You're Just Going Through A Stage

There was another stunning celebration of divorce culture inthe HuffPo, and as much as it turned my stomach to read it, I did.  The Mid-40s EPL divorce-a-thon is in full effect, it seems.  The tragic homewrecker in these impending antinuptials? 

“I don’t feel appreciated.”

These women are usually in perfectly decent marriages to perfectly decent dudes, and they want to split up and destroy their children’s lives and their husband’s souls because “they don’t feel appreciated”.  When confronted with this sudden and seemingly-inexplicable notification of divorce, the poor beta chumps in question are astonished.  “Why didn’t you say anything?” they ask.  “I did,” she replies, tragically, “but you weren’t listening!”

And that’s utter bullshit.

Men do listen – but not the same way women do, and for women to expect that from men is as foolish as to expect women to spend $300 shopping and then not want to show you what they bought.  Men listen, generally, but they do so in analog.  What you say is what we hear, ladies.  It’s like we’re receiving text messages without the benefit of emoticons.  Women communicate in a multi-track channel, with every communication cloaked and layered in context and subcontext and meaning and innuendo.  Men have one, or maybe (in some cases) two tracks, and one of them is probably focused on sex.  But that doesn't mean we don't listen.  The problem is that you aren't saying what you think you are saying.

Men often disparage women for sitting around and “talking about nothing” for hours at a time.  What they don’t realize is that what women are doing is actually talking about everything.  Each sentence, grunt, or expression is part of a complex and sophisticated gender-based language, highly dependent upon relevant social context and consensus opinion. 

Ten minutes of mind-numbing discussion about someone’s aunt in the grocery store can actually be a confrontation, a veiled threat, a warning, and an opportunity to share information about mutual friends and enemies within the Matrix . . . and your husband will be clueless. 

He thought you were talking about Aunt Gertrude, but because he doesn’t understand her relation to the woman in question, or how the scandal she was involved with also involved your mother’s best friend, which puts you on opposite sides of the Matrix and therefore at odds, and if your mother’s friend isn’t careful she’s going to run afoul of Gertrude’s people, and how that’s important because her daughter Eva is gorgeous and engaged to a nice young man who might not appreciate knowing about the scandal . . . you get the idea. 

Most women pick up on those subtextual signals automatically and include them into their general information stream as a matter of course.  (The ones who don't, don't usually make out well in the Matrix). That makes their discussion “perfectly clear” . . . if you know the context, the subtleties, the politics, and the common aspirations and values of all women, particularly those close to you within the Matrix.  Men, not so much.

So when you are in your 40s, you "feel unappreciated”, and you tell your husband “you weren’t listening!” what you are actually doing is holding him accountable for a conversation he had no idea he was having.  By considering divorce, what you are doing is essentially punishing everyone you know and love because of your inability to understand that men and women communicate differently about different things, and you aren’t willing to give a man you once pledged your soul to the basic opportunity to figure it out and fix it.  To make you “feel appreciated” in whatever particular way is going to keep you from killing your family. 

Because by saying “too little, too late” and calling your lawyer, what you are doing is ruining everyone’s life because you are just going through a regular, normal, stupid stage of development that will pass quickly enough.

When you were 14 and dyed your hair blue and got your ear pierced without your mother knowing, when you spent 57% of your life on the phone or on chat with your friends, your parents were indulgent of that – and your suddenly-frequent emotional outbursts – because they knew that you were “going through a stage”.

When you were 17 and had your first love, and the adults around you smiled indulgently and just didn’t understand why he was so wonderful and perfect for you, even if he didn’t have a job or plans for college or even a car, they did their best to keep your virtue intact  because they knewthat you were “going through a stage”.

When you were 21 and partying like a drunken fratboy, making out with dudes whose names you didn’t know and arriving home in the wee hours (walk of shame, optional), then your parents and your friends gritted their teeth and bit their lips because they knew that you were “going through a stage”.

When you were 24 and certain that your life would only have meaning if you applied yourself to your career and focused on building a secure future, your parents may have sighed with relief because they didn’t know what you did on the weekends, but they didn't worry too much because they knew that you were “going through a stage” . . . and were probably past the risk of accidental pregnancy and on reliable birth control.

When you were 27 and met the man you knew would be the father of your children, if you chose wisely enough your friends and family and especially your parents gave a collective sigh of relief because they knew you were finally “going through a stage” they could brag to their friends about.

Ditto three years later, when you gave them grandchildren and they started criticizing your parenting.  If you were smart, you put up with it with graciousness and good boundaries, because you knew that they were just new grandparents “going through a stage”.

Your own experience as a parent of an infant likely introduced and thoroughly covered the entire idea of developmentally “going through a stage”, and you have pictures of the poop on the wall to prove it.

When your husband turned 40 and started looking at sportscars and bikini models and started working out a little, you rolled your eyes and kept them peeled for potential rivals, but you probably weren’t tooworried because every woman’s magazine in the world has prepared you for your husband’s midlife crisis – you knew he was just “going through a stage”.

But now - suddenly - because of your “pent up frustration at not feeling appreciated”, you decide to ditch him, split up the household, permanently scar your kids, and strike out on your own where, presumably, you will find this elusive feeling of appreciation you are willing to nuke your family over.  You feel you have given everything to the marriage and the family, and you have gotten nothing in return (except for love, support, security, but nothing as important as your "feelings of appreciation").  

