Lena Chen's Articles

Steak and Blowjob Day was Wednesday, but I’m dating a vegetarian. Who lives in Philadelphia.

For those of you not in the know, Steak and Blowjob Day was conceived as the man’s answer to Valentine’s Day. Appropriately situated a month after Cupid pays a visit, it gives us gals a good 30 days to figure out what men want in a night of romance. Clearly, we needed a few pointers, since men quickly started advertising this event on their own. But let’s not point fingers at a self-motivated scheme here …

I had every intention of swapping my Harvard education for an apron and kneepads. But when the object of appreciation lives over a hundred miles away, delivering on the goodies is as convenient as the Walk of Shame during a blizzard.

So be kind when I confess that I didn’t indulge in the made-for-frat holiday. Clearly, it was for nothing more than lack of opportunity. After all, I’m no feminazi (though my political gait strides left), and there are few qualms I could have about a holiday which:

1. Preaches gender and sexual norms
2. Commodifies romantic relationships
3. Portrays men as brutes

Don’t know about yours but my calendar’s filled with a year-round supply of heteronormative, hypermasculine holidays. Unfortunately for me, however, I made the poor choice of falling for an herbivore ho in a different area code. Thus, when March 14th rolled around, neither my mouth nor my kitchen contained any meat. Who could have predicted my bad luck? I couldn’t even indulge him in Soy and Blowjob Day.

But disheartened as I was, I figured out a way to celebrate some semblance of the holiday. How? Let’s just say I decided to take matters into my own hands.

Logged into Skype with webcam in place, I dialed up my sweetheart and demanded his attention. He was in class; I was in bed. He was wearing a polo; I was wearing panties. But not for long.

I spread my legs, grinned mischievously into the camera, and licked a finger with a wink before proceeding to show him exactly what it took to get me off. Sure, his professor might’ve been discussing the rapid growth of the Asian economy, but he and I were more concerned with speed settings on my Hitachi vibrator. Call me resourceful. If I wasn’t going to deliver on the steak or the blowjob, a mid-lecture peep show was the least I could do.

After the conclusion of my one-woman act, I determined that my approach (though less popular than the classic dual blow/bovine combo) was an acceptable if not superior substitute for this pivotal American holiday. Cue list.
1. Sucking cock while sizzling cow? Fire hazard.
2. I get to cum. He gets to watch. Win-win. And no one even has to wash dishes. (Well …)
3. No animals (except the pussy) were harmed in the making of this gift.
4. Unlike the same meal over and over again, masturbation-for-show has endless repetitive value. Everyday is “Finger Yourself on Camera Day.”

But I must admit, nothing beats in-person interaction, and my cam show was just enough to satiate until a closer encounter. When I visit in less than a week, I have every intention of bringing a belated gift so my veggie-munching host can have something else he can nibble on:

A girl friend.

If your girlfriend says she doesn't do it, she's a liar. And I'm not talking about making out with your best friend, Bobby. Seriously, she admitted to it, and she's sorry. I'm talking about her once-in-a-while desire to scratch an old itch, or the tingly sensation that creeps up on her during a drunken night after you couldn't get hard and passed out. One way or another, every woman has at least tried her hand- no pun intended- at self-pleasure.

Don't get me wrong, you're a regular Casanova. But come on, you know that every once in a while you need to go out on a date with Handgela. Don't be such a hypocrite! It's no secret that chicks are oppressed. Just look at these restrictive devices called bras. So when given a method for taking control of our sexual pleasure, we women naturally run in the other direction. Lest we're nymphomanic maneaters.

For proof that society's no fan of female self-pleasure, just take a look at the English language. When it comes to the American vernacular, masturbation is likely the word that can lay claim to the greatest number of euphemisms. But like political office in our nation of equality, slang for getting it on with yourself pretty much exclusively belongs in the realm of men. From "choking the chicken" to "spanking the monkey," the phrases used to describe this act of pleasure have a decidedly masculine and aggressive flair. Not to mention they're useful for covering up the ugly truth of what you're doing- sitting in a computer chair rubbing lotion on your genitals, tricking your penis into thinking it's having sex.