Triggering Automatic Female Lust

Female lust is something I know a little something about. One might say (as I buff my nails) I’m an expert on the subject. So when a friend sent me this link, I was amused, and quickly annoyed because it’s so stupid yet so compulsively readable. I don’t know how to explain the fugue states when I can sit down and read something for hours and get completely engrossed. Its just something that happens, and that’s what happened here. I realize that most men don’t read crap like this (I hope not…but on the other hand, it might explain a few things.) But its amusing and being that I am, in fact, a woman, I thought I’d comment on this helpful article titled, “Triggering Automatic Female Lust.”

Contrary to what you see every week on ‘Sex and the City’, women are the complete opposite of men in that, the more *anonymous* the sexual encounter, the LESS gratifying they find it to be.

Wow. Really?

Unlike the fictional uber-slut Miranda, satisfying sex does not begin and end with the quest to find someone new to have an orgasm with.

Miranda? The dyke-ish redhead? The one who had a baby and hates sex? That one?

For the vast majority of women, the MORE connected they feel to their partner, the more overwhelming the total sexual experience is for them.

Wow. Why would that be?

Just the reverse of typical male thinking, right? Men are intensely turned on by the thought of having sex with a woman for that very FIRST time, or by scoring a one-night stand with a perfect stranger, or perhaps fantasizing about being in a porno movie and having wanton sex with dozens of hot women he hardly knows.

Ew.

The common link between all these scenarios is that there is NO emotional bonding involved. Hell, there’s hardly even an exchange of names! For the man, the more anonymous the sex the more *exciting* the idea of the conquest.

How the two genders make use of (and even exploit) this knowledge of each other’s romantic weakness, however, is an entirely DIFFERENT story.

Women know exactly how to turn men on by manipulating this hardwired ‘quirk’ in their character that absolves them of the need to actually know anything about a woman who has triggered his desire to mate. How? Simply by pushing this uniquely male “anonymous sex” button long and often… by acting sexy AND remaining emotionally aloof at the same time. The stripper, the table dancer, the whore. The molten hot stranger. Any persona will do — and all are quite useful when their design is seduction!

Oh yes, we are alluring devils, are we not. With our high tech sluttery, we can do anything.

Men, on the other hand, seem mostly clueless about how to turn the tables and pull off the same trick. In fact, the prevailing feeling is that female lust is such a mysterious and unfathomable ‘holy grail’ so rarely encountered in real life that it’s taken on a kind of mythical quality.

Okay, dude, I’m just going to be honest with you. It’s YOU. Nobody wants YOU. I saw your picture on the column, and let’s face it, you’re hideous. Not that being hideous would be such a bad thing, but add hideous to being a misogynist asshole and there you have yourself an un-laid troglodyte like yourself. You can’t write worth a damn, which is fine, lots of people can’t, but it makes me think you’re unable to speak well either, and THAT might have something to do with the fact that you’re not getting laid.

I guess some women just have it for certain men… and not for others, and there’s no understanding the reasons why.

Oh dear God. Yeah, it’s all a big mystery why some women want to sleep with Guy X but not Guy Y. Look, if you’re too stupid to see the fundamental flaw in your reasoning, you have absolutely no business showing your penis to anyone ever, lest you accidentally procreate.

But can female lust be triggered by the deliberate actions of a man? I say absolutely yes.

Maybe, but not by you.

Women get sexually turned on just as men do of course, but — owing to differences in reproductive biology — by a completely different set of mental processes. Men go for a VISUAL look that suggests youthfulness and thus fertility. But females aren’t interested in a man’s age so much because males remain virile well into the later part of their lifespan.

What they look for, instead, are signs of male POWER.

Or intelligence, sense of humor, stable job, treats children with kindness, respects old people, can chew with his mouth closed, observes basic societal norms vis a vis grooming and behavior, has an interesting life story, is polite, can speak in coherent sentences, and generally acts like a productive member of society, has a bond with the woman he is desperate to bone.

You see, women possess a deeply-rooted pre-intellectual *instinct* which compels them to submit themselves for copulation in the presence of what they sense to be a DOMINANT MALE.

Tears! Oh my God, literal tears are falling from my eyes. I have never submitted to anyone before…okay, I take that back. He had a whip, and I was really, really drunk…. But just that once!

Look, douchenozzle, you’re an idiot. If you believe even 1/10 of this crap that you’re writing, you’re so fucking retarded you shouldn’t even be allowed on the internet, and that’s saying something.

