Tag Archives: sex

Having To Choose

Hi guys. It’s been a while.

I wrote a piece over on fvdedcollective.com titled ‘Bursaries and Virginities’ and it’s my response to a report about a university in South Africa offering bursaries to female students who remain celibate and undergo regular testing to ensure they are sticking to the terms of the agreement. You can check it out here. I feel like I’m not done talking about it yet because it really is a segue into a lot of deeper issues that weigh on my mind a lot of the time. I was angry when I wrote that post but now I feel like I can reason a bit better.

I was talking to a few of my friends in university about this and almost all of them said they would accept this bursary and the aforementioned testing just because they were already virgins and they didn’t plan on having sex before graduating from university anyway. But what I didn’t get is why they didn’t get that this whole situation was the biggest pile of shit in the first place. So I guess this is what I would say to them if they would listen to me and my words flowed as naturally as they do when I’m sitting in front of a computer screen.

I understand wanting to remain celibate as much as I understand wanting to have sex and I understand wanting to have an education and not having the funds for it at the time. I understand why this could seem appealing but I don’t understand why one has to choose. I don’t understand why sex has to be used as a weapon against a woman or anyone.

At the end of the day, I am a human being first. I am an intellectual being, I am a sexual being. I feel things, I want things. I have the capability to be anything I want with everything that I am. We are all sexual beings so why is sex something that I have to choose? It’s the choice that irritates me. It’s the fact that I have to choose between wanting to expand my mind or taking part in this fundamental act of life. It’s this notion that all I present to you is what’s between my legs and nothing more. Why can’t I have the possibility of both?

The reasoning behind this bursary was to minimise the spread of STDs and unwanted pregnancies and all that jazz. But do these things happen on their own? Do I click my fingers and demand to have chlamydia or have a foetus grow inside of me? It takes two to tango. Everyone is super quick to point the finger at females in almost all cases that involve sex. Be it rape, be it harassment, anything that involves consent or sex itself going wrong, females are seen as the problem and 9 times out of 10, I bet a female didn’t bring any of the issues on to herself. No one has stopped to consider the problem could stem from a male?

There are basics rights as a human being and from all I see and from what I know, the experiences of a female in this day and age are inexplicably tied to her sexuality. And it saddens me. We are so much more, we are not just sex. Too many times, I hear women saying they need to change what they are to change the outcome of situation that involves a member of the opposite sex. We have to do all the work or we need to be the defining factor. In my head, inequality is tied to the saying “from who much is given, much is required”. My one sole question that I will continue to ask is “why?” Yes, we are a bundle of intricacies and we do so much for the world but we’re not the only ones here. I just wish I knew why it was always down to women to be the sacrificial lamb in almost all situations.

Georgina ❤

Songs of the Week

And of course, The Life of Pablo but Kanye’s being difficult so either subscribe to Tidal or download it somewhere. It’s great. It’s in my top 3 Kanye albums, I’m not ashamed to say it.

Delayed Reaction

The saga continues. I had another run-in with my friend and let’s just say the blissful nothingness that occurred after the goings-on of last week’s post didn’t last for long. The timing was perfect for the blog post though, no?

“What happened this time?”
“I was walking down the hall and I walked straight into him.”
“What happened, woman?”
“He said the biggest hello to my friend but he couldn’t even look me in the eye.”
“Maybe he didn’t want your friend to get a clue.”
“No. It was almost like he was ashamed of it; it felt like he couldn’t wait to get away from me. He didn’t even say anything to me.”
“That’s extreme.”
“That’s how it felt. And then it made me feel really, really shitty about the whole thing.”
“Like you regretted it?”
“Yeah. I just wanted to redo everything and kick him out of my room that night. I mean, why should he get to ignore me when he came on to me? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Boys don’t make sense, get used to it.”
“Still. It’s all so fucked up.”
“But didn’t you both say it wouldn’t happen again?”
“Yeah we did, that doesn’t mean he should act like I don’t exist.”
“Do you think he’s told everyone?”
“I’m not worried about that, I just don’t appreciate this sudden switch on me. What’s even funnier, I’ve seen him more times since our little thing than before everything happened combined. Combined.”
“So what do you want to do?”
“I can’t do anything. I just have to live with it and pray he stops being such an asshole.”
“And pigs will fly shortly after, surely.”
Stop. I just don’t get it. I mean, you can hook up with someone and at least be cordial after, right?”
“Easier said than done. Maybe he just can’t look at you without thinking about what’s underneath your clothes.”
“That’s so stupid. I don’t look at him and automatically think about his third arm.”
“Why you lyin’?”
“I don’t though. Oh well, my hooking up days are over.”
“You barely even started.”
“Exactly why it’s good to stop right now.”