It's understandable, kind of.  You feel the last dregs of your youth draining away and want to “enjoy life” (without really knowing what that means for you) before you die . . . and your schlubby Betazoid chump of a husband (who is acting the way you have trained him to act, and respond the way you have trained him to respond) is suddenly just not the dashing man of passionate adventure that would make you feel appreciated.  You can do better, you think.

Bullshit.  Let me say this slowly and loudly, so you can understand the full weight of my words:

You Are Just Going Through A Stage.

Acting on this impulse (or even long-thought-out wallowing in the cesspool of your own emotional turmoil) is like your husband being drunk, on the road, and getting hit on by another woman.  Consider it like that. Yes, it feels right.  It’s exciting and alluring.  It has all the promise of a grand adventure and a change in your life.  Finally, you can truly feel appreciated – for who you are, not just what you do for other people.  Someone out there really likes you, independent of your spouse or family or job.

All he had to do was nod his head, or make a bad joke she could laugh at, or give the slightest indication he was open to the idea, and he could have gone there.  He might have even been able to get away with it without you ever knowing.  

But just as your husband (presumably) waved his wedding ring under her nose and said, “sorry, it’s flattering but I love my wife”, you need to look at that wedding ring on your finger and consider something: if you could go back to that 17-year-old version of yourself and give her guidance about her tragic boyfriend situation, would you tell her that yes, indeed, her hope of a happy life was truly over without this loser . . . or that she was just young and horny, he was cute and well hung, and she was just going through a fucking stage?

Then consider this: if your 70 year-old self could come back and advise you about your present situation, would she tell you that yes, you aren’t really appreciated by the man whose children you bore or even your offspring, and you will be far, farbetter off on your own . . . or will she tell you that your sudden longing for new places and new experiences and a man who “truly appreciates you" in the approved romance-novel fashion will lead to a miserable existence of a slowly decreasing circle of old women who lean on each other for support because no one else values and appreciates them any more? 

Will she tell you that far from being sorry you left him and genuinely repentant about his poor management of your marriage and his relationship with you he’s going to find a woman ten years younger who treats your kids like gold and raves about what a devoted husband he is, and how foolish you were for letting him get away?  Will she tell you that the fertile pool of handsome, well-educated men eager for a life with a 40-something woman does exist . . . and is in its 70s?  Will she tell you that men your own age will politely decline your attempts to flirt without hurting your feelings, while younger men look at you as either just another horny old cougar or a pitiful old wreck . . . if they see you at all? 

Will she tell you that after the split your kids just kind of stop calling?  That they’d rather spend their holidays with their dad and his fun new wife than with you in your dreary “economy single’s condo”?  Or that when they do show up, it’s out of a sense of obligation and filial duty to let you spend time with your grandchildren while they suppress the rage they feel toward you over how you ruined their childhoods because you “didn’t feel appreciated?”

Will your future self tell you that getting a divorce and becoming a single career woman at your age puts you competing with 24 year-olds who have far more experience and understanding of the emerging technology needed to get even an entry-level job that doesn’t involve a spatula – and they have perky tits?  Will she tell you how those same young women, primed for combat in both their personal and professional lives, will betray you in an instant and keep you from advancing while trashing you behind your back?

Will she tell you about your rapidly-declining professional and romantic market value?  About how the dreams you have today of “feeling appreciated” rapidly turn into a series of concessions and compromises that see your standard of living decline to a low plateau?  About how your circle of girlfriends and the occasional pet will be the only real support you have through your declining years . . . while your husband’s second wife is faithfully standing by with YOUR children at his side in his hours of need? 

Will your 70 year-old self tell you that making a decision like this based on “going through a stage” is the moral equivalent of getting married at 19 because you’re “in love” with some uneducated goober?  Will she tell you that the hours of “me” time you fantasize about now will all-too-soon become endless stretches of loneliness and solitary despair?  That the guilty pleasure of reading or watching movies or gardening you covet now will become the essential distractions of the next thirty years to keep you from dwelling on your solitude, your bitterness, your regret for the decisions you’ve made and the knowledge that you will most likely die alone?

Think about it.  Think about it from your 70-year old self’s perspective for a moment.  Look around at the women you see in their 70s, and count happy faces.  Now count wedding rings. 

Because the feeling that “I don’t feel appreciated” is notjust one of spoiled, solipsistic selfishness that we would shame our children for displaying, it’s also a repudiation of your own claim to adult status, the responsibility for making the adult decisions you did and living with the consequences.  You didn’t get married and have kids to feel appreciated, or you did it for the wrong reasons.  You did it to bring more love into the world.   Leaving a marriage because you don’t feel appreciated is, likewise, the wrong reason.  And all it will do is bring more suffering into the world . . . yours, included.

Oh, the first few years will be fine.  After you get through the nasty process of divorce, settle your differences with your ex-husband, try to repair the relationship with your kids, and mourn the loss of that which you killed,  you’ll have a little money in your purse, your own car, your own apartment, and it will be like college again – just you and your girlfriends, your very own Sex In The City.

