Sometimes I scour the internet for hours in search of material for this blog. Other times it just plops right in my lap. Today, it plopped, in the form of a new visitor to this blog by the name of J.S., a 52-year-old married farmer (he said) who brought with him some very old-fashioned ideas about love and romance and how men can best access the “secret gardens” of the pretty ladies of the world.
No, really, he did,proclaming himself an infallable guide to
the ‘secret language’( sub and non-verbal communication), the dating game, or how very attractive women go about choosing which men they let into their secret garden and which ones they don’t.
The primary lesson he tried to impart: that the “secret garden” is a little bit like Fight Club: The first rule of Secret Garden is that dudes can never ask to enter Secret Garden.
As he put it:
You never ask a feminine woman ‘what she wants’.
If you ask what she wants, you will kill the attraction immediately.
Her desire is to be led by a masculine man.
This is what bad boys do. They don’t really give a shyt about her. It’s all about them and the conquest. Women respond to this because sex is virtually all they think about and nice guys are always supplicating towards her hoping she’ll give them the go ahead to seduce and have sex with her. Wrong, wrong, wrong. You’d might as well let your child drive your car on your next vacation.
Oh, he later amended this a tiny bit. You can ask a woman if she wants to have sex if, like, you’re already married to her or something. But you can never ask to enter her Secret Garden unless you’ve already entered her Secret Garden.
The fact is, you don’t ask women to have sex unless you’ve known them for a good while, or are in a relationship. And you never ask them to ‘have sex’ before you’ve actually had sex with them the first time. Or the only thing you’ll be getting is a cold shoulder.
So if you can’t actually use human language to find out if you can enter her Secret Garden, how can you enter for the first time it without, you know, being “falsely” accused of rape or something?
As they say in real estate, it’s all about escalation to the sex location, location, location.
Ok, that’s not exactly what they say in real estate. But here’s J.S., explaining the proper way to open her garden gates:
[W]hen interacting with a woman there should be only one thing on your mind… Is it cocky, funny? Is it humor. Is it talking about the weather? Nope. It’s about escalation to the sex location. If you don’t do this, you will be disrespected as a man, and find yourself lonely.
I’m sorry, I’m still stuck on “escalation to the sex location.”
escalation to the sex location
escalation to the sex location
escalation to the sex location
escalation to the sex location
Once you get her to the sex location, though, it’s important to remember not to ask her anything about her Secret Garden, or really anything at all. By agreeing to go to your sex location — probably just your apartment — she basically is agreeing to you groping all over her trying to get into her Secret Garden.
I mean, this is all covered in your basic Being A Human manual, but in case you missed it I’m just repeating it.
Anyway, once you’re both there, you need to keep escalating so that sex will “just happen” without anyone checking in with anyone else verbally or anything, because actually getting some sort of verbal go-ahead for anything sexual is totally against nature.
This is why women are so fond of the expression, it just happened.
Again, nope it doesn’t ‘just happen’. It happens early in relationships because she allows him to be alone with her, allows herself to become aroused, then doesn’t resist.
Then the relationship starts.
Let me just repeat the bit I put in bold there:
she allows him to be alone with her, allows herself to become aroused, then doesn’t resist.
That may be the creepiest, rapiest description of sex (and/or the start of a relationship) that I think I may have ever read.
Remember, dudes, according to J.S.’s Rules of Secret Garden you are supposed to keep escalating (in the sex location), but you are never, ever, ever to ask her if anything you are doing is ok with her.
But ladies, if you want things to stop, you need to answer the question he hasn’t actually asked with a clear verbal “no” or “stop” or, you know, you could fight him.
Because it is so important that men never ask a woman for consent that it’s better for women to be put in the position where they have to literally fight off their dates to make clear they don’t want to have sex, rather than simply have a very brief conversation that would make the issue of consent completely clear.
The evil genius of this “don’t ask, because if you ask she’ll say no because you asked” formulation — which is common amongst MRAs, PUAs, and assorted other rape apologists — is that it puts the responsibility for date rape not on (male) rapists but on their (female) victims by making the issue of consent entirely her responsibility and giving him an excuse to pretend he didn’t know she wasn’t consenting.
I didn’t know she wasn’t into it, the rapist can say, because it’s not like I could just ask.
But of course you could have. You should have. The responsibility for obtaining sexual consent belongs to whoever is “escalating” the sex. If there is any any doubt about anything at any point, ask. Using actual words.
Yes, potential partners are likely to be turned off by neediness. But the idea that getting consent is the same as supplicating is ridiculous. And the idea that it is inherently unerotic will come as a surprise to anyone who’s ever engaged in cybering or phone sex or dirty talk in bed.
