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Stacey May Fowles Article

A fascinating article from AlterNet:

The Fantasy of Acceptable ‘Non-Consent’: Why the Female Sexual Submissive Scares Us (and Why She Shouldn’t)

By Stacey May Fowles, Seal Press

Posted on December 29, 2008, Printed on January 4, 2009

http://www.alternet.org/story/113745/

The following excerpt is from the book Yes Means Yes: Visions of Female Sexual Power and a World Without Rape, edited by Jaclyn Friedman and Jessica Valenti. Excerpted by arrangement with Seal Press, a member of the Perseus Books Group. Copyright (c) January 2009.

Because I’m a feminist who enjoys domination, bondage and pain in the bedroom, it should be pretty obvious why I often remain mute and, well, pretty closeted about my sexuality. While it’s easy for me to write an impassioned diatribe on the vital importance of “conventional” women’s pleasure, or to talk publicly and explicitly about sexual desire in general, I often shy away from conversations about my personal sexual choices. Despite the fact that I’ve been on a long, intentional path to finally feel empowered by, and open about, my decision to be a sexual submissive, the reception I receive regarding this decision is not always all that warm.

BDSM (for my purposes, bondage, discipline, dominance and submission, sadism and masochism) makes a lot of people uncomfortable, and the concept of female submission makes feminists really uncomfortable. I can certainly understand why, but I also believe that safe, sane and consensual BDSM exists as a polar opposite of a reality in which women constantly face the threat of sexual violence.

As someone who works in the feminist media and who advocates against violence against women and for rape survivors’ rights, I never really felt I was allowed to participate in the fantasy of my own violation. There is a guilt and shame in having the luxury to decide to act on this desire — to consent to this kind of “nonconsent.” It seems to suggest you haven’t known true sexual violence, cannot truly understand how traumatic it can be, if you’re willing to incorporate a fictional version of it into your “play.” But this simply isn’t true: A 2007 study conducted in Australia revealed that rates of sexual abuse and coercion were similar between BDSM practitioners and other Australians. The study concluded that BDSM is simply a sexual interest or subculture attractive to a minority, not defined by a pathological symptom of past abuse.

But when you throw a little rape, bondage or humiliation fantasy into the mix, a whole set of ideological problems arises. The idea of a woman consenting to be violated via play not only is difficult terrain to negotiate politically, but also is rarely discussed beyond BDSM practitioners themselves. Sexually submissive feminists already have a hard enough time finding a voice in the discourse, and their desire to be demeaned is often left out of the conversation. Because of this, the opportunity to articulate the political ramifications of rape fantasy happens rarely, if at all.

You can blame this silence on the fact that BDSM is generally poorly — often cartoonishly — represented. Cinematic depictions are generally hastily drawn caricatures, pushing participants onto the fringes and increasing the stigma that surrounds their personal and professional choices. While mainstream film and television occasionally offer up an empowered, vaguely fleshed-out and somewhat sympathetic professional female dom (think Lady Heather from “CSI”), those women who are sexually submissive by choice seem to be invisible. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say that they are left out of the picture because, quite simply, they scare us. Feminist pornographic depictions of women being dominated for pleasure are often those involving other women — that’s a safe explicit image, because the idea of a male inflicting pain on a consenting woman is just too hard for many people to stomach. For many viewers it hits too close to home — the idea of a female submissive’s consensual exchange of her authority to make decisions (temporarily or long-term) for a dominant’s agreement to make decisions for her just doesn’t sit well with the feminist community.

It’s important to point out that, however you attempt to excuse it, this inability to accept BDSM into the feminist dialogue is really just a form of kinkophobia, a widely accepted prejudice against the practice of power-exchange sex. Patrick Califia, writer and advocate of BDSM pornography and practice, wisely states that “internalized kinkophobia is the unique sense of shame that many, if not most, sadomasochists feel about their participation in a deviant society.” This hatred of self can be particularly strong among feminist submissives, when an entire community that they identify with either dismisses their desires or pegs them as unwitting victims.

