date machine : getting laid

Date Machine: Prostitutes - Yay or nay?

airheadgenius — Thu, 26 Mar 2009 15:26:00 GMT

I have an email buddy who has mentioned a couple times in our correspondence that he uses prostitutes and escorts.
We've never met but photographic evidence suggests that he is attractive and our emails lead me to believe that he is reasonably well off, responsible and quite entertaining. I am sure there's baggage, but there are no immediate indicators that make me think he couldn't get a girlfriend if he wanted one.

Clearly he wants to get laid and using an escort/prostitute means he is on a promise and doesn't have to try very hard, if at all. Finding a girlfriend involves speculation and the risk of rejection, plus ultimately the chance to not get laid.

I have mixed feelings about the, supposed, oldest profession. A part of me thinks why not? It is simply fulfilling a market need. But part of me feels that it's just laziness on the part of the procurer and that they simply can't be bothered to invest the time or energy in courting a partner. Plus, I think it's likely that the judgement made on a woman paying a male escort would be much more negative than a man paying a woman, so that just pisses me off on principle. Plus, a woman would presumably find it harder to make that transaction in the first place given that "the norm" is for men to be seeking out female prostitutes.

Another friend ventured that it's all about choice and so he doesn't have a problem with it. But it really isn't about choice if you are female - you only have to peruse the back pages of The Voice to know it's yet another male dominated domain. Also, the women on the low end of the prostitute spectrum - the whores rather than the high class escorts - may not have much choice in the matter to begin with.

Even if the entire market was run fairly, prostitutes were paid reasonably and had decent working conditions etc etc, I still feel that it would encourage people to be lazy and to avoid taking emotional risks. It's like ordering take out every night instead of going to the supermarket and then preparing a meal. The former being a quick fix solution which costs more money and is ultimately bad for your health.

My bottom line is that I wouldn't feel comfortable in the company of someone I was having to pay to show up.

How do you feel about it Date Machiners?
Prostitutes - yay or nay?

Here are some I made earlier:
The female orgasm
Fabulous at 40, the reprise
Slim, petite or average?
Losing Momentum
How do you get ready for a date?
I need you
Heartache or just another real estate opportunity?

This is a Hot Man Trivet. Sexy huh?

Sex Machine: If I don't get laid soon

airheadgenius — Wed, 04 Feb 2009 21:43:00 GMT

If i don't get laid soon I am going to flat out die
That's how serious it is

If only I could bring myself to fuck idiots I would be home and hosed.
Damn my picky self.

(p.s. comments are not posting to my blog. At least not when I post them. So if I don't reply to your witty and pithy and/or supportive comment about my current lack of dick access, then I apologise. Nerve tech people: get yer finger out. As in fix the problem. Personally, I advocate fingers in)

Here are some I made earlier:
Sex standing up
Is this the best you can do?
Are you insulted?
Juicy Lips
Dear John, F*ck Off Select Blog to Manage
Cry, get mad, move on soundtrack
Obama Babies

I've posted this before, but it's all I can think about...

Sex Machine: Getting Laid

amboabe — Thu, 15 Jan 2009 07:13:00 GMT

I can't easily substantiate this idea, but I feel like it's safe to say there are more euphemisms for sex than for any other word in the English language. Many of them are cheap puns that help to take the edge of the mysterious vulnerability that happens in the throws of animated sex. The more carried away with arousal and affection a person becomes, the more irrationally transcendent everything seems. All while a person is sweating, breathing like a galloping horse, and swiveling their hips to some erratic and primal rhythm. It is definitely not a thing that someone "gets," like finding a twenty-dollar bill in between the sofa cushions.

A woman I was seeing asked me to come over after work one night to help her move some old furniture out of her apartment. As I was trying to negotiate the small puzzle of hallway, doorframes, and an ungainly couch, she said, "I'm pretty sure you're going to get laid tonight for all the trouble." "I'm pretty sure that was going to happen regardless of moving the couch," I told her.

At my worst, I'm prone to improvising sanctimonious sermons about the terms people use around me. A flirting phrase of affection can, through my prism of logic, become grounds for a quasi-legal discourse about the etymologies of sexuality. I had never heard her use that phrase with me before, and I hadn't yet expounded on my deep loathing for the implied passivity and possession contained therein. Like love, sex is not something you get, it's something you already have which you agree to share with someone. I don't get vagina; it's not a status symbol waiting to be unwrapped and embraced like a new iPod waiting under the Christmas tree.

The "laid" part doesn't do much for me either. It makes me think that I'm going to wind up flat on my back with sex miraculously happening to me while I watch in a comfortable recline. It makes sex seem like getting a massage. The implication is that there is a possessor of this mystical "sex" and a person is lucky to find himself or herself in the passive role of the receiver.

There's a larger gender stereotype at work in the phrase, in the way I see it. It reaffirms the overbearing necessity of the man to always be the pursuer, foraging for sex like a bear in a thawing wasteland trying to find berries. Men are taught to celebrate their ability to get sex, to demonstrate their prowess to their peers based on the volume of their encounters. Men don't talk about the qualitative experiences with sex, only the underlying arithmetic that can be used as competitive leverage. Blowjob? Check. Doggy style? Check. Titty fuck? Check. Facial finisher? Check. Got 'em all. I'm that good.

Hauling the couch down the rectangular staircase, trying to keep from knocking all the pictures off the wall, I kept chewing on the phrase. I gnawed at it, wondering if I shouldn't pipe about all the ugly images it connoted for me. I felt slighted almost. That wasn't the kind of sex we had ever had, and if it was going to start being that way, then I didn't want it.

