Culture I’m a Straight Feminist Man. Sexting is Impossible.

| Friday, 12 June 2015 15:44

Hey girl, lemme whisper in your ear. Er, woman. Hey, woman, may I whisper in your ear? I mean, not “woman” as in, like, an effort to reduce you a mere gender, just like— You know what, forget it. How ’bout, “Hey Consenting Partner, may I attempt to arouse you with my words?”

Um, is this turning you on yet?

Let’s face it, sexting is pretty much essential. Whether you’re sealing the deal on Tinder or trying to fan the flame of a long-distance relationship, word-boinking is a important part of 21st-century game — especially for the only remotely good-looking dudes, like yours truly. But as a man who considers himself a feminist, I find that sexting can be tough. It’s nearly impossible to strike the right balance between respectful and raunchy. I want to get you worked up, but not with righteous indignation. So I’m wondering: Is it possible to want to both tear off your clothes and tear down the patriarchy?

I know, I know, I should stop worrying so much — we all know confidence is sexy. But as a dude, the line between “confident” and being an “aggro thirst beast” is a blurry one, at least to those of us who think about these things. In a world filled with rape-y creepers, how should I feel about, like, wanting to pull your hair sometimes? Is that still cool, or is it my sexist socialization talking? What about if I want you to pull mine sometimes, too? Is that better?

And then there are the terms. They pretty much all suck. As for my bits, there’s “dick” (too juvenile), “cock” (too porny), “penis” (too clinical), and “passion snake” (too “never-say-this-to-anyone-ever.”) And you? Complete this sentence for me: “I can’t wait to bury my face in your ____.” Answer: THERE’S NO RIGHT ANSWER! (If you said “cunt,” how groovy, but it’s less subversive when I say it.) Even more confusing, most of these terms were coined and/or popularized by men. So when I’m trying to get you hot and bothered, I’m literally using the language of oppression. Hubba hubba.

Judging from Tinder horror stories from my female friends — and, yes, feedback from actual human women — I’m actually doing just fine with the dirty texting. I use monosyllabic words. I ask questions. I play along. I make it clear that I want to know what she finds pleasurable. But then I eventually find myself about to use the word “tittyfuck” and I’m paralyzed again. As much as I may want to virtually place my penis betwixt the breasts of that special someone in a moment of furious, thumb-mashing passion, it’s 2015 and I’m clinging to words better suited to a middle school cafeteria. What’s next, a series of missives about my desire (purely hypothetical) to fingerblast her behind the local Dairy Queen?

I am, of course, overthinking it. But you know what? Most people are underthinking it. (*See: Instagranniepants )

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I’d feel better about this whole thing if I were gay and could just set the male–female power dynamic aside. But I can’t, because you know what? I love pussy, I mean, vaginas, I mean groin orchids… Ah fuck it. I give up. If you have any advice, I’ll be hunkered down in a remote cabin somewhere, reading bell hooks and masturbating. When the world has changed, text me. Something dirty.

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