years ago and the rape was last week… or yesterday…
But the events of Friday were important so I will detail them, though perhaps not as elegantly as usual.
Friday morning began with getting my daughter on the school bus, after which I caught the local bus to the grocery store. While shopping in the produce section, a small Twitter war began in which I was being ridiculed for being from Mississippi — as usual, and also as usual, made to be at fault for all of Mississippi’s past ill history. Of course, I stood up for my state — my point being that Mississippi has a flawed past as do most states in this country. (What? New York was a slave state?! Yes. Quelle surprise! ) The New England states just like to think they’re perfect. They’re not.
The perception of Mississippi will never change because the media and American culture like having someone at whom to point the accusatory finger, to blame for all the bad things in the U.S., which conveniently keeps them from looking in the mirror and fixing their own problems. The news never reports the good things that happen here — just the bad… unless that bad thing is Hurricane Katrina — that the media reported hit New Orleans — it didn’t. The northeastern eyewall went over my house in Gulfport, MS, while we were inside, and I’ve got the coordinates to prove it!
As you can see, a lifetime of Post Traumatic Stress came up with that one stupid Twitter altercation, that ironically was with friends, but I was the butt of all the jokes and the lone voice for what is good and nice about Mississippi. This hurt greatly that the ridicule came from friends because the incident triggered deeper hurts that I have held on to since childhood.
Being from Mississippi, I am not good enough. For anything.
In dealing with the Broadway world for my day job and my radio show, I always dreaded being offered press seats that I would have to turn down because I don’t live in New York. Invariably, they would ask me where I live (because how can a person cover Broadway and not be in New York?! (From working very, very, VERY hard!). I dreaded giving the answer, but always said with a smile on my face and a lilt in my voice: “On the beautiful Mississippi Gulf Coast.”
Silence. Shock on the other end… “Well, you don’t sound like you’re from Mississippi!”… “Oh, really? And how do Mississippians sound?” (Like TV and Hollywood stereotypes!)… “Well, um…”… Then I feel obligated to explain my mother was a literature professor and my father was a physics teacher turned physicist for the government, to somehow prove Mississippians aren’t stupid. In fact, when I bought my new smartphone last year, I got a Manhattan number so at least when I ring the press agents, it just saves time not having to explain my area code… except that after three years, they know me now.
Having to defend myself just as an intelligent, well-read, educated, erudite ActivistArtist(TM) on a daily basis just gets old. It’s exhausting. And I realized it’s something I’ve been doing since I was a kid. Trying to prove my worth as a human being regardless of one thing or another — the color of my skin, my freckles, my religious choices as a Pagan/Witch, being bisexual, having a child out of wedlock in a Red State, dealing with being molested as a kid, thinking I was doomed to Hell thanks to Catholic brainwashing, dealing with being raped as an adult and not reporting it for fear of public ridicule, losing my identity as a person and an artist thanks to my asshole marriage, regrouping with my musical work that was stalled because of the destruction of Hurricane Katrina, dealing with the bad economy, the BP Oil Spill, then becoming a single mom in an affluent artists’ hamlet. I’m just tired.
So Friday, after a week of horrendous back pain which began after I started back with KSMO, I got home, sat down at my desk, and had a really good, gut-wrenching cry. Not a pretty, dabbing-the-eyes cry. No, this was full-out, cathartic wailing.
The crying brought me to my source of the pain — the fear that I am not good enough to be loved by anyone. That if someone did love me, I have no idea why he would. The irony is that I know I’m kinda fabulous in many ways. I’ve got the bustline and the music fellowship grants to prove it. But deep down… deeeeeeeeeeep down, I still have issues…. being told I was ugly as a kid, being told I was fat, that I should kill myself, that I’m going to Hell — for numerous reasons, then actually being fat as an adult, losing my sense of self and place in this world, hearing my asshole ex-husband’s ridicule of my singing voice and my original music plus his hurtful words regarding my body if I got breast reduction surgery, complaining that I got too wet during sex, that I shouldn’t do anything during sex because he would get insecure.
At times, it just feels like I’ve spent 39 years of doing nothing right.
Within an hour of this little emotional breakdown, I noticed my back was loosening up. The pain, I then realized, was in a place in my back that I don’t normally get back pain. Usually, the knots are along my bra straps horizontally across my ribs and vertically in both shoulder blade areas. This pain was in the center, at the spine, directly behind my heart. I jokingly thought that maybe the crying had knocked something loose. Then I thought about that again. The excruciating pain I had had for a week was literally almost gone. The pain that was left was not the pain of clenched muscles contracting nerves (anymore), it was more like sore muscles, exhausted from clenching and spasming for the past week. I could move through those vertebrae again — and I had not been able to do that all week! The immobility through my back had prevented most kinds of orgasm — the stealth, Kundalini O’s make my back arch so there was no way to do that as I was accustomed… the few times I had stealth O’d, I literally tucked my pelvis so my back wouldn’t try to arch — not nearly as much fun. The nipple orgasms were completely nonexistent because the nipple’s nerves stem straight off the spinal cord in that exact area of my pain — the area of my physical heart and my esoteric/Tantric heart chakra.
