Tag: Sex Wars

Dealing with alien beings

Every Picture Tells A Story

Men & Women

…or, in the case of the picture below, dozens of stories. I invite my Readers to tell me (via email and not in Comments) just what is happening here, in the form of a short story, description, treatment or even screenplay- or stage dialogue. Take as long as you need (limit, say, 2,000 words), and it can be as approving, censorious, prudish, salacious or humorous as you’d like. All submissions should reach me before midnight, Friday March 31 with the subject line: House Party. (All submissions not having this subject line will be ignored.) I’ll choose a winner, publish the story and give out a mystery prize soon thereafter. (“Mystery prize” because I haven’t thought of one yet.) Here it is:

It’s one of my favorite cartoon sketches of all time, and I could write an entire novella from it.

Regrettably, I don’t know the artist; but according to the hairstyles and clothes, I’ll hazard a guess and put its creation in the late 1950s to mid-1960s. If anyone can shed light on any of that, I’d appreciate it.

Breaking News From The Orgasm Front

Men & Women

So men use women’s orgasms to pump up [sic] their masculine ego. Oh for fuck’s sake [sic etiam]. Also from the article:

[These tools] also mention another sexist orgasm trope: women feeling pressured to fake orgasms in order to appease a male partner, or in their words, “to protect men’s feelings.” For women who have sex with male partners, the pressure to orgasm is a relatable feeling. Hence all the faking that we know is going down in hetero bedrooms all over the country.

Here’s the Big News Of The Day: Most men don’t care if women fake their orgasms. I think I gave up worrying about that when I turned 22. I’m not interested in trying to divine whether Milady is having a bona fide Big Moment, or whether she’s trying for the Orgasm Oscar — frankly, I’m probably having too good a time myself to worry about it. And if there’s, shall we say tertiary evidence, then so much the better:

And for the umpteenth time: can we not find something more interesting to talk about?

After The Pussification

While I Was Gone

For those who’ve been living on another planet for the past two decades, I once wrote a screed called The Pussification Of The Western Male, which took about an hour to write and was a stream-of-consciousness rant against the demeaning of men in Western society. The piece  garnered an immediate and voluminous online response (thank you, Insty), caused my host’s (website and email) servers to crash and necessitated finding a new host because they kicked me off. The responses I got in the mail — I didn’t allow comments at that stage — were interesting. A large number, of course, were vituperative squeals from feministicals and their girlymen cohorts, and included death threats and threats of violence against me and my family. (Most of those disappeared when I responded to them by email with my home address, and an invitation to take their best shot — and to bring a gun, because I surely would.) All sorts of liberal websites climbed on, garnering me awards such as “Worst Blogger On The Internet” (although, upon recollection, that award may have been for Let Africa Sink, another crowd-pleaser).

Almost all the hysteria was pure projection, for example: “He wants men to go back to being cavemen!” when even a cursory reading of the essay would have noted that I wanted precisely the opposite.

Another example: “OMG! He wants to take the vote away from womyns!” when all I actually wrote was that giving the vote to women may not necessarily have been a Good Idea because since that time, government has become increasingly nanny-ish and intrusive (which is true in almost every country in the world, and not just in the United States). I even offered a reward of $10,000 to anyone who could find — anywhere in my writings, not just in Pussification — an instance where I’d actually advocated disenfranchising women. Crickets.

What was also interesting was that I got several thousands of emails  from men who agreed with me — and well over five hundred from women who likewise felt the same and were either married to Real Men themselves, or who wanted real men to come back.

What I didn’t write in the essay, and should have, was to predict that if men continued to be marginalized, they would eventually quit the game altogether — because men, accustomed to playing competitively, have a keen sense when the rules of the game are tilted against them and just quit as a result. In modern-day parlance, this would be the Men Going Their Own Way (MGTOW) movement. Here’s an old joke about just that:

Once upon a time, a guy asked a girl “Will you marry me?” The girl said, “NO!” And the guy rode motorcycles and went fishing and hunting and played golf a lot and drank beer and Scotch and had tons of money in the bank and slept with lots of different women and left the toilet seat up and farted whenever he wanted and lived happily ever after.