Are there really women out there who are so turned off, so offended, by the idea of a man asking for consent that they would reject a man they were interested in just because he asked, possibly in a charmingly filthy way, for a “yes” before he put his hand up her skirt?
They must exist. Louis CK has a famous bit about a baffling and unconsummated encounter he had many years ago with a woman who had what you might call an extreme “don’t ask first” fetish. I can only hope she eventually managed to find her way to a local BDSM group so she could explore her submissive fantasies in a safe, sane, and consensual way, as they say.
It’s bizarre to have to point this out, but, dudes: If a woman is into you, and into sex, she’s going to want to have sex with you even if you ask her first. Indeed, if her attraction to you is so fragile, and her sexuality so dependent on fantasies of being “taken” that merely asking her to have sex is enough to kill the attraction, well, you’ve probably dodged a bullet, to be perfectly honest.
Making consent clear is good for both partners. Not only does it, you know, prevent rape, but it makes for better sex. The partner who “escalated” the sex knows that what they’re doing is ok with their partner, who, in turn, knows that they’re with someone who respects their boundaries.
When you talk about sex — before, during, and after — you can find out all sorts of things about what your partner likes and doesn’t. You can share your own personal kinks. This actually enables you to do a lot more sexually than people who don’t talk, even if the man in that relationship is the most alpha alpha who’s ever alphaed, because you don’t have to guess.
We have language for a reason. Use it. In bed.
J.S. calls it “secret garden” because he’s never been. May as well be Narnia.
Ahhhh! I love it! 😀
The idea that sex needs to be a surprise to be sexy has always struck me as complete bullshit. I’ve always found built-up anticipation to be far sexier than spontaneity. But then, every PUA/TRP/MRA description of sex I’ve ever read has sounded boring to downright unpleasant for the (possibly imaginary) woman involved, so something tells me they don’t care that much whether women actually like having sex with them or not.
I’ll just repost my contribution and leave it at that.
Once upon a morning bleary, while I wondered weak and weary
Over many a quaint and curious brand of coffee lore
While I nodded, gently roasting , suddenly there came a boasting
As if some one gently ghosting, ghosting at the threads from yore
“’God damn necroes,” I muttered, “Posting at the threads of yore –
Only this, and nothing more”
Ah, devouring a bagel, I checked the post from foregone April,
And each separate new comment wrought a mess upon the floor
Eagerly the poster resurrected , – vainly, pasts I thought protected –
and great truth interjected – interjected ‘bout his fascination quite a bore –
Now in this comment section evermore
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple prose
Thrilled me – filled me with fantastic terrors, he was quite a bore;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
“’Tis some necro entreating, gently repeating, all the points that’s gone before-
Some necro-poster entreating, once again repeating, all the point’s gone before –
This it is, and nothing more’
Presently, my ire grew stronger, laughing then no longer,
“Sir”, I said, “Or troll, truly your understanding I implore;
But the fact is you are sapping, ever quite so deftly trapping
Just persistently rapping, rapping the points that come before,
That I scare was sure you meant it – have I said essentialism do abhor;-
You’re mistaken and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I sat here wondering, fearing,
doubting, screaming, screaming things many mortals have said before;
“But a woman is no object, surely you can treat her as a subject,
And only press for sex when the whispered word is, “More!”
This I whispered, and an echo mumbled that the trick was to, “Ignore!”
Merely that and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my mind within me burning,
Soon again I heard a boasting, somewhat louder than before
“Surely,” said He, “Surely it is somewhat in my bearing,
Let you see then, what the trick is, and on this subject be a bore –
Let my mouth be not still a moment, and my audience I bore;-
‘Tis quite simple, you must their attentions but ignore!”
Then this old and world-wise farmer began beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
‘By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance that I wore,
Though they got on their knee and flashed, though’ said he, ‘ they sure flirt
Ghastly grim I lost my job, it hurt, and I will wander from their door –
Tell you what the lordly deed is to get the nighttime Dionysussian score’
Qouth the poster, such a bore
Much I marveled at this ungainly fool to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its statements little thought – little empathy bore;
For he cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with getting laid without a going through a chore
Man or female in their couplings always follow a guidelines one or four,
Foremost of which will be ‘Ignore!.’
But the poster, sitting lonely on some placid farm, wrote only,
Of a system, as if his soul in that one system he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered – nor a neuron was fluttered –
Till I scarecely more than shuddered ‘Other people have had friends before!
On their beds and in their hearts, they have had their friends before!’
Then the necro wrote: “… Ignored!”