It’s taken me many years of unlearning mainstream power dynamics to understand and accept my own desire for fictional, fetishized ones. Despite this deliberate journey of self-discovery and the accompanying (and perhaps contradictory) feelings of being in total control, it’s pretty evident that the feminist movement at large is not really ready to admit that women who like to be hit, choked, tied up and humiliated are empowered. Personally, the more I submitted sexually, the more I was able to be autonomous in my external life, the more I was able to achieve equality in my sexual and romantic partnerships, and the more genuine I felt as a human being. Regardless, I always felt that by claiming submissive status I was being highlighted as part of a social dynamic that sought to violate all women. Sadly, claims of sexual emancipation do not translate into acceptance for submissives — the best a submissive can hope for is to be labeled and condescended to as a damaged victim choosing submission as a way of healing from or processing past trauma and abuse.

Whether or not it’s difficult to accept that the desire to be demeaned is not a product of a society that seeks to objectify women, I would argue that, regardless of appearance, by its very nature BDSM is constantly about consent. Of course, its language and rules differ significantly from vanilla sexual scenes, but the very existence of a safe word is the ultimate in preventing violation — it suggests that at any moment, regardless of expectations or interpretations on the part of either party, the act can and will end. Ignoring the safe word is a clear act of violation that is not up for any debate. Because of this, BDSM sex, even with all its violent connotations, can be much “safer” than non-safe-word sex. While not very romantic in the traditional sense, the rules are clear — at any moment a woman (or man) can say no, regardless of the script she (or he) is using.

The safe, sane, and consensual BDSM landscape is made up of stringent rules and safe practices designed to protect the feelings of everyone involved and to ensure constant, enthusiastic consent. The culture could not exist if this were not the case; a submissive participates in power exchange because a safe psychological space is offered up to do so. That space creates an opportunity for a display of endurance, a relief from responsibility, and feelings of affection and security. Before any “scene” begins, the rules are made clear and the limitations agreed upon.

Finding a partner or dom to play with is the ultimate achievement in trust, and giving someone the power to hurt you for pleasure is both liberating and powerful. The more I embrace submissive sexuality, the more I come to learn that, despite all appearances to the contrary, consensual, respectful SM relationships generally dismantle the very tropes that rape culture is founded on.

A dom/sub dynamic doesn’t appear to promote equality, but for most serious practitioners, the trust and respect that exist in power exchange actually transcend a mainstream “woman as object” or rape mentality. For BDSM to exist safely, it has to be founded on a constant proclamation of enthusiastic consent, which mainstream sexuality has systematically dismantled.

This, of course, doesn’t mean that BDSM culture is without blame or responsibility. Despite the obvious fact that domination and submission (and everything that comes with them) are in the realm of elaborate fantasy, it is interesting to examine how those lifestyle choices and depictions (both mainstream and countercultural) influence an overall rape culture that seeks to demean and demoralize woman. While consensual, informed BDSM is contrary to rape culture, more mainstream (or nonfetish) pornography that even vaguely simulates rape (of the “take it, bitch” and “you know you like it” variety) is quite the opposite. When those desires specific to BDSM are appropriated, watered down and corrupted, the complex rules that the counterculture is founded on are completely disposed of.

Herein lies the problem — with the advent and proliferation of Internet pornography, the fantasy of rape, torture and bondage becomes an issue of access. No longer reserved for an informed, invested viewer who carefully sought it out after a trip to a fetish bookstore, BDSM is represented in every porn portal on the Internet. The average computer user can have instant access to a full catalog of BDSM practices, ranging from light, soft-core spanking to hard-core torture, in a matter of seconds. This kind of constant, unrestrained availability trains viewers who don’t have a BDSM cultural awareness, investment or education to believe that what women want is to be coerced and, in some cases, forced into acts they don’t consent to. Over the years, various interpretations of the genre have made it into straight porn, without any suggestion of artifice — women on leashes, in handcuffs, gagged, tied up and told to “like it” are all commonplace imagery in contemporary pornography.

While the serious BDSM practitioner thrives on that artifice, the average young, male, heterosexual porn audience member begins to believe that forcing women into sex acts is the norm — the imagery’s constant, instant availability makes rape and sex one and the same for the mainstream viewer. Couple that private home viewing to get off with the proliferation of graphic crime shows on prime-time television and torture porn masquerading as “psychological thrillers” in theaters, and our cultural imagery screams that “women as sexual victims” is an acceptable reality. For someone who is raised, and reaches sexual maturity, in this environment, the idea of forcing a woman into a sex act seems, although logically “wrong,” completely commonplace and possibly quite sexy.

