I just want to say that once you guys step into the world of being guys with the addition of testosterone, you lose the privilege of commenting on women’s bodies.
You don’t get to say things like “She’s really good in bed, but her face looks like a horse.”
You just don’t get to. Not that it was OK before, because if you’re fucking someone, and seeing someone in that vulnerable position, maybe you should like them, and horses are actually kind of cute if you take the time to look. And really, commenting on your sexual exploits? That’s a very male privileged thing to do, and it comes at the cost of women.
You don’t get to tell people the girl you are about to start dating isn’t really that cute. Maybe you’re not that cute either. And it sounds like she’s putting up with a lot too, what with your fat ass mouth and shitty attitude, anyway.
In your blooming adolescence, you don’t get to trample on the spirits of the women who are supporting you. It’s cruel and unfair. You don’t get to claim you are woman identified, that you are feminist, when you are so clearly denigrating women in your quest to grab as much male privilege as you can.
You don’t get to be like every other man who went through puberty at 13, learning to trash women and their bodies in locker rooms and bathroom stalls, growing up the spitting image of the patriarchy that supports them. You don’t get to be the guys that scare us on the street, the frat boys who sexually harass us, the businessmen who grope us at the bar, the half-dressed man at a dance party who shoved his tongue down our throat. The men who pinched our nipples at the bar, making us flee into the night. The guy we check for in the back of the car every time we get in, to make sure we don’t get raped. The fathers who abused us. The men who yells fat pig out the car window. You don’t get to do that to us. It’s a betrayal to your sisters. Your heritage. Yes. As much as you don’t own it, it is still yours.
You may think that you are still operating in the queer realm because you are dating queer identified girls or you identify as queer. But to the world, you might look like a het dude. And your relationship may look straight. All the more reason why you don’t get to say things about women’s bodies. About your sexual conquests. About your girlfriend’s flaws. We don’t deserve to pay the price, again. How much blood can we give?
I expect more of you than other guys. Because you’re more than other guys. In my soul, you’re still my sister. My confidante. My best friend. And I won’t let you betray me like men have. I hold you to a higher standard, a better principle. I won’t let you take on the privilege of beating women down into submission by shaming us for having a cunt. For bleeding with the moon. For having passions as full as the ocean. I won’t let you call us slut for liking sex, or tell us we’re ugly for turning you down. I won’t let you scream at us in a bar for refusing to go home with you, and I won’t let you treat me like a house maid, catering to your every whim while you do important man things like Work and Watch TV.
I am a woman, and I deserve better. And I expect it from you.