On loving fat bodies, and not forming an identity around it

I’ve been meaning to write a post about my experiences loving fat bodies and people with fat bodies for a while. This is not that post. This is a post about something someone else wrote about loving fat bodies (and not really about loving people with fat bodies) that has provided me with a great example of what not to do. This piece of trash (TRIGGER WARNING FORREAL Y’ALL) found its way onto my dashboard by way of the lovely Jessica, and you can find some really great dissection of it here.

One of my issues with this piece (because really, there are so many that I could never get to them all), in addition to all of the very important concerns that other folks brought up, is this guy’s understanding of the implications of his attraction to fat women (around whom he makes some very stringent weight requirements and uses all kinds of descriptors for various weight ranges that it seems impossible to me that fat women could have chosen for themselves). It apparently led him to feel that he needed to seek community with other straight dudes who liked fat women. His “fat appreciation” community is set up to defend men who are attracted to fatness against the alleged onslaught of oppression that they receive (“It really is kind of like being gay, I guess.” Direct quote. He said that permanently on the internet), and to normalize their attraction so that people stop calling them freaks and perverts.

It’s like this man has never actually met a fat woman, let alone tried to think about what her experience, um, being fat, might be like. If I’m getting shit for dating someone fat—which I never am because I do not countenance that nonsense—it should be clear to me that I am not actually the one under attack; they are. Duh. So unlike this creeper here, I am led to understand that my solidarity must be with fat people who are working to dismantle systems that ridicule them for living their lives and declaring themselves worthy of partners who are attracted to them for a variety of reasons including their physical appearance. Instead of campaigning for my right to be attracted to whomever I please, I should be doing my part to remind people that everyone should be able to claim their own body as attractive. If we all had that power, Mister Fat Admirer wouldn’t have to worry about “what a cruel fate [he had] to be born an F.A. in this misguided age” (direct quote; it’s that serious). Besides, I find that allying myself to fat communities is a much better way to be around people who love fat people.

I wanted to reblog this to add an edit

neutresex:

possible trigger warning: non-consensual sex, sexual violence, rape culture, rape

—

How often do you use “fuck you” or hear someone else say “fuck you”? I’m guilty of it, I do it quite often. I’m always spewing out “fuck that!” or “fuck hate!” or “fuck (insert unpleasant concept/thing/person here)” But only lately have I begun to analyze my use of that language. “Fuck” represents the act or acts of having sex, intercourse, oral, WHATEVER. Sex. When we apply that to things like “fuck you,” and especially when we say “fuck you” because we don’t like something/someone, we are implying that through fucking someone we can ruin it/get rid of it. We are implying that we are going to do something that will be unpleasant, undesirable, and harmful to someone else in the hopes that it will make them upset or make them disappear. If my nose is working correctly, I think I smell a pot of rape culture brewing up. This is what rape culture is: perpetuating and implementing violence through sex. We are going to hurt people through sex, whether it being physically, mentally, or emotionally. And you can say, “hey it’s just a word” but it’s not. We must treat this like we’d treat any other racist, sexist, heterosexist, anti-trans, xenophobic, etc slur out there. By saying things like “fuck prop 8” or “fuck racism” we are using a tool that rape culture apologists use; we are negatively sexualizing unpleasant things with the mentality that we are combating inequality, hatred, and overall bad things. But we are simply using violence. We are implying that it is okay to apply violence through sex to get rid of something or someone. It is not okay. Saying “fuck you” is not okay.

blackenedbutterfly:

And this whole post…is phallocentric. It is saying ‘sex is only about putting (phallic) objects into other things.’ It is applying violence to sex. And to the word ‘fuck’.

Thank you, but no. This post is not good.

I don’t agree with everything Raven feels about this post, but she makes an excellent point that the language of this piece is somewhat policing. I still urge you to look past that to the point that Quentin (and also Mar) is making, that positioning fucking as something negative or violent isn’t good for any of us. Just like any other kind of harmful slur, people should consider being careful with the connotations they attach to the word fuck. 

I find “douche” to be a really satisfying curse because douche really is a bad thing, so I don’t have to worry that I’m taking something positive or neutral or linked to anyone’s life and setting it up as a negative. 