They cannot help feeling like this — despite the fact that the modern woman manages to suppress the urge to act on these feelings most of the time (but, not always…). So when a man learns how to project the most subtlest of gestures, actions and attitudes that suggest he’s a “dominant male”, he can force a woman’s subconscious mating desires to become aroused WHETHER SHE LIKES IT OR NOT.

Or, instead of that, just buy some ruffies to drop into the drink you refuse to buy for her. Seriously, so much easier than actually, you know, trying to talk to her.

And some of them won’t like it a bit. She may get upset because you’ve forced her to experience a potent feeling which she may feel compelled to conceal with the workings of her more rational mind.

So she’ll be overwhelmed with lust, yet will resist because all the powers of her intellect are saying, STOP, THIS GUY IS AN INBRED RETARD? However will you get her to ignore that pesky mind?

And yet when a woman consents to have sex with a man who has set off these automatic desires in her, she stands to enter into the hottest, most fulfilling sensual experience that it is possible for her to have. And she knows it.

Consents. See, that’s one of the major problems with men in general, I think, and douchenozzles like this in specific: they forget or don’t care that there’s another person on the other side of the transaction. She must be talked into sex, or be manipulated, or you must exude your POWER which will have her lying on the floor of the bar with her legs open and a do-me-now expression on her face because she just can’t control the molten lust that is coursing through her body. Maybe, if you’re a decent enough guy and treat her with respect and maybe if you actually manage to spark some chemistry with her, she’ll want to fuck you. Ever thought about that?

…AND she’s also frightened of it — because once unleashed in this way, it can be difficult to stem the cascade of all-consuming passion. She risks taking the kind of social and romantic chance that only happens a precious few times in her life. Can she allow herself to become addicted to a man who can make her see stars?

You’re an idiot. Seriously, if you believe any of this, you’re a moron. Yes, we get so frightened of our lust that we shudder. Your manliness is too much for us! We’re just girls. Please, please turn off this enormous power you have over us!

By learning to adopt the actions and attitudes of the dominant male, it is possible to create these sort of emotional disturbances in women at will.

Oh I have no doubt you’ll leave some women emotionally disturbed.

Almost any girl that you can manage to talk to in a SPECIFIC sort of way can have her “lust triggers” ignited like a blow torch. And when the ability to seduce becomes more a skill than mere luck, your chances of suffering the humiliation of being rejected vanish too. Now you have done more than learned to act the part of a dominant male, you have *become* one. And truthfully, there’s no real difference.

Because in this game, acting is BEING.

Oh.

In what other game is acting, BEING? If I act like a doctor, does that make me really a doctor?No. And this is a ridiculous exercise anyway. As I said, if you have to resort to these sorts of games, it says to me (and most women) that you’re a loser who has to resort to games.

There is no big mystery about female lust. In order to arouse it, just be a great guy. I realize that is subjective, but it’s the way all the “powerful” guys are getting laid. They’re just … you know, MORE DESIRABLE THAN YOU.

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Lesbian Hypnosis

I got this from Something Awful. It’s apparently an AOL search log. It almost seemed like a poem to me. And very sad – all that denial.

Shark Updates

My generously talented friend Tracey has a post about the shark attack in Solana Beach which has two new and interesting pieces of information. The first is, the shark that attacked the 66-year old triathlete was in fact a Great White. Secondly, as somebody who lives in the area, she’s observed a possibility about how this could have happened.

US Surfer Dies In Shark Attack In Mexico

A San Francisco, CA man was killed by exsanguination in Mexico when a grey shark bit his right thigh, bringing the total to four shark attacks on US citizens in as many days.

According to CNN, the victim suffered wounds “that reached from the hip to the knee, exposing the femur.” The victim was still alive when he was brought back to the beach. It took so long for the ambulance to reach the relatively isolated, undeveloped beach that a bystander took the victim to a local hospital in his car. The man died from loss of blood a few minutes after reaching the hospital.

The last shark attack in Mexico was in 2006. It was not fatal.

Plath Journals: I Call Shenanigans

Right here, right now, I am calling bullshit on the Plath Journals.  I have been reading the unabridged version for about a year.  I can’t read it all at one time – it’s too much, too intense – so I dip in, read a few pages, let it marinate and collate with the other things I know about her.  After a year, I’ve read most of the journals.  I feel that since I’m equipped with The Bell Jar, her letters, her poems, and basically the entire body of work at my hands, I understand what kind of writer she was.   I’ve read her honeymoon notes about five times because I wanted to really understand them, and because they are unlike any of the other writings.  And I am calling bullshit.

