The last thing I have to say is an interesting quote I heard, that was very thought provoking and helps me validate my moral position, at least in my mind:
“What’s the difference between justice, and punishment?”

“I am the Master of my fate; I am the Captain of my soul.”

Full hypersexuality, as I have experienced it, is finding yourself attractive, and practically every man you see horribly attractive, and taking steps to act on that. I am not that right now.

It’s almost like a full onset is wanting to bubble up but maybe the lithium is keeping it down.    ?     Sounds plausible. I hate being so tired all the time. I want a little more energy. But I don’t want any of the bad symptoms to have room to wiggle out.

I was discussing this last night in bed with Pillars, and he asked if it makes me feel better, being as this supports that idea that the lithium is making a difference in holding my symptoms at bay – I am clearly bipolar – if there ever was a question about it. I considered that. Does this weird feeling of symptoms wanting to rise but being unable to make me feel better? I said no. It might have a few months ago, but I’ve subscribed to the idea that I AM BIPOLAR. I’m not really looking for any more confirmation of that. What would make me feel better is if these symptoms didn’t exist at all!

Still here?  Seriously, I won’t be offended if you want to gloss over a (slightly) mad man talk about bonking.

Okay, since you want to know, sex is a big part of my life.  My wife complains from time to time, but I kind of need daily attention at the very least or I get upset.  For many sufferers, hypersexuality is a part of their mania and it eases off in between bouts.  I’m not that lucky.

When I’m high, I get horny.  I want sex and touching and kissing and contact.  I need to connect with my wife, to feel her skin against mine and so I tend to make a nuisance of  myself.  If she’s got her back to me, washing up being a prime example, then I just want to slide my hands around her and…  well, you get the picture.

When I’m low, I need affection.  It’s not about the touching or the stroking so much as holding and being held.  I need to feel that connection and to feel that warmth.  I need to feel like someone wants to spend their life with me because, quite frankly, I don’t tend to believe her when she tells me how much she loves me.  I hate myself so much that the idea of someone truly loving me is somehow more ridiculous than the idea that she is pretending just to be kind.  And then one thing leads to another and I want sex because I need that catharsis and to flush out the bad feelings.

In those in-between moments though…  In those moments, I just like sex.  It’s not so urgent as it is at either extreme, but it’s still a lot of fun.  I suppose I just have a high libido and a disorder that finds ways of  ramping it up to eleven.

I’m not alone in this.  I know of other bipolar people whose libido only seems to swing from ‘in the mood’ to ‘mad with lust’ as though there were no such thing as ‘not tonight’ in their experience.

In my case, I can control my desire enough to keep it focused on my wife.  Others can’t.  Especially when mania hits, others find themselves led astray by their desire and get into trouble.  Failed marriages are not uncommon and loss of trust is just another one of the awful things that people with bipolar have to live with.

I know how tempting it can be, that innocent ‘what if?’ that could lead you down a dark path if you let it.  I’d like to think that I have self-control, but I think the simple truth is that I have never truly been tested and that, gentle reader, is a terrifying thought.  I can tell myself all I like that I wouldn’t stray, but the only thing I can say for certain is that I am so good at avoiding temptation in the first place that I have never knowingly had to resist it.

A good Catholic upbringing turned this lady into a nymphomaniac with obsessional personality traits and an addiction to caffeine.
Image source: Fotolia

“I can tell you about Catholic guilt,” she said.

I was intrigued. Religion has never been a source of clarity for me. I wouldn’t say I am ruling out the idea of God but I haven’t seen any proof either. What do they call people like me? Am I agnostic? I think that’s what I told her I was.

Catherine married very young.

Her husband was her high school sweetheart and both had only had sex with each other.

We had only been on a few dates but one afternoon in North Sydney, Cath really opened up about her past. I let her speak, as the more I listened, the more she told.

“My parents were so conservative when I was growing up,” she sighed.

“Both are ex-school teachers and my older brother and I went to very strict Catholic schools.”

“I met this Italian guy, who I married at 21. He went to the boys school across from mine and we met at a church function.”

“He established his own business straight out of school and used to spoil me a lot but I ended it after six years.”

I often wonder why women stay in relationships for such a period of intolerable monotony.

“What made you decide to end it,” I prodded.

“It just got the stage, where I wanted more than five minutes of missionary and a debrief of the day’s office politics.”

“My mother was so disappointed in me when I told her I wanted a divorce. It was like I had committed a violent crime, like I had disrespected God.”

Cath had a little dog. He was her happiness, her little boy. She had brought him along in a doggie backpack, where he was waiting patiently for us big people to finish our coffee.

