I think I’ve always been a woman. Even when I’m a little girl I see and judge the world through womens’ eyes, womens’ needs, women's understanding.
There are pictures of me at six years old with that perceptive, knowing expression you usually only see on the faces of very wise old women. The expression that says I know the secrets…I’ve found out what it’s all about…you can’t fool me…I’ve seen it…I know…I know…
One of those secrets, at least for me, is to simply ignore conventional female modesty, mostly imposed by long-dead, misogynist men in wretched deserts.
I never understand the sort of timidity that drapes so many of us in dull, shapeless clothes to hide our bodies from the lusting eyes of hungry males.
My body looks great and I see no reason why I shouldn't exploit that. I’ve got these wide, heavy breasts that men love and nipples that stick out through just about any brassiere I wear — which turns the strongest men into humble, lusting servants.
As I see it, there’s no point in having beautiful big breasts (and yes, it is sometimes tiring carrying them around all day causing, if you must know, backaches, neck-aches etc.) if you’re going to hide them from the very people who get exceedingly interested and generous when they see them and want to fondle and lick them.
And I’m not into the sort of modesty which demands that I lower my eyes, pretend meek and demure, when stared at by hungry males — the sort of modesty that requires most women to snatch occasional, apparently accidental, glances at some horny, staring male when what she really wants to do is stare boldly back.
I stare boldly back.
It saves a whole lot of time.
(Samantha Jones is the nom de plume of a semi-famous Canadian TV journalist, author of the erotic memoir "My Life In The Great Sexual Window".)
My mother, who knows a thing or two about sex and men, is the most liberated person I know. She teaches me early on that women are as good and usually better than men. That most women are tougher, smarter, kinder, gentler and more generous than men.
We almost never hit people. We almost never kill people. And we certainly don’t rape people. Instead, we nurture, nourish and support people.
My mother even has an explanation for why women and men still don’t understand each other after all these centuries of sharing beds, offspring and lives.
It’s because women are so complicated — and men are so simple.
Women, she says, grow up in a complex, almost entirely female world of mothers and grandmothers and aunts and best-friends-for-life girlfriends who all understand that because we’re female we lack male upper-body strength. So, to compensate, we have to concentrate on forming complicated protective relationships which help us survive as we learn to manipulate the dangerous world around us.
Men, on the other hand, grow up in a simple, almost entirely male world in which fathers and grandfathers and uncles and buddies place far more value on physical force and sport and oneupmanship than on relationships. Something called backchecking is far more important than the scary something called love. In fact, men almost never discuss relationships with each other. Relationships are for sissies.
The result, says my mother, is that men don’t understand us women because, to merely survive and protect our wombs, we’ve had to become incredibly complex, complicated and manipulative.
And we women don’t understand men, she says, because we just can’t believe how incredibly simple they and their lives are. In fact, she claims, men are exactly what they appear to be. Nothing more. Nothing less. What you see is what you get. Men think relationships are what women have with each other in Sex And The City, in between bedding men.
In the end, says my mother, female survival all boils down to understanding male simplicity and taking advantage of it with the most powerful, complicated and manipulative combination of assets we women have — the female mystique and pussy power.
My mother’s words made sense to me when I was young and they make even more sense to me now that I’m a grown woman.
(Samantha Jones is a Canadian journalist publishing her erotic memoir at www.lulu.com)
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