I’m all about being careful and considerate with language, but I do believe it is the choice of the speaker to decide what is and is not appropriate for their own use. I am still not sure how I will act on this particular opinion just yet, but my guess is that I’ll be working on making fucking a more empowering concept in my life, and I hope you’ll do the same.

(via bblackenedbutterfly)

Source: tranqualizer

Fetishes, fetishes, not so sweet.

fuckingdyke:

I seem to spend a lot of time talking and reading about this. Every time I turn around there’s a QueerSecret about cispeople being afraid to express attraction to gender transcenders because no one wants to be called a chaser and no one wants their sexuality to be invalidated.

This whole concept that seems to exist wherein cispeople who are attracted to non-binary gender identities or trans* identities must be chasers is absolutely absurd. Of course there are people who fetishize trans* people, particularly trans womyn. This is undeniable and a whole different cup of tea. But there is a fetish for anything, and I do mean anything, you can imagine. Why do we routinely call out (cis)people who express particular sexual attraction to trans* people?

In case you aren’t familiar, let’s talk about what a fetish is. A sexual fetish involves needing to interact with/envision a particular object/item/personage in order to achieve sexual gratification or some sort, or linking gratification to that item/person at an extreme level.

Cispeople who are sexually attracted to trans* people are not necessarily fetishizing them. I know that sometimes the attraction that men (and queer womyn!) have for me is reinforced by the fact that I have an atypical male body, including a large chest and a vagina. Does this mean that these people are unable or unwilling to see my masculinity? Are they sexualizing me without attempting to understand or respect my male identity? Am I just a toy boy to them? Maybe. It happens. Is this true for all of them? No. Oddly enough, there’s this strange thing that sometimes happens in which cispeople are attracted to me because they like my particular representation of trans masculinity. There’s never really going to be a point for me in which my female body isn’t a part of why people are sexually attracted to me — my gender is trans*, not male, and my non-binary existence makes it rather difficult to cut out the fact that I am female bodied. And I personally wouldn’t want that cut out. I’m a damn good-looking guy, with a body lots of people would love to touch. But that does not mean that everyone who likes me only likes me because I’m trans* or because I’m a guy with a vagina.

So often in our rush to try and help the world understand the nuances of gender, and the many, many forms it takes, we forget to remind ourselves that sexuality is just as nuanced and appears in just as many forms. We fight so hard to separate gender from sex, gender identity from sexual orientation that when it comes down to understanding that cispeople still sometimes have this thing there they’re, you know, attracted to other people who aren’t, you know, cis, we get all fucked up over it.

Personally, I don’t want the trans* community to stop existing as a separate entity from the cis community. I want people to stop alienating the trans* community and just let us exist alongside the cis community as a whole community of people. We are just another way to be humyn. But this is never going to happen if we don’t let ourselves be just that — humyn. Humyns who have other humyns who are attracted to them. Humyns who have other humyns who are different kinds of humyns who are attracted to them.

It’s also important to recognize the cissexism and cisgenderism behind saying that *any* attraction predominantly to trans people is fetishistic when I have personally never heard anyone claim that *any* attraction predominantly to cis people of a single binary sex or gender category is fetishistic. Even if a person dated absolutely any cis man they could get to look at them without any regard to chemistry or emotional/intellectual compatibility, they would be unlikely to be called out for fetishizing cis men, even though they are doing the same thing that chasers (and I’m talking about real chasers, the ones who really do objectify transness) do.

To say that trans folk should not be attractive specifically as trans folk to the people who fuck and date us is to say that our genders and bodies are not as validly attractive as those of cis people—that it isn’t problematic to be attracted to a specifically cis embodiment of gender because the genders and bodies of cis people are more natural and inherent than those of trans people. Yes, trans people construct (even through the conscious choice of not permanently modifying) their bodies in ways that cis people often don’t, and yes, it is possible to fetishize that otherness, but it is also completely possible that people can simply find the specifically trans embodiments of gender more physically and emotionally appealing than specifically cis ones.

