Sometimes it surprises me that I have been married as long as I have – it will be ten years this summer since I acquired this last husband and so far it seems to be sticking. I was briefly married before, in my very early youth, to a simple and kind musician who could just about cope with me aged eighteen, but by my early twenties I had completely worn him out with complex emotional drama and he had utterly bored the crap out of me. I spent the next few years having *cough* interludes with all sorts of men, some of whom I’m still friends with today and some of whom were never seen again after I summoned a taxi and sent them home, puzzled and a little hurt into the middle of the dark, London night. Not all of them were charming, of course (see aforementioned taxis) – almost every modern woman has a list of at least one shag-she’d-prefer-to-forget, but I can’t recall ever being made to feel inadequate because my lady parts were not the right size, shape or level of grooming required for the modern dating world.
I’m told this has changed.
I was having a lovely lunch with a friend who is currently single the other day, and we were talking about what it’s like to meet men once one is past the first (or even second flush) of youth, and I told her I felt really optimistic on her behalf, as I had met three or four attractive single men in our age bracket in just the past few weeks and all seemed to be looking for a partner. Surely this was a good sign! The nice ones weren’t all gone! I would have set her up with one of them but she lives in another town so I suggested online dating, which I don’t have much direct experience of myself, but have heard good things about from others.
My friend gave me a dark look. Did I know what was expected these days?
Of course I don’t really, but I felt that I’d notched up so much experience in the decade prior to my
capture marriage that surely that counted for something?
Apparently, it did not. I forsook all others prior to the global mainstream acceptance of internet porn and as such, I was officially old school in the expectations of casual sex department. It had all gone horribly pear shaped (A bit like me, really).
If one is returning to the field of dating from a long absence, and especially if one fancies a roll in the hay with someone under the age of 30 (and who could resist?) , then it’s time to bid farewell to every filament of body hair save your eyebrows because we’re all supposed to have the pudenda of an eight year old. The landing strip, even if you denude your undercarriage, is apparently unacceptable. One lady we know with a trim as described, when she bravely stripped off for a romp with a bloke who had been, ahem, visibly game, commented that her nether ‘do was
which as any fule kno is the same as OLD. She reported that he actually wilted at the sight of a few pubes. I’m not sure he was old enough to be having sex, you know. Or maybe he only wanted to have sex with someone else who wasn’t old enough?
Apart from the CREEPY KIDDY factor – are our vajayjays supposed to look like our toddlers’ ? Should men be comparing women to children when they’re getting off (where will that end? Newborns?) – it’s depressing to think that here is yet another industry that has been created to deprive women of their money and their dignity, all in the name of being merely acceptable because we are just disgusting in our natural state.
Yes, that’s right. Your pussy is disgusting. It smells, it’s hairy, it bleeds, it’s embarrassing and it unforgivably widens to allow new life to pass into the world and it might not go back to be small enough for a giant ego’s inadequate little penis to hide in. (You also need to remember that your entire reason for being alive is to entice someone to want to shag you, and then ask you to make him a sandwich and do his laundry, and you can only achieve this if you have a tiny, hairless vulva with a very small aperture. You can probably cut one off a Barbie doll and nobody will notice the difference, plus it won’t smell like a human being, so that is a plus!)
Next on the list of alarming dating tales, was the expectation of athletic porno sex complete with money shot and running commentary for an invisible audience. This had happened a few times to people we both know, and while it’s actually quite hilarious to think of some poor bloke cluelessly pumping away, shouting
“Come for me, baby!”
while the woman is thinking
“At which point shall I tell him about the magical button, the clitoris?” / ”Does he know ’Deep Throat’ was not a documentary? ” / ”Are we done yet? My head is about to snap off!” / “Toilet paper, eggs, milk, nail polish remover… Ouch! I bet this is going to give me cystitis..”
It isn’t actually that funny if it’s you on the receiving end.
I decided to ask some of the single men I know (admittedly all over 25) what they thought of dating and sex in the age of pornography. Almost all of them said that they were looking for an emotional connection with a woman, that they wanted a relationship, were through with the casual sex that they had when they were younger, and felt that this was something they had grown out of and could no longer indulge in – it felt shallow and disrespectful to themselves as well as the other person. They also said that within sexual relationships it was more important to them to connect with their partner and make sure they felt like the other person was having a good time, felt close to them and intimacy was a chief motivating factor for having sex at this point in their lives. They were looking for cuddles and someone to hang out with. They each denied – to a man – that they particularly cared how much pubic hair a woman had, in fact they all expressed a preference for at least some to be left visible.
I think this is good news for you ladies out there? Or maybe it’s really boring news? A third possibility is that they were giving me the story that they think they should to nice respectable married ladies and I totally fell for it.
I might actually have been slightly more entertained and intrigued if they’d said that when they see a beautiful woman all they want to do is make wild passionate love to her and beat their chests like primal beasts, but possibly none of them fancied me enough to say that.
Still. There is hope.
If you have any scurrilous tales of your own dating experiences, please leave in the comments below.