 

Moral of the story: don’t think you can get away with it. I keep saying this and I will always say it; I’ll scream it even: you cannot partake in sexual tings (yes, I said tings), be it all the way or thereabout, without feeling something, anything. Be it remorse, happiness, guilt, closure or that sensation that swells up in you where even you can’t put your finger on it, that feeling of static, whatever it is: you will feel something. We’re human beings and sex is a combination of feelings, it’s a physical manifestation of emotions, whether you like it or not. At the time, it could feel awesome but then the aftermath will sneak up on you and it’ll have you thinking all kinds of things, bad things, haunting things. It’ll have you doing all kinds of things, just to escape or embrace the reality of what has happened.

Maybe it depends on the person: if you know you have guts of steel and you can go back to absolute normality with a person after the deed has been done, then bravo. If you can’t, put it back in your pants or in your bra or whatever. It just leaves a trail of awkward little balls of rage and semi-broken hearts all over the place. It’s a mess, a mess that could be avoided if we all didn’t give in to every little sexual whim that blew our way. But, then again, that whim is pretty demanding. Ah, what an impasse.

Or is my friend just being too naive? Are hookups a definitive end to basic friendliness? Surely, that cannot be right.

At the end of the day, the boy in question really just has a lot of growing up to do as do all boys who do this exact same thing to gazillions of girls out there.

In less strenuous news, I actually like university this year, like, a lot. Almost all my lectures are super interesting, studying over everything doesn’t seem like a death sentence anymore. Only downside, there’s so much group work and it is so annoying, I can’t stress this enough. On the other hand, lab sessions are so cool now. I got to work with hydrazine. Hydra-freaking-zine. That’s rocket fuel. Actual rocket fuel. I still get all mystified when I think about it. Even though I didn’t propel anything in to space, it’s still cool, shh.

Until next week or whenever,

Xièxie! (That means ‘thank you’ in pinyin (a variation of Mandarin) which I’m a total pro at now.)

Georgina ❤

Song of the Week

The Issue At Hand Evolves

I have been MIA for way too long, I know. I couldn’t think of what to write and I wasn’t even prepared to bullshit you or myself through something meaningless. They say time is the best answer to everything (they don’t, I’m just making it up as I go along) but that’s all I needed. I got my mojo back.

When we were little, there was always this curiousity towards the opposite sex. There was the whole “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours” kind of thing. There was this air of innocent intrigue, keyword being innocent. From year 4-6 of primary school, the whole class used to chill together, we were all friends, good friends, friends that MSN’d together at 6pm until dinner was ready. I personally think I skipped the “boys have cooties” phase, I was born hormonally charged. I’ve always liked boys; I didn’t shy for them nor them me either. I think I had my first kiss when I was 8. I remember being so blasé when we’d play truth or dare as young’uns when first kisses were imagined by others and cherished on the top shelf of the mind of others, kept with all the much-loved memories. I didn’t see it as something monumental. It was just a thing. It was almost something I could do without.

Did your mum ever give you that talk that scared the shit out of you when you were younger? Did she ever tell you touching a boy could get you pregnant? I am so lucky for a mother who didn’t wreck my mind like that. I don’t think I knew the actual mechanics of sex until I was 11/12. Boarding school made sure I knew every single excruciating detail.

