One of the odder folk beliefs of the pickup artist subculture is that women become worn down and used up and even a bit addled if they have sex with too many men. Men, by contrast, are said to be able to handle an equal number of female lovers with grace and aplomb.
In a recent post, our old friend Heartiste offers what he sees as decisive photographic evidence illustrating the different effects of promiscuity on men and women. One bit of this evidence: a picture of a young woman used to advertise some sort of singles event. Reflections from the photographer’s lights obscure her pupils, an offputting effect that gives her a slightly deranged look.
Heartiste, apparently not curious enough to wonder why the woman seems to have no pupils, sees this as clear photographic evidence of the tell-tale âthousand cock stareâ that he believes women develop after exposure to more than the lifetime recommended allotment of penises.
To underscore his claim that promiscuous men are âmore emotionally stable and contentedâ than their female counterparts, Heartiste offers this photographic evidence:
I think we can all see the problem here. Aside from the fact that a single photograph of someone smiling offers no real clue to that person’s relative stability or degree of happiness with their life â there are plenty of people who can put a good face on all sorts of troubles â this is not actually a picture of a promiscuous man.
It’s a picture of actor John Hamm playing the character of Don Draper, a promiscuous ad exec on Mad Men, in full costume and makeup and doing his best to act the part of a contented man.
As regular viewers of the show are well aware, Don Draper is not always so contented. Indeed, the character is a near-constant drinker with a troubled past who ruins two marriages through his compulsive womanizing.
Here are pictures of Don Draper in some less-happy moments.
Can we conclude therefore that excess promiscuity will turn smiling, confident men into puking emotional wrecks? Well, no, because, again, Draper is a CHARACTER, not a person. He’s NOT REAL.
But don’t try telling Heartiste that, because he seems to prefer to live in an imaginary world.
A man can sample the slits and furrows of outrageous fortune and survive the whirlwind of passion to mark a day in the future when he contentedly and without pathological second-guessing slips into a stabler, longer term commitment.
Women who have sampled a poo poo platter of penes accumulate emotional scars that never heal; promiscuous women have a mental storage closet filled with five minute montages of alpha male love, and these exciting, prurient memories rob the female id of something important. Call it purity or innocence or self-worth or ability to appreciate romantic idealism, the slut with ass chafing from riding the cock carousel is never the same as she was before she let herself get pummeled by dick.
Uh, just so you know, Heartiste, the Chinese menu item you evidently have in mind is actually called a Pu Pu Platter. A Poo Poo Platter is something, well, a bit different.
Then again, I suspect that most of those women who’ve âsampledâ Heartiste’s alleged charms would have, in hindsight, rather spent the evening cleaning shit out of a toilet tank.
Also TMI: I enjoy oral sex, and it is on the more intimate scale for me, whether giving or receiving, but I don’t know if I’d call it more or less satisfying than PiV. Never done anal (bear in mind this is all stuff Mr K and I do across the veil, trying to do it here isn’t all that worthwhile). I wouldn’t mind trying out of curiosity, but he’s not keen, and curiosity’s all it is, so ::shrug::.
The delight of any sort of sex for me is the who, not the what, and a touch of the where (indoors, outdoors).
*nods* As long as the who is right, the rest falls into place nicely. đ As far as outdoors…don’t guess y’all have fire ants in New Zealand?
Last thing you want chomping on your fun bits…
LOL I’m in Oz, not NZ, and no, I wouldn’t do it outdoors here for the same reason, unless a nice thick blanket was included in the deal. Even then, flies, mozzies, possibly spider, ordinary ants … hmm, the prospect becomes less enticing every minute! đ
This is all stuff happening across the veil, so in our big garden there, or nice secluded bits of countryside (secluded except for our Furrinati mob if we happen to be at the beach). Given the geography where Mr K lives is vaguely French, Downunder’s monster insects aren’t a problem.
If I were getting up to something outside, I’d be less worried about bugs than about rocks or twigs, though I suppose you could sweep those away pretty easily.
(If I’m sounding dumb, I’ve been busy all day and my melatonin is kicking in…)
Lee, not dumb at all, that’s another reason outdoors right here doesn’t much appeal.
Though if one could get the Botanical Gardens all to oneself (or twoself, in this case) for the day …
Ah, good. I tend to ramble when I’m bored, so it’s good that I’m staying at least a bit coherent. đ
On the outdoors, all I can say is not the beach. I spent the whole time expecting to be sanded internally.
Lee, that weren’t no ramble! đ
Especially not directly on the beach.
