Friday, August 15th, 2008
In order for us to avoid the nasty topic of male sexuality, we’ve got to be able to sum things up quickly like there’s nothing to discuss. Representations are consequently limited to the primal Rhett Butler-type seizing and spewing. At least that’s all I know of, whether the source be fishing trip car talk between guys, feminist treatise, mainstream movie action, or the wisdom imparted by the free-speaking fiftyish psychologist-hippie who lives in the apartment below mine. The male sexual urge is seen simply– as a glandularly motivated need to ejaculate, an undesirable agitation that can lead to frustration unless defused by a generous, understanding woman (Scarlett O’Hara’s character was flawed in this area,) or by masturbation. And we men, feeling the strength of our urges and used to inhibiting them, are quick to accept this view. We are cretins. We accept it. Let’s not talk about it.