But what I’m saying is, when we were young, heterosexual friendships weren’t something that was out of the blue. They didn’t threaten anyone, really. Seeing a young boy and a girl being friends didn’t necessarily raise eyebrows as it does now. Drama evolves with time. It may have been around when we were prepubescent and it is ever so present now that we are grown but it’s just so much more in your face. The fact that you’re not meant to have a genuinely friendly friendship with a member of the opposite sex is fiercely shoved down your throat. You are almost taught to believe your platonic relationship is destined to become tinged by attraction eventually. Just wait on it.

For instance, let’s say your girlfriend/boyfriend has a best friend of the opposite sex. Wouldn’t you want to know everything about this supposed best friend; be everywhere when your significant other and said best friend are together and most importantly, know whether they are having/had sex or not? It is just impossible to have peace of mind when your lover has an opposite sex friend who was there before you. There’s no way you would allow for such a friendship to form when you are in the picture, no way in hell.

Once we reach a particular age, I’m going to say 16 as that is the legal age (stay safe, kids) even though I witnessed this and have lived this since I was 12 – platonic relationships between the sexes do not exist. You cannot have a friend who is a boy/girl and just leave it at that level. There is always that underlining tone of sex being whispered in the background even if you know in your heart that you’re not necessarily attracted to the person. I remember I was texting someone I had just met and we were in that phase of asking questions and once I got past the standard enquiries such as how old are you, where are you from, what university are you studying in, I went straight for “do you have a girlfriend?” even though I knew I wouldn’t ever be with this person in any way shape or form. Or the time I was texting someone whom I had again just met and less than an hour into our text-versation and establishing common ground, he was asking to meet with a wink emoji. The wink emoji. It’s almost primal, dare I say it. Maybe it’s our bodies’ way of ensuring we find a mate and by doing so, we are psychologically programmed to find a potential, secure said potential, establish then eliminate competition. Occasionally and unknowingly, you just catch yourself on the first step of this process and ask yourself “wait what? I don’t even like him/her, what the hell am I doing?”

I guess with age, what is important to me changes. I’m getting old, I am 19 years of age. Before I can blink, the –teen will be a distant memory. With age comes maturity; comes change that I can’t fend off even if I wanted to. My attention has shifted to what matters now but might not matter in 10 years. Tastes have changed, tolerance has changed. Things that mattered, don’t. Things that I couldn’t think about without feeling a huge swirl of emotion only make me smile now. Every little thing that happens to me is a lesson to be learnt, wisdom to be acquired, another gem to be kept. The drama evolves but it will always be around. Maybe when I’m 29, I’ll look back at this phase in time and laugh too.

Song of the Week

This song makes me bust a move.

 

And this tune tune tuneeee. This album came out the year I was born.

I will be back, promise. I’ve missed writing. I’ve missed you, blogosphere.

Until then,

Georgina ❤

 

Sex Sends You To Hospital Somehow

It’s been a rather chilled week and since it consisted of me writing notes; finding, watching and obsessing over this show called Sex Sent Me To The ER; my aunt bringing forth new life into the world, I figured I should talk about two of the three.

Firstly, this show is real so all the cases are real, the patients are real, doctors are legit, their sexual adventures going awfully wrong are insanely real. I couldn’t bring myself to not share some of the funniest ones with you because, that would be so selfish of me.

1. This couple were in to fantasies and they had this thing called Slutty Saturdays where they’d get down and dirty. So, the guy bought his girl a giant gummy bear and she was like “you know what would be so hot? If we melt it and you can eat it off me.” At this point, I’m already laughing my lungs out because anybody could have seen where this was going! Her man melts it, it’s steaming hot, starts drizzling it on her and she’s like “okay, this is hot” and he’s all like “yeah, yeah, hot” but then Auntie Gummy Bear starts saying “no, no, it’s super hot” and you know what he says? He says “it is super hot and the fact that it’s super hot is making me super hot”. I was crying by now. Long story short, she ended up with 3rd degree burns.

2. A 440 pound guy (199kg) met a girl who loved him regardless of his size and she took it upon herself to pop his cherry. He was on top, she was on the bottom. As he was riding her into the sunlight, his thrust game was a tad too strong and boom, he sent her head through a wall. An actual wall. She had a concussion.