The appropriation of BDSM imagery is problematic because while community members understand that it is important to be sensitive to the needs, boundaries and rules of players in order for a scene to function fairly and enjoyably, mainstream porn is primarily about getting off as quickly as possible. Add to that a disgraceful lack of sexual education (both in safety and in pleasure) across the country and a general belief perpetuated by the media that women are sex objects to be consumed, and you have a rape culture that started by borrowing from BDSM’s images without reading its rules.

This reality raises some interesting questions for safe, sane and consensual BDSM practitioners. If, as someone who identifies as a sexual submissive, you like to fantasize about being raped, are you now complicit in this pervasive rape culture? Are you not only complicit, but also key in perpetuating the acceptability of violence, regardless of how private and personal your desire is? From another perspective — are you actually a victim? Is your fantasy merely a product of a culture that coerces you into believing that kind of violence is acceptable or even desirable?

Alternatively, is your desire (however bastardized and appropriated) still your own — your fantasy of “nonconsent” yours to choose and act out in a consenting environment? A personal choice when feminist ideology emphasizes choice above all else?

And finally, and perhaps most important, with all of its limitations, safe words, time limits and explicitly negotiated understandings of what is allowed — is the consensual SM relationship actually the ultimate in trust and collaborative “performance,” its rules and artifice the very antithesis of rape?

Paradoxically, sexual submission and rape fantasy can only be acceptable in a culture that doesn’t condone them. On a simplistic level, a fetish is only a fetish when it falls outside the realm of the real, and, as I mentioned, the reason why some feminists fear or loathe the BDSM scene is that it is all too familiar. When a woman is subjected to (or enjoying, depending on who is viewing and participating) torture, humiliation and pain, many feminists see the 6 o’clock news, not a pleasurable fantasy, regardless of context. Even someone who identifies as a sexual submissive, someone like me, can understand why it’s difficult to view these scenes objectively. Many fantasies are taboo for precisely that reason — it’s close to impossible to step beyond the notion that a man interested in domination is akin to a rapist, or that if a woman submits she is a helpless victim of rape culture. But consenting BDSM practitioners would argue that their community at large responsibly enacts desires without harm, celebrating female desire and (as is so fundamental in dismantling rape culture) making (her) pleasure central.

As a community, feminists need to truly examine whether or not it’s condescending to say to a woman who chooses the fantasy of rape that she is a victim of a culture that seeks to demean, humiliate and violate women, whether or not it’s acceptable to accuse her of being misguided, misinformed or even mentally ill.

The reality is that when two people consent to fabricate a scene of nonconsent in the privacy of their own erotic lives, they are not consenting to perpetuate the violation of women everywhere. The true problem lies in mainstream pornography’s appropriation of fetish tropes — while BDSM practitioners are generally serious about and invested in the ideological beliefs behind their lifestyle choices, the average mainstream porn user doesn’t usually take the time to understand the finer points of dominance and submission (or consent and safety) before he casually witnesses a violation scene in a mainstream pornographic film or image.

While early black-and-white fantasy films of Bettie Page being kidnapped and tied up by a group of insatiable femmes are generally viewed as light, harmless, erotic fun, that kind of imagery, when injected into mainstream pornography (and even Hollywood), can have epic cultural ramifications. Sadly, gratuitous depictions of violence against women on the big screen have effectively taken the taboo-play element out of fetish imagery. Bombarded with an onslaught of violent images in which a woman is the victim, viewers fail to see where fantasy and fetish end and reality begins.

BDSM pornography is so excruciatingly aware of its own ability to perpetuate the idea that women yearn to be violated that it actually fights against that myth. At the end of almost every authentic BDSM photo set, you’ll see a single appended photo of the participants, smiling and happy, assuring us that what we’ve seen is theater acted out by consenting adults, proving that fetish porn often exists as a careful, aware construct that constantly references itself as such.

The reality is that the activities and pornographic imagery of BDSM culture are problematic only because we have reached a point where a woman’s desire is completely demeaned and dismissed. If women’s pleasure were paramount, this argument (and the feminist fear of sexual submission) wouldn’t exist. When women are consistently depicted as victims of both violence and culture, it’s difficult to see any other possibilities. Feminists have a responsibility not only to fight and speak out against the mainstream appropriation of BDSM, but also to support BDSM practitioners who endorse safe, sane and consensual practice.

