Here is a link to the piece I wrote about male reactions to seeing a woman driving a Porsche for The Vagenda: http://vagendamag.blogspot.co.uk/2012/09/top-leer.html
And here is the poem I penned which inspired the piece:
Ode To Driving A Porsche, or What Rhymes With Penis?
I drive a Porsche, a Boxster, a soft top. I know, I’m a tit. If I was a character in Midsomer Murders I’d be the flash bleeder that gets it. When I pull up at the lights some men do a double take; they grip their steering wheel, they grip their handbrake. ‘That can’t be a woman behind the wheel,’ they sneer, they hiss. They don’t see a sports car; they see me driving a giant penis.
Is this a little bit of sexism, a bit of misogyny? Don’t tell me a speedy car isn’t for the likes of little ol’ me. Don’t rev your engine, or cut me up, I’m not looking in my mirror to check my make-up. No, I don’t want a bigger boot to store my shopping in, And yes, I understand about the fuel-injection engine. Your banter is totes hilarious, you’re so very sharp; Yes, I am a girl, and yes I can parallel park.
I know you’d rather I drive a nice hatchback, a nice 1.2 litre, with room for the nice kids in the back. Birds have a car; lads own a competitive machine. My vehicle’s emasculated you, and now you’re being obscene. Are you suggesting women can’t drive fast because we have vaginas? Women accelerate in rallies, F1 cars, fighter planes and airliners. You drive a Fiat Panda, all covered in rust; watch my giant penis go, and eat my liberated dust.