Looking at the time, I figured I’d better get on with my session for the day. With the weekend coming up and the prospect of my period starting Monday-ish, I knew vaginal O’s would be another week away if I didn’t get this sh’O on the road… Now that my back could arch, I wanted orgasms!!!!
* Read Part 2 here! *
Aroused and unblocking,
August 21, 2012 | Categories: anatomy, awakening, body image, breasts, bullying, chakra, communication, connection, DailyOJ, emotion, mind noise, misogyny, nipples, posture, reclaiming sexuality, sexual abuse, stress, women's sexuality | Leave A Comment »
As a kid in Mississippi, the Native culture was all around. State law requires 5th graders to take a year of Mississippi history, and high school students have to take at least one semester of Mississippi history to get their high school diploma. I’ve been very fortunate to have several mentors who literally changed my life, and the irony that most of them were American Indian has not been lost on me.
When I entered Catholic schools in 4th grade, I discovered just how cruel the elitist class could be. Because of my fair skin, I was called “albino.” Because my hair was a weird strawberry-blonde color and my eyes were blue-green, I was called “mutant.” Add in my freckles and the gap in my front teeth, I was a treasure trove of reasons for the rich kids to ridicule me.
This was also around the time the movie E.T. came out. So playing on the mutant/alien theme, I would hear, “Hey, E.T., here’s a quarter, why don’t you phone home? ‘Cause we don’t want you here!” … or … “Hey, E.T. Guess you’re here ’cause your alien family didn’t want you either.”
When I hit puberty, I was suddenly taller than everyone, and I grew breasts and hips, making me wider than everyone else, too. The kids took my first name, Patricia, and renamed me “Fatty Patty.” I was not overweight, but reality did not matter. When we studied World War II and learned about the Japanese suicide bombers, the Kamikaze, the bullies at school then took my last name, Causey, and used it in taunts: “Hey, Kami-Causey, you’re so ugly, why don’t you go fly a plane and kill yourself?!” … or… “Hey, Kami-Causey, you’re so fat, why don’t you go fly a plane — oh, wait, you’re so fat, the plane wouldn’t get off the ground.”
The “in” look of the late 1970′s and early 1980′s, as portrayed by models like Cheryl Tiegs and Christie Brinkley, was the Midwestern tall, thin, tan stereotype. I certainly didn’t fit the bill. Except for my grandmother, I was the shortest female in my family. I was 5-foot-6. In my Scotch-Irish family, the women were Amazons and the men were tree trunks. I was short — for my family.
Somewhere in these formative years, I developed a liking for men who were tall, dark, and handsome… or at least tall and dark. Maybe it was a matter of “opposites attract,” or maybe I just had too many years of being made to feel worthless because of the way I looked. Maybe it was the cultural and media conditioning of Disney movies where the “Prince” is usually tall and dark. Or perhaps it is just a cruel fact of nature that blonde men are stupid… and arrogant… On a side note, I hope a blonde man will prove me wrong one day. Also, I prefer brunette women, but sex with a redhead would just be redundant.
I support colorblind casting in theatre. Everyone should be given a chance regardless of what they look like. And I’ve always felt that reverse discrimination is still discrimination. Isn’t discriminating for just as bad as discriminating against? And yet, growing up in the elitist world of private schools and the fine arts, having “discriminating tastes” was a sign of being well-bred and “cultured.” Looking back, I can see now why some people were shocked that my best friends in (Catholic) high school were a Jewish girl, a black guy, and a short, overweight girl who ate Wendy’s burgers to curb her sexual fetishes… and then there were all my gay theatre friends…
When I was 17, an American Indian ballet dancer pointed me in the direction of my Irish heritage. It was amazing to finally be connected with people who looked like me! And learning about the pre-Christian traditions of the Gaelic people was life-changing for me. But meeting him — this gorgeous, tall, gorgeous, dark, exotic, gorgeous, NDN male ballet dancer who exuded virile masculinity even though he wore tights on his gorgeous muscular legs and his gorgeous buns of steel… Sorry… I digress… Meeting him opened my eyes to men other than the WASPs and redneck assholes I’d met so far.
Participating in an international theatre competition in South Korea at age 21, I fell in love with the Korean people, and my eyes were opened to the beauty of Asian men. (Yes, I now watch “Hawaii Five-0″ for Daniel Dae Kim. I could totally fuck his cheekbones!) And yet, I have a fondness in my heart (and in my loins) for the Black Irish and Black Scots like Pierce Brosnan and Sean Connery, respectively. Years ago, I developed a fascination with India and all things Hindu, so those dudes are most definitely on my vagina’s radar. A sure sign of progress, television now offers a beautiful rainbow of men to ogle, thanks to diversity casting (albeit for still somewhat stereotypical roles). And truth be told, being a white chick from Mississippi, I just assume no black guy would want to be with me, so no, I haven’t bothered in that department (doesn’t mean I wouldn’t if I got the chance, though! Call me.).
