(This video wouldn’t embed. The relevant portion comes just after the 1:00 mark.)
[This post requires some rather graphic language and content to illustrate its point, including some details from my own sordid past. Although in my opinion it doesn’t quite match Genesis 19:30-36 for weirdness, those of you of certain persuasions may disagree. Proceed (or don’t) with this in mind.]
I’ve had similar thought of my own stemming from my own more rambunctious experiences, but now that the Delicious Tacos guy (of all people) is echoing my concerns, I know I’m onto something. Delicious Tacos:
I met a girl at a party and took her to my car to make out. Choke me, she said. I was parked on a well lit public street. Even better. Get her topless and clamp her neck between my arms; she is excited that a cop might drive by. Nowadays every girl under 25 is a cenobite. They want to be choked, hit, fake raped. They want to lacerate you with sharp nails, scratch at your nipples, bite your bottom lip and draw blood.
You grow up as a man thinking you’re the pig. The menace. But an honest conversation about sex with any 22 year old girl will horrify you. For a second you stop wanting to fuck her. You want to cover her in a warm blanket and stroke her hair. I’m sorry for whatever happened to you. I need you to call me honey bunny, she says. It’s what my dad used to call me. I need you to hit me. I need you to punch me in the boobs. I need you to bite my nipples. I need you to push my face in the pillow. I’m gonna fight back but don’t let me up until I stop breathing for real.
It sounds hot but really it’s a pain in the ass.
There have always been women like this, and one of the first things any Red Pill man learns is that “All Girls Like Rough Sex.” Fine, I get it.
However, I can’t help but suspect that there’s a difference between pinning one arm underneath her and another above her head while driving hard and “don’t let me up until I stop breathing for real.” Any trip to a European sex museum will show you that kinky stuff has been around forever, but was it everywhere, did it ever replace the “normal” stuff?
It’s gotten to the point that assertive men like M3 feel somehow abnormal for not wanting to draw blood, that women read bondage porn out in the open on the subway. Your neighbors in 1959 may have had an elaborate dungeon in their basement, but you never found out about it. Now it’s the first place the realtors head when they show off the house to prospective buyers.
I know that women aren’t delicate flowers, that they like being dominated. Rose petals, champagne, and candlelight aren’t what’s really going to get her going.
But I also know that what’s going on today has to be some sort of aberration, that this crap just can’t be normal. And when I observe the way the rest of our society distorts our sexuality, it makes perfect sense that it would play out like this. Playing Michael Bolton in the background is one thing, but this stuff’s just downright weird.
And it didn’t happen in a vacuum.
Girl Power has been with us even before the Spice Girls, and it’s now the operative phrase we use to raise our daughters. A little girl may just want to play with dolls pretending she’s raising a baby or something, but along comes her aunt insisting on Pediatric Oncologist Barbie instead. She’s supposed to be the heroine, the reason she doesn’t like math is that she’s been socialized not to like it, even though she really doesn’t like it.
Way deep down, she knows she really wants to submit, to grow into a woman, not an imitation man. Yet the movies, guidance counselors, and anti-male rhetoric gradually wear her down. She learns that what offends her can get men suspended from school. She buys into the notion that if she just wants to be a mom there’s something wrong with her. She learns to dominate just like men, play cutthroat with the big boys to nail that contract, to get and command respect.
But she’s still feminine, it bothers her that every man in her life keeps failing her tests. Everything on the outside keeps telling her she’s just like a man, but she’s not just like a man and she knows it. Everybody keeps deferring to her, expecting her to lead, and she knows she can’t be nice or she’ll lose “respect”. Yet she’s got an intense yearning to follow, to rip away the mask of bitchiness, to just be feminine.
Although she can’t risk losing respect in the boardroom, in the bedroom she still can. And boy, does she ever. All the womanhood she’s not free to express in her workplace, her craving for masculinity that’s met instead with deference to her opinions, her suppressed cravings come out in concentrated and distorted form in “weird histrionic howls” and a genuine desire to be truly degraded in ways most oppressive patriarchs in prior eras couldn’t even fathom.
Suggest she not show off her thong in Target and risk a lawsuit, but call her a “vile, nasty, cumbucket” in the privacy of the bedroom and become her hero. Ask her to fetch you a beer, and she’ll bark back “get it yourself”. What she really wants is for you to make her bark, preferably while dragging her behind you on a leather leash.
