Tell Someone Who Cares

Ah yes, how would we ever survive without studies?

Almost half of husbands have no idea how often their wives orgasm during sex

  • Survey asked newly-weds how often they achieved orgasm during sex
  • As many as nine-in-ten men reported experiencing regular orgasms
  • Under half of women (49%) reported reaching the big O on a regular basis
  • 43% of husbands incorrectly guessed how often they satisfied their partners

My guess is that the 43% of clueless husbands are probably married to the approximately 43% of wives who just lie there like a bag of warm rice pudding during the act.  It’s hardly surprising that men have no idea about Madame’s Big Moment when she doesn’t share the adventure — or the lack thereof — with him.

I repeat (and not for the first time) the immortal words of Howard Veit on the topic:

Since when have we men all come to accept as fact that if a woman can’t enjoy sex it is the fault of men?  Bullshit.  It’s my job to show up at the party with a stiff dick, perform like a wild man for five or so minutes, shoot my baby seed into her, and then pretend I care for her.  If a woman can’t achieve orgasm it’s her fault.  I never have a problem ejaculating, ever.

Go ahead and read the rest of it, if you feel the urge [sic].  But you won’t learn anything other than the fact that men are pigs, men are stupid, and men are lucky that Madame ever makes her pudenda available to his foul animal lust.

And they wonder why porn is taking over.  From a very old Playboy magazine (speaking of porn):

Every man has been with a “Margaret” at least once in his life.

Then And Now

In days of old, when footballers were simple sportsmen and not the millionaire malcontents they are today, their WAGs (wives and girlfriends) were likewise a completely different sort to their modern-day counterparts.

You see, dating or being married to a footballer carried no special cachet back then — even if the footballer was famous or especially talented, the salaries were modest even by standards of the time.  So if one sees photos of, say, the WAGs of the English team which won the World Cup in 1966, they look like… well, like ordinary housewives:

Nowadays, of course, footballers are paid astronomical sums of money, and consequently they attract, shall we say, a different kind of woman (as seen by a companion pic of England’s 2018 national team’s WAGs):

I’m not saying that there’s anything wrong with this situation — women have always been attracted to famous and wealthy men — it’s just that nowadays, the rich and famous men have a lot more choices, and therefore the quality of the goods on offer has improved.

Although I have to say that “quality”, if applied to the 2018 WAGs, is a polite euphemism.  To me, most of them look like they’re off to the docks  to work Fleet Week.  But that’s just another factoid which helps answer the question: “Why do men play professional football?”

Office Ink

“Never dip your pen in the office ink.”  — old saying

“Total bullshit.” — Kim du Toit, commenting on the above.

This post was prompted by this article, and here’s why I have that opinion.  Outside random encounters with the opposite sex (grocery stores, bars, bus stops etc.) or being “set up” [sic]  by friends with the best intentions, the office is the best place to meet someone of the opposite sex.

And it’s mostly A Good Thing:  when you work together, you’ve seen the person at their best and at their worst, you’ve seen how they get on with other people, they’ve  even been marginally pre-screened by HR — i.e. unlikely to be axe-murderers and the like — and by having social intercourse before sexual intercourse, a whole bunch of familiarity can be acquired without too much effort.

How do they respond to challenges, setbacks, scumbag bosses, back-stabbing coworkers, deadlines?  Are they generally scruffily dressed, or do they maintain a decent appearance?  Do they have good table manners (noted during office lunchtimes) and can they hold their booze (ditto)?  The list goes on, and on.

The workplace has the ability to be a better matchmaker than Tinder, as 1 in 4 workplace romances actually end in a marriage.