Dogs aren’t usually that patient. I was about to learn why the little pooch was so well behaved.

After one skim latte, Cath ordered another two. Together. The waiter brought out two skim lattes for her and another flat white for me.

“What? I love my coffee. Are you in a hurry?” she snapped.

“No, no. Two lattes, hey? That’s pretty impressive,” I replied.

“So, you’re divorced and by the way, thank you for being so honest. What’s your attitude towards God and sex now?”

She smiled.

“I don’t believe in God anymore,” she said, with relief.

“I have been looking after myself and enjoying the single life. I think it’s time to get a little more serious now but we’ll see.”

“I like you.”

“I can tell,” I said, with a little too much confidence.

After Cath finished her two lattes, to my surprise, she asked me whether I wanted another one. She called the waiter over and asked for yes, a skim latte. I love my coffee, but seriously, four in a row? That seemed a bit intense. I opted for some water.

“I need to get this little fluff ball of mine off to the groomer. How about I give you my address and you come round for dinner?” she said.

“Sure, what are we having?” I replied.

“It’s a surprise. You’re not a vegetarian, are you?” she said, in a forthright tone.

“Nope. A carnivore,” I replied.

“Good. I’m a maneater,” she said, with a sinister yet sexy smile.

Cath reached into her bag and pulled out her purse, motioned to the waiter and paid the bill. She then grabbed her iPhone and sent me a text with her address.

My iPhone vibrated immediately.

“There you go,” she said.

She lent in and gave me a kiss, picked up her backpack and said goodbye. I waived to her little doggie, which made her smile and she was gone.

I sat there thinking that she was very sweet and potential girlfriend material. A serious contender for taking me off the market. Although, we hadn’t slept with each other yet, so I couldn’t make the judgement call.

It was about 7pm and I pulled up outside her place. It was an old cottage.

I knocked on the door.

Cath answered, “I’m coming” as the barking proceeded.

There he was. He looked like a different dog. He was all cut and washed. All spiffy.

I was invited in and sat at the dining table, while she put her finishing touches to her meal. Handed a glass of red, Cath grabbed my hand and gave me the tour.

From the outside, the place looked like a rundown bungalow but inside, it was nicely renovated with polished floorboards and high ceilings. Cath had obvious taste. Her style was minimalist but still warm, matching her persona.

One glass of red turned into five. This lady does nothing in small doses. We sat at the dining table and ate. She had cooked pasta with meatballs and some sauce I can’t for the life of me remember the name of but I damned wish I could. It was amazing. I guessed her ex-mother-in-law taught her how to make it but never asked.

I had barely digested my meal when she grabbed me and started to get frisky.

She got up and went towards her bedroom. Before she faded out of the light, she turned and said, “Come on, this way.”

I had a serious boner.

By the time I got to her bedroom she had undressed. There was no time to think about anything. She wanted it, and now.

As I got undressed, she grabbed my cock and started stroking. She then started licking my shaft like a dripping gelato.

We went at it for a while and after my moment of glory, she wanted to go again.

And then again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And… again.

Where did Cath go? Who was this nymphomaniac?

I’m all for some intense, long and passionate lovemaking but please, I’m not a fuck toy!

I had to pee, so I went down the hall to the bathroom. When I came back, Cath was lying on her stomach masturbating.

This was too much for me.

In that moment, I felt completely emasculated.

I gave her a kiss and said I had to go. She was disappointed. She wanted to go another round. I’d obviously brought the wrong clubs. She wanted wood and I brought a putter.

She never called.

I thanked God.

Participants at a recent nymphomaniac convention in Chicago.

Columnist: Ronald Ayers

By Ronald Ayers

I boarded an airplane this past weekend for a little rendezvous I had cooked up with Audrey Williams a high school girl friend of mine. We were to meet at a Bed and Breakfast just outside of Boston, Massachusetts.

When I took my seat and settled in, I glanced up and saw the most beautiful chocolate soul sister I’ve seen in my life boarding the plane. I soon realized she was heading straight towards my seat. As fate would have it, she took the seat right beside me. Eager to strike up a conversation I blurted out.

“Business trip or pleasure?”

She batted her big beautiful brown eyes at me, smiled and said.

“Business. I’m going to the Annual Nymphomaniacs of America Convention in Boston”.

I damn near fell out of my seat! Here was the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen sitting next to me. Her skin was the color of a Milky Way candy bar. 

English: A US Milky Way candy bar, broken in half to show contents. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

She had on this green dress with a V-neck that stopped at her navel. Her succulent looking voluptuous breast did all they could to tumble out of her clothes onto the floor, and when she crossed her legs I got a glimpse of some fecund black foliage that made me want to dive head first into the abyss! I put my balled fist into my mouth to stifle my scream.