Just sitting on the beach runs the risk of getting sand up my shorts; I’m not sure I’d want to know what sex would be be like đŽ
I don’t even set foot on the beach, earthside – closest I get to that is walking alongside it in cool weather. Sand in the shoes is more than I want to put up with, never mind sand anywhere else, and the beach is the second last place to be in hot weather (first is public transport with inadequate aircon).
This is my favourite sort of across-the-veil beach time. (SFW)
I see what you did with those white shirts there! White tops always look so good with blue jeans.
I’ve always wanted to try sex in the snow…lol As it is, I’ve only had sex outdoors once, at sometime after 3am in a park, er, last month, and of course someone walked by. OF COURSE.
I found an apropos subreddit:
http://www.reddit.com/r/badwomensanatomy
Yeah, I think it’s pretty much tradition at this point. A lot of what’s *expected* in romance novel sex is, shall we say, unlikely in real life. And yet, I’m kind of weirded out and disappointed when the expected tropes aren’t in the book.
Speaking of inadequate sex education, there was a conversation on Dear Author on Friday in which a number of women said they hadn’t known about keeping track of your cycle, to figure out when you’re ovulating. And some of their doctors, whom they were seeing specifically because they were trying to conceive, didn’t tell them. WTH?
This conversation (in comments) http://dearauthor.com/features/industry-news/friday-news-critiquing-anita-sarkeesians-critics-the-new-waterproof-kobo-reader-pregnancy-app-glow-and-new-book-on-3-top-newswomen/
Triggered by this article http://gizmodo.com/how-an-app-helped-me-and-20-000-other-women-get-pregn-1624674712
Lordy, @wordsp1nner, those link headings! XD
Especially the one about one’s vagina going below the hem of one’s skirt. That makes wearing full-length skirts sound positively dangerous.
@pallygirl, even better, the tops in the original picnic stock photo I pinched for this were white – yay minimal photoshopping required. đ
@Alex, Mr K and I have tried that once or twice. It’s … interesting. But how unfair is it that someone has to bowl past at 3am! D:
I just caught up with this phrase:
“Shit, where’d I leave the damn thing this time?”
LMAO!
I think my hymen was misplaced. There’s no way it was supposed to block off my vagina like that.
Thank you, thank you, I’ll be here all week.
blahlistic – Well, I’d argue that doesn’t register with me as oral really, when it’s a part of a combination. đ Still, I’m not a fan, and it doesn’t mainly have to do with the physical sensations.
Bina – I suspect that kind of reaction is fairly common for girls/women afterwards (a least straight ones?), even if it’s not talked about much. I was lucky in the sense that where I’m from the attitude towards sex is pretty relaxed so there wasn’t any connections to sin or shame or anything. I’m kind of curious as to how that might’ve factored into my feelings about it all.
@Wordspinner: But if it’s really outside the body (okay, I confess that I had no idea about that either), and yet tons of women don’t know this, doesn’t that just stress how loads of women apparently don’t have much of a hymen to begin with? Because if all virgins had a big thick ol’ hymen that had to be broken during penetration, surely they would have noticed where it is? And yet, apparently lots and lots of women thinks it’s something inside the body.
Btw, like the sex speed bump theory. You have all kinds of muscle tissue going all the way up in there, so maybe some muscles could, idk, cramp up a bit if you’re super nervous.
Adding: My comment above about horse-riding and hymens was made under the assumption that it’s inside the vagina. BUT I still think it’s unlikely, probably not impossible but unlikely, that horse-riding would tear up something in/at your vulva. Okay, with people who aren’t used to horse-riding there’s a fair lot of bouncing, but you bounce up and down on your arse, not on your vulva. If you were to sit leaning forward so that the impacts hit your vulva, that would certainly be very painful and uncomfortable and your horse-riding teacher would correct you right away.
I feel much more vulnerable during oral sex than I do during intercourse so it requires a great deal more trust than intercourse does for me.
That anxiety about my genitals made it hard for me to enjoy receiving oral sex. Not knowing my body well and having fairly useless partners contributed to it. I hear scads of women all the time claim they dislike receiving oral sex, way more than there are men claiming they don’t like getting blowjobs, and while I’m sure some of them just don’t enjoy receiving oral sex for whatever reason I think a lot of them can’t get over the psychological barriers and/or have never had good partners.
Sounds similar to vaginismus, doesn’t it?
I always assumed the hymen was meant to be around the entrance, first thing on the inside. Wikipedia says it’s part of the vulva, which would explain why the stretched/broken by exercise thing gets mentioned, I guess.
Trivia! Hysteria was called womb-fury in the 16th century.
I kinda like that. Sounds fierce. I know that’s not how they meant it – they thought it was a potentially fatal condition! – but it sounds RARRRRRR ferocious.