Some say they can find beauty in everythinghow deep and touching.

1
Though, to be sure, beauty is pretty awesome and stuffeven Plato said the good
is the beautiful2I on the other hand, seem to side more so with Oscar Wilde in
saying that, everything in the world is about sex except sex. Sex is about power. 3
Touch, good sir: Freud saw phalluses everywhere and based all of psychoanalysis
on his own odd fixation, its believed that Napoleon Bonaparte and Hitler had micropenises (overcompensation is an understatement) 4, and Charles Darwin was
married to his cousin (talk about natural selection) 5. For myself, be it a mental
thats what (s)he said in response to any and every half-way fitting statement, a
hot & bothered feeling in totally inappropriate settings, or a pornographic film with
Batman that I am all too titillated by, sex is never far from my mind. Maybe Freud
would say that my apparent nymphomania is a result of having a sexually
unsatisfying childhood, but I highly doubt that. Sex has always been a significant
aspect of my life, so maybe Im just destined to be a straight-up ho.
When or where exactly my psychosexual development strayed from
normalcy, I cant really say for sure, but I know that, by most self-respecting
standards, Ive always been rather naughty. Honestly, I dont remember ever having
believed in the stork or found boys icky; I knew that I needed to have sex with a
boy to be a mommy, so I guess you could say I was a fairly well-informed tyke. I also
knew, though, that sex and love werent inseparable. Since theres sexless love and
loveless sex, I decided to go with the latter: I heard that sex felt good, really good,
fucking fantastic, so the choice seemed obvious. Though Im sure my parents were

1 Thats what she said

2 http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/p/plato397612.html
3 http://www.goodreads.com/quotes/6218-everything-in-the-world-is-about-sex-except-sexsex
4 http://www.maxim.com/news/hitler-micropenis-2016-2
5 http://researchnews.osu.edu/archive/darwin.htm

2
certain I was an innocent not-yet -sexually-corrupted little daddys girl during that
time, this faade certainly didnt last long.
I used to love going through my parents things. Like most kids, I snooped
during the holidays to search for presents 6, but unlike most kids, I went through
their shit all the time. I liked the hunt for what they explicitly did not want me to
seewhat naughty secrets do they have, and why cant I see them too? One day
when I was around 6 years-old, I was using my parents bathroom and made a very
interesting discovery. Having waddled to the cupboard under the tub in which we
kept extra toilet paper, stretchy pants around my ankles, the glisten from a
magazines sheen caught my eye. I crawled into the cupboard for my treasure
despite all the cobwebs, and my little heart jumped from the mere sight of its
cover: it was pink. To be real, pink certainly wasnt my favorite color (I was one of
those girls who refused to be a girly-girl), but based off research and observation,
I knew pink was a sexy color associated with sexy things. As I reached for this
unholy grail I knew my inference was correctit was a dirty magazine!
I plopped right back on the toilet seat with my new reading material, grinning
wildly with unencumbered mischief at the heart-pounding images on each page.
Thenstopping me dead in my tracksthere she was. The centerfold. As if
opening Pandoras Box, I eked open the first fold to the left, revealing the stars
face. The suspense unbearable, I opened the remaining fold and leaned back to
savor the feels. Stretched across the red velvet, arms above her head, glistening
with baby oil, was a woman (circa 1988) whose big bushy hair created a delightful
symmetry with her naughty bits. This woman was beautiful, or at least I figured as
much: she was getting a lot of attention from the men in the magazine. I envied
her sexuality, and the temptation was overpoweringI wanted her, no needed her,

6 Which is how I learned of the lie that is Santa.

3
all to myself. With extreme precision and my round-tipped scissors I carefully cut
her out of the magazine and proceeded to tape her onto the wall opposite my bed.
That way I could see her when I first woke up and right before falling asleepmy
shiny, naked, bushy-haired goddess. My handiwork complete, I basked in her
beautiful glory before going back to playing Barbies as I had been prior.
Later that night, a neighboring family came over for dinner, and I invited
Rachel (the youngest daughter and my classmate) to play Barbies with me. As we
walked the hall to my bedroom, jabbering away about dumb brothers and new toys,
panic surged through me at remembering the nude woman taped to my wall. I
rushed into my room and contorted myself against the wall so as to shield the
image from undeserving eyes. Believe it or not, Rachel was very confused by how I
was positioned, and even more so when I refused to move to play Barbies with her.
After her persisting, the temptation became overwhelming and I abandoned my
post to join Rachel. I suppose I kinda forgot about the naked woman on my wall,
but the memory quickly returned once Rachels mom entered the room. My eyes
grew wide, and any leftover arousal was immediately replaced with extreme terror.
Id been discovered and I was totally screwed. Though I dont remember Rachels
moms reaction, or any consequences really, I know that Rachel didnt come over
much after that.
xxxxxxx
Throughout history, there have been many institutions that have sought to
confine and repress human sexuality under the presumption that repression is an
evolutionary adaptation permitting us to function under the burden of our expanded
consciousnessfor what we are conscious of could drive us mad, 7 and its clear
that Freuds model of psychosexual development followed this line of thought.