When I was in high school, I remember raising my hand in English class to answer an open-ended question about something we had been reading. I don't remember what we were talking about or what point I wanted to make, but I remember the feeling of smug urgency emanating from inside. When I finished my ramble, my teacher B, looked at me for a quick second. He jutted his chin out and furrowed his brow, then turned away and walked towards the center of the class. "You know, Mike, if you were half as smart as you think you are, that would really be something," he said.

When I got the couch to the curb my jaw loosened, and I let all the flustered thoughts of indignation fall down. Those were mine; they existed in my head, and weren't transported there by the words she had told me. It would have been an argument with myself to protest any further.

It makes me a little sad now, to think that I had the momentary impulse to contort her words for my own subjective reasons just to make a point. It was a small thing, probably not even worth remembering in the larger scope of things, but those small choices are the ones that form behavior patterns in relationships. We choose what's acceptable and not acceptable to ask our partners to put up with. It becomes easier and easier to expect them to shoulder the brunt of our worst tendencies as a relationship ages.

This is part of what I fear most about being in a long-term relationship. I don't want to become someone cruel, but I'm afraid I'll lose the ability to separate my best self from my worst self in the rhetorical fog. In the end, every relationship becomes a fight with yourself.

We walked back upstairs together and looked at the new empty space in her living room. I grabbed my bag and put on my jacket. She put on her jacket and took her purse. We walked back downstairs, found somewhere to eat. Then we went to my apartment and had sex until three in the morning, until it was so late I had to stop because I had work in the morning.

We should have stayed up all night. The sleep wasn't worth it.

Previous Posts:

Love Machine: I Was a Six Year-Old Virgin, or Is There A Happy Ending?

Date Machine: Getting Pierced on a Date

Love Machine: Hitting Snooze on the Morning After

Date Machine: Let Me Seduce You With The Cardigans

Date Machine: I'm Too Sexy For Your Blog

Love Machine: Breaking Up Is Hard To Do, or Leaving Home

Date Machine: Super Macho Man Slumber Party

Sex Machine: Having Sex in Your Parents' House During the Holidays

Date Night: Trying to Behave on a Boring Coffee Date

Sex Machine: Sex with Older Women, or How I Would Make Love to Gloria Swanson

Love Machine: Using Your Words, or I Like Pap

Date Machine: Drunk Emailing with J, or How To Fail at Seduction

Sex Machine: Listening to the Neighbors Have Sex

Date Night: In Which I Try To Believe In Aliens

Date Machine: Rate My Pick-Up Lines Redux

Love Machine: Loyal as a Dog

Date Machine: Rate My Politics

High School Machine: Ten-Year Reunion Fantasies

Date Machine: Setting Up Your Friends

Sex Machine: Having Sex at Weddings Redux

Love Machine: Making Love to ESPN

Date Machine: 5 Things I'm Thankful For

Celebrity Confessions: The Queen!

airheadgenius — Wed, 03 Sep 2008 22:21:00 GMT

Well, sort of the Queen, but more like Helen Mirren. An article in The Guardian a few days back explained why she gave up snorting coke. She was quoted as saying:

"And I read that in the paper, and all the cards fell into place and I saw how my little sniff of cocaine at a party had an absolute direct route to this fucking horrible man in South America. And from that day I never touched cocaine again. Until that moment I had never grasped the full horrifying structure of what brings coke to our parties in Britain."

How honorable!!! Giving up hedonistic enjoyment to spare those poor child drug runners and to stop making a horrible man even richer! What a woman. Did she simultaneously switch to fair trade coffee and start recycling? Maybe a percentage of her earnings goes to poor Indian children?

She was quoted in GQ too. There, she said that she was was locked in a room and forced to have sex "a couple of times" during her college days but did not report the incidents because "you couldn't do that in those days".

"It's such a tricky area, isn't it? Especially if there is no violence," "I mean, look at Mike Tyson. I don't think he was a rapist. I guess it is one of the many subtle parts of the men/women relationship that has to be negotiated and worked out between them."

She went on: "I was [date-raped], yes. A couple of times. "Not with excessive violence, or being hit, but rather being locked in a room and made to have sex against my will."

The actress also explained that she "loved coke" [cocaine] during her younger days but stopped after learning of the drug-dealing success of Nazi war criminal Klaus Barbie.

First of all, she was concerned about some nasty South American. Now she's got her knickers in a twist about Klaus Barbie. The two quotes were all but interchangeable though. Does she think the two are connected?? Was Klaus on his holidays or something and set up a drug cartel because he was bored of making sand castles?

(What is mind blowing is that if you google dear Klaus, the FIRST hit is Helen Mirren. Nothing to do with his Nazi war crimes, but all to do with some daft bint from England!)

But forget about the drug thing, what about the date rape thing?! Oh yes Hels, date rape is most certainly one of those little subtle nuances of behaviour between the male and the female. Oh yes indeedy. What a tool.

And let's not forget, way back when, that HM got her kit off in those Peter Greenaway movies. She claimed over and over again that she only embraced nudity in film if it was central to the theme and not in any way gratuitous.

I don't care about celebrity behaviour. It makes no difference to my life. It just irritates me when their baser instincts are elevated to celebrity status also. Like, I gave up doing drugs because it was affecting my work and I couldn't afford to get fired. She did it for the greater good.

Her ludicrous confessions are the latest in a long long line though. Remember these? "I tried marijuana once, I did not inhale." Well then, dear Bill, that was a bit of a waste of effort wasn't it?

or

"I did not have sexual relations with that woman." Again, barely worth the scandal if you're not even going to get your end away.

Why can't Mirren just fess up and say "I like getting stoned, I like getting laid and I like getting my tits out for the lads" and be done with it. And why couldn't Bill simply have said "I get stoned to cope with Hilary who happens to be a man and that's why I fucked Monica" and we would have all just said "of course you had to Bill, it would've been rude not to."

Here endeth my celebrity confession.