The End.

I also didn’t predict — because, as I said, I wrote the piece in an hour and didn’t think through the process — that men would start using the outcome of feminism to their own advantage: that if women were entitled to be like men and have casual sex like men, then men could take advantage of that mindset and design a process to make the whole thing a lot easier (because men build systems; it’s what we do). Thus the Pick-Up Artist (PUA) movement, which basically teaches Beta men how to simulate being Alpha and score with women. (Alpha men already know how to seduce women, and don’t need to have it systemized and codified.) Here’s an example of how a PUA turns a situation around:

She: “You’re not my type.”
He: “You’re not my type either. But you’ll have to do until someone thinner comes along.”

It’s a masterpiece: using a prime part of female negative self-image (all women think they’re overweight, regardless of actual tonnage) to throw her off-balance and make her vulnerable to his next approach. Another classic, this time in a debate or argument:

She: A man shouldn’t date a woman for over a year without making some kind of commitment.
He: I guess I missed the memo that gave you the power to decide how I should act.

At some point, of course, men were bound to rebel against this crappy status quo; my little rant was just a precursor to the reaction. (Note that I’m not claiming any kind of authorship of, or responsibility for that rebellion — I’m not that big-headed. But I think that my rage was indicative of what was to follow.) And if those feminists and liberal girlymen had listened to what I was actually saying and not projected all their silliness onto my words, they would not have been at all surprised by situations like GamerGate, Sad Puppies, the alt-Right (an interesting take on the last can be found here), and the like. 

There was also bound to be a reaction against political correctness as well as to the pussification of men — the two are linked, albeit tenuously at times. It seems clear, however, that the liberal establishment (which included feminists and academia) were blinded by their own arrogance and feelings of moral superiority. Well, guess what? Not everyone was going to submit to their little control-freak games, and now we have an interesting cultural polarization which rivals the political polarization. It’s the same phenomenon: don’t minimize me and set me apart, then complain when I create my own rules for my own game. When the rules are tilted and people feel slighted, they are inevitably going to withdraw from the process, whether it’s Brexit, MGTOW or electing Donald Trump as President.

(For those who are curious to see what all the fuss was about, I’ve re-published Pussification under the fold. Bear in mind that this was published in 2003 so many of the references are pretty dated by now, but the main thrust of the argument is still relevant today. And by the way: I’d also like to thank all those assholes out there who published the piece in its entirety without my consent and despite my complaints / requests to desist, and who even bowdlerized the fucking thing so as not to offend the tender sensibilities of their few readers. Did I already mention they were assholes?)

 

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Husband Potential

Men & Women

This young man is going to go far. From his Plenty Of Fish (POF) profile (UK version):

I don’t use POF very often, I very rarely send the first message and I’m content being single.
I read many profiles, with women describing in detail their previous bad judgment when it comes to selecting a partner. Detailing how they quite simply want a man who is honest, that they can get along with and will remain faithful. I don’t think that’s too much to ask. I urge you all to choose more wisely next time; if you don’t pick well, ask your family to judge them for you, a brother, dad for example.
You probably have bad taste in men because deep down, you enjoy complaining to your friends how badly your partner treats you; it probably gives you a sense of enormous well-being. I could take on a woman like that, but you’d probably get bored with me. So instead, I’ll keep clear and enjoy the spectacle of the entertaining female psyche!
I won’t take a partner for the sake of not being single, I’m looking for a keeper, I’m in no rush, if I don’t reply to you, I probably don’t envisage you being the mother of my future children, sorry! The following qualities are what I’m looking for:
– slim (no excuse ladies, at our age, we should be in our prime). I may budge if you’re really pretty and willing to let me whip you into shape by sharing my athletic lifestyle. Size 12+ is not for me, you may be average in the UK, but just because lots of women are overweight, doesn’t make it right. Too much greed & indulgence in this country
– without child, unless your partner has died, or at least well and truly out of the picture (I know many a good man that’s been a gap filler, only for daddy to get back on the scene)
– be Roman Catholic (I may budge on that, but our kids would be going to a Catholic school, end of discussion!) or at least hold similar values, such as kindness and family values
– Have some kind of interest in sports
– Have more interests than just shopping and watching TV
– Be able to hold a conversation about topics other than reality TV, soaps, clothes, make-up or other female apparel
– Not have any tattoos, or if you do, they must not be visible (on your face, arms or legs). In fact, all tattooed women can do one, disgusting!
I guess I’m going to be single for a long time ha! If you have read my profile all the way through, you probably need to find a hobby, anyone for tennis?