You’ll initially delight in the prospect of sampling the exotic adventures implicit in a new man, and you’ll pore through the MEN SEEKING WOMEN section of half-a-dozen dating sites with unabashed glee.  There are men out there who know how to make you feel appreciated – you just know it.  All you have to do is find them.  If Bob the Ex-Husband wasn’t appreciative enough, then certainly the successful 45 year-old executive you can’t BELIEVE has a body like that will be . . .

. . . only he doesn’t answer mail from anyone over 30.

You’ll go to singles’ nights with The Girls, just a bawdy gang of cougars on the prowl.  You might even get lucky, and seduce some hot stud with the remains of your feminine charms.  But the next morning you’ll find him gone, and you’ll find the contact information he gave you is bogus, and then you’ll discover a few months later that he took naked pictures of you while you were asleep for his internet “MILF Trophy Room”.

You’ll carry on, meeting one balding loser after another, your heart sinking even as your girlfriends encourage you to try a new hairstyle, a new look, new shoes . . . a new bar.  A new dating site.  But every time you go forth looking for adventure and – yes! – appreciation, you go home a little sadder and a little more frightened.

And then someday, sometime, you’ll wake up in the middle of the night, the terrors of your subconscious breathing down your neck, your whole body covered in sweat as you wrestle with some primal fear from the depths of your brain.  You’ll sit bolt upright in the darkness, your eyes wide, your body wracked with chills, panting with imagined exertion and very real fear, your mind reduced to the whimpering incoherence of a terrified child.  

And then you’ll instinctively reach across the bed for the warmth and comfort you once had, that you promised you’d keep forever, and the bed will be cold and empty. 

You’ll realize that you have no one to talk to about your nightmare.

Then you’ll realize that no one would really care about it, anyway. 

Such things are inherently intimate, not for “girls’ night” or even the whispered confessions between “besties”.  Only a sister, or a parent, or a husband is capable of soothing fears on that level.  Someone has to reassure you that Everything Is Going To Be All Right . . . otherwise you’ll know everything isn’t going to be all right.  Then you’ll think of your ex-husband’s second wife, clinging to the comfort and the strength of the arms that you accused of making you “not feel appreciated”, and there will be a bitter pang in your stomach and a fierce, savage psychic wail of despair as you – at last – realize what a tragic mistake you’ve made.

Oh, you’ll dismiss me as a doomsaying misogynist, and that’s your prerogative.  But I’m notwrong.  Surf the internet any way you choose.  The number of divorced women living a “fabulous” lifestyle is dwarfed by the number who are living with an increasing state of despair over their bleak futures.  Divorce is good for men, you see, not women . . . even if women initiate 70% of them. 

You’ll find plenty of accounts of women who regret their rash decision, who recognize – now – that they were “only going through a stage”, and that their desire for appreciation was actually a desire for a deeper interpersonal connection with and attention from their husbands . . . or someone.  They are bitter about their decisions, even as they recognize that they must live with them.  Even the Eat, Pray, Love lady ended up with a trollish dud who just wanted a green card. 

There’s even a name for these women, these divorced past-the-Wall women that men walk past and don’t even see anymore: Plankton.  That’s what some of them call themselves, for obvious reasons. 

Sure, your girlfriends want you to do it.  Hell, the ones who took the plunge first want you to do it to validate their own decisions, and the ones who are considering it want to live vicariously through your experience – and how is a happy marriage anything to gossip about at brunch? 

But what you don’t want to admit to yourself is that part of their encouragement isn’t out of friendship and sisterly loyalty, it’s out of spite.  If they didn’t get Happily Ever After, then you shouldn't have it either.  And some of them will even be very, very supportive of your divorce . . . and be boinking your ex before the ink is dry on the divorce papers, if not before.  When abuse or neglect aren’t involved, when your girlfriends encourage you to divorce because “you aren’t happy” or “you don’t feel appreciated”, then it’s functionally the equivalent of them telling to get your hair cut off short because “it looks so cute”.  When, in reality, it really doesn’t. 

But standing next to a chick with a bad haircut always makes you look good . . . and they know that.  Standing next to a woman who voluntarily pulled the self-destruct on a perfectly good marriage makes you look good . . . and they know that, too.  

So sure, they’ll tell you to divorce, and go after everything he’s got.  They’ll let you lean on them, cry, grieve,  and bond and be like sisters in your hour of need.  

And then the catty bitches will stab you in the back, just like you knew they would.  Things start to erode.  The friendships you relied upon to get you through the darkest parts of your divorce are, you discover to your horror, rarely as stable or as permanent as you thought.  The rowdy group of divorcees tearing up the local scene breaks apart, breaks down, get new boyfriends and husbands, move away, just stop returning your calls.  And then it's just you.  Alone.

They want to tell you that everything is great on The Other Side of divorce, how self-fulfilled and happy you’ll be on your own.  They tell you that your husband is stifling you, your family is holding you back and keeping you from being everything you want to be.  They’ll tell you that the world is full of interesting, handsome, successful men, that your kids will be fine, that you’re only cheating yourself if you stay in your gloomy, unappreciative marriage.  Their divorce was the best thing that ever happened to them, they’ll assure you.  It’s a non-stop party, and now you’re old enough to enjoy it. 