However, the idea of purposely choosing a partner for the way he or she looks — or for his or her ethnicity — didn’t enter my awareness until a conversation I had while working with a ballet seamstress of Cherokee and Choctaw blood.
Studying ancient cultures and other peoples of the world, I found that most of the world has black hair and brown eyes, while reddish hair and blue-green eyes really are the results of mutant genes…. Oh, well…. The good news was that lusting after dark men isn’t really discriminating for that “look.” Choosing a man with dark coloring is actually just the law of averages at play. So then choosing a mate really comes down to penis size.
(Just kidding. Still reading?)
Joanne, the Cherokee/Choctaw master seamstress, and I worked on the costumes for an upcoming production of The Nutcracker. I think she was bedazzling a Sugar Plum Fairy costume — except she was doing it old school, hand-sewing each cabochon rhinestone and sequin by hand. Meanwhile, I was put in charge of working on the Mouse King’s giant chicken-wire and shag carpet-covered head. As a woman in her 60′s, working with the carpet materials was too much for her hands.
She would often reminisce about previous ballet competitions and the former great dancers. She would also talk about being from the reservation here in Mississippi and being poor. At this time in her life, Joanne was looking forward to marrying her second husband, and I noticed she would often talk about her first husband from many years prior, the father of her children, who were now grown. Knowing that she needed to vent, I let her. I loved her dearly as a friend and mentor. She was a prolific articulator of the words “fuck” and “asshole.” I loved her even more for it.
Working in complete silence, Joanne suddenly started the conversation that inspired this post…
“He was a mean asshole.”
I thought she was talking about the Artistic Director. “Fernando?!”
“No, my first husband… He was a mean asshole.”
“Why?” I asked.
“He was a full-blood Cherokee and cantankerous as all get out…. Yep. He was an asshole.”
Silence. Several minutes passed.
“When he would drink was when it was the worst,” she continued. “He’d start some stupid shit just to start an argument. And he seemed to forget I’m Cherokee and Choctaw. And an Indian woman doesn’t put up with an Indian man’s bullshit. Fuck that!”
In complete naivete, I inquired, “Joanne, why on earth would you stay with someone like that?”
She looked off into the distance, “He was only like that when he drank too much. But when he was sober, he could fuck like nobody’s business!”
“It’s true. He didn’t realize I let him have his drunk rampages ’cause I knew the fuckin’ we’d be doing when he was sober and sorry about it.” She looked me square in the eye. “If you ever get the chance to fuck a Cherokee man, do it! You won’t regret it! Best fuckers out there!”
“Joanne!” I exclaimed, still incredulous. “Isn’t that racist?! “
“It would be, if I were talking about his skin… But I’m talking about his dick. And Cherokee men can fuck like nobody’s business.”
So ……………… um …………………….. Any Cherokee men out there???
Aroused and heading for the stomping grounds,
- OpEd: Wounded Knee 1890 – U.S. Still Wages #WarOnWomen
- Anatomy: Female Ejaculation and Woman’s Ability to Conceive
- AskTrish: Stop Ejaculating and Have Multiple Orgasms Already
- OpEd: Want Me to Talk Dirty? Bite Me.
August 4, 2012 | Categories: awakening, body image, bullying, communication, emotion, journey, misogyny, OpEd, patriarchal religion, reclaiming sexuality, sexual energy, women's circles, women's sexuality | 9 Comments »
With the issue of anti-circumcision rearing its “head,” I thought I’d petition comments from readers who would like to discuss the topic of uncut sex — sex with men who are not circumcised.
What does it feel like? Is slow sex better? Is deep penetration or shallow better? What are the pros and cons, the experiences from the man’s perspective? From his partner’s?
Mainly, I want to create an opportunity for mothers- and fathers-to-be to get a glimpse of why they should allow their sons to be left intact. Circumcision is permanent body modification, and this choice belongs to the male whose body would be affected. His parents are the stewards for his basic human right to be left whole.
There are rules for participating in the discussion!
Commenters can be:
- Men who are UNcircumcised — I would especially love to hear from you guys!
- Women/men who have been with men who are UNcircumcised — Please share your stories!
- Circumcised men or their partners who have questions or comments regarding circumcision.
- Readers who are supportive of the anti-circumcision movement and even potential legislation to ban circumcision.
Comments should be:
- Respectful, NOT snarky toward men with circumcised penises — after all their right to choose what was done to their body was violated. It’s not THEIR fault they are cut.
- From readers who have specific questions or info about the UNcircumcised penis, including hygiene, personal feelings/experiences, bullying, sexual info during arousal, penetration, orgasm, and after sex; oral, hand play, and anal sex; any info regarding the foreskin, lubrication, erections, ejaculation, sensations, etc.
Keep the conversation clean and respectful. And yes, every comment has to be approved by me first, so don’t waste my time being pro-circ, rude, snarky, or a jerk (or jerkette).
