Sex. Of course we'd start off with sex. It's on everyone's mind these days. If you're having it, if you're not having it, when you'll have it next, and that always awkward how you can avoid having it with that guy you've been out with twice now... Without riding on the coattails of every social commentator out there, sex actually is everywhere. And why not? It's just so... FUN.
Sex has become perhaps the only one of 4 measures of compatibility that can, in one fumbling episode, trump the remaining 3. Social connection? Woo! Emotional connection? Aw. Spiritual connection? Amen. But lacking that physical connection? No, I don't want brunch - get out of my bed. And maybe it takes more than one time to test the waters. Maybe a little less wine, maybe a little more stretching beforehand to really get into the 'motion of the ocean' [cringe]. (Maybe a Gravol?) Besides, it's true that it's not the size of the [insert naval penile euphemism here] that matters. Only women with no emotional depth need, uh, girth.
So what is it, then, that fires off those synapses? That makes one neuron say to the other: 'Holler!'? Drum roll please...
Balls. Actual testicles. No, seriously - a man. And we don't mean of the ass-hat variety, although going through our recent trysts, you'd never guess... We mean the confidence to be a man and take control. Check it: we love to fuck (men, not each other... Hey now). We do it often, and with vigor. Sure, we're still delicate flowers, but if one more guy asks 'Is this ok?', so help us... Yes, we are confident. Yes, we know what we want, and we know what we like, and we know what we need. And don't worry, we'll tell you. We'll point this toe and raise that knee and ruin a clean set of sheets. And in our professional, spiritual, emotional, and social lives, we've got it all covered! We take care of business, of ourselves; we're successful; independent; if we want something, we go out and get it. We make every attempt to crash through that glass ceiling with a smile and a great push-up bra. But sometimes, sometimes we just want to be taken care of. Sometimes we want to feel, well, like women.
(I must pause here to exclaim that we are feminists of the truest sort. We, all of us, advocate for equality, choice, and the evolution of women's rights. We respect and love other women, and we respect and love men. Each of us has been lucky enough to enjoy at least one long-term relationship, and while we may not be desperate to get back into another one, we're all enjoying our current varied states. Some of us are in relationships, some of us are in love; for others 'it's complicated!' The point here is that just because the role of women in society is shifting, that doesn't mean that we want to fill the role of men, that we don't still want to be women. In fact...)
In this month's Atlantic there was an interesting article titled "The End of Men: How Women are Taking Control - of Everything." In all the tired analogies depicting women driving 425HP+ cars glossing their lips in the rear-view [how did they get into my car without me noticing?!], men were portrayed whimpering in the dust. Women, for all our past struggles, have necessarily developed support networks and niches in society since before our suffragist foremothers. Groups that have either been created organically, or displaced men in that role. There has been an interchange between men and women; whereas men once brought home the bacon to their apron-clad wives, now more and more men are ceding the bread-winning to their partners, are taking paternity leave, are in the very least collaborating on the important decision-making of the household. Even in areas of our own lives that were once filled by men, we have taken matters into our own hands. Like sex. Sex for procreation is no longer imperative thanks to in-vitro; sex for pleasure has long been in solitude. But what we can't recreate with a battery-powered oscillator is the rest of the, er, package - a man. Although surely some biometric lab is out there somewhere perfecting a prototype, we want a man who will fix the dishwasher (because Lord knows we're too damn busy to wash dishes by hand); a man who will kill spiders, rest their hand on the smalls of our backs, and at the same time that they recognize our vulnerability (and yes, it's there! Just don't tell anyone...), make us feel safe.
And of course, in order to make a man feel like a man, we, as women, need to let him! Sure, we'll make supper when we can. We'll clean house, ask him how his day was with sincerity, let him hold the remote. We might bear his children. We'll love him and honor him, protect his feelings and support him to the best of our abilities. And in daily banter: Can you change my oil, sweetheart? Would you mind opening this jar for me, babe? Could you hang this closet door, honey? While it's possible (nay, probable) that we could do those things ourselves, frankly it doesn't behoove us to fully negate the rubric: 'the fairer sex.' Especially when it comes to when we most desire a man: sex.
So, guys: man up to hot, sweaty, raw, and maybe a little bit dirty sex.
We'll still continue to climb corporate ladders. We'll actually write blogs about enjoying sex. We'll take the reins from 9-5, but afterhours we still need a man.
Just one that can change our flat tire, and then sit in the passenger seat while we floor it and apply fresh lipgloss.