7 Camille Paglia, from Sexual Personae

4
When my ogling over my bushy-haired goddess was disrupted, for the first time in
my short life, I felt the shame and taboo associated with sex and sexuality. Indeed, I
felt like Id been caught committing a crime, not just exploring the basic sexual
drive of human nature, and thus (according to Freud) had experienced a disruption
in the 3rd stage of my psychosexual development, the Phallic stage. When this
stage is unsatisfied in girls, apparently, penis envy 8 necessarily follow. Now,
penis envy can manifest itself in two ways: either the anxiety caused by not
having a penis leads to lesbian desires (e.g. making due with what you got) or to
sexual addiction (e.g. frequently, but temporarily possessing one). Though I guess
this would explain my infantile lesbian desires like possessing the centerfold, reenacting hardcore Barbie-on-Ken-on-Barbie action, and playing naked doctor with
childhood friends, I dont think Im addicted to or envious of penii 9. Im just a
nymphomaniac.
Now, you might be thinking, isnt a nymphomaniac the same as sex addict,
and though some sources say yes, others (along with myself) assert a significant
difference. A self-proclaimed sex-addict perceives sex as a vice, and utilizes it as a
means such as alcoholics with alcohol: the act or thing in itself is no longer
pleasurable, but rather is necessary to feel pleasure at all. Nymphomaniacs,
however, sympathize with Marilyn Monroe in feeling that, sex is a part of nature,
and [we] believe in going along with nature. 10 When accepting the social
undesirability associated with sexuality, we are suppressing ourselves in favor of
the confines of the social contract, and forbidding ourselves the pleasures of our
own nature. It is in recognizing that the fear of death and the desire for sex are the

8 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Penis_envy
9 I think it might technically be penises, but whatever.
10 http://www.searchquotes.com/search/Marilyn_Monroe_Sex/

5
primal motivational currents, that drag thoughts, eyes, and actions along with
them,11 with special regards to sex that we are deemed nymphomaniacs. And, as
was made clear in the Garden, no institution has been more thorough in this mission
than the Abrahamic religions,12 especially towards women.
xxxxxxx
It's an odd thing when deciding to join youth group ends with your complete
corruption. Though I had felt confident in my relationship with Christ going into
things, it seems my teenaged urges rampant at this stage of self-discovery couldnt
be satisfied by His abstract love. To be honest, The one who had a real lasting
effect though was Jenny, a senior at my high school who was a self-proclaimed
emo that sported fake lip rings. Now, having not even started high school, I felt
pretty cool hanging out with a senior, regardless of its religious context (and what
that says about her), and spent as much time with her and her friends as I possibly
could. That Fall, the youth group decided to go to a corn maze near Madison, and
go to the mall for dinner afterwards. Jenny was bisexual, and she took every
opportunity she could to make it known to me so as to get in my pants. I had
denied her advances in trying to maintain the principles of my faith, but that day
was different.
On the ride back from Madison, Jenny and I tucked ourselves away in the
back of the youth group bus, hiding from the disapproving eyes of our pastors.
Slouched in the seat, sharing headphones, and texting one another despite our
sharing the same seat, Jenny told me that, even though [she] knew [she]
shouldnt, she wanted to kiss me. To her surprise, I finally accepted the offer: she
was going to be my first real kiss. After sending her the okay I slouched further in