Check back often to read what others write, or sign up for the RSS Comments feed (on the right-hand side –>).
Now, chat away!
May 26, 2012 | Categories: anatomy, body image, body mutilation, bullying, circumcision, ejaculation, erection, hands, libido, male orgasm, male perspective, men, orgasm, penetration, penis, politics, pro-choice, reclaiming sexuality, religious oppression, sexual health, sexuality | 13 Comments »
In a case of “how stupid can some religious fanatics be” (yes, that is a rhetorical question), a New Jersey woman has filed charges with the Equal Opportunity Employment Commission saying she was fired from a lingerie business because she was too “busty”.
I recently wrote two articles on just this sort of misogyny and cultural brainwashing: “Me, My Breasts, and I” and “American’s Love/Hate Relationship with Breasts, Part 1″. So if anyone thought I was making stuff up about how women are systematically abused and mistreated due to their cup size, here’s a “life imitating art imitating life” Kodak moment.
New Jersey resident Lauren Odes claims she was fired a few days after starting a desk job at Native Intimates, a 5th Avenue Manhattan lingerie distributor, because of her full-figure. At a press conference, Odes presented her three outfits with which her Orthodox Jewish employers took umbrage.Two of the outfits were on hangers, while she was wearing the third one (see image above).
At the press conference, Odes said this:
“When I first started working there, I asked what the dress code was, and I was just told to look around and see what everyone else was wearing. So I did. The dress was very casual athletic wear to business attire. When my supervisors suggested that I tape down my breasts, I asked ‘Are you kidding me?’ The supervisor said, ‘Just cover up a little more.’”
Odes was then made to wear a red robe that the manager personally put on her person. Odes took a picture of herself in the robe (see poster in picture above).
“She told me to sit at my desk and wear it all day. I felt completely humiliated. She put the bathrobe on me and tied the belt, and I returned to my desk wearing it.”
Odes was then told to go out and buy a sweater, but while shopping for something to suit her misogynist employer, Odes received a phone call informing her she was fired.
Not being stupid, Odes recorded the phone call, then got the best of the best on the case, renown feminist lawyer Gloria Allred, who stood beside Odes at the press conference Monday. Odes had this to say:
“I do not feel any employer has the right to impose their religious beliefs on me when I’m working in a business that is not a synagogue, but instead selling thongs with hearts placed in the female genital area and boy shorts for women saying ‘HOT’ in the buttocks’ area.”
Any thoughts on this sort of patriarchal religious and cultural harassment in the #WarOnWomen here in the 21st century? Or do you think the leftist media is making too much out of it? Any comments, peeps?
Copyright 2012 by Trish Causey.
For most of my life that was all I was good for. Having breasts. And thick hair. Breasts and hair. That was me in a nutshell. Nevermind that I was intelligent, talented in the performing and literary arts, a Girl Scout, an honor student, an activist, a nice person. None of that mattered. I had thick, red hair and large, lust-inducing breasts.
I woke up one morning at the age of 10, and POOF! There they were. Size C practically overnight. I went from being the wallflower nerd in 5th grade to getting weird looks from the boys who glanced at me from lowered eyelids but no longer talked to me.
At age 11, my ballet teacher measured me for my recital costume and announced (in front of my class much to my horror) that my measurements were 37-26-37. She then had the nerve to tell me if I gained an inch in my waist, I’d have perfect measurements. I’d just started my period and was about to get braces. Having perfect measurements was nowhere on my radar. And neither were boyfriends.
I was 13, working backstage at an international ballet competition, when a German photographer wanted to take “pictures” of me. At age 15, I had my first experience with being mauled by a guy — a fellow castmember of a show, who was my ride home after a rehearsal. With no other way to get home, I felt like I had to let him do what he wanted so he wouldn’t leave me there at the deserted library at 10 o’clock at night. (This was well before cell phones were commonplace). Luckily my leotard didn’t have snaps at the crotch.
While volunteering with a ballet company at age 18, the ballet master of a troupe visiting from Russia, cornered me in the Green Room after everyone had left. Before I knew what was happening, he’d maneuvered both of my arms behind me and held my wrists in one of his hands while the other went to my blouse, untucking it from my skirt. He grabbed my breasts and squeezed roughly. His knee was between my legs which were trapped in a pencil skirt. The more I fought, the stronger he became. My only recourse when he kissed me was to bite his tongue as hard as I could. He backed off immediately, blood pouring from his mouth. I tucked in my shirt and told him he was never to do that again. Even in this situation, my Southern upbringing would not allow me to be rude.
At 20, I traveled with a theatre company to South Korea for an international theatre competition. I was friendly with the troupe from Tblisi, in the Republic of Georgia. Just friends. Nothing happened. It was brought to my attention on the plane ride home that almost everyone in the competition — people from 16 countries — thought I’d fucked the entire acting company from Tblisi… and some of the Germans and a French guy.