I remember reading in some sex manual some years back that women want to be dominated, but only in the bedroom. However, as any red pill man knows, she wants to be dominated just about always. Therefore, if you dominate her only in the bedroom, you’ve got to dominate the hell out of her to make up for all the nicey-nice pleases and thank yous whenever you’re not in bed.
But even if you’re Alpha yourself and in charge of the relationship, odds are she’s the dominant one in other areas of her life, and this still throws her feminine sensitivities out of whack. She used to be a woman damn near all the time, now “woman” is just a part she gets to play sometimes, and it’s really messing with her head. You’ve got plenty of ground to make up for in those intimate moments. “Daddy, put me in my place. I’ve been a bad, bad girl.”
A Little Turnabout
[I can’t embed this video, but the description of the “little turnabout” I’m describing begins with David’s question at 1:12.]
Of course, these women aren’t just lying down and taking it. Submission is bad, something her pathetic little grandmother used to do. Yet, submit they must. How to resolve the contradiction? Fight back!
Women “chewing on delicate parts of your face and leaving snaking purple scratches all over your neck”, back scratches that require medical treatment, weird marks that make you wonder if she snuck a lighter into bed, tooth-shaped bruises on your traps, having to remember to harden your abs just in time to block the full force of her fist. After all, she can’t just give in, she’s got to find out if you’re “man enough” to take her.
It’s another bitch shield, just like the one she flashed you in the club to see if you can remain unphased by her obnoxious insults. However, now that she knows that words can never hurt you, now let’s see if sticks and stones (or at least a strong jaw) can do it.
You’re up against the full force of her will, only this is a will that’s loaded with testosterone, that’s been told she can be all she can be ever since she was first told to step away from the miniature stove and play with the chemistry set instead. It’s going to take one hell of a man to overcome a lifetime of conditioning, and those sharpened nails are there to find out if you’re the one. She’s going to fight you with everything she has.
“Make love, not war!” began the sexual revolution. Now, they’re combined.
And to think some people blame “rape culture” on men.
Yet that’s not all that goes into these crazy little freaks. They play off each other.
There was a time in which prospective brides were told that sex was a duty, that the best way to handle it was to lie back and do it for the Crown and it would be over before she knew it.
And then if Malcolm were able to somehow give her pleasure, Bonus! “My goodness, it never occurred to me that doing my patriotic duty could actually be fun!”
Of course, women who thought that way, who actually liked it were pariahs of a sort, so they kept their tingles to themselves. At the knitting club with her friends she spoke of Malcolm’s quest for membership in the prestigious club, but never his member itself. Sex was something private; if a woman liked it, it was her own happy secret.
This may be a bit of an exaggeration, but contrast then with now. When a sex trend spreads, it spreads everywhere. Wal-Mart. E! Redbook magazine.
Sticks and stones may break my bones, but whips and chains excite me.
Hypergamy has always been with us, but in eras past, it was constrained, constrained by social convention and opportunity, but also by knowledge. Perhaps women in Iowa in 1844 would have been just as turned on by a dimly lit dungeon as “O”, but how the hell would she even know such a thing existed? If her husband Thomas was a lousy lay but Vern on the next farm was a Sex God, what are the chances she would find out?
Hypergamy is a quest for the best man she get, but she won’t have nearly as many hypergamic urges for men she doesn’t know exist. It’s hard to become jealous of Edna’s ecstasy eight hundred miles away when Edna and her man might as well be on the moon.
Now, Edna posts her man’s tricks in a forum somewhere, and Hilda has yet another reason to find her husband wanting. This may or may not indicate that Hilda’s husband is doing anything wrong. Hypergamy is always relative, and relatively speaking, there’s always something more exciting out there, somewhere.
All women want to be dominated, but only the modern woman knows all seven hundred ways this can be done to her. Sheila at yoga, Rihanna, sexysomething43 in Roanoke, all have sex lives that sound so much more interesting than hers.
I guarantee that thousands of women who were perfectly happy with their sex lives one day all of a sudden feel bored after reading some post somewhere or hearing a friend brag. Brad may choke her, but he doesn’t quite strangle her like all the guys she hears about in that forum, so he must not really be all that much of a man.
Books tell you that ancient cultures feared the power of women’s sexuality. I used to think: get back to me when they’re jerking off in a toilet thinking about a special needs student. But the ancients were right. Men’s fantasies, our halfhearted utilitarian meat flogging– milquetoast. Today’s woman jerks off 20 times a day. She has machines for it. She dreams of being forcibly sodomized by the garbage man. His rough hand forces her face into a rotten pile of dog shit and old coffee filters. She chokes. She cums. She’s ready again. She tells you about it halfway through her second drink. It’s enough to make a man clutch his pearls.