The typical chick in his target demographic will dismiss the above as “rude”, “egotistical”, “arrogant”, “judgmental”, “picky”, etc. which means that most of them will self-select (or unselect) themselves out of the market, as it were. Which, from his perspective, would be a good thing because he doesn’t have to waste his time on sluts, doxies, losers and slatterns.

There are two things to learn from this little piece of wisdom. The first is that there are some good young men out there — he is not the only one — who are available but who are not going to jump at just any woman who makes herself available. He’s being perfectly honest as to what he finds appealing in a potential mate, and what he considers disqualifications.

The second thing to learn is for young women. Look at his criteria, and most especially what he considers to be disqualifications, and don’t do those things — if someday you want to make yourself appealing to a decent, moral and honest young man, as opposed to your average dating-site asshole who at best is going to pump and dump you.

Here’s the thing: not one of his qualifications is unreasonable. Back when I was in my mid-twenties, about 80% of the women I encountered in my target market (19 – 25 years old) would have easily qualified under his criteria, most with added attributes (i.e. could cook, sew and in short be proficient in what used to be called the womanly arts). But times have changed [10,000-word rant deleted] and he may find the pickings slim.

I hope he finds someone worth his attention, and he probably will — especially as he’s prepared to wait for Miss Right.

Good luck, young fella. We’re all pulling for you.

Selling Yourself

Culture, Men & Women

I remember talking once about prostitution on my old blog, and coming down hard against it:

I’m familiar with all the “rational” arguments in favor of prostitution: freeing the police, freeing up jail cells, monitoring the health of prostitutes, whatever. They all have to do with saving money, but they all suck compared to the damage that would be inflicted on our society through legalization.

As you can see, I used to be quite judgmental about this kind of thing, and I still don’t agree with prostitution per se, but as I’ve got older, I’ve become more tolerant about it, with a few caveats.

The problem is that there are in essence three kinds of prostitution: the age-old “selling yourself on the street kind” — i.e. to all comers [sic] — and the more formal transactions, whereby women contract for sex on a more formalized basis, or marry for money. In all cases, the motivation is the same: women are trading themselves to men for financial support, only the first kind is frowned upon by society, the second kind winked at, and the last is pretty much the glue whereby society is held together. (As my friend Patterson* once commented: “All women fuck for money if they’re going to be honest about it, but they seldom are.”)

And, of course, as with all things, there is a murky area between these two extremes: the “contracted” kind whereby young women (and it seems to be mostly the young ones, for obvious reasons) rent their bodies out to wealthy men in order to pay off college loans, or get through some other adverse financial circumstance — hence the popularity of websites like Sugardaddy. This is what I call a “part-time prostitute”, and the exchange is quite cynical — as are most transactions of this kind. But this is different from the “brief encounter” or street-corner type of prostitution, because older men (usually older, because younger men don’t have the financial wherewithal to pay a young woman thousands of dollars a month just for “companionship”) set up an ongoing financial support system, buying Little Miss Hotbody expensive clothing, jewellery, cars and even sometimes a condo. (Note that I’m not saying that this is better than the street-corner kind of prostitution, just that it’s different. The process is the same — women having sex for money — but the terms of congress, as it were, are dissimilar.) If I’m going to be really cynical about it, I’d call this kind of prostitution a “halfway house” between street-corner sex and marital sex.

