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Archive for the ‘Girls’ Category

Have you ever noticed how many hot girls have a passel of gay male friends in their inner circle? But don’t get the wrong impression. It’s not accurate to say these gay men are orbiters sucking up to the emotional needs of their girl friends; more often, the hot chicks are orbiting the gay men. The gay men decide where to go out, and the women follow. The gay men lead conversations, and the women respond. Hot babes, in other words, are the beta male orbiters to gay male friends.

I don’t know how gay men act around other attractive gay men — presumably they act similarly to straight beta males in the company of hot women — but I do know that gay men are the absolute MASTERS of negging and teasing hot chicks. Thus, beta males starting out with game would find it helpful to spend some time hanging with mixed groups that include gay men. What they will witness is an absolute CLINIC in the use of negs and teasing to arouse the pleasure centers in women.

Overheard examples:

Hot chick: [complaing about her long workouts]

Gay male friend: That’s not a real workout. Stop bitching.

***

Hot chick: [lamenting the long walk to the party in her high heels] I almost wanted to take them off and throw them in the street!

Gay male friend: [looking at her shoes and shaking his head disapprovingly] Next time, don’t just say it. Do it!

Why are gay men so good at negging hot women? Sure, gays have a biting, shallow wit and a keen ability to ricochet from one subject to another giving each only the most superficial consideration that appeals to women, but more importantly, gays are totally relaxed around very good-looking girls. Women’s beauty — the prime vector inducing stammering, stuttering, stressing and pants loading in straight beta males — exerts no influence on gay men’s emotional states, except in a distantly abstract aesthetic sense, like one might feel admiring a pleasing artwork.

Straight men — and by straight men I mean beta males, because alpha males already understand how women function — can learn a thing or two from gay men about how to handle hot chicks. Gay men have natural attraction game around women, because they are truly 100% outcome independent. There isn’t a gay man alive who cares about closing the deal with a chick.

You’ll learn more observing the gay man-hot chick social dynamic. Gays don’t neg and tease constantly, though they do tease a lot more than you suspect. Every so often, the gay friend will flatter his girl friend and pass a compliment along, usually relating to something she’s wearing or her improved body. But it seems every sincere compliment is leavened with three backhanded compliments, three sarcastic ripostes, and three playground-style teasing insults.

Why do hot girls put themselves in this reactive position vis-á-vis gay men? Simple. They like it. They love how their gay friends verbally molest them. They love it so much they often remark absent-mindedly how great it would be if their gay friends were straight.

The hot girl who is surrounded by boring beta men all day, who gets approached by marble-mouthed suitors more often than she can count, craves the teasing put-downs and the mercurial ministrations of self-confident, don’t-give-a-shit-what-she-thinks men in her life. Gay men give her all that, minus the cock. Imagine her delight when a straight man with game gives her the same thing, plus the bonus of a massively tumescent penis.

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Open This Set

Imagine you are at a club and you are confronted by this three set:

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Let’s examine what we have here. I’ll wait while you finish up fapping your comatose seed into oblivion.

Ok, the specs.

  • Three girls, from left to right: a 7.5, a 6 and a 4.5.

Readers’ rankings may vary 0.5 to 1 point in either direction. Don’t make a production out of it. The rankings are reflective of general consensus among the male population.

  • Odds of sluttiness, from left to right: 65%, 25% and 75%

I know, some of you are asking how the third girl can have a higher chance of being a superslipperyfun slut than the first girl. Gentlemen, don’t confuse sluttery with exhibitionism. While there is a correlation, exhibitionists are often decepticon sluts who want to make you think they are DTF, but in reality just get off on provoking male attention and public displays of horniness (PDH) from desperate no-game-having men.

HBhellovagina! on the left is clearly an exhibitionist (please, no contrarian insistence that she might not know her panties are showing; she knows.) Most likely, she is displaying her pantied genitalia for the cameraman (and her friends) alone, because most of the men in the background have their backs turned to her. This suggests her panty flash was likely a spontaneous action with zero forethought or preparedness to maximize the amount of attention she could receive. She hasn’t prepped the crowd, in other words. A lack of preparation boosts her slut score, since sluts act on impulse. Thus, her 65% chance to put out same night.

HBwhitedress has demure body language, a soft smile, a long hemline and tallness. She is the mother hen. You will not pull a same night lay with her, but you will pull a number and a date.

