...or get a man made, so to speak?
Surprisingly serious question.
NSFW, adult themes, obviously
If you know me at all--if you even know of me--you can probably figure out I'm not the sort of man who would ever even dream of putting a picture of my penis on the internet. Under any circumstances. Ever. I wouldn't email such a thing to Eva; I certainly wouldn't send one to a stranger.
Sources, multiple sources, suggest that this is yet another way I'm something of a rare breed. I don't mean to exalt myself here, or anywhere when I say that. I'm just friggin' human, and I am not my penis.
I get offended enough on behalf of women whenever I hear of yet another 'dick-pic' thrusting around in some unsuspecting inbox. And yes, the crass innuendo is completely intentional: it's obvious that a "box" serves as a useful metaphor, as far as all these men are concerned. A box with holes in it. A receptacle.
What moved my disgust to a whole other level was the subtitle to this article. "Men are all too eager to send them...sigh...and they get offended when you tell them to stop."
Say what? I was struck dumb at this--kind of the way Eva was yesterday when I told her that Giancarlo Stanton had signed a contract with the Florida Marlins for $325 million dollars--$154,321 per game. She reacted with mock horror to that, a flat refusal to accept that any one person could possibly be worth that kind of money to anyone. 'Nonononononononono" seems to sum it up, along with "stupid, stupid, stupid..."
I've long known of this scourge of the internet, of course. It's right up there with Nigerian princes. Back in days of yore when the 'net was text-based and viewing images took real know-how, the equivalent was a marriage proposal. Often it was a man's first point of contact with a woman...I couldn't believe that even after I read through dozens of them aimed at a woman who was to become my girlfriend. They were all very similar, bragging about how well the men behind them could "provide" for her, and most of them seemed to originate from somewhere on the Indian subcontinent.
Now, of course, the Internet is much more commonly used for, shall we say, commitments of a shorter duration. And the currency of choice for males is a picture of the equipment they wish to commit with. It's another of those things where you don't know whether to laugh, cry or scream.
Getting offended at any reaction other than slavering drooling lust is--well, let's go well beyond the pathetic here. This points to a deep, deep problem in society that I suddenly realize is going to be much harder to solve than I'd thought.
Because if these men are offended that you could possibly demand they stop sending you cock-shots, it suggests they don't understand in the slightest that they're doing something wrong.
And what are they doing? They're objectifying themselves. Gleefully. They are announcing to women and the world, I AM MY PENIS. They have absolutely no problem with this.
Which means they almost certainly can't understand women's objections about being likewise objectified.
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I can't speak to what it is to be a young girl, but as a young boy you discover the joys of your johnson right early. Babies get erections in the womb; once they're out (he said, autobiographically), it doesn't take long for them to realize that touching it feels good and rubbing it against things feels even better. Your parents tell you--well, mine did--not to do it, but c'mon, it's just hanging there, a twig and two berries, and it begs to be played with. It's your own personal Lincoln Log. Flop it around, slap it off things, squoosh it into shampoo bottles (oh, dear, am I scaring anyone?)
And that's before, long before, the real erections come. Sigh, another pun. Yeah...the first time that happens, you think you broke your dick and you wonder why you suddenly smell fish when you haven't eaten fish for like a week. But it feels so damn good that you do it again as soon as you can--which is probably in a few minutes. "They" tell you that you'll go blind, so you close your eyes and tighten your grip. "They" say you'll grow hair on your palms, so you go find something hairy and vigorously hump it and think to yourself, "wow, this feels incredible". It's about that time you suddenly volunteer to do more household chores, specifically the laundry.
Uncomfortable yet? American Pie is a DOCUMENTARY, is what I'm trying to tell you.
Every...single...girl in every...single...class is fuel for your fantasy-fire. The pretty ones, of course, but also the ugly ones (you've got more of a chance with them. right?) Women: I assure you that many men have thought of you while, ahem, performing manual labour. That may titillate you, it may disgust you. Doesn't matter. A teenage boy is a horndog of jittering hormones and he pitches tents in his pants without warning or explanation, so he rushes to make one up...the nearest bit of female flesh is as good an explanation as any.
Then, if you're good and lucky, you get to experience sex sometime before you're collecting old age security at seventeen. Me, I was nineteen and naïve as all get-out and I think that was where I first deviated from the standard sexual script.
Because my first time wasn't all that great. It wasn't for her, either. There was the matter of the condom...guys don't masturbate with condoms on, and it really is like trying to operate with a winter glove on. There was the larger matter of the fact I didn't really love her, nor she me. We thought we loved each other, of course, for values of "love" applicable to naïve nineteen year olds. I've learned a hell of a lot about love since, and I'm sure she has as well: she's married to her high school sweetheart, the man I briefly supplanted, and they have at least one child. I wish nothing but the best for her, despite--no, because of--the horrible break-up we went through. I wasn't right for her, she wasn't right for me, and I think on some level we both knew it all along. Hell, our first dance was Meat Loaf's "Two Out Of Three Ain't Bad" ("I want you, I need you, but there ain't no way I'm ever gonna love you")...and my first sexual experience had Air Supply's "Making Love Out Of Nothing At All" as a soundtrack..you'd think I've have realized something was amiss much sooner.
But anyway...after that first experience, sex came off its pedestal for me. That first time wasn't the last time I "made love out of nothing at all"....but I did eventually learn that sex is so much better when love precedes it. I'm not sure sex "makes" love at all; that phrase, "making love", has always confused me.
Evidently many (most?) other men either had better first experiences than I did, or were willing to stick it out the way you get past your first hacking attempt to smoke a cigarette. Because there seem to be an awful lot of men of almost all ages who are still acting the way I did at fourteen.
Yes, sex for men feels exquisite. Though I have to tell you, it feels better for women. I can't even remember which woman told me this, but it stuck with me: you have an itch in your ear and you scratch it. Now, which feels better, your finger or your ear?
You don't see women pursuing sex as avidly, as dog-with-a-boner, as men do because women have been culturally conditioned to believe something is wrong with them if they like sex too much. Remove slut-shaming from the picture and you'd see women on the prowl at least as often as men are. But even then, I find it hard to imagine a world where you'd see as many slots in random internet messages as you do tabs.
Maybe it's because, evolutionarily speaking, sex is an end for men and a beginning for women. Men can lay 'em and leave 'em; indeed, from a solely genetic perspective, it's advantageous to impregnate as many women as possible to ensure offspring. Women are stuck with nine months of various kinds of hell and then years of childrearing. We're only into our second generation, as a species, with reliable birth control--that's far, far too early to be expecting women to act as if the shackle of likely pregnancy has been lifted.
I'm not sure how to solve the dick-pic problem. I only know it needs to be solved. Because as long as there are dick-pics, there will be rampant sexism and objectification of women.
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