The Mad Rantings of A Black Bitch

Ok, I'm not mad (as in angry but quite possibly insane, so I may not argue that point), I am black, and it's debatable if I'm a bitch. But now and then there are some things that irk me, and quite frankly when it's late at night and I have no one to talk to, I still need to get them off my chest. So, let's get down to brass tacks as they say. I'm not sure who the hell "they" are, or why that phrase means what it does. What do brass tacks have to do with getting down to business, or getting to the nitty gritty?

So the first thing that irritates me to no end is something you'll find to be a recurring theme. Men. It's my duty as a single black woman living in the New Decade in the New Millenium, to discuss this tiresome subject. Only because it's relevant to my life. In as much as I'd like to act like this doesn't occupy a significant portion of my brain, that'd be an out and out lie.

Let me say that though I do not proudly wear the moniker of "feminist", I am without a doubt, having been born in the post-feminist era, a feminist. Now, to men and ill thinking women alike, that term conjures up images of Lorena Bobbit (a bit extreme, but I have to admit, I cheered for her. The logistics of it though, not my style. I get grossed out by looking at ground meat that's been previously chewed, so no way I could cut off the only appendage of a man I truly cannot live without, and then toss it out the window of my car onto a backwoods highway), or Gloria Steinam, or any other "penis envy bull dyke" they can think of. I, for one, enjoy the company of a man. Many men as it turns out; which is probably the reason why I've made some of the regrettable choices that I have where they're concerned. I know myself to be a sexual being. Now I'm not talking porn star sexuality--I draw the line at multiple people in my bed, boom mikes, cameras, clear heels, cheap make-up, and some pervy fetishes. But hey, if any of that floats your boat, have at it. And send me the tape, I don't have anything against voyeurism (wink, wink sexy). My kind of sexual being is one who knows she likes to get down, and likes to get down as often as she can. And if the man is so inclined (as, let's face it, how many aren't?) then let's get it on like popcorn. However, this does at times cause "situations", and no I'm not talking about that gorilla perpetrating like he's from Jersey, all greased up and strutting around MTV. I'm not mentioning him or the show by name cause it makes me sick and I don't wanna be party to giving them anymore attention than they already have. If you don't know who or what I'm referring to (although I'm sure you do) google it. The complication I mean is that since I don't enjoy company as often as I'd like, being around a man who smells good is enough to have me high tail it to his place armed with thumb cuffs and bourbon. Don't judge, try it.

So as a feminist, an independent woman really, I like sex. I like sex on my terms, I like sex on his terms, I like sex. And in this day and age, it seems a woman should be able to say this openly without being stigmatized. But what bothers me is that that's not true, and it bothers me that it bothers me. Cause on some level, I always knew it. As a pre-coitul youngster, my opinions of men and women and sex were fairly different from what they are today. I believed that there was one person for everyone (still kinda believe that but not as much) and that sex before marriage wasn't exactly a sin, but should only be with the person you love. Afterall, I watched alot of daytime television--Guiding Light was my soap of choice, and hell, premarital sex abounds on those shows. You can't sell soap without it. But I always knew, even back then, that a woman who threw her grits around, was never gonna be taken seriously by a man. Especially a man she cared about. Cause that's how it was on t.v. And then, I grew up, and suddenly there was all this talk about women reclaiming their sexuality, much in the same way that blacks were reclaiming the "N" word (which, yes I say it. I say it, I say it, I say it damnit!). Both arguments had some valid points. In terms of female sexuality, porn became the vehicle with which to empower, instead of the instrument of enslavement. In history class, we learned about women's lib, but it wasn't until a documentary on the history channel or VH-1, can't remember, that I learned of and eventually read snipets of The Zipless Fuck by Erica Jung (this may not be the title of the book, I can't remember, but this was the term she coined). And it was like revolutionary because without having heard of it at the time, that was kinda how I lived my early twenties. The choices I made back then directly correlate to my relationship status today, but at that time, I actively did not want a relationship. I didn't want the hassle. I wanted what I wanted, and if I wanted you, I damn sure wanted you outta my house come morning. And for a while, that kind of existence was empowering and it was liberating. For the first time I felt like I was doing what I wanted to do. Not what I thought my parents wanted me to do and not what I thought I should do. You can be in such control of certain aspects of your life, but in others, be so timid and afraid. And socially, where men were concerned, and I guess that still rings true today, I can be that way. And so you look to what others do, and if everyone is coupling up, then you think that's normal. Except my normal didn't have a bunch of happy relationships. There was a bunch of ownership going on that I didn't want any part of. Still don't.

