There’s Nothing More Dismal Than a Woman Seeking Validation for Her Sexuality

On Medium, no less

Jaysus. Just when you think it’s safe to jump back into the reading pool, the stench of yet another stink bomb has us running for the exits.

There’s a popular writer here who regularly shares twaddle. Why she is popular, is a mystery as she’s not a writer. She is a peddler of poop, most of it self-aggrandizing and an embarrassing display of how far an individual will go to get attention.

You know I don’t mince words so I’ll just come out with it. All of this writer’s “work” is horrifically bad. Why it keeps showing up in my feed is impossible to fathom, but hey, that’s how the algorithm works here. In curious ways. And, because it shows up in my feed, I feel that it’s my prerogative to write about it.

This latest plea for validation from her legion of gushers is a five-second “read” about the writer’s being called a MILF by a younger man, at the local swimming hole.

Whoopdefuckingdo! You know what? I’m an older broad and I get hit on, every now and then. I just don’t think it’s worthy of your read time. Ya know?

If someone refers to me as a GILF, I’m not going to be wetting my drawers in response. First off, I’m not a grandmother. Nor do I want to be, hence the fact that I never procreated. Maybe if they called me a CMILF. “Cat mom I’d like to fuck,” I’d feel a moment's worth of glee.

Nah. I’m kidding.

To me, and the reason I’m writing this piece is that the more we women clamor for affirmation that we’re “sexy” and “desirable” and “worthy of banging,” the weaker we appear. And we are anything but.

“Clamor” is the operative word here, folks, as there’s nothing wrong with being desired. It is, in fact, an exhilarating feeling. But, when you write a story that clearly was crapped out for the sole purpose of readers responding with such scintillating comments as “Good for you, way to go!” it’s, well…sad.

“Way to go?” Because some random dude called you a MILF? What the hell does that even mean? “Way to go, where?” I mean, the writer didn’t have to actually do anything, but show up.

Now, here’s the thing. If one has the chops, the necessary “heft,” one can craft an actual story out of damn near anything. This could have been a very funny piece, perhaps with a bit of creative license. Who knows, right? Instead, it reads “bush-league,” and very, very needy.

Here’s a tip, writers and I don’t hand them out, often. Try a bit of self-deprecation every now and then. It works, and you’ll be surprised how many readers will relate.

Writer in question, you probably won’t see this as you’re too busy churning out pap, but I feel sorry for you. Truly. Because you could have kept this to yourself, kind of like a secret smile, you know? And then, when your hubby fails to notice your new haircut or that torturous, underwire bra you stupidly picked out at Victoria’s Secret, you can tell him, “Hey, screw you! A much younger guy called me a MILF, today!”

Ladies, for what it’s worth, this is what I believe. We should look in the mirror and know that we are all sexy AF. Just by virtue of the fact that we’re women, damn it! Big. Small. Old. Young. Crepey, or as smooth as a baby’s ass. It doesn’t matter because our sex appeal is innate; it comes from the inside. Or, should.

Example: Even when I look like a schlep, hair messed up, baggy attire, no makeup, I feel desirable, because it’s not my clothes that make me who I am, rather, it’s the fire burning in my belly. Of course, that’s just me. But, if that’s the case with yours truly at 69, it sure as hell can be for you, too.

If you look like JLo in a bikini, cool. If you’re carrying a few extra pounds and your muffin top is on display, who gives a damn? There’s more of you to love, and desire.

Hell, it’s tough enough trying to live up to the standards imposed on the “fairer sex” by Madison Avenue and society as a whole. That said, do we women really need our readers jumping into the fray to validate our sexuality? So that we can receive random affirmations from random strangers? In a story that took mere seconds to write and publish here, on Medium?

That’s not a story. It’s a plea, and it’s harmful.

Remember the song from a few years back, “Sexy and I Know it?” No matter that it was sung by a dude who goes by the moniker, LMFAO.

Ladies, let that be your mantra.

© Sherry McGuinn, 2022. All Rights Reserved.

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Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. She is currently pitching her newest screenplay, “The Month We Fell Apart,” a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story, as well as “DEAD TIRED,” a female-driven, ass-kicking thriller.