Figleaf's Real Adult Sex

Following up on my personal story in my previous post. In that post I mentioned that when I was what amounted to a wandering wastrel, often homeless, perpetually jobless, hitch-hiking endlessly and aimlessly hoping to find work, or more often parties I was hooking up for sex with two and sometimes three partners a month. Occasionally two in a weekend.

Which I’m pretty sure most people who think in terms of “seed spreading” and “track records” that would be considered a pretty good one.

You know what’s funny though?

It’s funny in a highly indicative way.

Because I believed hook, line, and sinker in male sexual scarcity, the Two Rules of Desire and the whole dominant paradigm of women as the“no-sex” class I didn’t think that was very good at all.

In fact I was miserable!

I thought I was a sexual loser.

Because…

Because in the dominant paradigm it’s not how many women you’re partners with.

It’s how many you aren’t.

And how hard it is to find them.

And how much work it is to get into their pants.

And how if someone has dark hair you think you’d be better off if they were blond.

And how if someone has blond hair you think you’d be better of if their hair were red.

And how if they’re tall and willowy you think it would be better if they had bigger breasts.

And if they’re busty you think it would be better if they had long legs.

And so the whole time you’re a happy, healthy, sexually active man with on the order of dozens of generally highly intelligent, attractive, often adventurous, and generally highly-compatible partners…

You’re conditioned… even if only conditioned by yourself… to believe you’re a loser.

Because (to borrow pickup-artist parlance) there are “higher status” guys out there — rock stars, or millionaires, or playboys or… something — with even more partners than you.

You know what’s really funny though? Once I started to “settle down.” Meaning I’d found myself a job, and an apartment, and stopped freewheeling around the country, I started making up all sorts of stories about how nobody would go out with me. Because I didn’t have a car. Because I only worked in a pizza place. Because I wasn’t well-enough dressed. Or not a good enough musician.

This hadn’t been a problem before. The people I’d hooked up with while, say, hitch-hiking through Washington D.C. or north New Jersey or central Virginia hadn’t worried “hmm, he doesn’t have a car so I don’t want to be talked to, romanced, kissed, held, undressed, made love to.” They thought “mmm, I want to be talked to, romanced, kissed, held, undressed, made love to.”

But once I got it into my head that I had to be materially successful… where I was the one defining what success meant… I didn’t even give them the chance. I cut myself off.

Of course I assumed it was the women I had crushes on. The women I “knew” wouldn’t give me the time of day. The women I tried to be “nice guys” around.

Want to know another funny thing?

I run into some of those women every now and then. And in retrospect I’m… pretty sure they’d have been happy to go out with me. If I’d let them… if I’d let myself.

In other words it wasn’t so much them as it was me.

I could have turned into an MRA, easy as pie. One of those guys who’s so fueled with bitterness at his “low-status” condition he… well… creeps virtually all his potential partners. Fortunately I’d had a healthy dose of experience, of partners who were into early 70’s feminism — not always pleasant (sometimes not at all) and so while I was sequestering myself, and really clueless about how the whole thing was working out, I didn’t blame individuals in particular or women in general.

Instead I kind of bumbled along, chilled a little, got a little more integrated into my community, figured out where to start hanging out, and started meeting people, some of whom became sex partners, more of whom became friends. Then a few years later I moved out West, went to college (in my mid-20s) and meeting those same kind of progressive women I’d had such great encounters with years before. And while I was never as wild again as I had been I had some great relationships. Again some sexual, others not.

It wasn’t till just recently though that I finally figured out who’s fault it was that I was never getting “enough.”

It was my fault. For buying into a whole heaping pile of dominant paradigm.

Another funny thing? I’m pretty sure I could be a lot more sexually active these days. With a fair number of partners — maybe more than I ever was partners with in my wildest days.

But you know what? The last funny thing?

Even if I couldn’t I probably wouldn’t mind.

Know why?

Because now I know that’s not the only way to measure my worth.

Because I know it wouldn’t be about “getting lucky” or “scoring” or talking anyone into something she didn’t really want to do. Because she was turned on when she was around me. Because she knew I got turned on being around her. And because that’s how good sex really works.

In no small part I’ve got feminism to thank for finally getting that.

2nd wave feminism. Especially 3rd-wave feminism.

Even, the more I come to understand what they’re really talking about, a lot of radical feminism.

Pretty cool.

A lot of men could have that too.

They just have to open the doors of the prisons they construct for themselves and the people around them.

And walk out.

Hortense of Jezebel has a great post reviewing worst-person-in-the-world candidate Dr. Pat Allen’s new dating-advice book The Truth About Men Will Set You Free: ...but first it’ll p*ss you off! Her advice, in a nutshell, is for women to fall victim to the Beauty Trap in order to meet male victims of the Worthiness Trap. Here’s a snippet Hortense passes on from an interview of Allen by Erin Lawrence in Examiner.com.

EL: How important is being in good shape?

Dr. PA: The best bodies get the best money. It’s based on statistics. Rich women are thin unless they’re from another culture where men have freedom to have many women.

Read the quote in context here.

In other words the dating goal for women is men with money, the dating goal for men is women with (locally) prized bodies.

Digging deeper into the Examiner interview I also find

EL: Do men really care what you’re wearing?

Dr. PA: If he just wants sex he doesn’t care what you’re wearing. If you have a vagina that’s all he cares about. But if he’s looking for someone to relate to then he cares. Think like you’re going to an interview.

Read the interview here.