Of course, wealthy men have always done this kind of thing, but in the modern world, where shame and social opprobrium seem to have disappeared, these transactions are now conducted quite openly. We can argue all day about the morality (or lack thereof) of such an action, but I have to tell you, there is absolutely no way of ever stopping it.

In fact, if I become a part-time Marxist for a moment (shuddup, let me finish), one might almost view this as a “class” issue. Poorer men, who can’t afford to be sugar daddies, go for the “brief encounter” kind of prostitute because that’s all they can afford, and the street-corner prostitutes, who most likely are not candidates for the attentions of the Sugardaddy Set, offer their services. Needless to say, this is the kind of activity which attracts the greatest attention from legislators and morality guardians (e.g. the church, back when anyone cared what that institution thought), which means of course that the police become involved. It’s easier to crack down on street prostitution because the transaction is out in the open.

Now imagine a Vice Squad trying to crack down on the women and men who use Sugardaddy.com to arrange their sexual / financial transactions, and I think we can all agree that their efforts would result in resounding failure. Take it a step further, and imagine a Vice Squad going after someone like the late Anna Nicole Smith marrying a septuagenarian billionaire — even though the transaction is precisely the same as both the other two kinds of prostitution — and the task is impossible, because at this end of the prostitution index, the transaction has become accepted by society and is even blessed by marriage vows. As with most things, the wealthier the people involved, the less law enforcement will be interested. [/Marxism]

We can argue all day about the morality of the activity of women selling their bodies for sex, and about the disappearance of public morality which allows Sugardaddy.com to exist, nay flourish, but this is where we find ourselves today, for better or for worse. As the modern idiom goes, it is what it is, and it seems like we pretty much have to live with it.

Fine. Let us at least acknowledge that street-corner prostitution presents a greater danger to women — slavery, forced prostitution, human trafficking, violence and murder — than does the Sugardaddy- and Anna Nicole-style prostitution. (We can leave class out of it because, as with most Marxist thought, that’s just an overlay of political theory on an age-old situation, and no class warfare is ever going to “solve” or end street-corner prostitution.) I do think, however, that in this regard there is a real need for law enforcement attention, simply because of the many dangers to which poorer women are exposed. Honestly, though, I think that the law should go after the management of the street-corner prostitution industry — that would be the pimps and procurers of women — rather than the actual participants (the women and their clients), because the former are the ones who generally cause real harm to the hapless women under their control. I’m not advocating State-run brothels because both the concept and likely execution are going to be foul.  (To put it in perspective: imagine a State-run restaurant, e.g. managed and staffed by the same kind of people at the average DMV office, and you’ll see why I think State-run whorehouses are a bad idea.) Nevertheless, they are the lesser evil than those managed by the (illegal) private sector, who as a rule do not have the interests of their employees at heart.

The solution, of course, is the free market: legalized brothels. Dennis Hof’s Moonlite Bunny Ranch (which is a legal business in Nevada) is not the norm in the current prostitution industry, but a statistical outlier. It and others like it may be “safe” establishments for both the prostitutes and their clients, but as a bookie might say, that ain’t the way to bet, in numerical terms. (I’m not suggesting that Hof be prosecuted for pimping, by the way: he runs a good business, everyone gets what they want, and nobody gets hurt. Would that all businesses were run that way.) What I am suggesting is that brothels should be legalized, but treated the same as (or perhaps even more strictly than) restaurants: licenses, frequent inspections, staff protection regulations, the whole enchilada.

Is there danger to the Sugarbabies and gold-diggers? Of course there is, but it’s orders of magnitude smaller than that to which street prostitutes are exposed. Law enforcement has no place in this area, and justifiably so. Is this “fair”? Of course not, but it’s not unfair because of the class of the participants; it’s a concern because of the dangers to those at the lower end of the scale. (Again with the ur-Marxism: the working classes are always exposed to danger in greater numbers and to a greater degree than the wealthy; but that’s not a class issue, it’s just a fact of life: oil riggers’ and Alaskan deep-sea fishermen’s lives are more at risk than those of doctors, architects or small-town bankers.)