When the mainstream appropriation of BDSM models is successfully critiqued, dismantled and corrected, a woman can then feel safe to desire to be demeaned, bound, gagged and “forced” into sex by her lover. In turn, feminists would feel safe accepting that desire, because it would be clear consensual submission. Because “she was asking for it” would finally be true.

If you want to read more about Media Matters, try:

* “Offensive Feminism: The Conservative Gender Norms That Perpetuate Rape Culture, and How Feminists Can Fight Back,” by Jill Filipovic

* “An Old Enemy in a New Outfit: How Date Rape Became Gray Rape and Why It Matters,” by Lisa Jervis

* “Purely Rape: The Myth of Sexual Purity and How It Reinforces Rape Culture,” by Jessica Valenti

If you want to read more about Much Taboo About Nothing, try:

* “A Love Letter from an Anti-Rape Activist to Her Feminist Sex-Toy Store,” by Lee Jacobs Riggs

* “The Process-Oriented Virgin,” by Hanne Blank

* “Real Sex Education,” by Cara Kulwicki

© 2009 Seal Press All rights reserved.

View this story online at: http://www.alternet.org/story/113745/

Orienteering

“It’s not like I’m sexually submissive or anything,” said West Kensington to Vauxhall Park over the brim of her teacup. “It’s not even like I’m really, like, bi-curious. I mean, I can see why women are attractive, but…” Somehow running out of words, her sentence remained derailed, and she turned to look out of the cafe window, avoiding her companion’s gaze.

“But what?” Vauxhall Park looked faintly amused.

There are parts of Central London that could seem, at a glance, almost rural. Bits of greenish gold like tarnished copper, patches of trees between small, leaf-strewn suburbs. You can feel it though. You know it’s still London. The city has a vibration, almost inaudible, but there all the same. Even as you sit, there in that cafe, over the sound of polite chatter, china and cutlery, the sound of two women drunking tea, talking about sex, you can nearly hear it if you just listen: the amorphous sludge of low-register noise, its pitch too deep to get an aural grip on. It’s a rumble that you feel in your stomach, the soundless sound of a hundred trains disgorging commuters into burrows deep under your feet, a swarm of traffic helicopters flying too low overhead, a million thoughts beamed across invisible strings of radio, phone and wi-fi, tangling around your skull and tightening.

A chairleg screeched as someone shuffled and turned the page of the free newspaper he’d spread across his table.

“There was this evening a while ago,” began West Kensington. “Shit, I don’t know why I’m even telling you this. Let’s just forget it.”

Vauxhall Park was patient. “There was this evening a while ago…?”

“Yeah.” West Kensington took another sip of tea. “Well, bear in mind that I’d had a drink. And he’d been out. I knew he was on his way back. And so I got in the shower. And as the water was running down over my face I decided I was going to be you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. It was like I’d shapeshifted or something. In my head, I mean. It’s the strangest feeling. And it turned me on. Being you. The idea of him coming home and finding me, being you, there in the shower.”

Vauxhall Park said nothing, but smiled.

“And so when he came in,” continued West Kensington, emboldened, looking down into her tea. “I was out of the shower by then. He was late, so I’d done my make-up like you do yours. That thing with the eyes? And I’d looked through the drawer and picked out what I thought you’d wear.”

“What did I choose?” laughed Vauxhall Park quietly.

West Kensington took a large sip of tea, still looking down. “Just this black slinky thing. It doesn’t matter. Anyway, my hair was wet, and he came in and said something, I don’t remember what, but I just kind of attacked him. Well, not attacked. Pounced maybe. Like how I imagine you’d do it.”

“I’m more of a pouncer then, am I?” She adopted an infuriating smirk.

“Fuck, this is so embarrassing.” West Kensington shook her head and blinked twice, putting the cup down slightly too hard in its saucer.

“I’m sorry, go on.”

West Kensington paused. “Well, he looked kind of shocked at first. I’d got him pushed up against the wall and I was saying all these things in his ear, in this really deep, whispery voice, the sorts of things I thought you’d say. Talking dirty. You know?”

A complacent nod from Vauxhall Park.

“He was surprised, but we’ve always played a bit rough. Nothing extreme before. Just a playfight every now and then. Fluffy handcuffs. Normal stuff. But when I was being you, it was crazy. We were throwing each other about all over the place. Kicking, scratching, all sorts.”

Vauxhall Park was laughing now, leaning back against her chair until West Kensington beckoned her back in with mock urgency, giggling, shushing.