‘Damn!’ I said to myself ‘She’s going to a meeting of nymphomaniacs. Am being blessed or what!

I began to calculate how I could call my date in Boston, cancel my meeting with her, and set up a rendezvous with this self proclaimed nymphomaniac. Struggling to maintain my composure, I calmly asked.

“What’s your business role at this convention?”

“Lecturer,” she responded. “I use information that I have learned from my personal experiences to debunk some of the popular myths about sexuality”.

“Word?” I said. “And what kind of myths are those?”

“Well,” she explained, “one popular myth is that African-American men are the most well-endowed of all men, when in fact it is the Native American Indian who is most likely to possess that trait. Another popular myth is that Frenchmen are the best lovers, when actually it is men of Jewish descent who are the best.

“I have also discovered that the lover with absolutely the best stamina is the Southern Redneck.”

Suddenly the woman seemed to become a little uncomfortable. She blushed.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I shouldn’t really be discussing all of this with you. I don’t even know your name.”

“Geronimo,” I said, “Geronimo Epstein. My friends call me Bubba.”

REMEMBER! A mind is a terrible thing to use!

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Last week, our family had the best stay-cation we have ever had! My husband took the week off and his brother, sister-in-law, and their FOUR kids came to stay with my husband’s parents. The last time we saw their family was on their turf up in Indiana for Christmas. Javan did awesome then! I was dreading being “stuck” up there restraining him and isolating both of us if he didn’t adapt well and was being aggressive, but I was so pleasantly surprised that he did terrific with his cousins and the new environment.

This time, I knew if he did not do well, we could retreat to home, so that was semi-comforting. I also knew that this time, they’d be on HIS turf…HIS Weebow and Pops’ house, HIS playroom, HIS swimming pool, etc. Guess what? He did great AGAIN! It was a big week full of large gatherings and events…Independence Day (which also happens to be my birthday, my anniversary, and my husband’s birthday. And family events every day, whether it be with just us and the Indiana Clan, or the ENTIRE extended family, which is quite large but Javan has been around them a lot.

Javan did best with his two older cousins, the girls, who are one and three years older than him. He showed no aggression or resentment toward them at all (that I saw anyway). He even held hands and walked with the oldest a few times and had a blast giggling with her when she rode in the back seat with him. He did slightly less well with the two younger cousins, the boys, both due to the fact that they are boys and they have less communication and adaptive abilities than older children. Older kids give him somewhat of a “social cushion” because they expect him to act like a little kid and they can notice that something is “weird” about him without voicing it or calling him out on it. Even so, he didn’t do terribly with the younger boys, and overall, he had a spectacular visit with his super-spectacular aunt, uncle, and cousins.

In other news, I’m feeling anxious and discouraged because I’ve noticed a pattern emerging that I am all too familiar with…he’s slipping into a manic episode. My husband and mother have noticed too. I pray that it will not be a full-out regression to “the places we’ve been before.” He hasn’t been in a depressive stage, which is the other end of the spectrum from mania, but he’s been in a calmer, more sedate, reasonable state. Ahhh, reason, how I love reason. But I can feel it being pulled out from under my feet…again. Not quickly, but inch by inch, so that I can feel the fall coming and I’m left wondering how long I can gracefully keep my balance before I fall smack on my behind.

Javan was making friends. He was forming a relationship with one new neighbor girl, Raylin, who I’ve posted about before, in which I could trust him to be with her out of my direct line of vision, and not worry about anyone getting hurt or being in danger of any kind. About a month ago (I’m guessing…I stink at keeping up with time.), he decided that she was a “baby” and he won’t hang out with her anymore. That’s it. No transition. No big hoopla. Just, “Now we’re not friends.” And he’s stuck to his resolution, well, resolutely. He will never be her friend again. Raylin is one year younger than Javan. There are several other kiddos that he’s done the same thing with recently. Mostly kids a little younger than or the exact same age as him. And he means it…he hates them (at least for now). So, that means that if I’m friends with their parents, I don’t get to see my friends, hang out with other moms, without him ruining the whole thing. Isolation. I do take one night out a week to be with my friends kid-free, but one night a week! And then back to isolation.

