Sex; It’s a man thing!
Before I slide in a scientific, evidence based post about the gender differences I feel compelled to first introduce the subject on a more reality, man-driven basis. Purists, as they inevitable do, will object and cite a plethora of unfounded, contradictive, politically correct, brow-furrowing bollocks, but what they will not be able to do is dismiss the observations made and conclusions drawn.
We all know the arguments, Hell, who doesn’t? I have heard told that desire is a form of possession, to lust after a woman is reductionist and even the notion of worship, according to a reasoning too absurd that its beyond me, can be interpreted as a kind of scorn. Needless to say all this is of the supremest toss.
It’s a fact, women do not enjoy sex. It has become almost a matter of religion to deny this, nonetheless, it remains a fact. Women endure sex as an acceptable price to pay for having a man, for being part of what they describe as a “relationship”, but they can take it or leave it. Unlike us men who have an unfulfillable hunger, a constant need that consciously or otherwise, tortures us. Men spend their entire lives thinking and dreaming of women, skipping after them like a puppy trying to please his master, ordering his entire existence so that he may come into more contact with them and ultimately judging his life and worth solely according to his ability to attract them and make them desire him.
This is not to say that men don’t respect women or that they feel superior to them, on the contrary. I for one feel a profound love and worship for the fairer sex, mixed with a balanced portion of self-loathing, inferiority and inadequacy.
What better control group to support these observations than gay men. Bottomites, shirt-lifters, benderists, shit-stabbers, arse-bandits, settle on a name you like, taking such problems as the queer-bashers, the newspapers, the virus, the police and society such as it is, they lead a pretty fabulous life. Lavatories, parks, heathland, beaches, supermarkets, cemeteries, pubs, clubs and bars vibrate to their music of simple erotic exchange. A man, queer, sees another man, queer. Their eyes lock and…..bang, sex is done. They don’t have to know their partners name, they don’t have to talk to him, they don’t even, in the backrooms of dark, metropolitan nightclubs, have to see his bloody face. It’s a male world, ordered in a precisely male way according to the devices and desires of a strictly male sexuality. Do those big hairy faggots who pose in magazines with leather collars around their dicks and rubber tubing up their crack alleys think of themselves as oppressed? Do gay men tarting themselves up for a night in a club whine about the vile sexism which insists they must be made attractive in order to be inspected like cattle? No, they do not.
We live in the world as given, and no doubt anthropologists and zoologists can tell us that it is biologically necessary for one of the sexes always to be hungry and the other to be mostly bored. Men have compensations, after all, for the agony of their endlessly unfulfilled desires. By and large, we run the world, control the economies and swank about with laughable displays of self-importance. This isn’t a whinge. I merely want the simple truth understood and out in the open: men like sex and women don’t. It has to be recognised and faced.
Women’s constant rejection of such a self-evident fact doesn’t help us at all. Whenever I point it out to my women friends they instantly deny it; they will claim to be regular masturbators; they will claim that the idea of a good anonymous shag is a real turn-on; they will claim that only the other day they saw a man whose bottom reminded them a little of Brad Pitt and they got really quite juicy thinking about it. “Only the other day”? What about every damned sodding bloody minute of every bloody damned sodding day? Don’t they see that women should pop open the champagne and celebrate the fact that they are not slavering dogs like men, they should revel in the biological fortune that allows them to be rational creatures who can think about the benefits a partnership with a man can provide, who can think about motherhood, work and friends….who can just plain think unlike us poor bastards who spend days that should be spent in work and higher thoughts having to realign the sore and swollen cock under the waistband of our Calvin Klein’s every time a set of tits walks by?
Of course, women get the itch now and again we wouldn’t be here as a race otherwise; of course they have the genital equipment sensitive enough to ensure that sex can, when embarked upon, cause shivering’s of pleasure, barks of delight and all the dirty rest of it. But they are not, lucky, lucky, lucky things, forever hungry, forever desperate, forever longing for the base physical fact of getting their bloody rocky off. I mean, the fact is, it’s three in the afternoon and I have already tossed myself off twice today. Any honest tart will tell you, sympathetically, like a nurse, that men, poor dears, just need to wank. Why women should wish to claim parity in the matter of this gross imperative beats me.
All successful people, without exception, are motivated, driven to succeed, to acquire wealth, fame, power because somewhere, deep within them, is the desire to find a way to get laid more easily.
But that’s enough of that for now. I can get carried away. If you want catchpenny theories about the sexes there are bookshelves filled with them. It’s not unlike the Cold war, every publication by the other side is read, every posture analysed, every twitch on the web detected and every cultural shift poured over.
The fact is, sometimes you just need to look at the bloody obvious; men like sex, women do not.
The science behind gender differences to follow soon. Thank you for reading, comments always welcome.
Excerpts from Stephen Fry’s novel “The Hippopotamus”; An exceptional must read.