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"Red," I squeaked out.
He stopped instantly. He let go with his teeth, pulled out, and lay down next to me. He still had an erection, of course. I'm sure he still had the urge to keep fucking. But he put his arms around me and asked if I was okay, and I was, and we cuddled and went to sleep.
There's a pernicious myth out there that the male sex drive is unstoppable and irresistible--that once a man is aroused, he literally cannot control his actions. We tell jokes about "thinking with the other head" and "all the blood went out of his brain" that aren't entirely jokes. We have a cultural narrative in which sexual arousal makes a man into a goddamn werewolf.
And we expect women to tiptoe around this uncontrollable male sexuality. We tell them to watch how they dress, lest they wake the beast. We tell them "some guys can't control themselves"--not won't, but can't. We tell them to be careful what they start, because they'll be expected to finish it. Hell, way too often we outright tell them that they have no right to withdraw consent once sex has started.
My response to myths like this, more and more, is "shit, if I believed that, I'd never have sex with a man again." I wonder if the story would change if more guys realized that saying "if a woman gets me turned on, she'd better be ready to go all the way" is the same as saying "getting me turned on is dangerous, better not take the risk."
Then again, I wonder why more men aren't just insulted by the whole concept. If someone started telling stories about how my gender was controlled by our genitalia and sexual arousal turns us into rapist automatons, I would be outraged. I would explain in very small, very loud words that I am a person and I can goddamn control myself. I wish more men would speak up to say "actually, even when I can't turn my erection off, I can sure as hell use the rest of my body to put it somewhere it won't bother anyone."
I wish our culture prized self-control as much as it does virility, and even more, I wish our culture didn't act like they were opposites. Even I can't 100% shake the worry that the story at the top makes Rowdy sound desexualized or submissive, (or super nice and extra feminist, rather than "bare minimum of human decency") even though all it describes is him not raping me.
Men aren't rollercoasters. They aren't werewolves. They aren't walking penises. They're people. They make decisions. Let's stop talking about "he couldn't stop himself" and start talking about "he decided not to stop." Men deserve that dignity, and the responsibility that comes with it.
[I've just started clinical rotations at school! Which is exciting, but means that I need to get my shit together, writing-wise, because WOW did all my free time just evaporate. And my updates were already slipping. I'm thinking of making the Pervocracy officially a weekly blog, and committing to regular Tuesday-night updates, rather than stringing everyone along with the "I'll post when I have a post, dammit" irregularity. How does everyone feel about this?]