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Issue 20: The Worst Sex You've Ever Had

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I once asked my mother to name all of the good men we knew. She paused for a full minute before reply
 

Woman About the Internet

December 15 · Issue #20 · View online
I am a writer, mother, and decent human being living in Seattle, Washington. My monthly newsletter pairs perfectly with the everyday and the End of Days. I think you're swell.

I once asked my mother to name all of the good men we knew. She paused for a full minute before replying, “well, maybe Dr. Abbott.” My pediatrician. I’d like to think my list is longer, but I keep crossing names off.

I’ve been thinking a lot about monsters and lust, which sounds steamier than it really is. I guess I should say that I’ve been thinking about who I let myself feel safe with, which reminds me that love and hate are next door neighbors. 
Is a man beloved until we discover the automatic lock underneath his desk? Or he sends us a dildo for Christmas? How shocked are we when we learn about the Rape Room? Do you also find it hilarious to imagine Carrie Bradshaw writing columns about our current social climate?
“As my twitter feed announced yet another ____, I couldn’t help but wonder: is it ____ that makes men ____ or is it ____? In a country like ours, with its endless possibilities, why are we forced to choose between ____ and ____? ”
This essay is now a few weeks old but I keep returning to it, trying to find an explanation that will make me feel better. But 2017’s official motto is “no one gets to be comfortable” so I guess I’ll call some congresspeople, pretend that retweeting makes a difference, and continue to open this advent calendar of predator takedowns every morning.
Recently a friend asked me what the worst sex I’ve ever had was. I flippantly replied, “probably that time I was assaulted,” and then immediately regretted it. Because, yes, of course. But also, everyone has had plenty of sex that’s just, well, bad. I read Cat Person. Did you? Maybe you didn’t want to click on the preview image, which is understandable. If you did, I’m sure the story reminded you of every situation in which you were either too uncomfortable or too kind or too embarrassed to say no to a man. Men who are not bad, necessarily, but not great. Not good enough. When we finally banish the majority of the men to the colonies in a reverse Handmaid’s Tale scenario, those are the ones who will get to stay on staff, keeping our ride share programs and food delivery services humming under the watchful eye of the new regime.
#wokecharlotte has some further thoughts on this.
Look, we’ve all got our coping mechanisms. Maybe you spend long nights writing about monsters with the calcified heart of your husband locked in a desk drawer. Maybe you spend your days carrying your husband’s embalmed head in an elegant velvet bag. Maybe mine is writing misandrist dystopian Sex and The City fan fiction.  
“That night, after leading the coven in a final particicution, I couldn’t help but wonder: Does better always mean worse for some? No matter how far you travel or how much you run from it, can you ever really escape your past?”
No recipe this week, but I’ll leave you with a piece of one of my favorite poems by Marie Howe, which I read and reread while eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich that was so simple in its perfection that I recommend you go make yourself one in solidarity. 
After the Movie
My friend Michael and I are walking home arguing about the movie.
He says that he believes a person can love someone
And still be able to murder that person.
I say, No, that’s not love. That’s attachment.
Michael says, No, that’s love. You can love someone, then come to a day when you’re forced to think “it’s him or me” think “me” and kill him.
I say, Then it’s not love anymore.
Michael says, 
It was love up to then though.
I love you and you are deserving of great things.
xo Drew
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Some of my other writing lives here. If you’d like to follow me on Instagram, you can do so right here. I also hang out on Twitter.
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