Archive for the ‘Sex’ Category

…and why it’s never fair or equal. She pays her price. He pays his.

Live Dolls aren’t just 125 pounds of rubber.

They’re 5 feet 6 inches of perfectly proportioned rubber.

If they were 4’8” at this weight, they would be fat. But they’re not fat, which is one reason you can expect to pay seven thousand dollars for a typical blonde.

And when the body starts to crack, you can just order another one. Many people like to keep the same head, particularly if they like her personality.

 

“They sent me a snake! I assure you! Do not be fooled by appearances!”

PLEASE NOTE: Within the past few days my blogging has been stymied due to certain unforeseen events. This has led to psychiatric reactions that should be within my control, but still aren’t, which is why remain in therapy. Posting will resume tomorrow — after my electro-convulsive therapy and Haldol injections.

UPDATE: It’s the next day and I have decided, instead, to give my cats the Haldol and skip the ECT altogether.

So Anton and I chat…

AZ:

They sent me a snake!

J:

Anton, please calm down. What exactly happened?

AZ:

The thing came to me in the night, like something that hunts in the cover of darkness. Oh, yes, beautiful. But, beware my friend, beware. This is no ordinary creature. Not at all. No sir. Not ordinary in the least.

J:

What could possibly be so horrible about a beautiful married woman they sent you? I mean they didn’t even send a hooker, for Christ sake! You paid a basic membership fee!

AZ:

Ah ha! You immediately called it woman. How do you know what it was? How can you be sure?

J:

The website targets married people who want to have affairs. They don’t do anything other than provide the website. The rest is up to you. They had nothing to do with your hook-up.

AZ:

What is ‘hook-up?” You think for a minute I would waste my vast array of skills on foolishness? This is the ploy they use, but it is useless with me, you see.

J:

Anton, they didn’t do anything. You did. You obviously contacted some desperate married woman, sent her a fake photograph and lured her out here into the desert. My guess is that you intended to inject her  and she ran, but probably the moment she met you. Is this the photo you used?

[jpeg of 22-year old college athlete sits on his desktop next to his schematic of The Atomic Table of Elements.]

AZ:

Do not dare to insult me, I warn you! The snake came at me like a wild animals and attempted to strike!

J:

You lied to her, and then attempted to assault her with your completely illegal experiments! The last woman is still on morphine!

Did you try to stick her?

AZ:

I don’t use such crude terminology. I will not even acknowledge it!

J:

I had to bail you out of jail for sticking that hooker with python cells, which almost killed her, by the way. And if the authorities could find you, you’d be behind bars for the rest of your life.

AZ:

I have already expressed to you my feelings about these feeble beings. I have no interest in them.

J:

Well they have a great deal of interest in you.

AZ:

The woman should be proud of her sacrifice. Enough about this! Let us move on.

J:

Let’s talk about Ashleymadison.com. You have demanded a refund on your initiation fee, but you paid with a stolen credit card and used a phony mailing address.

AZ:

I called a hooker from there. A true thing of interest, I assure you. I told her to come here right away to pursue matters of mutual interest.

J:

Who’s mutual interest? She though she was coming out here to meet a handsome young athlete for sex.

AZ:

How dare you! Be careful, I warn you. I know what you are saying!

J:

Where’s the black eye come from? The woman probably punched you and then ran for her life.

AZ:

I am completely and finished with this discussion in its current form. I will have absolutely no more of it.

J:

Why would you contact a service like Ashley Madison in the first place?

AZ:

I found myself somewhat fascinated. That is all.

J:

Anton, were you trying to get laid?

AZ:

Don’t dare say that! I am warning you for the last time!

J:

You were trying to connect with a woman in a sexual way, weren’t you?

AZ:

Stop that! My research comes first and foremost! Why I must repeat this time after time is unbelievable to me.

J:

I dunno…23, flawless ass, sexy, unfulfilled…it just kind of begs the question.

AZ:

Believe what you will! The fact that I remain quite virile, I assure you, and astounding to many women, is of no significance here.

J:

Anton, women like guys with money no matter how good looking they are, or aren’t…just to put things in proper context.

This would include women from AshleyMadison.com who aren’t looking as much for affairs  – which they can find at any neighborhood grocery store – as much as they are looking for better living arrangements.

All this leads me to question your real motives. Is this about research or is it a desire to connect?

AZ:

I have no idea what you are saying. Our conversation is at an end, I am afraid.