HBminiskirt has many of the signs of true sluttiness — prominent chest and buttocks thrust, sleepy demonic eyes, knowing smirk, oversized purse, gaudy accessories and, most importantly, she is the least attractive of her friends, but not so unattractive that she can’t hook a few douchebag horndogs for a night or two of sweaty delirium. She is the kind of girl who uses the easy availability of her sex to steal the spotlight from her more attractive friends. Also, check out her digit ratio: masculine! That’s almost all the proof you need that she’s DTF. If her face were illuminated with a black light, rivulets of ancient cum shots would shine brightly, resembling a Martian landscape.

  • Potential cockblock, from left to right: very high, moderate, low.

Exhibitionists are second only to fat chicks for their compulsion to cockblock and their talent at doing so. HBhellovagina! won’t take kindly to the spotlight being off her for even a second. HBwhitedress may move in if she sees one of her charges succumbing to your charms. HBminiskirt has the cartoonishly sexy posture of a woman who would sooner steal you for a messy fuck than cockblock you.

  • All three girls are close friends.

Girls who are close friends don’t mind when their boobs nestle against each other. They may even like it. They *do* mind when one of their friends makes a spectacle of herself, which makes me wonder if HBhellovagina! caught them unawares with her standing split.

Now that you have the preliminary analysis you need based on a quick visual inspection, I want you to describe how you would approach and open this set, either alone or with a wingman. Which girl would you choose as your primary target? Who would you address first? What opener would you use? If going in alone, how do you extract your target?

Keep in mind that three scenarios are probable here, and will determine your approach. HBhellovagina! is:

1. flaunting her goods for a lone cameraman (with maybe his buddy in tow), or

2. flaunting her goods for another girl friend(s), or

3. flaunting her goods for you because she has seen you walking toward her group (with camera in hand).

Choose from one of the three probable scenarios above and describe your opening game in detail. You confident bastards may want to describe how you would game these chicks under all three scenarios. This is just an exercise in opening game, so no need to go into panegyrics about venue bouncing or bedroom tips. Stick to the approach and extraction.

Those of you with good game will get to experience the thrill of commenters patting you on the back. Merry f’in Christmas!

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Alex bemoans:

Speaking of uncaring assholery –

I recently made the mistake of, in the split second I had to decide, taking the drink a girl asked me to hold – “hold this”, and she dove towards the dance floor. The same impulse which bade me grab her drink, also bade me drink it (downed it in one shot, then moved on to dance with some other girl).

Does this set of actions come off as the right kind of assholery? Any chance for the pick-up to be resurrected afterwards?

This exact same thing once happened to me. And it’s particularly galling because the “Hold my drink for me” shit test is one of the most blatantly obvious shit tests that chicks with no ethical boundaries employ. She had asked me to hold her cocktail and I didn’t have a second to analyze the transaction before my fingers straightened to receive it. Then she trotted off to grab a scarf off her girl friend’s shoulder. Looking down at her drink in my hand, I felt a wave of disgust with myself. And I responded the same way as Alex: I gulped it down. When she returned and saw the empty glass she said “Hey, you drank it! That’s rude!” I answered Corey Worthington-style, “Oh… sorry I guess”, and walked away.

There will be times when your game acumen lets you down and a chick manages to sneak an artillery shell loaded with toxic vagina gas past your defenses. When that happens, the best you can do is recognize your error of judgment quickly, and rectify your demonstration of lower value as best you can without crossing the line into strident acts of vengeance that will socially ostracize you beyond the confines of one bitchy, manipulative girl. What Alex did in response was perfectly acceptable. In ascending order of face-saving effectiveness:

1. Continue holding her drink until she returns, then greeting her with “here you go!” as you hand her drink back.

So beta it actually hurts my balls a little just to type that out.

2. Hold her drink until she returns, then give it back coupled with a sarcastic riposte like “I should charge you for this”.

Not as beta as number 1, but still supplicating.

3. Leave her drink on the bar and walk off.

Better than acquiescing. But not as satisfying as number 4.

4. Gulp her drink and hand her the empty glass when she returns.

Congratulations, you are an acolyte asshole. Pussy lips will begin parting in five minutes.

5. Spit and burp burrito gas into her drink, then hand it back to her with a big smile.

This is personally satisfying, but you will be robbed of the priceless look of incredulity on her face when she sees an empty glass. Nevertheless, the glowing feeling you get from this private act of revenge will put a bounce in your step and turbocharge your game for the rest of the night.

