This particular semi-civilized (it's not all that barbaric) yawp has been gaining traction among the Girls Really Suck crowd, mostly because of the sheer dimension of it: several thousand words to sum up the unfulfilled longings of a dozen years. Only he's not going to characterize them as longings, because his narrative calls specifically for a biological imperative:
Nature's cruel joke and cosmic irony in one. I as a man, biologically driven 365 days a year to ejaculate and produce sperm as often as possible, and having the drive and desire to want it every waning moment, who is vilified for this natural urge and made to feel ashamed of my sexuality, control it and subdue it to conform to the feminine imperative ... have to listen to women, who in their solipsism cannot fathom the ordeal of what I'm about to write about, women who biologically ovulate and desire sex rather infrequently compared to men, talk about, no celebrate their sexuality, their urges and desires ... and lament their short dry spells as if the world were coming to an end. They can never understand what a power differential there is in these urges.
If there even exists a couple whose desire curves exactly overlap, I'm betting they're gay.
And if they don't understand the power differential, Lysistrata certainly did. And so do her spiritual descendants: "Isabelle Ameganvi, a prominent civil-rights lawyer, has sown consternation among the menfolk of her country by calling on her fellow Togolese women to withhold conjugal sex for a week." Okay, it isn't twelve years, but if you're biologically driven 365 days a year, even a week is presumably unbearable.
If I seem to mention "twelve years" a lot, well, so does he:
4380 days without being validated as a sexual being.
You know, if my peer group did that to me, the first thing I'd do would be to find some new peers. And I admit to not comprehending this need for validation: is someone supposed to punch a ticket for me? Does the Y chromosome now contain some hitherto-undiscovered use-it-or-lose-it genetic sequence?
But I am old, and far beyond the "best years and height of my sexual primacy." I've had my moments of "isolation and loneliness." And if I'm inclined to blame anyone for this condition, it's not going to be Feminism Assembled:
Feminism taught me a lot throughout the 80's and 90's. It taught me not to question women's sexual choices. It taught me to treat them with deference and respect. It taught me not to accost them for sex aggressively, but to treat them as human beings. It taught me that I MUST control my shallow, greedy, dangerous impulses but allow a woman the right to indulge in hers. It taught me to be nice for the sake of being nice and not expecting sex in return. To give all my emotional and platonic ability and not dare ask for intimacy in return.
As a long-time believer in free markets, I might delicately suggest that he was, um, shopping in the wrong store. If this is purely transactional in nature, well, yes, you name your price, and perhaps someone will meet it. Or not. I persist, perhaps foolishly, in the notion that there's more to this than getting one's knob polished. And I don't think it's just me, either:
Lately I've gotten the sense that a majority of men (read Beta/Delta/Omega) place more emotional ties to sex than women (and I've read a lot about how men are the more romantic sex) ... which is so far removed from the script I grew up hearing that men are primal pigs and women want loving nurturing sex and commitment. But I always have to go back to Badger's mind blowing comment he made here some time ago:
Shorter version: "If I'm so damned wonderful, why aren't we screwing at this very moment?" I suggest that you shouldn't need to be fumbling through the Greek alphabet to be able to figure that one out.
I must report that he eventually emerged from his cocoon, having discovered that "12 years of watching good quality euro porn helps you understand where and how to touch a woman in just the right places." I will, of course, take his word for it, as I have little desire to sit around the house for hours and watch people boink. So it's a happy ending of sorts, though he still retains a bit of residual anger:
If you truly believe that after 2 weeks, 3 months, a year of not having physical relations with the opposite sex is true suffering ... I ask you if you felt your life was in danger. If not ... you're not suffering enough. If so ... TRY IT FOR 12 YEARS and get back to me.
Just incidentally, he received a comment this week from someone claiming a seventeen-year dry spell.
What? Me? Let's just say that they have a long way to go to impress the likes of me. And not just chronologically, either.
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