They want to tell you all of this because if they tell you anything else, then the tissue of rationalizations that is the only thing staving off unmitigated depression about the mistake they made in divorcing their kind, decent, loving, and largely clueless ex-husbands would evaporate.  They’d have to admit that they made a mistake.  That they should have rode out the stage and hung on for another year or two, and then everything would have been fine.  They’d have to admit that they burn with savage jealousy when they see their ex’s new wife or their new baby.  They’d have to admit the number of times they've been lied to by men who used them for sex and then disappeared or the fact that the men they want don’t want them. 

They’d have to admit that they were wrong.  And that their lives are, indeed, their own fault.  And they can’t have that.  That would involving self-accountability, and that kind of stark and blunt introspection is as far from their nature as a NASCAR service pit.  The divorced women can’t tell you about the night terrors, the pervasive loneliness, the sense of despair and depression and isolation, or they would have to admit that they made a tragic, terrible mistake that they now have to live with.  That way madness lies.

So they tell you how great it is, and watch with glee as you destroy your own life and the lives of those around you because of your “feeling” of not “being appreciated.”  And they don’t tell you the one piece of advice that would actually be of use to you, about now:

“Relax.  He really does appreciate you.  Far more than you realize.  If you don’t feelthat, then you have to consider that part of the problem is with your expectations, and not with his performance.  Your attitudes and perspectives will change as you mature, and a better understanding of yourself and your husband will – ultimately – allow you the space you need to feel the appreciation you crave, and that has been there all along.  This is perfectly natural, perfectly normal.  This will pass.
 “You're just going through a stage.”

Here in the Manosphere (a foreign and dangerous place for most ladies – Here There Be Draygons), particularly in the Red Pill areas, we understand what’s happening better than you do.  We've seen it, discussed it, and understood it until we can pretty much predict exactly what is going to happen, based on thousands of case studies which support the underlying theory:

You aren’t feeling appreciated because you simply aren’t attracted to your husband anymore.  

That “yearning” for “something more” is actually – pardon the crudeness – a desire for romance, passion, and big thick meaty dick attached to a big, strong, masculine- yet-sensitive man.  We understand that at this stage of your life, your body is telling you that – reproductively  speaking – you are at the end of the road, and you have but a few scant years of youthful bloom left.  Biologically and psychologically you have passed through the Maiden stage, beyond the Mother stage of life, but are not yet ready for the Crone.

So you examine the source of your unhappiness . . . and the best you can come up with is “I don’t feel appreciated.”

And the reason you don’t feel appreciated is because for the last decade or so, you haven’t desired appreciation as much as getting shit done: your career, your household, your children, school, work, family, house, cars, insurance – you’ve probably spent the last decade of your life trying to be a grown-up, and likely felt you dragged your husband into that state with you kicking and screaming.  

Finally, when you got him to a point where he was doing more or less what you wanted him to do to keep the trains running on time, you fell out of attraction with him because, well, he was just this boring dad dude who spent all of his time and passion keeping the trains running on time, and not adoring and cherishing his wife.

Yep.  I said it.  It’s largely your fault.

Sex was in there.  Youlike sex.  Hell, you love sex.  Sex with hubby used to be awesome, a tantalizing delight you looked forward to with undisguised enthusiasm.  Now, it’s a dreary chore made banal by endless repetition and an utter lack of innovation or inspiration.  Yet when your husband tentatively suggested exploring other possibilities, you shut him down – subtlety, perhaps, or maybe you did it in such a way that humiliated and shamed him to the point where he would never dare bring it up again.  But if your hubby’s a dud, remember who trained him to be that way.

When it comes down to it, that’s what “I don’t feel appreciated” means.  It means “I don’t feel vaginal tingles when I look at my husband, I feel a slightly disturbed sense of resentment with maybe a side of loathing.”  

When the only time you feel possessive of him is when another woman admires him, and the rest of the time you just kind of wish he would have an affair to demonstrate some signs of life (or at least give you a convenient escape clause from your “unappreciated” life) then yes, you have fallen out of attraction for your husband.  You may still love and care for him deeply, even respect him as a man and a father.  But your unvoiced and subtextual screams for attention, many of which he actually heard but did not understand, have left you with a monster of your own creation.

You can fix it.  You can fix it a lot less painfully and a lot more easily than you can get a divorce, believe it or not.  Your husband is a perfectly decent man – just ask any of the thousands of women ten years younger than you who see him not as a schlubby Beta chump but as a proven and reliable provider, an experienced lover, and a huge prize at the altar worth bragging about.  

And while you might think “you can have him!” now, I assure you that in two years you will be sobbing into your pillow over what you have given up.  When you realize that a little re-assessment and education could have prevented your tragic mistake, and kept a devoted man next to you in bed to confide your deepest terrors to, you are going to feel like the biggest fool in the world. 

And then you’re going to come up with all sorts of rationalizations why you “did the right thing”, “it was for the best”, and “we’re really better off as friends.”  You’regoing to be the one singing the praises of divorce, even as you realize how hot your ex suddenly is now that he has other women chasing after him . . . and you’re only getting hit on by losers and pervs. There’s a reason why so many people cheat with their ex.  Once you dump him and destroy his family, your hubby’s going to work out like a fiend, become more professionally driven, and essentially become the man you desperately wanted him to be before you dumped him. Congrats.  You finally changed him.

