**Warning: Some content may offend. Sexual Content.**
I know I‘m an old married lady. An old, apparently priggish one. My lips are pursed just thinking about how puritanical I am. I can feel the wrinkles forming.
I’m no party-pooper. I know how to have a good time. But, the fact is, I get uncomfortable when the privacies of the bedroom (or the living room or the kitchen counter) are discussed in frank and casual detail in front of me. I’ve got a big ‘C’ (for Mrs. Cleaver) pasted on my chest. According to my contemporaries, I should crawl back into the Victorian era that I came from.
Once, I was cajoled into going to one of those passion parties. This woman had brought all manner of vibrators and gels and other love toys. She DEMONSTRATED (in a manner of speaking) a little gadget that fit over your finger, and which was apparently so discreet you could use it in the car. USE IT IN THE CAR! Wouldn’t that be driving under the influence? Can you imagine picking up carpool and as the kiddies got into the car, ‘Hello. HEllo. HELLLLOOOOOOO. KIDS!!’ Anyways, after she finished showing all the gizmos and gadgets, girls went into another room, and while every one else was snacking on cheese and crackers, ordered their ‘dessert’ for brown-paper-bag delivery later. Not exactly my thing.
I know its surprising, since I’m pretty much an open book and a total over-sharer about everything else, but I’m not a big on public discussions of affection. I’ll listen, all right, red-faced, and squirming in my seat. When pressed I’ll eventually blurt out a detail or two.
I can’t say the same for some of the divorced women that I’ve recently met. They seem to be re-experiencing the sexual revolution. Very verbally. I know I’m a self-admitted conservative in this area, but still…I think maybe they’re going too far.
Cher said, ‘The problem with most men is they’re assholes. The problem with most women is they put up with those assholes.’
Until they get a divorce.
Then, women are free. Like butterflies. Or honey bees.
‘The queen bee in a honey bee hive is encouraged to be as promiscuous as possible. During a single mating flight, a queen bee can mate with up to forty drones. The more sexual partners a queen has, the more attractive she is to the worker bees that keep her hive running.’ (Huffinton Post, Lindsay Armstrong)
Once single, the ‘honey bees’ are freed form the constraints of monogamy. Of husbands. And set free into a veritable smorgasbord of carnal delights. I know this, because they tell me. Unprompted
One woman I didn’t event know announced, out of nowhere: ’I love to suck c*ck! I just love it!’
Another, telling a group of us about her weekend: ‘Its fabulous having a young man. The one I’ve got f*cked me 7 times in one night. Its the best. He didn’t stop.’
And, also, a lady who likes her freedom: ‘I don’t want a relationship. I just want to get F*cked. Like a lot.’
Ladies, just because we can, doesn’t mean we should. Talk about it. Like that.
Now, don’t get me wrong. Everyone is entitled to have a lively, satisfying, and yes, energetic sex life. Use as many toys, materials, accessories, and partners as you’d like. No problem. However, as I say to my kids, its your privacy. Just like I don’t want to hear about my parents doing it, I don’t really want to know your intimate details. I have no need to live vicariously through your white hot nights.
I honestly believe that comments like these actually set women back. They’re too forced. Too open. These are things you might confide in a best friend. Not announce boldly to strangers at a party. We’re not 18-year-old boys bragging about our conquests. We’re mature women: gorgeous, smart, strong. Comments like these just feed the caricaturization of ‘Cougars on the Prowl’.
My question is this: Would you want your DAUGHTER talking like that?