And we’re just starting the downward spiral into mania. I know, I know. You’re thinking I’m pessimistically predicting a catastrophic future without just cause. But we’ve been through this cycle so many times! We can see it coming. Call it a bipolar prophesying borne of experience. In fact, I remember predicting one such episode about a year and a half ago (and again, I’m bad at remembering time frames, so I’m probably off on that estimate). I had been working at a local daycare and loving it. I loved the kids, I loved the adult interaction with my co-workers, I loved the kids some more. And Javan was able to participate free in the late afternoons. Free social interaction under another authority figure besides Mom! I was all signed up and ready to start the summer program, so excited about being with “my” kiddos and for the opportunity for Javan to participate. I had even already bought our matching summer camp T-shirts! Aaaaand, then we saw it coming. I had to talk to my bosses, who I had grown to love dearly, and tell them that practically last-minute, I had to quit. Based on a prediction. Based on what they couldn’t see yet. It pretty much sucked a big one.

Luckily, my bosses were both women of grandmothering age who had reached the level of wisdom to know a mother’s instincts should not be belittled. They supported me and loved me and encouraged me even though I was putting them in a pickle. And we ended up being right. He did enter a manic stage and it wouldn’t have been okay for me to have work obligations and it wouldn’t have been okay for him to be in a summer program with other kids and expectations that he wouldn’t have been able to meet. I still really miss that daycare.

So, what do we do? We wait. There is no way to prevent a manic episode. At least I don’t think so. I’ll have to research that after this killer stress headache goes away. We wait and we see if we can weather this storm without medication changes or adjustments. We pray that Jesus calms the storm. We pray that we can walk on the water with him without fear and without falling.

You’re probably wondering what indicators we’re seeing that lead us to this assumption that a manic episode is ensuing. Off the top of my head: constant talking, singing, or babbling…or babble-singing…sometimes it sounds like a Japanese kid is singing off-key in the back seat of the car…for a really, really long time; extreme disobedience, extreme hyperactivity, I could go on.

Let’s talk about extreme hyper-sexuality. Yes, that’s part of a manic episode, apparently even for young children with little to no knowledge of things sexual. My son knows exactly two things about male and female bodies: women have boobies, and they have different “peepees.” Oh, and women have babies…so that’s three things.  Anywaaaaay, this is coming up because of an incident we had a few days ago during our stay-cation. We were at the lake hangin’ with the family: grandparents, aunt and uncle, cousins, us. There are very few other people there, as is the usual for this particular lake. But there is this one well-developed young lady, lookin’ all hot in her tiny zebra-striped bikini, playin’ with her little brother and his friend in the water. He swam/walked over to them (it’s a very shallow lake). I was like, yeah, they probably don’t want to talk to us, but he wants to be social, and I’m not gonna stop him from saying hi. So he goes over. Does he say hi to the kids? No. Course not! He says hi to the hottie with the Playboy bunny belly ring! He gets in her personal space – I say “Javan. Personal Space,” like I do so many times every single day. Instead of him backing off though, he goes in for a hug. Well, he hugs a lot. Even at inappropriate times with inappropriate people – he does have Asperger’s after all, a disorder in which inappropriateness is widely prevalent and somewhat expected.

Mid-way into the hug, the unexpected happens. Playboy Zebra sort of gasps and shoves his body away from her. I was like, “Dang, I guess she really didn’t want a hug!” Javan swims off and I, of course, go after him. He whisper’s a “secret” in my ear with a smile in his voice: “I was trying to touch her peepee.” OH. MY. GOSH. I told him we would talk in a minute and I told him to stay where he was. I went directly to the girl/woman/whatever and said, “Did he do something inappropriate when he hugged you?” She smiled and said, “He tried to grab my butt.” I apologized profusely, explained a little about his Asperger’s and Bipolar, or maybe just the Asperger’s, I can’t remember. She smiled and said, “That’s okay, I understand. I work with kids like him.” So, so very glad and lucky that this happened with a person who has understanding! And could likely already guess at the things I told her about him. Then I had a good talk with Javan about how it is never okay to touch anyone there. Ever.

Why did I share this? It makes me vulnerable. It means people might whisper things about my son or even me behind my back. It means some people who read this might not want my son around their daughters. That’s a lot to risk. It is. But I am sick and tired of hiding. This is my life. This is my son’s life. And you can be darn sure there are other mothers, fathers, children, families, hiding because they think they’re the only ones. I know I do.

As games have become more and more popular, people are beginning to become cognizant of the content in these games and how they relate to the realities of society. Gaming, of course, is not the first form of visual media that has had to contend with the assertion that they are portraying women in a sexist manner. Forty years ago, feminist groups began to attack tradition depictions of women in advertising, depictions that they deemed “inaccurate, offensive, and confining” (Ferguson et al 1990). Since then, depictions of women in advertising have changed. I will look at these changes, as well as the way portrayals of women in advertising have changed, drawing comparisons with representations in video games.

Things really haven’t changed that much.