At 21, working the ballet competition again, I was more fully aware of my seeming powers over men, and I was ready to be slightly more proactive. An Adonis of a male dancer from Cuba lusted after me, but his partner didn’t make it to Round 2, so I couldn’t take that opportunity to the next step. A ballet master from Spain wanted me. One night while making out with him, he, of course, went for my breasts first. The intensity of the situation was too much, and while he wiped off his fogged up glasses, I made an excuse about needing to do something and left.
I didn’t understand what the big fuss was about. When I was 9, my molestor used to admire the beginnings of my breasts, and she was greatly thrilled when they came in at age 10. This coupled with all the other events made me leery of sex. I was still a virgin at 21 until I was raped. The guy repeatedly ran his fingernails up and down my breasts, commenting that he’d dreamt of the day he’d get his hands on them. I knew him and we were in my bedroom, and at the time, the concept of date-rape was still new and not considered “real” rape. I bled for four days, but I still felt his nails on my skin.
I was so embarrassed that I was still a virgin at 21, I did not report the rape for fear the policemen would laugh at me. Or worse. It was too much to fathom sitting in a courtroom having to explain why I had never had sex, when everyone around me thought I was a slut.
For years, everyone thought I was a “loose girl” because I had large breasts. Everyone just assumed I was a “certain way” because my Irish anatomy was genetically predisposed to being full-figured. Finally, I’d been penetrated. At least now, I wouldn’t have to pretend a reaction when people smirked in my direction. The look of shame was real.
My breasts were never pin-up fabulous — not high or perky or uber firm — but they were large. At theatre orgies, when I was 22 to 24, my breasts were all the rage. And I was proud of them — but only because I knew they gave me power over men. One guy wanted time with them, so I laid back on the bed, purring, until he said — out loud where everyone heard, “They went to the sides.” I responded, “Yes, that’s what they do.” He replied, “Nevermind. They’re just sacks of skin.” I was humiliated. He was used to breasts that didn’t move, defied gravity, and were perfect(ly fake). As large as mine were, my breasts didn’t measure up.
Aged 25 and working as a leasing consultant at an apartment property, I’d forgotten the cardinal rule of being big-busted — never wear form-fitting sweaters. Sure enough, as I sat there, one of the paint contractors walks in — I’d never seen him before. He took one look at me, and exclaimed, “Damn, but don’t you put Dolly Parton to shame!”
Lovely. From a complete stranger, no less.
I hated my breasts, and I wanted them gone. I thoroughly researched breast reduction. I watched every nerd channel show on plastic surgery, scrutinizing the process and the results. I even worked for a plastic surgeon and felt I could practically do a breast redux consult and procedure myself by that point.
Frequently, I would have to ask my husband to massage my back to help release the knots. These massages were never spa- or romance-novel-worthy. They were painful. Horribly, hot, sharp, stabbing, searing pain, painful.
From the nape of my neck to my bottom ribs, from one shoulder across to the other, my back was one, huge knotted mass of contracted muscle and pinched nerves, for years. Constant back pain affected how I walked and how I slept — when I could sleep. Permanent red grooves still scar my shoulders from their weight.
External and environmental projections of cultural myths and stereotypes compelled self-loathing within me I never would have imagined possible. Having large breasts made my body acceptable for repeated sexual abuse, and society assumed I “wanted” it or “deserved” it just because of the way my body developed.
In 2004, I thought my marriage might work out after all. Things had looked up for a while, and I had surprised myself thinking that I might actually grow to love him again. I was in the kitchen, and remarked, quite off the cuff, that I’d decided to go ahead and have the breast reduction surgery. He shook his head, getting angry, and actually pouted.
After inquiring what was wrong, he said, “If you go through with it, I’ll never be able to make love to you again. I would take one look at those hideous purple scars and be too disgusted to be aroused.” That cut me to my soul. And it solidified for me that he’d never truly loved me. No man ever had or would. I was nothing but breasts and hair to men.
I’ve had a child, whom I breastfed. I purposely gained weight so my husband wouldn’t want me, which wrecked my thyroid. Hurricane Katrina in 2005 and the subsequent PTSD didn’t help. In 2010, I escaped my hellhole marriage and began a path of reclaiming my dreams and my identity.
Last fall, a friend suggested I try sensual massage as part of my orgasm awakening regimen. I thought it was hokey, but I tried it anyway. At the same time, I read Tantric Orgasm for Women, that included a breast meditation, which I also thought was hokey. But I tried it anyway.
The sensual self-massage put me in touch with my body in a gentle, caressing way that I’d not thought possible. I realized then that I’d never been touched gently. Ever. By anyone. Tingles rippled up and down my body. Energy zinged up my spine, across my scalp, and tickled my face.
The breast meditation involved gently holding my breasts from the outside while mentally entering my breasts from the inside. From my center. From my heart. This was the first time I experienced my breasts in relationship to my body and how they come from me. Since I was 9, the attention my breasts received has been from the external world passing judgment, men (and females) groping, clawing, and lusting after them, while society applied the scarlet letter of shame.
