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A Tale Of Feminism And Submission

Hello, my name is Sam. I’m 23 years old, with a literature degree and a cosy little apartment full of novels about feminism. I can proudly say that I’ve read every published book ever written by Simone De Beauvoir. She is my idol, my muse, my reminder that feminism is not about being a perfect woman.

I believe that women shouldn’t feel pressured to remove their body hair. I support the legalisation of sex work, in order to protect the lives of those involved in it. I follow the work of popular feminists like Caitlin Moran, Amanda Palmer, Beth Ditto and Kathleen Hanna. I have many issues with mainstream feminism, but I do believe that things can get better.

I’m also a closet submissive in the bedroom.

If it sounds like a confession, that’s because it is. I’ve spent the last few years pondering this proclivity, opening it up and really taking a close look at it for the first time. It has always been there, in the back of my mind – but as a strong feminist, I pushed it to the side.

A Question Of Dominance

A feminist can’t submit, especially not in the bedroom. A feminist must take control of a man, before he takes control of her – she must relish wild rides on top and have the confidence to make demands of her lover. She can’t submit, for it is forbidden.

The question is, what happens when you’re a feminist who gets their kicks out of being a sexual object? Are you automatically thrown out of the ‘feminist club?’ Are you guilty of being a bad feminist? If you like to be treated with impunity in the bedroom, are you still allowed to complain about being treated with disrespect outside of it?

These are important questions, because I’m positive that there must be more of us out there – women who are strong, confident and independent, with a penchant for rough hands and rough treatment beneath the sheets.

I’m the kind of girl who bumps up against misogyny on a regular basis, precisely because I can’t bear to let it go unchecked – even if it’s just with a clearly defined roll of the eyes and a haughty sigh. It has become a running joke at several points in my life, ‘Oh, Sam is rolling her eyes again – she didn’t like that.’

I refuse to let men buy me dinner on dates, just as I refuse to let them talk to me with disrespect. I have confronted any number of cat callers, sexists and horrible arseholes for talking down to women, making them feel uncomfortable or treating them like property.

A Little Of That Rough Love

Yet get me in the bedroom, and I want all of these things in abundance – demand them, in fact. I want a man who is physically strong, who is firm and knows what he want. I don’t mind being called a ‘slut’ or a ‘whore’ in the bedroom. I don’t mind being manhandled, spanked, or tied up – I love being treated like an object in the right context.

Is it the right context though? Can there ever be a right context, for a feminist?

I’m not sure. I don’t feel personally ashamed of my sexually submissive qualities. I like to think that I have a very healthy attitude towards sexuality – basically, if it works for you and you’re not impinging on the freedoms of others, go for it. Yet, the two most important facets of my life – sexuality and feminism are in misalignment.

Is it a problem with me, or a problem with feminism?

I’ve decided upon the latter – even if it is only so I can keep on being a very bad girl who needs a good hard spanking, whilst I’m between the sheets. What can I say? I’m a glutton for punishment.

I’m following my own special brand of feminism now, the kind that says equality means the freedom to be whoever you want, whenever you want. If I’m an object in the bedroom, you better believe I’ll still kick your ass for treating me like an object out of it.

Now, where did I put those handcuffs?


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