3. A teenage couple were making up after a little lover’s spat. The girl wanted to make it up to him so she wanted to bless with him with a little… ahem. In the heat of the moment, they heard footsteps, her popsie was about to come in. She managed to dislodge her jaw so her mouth was wide open, like an o, until the doctor had to slot it back into place. Her boyfriend jumped out of the window before the dad killed him and dislocated his shoulder.

One more because it’s my favourite scenario so far

This man arrived in the emergency room, butt-naked with a broken arm, broken leg, cracked ribs, the lot. He was reluctant to give his next of kin a.k.a. his wife but the trusty nurse found her number and the wife arrived. The husband insisted that he hurt himself by falling out of the window while he was cleaning the windows. The police then came in and asked him a few questions and before you knew it, the wife started beating this man up, full-on punching him and whacking him with her handbag. The poor guy went into cardiac arrest right there. The doctor was like “dude, what have you taken so I can help you and this heart attack” and the patient had to come clean about everything: he had called a prostitute over, they snorted a load of cocaine, he wanted to write her a cheque (who writes cheques?!), she wasn’t having it so she chucked him out the window. The doctor ended up giving him aspirin for a heart attack. Aspirin, guys.

But if outrageous sex won’t land some of you in hospital, having a baby will.

LOOK AT WHAT HAPPENS TO US, LADIES.

LOOK AT WHAT HAPPENS TO US, LADIES. Image Source: http://ilovecharts.tumblr.com/

It’s a beautiful thing, in all honesty. Pregnancy is just one of those phenomenons of life that I truly cannot wait to experience. Bringing forth new life, being a mummy, holding a freshly hatched baby, it’s just too amazing to comprehend. But, all in due time, of course. I’m always talking about babies but seeing my newest cousin was just something else. He was 2 days old, a little sack of flesh and blood, confusion and disorientation, completely dependent and utterly mesmerising.

image

He fell asleep in my arms and I almost took him home. I just want a baby, ok?

The moral of this post: have safe sex, guys. Or no sex at all, whatever floats your boat. If not, you’re going to end up on a gurney, rushed into the Accident & Emergency department of your hospital with the oddest injuries, not being able to look anyone in the eye. Or, if that doesn’t sound bad enough, you could be the one ejecting a human being from your other end or be the one having the life squeezed out of your hand as you wonder why you didn’t pull out or better yet, wear a condom. As my cousin once said, “wrap it before you tap it!”

Song of the Week – Mascara by Jazmine Sullivan https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ed2nSh7QraY

Quote of the Week

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Sorry guys, I forgot to take a quote from my Inspiration Pot (old age). So take some of C.S. Lewis's wisdom for the week. You're welcome.

Georgina ❤

P.S pray that it snows soon. Seriously.

I am Me, Not My Chesticles.

I’ve wanted to talk about this for a really long time but I felt it was too soon to be thrust upon you. However, we’re 8 weeks in, I think I’m allowed to discuss this.

Disclaimer: this has nothing (okay, maybe a little bit) to do with recent events (yes, point at yourself, I’m referring to you) so don’t think this is one my shadeful, judging lollipops to you. This is just an outcry for help of understanding the immense interest, or more like, the obsession with breasts. If you can’t handle the word ‘breasts’, you shouldn’t be on the internet, let alone this blog, okay?

When God made me, He decided that when I grew older, my breasts would also grow with me. He also decided to make boys completely fascinated with breasts right around the time that I (and a lot of other endowed girls out there) were beginning to accept and deal with their assets. I don’t go around shoving my breasts under everyone’s nose, I don’t confine myself to the wonders of turtle/bottle necks either. I wear what I want but I am decent. I wear tank tops under certain items of clothing, I wear camisoles, I am continuously tugging my tops up to prevent epic disasters. I even invested in a pair of minimiser bras from Marks and Spencer’s recently. I can’t help it if I lean over and you see Paris from inside my shirt. Leaning is a fundamental exertion. Let me live. There are times when I myself am awed by my own cleavage but I keep those moments to myself, mostly. I’m no Kim Kardashian, as you can probably tell.