My breasts had been the victim, not my enemy. For the first time, I experienced my breasts as a part of me, and I cried uncontrollably. Holding my breasts, I wanted to apologize for ever hating them and sending the negativity to them.
I’m now a single mom, 43 pounds lighter, and infinitely happier. I’m a few months away from turning 40.
While laying in bed one night, I noticed a woman on my laptop’s screen. I thought, “Wow, those breasts look good.” I then realized the screen was dark due to the screen saver, and the breasts I saw were mine. I looked good laying down — with my breasts to the sides as real breasts are wont to do.
It was at that moment that I knew without a doubt that I will never have breast reduction. After years of wanting them gone, I cannot imagine having them cut now. Knowing that the surgeon will cut every nerve around the nipple-areola complex which is wired directly to the clitoris and remove a huge triangle of nerve-rich skin from the underside of the breast, simply hurts my heart — not to mention what it might do to my orgasms. After making peace with my breasts and experiencing such wonderful sensations and orgasms directly because of them, I can’t fathom not having them exactly as they are.
My breasts will never grace a magazine’s centerfold, and they’d never withstand the scrutiny of men accustomed to ogling implants and the perfect breasts of 20-somethings in skin mags or porn. I’ll never look good bra-less, and swimsuits will always be my arch-nemesis. I can live with that. And however society chooses to judge my old, not-perfect breasts is society’s waste of time and energy. I have other things to do than worry about what other people think — which I can’t control anyway.
My breasts will never be perfect. But they will always be mine. And I love my breasts.
May 17, 2012 | Categories: anatomy, awakening, body image, breasts, bullying, chakra, chi, connection, energy field, guided visualization, heart, male perspective, meditation, nipples, penetration, reclaiming sexuality, sensual massage, sexual energy | 28 Comments »
On another forum, I read a recent series of posts in a particular thread that once again compel me to want to pull my hair out!
A man had discovered his multiple orgasm potential and was sharing the experience with his new female partner. He wanted to try slow sex to avoid the rigorous thrusting that might lead to ejaculation, but she, according to him, just wanted a “hard fuck.” That’s all she ever wanted. She just likes the “hard fuck.”
So he obliged and, in his words, proceeded to “fuck the shit out of her” and alternately did “fuck the crap” out of her.
Equating vigorous sex with forceful defecation is not only immature, it is a bit misogynistic. To see the men on that forum then applaud the language was disappointing. I’m glad he’s having wonderful discoveries about his sexual potential, but verbalizing the experience could have been less crude. And guys wonder WHY women get annoyed with how men approach sex?!
The other points he made included pulling out afterward, that kissing afterward brought him more orgasms, and that he had been afraid to tell her about his multi-orgasmic potential because he didn’t want her to feel “threatened” or “scared” by it.
So allow me to let male readers in on a few things:
1. WOMEN LOVE SEX. Why this is news to men, I do NOT know. We like it slow and deep, and fast and hard (try alternating 4 slow/deep with 8 hard/fast, and repeat over and over)…
2. Women KNOW men can have multiple orgasms. We know men are jealous of women’s capability of MO’s even though most women have never orgasmed during sex. We know men are jealous because they pout like bratty kids not getting their way.
3. The hard fuck is but one delight on a buffet of possibilities. Maybe she “only” likes the hard fuck because she’s young and has only been exposed to porn and/or exposed to men who grew up watching porn so their only dynamic for having sex is the hard, emotionless fuck.
As women, we are trained directly and indirectly not to show emotion, that men hate emotion during sex and after sex. And heaven forbid a woman cry afterward or ask to be held — that sends the guy into a panic… or so young women are lead to believe. And men have certainly been misled by mainstream media and porn as to what is expected of a man during sex physically, vocally, and emotionally.
Let’s just say that some emotion during sex is a good thing. (Otherwise, you’re a zombie or a robot). Men should feel comfortable enough with the woman to show whatever emotion he is feeling at the moment, and the woman should feel likewise. If you’re both spending energy holding back and hiding emotion, that’s energy you could be forwarding to the orgasmic experience! But you’re so wrapped up in assuming what the other person wants you to be like that you’re blocking your sexual energy from its full potential. Drop the bullshit walls and pretense, and revel in being a human, physical, sexual being.
Also, if the woman has a post-orgasm cry (after pleasurable, consensual sex), then you have really hit the jackpot! Water is the element of emotion, and whether the water released is tears or female ejaculation fluid, strong emotional bonds are formed when the sex is good enough to cause her to cry or ejaculate. Hence, some women learn to prefer the emotionless hard fuck to avoid emotion and forming bonds. Don’t confuse this with the occasional overwhelming lust for hard and fast sex — that can feel amazing every now and then. But if a woman says she “only” wants that “every” time, she’s been trained to think like that, or she is trying to protect herself emotionally from getting hurt via forming an emotional bond through slow sex.
