Who will keep him interested?
The woman who rejects him?
Or the one who desires him?
Don’t get me wrong, there are women who dodge conflicts like the plague as well – but in my experience, it’s more common with men.
Women, overall, like to talk about things. I know plenty of men whose hearts sink (or stop) every time their girlfriend/wife says the dreaded words, “We need to talk.” So rather than having any uncomfortable talks, they turn into “yes, dear!” men and think that a happy wife is a happy life. That as long as he agrees with her, at all times, and ignores any uncomfortable topics, there’s no need for those talks.
It’s all good and well to go through life without confrontations, but when two people try to co-exist, it’s inevitable that it happens every now and then. I’m with a man who’s not an avoider of conflict, but he’s terribly patient and it takes a lot for him to put me in my place. But he does it. This, believe me, is a good thing.
I know two other men that I could never be romantically involved with because I would, quite literally, eat them alive. I’m sure their significant others will say, “Oh, he’s so easy to live with, we never fight.” Sure. He doesn’t disagree with anything you want, he doesn’t confront you with anything, he lets you get away with murder, he lets you talk to him like a child, he agrees to sit through re-runs of “Sex & the City”, “Friends” and “Lipstick Jungle” on a Friday night without complaining – even though he’s the type of man who’d rather watch a stalk-and-slash, something involving fast cars or (if he was being totally honest) a good, hardcore porn film. He’ll go to flower shows on his day off instead of meeting the boys for beer and football, he’ll go see the new Meg Ryan movie with you even though he’d much rather see the latest “Fast and the Furious” – oh, and he’ll say, “That’s OK, dear, sex isn’t really all it’s cracked up to be, I’m happy just holding your hand” when you announce you’re happy to have it once or twice a year.
By all means, have patience and compromise now and then – but to do everything she says just to avoid a discussion isn’t sexy. There is a word to describe men like this: Henpecked. Or as I like to call them: Pussies.
The word henpecked originates from nature: A mother hen recognises a particularly weak chick among her young, pecks at it to prompt it to show signs of survival instincts and this continues until the chick is either compliant or dead. Whichever comes first.
On ifeng.com, A Chinese website (ifeng.com) asked the question, “Are you henpecked?” and 50.3% of the male participants said “Yes” while only 17.3% said “No”. When asked “Why?” to the ones saying “Yes”, the most common answer was, “Because I love my wife and I don’t want to make her angry.” Oh, that’s hot. I mean, really… I can hardly control my urge to have a pussy-whipped, henpecked man…
These men clearly think that in order to have a happy life they have to keep their wives happy. This is a good thing, by all means, but are relationships really happier and less problematic when the wife takes all the major decisions? Should one marry a man who’s “happy” to surrender to his wife’s every demand rather than a man who doesn’t listen? Is this man actually happy? Does he actually listen?
Or does he just say “yes, dear” on default while fantasising about a life that doesn’t so closely resemble hell where he’s with a woman who’ll let him be a man?
This image ended up in my mailbox the other day:
So here you have a slim, elegant unicorn that’s branded as “unsexy” and a big, fat rhino who’s branded as “sexy” because it has “real curves”. You don’t have to be Einstein to understand what this is really about. That’s right: Women’s bodies. Again.
If I’m being perfectly honest, I’m getting just a little bit tired of this implication that in order for a woman to be “real” she has to be a size XXL. Really? What decides whether or not a woman is real or not is her ability to cultivate cellulite and fat on her ass? Funny, cause I thought it was down to certain biological differences from a man, like having a uterus and stuff like that… To me, it’s a bit like saying a man isn’t a man unless he’s got an 8 inch cock and has the body of Hercules.
I pray, tell, at what point does a woman go from “real” to “unreal”? At 180 pounds? 140 pounds? 100 pounds?
What I’m struggling to understand is why it’s OK to body-shame thin/slim people but not OK to body-shame fat people. There are women who are naturally thin, no matter what they eat, and they can’t get an ass like Kim Kardashian no matter how hard they try. Just as there are women who are naturally large, with a big frame, who’d never look like Kate Moss. And both are OK. Some men are short and slim too, and unable to do much about it. Just as some men are build like mountains and will never look like Brad Pitt.
What Is the Big Deal??
I’d like to think that most people, when choosing a partner to spend their lives with, aren’t that worried about body shape. Sure, first we lust with our eyes – but then we love with our hearts. What may not be immediately appealing on the outside becomes appealing once you get to know the person on the inside. I’ve had the most enormous crushes on people I wasn’t immediately attracted to, until I got to know them.