Of course, there are all sorts of caveats involved with an office affair, especially nowadays when Teh Feministicals and HR [some overlap]  have labeled such activities as Totally Rape and Unsafe Environments For Womyns and OMG! He Looked At My Boobs! (usually when said appendages are displayed by a low-cut blouse which would make Linda Lovelace blush).  I’m sure you get the picture;  Corporate America has demonized everything that makes business life bearable, such as wonderful institutions like three-martini lunches, office bowling nights, Christmas parties (I’m not even gonna go there) and all the other things which allow us to be, well, human beings instead of cogs in their  fucking profit machines.

Of course, because we are human beings, all their pathetic little rules and all the opprobrium cannot stop 5-10% of people from bonking at the office — even when, according to the article, discovery occurs about 20% of the time.

All that said, I have to admit that I myself have never actually bonked anyone at the office, per se.  I have, however, had several wonderful love affairs with coworkers over the years, all because the circumstances were favorable and my partners willing.  And nothing bad ever happened as a result of any of them, because I made sure to follow all the rules listed below.

  1. Don’t be a child, be a grownup.  This means that you need to exercise tremendous self-control when you’re in the office and working — no surreptitious groping under the meeting-room table, no furtive kisses snatched in the break room, and no flirting in the office / cubicle.  And when the affair comes to an end, don’t do childish shit like screaming insults, stalking or (gawd forbid) job sabotage.  Be graceful about it, and move on.
  2. Establish firm ground rules.  No affairs with married coworkers (okay, no extramarital affairs period, but it’s especially bad in the office), and of course, if you’re the married one, keep your mouth shut and your trousers zipped / skirt down.  Casual persiflage and banter is fine;  but if you want to make a comment which could even marginally be taken as lewd, think twice and make sure that you know the other person well enough to know how they’ll take the thing.
  3. No flirting with a prospective lover unless they give clear and unequivocal signals that your approaches would be welcome — and if you can’t read the signals, you have no business even attempting this stuff.
  4. Don’t do it with someone who works in your own department, or with someone who reports to you.  Those little encounters never end well.  Step outside your specific corral, and never with someone more than a single level up or down from yours in the hierarchy.
  5. Both of you should understand that one or both could lose their job as a result of what you’re about to do.  If you both think the risk is worth that, then…
  6. One last rule:  Never repeat never give in to the urge to photograph your activities.   And if you are going for the in-office bonk, make sure you can’t be photographed by someone else, either.  I shouldn’t even have to explain this, to grownups.

Of course, all this is fraught with danger nowadays, because even a little indiscretion can screw up your job or career.  That is not going to stop this stuff from happening, ever.  Whether Teh Feministicals, HR or the bosses like it or not, 5-10% of employees are going to bonk at the office, and a larger percentage (maybe 25%) will have an off-premise affair with a coworker (as I did), outside the offices of Global MegaCorp Inc.

The biggest thing you have to think about with an office affair is quite simply this:  you’re giving the power over to someone else — that power, of course, being the power to cost you your job or career.

So my quibble with the “office ink” dictum is simply with the word “never”.  All I’m saying is if you think the bonk is worth all the risks and potential minefields which face the two of you, go for it.  Just be aware of said risks and minefields — you know, think like a grownup would instead of a foolish child — but that done, get going.  It might be the opportunity of a lifetime.  Yeah — and I’m talking to the men, here — it might be foolish, but what’s life without risk?  And what if you’re Roger Sterling?

Think she’s worth the risk?

Any Excuse Will Do

The story in a nutshell:  woman approaches menopause, gets super-horny, needs to get laid three times a day to satisfy her raging libido.  Why?

During the perimenopause, the slow countdown to infertility which can begin up to a decade before your periods cease, oestrogen levels fluctuate and fall.
But there’s a period in which testosterone remains relatively high. This is because, while testosterone peaks in your 20s, and then halves by the time you reach 40, the decline after that age is less dramatic.
At this point, when there are fewer hormone binding chemicals in the blood to dampen its effect, there’s effectively a testosterone spike.

As the Church Lady would say:  “How conveeenient.”

And of course, everyone is all sympathetic because womanhood, instead of calling her a ghastly slag.  Why do I feel so little sympathy?