In the early 1970’s, mainstream advertising was at a crossroads where many believed that contemporary advertising (at the time) did not reflect the realities of  society. Women were presented in the typical clichéd roles of only belonging in the home, being unable to make big purchasing decisions, depending primarily on men for support and protection, and regarded as objects (Belkaoui and Belkaoui 1976). Women were primarily used as a way to appeal to consumers understood to be male. A typical car advertisement, for example, would feature a woman splayed across the hood of a car because it was assumed that only men were buying cars. The advertisements were only directed at men and used women as a means to appeal to men through sexual objectification.

This is nearly identical to the way many women are portrayed in games today. This is because while males still make up a slight majority of the gaming populous at 58% to 42% (Game Player Data 2012), the percentage of female developers in the gaming industry is even worse, with women representing fewer than 20% of the workers in the video game industry and only 3% of game programmers (Terlecki et al. 2011). Much like advertising at the turn of the twentieth century, game developers are creating games that only cater to men, using sexual objectification of women as a hook. They are not aware of the fact that women are buying and playing games as well. A comparative analysis of women in advertising done by 1976 summed up the state of mass media and sexism eloquently, stating “mass media, as expressed by advertisements, have not adequately matched this manifestation of social change (referring to the growing economic and social status that women were gaining) and, with few exceptions, tend to portray women in unrealistic settings and in under-represented numbers” (Ferguson 1990).

While there are some similarities between how women were portrayed in advertisements in the 50’s, 60’s, and 70’s

“You think subfreezing temperatures and snow flurries are going to stop me from wearing this skintight leather suit that’s not even zipped up properly? LOL”

and how they are portrayed in video games today, differences do exist. Namely, feminist critiques of advertisements at that time focused on the fact that advertisements did not reflect realities of social change and that advertisers had not “kept up with the times in portraying women in the wide variety of roles they play in today’s world” (Ferguson 1990). Advertisements are generally supposed to be representative of the real world, whereas games are not necessarily obligated to maintain those same constraints. It is fairly commonplace for a game to take place either in the distant past or the far future (or in some alternate timeline), yet the majority of advertisements are set in a realistic, contemporary setting because the company is trying to sell a product that exists in the here and now. Furthermore, advertising is all about selling a product to a consumer, whereas videogame content establishes a relationship between game and consumer that turn into demographics advertisers can use to market future titles towards. The content is what drives the advertising. Advertisers will market a game like The Sims differently than a racing game or a shooter because the content of said games differs. They both rely on stereotyping their audience, but advertising is much more direct in its method. A study comparing the way women are used in game advertisements versus their portrayal in advertisements at the turn of the century would be interesting, but is beyond the scope of this paper.

So advertisements from the turn of the century have given us a comparison for the way women are portrayed in games, but can women in advertisements today tell us anything about where the future of hypersexuality in games might go? One possibility is that, once game developers realize that they can sell a video game with a female lead, not lose their male fanbase, and then potentially draw in some women who might be interested, they will begin to incorporate more complex issues of femininity and sexuality into their games. In the eighties and nineties, advertisers began to rethink and reshape the way they engaged with female consumers as a response to the anger that women felt about being objectified and bombarded with idealized images of femininity (Gill 2008). As the video game industry continues to grow and gain popularity, the portrayal of women in games will continue to be an issue until developers realize what advertisement agencies did;  that portraying women in a more realistic nature that does not objectify them as a means to appeal to the male demographic will lead to more female video game players and a larger install base with which they can market future titles to.

Sources:

Belkaoui, Ahmed, and Janice Belkaoui. “A Comparative Analysis of the Roles Portrayed by Women in Print Advertisements: 1958, 1970, 1972.” Journal of Marketing Research 13, no. 2 (May 1976): 168-72.

Ferguson, Jill H., Peggy J. Kreshel, and Spencer F. Tinkham. “In the Pages of Ms.: Sex Role Portrayals of Women in Advertising.” Journal of Advertising 19, no. 1 (1990): 40-51.

“Game Player Data.” The Entertainment Software Association. Accessed April 09, 2012. http://www.theesa.com/facts/gameplayer.asp.

Gill, Rosalind. “Empowerment/Sexism: Figuring Female Sexual Agency in Contemporary Advertising.” Feminism & Psychology 18, no. 1 (2008): 35-60.

Terlecki, Melissa, Jennifer Brown, Lindsey Harner-Steciw, John Irvin-Hannum, Nora Marchetto-Ryan, Linda Ruhl, and Jennifer Wiggins. “Sex Differences and Similarities in Video Game Experience, Preferences, and Self-Efficacy: Implications for the Gaming Industry.” Curr Psychol, December 01, 2010, 22-33.