J:

It’s funny how the things we don’t say are the very things that define who we are.

AZ:

OUT!!!

[To be continued…]

“Sex alleviates tension. Love causes it.” Woody Allen

When someone comes into a person’s life – either personally, professionally, or peripherally – a lot of people come with them. You don’t see these people, however, because they’re just a little piece of the person sitting in front of you. The same person who goes by one name, but often deserves at least six.

Apply where necessary.

I’ll just leave it at that.

Some people are wired for monogamy.

They’re comfortable being content, rather than excited. Pushing the endorphins through the roof isn’t what keeps them out of mental hospitals. It never did. They don’t need the fire, the unpredictability or the chaos of life out on the perimeter.

They just pass the time and eventually the baton to their kids, ignoring the crows lining the power lines as they wander outside alone to stare at the stars and wonder what happened to the person they used to know: The one who still uses their name, social security number and physical mailing address.

This is where Xanax comes in handy, or the hooker housewife from AshleyMadison.com.

But these are the unmentionables. Even thinking about such things in the presence of crows is exactly why they’re sitting up there in the first place.

With this in mind, I actually do know people who accept married life for what it is. And most of them have never heard of ashleymadison.com, nor would they care. Their libido’s beat to a different drummer; someone who’s on vacation a lot.

It’s like they’re from some far away place back in history.

I see bookshelves filled with names like James Patterson, Tom Clancy and Sue Grafton. As an added bonus, one might also find a copy of Moby Dick and the poetry of Henry David Thoreau.

But you’d be hard-pressed to locate a DSM-IV, Nietzsche Anthology, or anything by Woody Allen, for obvious reasons.

I feel a little lost in their presence. Disconnected. Like I’m peering into another galaxy where the physics is different. Time seems like an endless flow of overlapping circles, rather than hard angles all pointing in different directions.

So I’m an outsider, a perceived threat; like a virus that’s looking for a way in. I’m dangerous because I mention the unmentionables. Think the unthinkable. Step outside the boundaries of what maintains this alliance.

Just imagine ragged concrete against the delicate surface of a water balloon, if that helps.

[unconscious dialog]

What exactly does he want here? I can’t predict his comments. He has to be contained because he hasn’t signed on to this world. He’s not one of us. And whatever loose pieces reside within us, he’ll exploit. Ours is a world of serenity, through which we see the rest of life; the one we want to see because we have to see if this is to continue.

I’ve always found it interesting how married people like this interact with me. I like to play, who’s the psychotic? Because they are so interconnected, so intertwined and so emotionally indistinguishable that I feel as though I’m embroiled in some weird, low level warfare with one – rather than two – creatures who carefully scrutinizes my behavior before deciding whether or not to change the locks.

Zegoyavich at 63.

Zegoyavich: [speaking to me]

“Fools!”

“I have explained myself clearly enough. I am not interested in suspending my pursuits over some inconsequential legal or moral construct. Humanity rests in the balance of my work. Why everyone isn’t on their knees shocks me.”

Jay:

“Anton, from what I understand…”

Zegoyavich:

[cutting me off]

“You understand nothing, I can assure you! What they say is preposterous in its ignorance!”

Jay:

They claim you stole someone’s snake and then used its stem cells in a live human being against her will.”

Zegoyavich:

Be careful! I am not myself these days! My work is of a colossal nature, and completely alien to most. They are invisible to me! They attached metal devices to my wrists, kidnapped me, and then took me away to some horrific dwelling filled with animals!”

Jay:

“You mean they handcuffed you, placed you in the back of a police car, and then took you to jail?”

Zegoyavich:

“Even as they stand on the very edge of apocalypse I was chained like some base thing. I could spit! And your casual assessment of my misfortune is not lost on me, I assure you!”

Jay:

“Anton, you stole someone’s pet Python, killed and dissected it, extracted its stem cells, and then injected them into a woman you kidnapped from a nightclub in Las Vegas. That would constitute several felonies in a row…”

Zegoyavich:

“Stop that! I am becoming wild! I have no interest in trivialities! You and I speak from time to time because I perceive you to be somehow enlightened, perhaps a messenger from myself to the world. But today you sound foolish. They are affecting you. Beware!”

Jay:

“I am simply stating the facts…and bailing you out of jail for the 7th time, by the way.”

Zegoyavich:

“That tone doesn’t strike me correctly. Please identify your intensions!”