I think that if you’re open-minded enough to let people surprise you, rather than choose a partner solely based on their looks and shape, you’d have a much better time of it than if you just disregard someone out of hand because they’re… unreal. Connecting with someone mentally is a much greater, and lasting, way to lust for someone. Everything else is just a bonus.
Bottom line: Body-shaming goes both ways. Worth remembering.
In real life I’m not into men with hysterically huge Marvel Comics muscles. The body builder look doesn’t actually appeal to me much. Perhaps as it probably means he spends more time in front of a mirror, at the gym or weighing his chicken and rice than he’ll ever spend with me.
In the right setting, something in my head says *click* and I’m driven by basic instincts. It’s like the rational part of my brain goes to sleep and what’s left is the Neanderthal that wants to get beaten over the head and dragged into a cave by her hair. It’s bizarre.
I was about ten or so when I saw this movie with my dad. I don’t remember what I said, but I do remember my jaw dropping from the sight of him coming down the hill with a tree on one shoulder and a chainsaw in the other hand. I also remember my father saying, “So is this the kind of guy we can expect as a future son-in-law?” to my mother who’d obviously heard what I’d said and wanted to see for herself. This was obviously before I started going “woah!” in a sexual sense, but the basic reaction was still there.
I saw the Superman movies even earlier than I saw the above. Big, beautiful man – insecure and vulnerable, but in reality he was hard as fuck. Literally. I watched the first one again and again and again. Tall, dark and handsome indeed. Oh, and big.
I remember seeing this with my ex, a friend and her boyfriend. The boys wanted to see the first Lord of the Rings film and we tagged along. We were put on the front row, cause it was the only available seats. She and I rolled our eyes at what we had to endure to keep the boys happy, but as soon as Aragorn appeared on the screen we both looked at each other and went “woah!” The dirtier and hairier he got, the hotter he got. He’s not ridiculously huge, but still falls under the hot under the right circumstances category.
Crap film. I went to see this with a straight male friend and we were both unimpressed. Then came the moment where Van Helsing changes into a werewolf. He rips his top off, flexes all muscles, growls to the moonlight… you get the idea. I was virtually paralysed but my transfixed state was interrupted by my (still straight) pal sighing loudly in either admiration or adoration. He was gawking. He still denies that he did.
I watched the X-men films. Wolverine was nice and impressive and all that – but it wasn’t until the first Wolverine film came that it really hit me. I watched it twice. What was it about? I don’t know. What do you remember? Hugh Jackman running across a field naked. Was it good? Oh, yeah. Was that the one where he got his iron skeleton/claws and flexed every muscle in his body as he transformed? Or was that the second one? Who gives a shit? When he started the little romance with the Asian chick in the second one, I was deadly disappointed when we got to see a kiss and then they woke up the next morning on the floor. Oh, yes, nail me against that wall, Wolfie!
Now this is serious Marvel Comic Muscle Dude In Real Life. 6’5, big as a friggin’ house and didn’t skip leg day (I’m looking at you, Jackman!). I watched the film and found myself thinking, “Jesus, he’s huge…” a lot throughout the film but didn’t have that basic instinct reaction I was half-expecting. Then came the last 20 minutes. Hel…lo! He was dirty, sweaty, pissed off, chained up, oozing of testosterone… I’m not going to give away the ending but let’s just say that he’s only wearing a loincloth and does quite a bit of flexing of those – if you’ll pardon my French for a moment here – fucking impressive muscles. By the end I swept myself up off the floor and went home.
Then a friend asked me to see it again, someone who’s even less into this look than I am, and I found myself agreeing for a laugh. We chatted afterwards and I made a comment about his facial hair. Her comment? “He had a beard?” Or in other words, “I was too busy staring at his body to notice he also had a head attached.”
So what is it about?
I call it basic instinct. Big man makes woman feel small, feminine and vulnerable – but also protected. For me, it works as a fantasy. In reality, I have no need for a man who’s 7ft tall and looks like a demigod. I suspect it’s the same with men and hot women in strip clubs. It works really well as a visual, but when it boils down to it I (personally) don’t think men overall are as picky and shallow as all that. But as a visual, and as a fantasy, yes please. I guess men and women aren’t all that different after all.
As my mother used to say: “There’s nothing wrong with a nice view!”
I’ve met quite a number of men that I’d call pussy-whipped.