That is not Sylvia Plath’s journal.   Or maybe it was, but it’s so completely torn apart that it could belong to anyone.  What I noticed was this: up until her marriage, Sylvia Plath was obsessed with sex.  She was having a very difficult time living by the rules of her age, grappling with the fact that men could be sexual but good girls weren’t permitted the same luxury.   As Sheila points out in her magnificent review of The Bell Jar, it was the sexual rules that were driving her crazy, not the fact that she didn’t get into a writing class. In The Bell Jar, the protagonist is relieved when she finds an understanding doctor who prescribes birth control pills for her, giving her some parity with men – the ability to have sex without the terror of an unwanted pregnancy. Sylvia was a very sexual person, well before that sort of thing was tolerated. Nowadays we take it for granted that even an unmarried woman can appear to be engaged in a fulfilling sex life, but back then…. not so much. To her, birth control pills must have been a miracle.

Sylvia was also preoccupied with the pursuit of a husband. She wrote many times of wanting a lover and husband and children – it was a very central theme in her life.

Yet once she is married, once she is able to experience sex ostensibly any time she wants to, she is strangely -and for the first time in her life – silent on the subject. There are no notes of middle of the afternoon lovemaking in the small house in Benidorm, Spain, no glowy sentences of post-coital rapture. No discussion of the thrill of saying, “my husband, Ted.” This is downright queer. Sylvia Plath, who has for years and years ached to be sexually and emotionally fulfilled, suddenly has nothing to say on the subject of love and marriage and sex?

Based on Ted Hughes’ admissions that he edited the journals (and destroyed some), I have formed the opinion that he excised all references to sex between them. I don’t necessarily blame him. I think it would be quite a shock to have the whole world read in graphic detail (and Plath was nothing if not descriptive) about your sex life. I understand, in a grudging way, that he might have had an interest in not allowing that sort of intimate material to be widely available. However – her notes on marriage? On relationships in general? That is not acceptable – and I believe that they did exist and he chose to stifle them.

Plath was an acute observer of her own life. She would have been fascinated by the abrupt change from girlfriend to wife. She would have shared those thoughts with her journal. Yet the journals are silent. She writes of shopping for eggs and oil and wine with Ted at the local markets, and the dingy little house they rented for a few days before finding a better house. She writes of being unable to write. But at the very moment of her fulfillment, she has nothing to say about being a wife, or about the new dynamic of their relationship. I simply do not believe this.

The journals are controversial for several reasons – the least of which is the fact that some are missing and so the body of work is incomplete. Hughes was accused, even when they were published, of heavily editing them to make himself look better. But if you take the aggregate of what we have – the letters, the poems, the letters home to Aurelia, the conversations with her friends and doctors, and the remains of the journals themselves, you start to determine what kind of person she was, and you know for sure what interested her. The absence of these marriage notes is glaring. It is simply not plausible that she didn’t write down her feelings on the subject. Ted Hughes, for better or worse, chose to delete those passages that might have shown us what a joyful bride Plath was in those early months. Ironically, having them available, even in all their bare intimacy, might have allowed history to view Ted Hughes in a more sympathetic light.

Three Shark Attacks In Three Days

The shark season has started early this year with Florida reporting three shark attacks in three days. The latest victim was the ninth recorded shark bite of the year in Volusia County, Florida, putting the number of bites ahead of the record breaking “Year Of The Shark” in 2001, according to beach records. None of the three victims were seriously injured.

It is not known what kind of sharks are responsible for the attacks.

Meanwhile, the shark attack earlier this week in San Diego seems to have been an isolated incident as the shark responsible for the death of a sixty-six year old triathlete has not been spotted since Monday.

Already it’s been an eventful pre-season so I’m looking forward to a rich, full summer of shark stories.

You May Now Beat The Hell Out Of Your Bride

When I read stories like this, it makes me wonder why people go through the effort of having a wedding at all. Apparently a newly wedded couple got into a brawl, attacked each other and their guests, and then spent their wedding night in jail cells. It’s all very salacious – and reminds me of those Dr. Phil shows about the Worst Wedding Stories Ever. Usually those stories are about other people or the weather screwing up the nups, but this one is about the “happy” couple themselves.

