SEXIS WRONG

and some for the worse. And I figured I could handle most of
it, but there were a couple things that were going to be kind
of difficult. Like all the icky male attention I would now be
inviting into my life. I knew that there would be a select portion
of the male population who would suddenly feel entitled
to discuss my body parts or tell me what their thick, hard
cocks had done for fun during the past week. As women we
have to deal with some version of this all the time (until we
get older, of course, then we often have to deal with no male
attention!). But being a sexually vocal woman would take it to
a level that made walking by a construction site in a miniskirt
seem like a skip through the park. Because now I’d be opening
myself up to engage in discussions, not just whistles and
howls, which would make it more interesting, but also more
personal and invasive.
The DJ must have seen the look on
my face because she slid over a note
that read, “This is Texas.”
So one of the first things I did when I got my book deal was
disconnect my phone and get an unlisted number to keep the
lechers at bay. The next thing I did was accidentally call one
of them up to chat. It was a guy from one of those glossy
men’s magazines who’d sent me an email about how well
my girl-on-girl tome would go over with his readership. It was
to be my very first interview about my book, and I was feeling
kind of stuck up and excited about it. This was a big-deal
magazine. I was a big-deal sex expert.
We said our hellos and he launched right into the interview,
starting out with three insightful questions about my book:
“So, you hot? You got big tits? How old are you?” In the old
days, I would have responded by utilizing one or all of the following
words: asshole, dumbass, fucker, shitfucker, motherfucking
prick. But I was too surprised to speak. Plus, I wanted
him to do the interview, so I heard him out as he went on to
explain his idea for the story. He suggested we meet, throw
back a few drinks, then hit the titty bars. I’d follow the suggestions
in my guidebook to pick up a couple of strippers and
take them home to fuck them while he watched. He explained
that he was used to writing stuff like this, that he considered
himself somewhat of an authority on female sexuality, actually.
As a matter of fact, he was at that very moment writing
a piece about all the porno chicks he’d banged and how he
could tell which ones were faking it and which ones weren’t.
Somewhere along the way I lost interest in the interview and
told him, among other things, that I found him and his ideas
offensive, to which he replied, “You want in on the sex game,
honey? You better get used to it.”
But I’m pleased to report that I haven’t had to get used to
it. Not in the capacity I thought I would, anyway. Much to
my surprise, those with intent to humiliate and degrade have
been few and far between, save for the occasional email, a
few sweaty-palmed freaks at my readings, and a run-in with
Howard Stern. I also made the earth-shattering discovery that
all men who have the audacity to speak to me inappropriately
aren’t necessarily being malicious—some of them are just a
little clueless. The more I thought about it, the more I realized
that of course they are! All these women are out there being
sassy and outspoken and hoochie-mama-ing up a sex storm
of conversation, then when some poor guy comes loping up,
all excited to play along, he gets smacked in the snout. Not
really fair, I’d say. It’s certainly not the same response we’d
give a woman should she choose to chime in.
But then there are few fair things about the
male/female power structure, and I don’t
blame the angry ladies, either. Because there’s
an unfortunate connection between sex and
violence that women tend to be on the receiving end of (I
don’t know about you, but it’s always in the back of my mind
when I go hiking alone). I’m constantly amazed by things like
the porn industry’s focus on degrading all us stupid, cumsucking
bitches as we get rammed up the ass by monster
cocks. Because porn is about making money, so obviously
this is what a lot of guys want to see. I’d be lying if I said this
didn’t kind of bum me out. And I’d also be lying if I didn’t say
I love rough sex and heartily salute those with the courage
to let their filthiest fantasies run wild. So where do we draw
the line? Is all fantasy okay, no matter how violent it is? Fuck
if I know! All I know is I need to feel like a guy is somewhat
sensitive to the female plight before I can get potty-mouthed
with him. Or that he’s at least game to understand it. Otherwise,
his overtly sexual comments can feel like a slap in the
face.
Another thing that’s been a real trip has been dealing with
all the horrified God-lovers and self-righteous conservative
folks. Since I tend to live in cities and other liberal-type
places, I sometimes forget that the country is crawling with
fatheads. But now that the book is out in the world, and I’m
out in the world promoting it, I’ve had the bizarre experience
of interacting with these people. And the fact that we’re all
being brought together on the topic of raunchy girl-on-girl sex
never ceases to amuse me.
One of my first radio appearances was on an afternoon talk
show in Dallas. Some woman called in demanding to know,
“What if my twelve-year-old daughter goes into a bookstore,
sees your book, and becomes a lesbian?” The DJ must have
seen the look on my face because she slid over a note that
read, “This is Texas.” I’d heard a lot of good ones, but never
252 EVERYTHING YOU KNOW ABOUT SEX IS WRONG