I refer to my breasts in many varying ways such as boobs (even though I use this the most, it’s one of my most hated words. it’s just so… irritating), jugs (only to my nearest and dearest), breasts and my all-time favourite, chesticles. I call them chesticles because there is power in this word. If a man stood before me right now and we were trying to engage in a somewhat meaningful conversation about the controversy over the reception of Ebola in the diaspora, for example, and my eyes continuously fleeted between his own eyes and his testicles, wouldn’t he be itching to grab me by the chin and tell me through gritted teeth, “Hey, eyes here. Eyes no go there.” Well, that’s exactly how I feel when I attempt to converse with many a member of the opposite sex. My eyes are on my face, right above my nose. They are not dangling from my chest. I don’t know, am I missing something here? Am I unaware of how my own breasts appear? Are my breasts the first to have ever existed? I’m starting to think that if one day, I had a mastectomy, I wouldn’t have nearly half as many boys attempting to speak to me. I really think my breasts are like a beacon for some of these aforementioned boys. It’s sad. I am a human being, you know. My bra size doesn’t determine how much of a person I am. I like to think I’m a good person, I’m intelligent (ish), I’m friendly, I can cook (ish), I like to read, I like sleep, I like buying things on Amazon compulsively, I like listening to music, I like blogging. All these things have no effect or are not affected by my breasts. So what is the problem?

I get it: there’s something arousing about them. There’s something sexual about them. There’s something there that makes the boys go loco. It offsets this burning sensation to mention my breast size, just to make sure I am aware of the power I possess on my chest. Hey, I do it too. I ogle at fellow ladies every now and again, I comment on their breasts. Even my friends do it too. They tell me how mahoosive my chest is. I can deal with people telling me or commenting on my chest size, it’s the very loose equivalent of commenting on how large someone’s eyes/nose/mouth is. It’s just another body part. But, sex is associated with breasts. And because of this, a lot of boys make it their mission to acquire information and visual data on as many heavily endowed girls out there as they can possibly get their hands on, no pun intended. And I’m done with that sh*t. No one should expect something like that from me or any other girl out there who isn’t parading their chesticles like a pay-per-view channel. Things like that equate to vulnerability, intimacy. I’m not just about to throw things like that to anyone. I don’t care how big a deal it is or isn’t to you. Even if I did want to share such moments, it would only be with my lover. My absolute lover. Or my mother when she walks in on me in the shower but you get the idea.

So, to my male readers and even some female readers (yes, I see you), think before you ask for that picture or before you comment on her chesticles in a way that you know will immediately eject her from her comfort zone with you. Think about the effects, short and long-term, on both her and yourself. Do you really want to wreck a friendship/budding romance/whatever because you couldn’t control what’s in that mind of yours or those boxers/briefs/whatever? Think about it. Think long and hard.

Remember ladies, you choose what defines you. If you want to be known for your chesticles, here’s a fist pump in agreement. If you don’t, here’s a fist pump in agreement. Don’t let someone call you prudish or uptight or even outlandish because of what you want for yourself.

Do you, honey boo-boo.

Mini Rant of the Week: Please look after our planet. I’ve watched enough films to know the people who write these things probably know more about the fate of Earth than I do. Recycle, turn your lights off when you’re not in the room, turn the switches on your plugs off, don’t throw food away if you can’t finish it. Save it for later or give it to someone who will happily eat it for you. Walk, ride a bike, take public transport more often. Interstellar (the movie) not only confused the hell out of my mind but it’s scared me sh*tless as well. I don’t know about you but I don’t want to meet an untimely death and I would like my children and at least my children’s children to live in a fairly decent world. If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for the generations to come. And if you really couldn’t give 2 sh*ts about humans in general, do it for the polar bears because who doesn’t love a polar bear?

Song of the Week: Miss Amor – Azealia Banks (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u6SgqYMl5R8)

Quote of the Week: “My feelings don’t disappear but I’ve learnt, with age, to use them for the greater good.” – Unknown.

Georgina x