11 From Camille Paglia, Sexual Personae

12 I.e. Judaism, Christianity, and Islam

6
the seat to ensure our privacy, and Jenny anxiously followed. My eyes were on her
faux snakebites, and hers on my perfect pout 13, each waiting for the other to
make the first move. Finally, disgracing the principles of my faith, I dove in. I
kissed her deeply, even putting my hand on her hip to pull her closer, I wanted to
impress her, and it felt good. Our make-out session continued on until our pastors
called from the front saying that we were nearing the church. We sat back up in the
seat, smiling mischievously at one another; however, it was not until I looked past
her to meet eyes with our mutual friend, 12-year old Benny, in the adjacent seat
that I knew anyone was watching us besides God.
Throughout the remainder of my freshman year, I had several other
encounters with Jenny, my childhood-friend-turned-very-short-term-girlfriend Saba,
and a few others whose names Ive forgotten, but Megan, Jennys best friend14, took
things to the next level. Megan was our small schools token goth kid: her TRIPP
pants would jingle as she marched down the hallways in her Doc Martens, scowling
at any passersby whose eyes loitered on her petite but commanding body. She was
the biggest bad-ass I knew, and I loved that she was my friend and wanted to get in
my pants. Between my clothes, taste in music, and attitudes towards life and
douchey conformists, I was no longer that perfect, prude Jesus Freak that I had
been just a few months priorI was a bad ass too.
After our first kiss, the taste of her cherry chapstick lingered on my lips 15.
She was sweet, soft, and her small frame fit perfectly in mine, but dont be fooled.
Megan was as kinky as her goth status entailedshe was a biter, and she loved
accidently drawing blood. I remember one night my mom asking about the

13 Her words, not mine.

14 And, no, Jenny was no happy about this in the slightest.
15 To be sure, Megan always wore cherry chapstick, and we were hooking up long before
the Katy Perry song. Ironic, huh?

7
massive dark bruises on my neck, and as if shed actually believe the ridiculous lie, I
told her: UhI fell and hit my neck on the gym bleachers. If that was the case I'd
probably be dead16, but if I had told her the truth- that it was a hickey from Megan,
yes that Megan, doled out while making out under the bleachers in between our Pep
Band performances- I'd be dead anyway.
The first time I saw Megan's naked body, not to be clich, but I felt like time
stood still. The girl who scared me all throughout middle-school was here, stripping
for me, less than a year later. Her skin was absolutely perfect save for her deep
keloid scars from old self-mutilations and the lump below her ribcage from an oddly
protruding rib. She was gorgeous as she took her clothes off so nonchalantly,
expressing none of the shame I was conditioned to internalize. Though I had yet to
go past first-base with anyone, she had wanted me for so long that, at the touch of
her bare skin, I realized I couldnt wait any longer.
Admittedly, I loved the way it felt to be with another girl: their skin is soft,
their lips taste sweet, they always smell good, and, through personal exploration, I
quickly learned how to master their anatomy. However amazing girls are, though, I
found myself attracted to guys as well: their height, the smell of their cologne, and
their brutish, arrogant nature intrigued me, and I found myself wanting a boy with
poorly-dyed black hair and piercings to wrap his manorexic arms around me and
take some stereotypical emo couple pictures for my MySpace. My primal curiosity
and desires were again overwhelming, and another conquest beganI needed to
lose my virginity.
xxxxxxx
The night that I finished off my innocence was the eve of my 15 th birthday
with a less (alright, much less) than desirable suitor. Earlier that year my friend and

16 If youve seen Million Dollar Baby, you know what Im talking about.

8
I had placed a $10 bet on who would lose their virginity before they turned 15.
Though she had sex a few months before me, being an October baby, she failed to
get it in before 15, so since my birthdays in June, I won on a technicality. On that
fateful day, my high school band took a trip to hear the Chicago Symphony
Orchestra and visit Navy Pier. In a last desperate effort to win the bet, I spent the
day sending raunchy texts to the tenor sax player, Malachi, who had been pursuing
me since March. He had tried incessantly to get a piece of [this] ass by flirting and
grab-assing during musical rehearsals and texting me invitations to join him in his
truck after rehearsal for a beej.17 How romantic. Before that day, I was still
holding on to chivalrous dreams of a gallant white knight whisking me off my feet to
deflower me; however, due to time constraints, I had to settle for a disgusting ape
in tin foil with janked teeth, frosted tips, and a voice so obnoxious itd put Gilbert
Gottfreid to shame.
He accepted my offer on the bus-ride back and suggested we could just
drive around once we got back to the school. We drove for what felt like forever,
and he rambled on about stupid shit that made me reconsider and reconsider again
whether I wanted to do this, especially with him. He pulled the car into a wooded
hiking trail at the edge of town, and we just sat there in awkward silence, unable to
look at one another. After a few minutes he turned to me and asked with such
wooing quixotic grandeur: Soare we gonna do this? In reply I turned up the radio
(so I couldnt hear him), turned off the cabin lights (so I couldnt see him), and got
on top (so I didnt have to feel his sad, saggy body on mine). There I had my first
kiss, well, at least my first kiss with a guy.
The next two minutes were painful, excruciating in fact. His absence of skill
and lack of satisfying equipment caused the experience to stretch into infinity.

