I disrespectfully disagree
Women's entire education should be planned in relation to men. To please men, to be useful to them, to win their love and respect, to raise them as children, care for them as adults, counsel and console them, make their lives sweet and pleasant. These are women's duties in all ages and these are what they should be taught from childhood on.
- Rousseau, from http://www.twicegifted.net/gender.htm
There are days when I just don't want to talk to boys. I'm sure that many boys see me before they see my boobies, but even the nice ones have grown up in a completely different world than I have. I'm starting to believe that someone who has grown up learning from birth that he is fundamentally, and regardless of anything he does, meant to be on top (regardless of what he may have read after his brain had fully formed), is just never going to understand what it's like for people who have grown up with no such expectation.
And you know what? Sometimes I just don't want to deal with that.
I was raised from birth to believe that my purpose in life was to be a good girl, to look pretty and be quiet, to keep people happy, and to never, ever make any waves. None of these instructions are conducive to deeper spiritual or intellectual growth. Neither are the boys' instructions, mind you, but we're talking about me here.
Believe it or not, there comes a point where it's not very exciting anymore to be told how sexy I am. That has nothing to do with me; "I" am not responsible for the way my body looks. Anybody can buy nice clothes. And if I'm programmed from birth to be nice to people, that's not entirely my doing either. If compliments are not interspersed with anything that engages the parts of me hiding beneath the boobies and the rest of my integumentary system, it actually gets offensive after a while. There are other potential topics for conversation - explore them!
I too often get the distinct feeling that when certain boys say they like me or miss me, it's the sex (or at least the boobies) that they like or miss first and most. I would say that that's the only part they seem to notice, besides my smile, but I'll give them the benefit of the doubt. They seem to have some vague idea that there's something more, but they can't quite pin it down. Well I don't miss sex with them; I can amuse myself on my own terms. If they have nothing more to offer than abject admiration of my boobies, they can just spend the rest of their lives wondering why I don't deeply desire to be with them. I have very little hope that they'll ever figure it out. Meanwhile, I will be perfectly happy with the occasional boy who seems to think I'm a person or something, worth talking AND listening to about things that require brains.
I can't believe there are still boys out there (of all ages) who can look at a girl and see what Rousseau saw, and nothing else. How brain-dead do you have to be? What kind of horrible people do you have to have met in your life, to think that this could possibly be true?
If you couldn't tell, yes, I'm talking about specific people and incidents. Talking about it might not help in a concrete way, but at least this isn't all inside me anymore.
- Rousseau, from http://www.twicegifted.net/gender.htm
There are days when I just don't want to talk to boys. I'm sure that many boys see me before they see my boobies, but even the nice ones have grown up in a completely different world than I have. I'm starting to believe that someone who has grown up learning from birth that he is fundamentally, and regardless of anything he does, meant to be on top (regardless of what he may have read after his brain had fully formed), is just never going to understand what it's like for people who have grown up with no such expectation.
And you know what? Sometimes I just don't want to deal with that.
I was raised from birth to believe that my purpose in life was to be a good girl, to look pretty and be quiet, to keep people happy, and to never, ever make any waves. None of these instructions are conducive to deeper spiritual or intellectual growth. Neither are the boys' instructions, mind you, but we're talking about me here.
Believe it or not, there comes a point where it's not very exciting anymore to be told how sexy I am. That has nothing to do with me; "I" am not responsible for the way my body looks. Anybody can buy nice clothes. And if I'm programmed from birth to be nice to people, that's not entirely my doing either. If compliments are not interspersed with anything that engages the parts of me hiding beneath the boobies and the rest of my integumentary system, it actually gets offensive after a while. There are other potential topics for conversation - explore them!
I too often get the distinct feeling that when certain boys say they like me or miss me, it's the sex (or at least the boobies) that they like or miss first and most. I would say that that's the only part they seem to notice, besides my smile, but I'll give them the benefit of the doubt. They seem to have some vague idea that there's something more, but they can't quite pin it down. Well I don't miss sex with them; I can amuse myself on my own terms. If they have nothing more to offer than abject admiration of my boobies, they can just spend the rest of their lives wondering why I don't deeply desire to be with them. I have very little hope that they'll ever figure it out. Meanwhile, I will be perfectly happy with the occasional boy who seems to think I'm a person or something, worth talking AND listening to about things that require brains.
I can't believe there are still boys out there (of all ages) who can look at a girl and see what Rousseau saw, and nothing else. How brain-dead do you have to be? What kind of horrible people do you have to have met in your life, to think that this could possibly be true?
If you couldn't tell, yes, I'm talking about specific people and incidents. Talking about it might not help in a concrete way, but at least this isn't all inside me anymore.