A ten-picture graph, showing five women on top and five women on bottom. The five women on top are, from left to right, Snooki from Jersey Shore, Bella Swan, Kim Kardashian, Kat Von D, and Lady Gaga. They are captioned “Pop Culture”. The woman on the bottom row are, from left to right, Aeryn Sun from Farscape, Zoë Alleyne Washburne from Firefly, Susan Ivanova from Babylon 5, Jadzia Dax from Star Trek: Deep Space 9, and Samantha Carter from Stargate. They are labelled “Geek Culture”. At the bottom is a caption reading “Female Role Models: Fuck Barbie. I’m Buying My Daughter a Ray-Gun”

Images like this irritate me. I don’t like the self-congratulatory aspect of geek culture which appears to have become an epidemic spread via images on websites like Facebook. But what good is complaining when I can, instead, unpack the image and try to start a dialogue on why geek culture needs to take a good, long, hard look in the mirror before patting itself on the back for the creation of such great female role models?

I’ll start with some minor quibbles before building up to the big stuff. The women in the top row, except for Bella Swan, are all real people. The women in the bottom half of the image are all fictional characters from television shows. Wouldn’t a more compelling, interesting, and challenging comparison for celebrating an alternative to mainstream role models for girls have been real-life women who are involved in geek culture? How about Lauren Faust, creator of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic? Or Lindsay Ellis, the Nostalgia Chick? Rebecca Watson, from Skepchick? Jane Goodall, the world-famous Primatologist? Dr. Alice Roberts, from Digging for Britain? Lisa Randall, the Harvard Physicist? Kate Beaton, the brilliant comic artist? Or Mayim Bialik, the actress turned neuroscientist turned actress? All of these women are talented, famous, and well-known for being badass in their decidedly geeky fields. I would love to see them celebrated as role models for budding geek girls.

I’m also interested in the particular pictures that the original creator of the image elected to use to display the differences between the top and bottom rows. The women in the top row are all more scantily-clad (except for Aeryn, who is wearing a tank top) and posed more suggestively and passively than the bottom women. This was obviously a deliberate decision on the part of the creator, and it caught my eye for two reasons: It reeks of slut-shaming, and secondly, it appears to be an odd denial of the amount of hyper-sexualization female characters in geek culture receive from creators and fans alike.

Since the focus of the image is on who makes a good “role model”, it would appear that the message of this image is that you can’t be a sexual being and a good role model for girls. Cover up, if you want to be respectable and badass, respectable women don’t draw attention to their sexuality so flagrantly!

Not to mention, geek culture does have a serious problem with taking hyper-sexualization of characters in media like television, movies, and comic books to ridiculous levels. There are already a couple of blogs, like Escher Girls and Comic Art Corrections dedicated to pointing out and correcting the laughable misunderstanding of basic human anatomy of some artists, in their quest to make as much boob and booty visible on a character in a single pose. I can still remember cringing in pain when I was first told the story of how Jeri Ryan in Star Trek: Voyager was literally vacuumed into her catsuit for the role of Seven of Nine and needed to shut down production of an episode if she had to use the bathroom because of how long it took her to peel out of the stupid thing. When I first saw Star Trek: The Next Generation as an adult, I created a drinking contest out of how many times the camera zoomed in to get a better view of Deanna Troi’s cleavage.

And, in the ultimate break of my irony meter, there are people on the comments section of the original image complaining about their favourite female characters (including Seven of Nine) not being included on the list, because they are, and I quote, “way sexier than any of the ones in that pic”.

What also bothers me about who was chosen to exemplify the traits of a “good role model” is that the characters are involved in combat in some way or another, hence the conclusion that one should buy their daughter “a ray-gun” instead of a Barbie. It’s a good time to be a tomboy, with Katniss Everdeen, Merida, Black Widow, and other tough ladies on the big screen, and women like the ones above on the small screen. That’s great! But why is that the most laudable, or, as the image tells us, the only acceptable way to be a woman and express yourself? There are multiple ways of being a woman, or being a man. Images like this seem to set up a dichotomy, where you are either a tough warrior woman, or a passive, overly sexual tart, with no in between or chance to go by your own rules.

Images with dichotomous messages like this concern me because I remember my own childhood of despising femininity and seeing it as the weaker, confining, less desirable option, wanting instead to enter the world of masculinity, of fun, and freedom; a form of internalized misogyny and femmephobia I am still recovering from, even now as a proud femme geek who loves expressing myself through traditionally “feminine” interests like crafting, fashion, jewellery, and making my own beauty products. The best part about enjoying those interests is that I am definitely not alone in them. Geek culture is full of people, women, men and gender rebels alike, who are great crafters, seamstresses, bakers, knitters, costume-makers, and creators. I wonder how many of them had a childhood filled with Barbie dolls for whom they designed outfits and hairstyles, and were still capable of having a jolly good time playing with ray-guns as well, rather than thinking of it in a purely either-or context?

