This is the archetype of true womanhood. It has nothing to do with femininity as it is sold to us by our culture; that is a commercial construct of artifice, propaganda and lies, little more than learned helplessness combined with self-hatred and a desperate hunger for attention. The rampaging wenchbeast has no time for such bullshit. She demonstrates that competence is infinitely sexier than helplessness, and lives as an agent rather than an object. She can scare dangerous rugby lunatics by out-bawdying them, and stares down rapists with a steely gaze that convinces them her vagina is lined with shark teeth. She would never fake orgasm, pretend to be stupid to get male attention, or blame herself for another's abusive behavior. She is hard to frighten and almost impossible to shame; there is little danger of her being domesticated.
The difference between a rampaging wenchbeast and a normally socialized woman is the difference between a wolf and a chihuahua.
Her native habitat is the arena of ritual license, such as Renaissance Faires, SCA Wars, and Burning Man, where there is an unspoken comprehension of her role as a Maenad, a catalyst of the Dionysian Principle. Why do you think Renaissance Faires get the crowds? It isn't for the overpriced beer. Something deep and atavistic, almost cthonian, in the human mind reacts to the rampaging wenchbeast with religious awe. Okay, part of it is the cleavage. But that cleavage has to be carried with a pride, vitality and defiance that are not found among consumers of fashion magazines, professional victims, and poster children for eating disorders.
It was only the daughters of Eve who were cursed with pain in childbirth and living as the property of men. The daughters of Lilith are under no such geasa. And it is not genetics but will that determines such a spiritual heritage. The rampaging wenchbeast traces her lineage to the woman made of earth, not the obedient piece of borrowed bone. In the midrashim about Lilith, it is said that she was exiled from Eden for insisting that Adam let her be on top during sex some of the time. Her descendants do not suffer control freaks gladly; ancestral memory tells them that exile is better than submission.
The rampaging wenchbeast is used to being called a dyke no matter how heterosexual her behavior is, because there are men who think a woman ought to behave like a doormat and if she doesn't, she's unnatural. She gets called uppity. Sometimes she gets raped by those who think that it will break her.
That tactic is notorious for backfiring. Trying to prove to a woman that she is only property can awaken in her a love of liberty and a righteous rage that can shake down mountains.
Inside every hideous Barbie-like Stepford Wife and vapid, anorexic supermodel is the corpse of a rampaging wenchbeast who was smothered during adolescence. This is an abomination and a sin against beauty.