what’s in a name?: a big f*ck you to your first impressions

There is nothing I like to do more than talk. Well, perhaps it’s tied with writing, but on the whole I live to communicate. Having a D&M, a conversation of depth and meaning, is my cup of tea and to a certain extent I like to push the boundaries. So when sitting amongst a co-ed group of people – many of whom I had only just met – at my friend’s house, I decided to broach a bit of a taboo subject.

In my inebriated state I decided that the topic of anal sex was a great way to steer the conversation. From my recollection, there was no clear point in the group conversation that lead me into this; no rudder or compass to which I could conceive beyond my ever present sex-positivism. Needless to say, it resulted in a first impression I can’t shake. I am, to a microscopic and predominantly male portion of the Newcastle diaspora, now known as “anal girl”. Awesome!

Now far be it from me to assume I can change a first impression, but I am motivated to understand just why this was something that should warrant a nickname. Out of the millions of other concepts I verbally vomited, why did this stick to become uncleaned from the public toilet that was their minds? I did not insinuate I partake in any such an act, nor do I wish to (but cheers to you if you like it up the chuff) yet somehow I’m a woman who’s keen on it for merely having discussed it.

First things first, the topic of anal sex is no longer strictly taboo, though it’s taken several millennia to culminate to such a stage. A routine contraceptive and supposed virginity preserver in many countries, the practice is undertaken by people of diverse backgrounds and sexual orientations. No one asked me to stop the discussion, indicating no one took offence. The very fact that they flaunt the words at me themselves shows such concepts are able to be uttered, albeit in a derogatory manner. Quite simply, it can’t have solely been the act I described that led to a negative impression.

I do deduce it was a perceived fall from grace as a woman, harking back to notions of polite conversation or moreover appropriate behaviour for young ladies circa 1950. Let’s face it: an expectation of ladylikeness is something that is still passed on, ever so slyly. I suppose one of the earliest examples I can personally remember in my non-familial lessons of femininity comes from the Nickelodeon cartoon Angela Anaconda. The titular character’s dear friend and antithesis, Gina Lash, is receiving dinner party advice. It is expected that young ladies do not to bring up religion or politics lest someone else should plonk the red herrings on everyone else’s plates. I am assuming sexual acts are to a certain extent also off the conversational menu, though I dare say the producers of the animated fare I consumed in my childhood could not allude to such matters.

This is not to be reductive, as sex frequently features in conversations between diversely gendered groups of people, albeit often jokingly or profanely to suit the patriarchal dividend. Where female sexuality is concerned, this is doubly the case. Sure, one could argue that women have been benefited by women seen to be discussing diverse topics on Sex and the City and in the heteronormative spreads in Cleo and Cosmopolitan, but this frankness about sexuality is perpetually bound to the context of the circle of female friends.

I do deduce: my moniker originates from my exercising power discussing an act so frequently conceived as female submission in the presence of males. By calling me anal girl and suggesting I am unladylike suits the typical purpose men so often use. To phrase it politely: treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen. To phrase it in my terms: treat her like shit and maybe she’ll want your penis – ha! Quite frankly, they can go on believing their first impressions for it does not affect me. I will be taking my chocolate starfish virginity and talking my conversations elsewhere.