17 Both quotations are his words not mine; the latter is his word for blowjob.

9
Finally, just as the pain began to subside, bringing me to the brink of an at least
somewhat pleasant experience, he quipped, UhIm done now. I quickly got off
him and started dressing, wanting to get out of there as soon as possible and wash
his stink off me. Did you cum too? He looked at me, hoping for some affirmation
or compliment on his performance.
Oh yeah, yeahtotally, I lied.
Despite swearing to secrecy, it seemed our entire small-town school knew
about our indiscretions by Monday, and I was crushed with embarrassment. He was
probably one of the most undesirable men of his class and a total douchebag to
boot. It was hard enough trying to sleep on the fact that I had sex with that guy,
but now everybody knew.18 Once everyone knew we did the deed, we didnt really
talk or text anymore, but I found out later that he felt violated. Let me repeat: he
felt violated. Actually, I heard he was telling people I practically raped him;
however, I think he only said this to cover his ass, since hes an aspiring youth
pastor or something. But, at the end of the day, I did win the bet. Was losing my
virginity to a complete douchebag and being publicly humiliated for it worth $10?
Probably not.19 At least I can have the last laugh: though it definitely bruised my
ego, at least he was the one scarred for life.
Upon achieving this crude sort of sexual maturation at 14, I ventured deep
into the taboo world of sexual conquest. After a certain point, my faade of
virtuousness was engulfed by a raging nymphomania; sex was never the ultimate
romantic gesture, but rather an enjoyable pastime. Each venture became attributes
to my stats like the back of a baseball card: their number on my list, their names

18 Even now, upon remembering the fact, my high school friends will nearly shit a
brick from laughing

19 To boot, I never got my $10.

10
(if applicable), where (beach, Six Flags, semi-trailer, etc.), and a composite rating of
their performance/the session in general. It did not take me long to begin mentally
cataloging men into three categories: Romeos, Apes, and Eunuchsthe good, the
bad, and the regretful. Being upfront with them about my experience and method
of critique may have lead men to call me some fairly creative names, but I was just
doing exactly what they do to women.
xxxxxxx
Camille Paglia is an American academic and social critic and a professor at the
University of the Arts in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, who is probably best well known
for her critiques of post-structuralism, American feminism, and modern culture in
general. In 1990, she released the work Sexual Personae: Art and Decadence from
Nefertiti to Emily Dickinson, discussing the pervasive conflict between the
Apollonian (representative of law, order, and culture) and the Dionysian (chaos,
disorder, nature) in Western Culture, particularly in regards to sexuality. The idea of
the femme fatalethough having been a concept at the tips of mens tongues for
millenniahas been depicted recently as a woman who, due to her cunning and
sexuality, is fatal to man20. Not fatal to men as the caricature of the feminist
feminazi would suggest, according to Paglia:
the more nature is beaten back in the west, the more the femme
fatale reappearsfeminism dismisses the femme fatale as a cartoon
and libelIf she ever existed, she was simply a victim of society,
resorting to destructive womanly wiles because of her lack of access to
political power. She is not a fiction but an extrapolation of biologic
realities in women that remain constant (Paglia, 1991).
In the eyes of nature, females are obviously the dominant bunch, you know, since
we can make people without a conscious effort, and there is something to be said
for being able to lead a man on, teasing him to the point of eruption, and abruptly

20 For example, Catwoman (a total femme fatale) doesnt kill Batman, but challenges his
sexuality in the way that the Riddler tests his intellect.

11
shutting him down like youre laying down the cable bill. According to Freud and
Paglia, Man fears that his strength will be taken from him by woman, dreads
becoming infected with her femininity and then proving himself a wealking.
Masculinity must fight off effeminacy day by day. Woman and nature stand ever
ready to reduce the male to boy and infant. 21 Even so, a woman can easily attain
the power-over-penis by showing a little cleavage (or any skin for that matter) or
even just fluttering her eyelashes. One feminine act is all it takes for him to become
putty; its up to the individual whether or not they want to take advantage of this
fact. Some fundamentalist feminists are horrified by my apparent insensitivity to
womens rights, saying I am degrading myself terribly; however, I am sure that at
one time or other, in one gradation or another, every woman has had a sugar
daddy.
xxxxxxx
I recently had a conversation with a girl who works at my familys restaurant,
Morgan, who is just at the edge of 17. Though I really like her, I will admit that shes
a sneaky little shit: shes gorgeous, she knows it, and you best believe she uses it
to her advantage. The restaurant was slow, so we were just shootin the shit at the
front counter, talking about the new make-up she had just gotten from Sephora. As
she rattled off a list of 10+ designer cosmetics, I crunched the numbers in disbelief
Dude, did you steal all that shit or something? With most products costing
$20-50, it seemed the only possibility considering with her miniscule part-time
paycheck.
She chuckled and exclaimed, No! Then, smirking in an all-too familiar way
she motioned for me to come closer, My Sugar Daddy dropped like $400 for me at
Sephora.