You know the kind. He has to look at his wife before he answers a question, is a big fan of “yes, dear” and permanently keeps his balls in his wife’s purse and his dick in a Mason jar under the kitchen sink. Some men have always been, say, prone to agree with his other half in order to keep things calm.
A happy wife is a happy life, etc.
Others, however, take months or (normally) years to finally give up and hand his tackle in, never to be returned. On average, this man was probably above the norm interested in sex and had it a lot – then he met her and after a relatively short while, the sex stops. Be it because of kids or because she feels she’s “done her bit”… it’s irrelevant. It happens. No sex. Or twice a year, for Christmas and birthdays, for good measure. Most men, let’s face it, won’t be satisfied with that.
It’s this category that saddens me the most.
I once was in a situation where a man that belongs to this category, that was so into sex that he was almost certain it was a bit of an addiction, said, “I wouldn’t say sex is important, really.” He’d told me before that the missus wasn’t really “into that” (read: sex) and that it had always been a big problem for him. He wanted it, she didn’t, he got frustrated and started lusting after other women. Of course. I asked him on various occasions, “If this is how it’s going to be for the rest of your life, would you be OK with that?” and the answer was always, “Of course not!” So when I heard him say that sex isn’t really important anymore, I swear I stopped breathing for about a minute before I delivered a speech that included words like, “bullshit”, “sex addict”, “lust lobotomy”, “chemical castration”, “coping mechanism” and another “bollocks”.
He had nothing to add.
It took her years, but in the end he seemed to just give up and resign his dick to said jar under the sink and his testosterone levels firmly hidden away in his woman’s make-up bag – and instead of being dominant he became submissive. “Yes, dear.” I’m still looking for my jaw. For him to say, “I wouldn’t say sex is important, really” is akin to the Pope saying, “I don’t believe in God, really.” It was like his will to fight had finally died. After years of frustration, he’d admitted defeat and was ready to enter into life as a monk with a live-in nun by his side.
On one hand I found it terribly sad, for him.
On the other hand I found it the most incredible turn-off.
Seriously, guys, if you’re not fucking you’re just two people living in the same house, sharing the electricity bill. Do you seriously think there’s nothing more to life than that? Really? Let me ask you this: Do you have a penis? Well, if you still do, reach down and find your balls – because nobody finds a pussy-whipped eunuch a turn-on.
This morning someone posted a quote on Facebook that got a lot of likes:
It’s hard to wait around for something you know might never happen;
but it’s even harder to give up when you think it’s everything you want
Fact is, we all want stuff we can’t have. I’d very much like to lick whipped cream off of Hugh Jackman’s taut chest – but alas he’s married and I’m lactose intolerant.
One thing I ask myself is: Do we tend to want stuff because we can’t have it? Take this quote from “Life of David Gale”, for instance:
Fantasies have to be unrealistic because the moment, the second that you get what you seek, you don’t, you can’t want it anymore. In order to continue to exist, desire must have its objects perpetually absent. It’s not the “it” that you want, it’s the fantasy of “it.” So, desire supports crazy fantasies. This is what Pascal means when he says that we are only truly happy when daydreaming about future happiness. Or why we say “the hunt is sweeter than the kill”. Or “be careful what you wish for”. Not because you’ll get it, but because you’re doomed not to want it once you do. So the lesson of Lacan is, living by your wants will never make you happy. What it means to be fully human is to strive to live by ideas and ideals and not to measure your life by what you’ve attained in terms of your desires.
So if this is true, we’re all doomed to life unhappily ever after while fantasising about future happiness that’ll never come – because, according to this, we don’t want what we think we want once we get it?
But, surely, it’s one thing to fantasise about being nailed against the wall by Wolverine and another to dream about a moment in the printer room with the cute guy in the PR department? Or is it just unrealistic fantasies that we don’t really want once we get – or fantasies, full stop? Aren’t “unrealistic fantasies”, by definition, supposed to be so far fetched they won’t come true however much you want it…?
What I’ve found in the past is that if I want someone for too long before I get it (meaning I have the time to have a lot of (unrealistic?) fantasies about them) it’s bound to be a failure. What are the odds that he’ll be an amazing kisser, an amazing lover (who’ll instantly know everything you want), an amazing gentleman and doesn’t mind sleeping on the wet spot? Can you fantasise your way away from reality and thereby create castles in the sky that’ll come crashing down once you realise the castle is made of sand and the weather forecast says “rain”?
So to get back to the original quote… the one about sitting around waiting for what you want more than anything that you kinda know will never happen. Here’s a solution: fantasise about it – then beg it’ll never come true.
