OK, first of all, I’m female. Maybe I should have made that clear back when I started writing this but, thing is, I didn’t think I needed to. It has recently come to my attention, however, that I come across as a gay man in print.
Is this embarrassing? I suppose I’ve mentioned anal, referred (somewhat camply) to a ‘boyf‘, suggested the purchase of a spanking paddle… Oh, wait. Yeah. I am totally a gay man trapped in a woman’s body. Suddenly my obsessions with Liza Minnelli, body glitter and the word ‘fabulous’ take on a sinister significance. Chris Grayling probably wouldn’t support my right to stay in the B&B of my choice. But apart from my raving homosexuality, why would you assume that I’m a man writing this? Because no matter how much the public tries to accept and even encourage female sexuality, it still makes all of us a little bit uncomfortable.
What else could explain the public bitch hunt of Belle de Jour and Girl With a One Track Mind, et al? Yes, it makes a great story to expose high profile anonymity, but the impetus behind it seems to be the public shaming of a woman who enjoys, nay, speaks of enjoying sex.
It runs deeper. The press furore around the murder of Meredith Kercher was in large part aimed at the sexual monster that was Amanda Knox, not her boyfriend, who was – incidentally – equally implicated. But you all know this, I‘m not claiming to have uncovered some insidious patriarchal conspiracy. As female Oxford students we’re not ignorant of feminism, we can invoke Irigaray, perhaps a cheeky bit of Butler, but are we more down with the literature than with getting down and dirty?
I can theoretically argue a woman’s right to do the latter with anyone or thing she chooses, but in practice I’ll call someone a slag as quick as the next misogynist. There was a girl at my secondary school who used to sit in the basement of house parties and give blozzers to any male who cared to go down (so to speak). I didn’t respect her empowerment, I laughed at it, and saved it up as a juicy story to use in a sex column years later. Perhaps I should embrace my new found identity as a female identified gay man. I could go to Poptarts, give out as many blozzers as the aforementioned friend and escape judgement from everyone. But B&Bs might be an issue. And I do like a good mini-break.