21 Reprinted in Paglia, p. 27

12
My eyes got wide with dollar signs, No fucking way, $400?! I knew Morgan
was a clever little fox, but by the sound of it shes got a pretty lucrative commodity
at an extremely profitable rate. Though I dont necessarily support her doing this,
when I asked about him and their terms of engagement, shes definitely going
about things better than I did. Hes a very attractive, single, wealthy guy, and he
gives her stuf she wants, not straight-up cash.
Back when I was a Sugar Baby, the arrangement I had was differenthe
was my decently attractive dealer with a girlfriend of 5+ years. As I was a fairly
frequent customer, it seemed only economical when he suggested a different
means of payment, and I toyed with the idea for about a day while he fed me his
logic as to why I shouldnt worry about the girlfriend. When I hesitantly agreed,
he was ecstatic, and though I had already picked up that week, was anxious to start
the arrangement, so we decided that hed just pay me. After all, cash is King, right?
He told me the next day that he was going to come over at 8, and that I was
to wait for him in lingerie if I wanted the money. I did as he said, but I still put street
clothes on over top: I couldnt bring myself to wait like a hooker on the corner. As 7
oclock came round I grew nervous, and even though I was putting on make-up, I
could barely look at myself, so I took a couple shots with some ecstasy to loosen up.
This really didnt help much though, since I had never thought of him in a sexual
way before I had to force every move I made, knowing full-well his end goal. It all
felt so unnatural.
After he was done, though Im normally a huge cuddler, I couldnt get away
from him to put my clothes on fast enough before going out for a cigarette. He met
me outside, a bit astounded by my speedy exit, lit his own and proceeded to ask me
questions about his performance. I answered as plainly as possible, wanting more

13
than anything for him to just leave. As my cigarettes cherry neared the filter, I cut
him off, Socan I have that money? He smirked and told me that he had thrown
it on my dresser while I was getting my clothes; I immediately flicked the butt and
gave a curt good-bye before going inside to take a shower. It all felt so wrong and
unnatural, and the smell of him on me was making me sick as the realization sunk
inI was a literal whore. Though feminism is about the right to choose, I had made
the wrong choice for me.
xxxxxxx
It seems impossible lately to avoid remarks (especially on social media) as to
what a woman is or what makes a real woman. Our perceived dilemma is a
double-edged sword: if I embrace femininity, I consequently seem to deny myself
political/social liberation (scrutinizingly called submissives); if I deny femininity, I
consequently forfeit my womanhood, and deny nature in favor of Apollonian
ideals (the stereotypical feminazi). The non-existent battle of women against
women in sometimes catty ways (especially via social media), is a match we
ourselves choose with or without the influence of men. When we admonish another
womans choice to be submissive by stating she gave in to male dominations
standards, for example, we ourselves are relinquishing the power of choice by
denying it was ever ours. By this reaffirmation of the supposed hierarchy, we are
giving momentum to the politicization of eroticism and beauty while simultaneously
condoning it. Femininity is fatal to the eyes of masculinity, but sexual liberation will
not be achieved through political equality; rather, the femme fatale proper is not
seeking to obliterate the social norms mistakenly seen as the invention of men, but
is embracing the mysteries of true feminine nature. While the question asked by

14
the modern feminist stands as Why cant we? in regards to our cultural and social
prescriptions, the femme fatale asks, Why arent we?.
Though, yeah, Im not particularly happy with my past naughty shenanigans,
I know that hindsight is always 20/20. Sex really is power. At the end of the day,
sexuality comes down to this: Men may have controlled many facets of womens
lives for centuries in their striving to control the nature of sex with culture, but the
taming of their own one-eyed snakes is a different story. Since Eve was tricked into
committing the original sin, women have learned to become snake charmers.