Startled at the standard broken by a reply so aptly token,
‘Doubtless,’ said I ‘what it utters is its only stock and store,
caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore –
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of “Ignore-ignore-ignore!”
(That one required very little remixing.
Huh)
But the necro still beguiling all my bleary soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a seat in front of pc and section and read more;
Then, upon the hardbacked chair wincing, I betook myself to convincing
Farmer unto fancy, thinking that I might his decency implore –
Alas, a grim, ungainly, ghastly gaunt and stunted thing was all he had, the bore
Meant his croaking of “Ignore!”
‘Manboobz!” Wrote He, “thing of females! – Manboobz still, if man or mangina! –
Whether you have been into the garden, or whether temper tossed thee outside the bedroom door
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert of dates I’ve expounded –
On this heart horror haunted – tell me truly, I implore –
Is there, – do you get it, Lead! – tell me – tell me, I implore
Do you understand you must ignore?!
“Manboobz” wrote he, “Thing of females – Manboobz still, if man or mangina!
By the solipsistic mind that bends before you – by that empathy I tore –
Tell you how to speak the secret language, subcommunicate your desire
It shall clasp a saintly maiden, she’ll fuck you!’ so he swore
‘Screw a feminine and female maiden, if you do but Ignore!”
Qouth the poster, such a bore.
‘I’m a charming southern man, a marine a gent!’ He shrieked, upstarting –
‘I’m quite the catch and likable, and offered Dionysian activities galore!
You’re all old coots, and your resistance token, the truths that I have spoken!
Leave no refutations not ignored! There is no way I am a bore!
Take it straight from me, I get into lots of gardens, I find it not a chore!
I have learned the greatest lesson; I ignore!
And this necro, never quitting, still is sitting, still is shitting
on the pallid pretense of understanding in the section, still a bore
And his statements have all the seeming of a demon that is dreaming,
And the gaslight flows from him, streaming, shows his aloud arrogance (the bore)
And my soul is gently fleeing, fleeing form that immense ineptitude of common sense galore
For all he is, is a but a bore.
EVER MORE
—-
*takes up space*
Well, that was interesting. Thanks, David! Necrotroll was disturbing and tedious…
Fibonachi’s poem in the thread is still awesome, though.
Wow, I feel so very “privileged” to have been around seeing this unfold before it became an article!
Props though, for focusing the blog post on the creepy logic of that guy. he went through a lot of it, even without getting into the goofy angle changing bs, and trying to frame himself as the ‘sympathetic’ type.
@ fibinachi
ENCORE
http://memecrunch.com/meme/2LGH/can-i-get-an-encore/image.png
**applause**
I nominate Fibonachi for poet laureate of Manboobz.
Thanks, David. How creepy is it that dudes spout that rapey garbage? JS was sure that any woman who was ever alone in a room with him was hoping he’d jump her bones. That’s just scary.
I find myself thinking that he missed his opportunity to write, “Escalation to the fornication location”.
Well done, Fibinachi.
Tedious necro troll was tedious, but worth every excruciating second for inspiring Fibinachi’s exquisite work up there!
js isn’t even here to revel in his newfound fame!
It’s the headline, I’m sure he wanted to be called Sex Machine, not creepy middle-aged dude.
Or “former marine.”
He’s still over in the old thread laying down his “troofax”, namely
And with this example of “alpha fucks/beta bucks” I have bingo! What do I win?
I second this nomination!
I’m cracking up that middle-aged married farmers are now the “alphas.”
Y’know, non-verbal communication really isn’t a “secret language.” Many people pick up on non-verbal cues pretty easily. You can google “guide to non-verbal communication” and get all kinds of results.
Usually, if you can find something through Google, it’s not really all that secret.
Aren’t middle-aged married farmers more like “alfalfas?”
(It had to be said.)
Well, katz, you know how we women love to have our secret gardens tended to! Who better, who more perfectly suited to such a task, than a farmer?
“I find myself thinking that he missed his opportunity to write, “Escalation to the fornication location”. ”
Or even better, “Escalation to the fornication location, by embarkation at the station, to your accommodation, where you aim for exploitation of your situation by ceasing the dispensation of all communication, and beginning a capitalisation of her trepidation.”
Raps by PUA/MRAs! What an abomination!
@Fibinachi
Standing up and giving you a slow golf clap. That was truly a thing of beauty.
…
I vote for JM as poet laureate of Manboobz.
We’ve actually had rap battles here before.
More than once, in fact.
Those are beautiful.
Thank you, cloudiah. Your blog is delightful, and holds many gems.
… so hey, thank you, everyone on Manboobz, for being full of win.