One of my New Year’s resolutions

is to date a menfolk person with a penis. To clarify, when I use the term menfolk I mean people who are men or have an identity that leaves room for a recognizance of the maleness of their experience. For example, I would consider myself to be inside of both the categories menfolk and womenfolk because my identity is recognizant of both the maleness and femaleness of my experience. When I use the term penis, I mean any genitalia that the particular individual who owns it calls or recognizes as including a penis (in the same way that I do not call my genitals a vagina, but I recognize that my genitals include a vagina).

So yeah, menfolk person with a penis.

And I think it’s important that I clarify why this is not fetishizing of menfolk people with penises, because, really, if a person said to me that their new year’s resolution was to date someone of a particular identity or genital configuration, I’d probably call them out on it.

First off, I’m not gonna just date any dude who offers. It’s not about dating absolutely any menfolk person with a penis just so I can try it out and say I did it. It’s about pushing myself to actually try and connect with a guy in a way that I haven’t even attempted to in years.

I’ve known I liked menfolk since I was 4 years old. I started dating menfolk when I was 10, and was certifiably boy crazy by the time I was, we’ll say, 12. And then I discovered womenfolk. I identified as bisexual and then discovered the term queer and used that because I always knew that there was more to it for me than an attraction to men and an attraction to women. I have always, always maintained an identity that spoke to my attraction to a variety of genders and bodies, and as I’ve gotten older, the range of genders and bodies I find attractive has grown and refined. I have always insisted both publicly and internally that I am as open to dating menfolk as I am to womenfolk. Still, every person I have dated from the age of 15 until now (that’s about 5 years)—with the exception of two not-so-enjoyable dates at the very beginning of that era—has been womenfolk. One person came out as trans after we started dating, so obviously ze counts as menfolk as well, but ze was not menfolk when we met, so the thesis that I have not pursued a connection with a menfolk person in a long time still stands. 

These last 5 years have greatly dwarfed the 5 years preceding them in terms of the number of people I’ve dated and how seriously I weigh their impact on me. Despite my declarations to the contrary, I lead an entirely woman-centric life. I’m pretty sure that most people think of me as a person who dates exclusively womenfolk, and that my own image of my dating life typically positions me that way as well. I don’t even really have any friends with penises; I’ve just sort of managed to build a life that didn’t need menfolk in it. And I’ve blamed men for it, but it’s just as much my fault. Sure, the one time I did actually try to date a cisguy he had serious enough qualms about my lack of penis that we never ended up going out, but that’s one time. It’s one dude who needs to work out his own issues. You can’t try one time and then say it’s never gonna happen.

I think it is true that I connect with fewer menfolk, but I think it’s also true that a lot of the time I don’t allow myself to believe that such a connection is possible. There have been a few guys with whom I’ve sort of danced around the idea of liking, but I never gave it the kind of focus that I would have given to a similar situation with a womenfolk person. I think some people would see that as evidence that I’m not really into men, but I just can’t see it that way. Instead, I view it as evidence that I am holding myself back because I’ve stopped seeing menfolk as a real possibility. I’ve somehow allowed menfolk, particularly ones with penises, to be outside of my comfort zone, and I don’t want that anymore.

So this is not fetishizing because it’s not about the body or the identity so much as it’s about pushing myself to not be a coward anymore. I’m not trying something new, I’m trying to make sure that I do something I’ve always known I wanted to. Realizing that my attraction to men was queer was an important and freeing moment in my life, but that was years ago and I haven’t done anything with the knowledge. It’s time I did something with that freedom.

Q:What type of guy/girl are you attracted to?

Anonymous

First, why do you ask?

Second, gosh. This is such a big question, and I’m not really sure I should answer it, but I guess, in honor of national coming out day, I will in some way. It’s probably not going to be what you were hoping for—I’m not going to outline a single physical type for you. I’m sure people who have paid attention to my dating history could point out some patterns, but I’m not interested in publishing that.