When the man you loved for years – and once had a wild sexual infatuation for – suddenly presents himself as a mature, confident, successful stud, you’ll feel that tingle again – hell, it will ROAR back in a foam of regret and sorrow.  He will be nearly irresistible to you.  When he shows up to a scheduled meeting looking good and smelling good and with that serious look in his eye, your attraction to him will start to grow again . . . and the first time you see another woman in his arms, it will drive you insane.  When you hear how much she raves about him, you’ll feel bitter.  And when you rationalize some damn good reason why trying to sleep with him one last time – for “closure”, for “old time’s sake”, because “I never stopped loving him”, you’ll feel that tingle of excitement once again.

There he will be – the man you wanted.  Ready to appreciate you, finally. If he can stand the sight of you after what you have put him and your children through,if he tries to “be friends”, you’ll even start dreaming of some romantic reconciliation where he finally understands and appreciates you.  In the back of you're mind, every romance novel of reconciliation you've ever read and every bad chick flick about damaged relationships will give you the hope that maybe -- if everything works out right -- then you will end up back with the man you started with, 2.0, better and more devoted to you than ever.  So devoted that you feel appreciated . . . finally.  One look, one wink, one kiss, one quick screw, one rendezvous at "your" old spot to "finish up some business" that leads to a hotel room nooner.  One spark to rekindle your old flame into a roaring, passionate blaze, and Happily Ever After.

But it probably won’t work out that way . . . because he probably really is a stand-up guy.  If he stood by you all of those years, through all of your flakiness and put up with all of your crap and didn’t leave your ass or cheat on you, then you can expect him to give that same level of devotion and love to his next wife or girlfriend.  He’ll probably reject you, brutally. 

Best case scenario, you’re the “other woman”, destined to ruin his life all-over again. 

So ladies, future ex-wives, please take more than a few moments to consider what you are doing.  Step away from the Rah-Rah Sisterhood of divorce cheerleaders.  Stop seeing divorce as a regrettable but inevitable feminist rite of passage, a means of proving your independence as a woman.  It's not.  It's a callous and selfish indulgence of pettiness that demeans every marriage.  "I don't feel appreciated . . ."  Investigate what really happens to women your age after divorce, and go talk to a bunch of them.  Hell, have a few cocktails – get them liquored up and let them tell you how life really is when you're divorced after 40.  And 50.  And 60. And 70.

And if you believe that it's the grand escape and adventure you think it is, then go ahead.  Call your attorney.   Clearly, if you value the inherently selfish idea of appreciation more than you value the love, devotion, and – yes, passion, if you can inspire it, of your husband and the family you have built together, then you do not deserve the man you are married to, and you should call your attorney. 

Because your husband’s next wife is eagerly standing by.

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Girl Game: The Glory Hole Experience

Once again we return to that most-popular of topics (ironically enough), the issue of Girl Game.  I'll leave the basics to others, but this is a subject which might appeal to the more adventurous among you ladies, if you're looking for something interesting with which to intrigue your husband.  Pray attend.

Glory Holes, for the innocent and ignorant, are the popular name for the penis-sized holes between booths in adult bookstores -- and they are rarely used for mere peeping.  For decades the Glory Hole has been the staple of the underground Gay community, and even in our enlightened times there are still plenty of men who haunt these places, looking for anonymous relief.

The action is usually oral, but the key point to the fantasy element is the anonymity of the experience.  Not being able to see the mouth on the other side of the wall allows the imagination to run wild.  That's why plenty of straight men try these booths out, because, gosh, you can't really know if the mouth on the other side belongs to a man or a woman . . . can you?

Their own Rationalization Hamster takes them through the maze of their subconscious and finds a way to an anonymous blowjob in a squalid and dirty porno palace:  It isn't really cheating.  If no one knows, it never happened.  It's just advanced whacking off, right?   It doesn't mean I'm Gay, really . . . does it? I'm just . . . contributing to the local Gay community.  Yeah, that's it!

(Now, before you ladies freak out and think every trip your dude makes to the video store will lead to illicit, anonymous gay sex, let me assure you that plenty of guys never venture back into the back room - they're just there for the boobie flicks.  On the other hand, if you purchase all of your porn DVDs online, say at a reputable company with over three decades of experience, you can avoid that possibility.  But I digress.)



So why bring up the Glory Hole at all if it's so gay?  Let me explain how you can turn the faint allure of anonymous sex into something you can, possibly, use in your bedroom.

You see, like a lot of things in Gay sexual culture, like the Cosmopolitan, hooking up, and and pastels, straight women can't resist stealing it.  Once certain women found out about the secret Gay stash of endless anonymous penises in the back room of the bookstore, well, some of them went a little crazy.  By the 1990s, you were starting to see couples and even single women sneak into the 24 hour XXX stores to get a midnight snack.

