Catering to Men Keeps Them Adolescent
Chronicle of an Open Marriage #41
I made a comment on a story the other day about women colluding in our own destruction before realizing I am doing the exact same. Doh!
First, the comment:
The irony here is women are colluding in keeping men in an adolescent state. If we demanded emotional maturity, men would be forced to grow up and shoulder half of the relationship responsibilities. As a result, women would be happier in their marriages and men would be able to fulfill their potential as human beings. In the meantime, I totally get your point of view. Marriage sucks for women. This reminds me of a line in the movie “Women Talking.” An elder says “We’ve never asked men for anything, not even so much as to pass the salt, and now the first thing we are ever going to ask them is to leave?”
I made the comment in response to this story, which I read because…
The elder in Women Talking raises a valid question. Why do so many women put up with their male partners having more of the good stuff — leisure time, freedom, orgasms, comfort, respect, authority, choices, control — stewing in silence until they’re so fed up with the inequity that they have to run away and get a divorce?
What if, instead, they insisted their male partners grow up and recognize that they are not superior and deserving of special treatment? That other people deserve equal consideration and respect? Wouldn’t life then be better for everyone?
Yes.
Consider This
Women throughout the world are taught to cater to men: to cook for them, to serve them at the table, to clean up after them when they’re finished, to listen when they talk, to defer to their opinions, to wear clothing to please them, to let them drive the car (or the donkey) and decide where they are going, etc.
On the surface, this may seem like a really good deal for men. But the truth is, it’s doing them — and the whole human race— a terrible harm. Because catering to men deludes them into thinking they are superior beings deserving of special treatment — that their opinions are more intelligent, their needs more important, just because they have a cock and balls. It’s insane.
Plus, the basic inequity of sexism prepares the ground for every other kind of inequity: racism, classism, nationalism, homophobia, and all the other “I’m better than you” evils destroying our world, including the one that convinces humans they can kill plants and animals and pollute air and water without paying a price. All that horseshit begins when you pick your husband’s socks up from the floor. Please stop doing that.
This whole system calls to mind something I saw 50 years ago when I was traveling in Greece with my sister: A man rode on a donkey. A woman followed behind carrying a suitcase. You might think in that scenario that you’d prefer to be the person riding the donkey, and sure, you’d be more comfortable there. But I’m not convinced that’s the preferable position. Why not? Because the person on the donkey is a dumb ass!
What on earth is he thinking up there? “Look at me! I’m magnificent! I treat my wife like an animal because that’s all she deserves!” It’s deluded. It’s disgusting. And it’s adolescent. Like a child, the man imagines that he’s the rightful center of the universe; it’s the equivalent of thinking that the sun revolves around the earth.
But where’s the sex?
You may be wondering at this point why I featured such a sexy photo on top of this essay. Where’s the sex in all this philosophy? No worries. It’s here.
This morning HoneyBear came over bright and early to get some action before work. He does that sometimes because he’s the horniest man in all creation. (HoneyBear is the lover whom Hubs and I share. If you want to know more about that relationship, you can find details here.) But Hubs wasn’t in a HoneyBear mood this morning, so he contented himself with an ancillary role in bed — watching us and petting us, and drawing in close.
Our threeways take all kinds of iterations. Sometimes Hubs lies beside me and watches my face while HoneyBear penetrates me. I like seeing Hubs’ open and attentive face up close and knowing that he enjoys my pleasure. Sometimes HoneyBear will be on top of me when Hubs goes south and does something delightful with HB’s butt. I can tell it’s delightful by the ecstatic look on HB’s face. Sometimes both men press in close and kiss and fondle me hungrily, one on either side, doubling the intensity. I call that a manwich, and plan to write more about them soon. This morning, there was a moment when HB had one arm around me, another arm around Hubs, and his member inside me as he kissed Hubs on the head. It was sweet. Also hot. Almost inexplicable…
Once we had our mutual satisfaction, Hubs went into the kitchen to make breakfast — eggs scrambled with little bits of bacon, avocado, and tomato alongside homemade sourdough toast — while HB and I snuggled under the covers and talked together in bed. He mentioned that he had read my latest story, and brought up one paragraph in particular:
One thing that led me astray back in the day was the response of a boyfriend when I masturbated to orgasm in his arms after we had penetrative sex. He said it made him feel bad that I had to bring myself off. He wanted to be able to do that for me. Uh-oh, I thought. I’m emasculating him! So I stopped touching myself before, during, or after sex, which resulted in me having far fewer orgasms. What a dope.