The best way to reply to a girl who tells you to hold her drink is to pretend to agree and amplify. (Girls will try to pull this off by thrusting the drink into your hand and not waiting for you to reply.)

“Hold my drink. Thanks!”

Leaving your hands by your side: “Would you like your glass slippers polished too?”

Whatever happens, always leave your hands down at your sides. She will attempt to foist the drink on you and will expect you to reach out for it. When you don’t, the drink will crash to the ground. I’ve seen this happen. It is hilarious. The guy who did this told the girl to “go home” and “sleep it off”. That is some transcendental game, right there.

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Not every insult (veiled or blatant), punchy challenge, or arch criticism by a woman is a shit test as the term is commonly understood — a subconsciously guided female examination of a man’s grace under pressure that helps her assess his alphaness. There are other reasons a woman might be critical of a man she is dating or evaluating as a suitor.

I have observed that there are two alternate explanations for bitchy behavior that men will encounter most often in the course of their love lives.

1. She is genuinely repulsed by a man’s betaness.

When a girl is sincerely and uncompromisingly put off by cloying or socially clumsy beta male behavior, she will sometimes be unable to stifle the disgust she feels and her animus will come spilling out in icy cold body language, nagging, scolding and nit-picking. This is predominantly the behavior of the bitch in betrothed bondage to the beta male, who has grown tired, or become unsettlingly aware, of her hubby’s unsexy weakness. The beta husband who finds his time with his wife increasingly characterized by seemingly irrational wifely outbursts of anger, incessant nagging about inconsequential misdemeanors, passive-aggressive sex withdrawal and assorted glib jabs and cruel mannerisms that show a disrespect for his presumed status and masculine prerogative, is experiencing the foul ministrations of a woman in thrall to her slow boil of hate for male enfeeblement. This phenomenon is easily substitutable for men and women in unmarried long-term relationships.

Men, beware. This is no shit test. It is your most immediate warning sign that your lover is about to leave you, or, worse, cheat on you. She has no interest in sussing out your manliness; she is only a fist of rage semi-incoherntly lashing out at you for making her feel unfeminine. Treating her behavior like an extended shit test may actually backfire if you haven’t prepped her for your transformation to a man willing to display his balls.

Note that this supremely bitchy behavior may occasionally manifest early in the courtship dance, usually by women with low impulse control and looks in the 4-7 range; the kind of women who get hit on a lot by “creepy” men thinking they have a chance, and who have reached their tolerance threshold for such brazen men. If flecks of spittle fly as she castigates you, or she is simultaneously backing away while hurling her insults at your face, or her entire body curls up into a phantom turtle shell at the mere exposure of her personal space to your entreaties, you are likely dealing with sincere loathing and not a shit test to be aced for further sexual exploration.

2. She is afraid of losing her man.

A girl who adores her boyfriend will, at times, and especially during those moments when his appeal to competitor women is most discernible, act in ways that strike normal, logical men as strange. Instead of anointing with flattery and devotionals, the anxious woman with commitment extraction on her mind may respond with what she perceives as self-esteem lowering cuts to some or another flaw of her boyfriend’s.

The flaws she highlights will almost always be of a physical nature, or a treatise on his style. “You’re getting pudgy.” “I never noticed before how gross your toes are.” “You look like you haven’t slept in a week.” “You’re too pale.” “You walk funny.” “That shirt makes you look like a doofus.”

Charming, eh? Ah, but she will hardly be able to announce these flaws with the expected contempt; often her critique will be leavened with a revealing brightness in the eyes and sensuously accessible body language. An experienced man will rapidly know her bitchiness comes from a place of insecurity about her standing with him. He will know, as true as the sun rises in the east, that women simply don’t put very much emphasis on a man’s looks in comparison to the other attractiveness traits that women desire in men. And that this truism goes double for a woman in love, for whom her man’s looks are a paltry secondary consideration to his wit, leadership, humor, kindness, cockiness, thoughtfulness, edginess and sexual prowess. And so her criticisms of his physical state or fashion sense will trickle harmlessly off his ego like water off a duck’s back, understood as they are as the bleatings of a desperate lover engaged in a mini power play.