4. NEVER just pull out. A woman may not show it (because of the training of “don’t show emotion”), but a man pulling out quickly immediately after sex is like having your soul ripped out (which, by the way, can induce tears from the woman, but NOT the good kind!) There’s nothing wrong with staying inside for a while — if in doubt, ASK HER.
Roll over onto your sides so neither of you is supporting your body weight. Let the penis relax while it’s still inside, and talk, caress each other, and kiss (maybe bringing on more full-body orgasms?). Maybe you’ll be able to experience the incredible feeling of the penis getting hard again — a truly serpentine Kundalini experience!
5. Women love to talk (much to men’s chagrin), but that’s the great thing about communication. Women should be able to talk about what they want — not just do what they think the guy expects her to want or expects her to do. When YOU talk to her, you’re allowing her to feel free — to share what she thinks, feels, and wants. You both might learn you want the same things. Talking during sex is great, too, to reaffirm that the touch and position and overall experience is pleasurable. (Of course, as you get closer to each orgasm, complete sentences might not be entirely possible until you come back down.) Let your partner know what just worked to send you over the edge, and maybe he or she will be willing to do it again immediately!
Talking afterward is a great way to prolong the experience, re-live it, and share about what you both experienced: the various positions, how you each processed the sensations, etc…. You can discover so much about how the other person really felt, then file that information in your mental orgasm to-do folder.
Women (and men!) who don’t ask for what they want just confound me!! Too often, people are afraid to ask for what they want because they fear rejection or ridicule. Would you really want to be with someone who would subject you to ridicule? Better to accept the rejection and cross that person off your list of partners and be done with them. Then you’re open to find a partner who just might be the right combination you need and want.
Agree? Disagree? Feel free to leave a comment (but whisper sweet nothings to me first ).
Aroused and ready,
March 6, 2012 | Categories: activism, awakening, bullying, communication, ejaculation, hard sex, male perspective, men, multiple orgasms, OpEd, pulling out, sexual energy, sexuality, slow sex, yoni | 3 Comments »
After the disgusting male chauvinism displayed by the Republicans in the United States Congress recently, the Puritanical hammer hit home (again) this morning.
I received a recorded phone message from my daughter’s middle school, explaining that the new state law requiring sex education in our public schools is going into effect. Parents and educators are being asked to answer a survey to see what “kind” of sex-education program would be administered to the little darlings.
Trying to do my duty as a mother, I went to the website to take this “survey” and was shocked at what I saw. It was not a survey so much as an either-or choice that clearly shows you’re either a religious Southern Republican or a leftist heathen Democrat (living in the South). Our choices for the survey were: Abstinence-ONLY or
After lifting my jaw off the floor, I could only exclaim, “REALLY??!! Those are the options?! Either way, abstinence is still a major part of the curriculum?!”
I remember seeing a study since the Bush regime’s Abstinence-Only sex-education programs went into effect that showed teen pregnancies skyrocketed as has sexually transmitted diseases among teenagers. A friend of mine who is studying to be a nurse told me that in one of his STD courses, he learned that the group in which HIV is spreading the fastest is among teenage girls aged 13-18.
My daughter is 13. Oh, goddess, help me.
Thanks, Bush! Your legacy will live on via unwanted teen pregnancies that will either be aborted, put up for adoption, or force many teenage girls to go on Medicaid, WIC, and even Welfare, as well as a generation of teens who will spend the next 80 years of their lives with sexually transmitted diseases — assuming they live that long. Bush, you’ve done a bang-up job of perpetuating the Republican agenda — “no” to accurate information on sex and women’s rights, but “yes” to guns, corporate greed, war, and the death penalty. Considering Republicans hate the cost of social programs like Medicaid and Welfare, you’d think they would see the correlation between abstinence-only sex education and the rising numbers of people receiving tax-payer paid services and monthly government checks ON these social programs.
If bullying is the new evil, then why are our legislators bullying us and our children into the vacuum of religious and political brainwashing? I’m damn sure not drinking this Kool-aid!
Back to the survey I was taking, there was a third choice of “Other” with a little box to accommodate a comment. Of course, I chose that option. Here’s my response to
their ridiculous sex-ed program proposal:
“ABSTINENCE is NOT a realistic option. The human body is biologically ready for sex at the onset of puberty at age 11 or 12, and a hundred years ago, girls were married and having kids at 16. Humans are supposed to be sexual. To push a Republican agenda on our kids is WRONG. Kids need to know about sex, safe-sex practices INCLUDING birth control and condoms, as well as the consequences of sex, including pregnancy, STDs, and other infections that cause health problems (HPV, pelvic inflammation issues, etc.). I VOTE FOR EDUCATION not Puritanical religious bullshit. Feel free to email me at (my personal email).”
WOMEN OF THE UNITED STATES: If we don’t consistently stand up for our rights as human beings, as women, and as American citizens, we will find ourselves BACK in the status of second-class citizens, with no voice in the government, merely existing as the property of our father or our husband, and spending our lives barefoot and pregnant while serving the family as the maid, cook, laundress, teacher, and general slave, and serving the husband as his personal whore — a life with no rights to our bodies and no rights to our self-determination as human beings.