This is being fed upon, reinforced, in thousands of breakroom coffee conversations everywhere in the developed world. Gone are the days when she would let out a little squeal when she sees him with the fly swatter (the swatter action takes place near the end, but I recommend watching the entire video for the full effect), knowing tonight he was in the mood for something a little risque. Instead, it’s about pushing boundaries, her boundaries, every way, all the time. By these new standards, if you aren’t out for blood, you don’t measure up. M3:
And then at work talking with all my female colleagues about my situation with the possible FWB, i am shocked to discover that not only are they not reviled, but the things i’m describing are making them smile, getting all hot & bothered, flustered and making comments like ‘fuck thats hawwwt’ and ‘i need to find a booty call tonight’. They were egging me on to grow a set and enjoy it and lamenting that today’s men aren’t doing the job anymore when it comes to giving them what they want. Not ONE dissenting opinion out of 5 female coworkers. I am stunned.. it’s not them… it’s me.
Why am i like this?
Because you’re normal, M3 (at least in this respect). You know how mess up modern women are as well as I do. They do NOT set the standards by which men should determine their worth.
It’s not M3, nor is it any of the other men out there who aren’t particularly thrilled with this. By no means am I advocating a return to some mythical Disney sex, but this is NOT how it’s supposed to work.
First, as much as this whole “make me eat worms and then pour chili on my face while you jam it in my ear” thing seems like a quest for dominance, it’s ironically a form of backleading. After all, how can you dominate a woman by honoring her “request”, especially if it’s one you’d rather not oblige? As men, we’re supposed to want what we want, not what women tell us we should want.
Yet of all the tests that women give us, this might be one of the hardest ones to pass. Her ostensible call for you to “be a man” involves using physical strength, and to not be a badass when a woman calls on you to be one feels like a loss. However, save setting your own terms, there’s no way to win. Imagine some chick asking some muscle-bound dude to lift a motor over his head to impress her. Does he “pass” her test by falling for her dare, even if he pulls it off? All of us in the manosphere know that no matter how impressive the feat may be, he’s lost frame, and if you lose frame, you lose.
However, lifting that motor on your own terms when you want to lift it gets her excited. Unfortunately, when she’s barking orders at you, you never get the chance to do that.
Also, for reasons I’ve described above, women insisting on this sort of thing is an aberration. One of the last phrases I would use to describe most women today is “in touch with their femininity”. They wouldn’t know real submission if it bit them in the ass, and the “dominance” they’re seeking from men is but a pale shadow of the real thing.
When I wasn’t celibate, my dominance in intimate situations wasn’t about what I did with or to her body, it was what I did to her head. Sure, sometimes I would get rough, but anything physical I did only supplemented what I did to her emotions. My goal wasn’t to give her bruises, it was to wear her down, bewilder her, bring her to the point that she didn’t know what planet she was on. Her body did what I wanted it to do not necessarily because I overpowered her, but because I screwed with her head so much that she had no will of her own left with which to resist.
That’s true dominance, the complete subjugation of the feminine will to the masculine, and being physically rough with her is but a tool you have to bring it about. You wanna bit her? Bite her, but do it on your own terms, if, and when, you feel like it. The women who are really worth biting are the ones who won’t admit to themselves that they like it or surprise themselves when they ask you to, not the ones who insist on it ahead of time or “can’t get off without it”. This “you have to beat me or I’m bored” crap is the result of women trying to be women, insisting you do what she thinks defines a man.
If anything, I’ve found that women who are too open about wanting to be dominated have more walls in place that keep it from actually happening; they’re so into the motions that they don’t understand what’s supposed to be behind them. Yes, you can wear a chick like this down, but it takes a lot of time and effort, time and effort I’d rather put into a woman who’s worth it.
There’s a degree of consistency we here in the Manosphere need to maintain. On the one hand, we’re fully cognizant of how messed up modern women truly are. On the other hand, we allow ourselves to fall into the trap of believing that their mentally diseased sex drives somehow encapsulate femininity. If you’re just out for LA poon like Delicious Tacos, that’s what you have to deal with. I insist on more.
As he puts it, “Women have been liberated to be who they truly are. It turns out they’re fucking filthy.”
I know, which makes my celibacy stand on a visceral repulsion to defying Matthew 7:6 as much as any prohibition on fornication.
But there are a few women out there who haven’t been “liberated”.
At least there used to be.
And maybe I’ll meet another one in person sometime.