I am attracted to lots of genders and lots of bodies. I’d like to say I don’t really think about it as being attracted to guys/girls, but I guess I do, only it’s really more men/women/other folks. I never claim to like people regardless of gender. Gender is important to me, I just don’t use it as a qualifier or disqualifier. Well, I suppose I do—I don’t much like straightness as a gendering characteristic, especially not on menfolk. More than the particular gender of the person, queerness in a potential relationship with that person is important. Queerness doesn’t only happen when everyone involved is queer—I’ve dated people who would not have called themselves queer—it happens when everyone involved is open to recognizing and actively working for a fluidity of roles and interactions, and is equally dedicated to making sure we don’t pass for straight in any moment in which our safety does not depend on it (and actually probably in some situations in which our safety does depend on it. I’m kind of fool-hardy that way). Queerness also means we are able to talk about our identities (all of them) and how they contribute to and color our lives. I’ve been in relationships in which we never really have a full-out conversation about our genders, or our ethnicities, or our relationships with our bodies, or any of our other important identities, and it always feels like an important component of our ability to relate to one another is missing. I stop short on necessitating queerness when it reaches the point of pushing people farther out of the closet than they are ready to be. It’s not my job to out people, and while it’s harder for me to be in a relationship with someone if I cannot freely talk about it, people’s closet processes are their own and I try to deal with it. Being in the closet does not lose a person their chance to date me.

I like people who are intentional with their genders and presentations. I also like people whose genders are so intrinsic to them that they don’t feel a need to name them or think too hard about them, or maybe they call them something I wouldn’t expect. I like people who are intentional about expressing those inexorable parts of them too. I just connect with a lot of people.

I’m a fan of difference. I’ve never dated anyone who looked even a little bit like me, and I can’t see it happening in the future. Some of the people I’ve dated are similar to me in size, but I wouldn’t say it’s the norm. I like people who are interested in things that are interesting to me, but are not the things I’m interested in. I like to learn from people, but I have to want to learn whatever it is they feel they teach; everyone has something. They have to want to learn from me too. I try to avoid major power imbalances though, that’s one difference I can’t deal with.

Some of the people I date are generally recognized by the world as stunning, some are recognized by my friends as stunning because they understand my taste. I’m not bothered with how much society finds a person attractive.

Q:There's plently of ways in which I do "top", gladly, without hesitance, lol. But then there are some ways I just never really want to. I'm not adverse to reciprocation at all, just in one way... Meh.

sapphrikah

I hear you. It sucks if the ways you don’t want to give are the ways that your partner prefers to receive, but you gotta do only what you love and are comfortable with, and in the end, if you’re making up for it in other ways, your partner just has to deal with that.

Of course, non-monogamy is another good solution for getting everyone’s wants met, but I know that’s not everyone’s cup of tea.

Q:I read that four part piece of yours, and it was really enjoyable. I quoted the part about obnoxious tops and the roles and skill sets of tops and bottoms on my page because it gave me comfort. I've topped, by request, and I can say that there is one thing about topping that comes natural to me. There's on skill I'm particularly good at, but the rest are just not there. I'm wonderful in the bottom role. I have a high tolerance for pleasure, and can tell you what I need or like, these are all these I'm really good with. And I have constantly gotten the "you're lazy" or "you're a pillow queen" or "you don't do any work! I do all the work!" responses, and it makes me feel bad. Reading that made me feel much much better, because lately I've been feeling like the girl who can't deliver. Who is always taking rather than giving. I'm really glad I read that, especially since I value your opinion so much.

sapphrikah

I’m glad it gave you comfort, but my opinion is always less important than your partner’s. There are obnoxious tops who think they do all the work and deserve all the respect, and then there are selfish bottoms, who never offer to reciprocate. Yes, tops and bottoms have different skills, but sometimes for the sake of the person we’re having sex with, we need to be willing to switch. Tops need to be touched too. There are ways to give pleasure without topping, depending on what “top” actually means to you, so if your partner’s complaining, you should be listening and working on getting creative (if you want, you and I can have a longer private conversation about what that can entail. Also, lol, I never expected to be the one giving you any sex advice). And if you’re the kind of bottom who would like to never give pleasure, you’re gonna have to start letting partners know you’re stone in the same way that a top who would like to never receive tells partners that they are stone. Stones can be on either side of that equation, and the best thing for them to do is find and fuck one another; that way everyone’s getting what they want.