I think this is a question women ask as much as men (but in their case it’s “what do women want?”).
I’m tempted to say that the answer to that depends on someone’s level of intelligence. Or… maybe that’s wishful thinking.
See, I refuse to believe that an upstanding, intelligent man would want to spend his life with a dumbass. According to a recent survey, the majority of men who married said dumbass regrets this decision enough to have an affair with someone more intelligent. 66,2% of the men asked said their mistress is brighter than their wife. 73,8% of the same men said that their mistress makes them feel smarter. This suggests that being with someone less intelligent makes them feel dumber as well. Rather than what they (probably) originally thought; that it’d make’em feel smarter. Actually, what they probably thought is that it’d make’em look smarter. There’s a difference.
Then again, I question a man’s intellect if he chooses to be with a woman whose IQ is the same as her shoe size. If you can’t have a conversation with someone that’s at least on your level, and someone who challenges you intellectually, then what have you got? Rampant sex? I’m willing to bet that without that mental stimuli, the rampant sex will go too.
Cause my theory – wrong though it may be – is that if you don’t get turned on by someone’s mind, the physical side will suffer pretty soon too.
Lack of self-respect? Thinking they don’t deserve better? Having watched mother being abused by father and therefore they think this is OK behaviour from men? The most provocative question, perhaps: Does it turn them on in some way?
I’m asking because, basically, I don’t know.
For instance, I have a neighbour who’s in his (I’m guessing) late 20s who has a girlfriend that he continuously calls a whore. The walls are rather thin in this block of flats and I can hear him shout at her, sometimes on and off all day and all night. It goes something like this, “You’re a whore! A whore! WHORE! Yes, you ARE! YOU ARE! WHOOORE!” and so on.
It seems to be the only offensive word he knows. I’m tempted to blame a lack of intelligence.
I encountered him one night when I got sick of his screaming at 3am. I knocked on his door and he was clearly wired and high on drugs of some kind. I asked him to keep it down. He said he hadn’t been screaming so what was the problem? I asked if I was just imagining him calling his girlfriend a whore and he said, “How do you know she’s not? What if she’s fucked five other men? I’m not saying she HAS but she could have done. So what’s it to you what I call her!?” I said it wasn’t my business and I’d very much like for it to not be my business – so I’d appreciate it if he could perhaps turn the volume down a bit if he insisted on being offensive. He then said it was ME who was being loud and screaming inside my flat.
OK, then, that sorts that one out… I’m hallucinating so badly I keep myself awake with my own screaming at 3am. Interesting.
After I said this, he went on to shouting abuse at me for a good few minutes, entirely without blinking, and by the time he was done I was so pissed off that my adrenaline started doing my talking for me. I can’t remember exactly what I said but it ended with me staring back at him, straight in the eye, and repeated – through clenched teeth – that his shouting was overall offensive but particularly offensive at three in the fucking morning. He went quiet, stared back at me by holding his head up and staring down at me through his nose, clearly trying to psyche me out. I was on an adrenaline rush so I stood my ground and in the end looked away, like I’d deflated him somehow, and said, “Well, then I’m SORRY!” in a huff and slammed the door.
This is an ongoing situation. On Sundays (this is clearly a routine) he’ll start by shouting at her. Then he’ll fuck her loudly, she’ll (sometimes) cum and he’ll cum. Again, loudly. He doesn’t last long. Then it’ll be about 20 minutes and he’ll call her a whore continuously for about 40 minutes, she’ll cry hysterically and then finally she’ll shout back – then leave. I always hope she doesn’t return – but she always does. Sometimes – for good measure – he’ll stamp his feet, like some four-year-old not getting his way, and other times throw things. The other night he could be heard out on the street, shouting, and as he entered the flat he basically woke her up to call her a whore. It was past 4am. *facepalm*
He needs to learn a new word. I’m tempted to slip a dictionary under his door.
She has the opportunity to leave him and she doesn’t. Is it the sex? I mean, from my estimation, he can keep going for between 3 and 5 minutes. I know this cause he tends to announce that he’s going to fuck her and then cums loudly after said amount of minutes. It clearly works for her, at least most of the time, but I’m pretty sure that there are other men out there that are able to give her an orgasm.
Could she be an emotional masochist? Quietly turned on by being called “a whore”? Does she enjoy it so much that she provokes him on a daily basis so that he’ll shout at her? I somehow doubt it. I guess what I don’t understand is that if you are an upstanding individual, wouldn’t you see that this is not the kind of relationship you’d want to be in? Is it really about, “I can’t get/don’t deserve anyone better?” There are only about four billion men on this planet, it’s not like he’s the last man standing…!