If I ever have a daughter, or a son, I am not going to teach them that there’s only one way to be properly masculine and feminine, and that possessing stereotypical “hypermasculine” traits, like playing with ray-guns and lightsabers, doesn’t mean they are better in any way than those who like to play with E-Z Bake ovens or dolls. And I want to take part in creating a culture which isn’t hostile to femininity or which rewards only certain ways of expressing it. I hope geek culture takes part in that transformation, rather than inhibiting it by being stuck in outmoded ideas of the “right” way to be a woman or a man.

Now since I am the foremost expert in the field of female representation in contemporary video games (ok maybe not but I did write an honors thesis entitled “Hypersexuality in Video Games: A Content Analysis of Women in Games” so get like me) I have a few things that I would like to make note of regarding this trailer.

Simply put, having a bunch of Victoria Secret-esque models in skin tight leather suits DOES NOT help a game sell and only promotes the stereotype that video games are for immature little boys. If this industry wants any respect they have to try and get away from using amateurish marketing tactics to try and “shock” people into buying there game because of the boner they got watching this trailer.

In my opinion, the trailer would have been much more powerful had the women remained dressed as nuns. Having them throw off their clothes and reveal themselves to be dressed as the hookers from Sin City completely undercuts any sort of weight and meaning the trailer could have had in exchange for cheap sex appeal. It’s marketing at it’s worst.

I’m still looking forward to Hitman and I have hopes that it will be good, but the video game industry needs less of this if it wants to be taken seriously.  Lastly, if you enjoyed this, I implore you to go over to IGN and read Keza MacDonald’s article on the trailer.  It’s very good and while I don’t quite take issue with the level of violence shown in the trailer, she makes some excellent points regarding the type of message that this is attempting to send to young males.

Hopefully, with enough complaining, the industry will realize that there are better ways to market their games and the industry can continue to grow into the premium medium of art and entertainment that I believe it has the potential to become.

There’s not really a criteria for hypersexuality, but just that the person is doing stuff out of the norm for them.

I like this site.

This was by far the most damaging symptom of bipolar mania for me.

I had no clue what it was initially. Over time, I came up with several reasons for my hypersexuality. My most convincing one, most logical one, was that my body wanted to procreate again. Really. It had been about 15 months since my son had been born, and that was the longest my body had gone uninhabited in almost 5 years. So I thought YES, THIS MAKES SENSE. My uterus is reaching out to the world. Except, my uterus was reaching out to people it shouldn’t have. My reasoning for that, my husband had put on some extra weight and I had lost some attraction.

It all made sense to me. And to top it all off – it was what my body was telling me to do. Not just my uterus. My mind and my senses. My senses had never betrayed me before. They led me everywhere I had been in life, and ultimately to my husband. I trusted them. They were me.

Everything I was doing was a drug. It literally got me high. The weird part, to me, was that the sex wasn’t the most exhilarating part. It was getting the men to want me.  To make the whole thing more exciting, they had to be attached. One was married, the other had a girlfriend. I thought that sex was the ultimate goal, but it wasn’t until after I was medicated and my husband asked questions that I realized that the chase was my drug. As soon as the sex was over, I was plotting when I could hook my prey again. Yeah, I was a total hooker predator. It was like taking a hit of something, and the longer I went without it, the antsier I got. I felt frantic, sweaty, desperate. I had to have it again. 

The next question is “how did you think this was going to end?”. I’ll be honest, I had no idea how it was going to end. The largest part of me, that controlled me, didn’t give a hoot. I had no disillusions of running away with either of these men. I loved my husband, my children, my family, our life. I wasn’t in love with or emotionally attached to anyone other than my husband. But when I thought about stopping what I was doing, my body reacted. Almost like an evil little man had taken post in my head and when he saw someone about to end his rein, he attacked. It seems like I was on a path to destruction, whether I wanted it or not. I was no longer in control. I didn’t realize I wasn’t in control at the time, I thought I was following my senses. I remember thinking to myself that I was disagreeing with myself, and thought it was odd. I analyzed the two feelings I was having, one being that I was doing just what I had to do right then, and one saying that it was wrong. I let myself feel these thoughts, hoping that by feeling them, I could at least commit to one and shut the other up. But I realized that the feeling that what I was doing had to be done was much much stronger than my resistance. Sure, I could think that was I was doing could be wrong, but I was being held captive by this other side that controlled me. Slightly like an out-of-body experience. I couldn’t move against myself.