The woman chooses the physical and the stylistic for her barbs because she is projecting her very real female horror at coming up short in these two areas critical to her own SMV onto her man, for whom she mistakenly believes pokes at his physical attributes will have the same effect on him as it would on her; namely, the effect of luring him more deeply into an approval-seeking mode of thought and, thus, a stronger commitment from him that she much desires. This type of subversive badinage is actually a form of bonding for the woman. Unlike insults directed at a man’s status for which there is no turning back, the nature of petty jabs at his looks or his choice of clothes brings a woman closer to her man; she is complicit in his reformulation to something “better”, i.e. domesticated.

Men, be gladdened. If you hear your girlfriend or wife criticizing you in this manner, you are confirmed to be sitting pretty in the driver’s seat of the relationship. You have hand. She wants what only you have to give: increased commitment. And she wants it as badly as you wanted her sex when the two of you started dating.

You may play it off like a shit test, replying in knowing condescension or, even funnier, feigned concern. E.g., “Yes, I really ought to get right on that fixing my troll toes. I’ll schedule an amputation tomorrow.” But be warned: the nature of this type of criticism is not usually that of the shit test. She is not interested in deducing your alphaness; she already knows about that, and anyhow her jabs are of a different nature when it is playful shit testing that motivates her.

No, she wants to hurt you just a little bit — to make you just insecure enough, really, to inspire you to ingratiate yourself to her needs without turning you away completely or unintentionally pushing you to desperate, servile betatude — and pointed, spiteful criticism of your physical flaws (that she thinks ought to matter to her, and to you, but really don’t) is how she gets at you. She knows you’re confident to volley her verbal airstrikes. If you begin hearing a lot of this sort of criticism from her, it means flirty parrying is not what she seeks; she wants your ultimate capitulation.

…every kiss begins with three months’ salary

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Alert: Intrapickup squabble!

Is it true that an aspiring womanizer — or even a typical man in a billowy button-down who wants to improve his love life — must pay his dues with ugly women before he can achieve the goal of banging hotter women? The question hints at a significant fault line in current pickup thinking, precisely because it throws into stark relief the ego-shattering human impulse to judge men based on the quality of women they pull.

I’ll paraphrase a reader’s objections, who asked not to be directly quoted:

Roosh’s idea that you have to bang a lot of unattractive women to get hotter women is not persuasive. What helps is getting laid regularly, which doesn’t necessarily require cutting your teeth on ugly chicks. You only need one woman to get laid regularly, so such a strategy obviates the need to fill up your notch post with lots of uglies and plain janes. Ideally, your “regular lay” should be in the 6 to 8 range, but if you’re a newbie you may have to start with 4s and 5s. Picking up large numbers of less attractive women may give you experience with logistics and help with honing your routines, but that is the relatively easy part of game. Getting laid regularly, even if it’s with one woman, is all a man needs to step up to the next higher beauty class.

My opinion on this matter falls somewhere between Roosh’s and the anonymous reader’s takes. Roosh is entirely correct to note that men who use the “I have standards” excuse are, more often than not, men who aren’t living up to their professed high standards. It’s similar in spirit to the internet nerd sour grapes syndrome, in which hot chicks that are unavailable to them are deemed unworthy of their loving nerd attention because of some ridiculously trivial flaw, like pointy elbows.

Roosh is also onto something when he advocates for having flexible standards. If 8s and above are all you will deign to approach, then there are going to be times and places when and where you will endure some long, tough dry spells, and this is especially true if you are an average guy with average game and above average horniness. Unless you have rock solid inner game and unshakeable confidence that enables you to weather extended down times without losing your pickup magic or your aura of charismatic fuckability, those dry spells will hurt your interactions with women. Like dogs can smell fear, women can smell celibacy.

The reader suggests that the ideal route for men to take to avoid sexless purgatory while keeping the ladder-climbing option open is to gun for the decent-looking regular lay. This allows a man to avoid the dispiritment that accompanies fucking too many uglies while also sparing him the stink of celibacy that erodes confidence and spooks hot chicks.

And that’s where I part company with Roosh and favor the life strategy of the anonymous reader. Fucking uglies, in even small quantities and in temporary bouts, risks flirting with depression and slumping into a long-term rut. I don’t come by this view speculatively. I have some real world trials by trolls from which to evangelize. I’ll give you an example I’m thinking of from years ago:

I had spent a few weeks fucking a 5. It was only four bang sessions, but that was enough to alter my self-perception and mood. I had gone through a bad breakup and she (the 5) presented herself, fortuitously, almost immediately after the final severance from my ex. She was friendly and sweet, and open to meeting someone. I gamed her but hardly needed more than my first wave artillery; she melted quickly. She had a good body, so despite her plain face the sex was good. But I couldn’t help notice it was not as good as   sex with hotter women.

