Dirty Post

This week’s post is all about sex. I know what you’re thinking; we’ve covered that before. Well, not exactly. This post is a little more specific. Also explicit. Today we’re focusing on actual sexual acts and their consequences. This is why I write this sh*t under a pseudonym. We’re starting off with two simple, should-be-fairly-obvious subjects, but if you have anything dirty or depraved that you’d like to discuss, email me or hit me in the comments section and we’ll post again. I’m not averse to making this a regular feature.

Where do you get off?

From the windoooows, to the waaaa- No.  Hell no. I realize that in our hyper-sexualized porn-loving culture, that sexual fantasies being cultivated by young men in their adolescence over the last two or three decades have been a little more, um, intense than those who came of age at a time when the glimpse of a woman’s wild and wooly area was enough to seal the deal. Perhaps it is because of this (or because of ever-changing attitudes about women), we have been experiencing a weird new trend: Trying out porn moves in real life…sans discussion. Look, I don’t have a lot of sex. Not because of some asinine social mores, but because my family’s Catholicism is hard to overcome mentally (even though I know sex laws are ridiculous. Thanks a lot, St. Agustine) and because I study human disease and I am terrified of the HIV and the herp. That being said, when I do find a man that I deem worthy of the key to paradise (Is she deluded? Or is she that good? *), I typically have months or years of pent-up sexual frustration to take out on him. The first time may be flowers and candlelight, but after that shit is gonna get real. I’ve got that preacher’s daughter thing going on due to years of sexual repression. HOWEVER, no matter how athletic – even rough – I may like my intimate encounters, even I don’t want you giving me a facial. I would think that would go without saying, but when I checked with ten girlfriends to see what about sex they wanted men to know, two of the ten admitted to getting an impromptu semen shower. That may be a very poor, very specific sample population for statistical purposes, but knowing that 20% of women polled encountered the dreaded skeet led me to believe that this issue should be addressed.

There are many reactions to unsolicited sexual “extras”. When my former roommate’s boyfriend decided to try the back door without asking, I was treated to a naked, crying girl running across my living room shouting “not cool, not cool.” When my friend’s buddy decided to bathe his girlfriend’s chest with his seed, he rested, upon finishing, above her with his arms at her side. She, feeling less than thrilled with his actions, knocked his arms out from under him, sending him falling on her chest and into his own goo. When he protested, she responded with “well why the f*ck would you think I would want it on my chest?” Good question. One of the two girls polled said that it was a communication issue.  That she told her boyfriend she wanted to get a little aggressive,that he should take what he wanted.

[Let that be a lesson, ladies: word choice. Word choice.]

Look. Gentleman. I know this may be confusing for some of you. Many women readily swallow it, so why not wear it? The same goddamn reason I don’t want you dousing me with Champagne a la Big Pimpin. It’s not just degrading, it’s dehumanizing. It sends a message that she is a thing. That’s frustrating enough to deal with when it’s coming from a rap video, pundits, or some douche-bag one-night stand. But if it’s someone she trusts, someone she cares about, that kind of thing can be devastating. Why not just take a dump on her chest? Or pull a mid-level- R&B-star sex tape move and piss on her?

[What woman could resist?]

I feel like I’m a fairly progressive adult. I recognize the importance of sex in a healthy relationship and I gain pleasure from pleasuring my mate. I think that, sans the backdoor (hey, you gotta save something for marriage, right?), I would be down with trying a good deal of different fetishisms. But with DUE NOTICE. Do NOT just do stuff to a girl. Just as she gains pleasure from pleasuring you, you should gain pleasure from pleasuring her. Not from degrading her. Maybe you’ll find a girl who likes to be degraded (there are many) if you can only get off if the woman is being reduced in some way (or if you’re just curious), but most women with healthy upbringings and self-esteem are going to be less into it. They may still do it if it’s something you need and the rest of your relationship is equal and respectful, but not without a conversation first. Don’t spring ass play, skeet shots, pile drivers or anything else that “totally got Sasha Gray off”. Porn stars are porn stars. They’re women who have severe emotional and psychological problems. Beyond that, it is their job to act like whatever is being done to them feels awesome, even when it clearly doesn’t.

[I mean, what about these girls would indicate that any part of it may be FAKE?]

Also, they’re getting paid. A hell of a lot more than the cost of a prime rib at Outback. Either use a condom, ask her to get on the pill, or wash your damn sheets. But first and foremost, take it easy on the porn.

* Deluded. The answer is deluded.

Why do girls give bjs instead of sex. Isn’t it worse to have a dick in your mouth?

I would think so. But I think it goes a little deeper than that. This is another one of those “years of sexual repression” things. I’m sure BJs existed in the 60s, but my 66-year-old mother still had to ask me what one was when she watched Knocked Up against my advisement. Maybe it wasn’t as prevalent then? Either way, wort.movie.experience.ever. Regardless, after decades and decades of serious sexual repression and decency laws, certain sexual acts were, well, glossed over. The main focus was on preserving virginity, not oral virginity. Women were taught, quite simply: the prize is in our pants. That’s the main event. The hand is the opening act no one’s heard of, the mouth is the second opening act that just insisted upon being referred to as a co-headliner. As such, in many people’s minds, the mouth is less dirty and a better option for someone you don’t really want or aren’t ready to get with.

