Young bottoms in love
The blogosphere’s own male Hothead Paisan, Steve Gilliard, waxes dudely in this disturbi-comic post on the subject of infidelity. He uses as his springboard a Page Six blurb about some celebrity barbie who has apparently gone "thermonuclear" over her boyfriend Jude Law’s insatiable hunger for banging derelict supermodels two at a time. Steve focuses on the barbie’s reported demand that Law provide her with an unabridged list of his conquests. For the shallow spinster aunt, the larger question might have been "what exactly are the effects of thermonuclearity on the appetite?" but not so the insightful Steve, who is mystified that any woman would desire to possess such painful information about her luvaboy.
The basis for his incredulity? "It just seems, well, masochistic."
With which remark Steve has delivered an astute radical feminist analysis of the situation.
It has clearly not escaped his notice that femininity is above all a masochistic enterprise. In fact, it’s the most masochistic enterprise going. I imagine that for those women whose royal lifestyle depends on their mastery of feminine drag, the quest for pain, humiliation, and self-loathing must rise to the level of an art form.
One of the more troubling aspects of the pursuit of femininity (other than seeing it used in Venus-and-Mars essays as a justification for, rather than a symptom of, misogyny) is its prerequisite that one view all other feminine women as threats. Thus it is crucial that Jude Law’s girlfriend knows who to dis at cocktail parties, whose ass to compare her own to, and who to out-cunt at the next Royal Hollywood Gala Benefit For Poor Ignorant Victims Of Something. Without this critical intelligence, she cannot make informed decisions about how much blonder her hair should be, which pole-dancing coach she should employ, and how much liposuction she needs to stay in the game.
So I’ll have to pick a nit with Steve here; in requesting the lover-list, our barbie is not just being a nosy-nelly about "details which are none of [her] fucking business." Such details are precisely what her business is.
Feel free, Steve, to go ahead and blame the patriarchy for that.
Steve takes a well-deserved break from the intellectual rigors of feminist theory to humorously mock sluts who don’t know who the father of their kid is; to suggest that, although he doesn’t see the value in nailing a virgin, a woman should at least pretend to be purer than she really is; and to bitch that when a man asks a woman for her own partner-count, she will always pretend to be purer than she really is.
But then he’s right back in the game with the observation, addressed to the ladies in the audience who might not be in the know, that "blowing 37 guys is worse than fucking 37 guys. Really. […] The images of parked cars and cheap sex come to mind."
See, many people erroneously view the elusive, yearned-for blowjob as a lesser infraction on the slut-o-meter than is, say, goin’ all the way. Anticipating that his readers might not immediately grasp that a woman might find it more degrading to perform in multiples of 37 a sex act that even an imbecile can see has all the glamourous romantic dignity of gagging on a leaky blutwurst, Steve correctly identifies the dispensing of the blowjob as a humiliation more substantive than that of merely lying there and passively enduring a good reaming. Particularly, Steve suggests, when the venue is automotive in nature.
The automobile, says Steve (in so many words) is, in so many ways, a tool of the patriarchy. Too bad it’s not the only one.
Meanwhile, Steve is also advocating on behalf of the displaced animal population of New Orleans, and asks for help in locating for the rescuers an airconditioned animal transport vehicle.
Hmm, interesting…interpretation of Steve Gilliard. Seriously, he has a much lower impression of men than you do.
Mandos, Mandos, Mandos. Steve Gilliard’s (or anyone else’s) opinion of men is not my concern.
NAILED!!!!!
I thought his opinion of women was captured in your rather ironic post, so it would have been redundant for me to say it.
Twisty, truly, I would so make out w/ you right now.
Though I would, of course, defer to Gilliard’s preeminent scholarship and expertise in the field of female sexuality, current teen sex trends indicate that teens engage in oral sex more than vaginal (or anal) intercourse, considering it a more “casual” sexual encounter and freeing them from the threat of disease (thanks, abstinence-only education!) and pregnancy. (I would link to the article, but it’s hidden behind the pay-as-you-go archives at the NYT). I’m not sure this generation is going to give women (and men?) who’ve blown 37 men and f*cked 36 the stink eye, not to mention that this is hardly the point.
Back in my day, there was nothing casual about it. All I have to combat this data, though, is my less scientific, more anecdotal poll of friends, acquaintances, and lovers, who note that oral sex is more intimate an activity, heteroGenXually speaking anyway.
P.S. Might I offer that the effect of thermonuclearity on the appetite, as it pertains to masochistic barbies, is anorexia.
F*ck that. Twisty, any good taco reports, or have you been suffering a festival-induced taco drought?
Mandos Mandos Mandos. Forgive me. I should have known that you of all people would realize I was doing a parody of dude doing a parody of a feminist blog post.
And AE, I will be ripping off the word “heteroGenXual,” despite the fact that it requires internal capitalization.
Yeah Twisty you are so meta. I like meta.
Though I would, of course, defer to Gilliard’s preeminent scholarship
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Rip away, Twisty!
Chris, C., more general keywords: late-bloomer, wanker, ass-from-elbow.
I liked this particular nugget of wisdom
“And as far as bi-curious women hitting on you, well, if you haven’t learned to deal with that from college. Seriously, the reason they hit on you is that they figure you’ll keep your mouth shut and won’t do a threesome with their boyfriend.”
I thought it was because most women get in a man a stupid, unattractive, moron who complains about her lack of plastic tits and sits on his fat arse watching the TV with his mouth hanging open for roughly 15 hours a day for the ‘benefit’ of a penis which gives them two minutes of said moron humping them ineffectually after the ‘foreplay’ of crushing their boobs irritatingly for thirty seconds and twiddling ‘down there’ furiously for a grand total of five as though they were practising morse code, or tuning in a radio.
I get more and more bisexual as time goes on.
I’m reminded of our culture’s rampant attempts to normalize the flags of sexual addiction.
That rant didn’t sound so much “more bisexual” than “less bisexual”, really. Though I suppose it all depends where you started out.