The Empowered Woman, The Enlightened Woman and The Cool Girl

For centuries, men have used covert and overt tactics for getting women to have sex with them. Oftentimes, covert tactics involve leading a woman to think that she’s doing something of her own volition and in her own best interest by having sex with a man. I was reminded of this recently by an article I read on lonerwolf.com entitled Soul Revival: 6 Ways to Discover Your Purpose In Life. The sixth way to discover one’s purpose was “Sacred Sex.” This leads me to the first covert tactic some men will use to get women to sleep with them:

The Enlightened Woman

While this tactic has been around for a long time, I get an image of some yogi-type instructing his female spiritual followers that in order for them to reach enlightenment, they must experience “spiritual union” through sex (optimally, with him). This was the vibe I got from the author of the aforementioned article, not so much in his description  of “Sacred Sex” but in the exchange that transpired between him and a commenter. The commenter disagreed with the idea that sex could have anything to do with the soul and said that they’d been used sexually by a former partner. Without acknowledging the commenter’s horrible experience, he proceeded to discourage them from thinking of sex as “good” or “bad” (his words) as “so many religions had mistakenly done.” He went on to extol the spiritual virtues of sex between a man and a woman as it is “how we are created.”

When I butted in, I drew attention to his oversight and the inappropriateness of his advice given his obvious insensitivity to the commenter’s experience of what sounded like abuse. I also mentioned that cult leaders often use this type of argument to get female members to sleep with them. Like anyone who had been caught red-handed, he promptly dismissed my arguments and banned me from making any more comments on his site.

I’ve been propositioned by men in this way in the past. An acquaintance described to me a “spiritual practice” in which the practitioner stimulates their partner to the point of ecstatic release. I listened nervously, waiting for the other shoe to drop. As expected, he ended his description with an “invitation” for me to partake in the practice with him, should I ever want to. I honestly don’t remember my exact response but I imagine it was something like, “No thanks, I’m good.”

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The Cool Girl

Similar to The Enlightened Woman is The Cool Girl. She’s inspired to hop into bed with a “cool dude” by thoughts of rebellion, a desire to be viewed as “laid back” and an aversion to being seen as “prudish.” The Cool Girl blossomed out of the free love movement of the sixties. She was pushing back against her parents, society and “The Man” by sleeping with whoever propositioned her. Her value, her status and her “freedom” were all tied to her sexuality.

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C’mon man, don’t be a square.

 

The Empowered Woman

The Empowered Woman has “reclaimed” her sexuality like Madonna. She exploits her body whatever way she “chooses,” maybe even for money. With every “choice” she makes about how to use her sexuality, she becomes more empowered. Men fall all over themselves to be with her, bending to her every whim. She is empowered in her enjoyment of sex and the brashness with which she shares her sexual preferences and exploits. She is unfettered, unashamed and unbelievably delusional! She is….The Empowered Woman!

 

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This wedgie is killing me!

 

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struggling

I can’t take living with unempathic, abusive parasites any more. I’m struggling so much right now. Talking to the person who allows me to sleep on his floor is like talking to some horrible Oliver Twist character. People like him really make me want to quit life. I don’t understand callousness. I don’t understand cruelty. Maybe I’m not cut out for this world. If anyone ever closes the windows or the doors while you’re crying so “the neighbors won’t hear”–RUN! Run like the wind!

brooding….

I’m feeling ambivalent about my invisibility today. Sometimes I do not wish to be seen. I prefer to skirt around the edges of life, looking in from the outside, not participating. I avoid people who are nice to me, people I know will say “hi” and attempt to engage me in conversation. I prefer to go unnoticed.

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Other times, I ache to be seen. And when I am seen, I ache to be taken seriously, respected, heard. So often, I feel as though I am just something to be shoved aside to make room for more important things and people-the real people. It’s one of the saddest and most unnerving experiences to feel not-quite-real. Like a human chess piece to be moved about.

I long to be the mover, the speaker, the one who is doing. But I also long to escape, to leave, to no longer be in this world for I do not like it sometimes. It feels too big, too fast, too harsh, too cruel. I feel as though I’m being jostled along in a crowd of people when all I want to do is step aside and watch it all go by.

I’m not thick-skinned, I never have been. My emotions ride along the surface and a word or a glance can cut me like a knife. My life is richer for it but can be agonizing. My life is very full, sometimes painfully so. I see a lot of beauty, mostly in nature and children. I also see a lot of callousness that I cannot wrap my brain around.

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People toss words around as if they were entirely inconsequential. They want their words to matter, but when they finally land with someone, they’re not willing to take any responsibility for the effect they may have.

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Alice hastily replied; `at least–at least I mean what I say–that’s the same thing, you know.’ `Not the same thing a bit!’ said The Hatter.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s as if everyone were sword fighting blindly, just flailing about, hoping to land a blow but not wishing to see the resulting wound. Who are we if the only evidence of our being here is the destruction we leave in our wake? Empty candy wrappers, spots on the mirror and a dent in the couch cushions. The squeaky wheel gets the grease. The people bussing the tables and mopping the floors are only noticed when they’re NOT doing their jobs. So am I, a busser, a mopper, a waste basket. Invisible until I cease to clean consciences or mop souls–loved so long as I am useful, but not longer.

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