Sex-Education is NOT just about the penis and the vagina, or birth control or STDs. Sex-Education is about educating the WHOLE PERSON on their rights to be sexual and sensual, to choose what happens to his or her body, to know the consequences of being sexual, and know the options for dealing with the consequences.
Wake up, America. Turn off the reality TV and other cultural mind-numbing devices, and see the brainwashing that is going on around us and to our children.
Aroused and angry,
Ellen DeGeneres is an out and proud woman. And that’s okay by retailer J.C. Penney, who refused to buckle to demands to drop Ellen as its spokesperson.
The ultra-conservative group One Million Moms, which is part of the American Family Association, had begun a campaign to coerce JCP to kowtow to right-wing pressure. Astonishing everyone, J.C. Penney stood strong, explaining that it “stands behind its partnership with Ellen DeGeneres.”
Herndon Graddick, a representative with GLAAD, issued a statement of support as well as a reminder that the battle is far from over:
“This week Americans spoke out in overwhelming support of LGBT people and J.C. Penney’s decision not to fire Ellen simply for who she happens to love. But while Ellen has the nation on her side, in 29 states today, Americans can still be legally fired just for being gay. Our elected officials should use this incident as yet another example of the support for legal protections for all hard working employees.”
Be sure to tell J.C. Penney how proud YOU are that they won’t submit to the neo-con’s intolerance. Write a big Thank You on J.C. Penney’s Facebook page as well as a send them a sweet tweet of gratitude and support. They seemed to have come a long way since pulling their support from Ellen’s sitcom back in 1997… but it’s the 21st century now, and hopefully, J.C. Penney is supporting Ellen for the right reason… as in for the “rights” of men and women to live openly about their sexual orientation without fear of anti-LGBT attacks.
Which reminds me… I left some things in my shopping cart at JCP.com, and I will also show them my support with my consumer dollars.
Anyone who was within tweet-shot of a social media gizmo last week could not escape the public’s coverage of Susan G. Komen’s latest turn against women and the pursuit of a cure for cancer… (of course, the cure for cancer already exists, but that would mean growing certain herbs the FDA deems illegal and that Big Pharma couldn’t make billions of dollars from our ability to heal ourselves by going back to earth… but I digress…)
Why people were outraged at Susan G. Komen foundation pulling current and future funding from Planned Parenthood is a mystery to me. In 2010, the Komen branding nazis began suing smaller charities that were using the phrase “for the cure” in their mottoes. Smaller local or regional groups that raise money to support breast cancer research and women in their local areas suddenly had to give up use of the words “for the cure” or spend their hard-raised funds on lawyers to stand up for their rights to maintain their mottoes. Clearly, Komen had become too big for its britches… or just filled with neo-con bitches?
A few days in the hot-seat, and Komen finally came around to pretending to make amends. Komen issued a statement:
While Komen and right-wingers were trying to sneak money away from Planned Parenthood under the pretense of not giving money to organizations under “investigation,” no one was speaking up for Planned Parenthood and why it is being attacked by Congress and their “investigation” in the first place.
Komen’s press release consisted of a banal “apology” and “explanation”:
“The events of this week have been deeply unsettling for our supporters, partners and friends and all of us at Susan G. Komen. We have been distressed at the presumption that the changes made to our funding criteria were done for political reasons or to specifically penalize Planned Parenthood. They were not.
Our original desire was to fulfill our fiduciary duty to our donors by not funding grant applications made by organizations under investigation. We will amend the criteria to make clear that disqualifying investigations must be criminal and conclusive in nature and not political. That is what is right and fair.
Our only goal for our granting process is to support women and families in the fight against breast cancer. Amending our criteria will ensure that politics has no place in our grant process. We will continue to fund existing grants, including those of Planned Parenthood, and preserve their eligibility to apply for future grants, while maintaining the ability of our affiliates to make funding decisions that meet the needs of their communities.
… We urge everyone who has participated in this conversation across the country over the last few days to help us move past this issue. We do not want our mission marred or affected by politics – anyone’s politics.”
Susan G. Komen’s public image is officially tarnished. But better than that, women around the United States spoke out and spoke UP for women’s access to healthcare, women’s access to choice about their bodies, and women’s refusal to be a pawn in the political machine of Republican conservatives who will try to rip away the last of our basic freedoms should they win the Presidency and/or control of Congress in 2012.
Last week was a beautiful week for democracy, activism, and showing the world the vagina revolution didn’t end in the 1970′s!
February 7, 2012 | Categories: #WarOnWomen, breast feeding, breasts, bullying, equality, healthcare, medical system, NEWS, planned parenthood, politics, pregnancy, pro-choice, reproductive rights, Republicans, sexual health, vaginal health, women's health, women's rights, women's sexuality | Leave A Comment »