This is actually half true. In my experience men who want sex won’t much care what you’re wearing, true. But in my experience men who want someone to relate to won’t much care much what you’re wearing either. It’s not that we won’t notice what you’re wearing, it’s that it would probably be a mistake to waste a lot of time picking exactly the right thing on our behalf.

There’s more though

EL: What are some tricks of the trade?

Dr. PA: Ask for help. Or make comments. But don’t personalize it. Don’t move on him and don’t interview him. Men like to help. Hide your Thomas Guide.

And WTF with the “going to an interview” thing? It’s all sort of the women’s equivalent of PUA advice for men. Yes, if your purpose is to “get” someone then, for men and women, it might be helpful to behave as if you were interviewing for a job. But being a boyfriend/girlfriend… being a partner isn’t a position like coffee-urn attendant or tonsorial artist.

Except, evidently, in Pat Allen’s universe.

And towards the end the gloves come off — she really is just dispensing PUA-for-women

EL: Is there a Secret Weapon that will secure a first date?

Dr. PA: Look for five seconds and then smile. Unless you have something to say that’s innocuous. Be approachable. Smile. Desensitize him so he knows I’m friendly but that you’re not going to pursue him. Keep on being friendly. Then it’s easier for him to approach you.

Seems to me what we need is a book called something like “How to Land a Pickup-Artist and Live the Lie You’ll Both Love.” It would have advice about how to recognize PUA techniques and respond positively to them! Because, seriously, it might be easier to help people who want to live that way hook up with each other than to convince them it’s neither necessary nor particularly fulfilling to do so.

!@$~!#%

Em & Lo of Sex. Love. And Everything in Between reprint a cool confession from an anonymous contributor that has a lot of bearing on standards of beauty and worthiness for both men and women.

I’m not attracted to attractive guys. Those Burberry-wearing, BMW-driving, weight-lifting, business-studying, fraternity hunks just don’t do it for me. At the end of the night, I know I’m booty-calling my chunky, red-haired, 800-dollar-car-driving, engineer boy — the guy that I’m actually attracted to.

Sure, we all know that beauty is only skin-deep and that the slightly doughy nerd makes a much better husband. But I’ve found that the conventionally unattractive guys make better booty calls, too. I’ve slept with my share of hotties, the head turners, and let me just say that they’re lucky they’re pretty.

She said it here.

It’s not a perfect post. She stumbles over a lot of the same words and phrases that inform all of our attitudes. The title’s not so hot: “Confession: Ugly guys make better booty calls.” And her closing line, “the best thing about the unattractive booty call? He always picks up” smacks to much of the old bluegrass chorus “She’ll never ever leave you / But if she does you won’t mind.” But if she’s not immune to the weight of cultural assumptions neither has she succumbed.

Textual speed bumps not withstanding she’s not saying she’s “settling“ for some schlub because body-building frat boys are overweening prigs. She says her partner the guy she’s actually attracted to.

It’s kind of good that I ran across this post actually. I was driving home from dropping of my children at school and that old Porgy and Bess tune Summertime popped into my head. The one that goes “your daddy’s rich, and your momma’s good lookin / so hush pretty baby, don’t you cry.” I knew there was something wrong with that and I wasn’t sure what. This post gave me the hook to work it out.

It’s like… it’s nice to have a rich daddy, or partner, or whatever. Or a good-lookin’ mom, or partner, or whatever. But the real freight in that song is carried by the word “so.” As in you shouldn’t cry because you’ve got a rich partner, or a beautiful one… like that defines happiness so STFU. It just seems to me Em & Lo’s anonymous correspondent sees the hole in that logic, and the corollary that if you can’t get rich and/or good looking you have to “settle” for something “less.”

Update: See also The Beautiful Kind’s post on along these lines.

Cheri of Secret Lovers Lane, in the same post I mentioned yesterday, talks about a much less-frequently discussed double standard

I think men are still chauvenists in some ways. They want the woman to be sexually open…the world is okay with them floating around..but a woman…you need to stay with one lover or otherwise you are a whore. I’ve seen this happen with a couple of friends and women on Ashley Madison. Men want you to enjoy sex as long as you are exclusive with them EVEN if there is no commitment or it is never discussed. Sounds double standard to me.

Women have needs. It’s as if men sometimes forget that. It’s not like years ago when our sexuality was surpressed as women. You want us to be sexual, you want us to be sensual..you want us to enjoy sex….and many of us really do…, with the right person or multiple affairs. Men do it all the time….its called dating so why are women judged harsher? Why do men think that a massage and a happy ending or a lapdance is ok or even strip clubs? Can you see a woman saying, I am going out with the girls after work for some guys to finger us until we cum?

She said it here.

I suppose it’s a perfectly natural mistake under Rule of Desire #1 that even if we as men wish women were “more” sexual it doesn’t follow that you have to go out and be sexual with someone else! For heaven’s sakes!

Which would make her being “more” sexual with him the, um, exception that proves the rule?

Rule #2 doesn’t exactly make matters better: if we can’t believe women can sexually desire us then it becomes not just inconceivable but intolerable that you might want to have sex with other men, let alone if you actually did! Because (we’re peculiarly, self-deprecatingly dead sure) if you enjoy sex with someone else why on earth would you want to have sex with us again?

The odd thing, as Cheri points out, is we consider it completely unremarkable that we think we’re able to do so while being shocked and/or appalled that you might to so as easily… without thinking any less of us afterwards. Would that be the no-sex class paradigm talking again? Um, yeah.