I believe in a lot of things: the power of whiskey to cure colds, feminism, the existence of global warming, peanut butter pie. But above all I believe in Love, and in particular, self-love. Self-love can take many forms, from caring for you to the radical act of self-pleasure—or in a single word, Masturbation.
When I was growing up in western Minnesota, ravioli came out of a can and was made by Chef Boyardee. That was as close as I was ever going to get to haute cuisine until I was in my early thirties and finally ate ravioli made by an actual chef.
Rather than being plopped into a bowl and thrown in a microwave Boyardee style, this pasta broke open between my teeth and quail egg filled my mouth with its warm, silky ooziness, blanking out everything else.. I closed my eyes. I moaned, out loud, and I licked my lips.
Canned ravioli does not elicit that kind of response.
The feeling lingered, warmth spreading into my hands, my feet. I felt flush. I wanted to enjoy it for a little longer by myself. That one bite of food made me so aware of my body my entire interior voice turned off. It was pure sensation. That had never happened before.
Hold on, that sounds like something more than good pasta.
There are many different ways to be physically intimate with people, but there’s only one sexual technique that has its own day of recognition. October 21st is celebrated around the world as International Fisting Day, a day when, according to the official website, “bloggers, artists, activists, journalists, and fisting lovers all over the world come together to celebrate this beloved and controversial sex act.”
You can’t go online or get groceries without being bombarded by articles about sex and insecurity. Compatibility quizzes, things he wants you to know, things you’re doing wrong, how to look good having sex. I even saw an article recently on how to burn more calories while you’re having sex.
Now we have to “earn” every morsel of food by working out and we have to earn our orgasms through calorie burning as well. How is it romantic to be like “Hold still dude, I’m trying to get my third set of tri-presses in!”
Not only is most of the information hurled at us about sex completely heterosexist, but it serves to tell women that our bodies are not, and probably never will be, good enough.
The title of Cris Mazza’s new memoir, Something Wrong with Her, refers, in part, to the condition of anaorgasma, the inability to achieve orgasm. But that’s only part of the picture.
In fact, there is a very short list of sexual experimentation that Mazza has ever actually enjoyed, and she knows what you’re thinking: in one of the book’s many subtitles, the term “sexual dysfunction” is crossed out, and “frigidity” is scrawled in. This was, after all, the age of sexual liberation, where women were supposed to be more in touch with their sexual selves than ever before. If a woman wasn’t getting it and loving it, there must be something wrong.