Last week, I stumbled across a post written by Preston Yancey. Entitled “to my future wife” it was, adorably, exactly that. A letter he’d written to his future wife. Somehow he managed to follow that post up with another piece calling both men and women to a higher standard for relationship. I encourage you all to read it and then I ask (beg, grovel, etc.) that you’d bounce back over here to share your thoughts. I’d love to hear what y’all have to say on the subject. –SARAH
There’s a SohoDolls song called “Stripper.” The chorus is simple: Hey, stripper! Hey! I want to be your mister!
I was in eighth grade when a girl flashed her breasts at me. Waiting behind the school at the annexed parking lot for my carpool to show up, I heard my name called out and turned just in time to see a girl in my class that I had a bit of a crush on, lifting up her shirt from across the way, then dropping it quickly while she and her friend giggled hysterically and then ran off, blushing like mad.
I immediately felt two things: intrigue and power.
Intrigue is easy to explain if I simply point out that it’s a stand-in for a different, more specific word as to what happened to my fresh-into-puberty body.
But that wasn’t what really got me, that’s not what coursed through my veins like a free hit of meth, the one that gets you hooked, always wanting more, to pay anything for it. No, intrigue was nothing. Power was the drug. Power was everything. And it was everything ever since. I didn’t even ask her to do that. She just did. That was power.
Hey, stripper! Hey! I want to be your mister!
What most women don’t understand about pornography is that it’s not about sexual fulfillment. It’s not even about rampant hormones or ever about boys being boys. Though those factors are in play in varying degrees, what porn is really about is power.