I refuse to listen to this “but I love him” bollocks. What I also find provoking is when these women will say, “But it was my fault, I said/did something that pissed him off.” Let me tell you… even if you did, that doesn’t mean he has the right to scream, shout, abuse, hit or hurt you. Love is blind? I don’t know, if someone called me a whore on a regular basis, I wouldn’t be too keen to stay around. No matter how in love I was with the man. In fact, I’m pretty sure this kind of abuse would make me fall out of love pretty quickly.
When I had that confrontation with said neighbour, I went inside and cried for about 20 minutes – because I cannot take it. The intensity he had was frightening and unsettling. In fact, if I wasn’t afraid of him (yes, I’ll admit it), I’d have interfered and got her out of there. I’d have also complained to the landlord about it. Trouble is, the landlord – in order to fix things – will confront the bugger and he’ll know who made the complaint. He (clearly) does drugs as well as smoke pot (distinct smell, etc) and I’m also pretty sure he’s selling shit out of his flat. There are dubious guys showing up at his door, banging and shouting, at any time between 1am and 5am. I don’t want one of those guys banging on my door, thank you very much!
Why Do Women Stay With Abusive Men?
“Hi, I’m Joe and I’m a nymphomaniac.”
“We say sex addict here…”
Here’s the trailer:
I mean, sure, you see quite a lot of pussy (or “cunt” as the leading lady likes to refer to it as) and cock – and interaction between the two – but not as much as you may have been lead to think. It’s been hyped up to something it’s, well, not. Don’t get me wrong, there is real sex in it. Something that’s not a first for director Lars von Trier. It’s just not portrayed in a sensual or sexual manner.
Not that I’m disappointed with it in any way – I was expecting to have to endure four hours of awkwardness (watching porn is one thing – watching porn with a cinema full of people you don’t know… not quite the same) and walked away feeling – I guess – satisfied in a different way.
I don’t think I’m giving away too much by saying that Joe – the nymph – is found in a back alley by Seligman – an asexual virgin in his (at least) 40s – in a pool of her own blood. He’s unexcited about all the details she tells him and she realises pretty quickly that it’s because he has no sex drive. She warns him the story is long – and she’s not wrong. Even for us, who have been given the cut-down version, it’s (pardon the pun) fucking long. Four hours – apparently cut down from six. We even got an interval.
It’s not so much an exciting story about fucking as it is a dark story of loneliness and suffering. Joe tells the story in a monotone, distant manner – as if it’s happened to someone else – and Seligman analyses her reactions to situations based on what he knows: books, music, nature, myths and religion. The places she goes – especially when she finds that her “cunt lost all sensation, it went numb” – are dark. It costs her, well, everything. Then, when she gets over that part – it’s like history repeats itself and she ends up in the alley beaten half to death.
One of my favourite characters is the wife of a man who leaves her to be with Joe (who has no interest in him, as she has on average ten lovers a night). She brings the three children over and asks if she can show the children “the whoring bed” in a very passive-aggressive manner. Uma Thurman as this character is beautifully manic and… recognizable. I’d be tempted to act in the exact same way if my husband had left me and my three kids for some 20-year-old whore. It’s perhaps one of the best performances I’ve seen from her.
Stellan Skarsgaard, who’s Swedish, didn’t seem to quite know which country his accent was meant to be from. A little bit of English, a little bit of Irish, a little bit of American – all with a slight Swedish inflection. He was my other favourite. Another one was referred to as “the bass” – a tubby man who treated her like a goddess and only cared about pleasing her. He would sit outside in his car and wait his turn, bring her flowers, give her sponge baths… Oh, and there’s a scene where he gives her oral sex. Well, someone gave someone oral sex for real. This character was perhaps the only sensual thing about the piece. Oh, and Christian Slater as Joe’s dad was great. He was, I felt, her safe haven with his obsession with nature and ash trees.
Oh, and be prepared to be irritated at the ending. Bad move.
Am I glad I saw it? Yes.
Would I sit through it again? Probably not.
Would I recommend it? Yes.
Would I recommend it to couples looking for inspiration? Nooot really.