Jay:

“Anton…

Zegoyavich: [cutting me off, again]

“Stop with that ‘Anton!’ It is to be henceforth, Dr. Zegoyavich. I am not at all pleased at the moment!”

Jay:

“Dr. Zegoyavich, I have been your friend for a long time and have always believed in your work. I’m not here to judge or criticize you. I simply want to hear your version of what happened so that I can explain it to the authorities. They say you’re a deranged psychopath, and therefore, whatever you say is at best, unreliable.”

Zegoyavich:

“Who are these authorities in their amusing uniforms with metal trinkets in the shapes of make-believe stars? They are nothing but errant spores on an evolutionary thoroughfare. And not well adapted ones, I might add.”

Jay:

“Thank God the woman survived or you wouldn’t be leaving this place at all…probably never.”

Zegoyavich:

“Listen carefully to me. The woman was a necessary step in my process. She had no idea what a tremendous contribution she has made. I made her as comfortable as possible.”

Jay:

“You drugged her! And if given the choice, she would have had you arrested on the spot! She’s still in ICU on a morphine drip…not to mention the hallucinations.”

[as he continues to stare into space, apparently ignoring me, I persist…]

“Dr. Zegoyavich, the authorities don’t see things the way you do. And your work isn’t sanctioned by any medical body on the planet.”

Zegoyavich:

“Curious, this term, ‘authorities.’ What makes these people have such titles? Authorities over what? They are nothing to me. I laugh at these titles.”

Jay:

“You may laugh, but they’re deadly serious. Did you at least learn something from the experiment?”

Zegoyavich:

“In my travels and observations, I have noted certain similarities between human females and snakes of the constrictor family. There is a certain resonant psychology on a primal level that is easy to miss by the untrained eye…”

Jay:

“So I’m guessing you injected the python cells into the woman to see if her body would recognize the cells?”

Zegoyavich:

“Naturally. Have you seen the American movie, Frankenstein? The scientist in charge experienced a similar fate at the hands of people not unlike the authorities of today. They descended upon him with flames and knives and destroyed his home.”

Jay:

“Frankenstein is a work of fiction.”

Zegoyavich:

“I have seen it with my own eyes. How dare you tell me the beast didn’t exist!!!”

[end]

Note: People believe what they want to believe, even in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary, like alcoholics and narcissists. Having said this, the attending physicians at the hospital report that the woman is coiled up in a corner of the ICU with her eyes wide open, while Anton Zegoyavich is, once again, on the lamb; presumably in route to his laboratory somewhere in the New Mexico desert.

[to be continued…]

In therapy you pay a trained Psychologist or M.D. to help alleviate psychological problems.

In yoga, you side-step the human condition altogether by tapping into the energy of the universe.

I dunno. It kind of sells itself…

Yoga is feminism’s answer to patriarchy.

If you disagree with me on this, you’re wrong. Not wrong because you have an opposing view, but wrong because your position on the issue is wrong. There’s a difference.

This is one reason so many drop-dead gorgeous women are packing yoga classes from coast to coast…and why certain male yoga instructors, including the revered yogi master – often from places like Cleveland – have improbable liaisons with women half their age and twice their I.Q.

There’s an angle for everything.

These guys offer an “enlightened” alternative to the baboons most women encounter in bars and nightclubs.

The popularity of yoga is really just a reaction to a food chain that appraises women at 35 the same way it did when they were 17.

Of course, at 17 they didn’t have a problem with it because there wasn’t much to criticize.

So it’s a kind of sanctuary for the disaffected.

In therapy you pay a trained Psychologist or M.D. to help alleviate psychological problems.

In yoga, you side-step the human condition altogether by joining forces with the universe; something that isn’t taught in medical school for some reason.

Yoga culture empowers women to express their sexuality under the pretext of spiritual awakening. They use the term, “awakening,” a lot because it sounds better than “fucking” in the context of higher human consciousness.

It’s also a way to buffer oneself from what is perceived to be constant, low-level patriarchal abuse.

Think packs of enlightened, confident, tuned in, empowered, intelligent and aware women with attitude and you get the sense that you’re in the middle of a war zone.

Yoga studios are places where women can express resentment without actually articulating it. These studios are often like psychological boot camps not unlike what one sees in groups like al-Qaida.

