Leaping Out of the Closet Marked "Feminist"

That does not mean I hate men

I finally found a place where I fit in, a place where I don't feel at all lessened by my breasts or genitalia: the Women's Centre on campus. I always want to talk about what I'm not, like "I'm not a supermodel" or "I'm not the beauty ideal" instead of talking about what I am: a confident, voluptuous woman who knows her body better than some stereotypical beauties. Some of you just started to squirm. Yes, I'm going to talk about my body. I can't dissect this strange personality without looking at this wonderful body I've been blessed with. I have two complete legs that I think are terrific. I have two working arms that are covered in magnificent freckles. My back is broad and straight. My face and hair hide a brain I'm more proud of than anything else. Women spend so much time dissecting their body. I spent a half an hour tonight trying to get my roommates to talk about their bodies positively, with the end result being that each one could pick out at least one thing that they liked about their outward appearence. I resolved a long time ago to never say anything negative about my body and it has resulted in a less-than-perfect, but strong, self image. I have a quirky sense of beauty in that I find the human form so fascinating. I would like a mate for the simple reason that I would like someone to explore, so I could enjoy knee pits without getting a funny look. I want to touch that spot right below the eyebrow where the skin is smooth even on the roughest face. I have a passion for scars. I adore their subtle nuances of texture, like a paisley fabric of skin, blushing out from a cloud of hair. Well, that's a far departure from my original topic of the Women's Centre, but I wanted to share that. I'm just trying to evolve.

Note: Saying I have a love/hate relationship with my genitalia is more the idea of my gender than my actual vagina itself. I have no problems with my physical genitalia but the problems that arise from what is (or isn't) between my legs. That statement was not a slam against my flower, as I so lovingly dubbed it. (If you weren't squirming before, you're squirming now.) :)