Enough of them, at least, so that my Gay friends grumble that they can't hook up on a Saturday night anymore because the straight dudes congregate around the known pussy -- and if a woman (or good-looking transvestite) walks into a booth, you can bet the line will be as long as she wants it to be.  Instead they meet men who want to be with men on Craigslist and invite them to private glory holes in hotels or at their homes like respectable gentlemen.

But when women did start going into Glory Hole booths, of course the porn cameras were soon to follow.  Glory Hole porn has become a new specialty in the pornoverse.

It's easy to see why -- a girl, a wall, a hole, a penis, cheap movie magic.  Anonymous sex becomes adult entertainment.  And guys loved the fantasy element of glory holes almost as much as MILFs and cheerleaders.  Hot girl on the other side of the wall?  Not knowin' who she's blowin'?  How could that not be hot?

The thing is, your hubby might actually be turned on by the fantasy of anonymity, but that's one of those things he probably doesn't even know how to ask for, even if he knows he wants it.  But enough dudes do that I feel comfortable sharing this tip.

The Set Up

First, you're going to want to prepare an utterly private place where you know you won't be interrupted.  What you want is a closet, a spare room, even just a doorway if possible, across which you can stretch some sort of visual barrier like a blanket or a big piece of cardboard.  If you really want to put some effort into it, and have the space, go to your local hardware store and purchase an 8'x4' sheet of easy-to-cut foam insulation board -- and advanced couples might want to make the whole thing out of wood.

But start with the cheap, easy-to-dispose of stuff first, because if you don't get into this (and Athol says about 70% of the stuff you try won't work for you, and I cannot disagree) it's easier to get rid of cardboard or foam insulation than it is to explain the huge plywood sheet with the suspicious hole in it to the neighbors.

The goal, of course, is to build your own glory hole.  The actual hole is likely less important than the feeling of anonymity.  Once he puts his dick through the hole or slit, his imagination should be utterly reliant on what he feels, not what he sees.  Removing the visual component is the exciting thing, and this is a lot more elaborate than a simple blindfold.  It shows you put some effort into it.

Once you have a decent glory hole set-up prepared, stow it away until one night when you want to treat your husband to something a little . . . special.

After preparing him thoroughly (say, ten solid minutes of kissing to get him worked up good and hard) then grab his hand and pull him to his feet.  Hug him.  Grab Mr. Happy and give him a shake or two.  Put your mouth up to his ear.  Whisper . . .

". . . do you trust me?"

If he says no, well, you have bigger issues.  But he'll probably say yes.  Let's assume he does.

"Then I want you to wait here for exactly three minutes.  Then I want you to come into the living room/dining room/observatory/woodshed.  You'll know what to do then.  I've prepared something a little different tonight."  Give him a final peck, a sexy smile, and wiggle your ass out of the room.

If he's not thanking the gods he married you at that point, again, you got other problems.

Slink away to your pre-prepared "Glory Hole Booth".  Make certain during your prep that you've considered all of the logistics of the situation, first.  That is, have a bottle of water, some lip balm, and any other fun stuff you might need at hand, and do grab a pillow or ottoman -- you might be there a while.

Or, if you do it right . . . maybe not.

In any case, when he finally enters the room, he should see a clear indicator of what he should do, such a cardboard sign that says "INSERT PENIS HERE" or "HUSBANDS ONLY (FORM A LINE)" or "RING BELL AND INSERT COCK FOR SERVICE" or "BLOWJOB VENDING MACHINE" or any other sexy, witty thing you can imagine.

If you have followed my instructions to the letter, and your husband is straight and has even the remotest attraction for you, you're gonna see Mr. Happy poking through the hole in record time.

And this is where it gets fun for you: because he really doesn't know exactly what you have planned.  He doesn't know what to expect, or just how far you've decided to go.  You have successfully captured the mystique and allure of the Glory Hole, and his brain is buzzing at a thousand miles a second.

Some women might think of this move as inherently objectifying.  You're right.  That's the point.  You have entertained your husband's sexual brain as well as his dick. It wasn't about you, personally, it was about you, plural.  You both get to indulge a fantasy at the same time.  Remember that.

Now, back to the dick: you can approach this a couple of different ways.  You can just gobble it down enthusiastically like normal, and he will think it is fucking fantastic -- guaranteed.  That might actually be a good bet, the first time around.  It's an Ironwood rule-of-thumb that you should probably only introduce one new element into your sex play at a time, to fully explore it and appreciate it without distraction.  So start with just the basic Glory Hole Experience, if you're feeling hesitant about his response.

If you want to kick it up a few notches, however . . .

This is your opportunity, too -- you can experiment with your guy's penis in all sorts of silly ways.  If you've usually been too into him to really get into his dick, the disembodied-and-could-actually-be-Daniel-Craig-if-the-light-is-low-enough penis of your husband.  Just listen to what he says and the sounds he makes.  This is your mutual opportunity to experiment.  Revel in it.

Besides the Basic Blowjob, which he's fairly familiar with by this point if you've done your wifely duties appropriately, consider a few of these intriguing variations on the Basic Level:

The Hummer

Hum -- Happy Birthday, Christmas Carols, or just hum some scales or your favorite song while you're doing the deed.  It creates all sorts of startling situations and will be noted.  So hum a merry tune . . . because it's hard to whistle while you work with a dick in your mouth.