What's my point? I don't know. I told yall this is a rant. If I have a point, which I usually do, it's not time yet. We'll figure it out together I suppose. So, there I am living the life of many casual zipless fucks, just traveling along the Sexcapade Super Highway, when all of a sudden, I crash. And I mean HARD. Brutally. And it was a bloody mess. I'm talking Mortal Kombat murder, death, kill type crash. And it fucked my world up. I will tell you it was a guy. I will tell you he was a friend. And I will tell you my brain was so scrambled that I had to write a play about it, star in it, and produce it...twice! Both times, off broadway in NYC. When I've had a few shots, or perhaps a few herbally enhanced brownies, I may tell you the story. Maybe. So after that diversion, I had to rethink my stance on my casual life. By that time, I was entering my third decade of life, and the zipless experience didn't have the same punch as it once had. I still liked living on my own terms though. Nothing was required. I demanded nothing and nothing was demanded of me, and in the end that's what I got in turn. Nothing. But still in my mind was this idea that a woman's power lies in her sex. And though I didn't wield it like an Amazon dick hunting warrior, I still felt there was power left in me yet. Although admittedly, I didn't use it wisely, so whatever power I once had has long since left the building. Hell, I'm not even sure I even had it to begin with. I think I bought into the idea of it. Cause let's be honest. When the game is sex, no one has the power.

I'm sure some of you will dispute that, and that's fine. But to all of you reading this (me, myself, and I), ask yourself honestly, all the times you thought you had the upper hand in your "relationship", casual or otherwise, did you really? Or did something or someone come along and flip you on your head? Cause the moment you feel the most in control, is usually the time when you seldom are.

I told myself after Mortal Kombat, I'd never have another casual relationship. It tore me up so badly, I felt it was unsurvivable a second time around. And then I met a guy, quite by happenstance, who was seemingly in stark contrast to what I always thought I wanted. He was mild mannered, laid back, and very easy going. Wasn't college educated, and said of himself that he wasn't very bright; but I found him to be deeply philosophical and quite earnestly, a man of deep and significant faith. He didn't say much, which judging by how loquacious I can be, is pretty interesting. He was nine years my senior, which would have been out of the question in my twenties, but in my thirties, I found it intriguing. And the moment I saw him, sitting in his living room, playing Guitar Hero, I was deeply interested. And curious about this man who said so much by saying so little. It was like an acting exercise. We're trained to fill the silence and make every motion and every moment count. To fill it with something of consequence. Some actors struggle with that, even now, I can think of some very famous ones who seem to appear uncomfortable when they're not speaking. And yet, here was this average man doing just that as part of his everyday life. He was so comfortable in his own skin and so confident that he didn't have to do much to draw you in. Course, it didn't hurt that he was extremely easy on the eyes. For a man in his early forties, he looked ten years younger. Hell, he almost looked younger than me. I said almost cause, I got good skin and good genes. Yall know black don't crack. And that's why he remained fine.

For about two years we had a regular (and clandestine) situation going on. It had to be a secret because he was friends with a very closely related family member, and if it had been known the shit would have most definitely hit the fan. And since I'm not a fan of shit in any form, it was easier for me to catch a train down to see him in a nice, and reasonably priced hotel room with a king size bed and room service. Oddly enough, I'm highly intrigued by sex in hotel rooms. Though one of my friends said it would make her feel like a hooker. I never felt that. I just liked the fact that I could be as loud as I want, mess up the sheets and not have to do laundry.

But I knew deep down in the recesses of my subconsious which I wouldn't let rise to the surface, that it wasn't gonna last. Cause even though my initial interest was more than just sex, I settled for what I could get, cause he just had a boatload of issues that prevented him from fully investing in a relationship. With me at least. So yeah, this is one of the bad choices that I make cause I let my loins lead the way, that I referenced earlier. But it was still cool up until, I'd say, a few months back. And this is where my rant comes to its point, I think. I'm all for calling a spade a spade, I mean hell, I am a spade (cheap racial joke), but I just don't like unnecessary bullshit. Knowing what this relationship was, no matter how I felt in the beginning, I never would have continued down this path if I was not amenable to its terms; it's completely frustrating when men lie about shit they don't need to lie about. Needless to say, our stint has run its course, which like I said, I knew it would. But the way it ended troubles me. If you wanna see someone else, see someone else. We're not married, we weren't committed to each other. Just tell me. We entered into this situation as two adults, and I can accept that your interest lies elsewhere. But to lie about it, makes me out to be a fool and that's what pisses me off. Maybe he thought I'd freak out or be typically melodramatic and get all Dynasty-esque about it. But that's not me. I don't chase after men who aren't interested in me. That's pathetic, and though I wade in the water of desperation sometimes, I've never dipped my toe in that cesspool. That's not to say that if he'd come clean before that it still wouldn't sting a bit. No one likes to be passed over for anything. But I'm not in love with him. I survived Mortal Kombat, remember? This is so not that. I'm not laying all the blame at his feet, I accept my culpability here, I told you I make bad choices. It just would have been nice to be respected in that way.

This situation got me thinking, and I think this really is my point, with all the strides that have been made in terms of female sexuality, men will still find it difficult to accept women who live by the zipless fuck. Why is it that a woman with multiple lovers is still a ho, and a man with the same is still a man--privy to the same level of respect that being a man entails? Why does it matter when I go to bed with you, if we both know at some point we're gonna fuck? If I meet you on Tuesday and have an instant attraction to you, and you to me, and it's something that includes the physical but isn't strictly that--we enjoy each other's company truly--will all that change because I sleep with you Tuesday night? Does my value increase if I wait until three months later? Am I suddenly more entertaining, more intelligent, more of a support system for you at that point than I was three months prior? Unfortunately even in 2010, the answer to that question still remains a resounding yes. Till next time, lovers!