When a woman tells a man that she’s involved in “yoga,” the following message is conveyed:

“I’m enlightened, so don’t even think about fucking with me. I’m sexually open because that’s my right, but I only sleep with men who are on board with my message. I am smart, evolved, alert. I know all about shit you can’t even imagine. Fuck off if you dare walk in this class and stare at my ass just because I happen to be wearing paper-thin Lycra from Lululemon. I’m here to escape men like you. I’m here to escape judgment, superficiality, patriarchy. Of course, I do appreciate the attention, which I’ll deny under oath.”

The men who do join these classes accept the fact that they are perceived as emasculated members of an otherwise primitive gender afforded a second chance because of their efforts at maintaining cognition in the midst of what appears to be an all-out orgy.

With this in mind, I’m not sure which gender is the best adapted.

The irony about Tom Ford is that no matter how much his ads objectify women, or how heavy-handed this persona of heterosexual misogyny, self-proclaimed feminists still line up around the block to get his autograph.

Another.

and another…

Young women don’t identify with who they are as much as identify with who they resemble in pop culture.

Bob Reitemeier is chief executive of The Children’s Society in the U.K., which recently reported on a two-year study into childhood.

‘What really worries me are the increasing levels of anxiety among children, especially young girls, who feel they are not thin enough, not beautiful enough, and compare themselves to the impossible images of their air-brushed idols in magazines.’

As a former professional photographer, I can assure you that there is more time spent in Photoshop than there is shooting a model. In fact, if you were to compare an un-retouched magazine cover with one that’s been “shopped,” it becomes obvious why the standards of perfection are beyond any woman’s ability to achieve them.

What this means is that reality is becoming surrealism, which of course, eventually makes it impossible for women to distinguish one from the other — precisely the point.

Cosmetics companies sell age-enhancing products to middle age women using models as young as 12 [who are also retouched using the same software…because even they aren’t perfect enough].

There is no longer perception versus reality.

Perception won.

Now it’s reality.

This has been a tremendous contribution to the psychiatric community, but the irony is that while validation [for reasons other than appearance] may sound great, the concept never sticks which is why there’s so much repeat business.

What we end up with is women concurrently underwriting both Revlon and the mental health industry.

Anorexia has an 85% mortality rate, but not before 95% of whatever funds are left go to cosmetics.

All this is insanity is built on the notion that men can only see with their eyes, which the media has a strange way of manipulating in their favor.

Women also see with their eyes, but “seeing” falls under the category of psychology which is why it’s so easy to pervert.

The children’s organization, TellUs3, questioned 150,000 children and found that an astonishing 26 per cent of ten-year-old girls are obsessed with their weight and feel they’re not thin enough. In light of this, is it not surprising that more and more girls under the age of ten are being diagnosed with anorexia?

Reitemeier says ‘Childhood is changing so much. We are allowing them to access information, which is way beyond their level of maturity, in terms of sexual and relationship behavior. Children are being inundated with images which they are simply not emotionally mature enough to cope with.’

His fears are supported by recent statistics, which show that fewer than 20 per cent of children play outside on a regular basis. By “play outside” the studies are referring to things like walking, riding a bicycle or standing around on something like earth.

Both parents are also working longer hours, and have less time to spend with their children. This available time is further limited by the time they spend in yoga and therapy. So it’s obviously easier just dump them in front of a television or computer.

‘The key to a happy, secure childhood – which is vitally important in creating stable and responsible adults – is to feel good about yourself and know who you are,‘ says Reitemeier.

‘If you’re constantly measuring yourself against an impossible image and being made to desire emotions for which you are simply not ready, then I am very concerned about the level of anxiety and depression these young people may face. It is a ticking time bomb for the future.’

One particularly disturbing figure is that 16% of girls in the UK now start puberty at eight – the youngest age ever recorded.

The EU is so concerned that a team of clinical experts is investigating why the onset of puberty is happening to younger and younger girls…like 8 year olds.

Could this once and for all settle the mind-body link?

Anyway, women seem to be on both sides of this issue. They value beauty because men value beauty. And no matter how much they resent it, they’re more willing than ever to make it a priority, even over children – and as mentioned earlier – food.

Women who are unable to do anything about deficiencies in appearance tend to go to law school and emulate people like Judge Sotomayor, who’s gender remains a mystery to most men in spite of her many accomplishments.

GOD HELP ME!!!!!

No offense here, but are you kidding me? Talk about grand-standing on the part of the PC police!

