At the onset of her fourth year in college, Eve has learned quite a few things about sex. Eve, The Hatchet’s anonymous sex columnist, will share her observations and (sometimes dirty) thoughts about sex at GW with the population that fuels her fire.
Editor’s note: names have been changed to protect the naughty
I have, at times, wished I were a man. Certainly, I love my little wrists and long hair and the fact that someday I’ll be able to carry another life inside of me. But sometimes, dammit, it would be nice to live on the corner of Easy and Penis streets, where all the ladies know your name.
There are just so many perks. It doesn’t hurt when men lose their virginity. Men can pee anywhere they want. The world is a safer place for them. Men can eat more than women without gaining weight. Sure, women have a longer life expectancy, but to what end? Gee, dying at 90 instead of 88 sure gave me two good years of … remembering how much it hurt when I lost my virginity.
Sex and the City, arguably one of the most influential shows of our generation, is completely founded on the question, “Can women have sex like men?” Guess why? Because women have always craved the power the penis wields. Men can disconnect love and sex much more easily than women.
Anyone who’s ever been hurt in a relationship, anyone who’s ever stared at a silent phone and willed it to ring, anyone who’s ever had to bite her lip to keep from saying “I could really love you,” would kill to have that power. Because, as much as we’d like to say we can, women just cannot have casual sex the way men can.
Sure, every girl is different, and I have plenty of friends who have even enjoyed the occasional random sex. But, on the whole, my female friends (myself included) are hurt when a physical encounter does not result in at least acknowledgement of our earth-shattering beauty … or, you know, whatever…
Take my friend Love. She is a sexy, sassy, smart girl. Someone I turn to for inspiration in many aspects of my life. A few weeks ago she had supreme sex and a snuggly sleepover with a new guy. Two days later, no call. Six days. Two weeks. Turned out “new guy” was actually “married guy.” Over soup at Au Bon Pain, she lowered her beautiful face into her hands and told me, “I wasn’t even mad, Eve, just weirded out.”
Know why she was weirded out? Because she had sex with him in some attempt to connect. Even if she wasn’t looking for a relationship, she was looking beyond the sweaty body up against hers and into some sort of future, however brief and bumbling it would be. She was weirded out because our generation has been led to believe that men and women are the same, and yet there she was, caught in the traditional male-female dance of sex, loss and shame.
Don’t get me wrong, guys. I’ve seen plenty of y’all cry. I’ve heard sob stories from the roughest, toughest cowboys about losing their cowgirls. But usually, those stories are unrelated to physical activities. A guy has never said to me, “I went down on her and she didn’t even call … ”
And that’s another reason I often dream of one day having my very own penis. You hear about men receiving casual blow jobs all the time, but when’s the last time a scandal broke because Hillary Clinton was caught with an intern’s head between her legs?
So, I’m going to say it: I think the sexual revolution was, in some ways, bad for the modern woman. Before you bra-less wonders come running at me screaming, hear me out. The sexual revolution was a wonderful thing. It taught women not to be ashamed of their own pleasure, or of seeking it out as passionately as men do.
But somehow, we’ve gone too far. We’ve gotten to the point where we are quick to engage in sexual activities, but loath to request commitment, lest we seem needy or (gasp!) womanly. The sexual revolution put us more in touch with our orgasm but did nothing to reconcile this desire with our equally burning desire to be loved. As one friend of mine put it, “I feel like the sexual revolution just came all over my face then left without saying goodbye.”
Maybe I’m generalizing. Maybe I have seen one too many girlfriends dragged into their own I-can-have-sex-like-a-man mentality, only to find they are textbook women. Maybe I’ve tried to disconnect from men my whole life only to find I was disconnecting from myself. But I do know this: love and sex are games in the beginning. We dance and swirl around those we desire until we get what it is we want.
The girls used to make the rules to this game – hell, there’s even a book called “The Rules: Time-tested Secrets for Capturing the Heart of Mr. Right.” Now, most of those rules are gone. And that’s fine, because “don’t talk to a man first” is a little antiquated, and “don’t talk about your shrink on the first date” is a little obvious, but maybe it couldn’t hurt to give the book a once-over. It certainly couldn’t hurt any more than finding out a guy you’ve sort of been seeing is “in a relationship” with Nancy Not-you on Facebook today when you’re still sore from having sex with him last night.
Bottom line: sex is a privilege of the human body. So if you’re going to take your panties off, ladies, put your foot down! Men, if I have spawned a reverse sexual revolution; well, I don’t feel sorry for you at all.