“And he overpowered me. Obviously. I mean, he’s stronger and I’ve always kind of let him win with stuff like that. You know? But I kept on struggling. He had to pin me down, and even then I put up a good fight, just like I figured you would. I got so fucking wet.” West Kensington’s voice was a conspiratorial whisper now. “And he fucked me hard. I made him. He smacked me while he was doing it, and fucked me so hard it hurt. I closed my eyes and I was you. It was you he was fucking right then. And I loved it. I loved being you, being fucked like that.”

“Good.” Vauxhall park seemed surprisingly nonplussed by the revelation.

“I don’t think you’d have given in like that though. You’d have fought. You’d have been the one fucking him, not the one getting fucked.”

“I’d imagine so.”

“So what does it mean? Why does it turn me on, the idea of a strong woman being overpowered? The idea of you being hurt. Well, me, being you, being hurt? Do I secretly want to harm you or something? Does it make me a bad person? What the hell is that?”

Vauxhall Park was smiling, brows relaxed. “Post-feminism?”

“Seriously though, it freaked me out. We’ve done it a couple of times since then. The same. I haven’t told him what’s in my head when we fuck like that. He’s never asked. It’s just so good.”

The city purred quietly below the linoleum, as if perched upon the belly of a sleeping beast. Just out of earshot, something was roaring. The heating vent perhaps, the wings of a million pigeons, or the brakes of a bus at traffic lights. Not so much a noise, but rather a sensation in the metal fillings that hold your back teeth together. A deep reverberation like inside of a churchbell several minutes after it’s tolled.

“If it’s good, then what’s the problem?”

“There are times with you,” said West Kensington, the other woman’s hand closing around her own, “when I’m scared I’ll forget which one of us I am.”

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Board Games

Last week, a flurry of articles emerged in the national press about the truly magnificent UK drama series “Spooks/MI5”. The furore appears to be the result of a scene due to be screened on BBC1 tonight, where the character Lucas North (Richard Armitage) is “waterboarded” during an interrogation.

Now, for those unfamiliar with waterboarding, it’s a method commonly used by the CIA to extract information. A suspect is bound against a board, a cloth is placed over the nose and mouth, and a stream of water is poured onto the face. This simulates the experience of drowning, stimulating the gag reflex and fight-or-flight reactions, and there is thought to be a risk of long-term psychological and respiratory damage. The debate continues as to whether this constitutes real torture. Much as war itself has been a rebranding exercise over the past decade (invasion and occupation has become “regime change” these days, snipers are now “sharp shooters”, and a massive bombardment is termed a harmless firework display of “shock and awe”) this method of gruesome punishment first thought to have been used during the Spanish Inquisition has been given the kind of name that would suggest a sporting activity one might like to try on a weekend break at Center Parcs. It’s a sad irony that waterboarding is most widely used by the self-imposed guardians of the “civilised world”.

Most people would agree that torture, in whatever form, is abhorrent when done for real. Yet the press hysteria over tonight’s television is surprising. The controversy itself may just be a publicity stunt – after all, the articles spread across several publications were suspiciously similar, and probably originated from a BBC press release. Yet the public appear to have shown more outrage at a drama series that has responsibly depicted waterboarding than at the real thing.

This is a tragic reflection of how BDSM is perceived by those outside it. In a fantasy scenario, sensations and emotions can be explored in a controlled environment, just in the same way as Richard Armitage experienced “real” waterboarding for a matter of seconds during filming, before using the safe-signal and being allowed to stop. Yet scenes of consensual bondage, implied threat and mock-torture are treated as somehow worse than the real thing by their critics. Factions of the press, legislators, and outspoken puritans see waterboarding as a necessary method of extracting information in the “War on Terror”, and see BDSM as something altogether more harmful. The fantasy and the reality of torture are so entirely removed from one another that it saddens me when the lines are blurred by those who simply don’t understand. I read an article a few years ago about the use of Dominatrices as interrogators at Guantanamo Bay, and was appalled. What we do is a fantasy. As soon as all parties no longer consent, it’s abuse, and it’s something I would never want to be involved in.

Well anyway, if you take nothing else away from this, then do watch BBC1 at 9pm tonight. It really is very good. Also, Ros (Hermione Norris) is so supremely wonderful that she deserves her own religion. But more about that another day. In the meantime, this.

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