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| Department for slash and full stops |
| "To all the boys I've slashed before ...", or GOOD GIRLS DON'T, BUT I DO by Alyx J. Shaw |
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| I am writing this article for a few reasons. The main one is I’m really sick of reading articles by individuals who don’t write slash, never heard of slash until ten minutes before they wrote the article, and brand me as some sort of fat, low-IQ, sexually frustrated housewife. First, let me address the fat housewife rumor. NOT. I have a degree in Broadcasting and another in Journalism. I have worked in radio, as a beat reporter, as an extra in TV and movies, and I am starting my own business. I am the secretary of the BC Sci-Fi Association, and I’m in the SCA. I have friends, I have a husband, a son in Holland, and a daughter-in-law I am tremendously fond of. In short, I’m not an idiot, I’m not fat, and I have a life, thank you very much. So much for that. As a woman, I am constantly inundated with what I call ‘Crack and Cleavage.’ Men don’t get that this bothers women, because it certainly doesn’t bother them, and let’s face it, most popular entertainment is geared towards the white male heterosexual audience. So every time I turn on the tube, I’m treated to a camera shot either down some woman’s cleavage, or up some woman’s crack. Years ago, when I wrote for a magazine, a lesbian friend of mine wrote an article called “TV Made Me Gay.” It was a pretty funny article, but she had a point. Woman are sexual prizes. “Get a hair implant, you’ll win a woman!” “Buy this car! You’ll have babes all over you!” Sure it gets the guys going, but I live on this planet too. And when I am shown a male, supposedly for my benefit, he’s always some over-developed goon. I don’t like goons. I dated two. Both were mentally and physically abusive. So goons don’t turn me on, they make me go check the locks on my door. And I’m really sick of watching women have orgasms over their shampoo, and hearing some bimbo say; “Go to this mall! They have what every woman wants!” That’s a load of BS; I have a hell of a time getting serpentaria root at the average mall. So the day ends. My husband doesn’t get home from work until one in the morning. My son is grown, and by seven-thirty or so, my ducks, dogs, and kitties are settled for the evening. So what do I do? I turn on my computer, fire up Led Zeppelin or Weird Al, crack my knuckles, and take my entertainment into my own hands…. I like men. I like them a lot, and I’m not being nasty when I say some of my best friends are men. I’ve always had a circle of men in my life, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything. They are my friends, my support, my comic relief when things get black. And interestingly enough, they ‘get’ the idea of why I write slash. I don’t have to explain it to them. So why do I? Because I get really really fed up with my needs and fantasies being ignored. I can flip to any prime time show and see two chicks feeling each other up for some dude’s amusement. But I’ve been waiting years for Jack O’Neill to kiss Daniel Jackson, and I have a funny feeling it isn’t going to happen. Which is a shame, because they are both stunningly beautiful men, and if they did I would burn a hole right through my chair. So that’s what this comes down to; female lust. As a male friend once told me he rents the lesbian porn movies because he doesn’t wanna look at some guy’s naked butt. And I feel pretty much the same way about some woman’s big ol’ dinner-plate nipples staring me in the face. Don’t wanna see it. I want to see Jack, I want to see Daniel. I want to drift into a warm fuzzy fantasy that puts a smile on my face my husband doesn’t understand. Men are beautiful. Frankly, however, I must admit I have little faith that popular TV will do anything to satisfy my fantasies any time soon. |
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