The Knob Job
Focus exclusively on the head and the first three inches (if he has at least three inches -- and I hope he does, for your sake), and leave everything else alone for he first fifteen minutes.  Suck hard, suck softly, nibble, but don't go any further down the base until he's begging for it.

The Oily Handy
If you have a cold sore, sinus issues, or any other problems that keep you from being able to deliver a good blow job, a perfectly acceptable substitution is a super-slippery hand job to completion.  Use a good thick commercial lube, hand lotion, massage oil, or other slippery stuff.  And if you want to get really crazy, consider olive oil or room-temperature butter.  But if you want the best all-time long-performing lube combo, according to interviews with hundreds of dedicated masturbators, is Petroleum Jelly (not KY) and a cup of water.  That seems to have the best coefficient of friction, but clean-up is hell since it's not water soluable.  Still, you should be able to find something slick to slip on his dick.

For Intermediate Level:

Good Vibrations
Maybe it's time for hubby to meet your toy collection?  Use your faves on the head, base and shaft -- but avoid the testicles.  The Fellas are a little sensitive.

Glove Love
Some dudes really get off on rubber, and slipping on a pair of gloves (the yellow housework kind or the medical kind) and lubing up your mitts to give your mouth an assist as he's poking through the hole is guaranteed to give him some very unique sensations while he's climbing to paradise.  If rubber isn't his thing, consider trying silk or satin gloves, too.  Or maybe a scarf.

Panty Play
If you start out with the Basic Blowjob, you might consider wearing silk or satin panties while you blow him . . . and then half way through, slip them off and start using them to stroke his shaft and head.  Some dudes can really get off on this, and if their silky enough, that's hard to beat.  Which I suppose is the point.

Now, for ADVANCED Home Glory Hole users, consider some potential suggestions from Uncle Ian's Super-Secret Book Of Mind Blowing Fellatio Tips:

FIRE AND ICE
Warm cocoa and ice water.  Take a sip of one.  Give him thirty seconds.  Take a swallow of the other.  Give him thirty seconds.  Repeat until he promises to have your babies if you finish him off.  NOTE: back off a bit if he gets over-stimulated.  And don't use water any warmer than you'd probably bathe a baby in -- it doesn't take much heat to make your mouth feel REALLY hot.

FUR FUN
Buy a scrap of fake fur, or use a similarly fuzzy or furry object to tickle his johnson until he's moaning.  Change up with a slightly different texture for a few minutes, then go back.  Remove loose hair from mouth afterwards (hey, I never said there wasn't any risk).

HAIR DRYER

Give new meaning to the term "blow job" with a little extra heat on his junk!  Whip out your favorite styling tool and blow your man right.  You might only have a couple of passes before it gets too hot, but it's quite a unique sensation.  But skip the curling iron -- the blow dryer is warm and interesting enough.  Speaking of which . . .

POP ROCKS
'Nuff said.

CAST OF THOUSANDS
This is the perfect time to try to fool him into thinking there is someone other than you behind the glory hole.  Crank up some music to cover any noise, and after you start him off more-or-less as normal, step away for a moment, then return and attack his schlong with an entirely different style.  If you're usually soft and mushy, go hard and fast.  If you're usually heavy on the long strokes, flicker the head instead.

OR, you can actually get someone to help out, if you're into that sort of thing or you accidentally wrecked his car.  But even if you're alone, you should be able to create the illusion of a couple of girls (?) taking turns by simply putting your hair up and changing your style and grip.

 If you really want to freak him out, try wearing a fake mustache and/or beard.  Like I said, advanced users.

The key to this is the novelty of the situation.  You both get the illusion of anonymity (after all, are you SURE that was your husband's dick?) and the endless fantasy implicit in he Glory Hole Experience.  Plus you get bonus Wife Points for instigating, planning, and executing the plan until orgasm.  Dudes LOVE that kind of stuff.  We eat it up.

Where in your marriage would you use this?  Not when things are rocky -- if you and the Missus are having problems, then inserting your penis into some unknown variable isn't necessarily the wisest thing, no matter how sweetly she asks.

But if you are just experiencing the desire for novelty, or you want to impress him with a little experimentation but you don't want to break out the ball-gags and paddles just yet, then the Glory Hole Experience is a great way to inject some fun fantasy into your sex life for the price of a piece of cardboard and a little ingenuity.

If you're concerned about what he's thinking while he's thrusting away through the hole, don't be.  You are over-thinking it and you probably don't really want to know, anyway.  But that's the point: this is an indulgence in sexual fantasy play.  It's not a precursor to ten-guy blow bangs in some funky-smelling dive.

Just relax and enjoy the happy prospect of a cock without a man in sight -- and then tell me you haven't dreamed about what you would do if you had that chance.

Give it a shot, try it out, let me know how it worked out for you.  Professional interest.  Really.

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...And Now A Word From Our Hamster...

Okay, I rarely throw up two posts so quickly, and I do so at the risk of burying a decent one, but this was just too . . . too . . . Hamstery to pass up.

