Why does it seem like men have so much less to worry about when it comes to sex than women? For me, as a woman, sex can be dangerous and demoralizing. But I don’t see men experiencing the same problems that women experience. Diseases such as HPV, gonorrhea and chlamydia all cause more problems for women than for men. Additionally, it is more likely that a woman will catch something from a man than vice versa. And then there’s pregnancy, a condition which brings so many health risks along with whatever blessings an individual may choose to see in it.
All of these are concrete, measurable dangers to women that aren’t as threatening to men. Of course, sex poses certain measurable dangers to men, but my point is they seem to be greater for women. The mental and emotional dangers also seem to be greater. Maybe this has to do with the roles society has established for males and females. Maybe it has to do with the already-mentioned physical dangers. But sex seems to be more thoroughly intertwined with a woman’s emotions.
I’m not talking about the belief that most women think sex cannot exist without love. Sure, there are probably women that believe that and some men, too. No, what I’m talking about goes deeper than that.
In my experience, men can be pushy. I’m a passive person and when I’m drunk and/or exhausted, it is just easier to give in then to keep saying no or run away. Believe me, I understand the implications of what I’m saying and what it reveals about me, but I want to make a point. Most of the time, when I reflect on a particular encounter I find myself thinking it was fun at the moment but not something I particularly want to do again. However, other times, I find myself viewing an encounter as a reflection of my self-image. But, oddly, it doesn’t seem to bother the man (or men) who was involved.
How is it that immediately after and even during sex I am infuriated at both him and myself? Him for having pushed me and pushed me and refusing to hear me say, “no, I don’t feel like it” or “no, I really don’t like doing it that way” and myself for not having stood my ground and eventually just giving into him. Yet, he is completely fine, asking me if I had fun, even calling me a couple hours later and asking for more. Unbelievable! Not only was I clearly not into it the first time, I also clearly said it would not ever happen again.
Inevitably, some people are going to think, “well, if you gave in once, he thinks you’ll do it again.” So, that excuses someone who calls himself my friend from continuously disregarding what I am saying?
I am thinking the differences between men and women when it comes to sex have less to do with biology and more to do with society. I do not get upset about the actual sex itself. I get upset about how it occurred. Our society and a lot of other societies are sexist. It is more overt in some than in others, but it is there.
Personally, I don’t believe that men truly respect women. This even more emphasized when it comes to sex. Men aren’t usually called home-wreckers. A man is a player while a woman is a slut. When the majority of people view gender roles this way, it is exceedingly difficult to find a sexual relationship with a man who doesn’t in some way find it easier to justify his own promiscuity than that of whomever he is fucking.
In such an environment, it would be impossible not to be emotional. It is infuriating so many people do the same thing you do with less consequences simply because they are men. It is infuriating that such a pleasurable activity can become so dangerous just because you are a woman. And it is even more infuriating that some people actually believe this is the way it should be, a natural division between the genders.

“You’re killing an innocent baby,” my brother said.



“Well,” I responded, “You’ve stepped on an ant before.”



“I can’t believe you just compared a human life to an ant. That’s really low; I can’t even talk to you anymore,” he said. Click.



I had called my brother “just” to talk. I am not even sure how we ended up on a discussion about abortion. We had disagreed about several things throughout the conversation. Possibly because I had already downed two drinks containing rum (and maybe one with tequila), but truthfully, that probably just added fuel to the fire.



I had been thinking a lot about my family lately. But, really, when do I not think about my family? Family is important in a person’s life. I suppose some people get by without a family.



I try to consider my friends as family. But it doesn’t work. I don’t want any of them to take offense on reading this or to read a particular phrase and feel that it is a reference to them, but the thing about thinking of friends as family is that when they are busy with their own families, you are left all alone.



My family and I will never be “that” family, though. I am much more honest with myself and therefore the rest of the world than any immediate member of my family. I am not the kind of person to hide behind any so-called religion to justify the hurt I have inflicted on others or even to mask the hurt I feel that others have knowingly inflicted upon me.



Recently, I accepted my three younger siblings as my friends on Facebook. Well, I can’t say I was exactly shocked to read the comments of my younger brother on the page of a group who calls itself “I bet I can find 100 million people who admire Bush,” but I was disappointed. I always have some hope my siblings will eventually see reality more like I see it and less like my parents.


In the past nine months, my relationships with my siblings have changed. I have younger twin brothers and a younger sister. The youngest twin and I have always talked, even though sometimes we disagree and end up fighting about something. The older twin and my sister didn't talk to me. All of them judged me.


At the beginning of 2009, I spent a few months in Boise, Idaho where most of my family lives. It was a difficult transition. My grandmother, my uncle, my parents, my brothers and all their friends are uber- conservative Republican Christians. Oddly, I am the opposite; a liberal atheist. This is not my way of rebelling. My core beliefs are not defined by my relationship with my family. When I rebel, I cut my hair short and get my navel pierced.