These stories make me angry. And embarrassed. Can you imagine being a guest at a wedding like this? Would you ever speak to the bride or groom again? I would not. It offends me. It says they’re not taking marriage – or a wedding ceremony – seriously. I realize I have no skin in this game, but I feel sorry for the people who are there to support this couple when they are obviously too ridiculous to handle even their own wedding ceremony. It reminds me of the sort of people who jump into swimming pools with all their clothes on because they think it makes them funny or fun. I just don’t get that.

Rare Shark Attack In Southern California: One Dead

A 66-year old triathlete was killed this morning by what onlookers describe as a “big gray shark”. Dave Martin was swimming about 150 yards offshore at Fletcher Cove, north of San Diego, when he was attacked.

Mr. Martin suffered long jagged lacerations from his upper thighs to shins, with a biting radius of about 22 inches. He was initially taken to a lifeguard station to be transported to a hospital but was pronounced dead at the lifeguard station.

Shark attacks are extremely rare in Southern California. “It just doesn’t happen. A shark attack is unheard of,” said Solana Beach Deputy Fire Chief Dismas Abelman.

The last time a shark was confirmed to have killed someone in San Diego County waters was in 1994.

The victim, 25-year-old Michelle Von Emster, went for a nighttime swim by herself in Ocean Beach April 14.

Her body, with her leg severed at midthigh, was found the following day two miles to the south, near the surfing area known as Garbage Reef.

Investigators determined she drowned after being bitten by a great white shark.

Unexpected Marvels

My friend Brian died in February.  We had a nice conversation about this when he spoke to me tonight. 

I have an email address that I haven’t used in a long time.  Maybe since last year.  November, possibly?  I didn’t use it for much.  It was set up in Outlook so that any mail that went to that address was immediately siphoned off to a folder, which I haven’t opened since….November.

Then I opened it tonight and his name shocked me.  His beautiful name.  I always loved his name.  And the impact of seeing it twice, in bold black, in my email box was momentarily like falling.   Involuntary tears welled in my eyes.  I clicked the first one, the older one, which was a picture taken from his phone.   The second was a letter.  Three paragraphs.   Three paragraphs that I hadn’t read while he was alive.

Destiny… fate. I believe to try to explain this would bump into Godel very quickly. But I think I can say this: knowledge is a fluid thing. There are things we can know without knowing why we know it, and things we know for a short period time but forget. Then there are things that we seem to be close to knowing, some truth, and then it vanishes before we have had time to examine it. But maybe even then, before we can examine it, the knowledge has been put to good use. Maybe we can’t know what purpose it serves, but maybe it has made some impression somewhere, this flicker… this nimbus of thought. And maybe that’s enough.

I like to think that whatever Brian needed to tell me while he was here, I simply wasn’t in a position to hear. But now that he’s gone, and his words have chosen to reach me at this time, maybe there is meaning in that. The sentiments he expressed are precious to me – his concern for me, his adventurous nature. His sweetness. It all lives on, in a very literal sense.

I typed a reply. I know its silly, but I’m like that sometimes. I told him I miss him. I told him the world dimmed and narrowed a little bit when he died, that I will forever think of him when I think of Chicago. And then I pressed send. Though I understand quite well that there are scores of reasons, technical reasons that involve POP3 and lazy network engineers who simply haven’t de-permissioned his account, it has not yet bounced back undeliverable. As I received his words in happenstance, perhaps in some way I will never understand, he has received mine.

Please Stop Sending Me Obsessions

I don’t understand why this is, but people have begun recommending new obsessions.    As if I could simply decide to become fascinated with something and dedicate the next 10 years of my life to it.  Some marriages don’t even last that long; an obsession is a commitment.  The only other person I know for a stone cold fact who gets this is my friend Sheila, who also has obsessions. I don’t think she’d be interested in acquiring obsessions that you think she should have either, but you’re welcome to try, I guess.

Obsessions are deeply personal.  You do not get to choose them.  Not even I get to choose them; they somehow choose me.   I have only three, and I devote a great deal of time to them: Enron, Sylvia Plath, and sharks.  Those, plus a normal life of boyfriend/exercise/working on my book is all I have time for.  So thanks for suggesting  Conrad Black, Shell Oil, the Death Penalty and drug war as possible obsessions, but I have to pass.  I am either obsessed or I’m not, and I’m positive that if I were obsessed with these subjects or any others,  I would have realized it by now.

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