What couple in any major American city looks like this?

No wonder the guy needs Cialis! The woman looks like she’s old enough to be his grandmother!

Does anyone actually believe that urban couples look like this?

In who’s nightmare?

By all means take the Cialis, but at least use it on someone who comes across as someone other than Aunt Matilda. I mean I’m sure she’s really nice and everything…and probably makes great cupcakes! but don’t even think about going there with the sex thing.

In reality she probably hasn’t had sex in 25 years, back when she was in her 40’s. This is just plain wrong. It’s an embarrassment to she and other nice older ladies like her.

You have to know the guy’s really dating someone half his age. Hell I could even see him with some hot 40-year- old, but don’t try to foist this ridiculous bullshit on me. Remember, men see with their eyes.

Madison Avenue is always trying to shift the paradigms in order to do what they think is right. By “right” I mean sell. But they’ve totally missed the mark on this one.  This is NOT what their demographic looks like.

First of all, these drugs are very expensive, which means that people willing to fork over hundreds of dollars per script are not going to be struggling auto workers in the middle of a recession. They’re going to be guys with larger incomes and income-producing investment portfolios.

The individual who wrote this ad will probably never get laid as long as they live.

With this in mind, please note a more accurate rendition of the truth in the below image.

Imagine…as the camera pans across a crashing surf, a voice-over would say something like this:

Cialis is for men healthy enough for sexual activity with hot young women, which would include everybody not on life support. Cialis is not an aphrodisiac, so make damn sure the woman in your company doesn’t look like your mother, no matter how good your mother looks at 73.

[Scene closes with a massive wave crashing on the beach as the man carries his beautiful young lover into some wooded area].

Look, I’m simply standing up for truth in advertising, and the couple in the first photograph is about as far from truth as one gets.

While I can certainly see the woman in the company of a man in his 70’s, the rest is just an affront to me and every other middle-age urban guy who is now convinced Madison Avenue is run by spinsters hell-bent on revenge.

“Do you really have to be the ice queen intellectual or the slut whore? Isn’t there some way to be both?” Susan Sarandon

Definition of “smart slut:” A fantasy that taunts men with the determination of a poltergeist, and usually requires intervention in the form of a catholic priest and several canisters of nerve agent.

In the flesh, women who carry this badge craft their seduction in ways that empowers men to ravish them at will…not because they need the affirmation…but because they need the fix.

They’re driven by sexual impulse, rather than emotion. Their fantasies are vivid, rather than sensual and vague. Sex is a physical urge that drives them deeper and deeper into the dopamine mines, where they linger like junkies at the front doors of methadone clinics.

To many, this is textbook sex addiction.

But not to men, if only because conceding the point would represent a carte blanche indictment against their entire gender.

In contemporary literature, “Slut,” is loosely defined as “a woman who has the courage to lead life according to the radical proposition that sex is nice and pleasure is good for you.”

A stripper understands this proposition all too well, but she can only broach the subject in private, because there isn’t much she can do about the fact that her biological father was a werewolf.

So for our purposes here, the “smart slut” is an otherwise cultured, articulate and open-minded woman with sexual predilections she reserves for men who share her pathology.

Men won’t openly admit any of this, either, so don’t bother asking them. They just go on with their married lives as though Madonna and Whore were the same person, even when she’s two or three different people entirely, including social security numbers and birth certificates. Not that you could actually put your hands on them…

No. It’s not ass-backwards. It is what psychiatrists generally insist upon. It is what most textbooks suggest. And prevailing wisdom seems to be that waiting is better than not.

But who’s foisting this crap?

Men are opportunistic. And this includes their relationships. If they happen to sleep with a woman within the first hour of meeting her, and there’s a genuine connection, he’s not going anywhere.

Definition of “connection” [from the perspective of a man]: “a woman he still loves to look at after he orgasms, and then wants to take out in public in spite of the fact that it’s 2 o’clock in the morning.”

Men want to know what sex will be like before they invest a lot of time and money in someone. They’re practical in this regard. They want to know, for example, if their bodies fit well together? How passionate they are as a couple, not as individuals? How open-minded she is in spite of the fact that she’s Catholic? Does she release the thing inside of him that he doesn’t want to talk about but needs in order to get the fix I mentioned? If the answers are yes, he will not only call her back, but he’ll also do everything else she wants him to do and more, including cuddle with her after intercourse…even if it does mean doing so with CSI Miami running in the background.

