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I cried on my 18th birthday because I’d been brainwashed, fetishized, and yes, groomed from a very-too-young age to conflate sexuality with transgression, and that being “jailbait” was my only valuable trait
I had a female comic yell at me in a green room because I casually asked how old she was - “Did you just ask me how old I am in a room full of male comics?!?!”
“Yeah. Do we not do that?”
“No.”
“Yeah. Do we not do that?”
“No.”
One of the first compliments a guy gave me in bed was “you have the tits of a 20 year old”. I’m 35. I have the tits of a 35 year old, thanks.
I went to “purity seminars” where girls are schizophrenically told their bodies are precious vessels but also that it our responsibility to make sure we don’t cause men to “stumble” in their walk with god.
And of course their abdication of responsibility lends you a weird power that you are automatically ashamed of.
Think about what a culture based on shame, repression, youth, and market value produces in its sexual appetites
it is SO uncomfortable to think about in society that makes morality into a game of jostling for position, but before you pat yourself on the back like “whew! yes! I’m not THAT guy” think about the last time you complimented a woman by telling her she looks young
think about why hot grown-ass women lie or are secretive about their age, as if the number itself is a liability... it’s because it is. Especially in culture industries.
Yes I do a great bit about this topic that involves a body pillow and a four-feet of linked sausage but live comedy is cancelled so here we are, tweeting, without the bulwark of aesthetic process
No you cannot see my tits
Thank you
No you cannot see my tits
Thank you
