Some people may like to play and roll all over each other, without any “gentle murmurings”, it may accidentally become uncomfortable or painful, and both may get their fluids on each others faces. You are defining that as “not real sex” by the whay you choose your words.

In these discussions it is important for me to be clear about which part of a practice is evil and which possibly neutral part is used to do evil.
As the Buddha would say: It ain’t what you do, it’s the way that you do it.

Oh, no, I did not deny or devalue *your* experience and reality. I am fully cognizant of the fact that the “facial” has a distinct meaning for you separate from its inherent meaning. To put it another way: If I’m eating mint chocolate chip ice cream and decide that it tastes nothing like that to me, that maybe it tastes more like pineapple orange ice cream, my experience is that it tastes like pineapple orange ice cream. That doesn’t change the fact that I am, in actuality, eating mint chocolate chip ice cream. I fully respect that your experience is your own. I’m not trying to tell you how *you* perceive this sex act, I already know how you perceive it and I respect that there is a rationale behind the significance you’ve attached to the act, and that you’ve probably spent some time thoughtfully constructing a rationale that appeals to you. I respect that your rationale is important to you.

Yet, here you are, on a rad fem blog, talking about facials, and you had to know where that discussion was going to lead.

Now you know the history of the facial, you know why pornographers include it in their work, you know why men get off on it, and so maybe you can begin to see that there is a larger cultural context in which this act exists that already defines the act. If you want to point at a knife and call it a shoe, that’s your business, but you should anticipate some strange looks from those around you, and please don’t expect them to start calling your knife a shoe because it would make you oh so happy if only people would validate your right to call a knife a shoe. The facial already has a meaning, that meaning is sexual domination/degradation. If you don’t like that meaning, you are free to tell yourself any story you want about it, but that doesn’t change the fact that you are allowing yourself to be dominated/degraded.

Quick: What does the idiom “in your face” mean? Why is it an egregious insult to throw something in someone’s face? Now, if you’d like, you can choose to walk up to a loved one and throw a glass of water in their face as a gensture of affection — that is entirely your business. Don’t forget to tell them that you are “removing the association of insult” from the act of throwing water in someone’s face, and so they should accept your new definition unquestioningly.

Better yet, ask them what their ideal sex partner is like before you even get to the bedroom. That will clue you into what sort of guy you’re dealing with. Watch out for telling adjectives like “open-minded”, which is patriarchal code for “will do any pornulated crap I suggest”.

Even better yet, date a guy who doesn’t use porn. A) You’ll know that he’s in the very least a decent soul who has actually spent some valuable philosophical time developing an ethos, and, B) You’ll know he’s self-disciplined because he’s successfully conquered one of the most common addictions known to dudekind. Oh, and, C) You’ll know he isn’t sex-addicted (porn usage keeps people in an artificial state of hyperarousal, which can, and often does, lead down all sorts of nasty alleyways).

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“In the few years since I’ve discovered radical feminism, I find myself being disliked by more and more people, especially other women, believe it or not, usually and ironically due to my defense of women. Go figure.”

That comes as no surprise at all to me. Atheism helped prepare me for feminism. I’ve occasionally been treated like I’m infected with a deadly pathogen by those of the Christian faith, and I’ve never done anything to elicit this reaction aside from actively choose to disengage from religion. It’s as if my very existence threatens to turn their world upside-down. I don’t have to say a word; I might be the friendliest, least confrontational person in the room at that moment. And yet, the cognitive dissonance can get so thick, you could cut it with a spoon. Fear of exploring the niggling doubts and incongruities quickly turns to anger, and that anger gets projected onto me. I become the living representation of the emotional chaos that follows in the wake of a life-altering revelation about reality. The status quo is familiar, it may hurt sometimes, but not nearly as much as the acknowledgement that everything you’ve believed about life and humanity since birth is a lie. It’s no different being the only feminist in a room full of unenlightened women. You may as well be carrying a deadly and highly contagious disease.

Oh yeah. We’ve got snakes that kill you, jellyfish that kill you, scorpions that kill you, spiders that kill you, fish that kill you, crocodiles that don’t just kill you; they eat you, and centipedes, wasps, bees and ants that might not kill you, but will certainly make you hurt.

Most of them are a lot bigger than your dog. And did I mention the drop bears?

Just a couple of weeks ago, while visiting a woman I recently met through a mutual friend, she and another of her friends just had to show me the funniest graphic that yet another woman had sent to them via cell phone. What they just had to show me was an animated gif depicting a man slapping a woman across the face with his pornulation-sized penis.

Upon seeing the graphic, I turned away with a wince and told them, “That’s awful. The sexual humiliation of women isn’t funny.” The room went so silent that for about 30 seconds you could have heard a pin drop. You would have thought that women would know this, too, but their silence and the glee with which they showed the graphic to others who joined us later is proof that they didn’t know that then nor do they believe it now.

Incidentally, I’ve since been informed that those women have decided that they don’t like me after all. I’m not surprised by this. In the few years since I’ve discovered radical feminism, I find myself being disliked by more and more people, especially other women, believe it or not, usually and ironically due to my defense of women. Go figure.