“I learned that dating sites for married people were places to interact with potential partners without the harassment and judgement they received on other sites from those who view the issue of infidelity as black and white. I see the many shades of grey around the topic.”

So she was only interested in quickie knee-tremblers, not long-term affairs with married men.  How noble of her.

Here’s the clincher:  this foul woman is the editor of something called Erotic Review Magazine.  So her elevated testosterone (if that’s what it was — I remain skeptical) and her impending divorce were coupled to her reading smut on a daily basis.  What other outcome was possible?

And here’s the kicker:

“But in the future, when I’m partnered again, I will bring up any desire I have to stray outside that partnership.”

When?  How about if ever, and I’m backing never.  I foresee an unending string of “pump ‘n dump” encounters in her future.

Myself, I’m just curious what the grounds for her divorce were, or whether she was just being dumped by hubby for [insert your salacious reason here].  Whatever, she sounds like a dreadful, self-centered person, no matter how scientific and gyno-sympathetic her “condition” sounds.

Reaping The Whirlwind

I am always irritated when women don’t want men to treat them with chivalry because “we’re maintaining the patriarchy” or some such bullshit.  You know what I’m talking about:  “I’m quite capable of opening the door myself!” and so on.

I’m similarly irritated by stupid laws which seem to take the side of criminals — such as when a thug is injured while being prevented from causing mayhem, and the person who injured him is treated as  a criminal by the police.

Here’s what happens when you have a confluence of the above two circumstances:

A fashion executive attacked by an unwell 6ft man on a busy Tube carriage has slammed two men who moved seats and left her to defend herself.
Tamara Cincik was kicked and threatened while travelling to a business meeting in central London yesterday.
The mother-of-one told MailOnline, children were crying as the agitated man squared up to her and started violently attacking her in the middle of the carriage.

The fashion CEO is keen to stress she does not blame this man, who she believes needs medical help but said the incident was ‘terrifying’.
Instead she is upset that two men she describes as ‘white and middle class’ chose not to help and moved to another carriage.
‘I remain more angry with those white middle class men who left me to it. As fathers, husbands and sons they should be ashamed of themselves.’ 

But, but, but… you’re a career grrrl, a successful woman and (I bet) a feminist.  Why should you have to rely on a man to help you?  “Oh help me, white knight!” when you’ve probably bought into the whole “men are pigs” and “patriarchy” narrative?

Why should anyone help you?  The two (British) men certainly didn’t:  they didn’t want to get involved because they were frightened — frightened by the crazy guy, and probably indoctrinated against doing anything themselves, and leaving it to the authorities to handle the situation.  Except, of course, that there was no authority figure to run to.  If one of the Brit men had found some balls and beaten the crap out of the crazy guy, he’d probably have been arrested and be facing charges right now.

Well, somebody did come to this woman’s assistance in the end — only he wasn’t a Brit, he was from a culture more old-fashioned than that:

‘An Eastern European man who had seen the guy on the platform had worked his way down the train as he felt that man was dangerous and he got to me when the train stopped.’

This is what happens when government and the culture degrades and infantilizes men.  And you know what?  I’m not surprised, and nor should anyone be.

Quote Of The Day

From Mandy Baldwin at Country Squire Magazine :

“Talking of sex, ladies, if you don’t like what’s being dished up, try varying the menu, instead of betraying private foibles to anyone who’ll listen. How would you like your bits being the subject of gossip? He’s not a rapist just because you’ve gone off him. If he makes your flesh crawl in a bad way, you don’t make a feminist statement by hanging around. Leave, make your own life, let him make his.
“After all, one woman’s mouldy chipolata is another woman’s prime beef-steak, and chances are, he’s equally miserable: not everyone enjoys being shackled to someone who pulls a face like a bull-dog chewing a wasp at the merest hint of a Morning Glory.”

That’s some priceless imagery, right there.