Just at the point I was getting the full measure of my single man’s confidence back, the 5 conveniently left town, rescuing me from the awkwardness of a messy dumping I knew had to be done. However, upon leaving, the sexless rut began to reappear. Two weeks went by with no acceptable nibbles on my penile line. A buddy who was a wingman at the time suggested I meet up with a girl he had failed with himself as a sort of friendship offering in difficult times.

“You’ll really like this girl. She’s totally your type. A solid 8. Very hot, blonde.”

“Oh yeah? If she’s so hot, why aren’t you working on her?”

“I did. I got nowhere, but it’s OK, I prefer brunettes. We hang out together. She makes me look good when we go out.”

“So you want me to meet her? Hmm.”

“Yes, you’ll thank me.”

We met, all four of us — me, the “hot blonde 8”, my friend, and his current girlfriend — late at night under cover of a dark lounge. I didn’t know where my friend’s head was, but she was no 8. Yes, she had blonde hair, but that was about where the confirmation of my friend’s powers of observation ended. From what I could glean through the dim club light and my alcoholic haze, she was no better than a 6, and maybe even a 5.

Nevertheless, I was horny, and feeling down. I could use the pickmeup pickherup. We trundled outside, into a cab, and I took her back to my pad. Inside my place, lights at full blast, I was sorely disappointed to realize my friend’s “solid 8” was a weak 4. I had never fucked a 4 before, and never would again.

Too late to reverse course, and bored into conspiracy, I lamely escorted her into my bed, and quickly swung her into the doggy-style position where exposure to her face would be limited. Her body wasn’t half-bad, but not good enough to compensate; my dick went limp inside her vagina. I imagine that has to be a girl’s worst nightmare; up front rejection in the form of a backturn or a wandering eye is bad enough, but getting rejected in the most softeningly obvious way possible when you are literally giving it everything you’ve got, your womanhood deeply committed… well, that’s gotta sting.

I couldn’t be bothered to make excuses. She dressed and left in silence. My blue mood hardened. I cursed my friend’s taste in women. I took a shower to wash off the dirt that had alighted upon my soul.

Two women, one borderline ugly and the other plain as unsyruped pancakes, in a row and I was done with the idea of it. Their company, however genial and accommodating, did nothing to lift my spirits or gird my confidence. Just the opposite, in fact: I fell deeper into self-flagellation.

One week after the limp-out incident, I hit up a local lounge and met an 8.5 whom I would spend the next five months fucking in gloriously hedonistic abandon. I have yet to share my bed since then with a woman lower than a 6.5. I learned my lesson.

I’m as horny a guy as you’ll find, but I have to admit not so horny that I’ll start rummaging through the 3 and 4 kitchen trash if there’s no four star restaurant available. Maybe that’s a problem of getting laid too regularly — you lose that wall-climbing horniness that would compel you to stick it in the most convenient wet hole. Ugly girls as stepping stones to hotter women sounds good in theory, but in reality sex with them too often — and too often can happen a lot faster than most men realize — is not only a time and energy suck, but a depressive drug that corrodes self-confidence.

Perhaps this feeling — this sex dynamic — varies by race, age and baseline dignity. If so, more power to the guys who don’t mind dumping fucks in seacows and butterfaces. I can’t bring myself to do it, even if it’s all the local talent has to offer. My minimum threshold in women’s looks is 6, under which it becomes almost physiologically impossible for me to complete the bang.

My inner game is strong enough now that I can afford to risk a month or two downtime without getting too rusty or too doubtful of my skills. I would only use an ugly girl who fell below my minimum looks threshold as a stepping stone in the most dire of circumstances, such as if my dry spell extends beyond two months, or I’ve taken to, ahem, “mood enhancers” that give me 24 hour wood.

So you might say that the reader’s strategy is the way to go if you are a high risk for lengthy dry spells, and your game and self-possession aren’t strong enough to carry you through a slump slumming it with ugly chicks. Alternatively, Roosh’s strategy — to skip the “regular lay” girlfriends and just focus on getting laid even if the talent available is not up to snuff — is better if you can’t tolerate any kind of dry spell, if your dick is indiscriminate, and if your game is good enough that regular pickup with little downtime is within the realm of possibility.

