Readers may recall a recent vituperative essay in which I identified the global preoccupation with sex as a sort of pandemic hysteria. I brandished my acute grasp of the obvious with the cunning observation that our culture is obsessed with sex. Obsessed, I opined, to the extent that people who aren’t obsessed with sex are considered nutbags. Synchronicitously, a recent article in Salon about those wacky asexuals touches on this very issue. Asexuality, it turns out, is highly dangerous!
Advocates of sex obsession — by whom I mean the entirety of the male population, as well as that new crop of saucy gals who believe that orgasm ’empowers’ them — hype the idea that copulation is as essential to human health as pizza pie. They cite the hard-wired urge to reproduce as natural selection’s way of ensuring the success of the species. People should be obsessed with sex, they argue, because that’s what Nature intended. Sex is natural.
Yeah. Natural like a fox! The sex = health equation is a load of dicksmoke.
The biological imperative argument may support the occasional reproductive boink, but it hardly makes the case for nonstop hottt sexxx as the loftiest pinnacle of human endeavor. As far as procreation is concerned, sex is superfluous. Neither is it required for orgasm, or even intimacy. Nor is it the founding principle of love. Sex has not become society’s governing motif just because it’s “natural.”
Nope, the global sex fetish, once you cut through all the crap about bonding and fulfilling biological destinies and making a gift of your genes to posterity–Nature could give a fig for you and your genes — is an entirely arbitrary construct used for control and ritual domination. It’s a culture virus, the egoist conceit of — that’s right — patriarchy.
Sex as the ultimate human raison d’être is, in fact, a cornerstone of the male supremacist agenda. After all, men seem to be the only ones afflicted with this overarching need to copulate. That’s because, as every girl who has ever met a teenage boy knows, they get sick and die if they can’t fuck! You know! Blueballs! They die from blueballs, a condition in which the ungratified boy suffers piteously disfiguring boils, brain lesions, spina bifida, blindness, and psychosis before his miserable, frustrated life is extinguished by the spontaneous combustion of his toxically elevated testosterone.
But no woman needs sex. She may like it, and because of that she may want it from time to time, but if there were no patriarchy — by which I mean, if she were not a member of the sex class — her submission to ritual domination would remain, like the whipped cream on a mocha frappuccino at Starbucks, entirely optional. But there is patriarchy, and she is a member of the sex class, and as such, expression of her sexuality is permitted only in terms of male prurience. It is her sacred duty to prevent blueballs, and what’s more she’d better like it, or she’s a frigid crazy bitch lesbian who thinks she’s above a good ass-whuppin.
So is it any wonder that sexperts are circling the wagons against the notion of asexuality as a legitimate orientation? As we have seen, patriarchy relies for its continued success on precise regulation of penis placement. But like the frigid crazy bitch lesbians, asexuals are bucking the system. Their idea that rutting is boring or meaningless or revolting is antithetical to the patriarchal position, so naturally efforts to quash this seditious shit are well under way. The Salon article gets this astonishing remark out of a prominent male sex therapist: “[…] to say that someone is ‘asexual’ is tantamount to saying that they’re not a human being.” And this fuckard is by no means alone. Big mental health cheeses place enormous importance on screwing, and judge that, at best, the asexual has “issues,” and at worst, a dangerous anti-social psychosis. The medical establishment wants to cure these poor, sick, uncooperative bastards.
Hey homos! Sound familiar?