Some time back, the prostitution topic was broached at Instapundit, and I made the following comment:

Maybe I’m just jaded, but I see little difference between anyone selling their talents to a willing group of buyers, and someone selling their bodies. If you can throw a baseball accurately at 105mph and end up playing professional baseball, how is that so different from a pretty woman selling her body and/or personality skills for an hourly fee? When I was a consultant, clients had access to my mind and business experience for $175/hour… so how is that different from prostitution? How is that different from a person who sells their time, attendance and skills to work in a corporation, for a monthly salary?
I know, this is about sex, and sex is SPECIAL. Sorry to say, but I don’t think that’s so true, anymore. Or maybe my advancing years have made me more cynical about the whole thing. But I see people like the Kardashian coven becoming fabulously wealthy by selling the intimate details of their lives to the public (via television), and I just don’t see the difference between Kim Kardashian and Air Force Amy [at the Bunny Ranch]. Actually, I find Amy less objectionable, come to think of it.
And yes, I know that prostitution is dangerous for the women — human trafficking being one danger, disease and violent death likewise. But it isn’t as dangerous at Dennis Hof’s places — certainly, the girls/women there seem to be okay — so maybe there’s a lesson there somewhere.
One thing I do know: no laws or police forces are ever going to stop the demand for contracted sex. So… [shrug]

By “contracted sex”, of course, I meant the Sugardaddy and gold-digger kind. I personally find both distasteful — I find all kinds of prostitution distasteful — but what the hell. It is what it is; and frankly, I have better things to worry about.

Finally, no article on this topic would be complete without a completely gratuitous pic of one of the participants. Here’s Amy:

I think she’s magnificent.

*Postscript: Longtime Readers of my scribblings know all about my friend Patterson. Newer Readers may not, so allow me please to post the original introduction to this splendid human being (and by the way, he is a real person and not my alter-ego).

Introducing Patterson
February 18, 2008
4:10 AM CDT

For the longest time, Patterson and I have been friends. He’s a little more politically-incorrect than I am, has (like me) been married three times, to (respectively, from oldest to youngest), Mavis, Agatha and Sheila. Unlike me, he has no sons, only four daughters. Perhaps because he is surrounded by women, he drinks a great deal more than I ever did. Last I heard, he was still married to Sheila, who is actually Agatha’s younger sister (his comment on this piece of frightfulness: “I’d do anything to avoid breaking in a new mother-in-law”). Luckily, he and Agatha had no children (the marriage lasted barely a year), so he’s been spared the “daughters as cousins” mess.
He has a first name, but everyone, even his wives, call him Patterson. He is as funny as the day is long, but with a hint of tragedy always lurking in the near background (and sometimes front and center, as you will learn).
Stories abound. Here’s a quick one.
Back in the day, if a refrigerator had a cold water dispenser in the door, it was not hooked up to a water pipe, but was fed by a reservoir inside the fridge. This meant that one would have to take the thing out and refill it periodically. It was a huge pain in the ass, except for Patterson. What he did was quite brilliant. (This was during one of his bachelor periods.)
He would fill the reservoir nearly to the top with spring water, and then top it off with Scotch: ergo, ice-cold Scotch & water, on tap.
Patterson is mostly drunk, and has absolutely no sense of shame or pride about the several embarrassing things which have happened to him over the years as a result of his many episodes of drunkenness and foolishness.
I am also ashamed to admit that over the years I have stolen from him many sayings and passed them off as my own. (One being: “Women have orgasms? Next you’ll be telling me they have the vote!”)
Anyway, I’ve always refrained from including him in the stories of my youth, because it would have required too much back-story and flashback. No more. Now that you’ve been introduced, he can take up his rightful place in the Pantheon of Heroes, and he will feature in many stories in the future.
He deserves no less.