TL;DR Don’t make a habit of banging ugly chicks. It can be as bad for your self-confidence as involuntary celibacy.

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Tomboys Vs Girly-Girls

I once dated a girl who was a professed hardcore tomboy in her youth. She played team sports where she excelled and hurt opponents with her jabbing elbows of competitive zeal. She had very little fashion sense and needed the assistance of her girlier friends (men and women) when shopping, which is an activity she hated. She loved sex and had the libido of a man.

She was not a lesbian, nor did she have lesbianic tendencies, a presumption you would be forgiven for having since it is true that there is some correlation between tomboyishness and dykery.

It’s unremarkable to point out that it is in the nature of women to dress up. They make themselves shiny not only to attract the eye of a quality man but to compete with other women in their social milieu. It is an oft heard truism that when a couple walks into a room the women will check out the girl first before giving the guy a look. A woman lavishly dresses up in context-appropriate ways not just to impress other women but to frighten them into giving up and going home so that she may absorb all the male attention like the sole whore in a brothel in the middle of the desert. As women’s fashion is spiked armor adorned with the heads of female foes, make-up is war paint for chicks.

Tomboys don’t participate in this fashion arms race, and their refusal to conform to the gender norm means they do not get along with the girly-girls, for the most part. You will rarely see tomboys and tinseltarts enjoying each other’s company, unless it is in a mating venue where the tomboys opportunistically leech off of the male attention that girly-girls naturally soak up. You’ll sometimes hear a tomboy claim to have a princess for a best friend, when in reality she only hangs out with her on clubbing nights, or at the mall for shopping advice.

Tomboys can be charmingly naive in their forwardness with men, and their total lack of guile. But the dirty secret is that most men actually like it when a woman is a little bit coy with them. Coyness inspires pursuit.

Tomboys much prefer the company of men for friends. Men, in turn, like tomboys for their friendliness, approachability, common interests and ease of sexual access, but tomboys rarely arouse men as viscerally as do feminine girls. Soft, mealy men will often wind up the long-term partners of tomboys, as these types of women tend to fill that gaping emasculated void in soft men’s souls.

A tomboy wise to the ways of men may ask her girlier friends why they even bother dressing up? Men will size you up 90% of the way in a second with a quick glance at your face, hourglass figure, ass and breasts, they might say. (Well, they would say it in so many words after it is filtered through the female voicebox transmogrification module sapping the words of all their urgency and power.) Three months later he might notice you keep your hair up instead of down.

But that’s the tomboy’s problem in an eggshell. The accoutrements of girlishness — clothes, makeup, jewelry, mannerism — are as much for the detriment of other women as they are for the benefit of men.

Contrary to perceived wisdom, it is actually harder to break up with a tomboy than with a girly-girl. You may think tomboys, with their masculine airs, would be better equipped emotionally to put the thought of a lost lover behind them, but tomboys are as hopelessly romantic as straight men. They suffer badly when dumped. It’s the girly-girls who, untethered from flights of abstraction or notions of loyalty, recover quickly from being dumped.

That is, unless they have first fallen in love. Then all bets are off.

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Slate, that bastion of feminist mental gymnastics, has an article about some male porn star who appeals to women because he supposedly embodies nonthreatening boyishness.

In the winter issue of Good Magazine, Amanda Hess has a fascinating profile of James Deen, a young, handsome porn star who is becoming famous for actually appealing to women. Due to his boyish, slightly skate-punk aesthetic, naturally toned body, and ability to connect emotionally (or at least appear to) with his female co-stars, Deen has garnered a following of devoted young women in an industry that in most cases ignores them entirely. Hess explains that Deen’s school-boy charm is what makes him approachable—and sexy—to his female fans:

Deen has carved out a niche in the porn industry by looking like the one guy who doesn’t belong there. Scroll through L.A.’s top porn agency sites and you’ll find hundreds of pouty women ready to drop to their knees, but just a few dozen men available to have sex with them. These guys all have a familiar look—neck chains, frosted tips, unreasonable biceps, tribal tattoos. Deen looks like he was plucked from a particularly intellectual frat house.

Hess goes on to discuss why there aren’t more guys like Deen in the male porn-star stable, and her findings tell us just as much about male viewers’ hang-ups as they do about women’s erotic preferences. Part of the problem is that men (who largely control the porn industry) imagine that women want everything big—“Big arms. Big abs. Big dicks,” as Hess puts it—when what they really want is something a little less overwrought. One of Hess’ subjects described her attraction to Deen thusly:  “He was almost like a guy that you would just hang out with at Hebrew school.”