["For lunch we're serving meat loaf instead of egg salad, and uhh...BJ's don't count"--- Lewis Black]

For the truly sexually liberated women, though there may be one of three reasons she is more likely to put it in her mouth:

1.     It’s easier to see if it’s clean. Herpes lesions are easier to spot five inches from her face.

2.     Her throat can’t get pregnant.

3.     Her mouth stays the same size no matter how much she uses it.

Well, that concludes today’s post. May my mom never ever read it. 

Does anyone really settle?

Hey, when do you start your blog again? Coz I just read an article that said guys are into settling now. You should talk about that.

Aaah the myth of settling. Is it settling when the middle-aged cat lady realizes that she probably won’t be doing much better than Selena Gomez guy and he acknowledges the same? Or, is it more a conscious recognition of where they stand on the desirability scale and giving up on trying to punch above their weight class? 

I read the article to which you’re referring and I personally found it to be encouraging in many ways. The only thing I take issue with is the author referring to this phenomenon as “settling”. (That’s right, this is a post devoted to an argument of semantics. Those are always the most enjoyable to read, right? No? Well, good to see I’m picking up exactly where I left off).

Finding a person that you are “friends with, have fun with, and have great sex with” and choosing to build a life with that person does not sound like settling. The concept that it is so is a reflection of our culture’s obsession with the great love affairs of literature and screen. It’s a common belief that this Nicholas Sparks/Jane Austen-type indoctrination only hurts women. But I can tell you from personal experience with the men I’ve dated and as well as the experiences of my male friends that this delusion affects men as well. I’ll try to explain this the way I calm my mom down when she hears about Craigslist killers and human heads found on Hollywood hiking trails. It wouldn’t be notable if it happened often. If people being beheaded and children being kidnapped were commonplace, no one would hear about it. It is because it is unusual that it is compelling and thus considered newsworthy. The same can be said about the type of love detailed in movies, television shows, and great novels (for the record I’m referring to Austen here, not Sparks. I’m not a total Philistine. *Discreetly deletes the Ghost Whisperer episodes from the DVR*).

“The Vow” was based on a real-life couple. A man wouldn’t quit on his wife after a life-altering accident despite the fact that they’d only been married a short time and also in spite of the fact that the accident left her, not only with amnesia, but also with a completely different personality. Why is that a story worth sharing? Because, statistically speaking, divorce rates increase when one of the two partners develops a disease, certain types of cancer for example, as do rates of infidelity. I’d like to think that I would never be that much of a soulless bastard and I’m sure you feel the same way. However, despite good intentions of those not in the situation (and despite the fact that society as a whole will pretty much have to acknowledge that you are a steaming pile of dog shit for leaving or cheating on someone you profess to love when they need you most) a shockingly high number of people will Gingrich you or at least Edwards out if you get sick. At the very least they’ll want to, or save face by doing it after you’re better. Before you kill yourselves, just remember that in today’s culture, the majority of people are awful. Consider the fact that Kim Kardashian has 13,348,471 twitter followers (that’s roughly 7 percent of twitter users and amounts to a number equal to 4 percent of the US population) and that urine-soaked media whore is the physical embodiment of the social and intellectual holocaust that is hastening our eventual downfall.

[It should also be noted that this has happened, that Chris Brown has 8,281,842 twitter followers and that, at the time this article was written, Rick Santorum was the Republican front-runner for POTUS…*Paging Odoacer*]

But if you are in the minority, one of the decent remainders, your search would be focused on someone like-minded. So if you get rage strokes when you remember that Justin Bieber drives a Ferrari F430, or how Citizens United v. Federal Election Commission turned out, remember that, despite the fact that the vast majority of Americans don’t know about the latter because they’re too obsessed with the former, you can find one or two girls who do. And they’re probably not awful looking! I have to believe that the small pocket of decent human beings left leave me with enough options for mates that I needn’t worry about dying alone while cradling a dog dressed in a sailor suit.

[Though I’m inching ever closer…]

Provided I pick one of the three or four people that I could foresee successfully breeding with, is it really “settling” just because I don’t lie awake at night unable to think of anyone or anything else?