In Boise, then, I found myself surrounded by people I could not relate to on a political or spiritual level. Often, I found we could not even relate on an emotional level. I knew this would be the case before I went there, but knowing something does not make living it any easier. Through the months, I found myself reacting less and less to things they said. To their credit, some members of my family have stopped bringing up contentious topics.


We still don't know each other. I will not understand the importance of Christianity in their lives and they are even less likely to understand my permanent and complete disassociation with the religion. I am baffled by what I see as a lack of compassion for others' suffering while they see my as an ignorant bleeding-heart liberal (I always wonder what's wrong with caring about other people when I hear them say this). While we probably will never truly be close, at least now we can talk about the weather without hanging up on each other.

One quiet night, I was browsing the ‘watch instantly’ movies on Netflix when I came across a movie titled Strictly Sexual. After looking through another couple of pages, I decided it would probably fit my mood best. Two well-to-do career women in Los Angeles propose to two construction workers they met at a bar that the men stay in the tent next to the pool. In exchange, they provide sex to the women whenever they want it.
Their first night there, the women invite the two guys in for dinner. The conversation becomes tense when one of the men says the reason they don’t have girlfriends is because women are morons. They always dump men who are too nice to them.
A few days after watching the movie, I was walking with a good friend of mine and explaining to her that I was considering writing about issues having to do with sexuality. “Oh,” she says, “you really have to write about men who are always complaining that women don’t want nice guys.”
Wow, I thought, how interesting she would say that so soon after the movie I had just seen. Even more interesting was what she said next; men who usually claim to be the nice guy aren’t that nice. Weird, since the character in the movie who complains about women dumping nice guys was the biggest asshole of all. In one scene, he tells his girlfriend he can solve all the problems she is paying her therapist to help her with in three little words; eat less food. She immediately dumps his ass and he presumably continues to wonder why women dump “nice” guys. Maybe my friend had a point. Admittedly, men proclaiming to be nice guys automatically invoke a certain level of distrust.
A few nights later, my roommates and I got happily intoxicated and returned to our home to have a dance party and smoke hookah. Two of our upstairs male neighbors came downstairs to join us. While we haven’t spent much time with these two guys, they seem to be very nice and a lot of fun to hang out with. Towards the end of the night, the conversation once again turned toward nice guys (and girls, too).
One of them related a story about a female coworker. The woman was moving to Argentina, so they went out drinking to celebrate her departure. He bought all her drinks, spending quite a bit of money, without any romantic intentions toward her. Simply a gesture of friendship. Later that morning, he bought everybody breakfast.
He then told us that he was a very nice guy but as nice as he was, his friend was even nicer. His friend had recently been dumped. He was a nice guy because he always walked her down to her car and opened the door for her. She was not a nice girl because she dumped him for a guy she had just met at a questionable bar (questionable as a source for any lasting romance, but then again maybe she wasn’t looking for a lasting romance).
I do not mean to sound critical of these men or to minimize their pain and frustration. My experiences with both of them suggest that they are nice people and potential friends. I have nothing bad to say about them personally. But as I reflect on the examples they used to define their nice behavior, it sounds like what they think of as nice I would define as chivalry. Paying for things and opening doors aren’t necessarily bad (or good, considering the perspectives of those striving for equality), but they don’t really make you a nice guy either.
I suppose if I were to be honest with myself I would say my initial reaction to a guy who didn’t hold doors or pay for things might be that he is an asshole. Would I have the same reaction towards a woman? Maybe. But what if a person didn’t hold the door for you but was always there to support you through the good and the bad? It would seem that the door was a superficial, unreliable symbol.
As I reflect on my own dating past, there are definitely some assholes. But few of them seem to be all bad. The biggest asshole of them all was a man I will call Gringito here. Our relationship began as a booty call. Then our respective lives dealt us some shitty blows within a couple of weeks and we increasingly began to lean on each other. We dated for about three months.
During that time he would yell at me in public, ignore me, disappear overnight and just generally be mean. He treated everyone that way. But he made efforts. Pulling little knick-knacks out of his pockets, saying they made him think of me. He was the first man to ever make me breakfast in bed. His efforts weren’t consistent or very big, but they were meaningful to me.
Every single human being we ever come across is flawed. Our flaws are one of the things that makes us interesting. I curse a lot, I sleep in way too much, I drink quite a bit, among various other things. But I’m also compassionate and I try to make sure everybody is happy. I think one of the reasons I date “assholes” is because I feel more relaxed and able to be myself with man who is as flawed as I am. I would find it difficult to tolerate a tobacco chewer, but the tobacco chewer might feel the same way about my loud burps (although tobacco chewing is much grosser than burping). Dating and interacting with other people, especially people we are not yet well acquainted with is about figuring out which flaws we can each tolerate.