The year is We sit at the kitchen table and peruse the catalogue together, pens ready to mark which toys look most promising. Too cool for feminism As a teenager, the concept of feminism begins to embarrass me. To be called a feminist is tantamount to being called a bitch—roughly translated, it means you are an ugly female without a sense of humor, who hates men.
Although my mother clearly identifies as a feminist, and though she definitely has a sense of humor and loves my dad, something intense and angry happens to her face whenever she speaks of feminist things. I decide this is uncool, and not something I want to emulate. I scramble out of the pool. I just found the most amazing thing! How have I lived my entire life up to this point completely ignorant of the magic of swimming pool jets? But this was, and always has been, our relationship.
I tell her everything and she, in turn, tells me everything. She tells me about the time she met a strange man in a bar and went back to his apartment where they played chess and then he told her to take off all her clothes and tried to rape her, so she ran outside stark naked to get the police. As a teenager, I ask Mom why a man would go down on a woman. Nothing is off limits.
When my vibrator arrives in the mail, I just stare at it. At recess, I sit on the bleachers with a bunch of my peers and hold forth about my new sex toy. In a more conservative setting, I may have been teased, even shamed; in this hippie NorCal beach town, the kids are jealous and awe-struck and I can feel them looking at me with a newfound sense of admiration.
I move the vibrating head down towards my general area, not really aiming. Who even knows where anything is at this point? Maybe not the fireworks display I was expecting, but it feels reminiscent of the swimming pool jets. I mean, the jets gave me my first moment of clitoral awareness, so naturally made quite an impression. In a time before infinitely available Internet porn, finding sexy stuff to masturbate to is a more creative endeavor.
These particular scenes are well worn. I furiously rewind them over and over again as I lie on my twin bed with the vibrating head balanced against my crotch. It finally died in —by that time, the clear plastic was discolored and the technology seriously outdated. My boyfriend bought me a pearl rabbit, by all accounts a far superior piece of equipment. A Collection of Feminist Erotica Sex positive feminists unite!
These 12 stories are all about what pleases YOU-- from hetero to homo; in private or in public; with 2 partners or there's something here for everyone.