What a robust theory from sex-positive feministland! A hardcore male porn star women love because he’s a caring, emotionally available niceguy. Except it isn’t true.

A number of commenters familiar with the field pointed out the factual problems with Hess’ theory.

You’ve got to be kidding. This guy, while lacking in tribal tattoos, makes up for it in being like every other incredibly raunchy porn star. As a normal heterosexual male, I’ve seen him in tons of porn (as there’s really only like 5 male porn stars, as the article says, and there [sic] in everything), and, past looks, he is in no way some sensual lovemaking hebrew camp dude. He does not stare longingly into their eyes and whispers in their ears. He chokes women, slaps them, does pretty degrading things to them. He fits perfectly into the stereotype of porn as a male-centric, women-as-objects display of power. If women actually watch him, If a women who did not like porn watched one of his, they would in no way find it any different, save the frosted tips, ect. This artice is really silly.

***

Do a google search or xvideos search for “pornstar punishment” with “James Deen” and you can see for yourself how well he “emotionally connects” with the women while he chokes them and slaps them. The article seems kind of funny after seeing that. Poorly researched.

Hilarity. Another crackpot feminist theory bites the dusty muff. It seems the truth is as it always was, particularly of women who love to watch male-oriented porn: chicks dig jerks, especially jerks who choke and slap them during “lovemaking”.

Why do feminists run like rats from a spotlight beam whenever they are confronted with the reality of female sexual nature and women’s preference to surrender to dominant men? What is it about that fact that sends them into paroxysms of nonsensical deconstructivism babble?

Steve Sailer has pithily remarked that the goal of feminist writers is to rearrange the world so that, come the revolution, ugly feminists will be desired by men. I have a corollary to that theory.

Feminists loathe the objectification of women because they know they don’t measure up as objects of desire.

The natural female desire to submit to a powerful man is especially galling to feminists, because it strikes at the heart of their conceit: that women can, and more importantly, *want* to scale the heights of achievement just like men do, and the only thing stopping them is misogyny and the patriarchy. If feminists were forced to acknowledge that most women have no such inclination, that in fact they prefer to support with their love and affection a worthy alpha male, they would have to face the unpleasant truth that they are a minority of masculinized freaks out of touch with the majority of their own sex. Outcasts are always fighting to make the rest of the world seem deluded and tyrannical.

That Slate article has another doozy of a theory about why there aren’t more James Deens in male-centric visual porn.

But the real obstacle to the proliferation of female-friendly male porn stars is, oddly, a rather nasty and subtle strain of homophobia, revealed in the following double-bind:

The straight male performer must be attractive enough to serve as a prop, but not so attractive that he becomes the object of desire.

Hess is spot on. Men need to see a penis in straight porn (presumably to stand in for their own), but not one that is attached to a guy who might be threateningly attractive, not to mention plausibly appealing to the woman involved. Maybe this insistence on a male blank slate (a kind of reverse objectification, when you think about it) makes it easier to project oneself onto the disembodied penis, but it also protects men from the potentially scary experience of being turned on by both partners of a heterosexual encounter—which, yes, does involve another dude. In other words, the bland interchangeability of the “unreasonable” looking men allows them to avoid confronting the terrifying specter of homosexuality.

Yup, homophobia is the reason why there aren’t feminist-approved male role models in porn.

Folks, you can’t make this shit up. Unless you’re a graduate of Columbia University.

Gay fabulosity is most likely biological in origin, so straight men are not going to be turned on by the penises pounding away in porn or the men attached to those penises, no matter how nonthreatening they look. Straight men watch porn because the sight of a hot babe’s body in the throes of sex, and the visual of various female orifices getting penetrated, is arousing. Straight men don’t like to see the faces of the male porn stars because it’s distracting from the action, and BONER KILLING.

The NewYorkBetaTimes, of all organs, even had a story about a study which proved that the sight of penises or men engaged in gay sex has no effect on the penile responses of straight male viewers. But I guess to the gatekeepers of the homophobia grievance flame, such inconvenient truths are mere speed bumps in the road to an ego-ensconcing distortion of reality.

I wonder if people realize that three quarters of mainstream internet websites would disappear overnight if a law mandated that no more than half of their content could be feelgood, made-up shit.

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