One hundred and one Chateau patrons slipped this juicy omega male shitlibbery — “What Open Marriage Taught One Man About Feminism” — into the combox for cathartic evisceration by yours unduly. The story concerns a “Mr.” “Michael Sonmore” (scare quote usage to become clear in a moment) who professes to an open sexual relationship with his wife and a full awareness and acceptance of his cuckoldry.
As I write this, my children are asleep in their room, Loretta Lynn is on the stereo, and my wife is out on a date with a man named Paulo. It’s her second date this week; her fourth this month so far. If it goes like the others, she’ll come home in the middle of the night, crawl into bed beside me, and tell me all about how she and Paulo had sex. I won’t explode with anger or seethe with resentment. I’ll tell her it’s a hot story and I’m glad she had fun. It’s hot because she’s excited, and I’m glad because I’m a feminist.
Mmhmm. This rings authentic.
When I quit working to stay at home with the kids, I began to understand it on a whole new level. I am an economically dependent househusband coping with the withering drudgery of child-rearing. Now that I understand the reality of that situation, I don’t blame women for demanding more for themselves than the life of the housewife.
LOL. So transparent. Male feminists don’t parade their sickly ids in public quite so pitch perfectly. AlexPareeniks, manlets extraordinaire, usually whip up their self-flagellation with a leavening dollop of bitter regret for betraying the last vestiges of their masculinity.
She didn’t present it as an issue of feminism to me, but after much soul-searching about why the idea of my wife having sex with other men bothered me I came to a few conclusions: Monogamy meant I controlled her sexual expression, and, not to get all women’s-studies major about it, patriarchal oppression essentially boils down to a man’s fear that a woman with sexual agency is a woman he can’t control. We aren’t afraid of their intellect or their spirit or their ability to bear children. We are afraid that when it comes time for sex, they won’t choose us. This petty fear has led us as a culture to place judgments on the entire spectrum of female sexual expression: If a woman likes sex, she’s a whore and a slut; if she only likes sex with her husband or boyfriend, she’s boring and lame; if she doesn’t like sex at all, she’s frigid and unfeeling. Every option is a trap.
This paragraph is the crone giveaway. A bitter, lonely cat lady wrote this article as a hoax to fellate her scorched ego and lash out at all the men who pass her by or use her up. True, the lowliest of lowly men COULD have written such excrescence, but the way to bet is that an insol spinster with delusions of vengeance and… sexual agency (heh)… fantasized this whole scenario into existence. She hits too many jargony femcunt talking points too squarely on the whiskered nose. Madonna/whore double standard? Check. Alpha fux/beta bux strategy justification? Check. Anti-judgmentalism? Check. Patriarchal oppression? Check. Dismissing as cultural baggage the real, primal, biologically-founded fear men have for cheating wives who might get pregnant by another man and foist their bastard spawn on them as their own? Checkold.
The point is that it should be women who choose, not men — even the men they’re married to. For my wife, the choice between honoring our vows and fulfilling her desires was a false choice, another trap. She knew how deep our love was, and knew that her wanting a variety of sexual experiences as we traveled through life together would not diminish or disrupt that love. It took me about six months — many long, intense conversations, and an ocean of red wine — before I knew it, too.
This paragraph contains the second crone giveaway. No man nurses his depression with “an ocean of red wine”. He hits the hard stuff or the beer. Spinster cat ladies, licensed to psychologically project! B-U-S-T-E-D. Great job, Michelle Eatmore.
It does work both ways and, yes, I too enjoy sexual carte blanche. I just don’t use mine as much as my wife uses hers. What’s important is equality of opportunity, not outcome.
How convenient for your imaginary heroine, Michelle. PS Equality of opportunity doesn’t apply to the sexual market because women have a near-monopolistic advantage on sexual commerce (which when they indulge decreases the value of their commitment market value, but femcunts don’t want to hear that part).
Reader NothingMan00 adds,
I plugged each of the paragraphs presented here into the Gender Guesser:
It guessed female writer for each, assuming the piece is an example of “formal” writing.
Another commenter astutely pointed out that no man would worry more about his wife “falling in love” with another man than about his wife fucking another man. This is pure, distilled bitterbitch psychological projection.