I can tell you now, that when you realize you’re not in control of what your body is wanting to do, it’s time to see a doctor.

Here’s the kicker: I WAS seeing a doctor while this was happening. The same therapist and psychiatrist I had been seeing for 3 years. I had been diagnosed with anxiety and depression, which both seemed accurate. And that’s accurate for someone who is bipolar. You can feel jittery, and you feel depressed. There were lots of details that seemed insignificant to me that I failed to mention. That, and I was just never brutally honest with my therapist. I was as honest as I thought was necessary. Yet another hard lesson learned.

So this evil little man in my head, he didn’t completely occupy my mind. He controlled my behavior, but I could still occasionally think for myself. In a clear moment, I told myself that I knew something was wrong, and I had to get help. So the night before I was to see my therapist again, I took a notebook that I had been recording my moods in, and wrote down everything I had been doing that I knew was wrong. I was going to take it the next day and figure out why I was doing this and how to fix it. I didn’t allow myself to leave out any detail. It was clear to me that there was something wrong, and I wanted to get all my dirty laundry aired. I was tempted to start erasing, so I took the eraser out of the pencil. Sounds like a good plan…but my husband found it before I could get to my therapist. That’s a whole other post.

I should add that the hypersexuality wasn’t just for those other men, I was having much more, and much better, sex with my husband. Unprompted, in front of the washer, raunchy, hot sex.

But I got that notebook to the therapist. I wasn’t even onto the 2nd page before she interrupted and said, “I hate to say this, and I’m no doctor, but it sounds like you’re bipolar.” If I had been maybe slightly more honest years ago, this may have been diagnosed earlier, and I could have saved my husband a lot of pain. It’s hard though. I’m a woman. I’m emotional. Sure, I’ve had depression, and I certainly had anxiety, but never had any clear cases of hypomania or mania. Until it nearly ruined my marriage. I had been promiscuous years ago, but aren’t most 20 year olds? And anyways, I blamed them on Daddy issues. Isn’t that a huge cause of needing men?

Very troubling subject. Mine ended fairly well, considering how it could have ended: STDs (I was responsible and got checked), pregnancy, divorce…
It did cause more than enough damage, and I wish I could take it back. I hate thinking that there are people out there struggling with it right now, maybe ruining their life in the process. Now that I know I am Bipolar, I can better avoid these occurrences in the future. I feel like I should give out advice now…so,
1 – be brutally honest with your therapist and psychiatrist
2 – just say you need help, something is wrong
3 – take your medication

I’ve been scouting the gym and looking for possibles as if I were in some local bar.  I fantasized about picking one out, treating him to coffee where I’d perform my needs analysis and put my wicked talent of people character on the table for sex.  My stare is fully manic and my eyes are hypnotic demonic, with mouth ajar and head tilted slightly to the side with a flame-broiled horny face.

Earlier today before passing by a male stranger I gave him sultry squinting bedroom eyes with my lips puckered into a bodacious smooch.  I don’t normally like getting attention.  But I enjoy giving it to others and letting their mind race with entertaining thoughts of me and what I can do.  I play the part of a person’s fantasy very well just like an Oscar actress, a Porn Star or a beloved hooker.  He never saw it coming and I knew as he kept walking he wondered was it aimed towards me? and was it intentional? Yes. Yes it fucking WAS!

Being that I’ve been wildly consumed by my needs and desires and never consumed by the thought of actually and literally masturbating I thought to come up with a list of songs I listen to when I’m feeling hypersexual.  Some may get a kick out of this because some of you fuckers openly masturbate to me while others may actually get to probably enjoy a new tune.  Unless of course, you’ll be willing to let me in on one of the songs you play when you’re feeling extra frisky?

1. Heidi Montag – Body Language
2. Oro Solido – La Tanga
3. Blondie – Call Me
4. Lana Del Rey – Lolita (Or Lolyta)
5. The Raconteurs – Broken Toy Soldiers
6. Norah Jones – Turn Me On
7. Sade – Is It A Crime
8. Country Strong Soundtrack – Shake That Thing!
8. Wynter Gordon – Dirty Talk
9. Donna Summer – Love To Love You Baby
10. Calvin Harris – Feel So Close
11. Britney Spears – Selfish
12. Shakira – La Tortura
13. Flashdance Soundtrack – Manhunt
14. Maroon 5 – Stutter
15. Janet Jackson – Throb
16. Metro Station – Shake It
17. Junior Reid – One Blood
18. Fiona Apple – The First Taste
19. Enrique Iglesias – I’m Fucking You
20. Billy Idol – Rebel Yell

-Ms. Hall