Anyway, there’s a limited window of opportunity here.

So men won’t wait indefinitely for the sex, mostly because they can’t. They just can’t. They’ll burn out before they get started if this window exceeds their thresholds. And don’t suggest that he has intimacy issues or that he isn’t good for the long haul, because you don’t even know that about yourself.

The last thing a woman needs is for him to start treating her like a coworker, instead of the lover he’s supposed to be. The guy will eventually walk out using some emotional issue as a pretense. The flame died. That’s what happened. The glue never solidified because it was never released in the first place. You have to light the god-damned fire first and then jump off the cliff. If you don’t, he’s out the door before you ever know what you had.

Men are not interested in being your friend. They are interested in being your lover, then your friend…but with exceptions. If you become too chummy, he’ll stop thinking of you as a girlfriend. One manifestation of this is that he’ll stop staring at your ass, not because you don’t have a nice ass, but because it now reminds him of his sister and he doesn’t want to sleep with her no matter what she looks like. Believe me when I tell you, you do not want your man to fall into this vortex, because getting him out of it can be a perilous undertaking.

Remember, men are quite simple. They want to be fucked, fed and respected. They also have a pathological aversion to being hassled, by the way. So if you can get past this you have a shot at a sustainable relationship. Understand that, eventually, men become just as vulnerable [if not more so], so be patient.

I realize this answer isn’t elaborate, or in some minds, sufficient. But men are very simple, and generally ruled by primitive instincts that are too complicated to fathom in spite of their simplicity.

This isn’t a cop out. It’s the truth, even if it is a cop out.

Men are basically little boys who require nurturing they don’t get anywhere else. So in this sense they need a mother who doesn’t remind them of one.

They like to objectify the women they’re with. This keeps her a safe distance from the incest thing. She’s just an object and then a girlfriend, and not the other way around. He may not admit this, but it’s true.

In a sense they’re fulfilling a primitive role. Women cannot withhold this instinct from them for more than a short period of time or they’ll risk becoming something other than what they want to be.

There are two different paths to the same objective. Women want the emotional connection but they have to be willing to allow a man to get there in his own way. The fact that she’s afraid that he’ll leave her after he’s slept with her is a chance she must take. It’s the way of things. The longer she withholds, the less interested he becomes. Men like the idea of communicating with a woman on an intellectual level, but crossing the line into the realm of friendship can have an adverse effect on the stability of the template that he needs in order to build a healthy relationship. If he doesn’t feel like the man from the start, she can’t construct that person down the line.

Some women empower men to be men. Others stifle it by trying to control them. Some women make better lovers than friends. Sometimes it’s the other way around. Therapists are always trying to get their patients to merge Madonna and Whore into one super-being, but I’m not sure it’s possible. If women understood this they would allow men unfettered access and then counterattack when they’re more vulnerable.

You didn’t hear this from me, by the way.

So if you want to win, you have to allow a man to objectify you. It would be preferable if you appreciated his perception of things, because eventually you’ll get busted for your obfuscation. So be on board with who he is and don’t even think about being passive-aggressive with him when he misbehaves. This who he is, and if you don’t like it, find a girlfriend and a dog.

Okay, so first he’s in love with your ass or your legs or the way you smile at him. This is where it all begins for a man, in some rainforest without boundaries. You’re just the other animal in a mating dance. You’re shadow-boxing in the dark. Feeling one another out. Not intellectualizing. Feeling. Groping in most cases. But it’s about the emotional, the sensual and the primal. This is life on the loose. Where two people blindly walk through the door for the dopamine mines that transform what they once were into something entirely different. What happens next is anyone’s guess, but that isn’t the point. The point is to get through the fucking door.

See, when you sleep with a man he wants to believe you’re doing it because you can’t not do it. Of course, some men also like hookers who do what they’re told, knowing that they couldn’t care less, but this essay isn’t about sociopaths or teenagers.

It’s about men like myself who want some connection to a woman beyond penetration. So let me repeat: The woman must first embrace his primitive instincts, and then accept the fact that he is not a woman, not her best friend [the way her girlfriends are best friends], and not interested in comingling vulnerability with what happens in the bedroom, unless it involves some form of bondage wherein he’s just as disconnected.

In summation, Whore and Madonna are two separate beings. If they do happen to merge, his concept of Madonna better look a hell of a lot more like the one that makes records than the archetype.