Dear readers, I have fallen victim to jealousy (I know, I know. You’re shocked. I mean, who would have thought that I would fall victim to one of the seven deadly sins? Certainly not you, right? Right? Smartass). I am jealous of the female orgasm. I have come to the conclusion that women, when they get off, get off to a degree that men can only imagine. After a particularly good bout of sex, women lose the ability to talk, they make noises that can’t possibly be human, and they completely lose the ability to focus, sometimes for as long as fifteen minutes. Men, well, our orgasms are like reruns: they’re always pretty much the same and they don’t have “levels” (whatever the hell that means. Oh, and while we’re here, could some female please write out a list outlining the different levels of the female orgasm? You know, for science and all). Don’t get me wrong, I love my orgasms, but when I finish having sex, I can typically have the orgasm, get out of bed, put on my clothes, pop a beer and return to the bedroom to find my partner still biting the pillow and enjoying the warm embrace of what looks like some kind of bizarre trance. Earlier in my adolescence, I used to marvel at my ability to make this happen for women. Now, I marvel at the actual orgasm itself.
Dear readers, I have fallen victim to jealousy (I know, I know. You’re shocked. I mean, who would have thought that I would fall victim to one of the seven deadly sins? Certainly not you, right? Right? Smartass). I am jealous of the female orgasm. I have come to the conclusion that women, when they get off, get off to a degree that men can only imagine. After a particularly good bout of sex, women lose the ability to talk, they make noises that can’t possibly be human, and they completely lose the ability to focus, sometimes for as long as fifteen minutes. Men, well, our orgasms are like reruns: they’re always pretty much the same and they don’t have “levels” (whatever the hell that means. Oh, and while we’re here, could some female please write out a list outlining the different levels of the female orgasm? You know, for science and all). Don’t get me wrong, I love my orgasms, but when I finish having sex, I can typically have the orgasm, get out of bed, put on my clothes, pop a beer and return to the bedroom to find my partner still biting the pillow and enjoying the warm embrace of what looks like some kind of bizarre trance. Earlier in my adolescence, I used to marvel at my ability to make this happen for women. Now, I marvel at the actual orgasm itself.
And I’m jealous.
Now, women have to do a lot of stuff that sucks (no pun intended). They have to wear makeup, pay ridiculous amounts for clothing, put up with insensitive jackasses, have periods, go through mood swings and hang out with female friends, so perhaps they deserve a little kickback. But this orgasm thing, well, it just seems unfair.
(Right now, every woman reading this is thinking something along the lines of: “Fair. You wanna talk about fair? Let’s talk about oppression and rape. Let’s talk about bloating and childbirth. Let’s not even mention the fact that we can’t pee standing up. Oh, and don’t get me started on that Freud jackass you sexist dick…” And I’d love to hear the rest, really, I would, but I’m making a point here).
I believe that if we men were blessed with an orgasm the likes of which most women enjoy, we would never leave the house. I mean ever. Sometimes, I look at a woman after sex, and the expression on her face can best be compared to the faces of gasoline huffing adolescents (right before they pass out in the driveway in a puddle of their own saliva). And I can’t help but wonder why God wouldn’t want men to experience this sensation.
And then I realized, God doesn’t want men to be that happy because we’re not as important to the grand scheme. When my brother Jay got out of the military, he explained to me that one of the more important things he had learned in that man’s army was that men are way more expendable than women. We rely on women to raise children, to feed and to nurture them. We rely on men to kill people, get the barbecue working and fix the sink. If you had thirty women and one man, you could make thirty more children in one year. If you had thirty men and one woman, you’d have one very frustrated woman and several dead men and perhaps a child within a year. For this reason and this reason alone, women are more important than men. And I think that God, on the whole, has tried to reflect this in his design. Women are, after all, more complex and more given to compassion and caring (I mean think about it guys. Could you fall in love with a male personality? It’s impossible. We’re apes). And I guess part of this grand design (so to speak) is to allow women to feel—and I mean really feel—the beauty of sex.
And for this, I am jealous.