In other words, I wouldn’t expect to be inspired to have a wank in the cinema bathroom in the intermission ;)
Last year the dating site Victoria Milan (a site where you go to cheat, basically) conducted a survey among their users about why they cheat on their partner. I find the numbers… interesting. Relatively unsurprising, but it’s certainly interesting:
|Who’s better looking?||My husband 63,8%
My lover 36,2%
|My wife 61,4%
My mistress 38,6%
|Who has the best sense of humour?||My husband 61,3%
My lover 38,7%
|My wife 58,2%
My mistress 41,8%
|Who’s the most interesting?||My husband 65,8%
My lover 34,2%
|My wife 77,1%
My mistress 22,9%
|Who’s the most intelligent?||My husband 53,2%
My lover 46,8%
|My wife 33,8%
My mistress 66,2%
|Who’s the youngest?||My husband 72,4%
My lover 27,6%
|My wife 67,5%
My mistress 32,5%
|Who’s the fittest?||My husband 52,1%
My lover 47,9%
|My wife 78,2%
My mistress 21,8%
|Who’s the best in bed?||My husband 50,9%
My lover 49,1%
|My wife 73,5%
My mistress 26,5%
|Who’s the most interested in sex?||My husband 48,6%
My lover 51,4%
|My wife 25,3%
My mistress 74,7%
|Who has the best social skills?||My husband 61,1%
My lover 38,9 %
|My wife 86,4%
My mistress 13,4%
|Who do you feel you have the most in common with?||My husband 53,7%
My lover 46,3%
|My wife 54,6%
My mistress 45,4%
|Who makes you feel best about yourself?||My husband 39,3%
My lover 60,7%
|My wife 35,8%
My mistress 64,2%
|Who makes you happest?||My husband 31,3%
My lover 61,1
|My wife 32,8%
My mistress 67,4%
|Who makes you feel smarter?||My husband 31,3%
My lover 61,1%
|My wife 26,2%
My mistress 73,8%
|Who makes you feel like a better person?||My husband 27,8%
My lover 72,2%
|My wife 38,4%
My mistress 61,6%
|Who makes you feel more inspired in life?||My husband 42,6%
My lover 57,4%
|My wife 38,3%
My mistress 61,7%
|Who makes you feel safest?||My husband 72,1%
My lover 27,9%
|My wife 85,3%
My husband 14,7%
|Who do you think appreciates you the most?||My husband 15,6%
My lover 84,4%
|My wife 24,7%
My mistress 75,3%
|Who’s got the most class?||My husband 73,4%
My lover 26,6%
|My wife 62,9%
My mistress 37,1%
|Who has generally the best taste?||My husband 74,1%
My lover 25,9%
|My wife 56,2%
My mistress 43,8%
|Who’s the most caring?||My husband 23,6%
My lover 76,4%
|My wife 24,4%
My mistress 75,6%
|Who’s the most generous?||My husband 28,3%
My lover 71,7%
|My wife 42,6%
My mistress 57,4%
|Who understands you the best?||My husband 22,9%
My lover 77,1%
|My wife 26,4%
My mistress 73,6%
|Who do you trust the most?||My husband 81,7%
My lover 18,3%
|My wife 76,9%
My mistress 23,1%
|Who’s the better listener?||My husband 12,3%
My lover 87,7%
|My wife 29,9%
My mistress 70,1%
|Who’s the most passionate?||My husband 18,9%
My lover 79,1%
|My wife 17,8%
My mistress 82,2%
Now, I’m no numbers analyst or anything but I think the conclusion to be made about these numbers is that men will choose a passionate, intelligent, compassionate, generous woman (who’s older rather than younger) who loves sex and makes him feel good about himself before he goes for someone young who looks good and has a perfect body.
Waaaait a minute.
So… all these articles, self-help books and support groups by and for women – that describe men as shallow bastards who are only interested in hot, young women – is… according to this… bollocks? Yes, sure, the numbers “prove” that he’s interested in what’s commonly known as “one thing” (read: sex) – but it takes two to tango (see what I just did there?). Let’s face it… not just men find sex fun. If you don’t believe me… the numbers don’t lie :)
All this time women are eyeing up the hottest, youngest, prettiest woman around and think she is the competition – when in reality… he’d basically rather have an intellectual conversation as foreplay and a passionate shag with, I dunno, Angela Merkel than count the minutes he has to put up with limited vocabulary and the one-syllable words Kim Kardashian is able to understand before having his way with her.
Oh, this is all so confusing ;)
If you look at the numbers, women don’t differ much from men – except she picks an intelligent one for marriage and a
dumb-ass less intelligent one to screw. But all in all, both sexes – shock, horror – seem to be looking for the same thing. Oh holy fuck.
And they still claim we’re from different planets…?