For most of us, our first experience of love is the Hollywood-style experience. A superficial obsession with someone who likely isn’t a good match but to whom we feel an intense, unrelenting, fiery passion that sucks us in. When the relationship ends (and most often it does) we are decimated (I didn’t date for two years). But those relationships are built largely on hormones, fantasy, and the excitement of finding someone who likes us as much as we like them. They are impulsive, superficial, and as such, short-lived. There are of course exceptions, but the vast majority of the time they end in a manner opposite that of the big screen. In the movie “The Notebook”, for example, the female protagonist deserts her safe, cerebral choice in love (who btw is gorgeous and honestly in love with her) for the other-side-of-the-tracks man who lights her fire. It works out well for them and even gets the blessing of her mother who initially was reticent. There is a scene in which the mother takes her rebellious seed to a construction site (or steel mill, or something that my failure to remember in specifics makes me seem like a Limbaughian parody of a liberal douche) and she tells her daughter that, if she could do it all again, she would marry the working class guy her parents hated. Fair enough…in retrospect…without any realistic basis for comparison. I would have to agree with the disapproving parents. Before you chastise me, let me assure you, it’s not a matter of financial instability. To suggest so is a gross oversimplification and is a suggestion by a lazy writer to create a black and white issue from shades of grey. The issue at hand, realistically, is how long a relationship can flourish between two people from entirely different backgrounds, with different educations levels, different upbringings, different ideals, goals, passions, interests, etc.

Beyond that, in this particular case, age is a factor. Most of the girls I know who married their first loves, their “great love(s)” are woefully unhappy. Imagine being in your mid-to-late twenties, saddled with multiple children, struggling financially (because, regardless of familial wealth or education you began popping out children before you could reasonably support them), and dealing with a mate who has entirely different interests, with whom you can barely carry on a conversation beyond the mundane details of your day and the needs of your kids. Falling in love is great, but there is something to be said for interjecting some thought into the process. We don’t live in a fantasy world and while the wealthy mom, who married later in life the man that her family and friends felt was a good fit, with the two healthy children and the devoted husband may, in her boredom, foster Loman-esque fantasies about how the source of her unhappiness is the lost love and how her life would be so much happier if she had just followed her heart may make for a more compelling story, the brutal reality is that this woman has absolutely no basis to make such a claim and, more times than not, those relationships end up in misery or divorce.* The fact is, in reality life-long relationships are HARD. They require work from both sides and, with all do respect to Mr. McCartney and Mr. Lennon, love is not, in fact, all you need.

[Nothing lessens the negative impact of a horrible life decision like another horrible life decision]

We live in an increasingly stupid, immature, impulsive, selfish, narcissistic culture that is making actually committing to a lifetime with another individual a borderline insurmountable task. I grew up in a loving home with tremendous parents who had an ideal marriage devoid of fights despite a desire to spend a nauseatingly large amount of time together and yet, I waver on whether or not marriage is something I actually want for myself. The guy I was engaged to in my late teens/early twenties was a very good man. He loved me and he stood by me through some very challenging times in my life. I wish him all the happiness in the world, but do I wish we had gone through with the marriage? HELL NO. He’s a sweet kid, but he was not terribly intelligent, he rarely made me laugh, he had no drive or direction in life (quit his job to become a line cook and start a folk band…two months after I bought him his first guitar), he dressed like a pedophile from the 70s, and he referred to my breasts as “boobies”. I don't mean to sound cruel or disparage him and I would never want to speak ill of someone who had such a profound positive influence on my life, but listing the good aspects of the relationship isn't the point. No matter how very deeply I loved him, how much of me still loves him on some level, I physically shudder at the thought of being tethered to him right now. We had absolutely nothing in common besides a love of Star Wars and a few mutual friends and it is painfully obvious now that there was no real future there. As I said, he is an incredibly sweet, strong person and he will make someone very very happy one day. But that person is not me and if that relationship hadn't ended when it did, I’d be miserable now.

[Alright, maybe I'm becoming a *little* cynical...]

The truth is, that for the majority of people, that spark – that all-consuming enthrall – is not sustainable. It either fades over time into a comfortable friendship with sex or it burns out. Hard. So rejecting someone on the basis of a lack of spark is nothing more, in my opinion, than a convenient excuse for those who aren’t yet ready for a commitment (even if they or others have convinced them otherwise). If I do decide that marriage and children is something that I want in the future, I have absolutely no delusions of an epic Tristan and Isolde affair, not because I’m a cynic or because I’m getting on in years, but because those motherf*ckers were what? 14 years-old? I’m an adult. You know what makes my heart flutter as an adult? Someone who reads. Someone who doesn’t do ‘shrooms with the alcoholic chick that lives upstairs and who knows when I’m supposed to change the tires on my car before I inevitably explode them. I don’t need a man to take care of me, I’ll be making doctor money, but I’d like someone who’s employed and ambitious. I want to be with someone who bests me intellectually in at least two subjects, someone with whom I can sustain adult conversations, who will challenge and excite me intellectually as well as sexually. As far as starting a family, I want someone who is on the same page in regards to children (once I figure out if I want them) and how to raise them (if we decide yes…or if birth control becomes illegal). Maybe I won’t feel butterflies or immediately feel that I would give my life for him, but that stuff can grow with the right ingredients. Adult love is based on logic, it may not be terribly romantic, but it certainly isn’t “settling”. If more people realized that, I’d wager to say divorce rates in this world would be a hell of a lot lower.

*Longest run-on sentence ever, or ode to Kerouac? You decide.