(A)sexuality and Me: probably more information than you ever wanted on my sexual history

Section 4: In Which I Am Not Sure I Am A Sexual Being

Click here for (Section 3)

(Start at the Beginning)

Still, there was this little issue of me not having orgasms. Now, sex is not about orgasm. I know that. But actually, it is a little bit. When you’re having sex, you want it to be good, and you want that to be signaled by your partner’s orgasm. As someone who has rather enjoyed helping people come, I know what a cool feeling it is. As someone who does not know personally what orgasms feel like, though, there is a wistful distance. I have seen a lot of orgasms and learned different ways they happen and are expressed, but I don’t understand them. When sex is good for me, the other person’s peak is mine as well. In some ways, that’s the ideal situation—you could say we come at the same time every time. But if we are not completely connected, I end sex unsatisfied, a feeling that is only compounded if the person then tries to reciprocate.

One of two things happens when I do not orgasm: 1) it gets too intense and I have to ask the person to stop or 2) The pleasure wanes and I get numb or it starts to sting or I get bored so I ask the person to stop. I never fake orgasms. If I were a person who came, maybe I would, but it’d be really cruel to have someone falsely believe they gave you your first.

Asking someone to stop sucks, no matter how much you both know it’s going to happen. It’s anti-climactic and I’m usually pretty down about it. I’m also usually pretty down about the part where they were trying to give me pleasure too; I don’t really like the intensity, and I really hate the other one, and I find I just get disappointed in my body for not giving us what we both want out of the situation. I’m not a fool, I know that no matter what a partner says, they’re really hoping to make you come.

So for a while I figured, eh, I just don’t need that. I can have great sex and not come. As I said in a previous section, my desire to be touched on my genitals (oh my gosh, don’t even get me started on penetration. Well, actually, it’s a short story. It hurts, I don’t let people do that to me) is super fleeting. If anything, I’d say it’s just an extension of my desire to be touched anywhere, but we all fall into the trap of feeling like, it’s genitals time so we’re gonna keep working on that until the work is done, so to speak. I guess the problem is that that part of me is sexualized, like my chest, in a way I don’t personally see it. 

This particular partner, though, the persistent one, she was really persistent. So every time we had to try on me, and every time we would have fabulous sex until it was my turn to be touched and we would end on a really sour note. Eventually she would offer and I would just decline, but that was disappointing too. I’m pretty sure I’m not stone. I do need some kind of attention, but not being touched wasn’t nearly as bad as going through the let down every time though.

I guess something else that is important to mention is that somehow, I’ve never been sexual with a top. Not even really with bottom switches. Some people will tell you (before I had sex, I would have been one of these people) that the idea that top and bottom and switch are completely distinct sexual identities is role-perpetuating bullshit, but in my experience, it’s completely true. Tops and bottoms have different skill sets in sex. I make a good top because (particularly as someone who tried to maximize the pleasure they could give people without genital contact) I have good instincts about bodies and what feels good on them, because I’m obsessed with enthusiastic consent, and because I derive pleasure from other people’s pleasure. Bottoms need to have high tolerance for pleasure and an ability to communicate their needs and desires, what is working for them and what is not. I don’t have any of those skills. I know that part of me not bottoming has to do with the fact that I’m too cowardly and impatient to bottom and then I don’t come, and a lot of it has to do with the fact that none of my partners were tops (some tried, but the instinct never really seemed to be there) so I sort of just defaulted into it, but some of it was just that I could never do some of the things the bottoms in my life were able to do. I simply don’t have the capacity. (The following is a bit of a side note) I have the utmost respect for bottoms, but I know tops who don’t. They feel that as the person who is giving the pleasure, they do all the work. I can’t even conceive of that. Don’t fuck obnoxious tops.

Anyway, back to my story, after a while, I grew less connected to the sex, and then I stopped desiring it at all. I developed an aversion to the way it felt to be touched anywhere—it all kind of stung. I can’t really deal with the breathlessness that comes from enjoyment, and I probably have issues with the loss of control over my own body. I’m pretty sure that my “asexuality” is the result of some pretty major emotional issues I’ve never sorted through, and I know that that’s not what asexuality is. So I don’t really know what my sexual identity is. I’m still struggling through. And that’s ok. I keep away from impatient people now; I make sure to temper expectations. I try to give myself the space to not need to know immediately. 

Source: boygirlboigrrrl