“I want you to know that I’m not that guy,” HoneyBear said. “I love watching you bring yourself pleasure. I love hearing you come, and helping you to come in any way that I can. And I love that you trust me enough to let me see that.”
I didn’t always trust him enough. It took a while before I could come with HB. I remember one night in particular as a turning point. He had plied me with champagne. Then he asked if he could watch me make myself come. I had already learned that HB is an attentive lover. He asks questions and pays attention to the answers. He modifies his behavior based on what he learns. He cares about his partner and their pleasure — our sex isn’t only about him. So I felt safe. So I said yes. Also, I was tipsy. That reduced my inhibitions enough that I could masturbate to orgasm while HB watched me — closely. I lay on the couch and he kneeled beside it, peering at my groin like a scientist in a sex lab. He’s been applying what he learned to our lovemaking ever since.
Before HB entered our marriage, I never got a hand job in partnered sex. That’s how I masturbated when I was alone, sure, but not how I copulated with Hubs. Now, though, HB gives me a handjob, often. And often, that results in a delicious reward.
So yes, I already knew that HB was not that guy. But it was still nice to hear. Here’s what I replied:
“You know that thought I had? That I shouldn’t emasculate my boyfriend? That’s what we girls were taught back then — that you should never let your boyfriend think you were smarter than he was, or stronger, or faster, or better at anything. That his ego was fragile and you had to protect it. But the problem is, doing that creates men who think mostly of themselves. They imagine that they are the center of everything. They never grow up.”
“I know,” HB said and then waggled his eyebrows in the direction of the kitchen.
Ouch!
That’s when I realized that I do the exact same thing in my family that I was complaining about in society at large. I coddle my husband, and our adult children, too. Despite the way it sounds in this story — with Hubs cheering us on in the bedroom and then retiring to the kitchen to make breakfast — I’m the one who does most of the emotional caretaking in our family. Much of my free time is spent catering to everyone else’s needs. And it’s not that I dislike doing that, exactly. I enjoy it — most of the time. I like being needed. I like feeling essential. I want to be a good person, and I’m glad to be of service to the people I love. Yet if I keep this up, how will they learn to be considerate of others? How will they ever grow up?
I guess the point I’m trying to make is twofold:
- Women shouldn’t strive to make lives easier for our menfolk. Don’t gaslight them by letting them believe they are superior, or that they deserve deferential treatment. Instead, ask them to step up and shoulder their share: take equal responsibility for the marriage, for the children, for the health and happiness of the family. Ask them to carry half the weight of your mutual love.
- Don’t listen to the noise that says strong women are not feminine. In fact, the exact opposite is true. To be a woman is to be godlike enough to create life in your womb and powerful enough to endure childbirth. Strength is the absolute essence of femininity. Stop pretending to be weak. Stop believing that you are. Show us all your true self. Be feminine. Be strong.
Action plan
While I don’t want women to clean up after their husbands in their households, I do want them to do that in the world. Men have made a mess of things. The world is awash in blood and violence. The planet is withering on the vine. Our children aren’t safe on the streets or in our homes. It’s time for women to step in and demand evolution. It won’t be easy, but our lives never were easy. At least this hardship has a laudable goal.
Think of it like the children’s tale The Emperor’s New Clothes, in which the emperor in a faraway land is fooled into thinking he’s wearing a marvelous robe by some kind of trickster. He walks around naked and demands that his subjects admire his clothing. Everyone does that. They’re afraid to oppose him! Until a child steps up and declares the truth.
That’s what’s happening here. That’s what’s happening now. Men are walking around in a dream world, imagining that their empire is thriving when in fact it is about to collapse. Someone has to tell them: you aren’t better than women; you aren’t better than people from other races, or countries, or sexual orientations. We are all in this together. And we must work together to care for each other and for the planet or we’re going to be homeless.
Get off of the donkey. Put on some clothes.
What happened next? Read Chronicle of an Open Marriage #42. Find all of my stories about opening our marriage on the list below, or about sex in general on this one. Get an email whenever I publish. And have a happy day.
