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Autoeroticism Beyond the Patriarchy
i was walking up Queen's parade from Flinder's street on my way to the arts centre to catch that punk art thing that Nadine had told me about. there was a crowd of people gathered around the base of the arts centre tower, all of them looking up and pointing. like a good little sheepie, i looked up also. there was someone dangling on a rope from the top of the arts centre spire. i looked over at Tanadia. she looked back at me, then produced a small pair of binoculars from her pack. She looked up, grinned and passed the binoculars to me. just as i focused on the figure, it kicked off from the spire and started twirling around and around. the figure was a she, naked apart from a parachute harness to which the rope was attached. i watched her swing around the spire, arching her back and kicking her legs about, toes together, providing momentum to increase her velocity. within a minute she was making one orbit every two seconds and was angled away from the tower at about thirty degrees from vertical. at this point she spread her legs and her hands moved down to her crotch. "um," i said to Tanadia. "um?" she asked. "um. i think that's Skud... yeah. i recognise her hairstyle." "of course it is. what's she doing now?" i watched her hands moving fitfully (this wasn't easy, given that she was spinning around the top of the arts centre tower), the rigid toes-pointed down attitude of her legs. "i think she's making a point about sexual expression outside the framework of the patriachy. then again, she could just be enjoying herself." "same thing." "well, she's got her eyes closed, so..." "y-e-s?" "... so within her own frame of reference, she's not being objectified by the pale patriarchal penis people." "uh-huh. but just because she's closing her eyes to the objectification doesn't make that any less real. now, give me the binoculars."
this isn't true, but it could be arranged. Skud; mail me. let's do lunch. |
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