There's a scene in the television show Big Bang Theory where Howard Wolowitz mentions the plans of his younger self to build two sex robots, a girlfriend and a prostitute. Sheldon asks him why he would need two robots. Howard smiles, coyly. “There are some things you don't do with your girlfriend robot.”
It was at that moment I realized I would never have the entire heart of a man. And if I wanted a man at all (because this is probably the fork in the road that leads many women into lesbianism), I'd have to choose: do I want to be the girlfriend or the prostitute?
This split in the male mind can be such an entrenched schism that Freud coined a name for it: the madonna / whore complex. This is the mental disorder at work when a man creates the false dichotomy between two female archetypes: the good/pure/sexless and the bad/brazen/whore. In this disordered mind, no woman can comprise both: the madonna and whore are mutually exclusive. And if some poor woman is foolish enough to marry someone this far gone, she can look forward to a pretty much sexless marriage.
But all men live somewhere on this continuum, splitting the role of woman into two impossibly separated roles. I chose “madonna” not realizing I was even making a choice. I just thought that's what you do... love a man, be faithful, don't lie to him. I didn't realize all the things a madonna gives up to her whore counterpart. I didn't know there was a whore counterpart. But she's there, either hustling down the street, spread-eagle on the pages of Playboy, or fingering herself on MyFreeCams.
But thanks to Howard Wolowitz, I was faced with a new choice. So I decided to try it the other way. Let's see what the whore side of life is like. It started with my first online experience in the role of “other woman” and quickly escalated to my first “date.”
I'll call him Curt.
We met on a website explicitly stating that members were married. Anything going on here would be considered cheating: it's why you came. All up front and the perfect place for me to land.
Curt wanted to meet in a restaurant downtown, away from his neighborhood, he said, away from his work. Understandable. I didn't even know how to get there; that's how often I'm downtown. But my phone came through. Lately my phone has been leading me into a lot of new experiences, just as, I'm sure, it does for my husband.
Curt wasn't tall, but wasn't short, either. Plain, really. He had enough hair, but not thick or combed in any ambitious way. His nose was average. His lips were thin. Nothing special. But sitting across the table from him electrified me in a weird, new way. I wasn't supposed to be there. That simple fact tripped my normally rule-following brain into dropping old scripts and I was free to just sit there, tingling and smiling.
He looked nervous, eyeing the door. I could tell he was nervous on the phone, planning the date, but wow. This might be more fun. A man I could direct. Maybe I'd take the lead.
Curt raised his glass. “My elbow approves.”
“I'm sorry?”
He leaned in closer. “My wife doesn't like my elbow. She won't let me use it on her.”
I was beginning to see where this was going. But, what the hell. We went to a hotel down the street and that's when he mentioned that we'd just had dinner on the ground floor of his wife's office building. Did she see us? Was that important to him? Interesting, because I was only excited by the idea that I must, under no circumstances, ever get caught! But, to each his own.
As it turns out, riding an elbow isn't a bad way to discover your sleazy side. Any climax would have worked for me, and I didn't need the eyeball-to-eyeball intimacy of a man on top. So the elbow worked fine and the elbow worked twice as I faced the anonymous hotel wall, both remembering and forgetting where I was in that moment of building, sudden electricity that filled my abdomen, then shot down my legs like lightning. I'm not entirely sure if it was good for Curt or not.
I didn't care.
The moan that escaped my lips wasn't for him. And it wasn't to hurt my husband, slouching in front of a football game at home. The moan was for that poor woman who had mistakenly chosen “madonna” and had been left on her own and ignored so many evenings.
It was for that poor, lonely woman I used to be.
Ultimately, I think it boils down to this: a man like my husband really does want to love his wife, but he needs to hold some power over her. That's because he also wants to diddle-finger a whore. And a whore holds power over him. Why? Because she doesn't care about him. Only the wife cares. That gives the whore power and completely strips it from the wife. And a man like this is willing to be one-down to a whore as long as he can be one-up on his wife. It's a trade-off.
Well, now it's my turn to wield the power.
What the F?!? Been waiting and your just gonna tease me like that darling? "To be continued" the literary form of a cock block. tsk tsk. You need a spanking.
So how long am I gonna have to wait for the next installment? Common now. Can't keep me waiting ;)
What happened to your rating?
dunno?
I think 2 peeps flagged one of your comments. With a couple randow posts.... like poetry or a photo you can get back up to a 25 pretty fast I am sure.
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