Ran across this amazing piece of reportage/opinion in the bowels of the Huffington Post (see?  TOLD you I was a Progressive...) and almost peed myself when I read this gem: "Why We Shouldn't See Divorce As A 'Failed' Marriage", by Vicki Larson -- self-declared Journalist, Mother, and Thinker (although after reading this, someone might want to verify her CV on that last count).  Ms. Larson contends that a divorce is not a "failed marriage".  Which is, perhaps, the greatest single example of the Rationalization Hamster going.

Look, it's not that I don't 'believe' in divorce.  I don't have a religious dog in the fight over 'til death do us part' and the Biblical underpinnings of modern matrimony.  In my tradition we usually pledge "As long as love shall last", which might seem to lack commitment but is a far more realistic measurement of the durability of a marriage these days.  Still, my tradition also places a very, very high value on keeping oaths.  Especially sacred oaths.  If you swear before the gods and your ancestors and all the spirits of nature that you will stay married 'til death do us part', then you have made a vow which should be kept if humanly possible.

Still, accepting divorce as a part of our society is not the same as celebrating it.  Contend with it, deal with it, make provision for it, sure-- but celebrating it the way they do at Huffington Post is just pathetic.  And Ms. Larson's take on the subject has proven to be among the most pathetic examples of the Hamsterization of Divorce.

You can read the whole thing, but to sum up her point divorce shouldn't be seen as a 'failed marriage' (which would imply someone was at fault -- to blame -- responsible -- guilty -- for the loss) because:

1) She doesn't want to take the blame (" no one better tell me that my marriage "failed." No, it ended in divorce. And, yes, I did start over.")

2) Some people are abused or cheated on, so they shouldn't be blamed either.

3) Divorce is better than staying in a really, really bad marriage.(Or, apparently, even a moderately bad one.  Or a decent one but a better deal comes along.  But according to the Hamster that's almost like he was beating you, so . . .)

4) Everybody is doing it. ("about half of us can't, maybe even more given how many couples remain married in name only because of financial or health-care benefits.")

5) We might not be designed to be  monogamous anyway ("The fact that half of all married couples end up divorced by their 20th anniversary raises some serious questions on whether we are able to be "permanent, monogamous pair-bonders." )  Or it raises serious questions about the flakiness of and ability to trust a commitment from an alleged adult in this day and age.  But it really is more convenient to blame evolution.

 6) You shouldn't judge me ("who decides what's the "right" or "wrong" reason to divorce? Why should a spouse be labeled a "quitter" or "selfish" if he or she decides the marriage isn't working? ")  Um . . . because they quit?  Because "it isn't working for me" is an inherently selfish statement?  Because when you promise something, you're supposed to live up to that promise?


7) It only hurts kids if we don't prepare them for the fact that their parents can't get it together and manage a simple heterosexual relationship: (" ...the importance of good co-parenting relationships and keeping both parents involved in meaningful ways in their kids' lives. ")  So you make great parents?  Then you have the possibility for being a great wife or husband.  Your unwillingness to make the effort and see it through is instructive of your character.


8) It's unfair to compare children of divorce to "normal" kids.  We should only compare them to kids from really, really shitty married households.  Kids who grow up in happy, two-parent households are aliens or something.  But if you compare kids from crappy divorced parents to kids from crappy married parents, they don't look so bad anymore.  And that's how a hamster moves a goalpost, boys and girls.

9) She doesn't want to take the blame. (" We shouldn't slap a #fail label on people who divorce. Let's have faith that they'll do things better the next time -- or maybe the time after that.")  Why not?  Haven't you failed?  And aren't you actually more likely to fail the second time around, since you've already built-in failure by considering a third?  That's like buying a car you know is destined for the junkyard . . . it's only a matter of time.  After all, it's been in one bad wreck already . . . 

While 'prior performance is not indicative of future results', it's usually a pretty serious indicator, a red-flag warning at the least.  And since more than half of second marriages fail in the first few years, then a two-time loser should be a klaxon in your ear.  I've seen plenty of second-marriages work out just fine, as folks made more mature and reasoned decisions the second time around, and brought some skills from the first marriage to the second.  But redefining failure as success doesn't make it any more successful.  That's the Hamster talking.

See why I almost peed?

Ms. Larson, perhaps you skipped that day in journalism school when they covered "objective reality", or perhaps the part of English 101 when they went over "words mean things".  But divorce, by any reasonable, rational observation, is, indeed, a failed marriage.  Like a miscarriage is a "failed pregnancy".  There was an expectation and a reasonable level of determining success . . . and you screwed it up.  The two of you.  That means him AND you.  

To be fair, there is usually one party or the other that is at MORE fault, I'll grant you.  But the expectations and commitment implied that day you wore that pretty white dress and those darling slippers for your big party were crystal clear.  If you are not married before you or your spouse dies, then your marriage failed.  And yes, you bear a certain amount of responsibility for that regardless of whether or not you were the 'offending' party.  You can stamp your foot and say it isn't fair, that it shouldn't count, that things have changed, but the real, Red Pill objective-reality fact of the matter is that YOUR MARRIAGE FAILED.  

You can try to 'normalize' it to make yourself feel better.  You can try to come up with great excuses why you shouldn't be judged about that, because it makes you uncomfortable.  But where the rubber meets the road, you rated the commitment you pledged about the most important aspect of your life low enough that you could rationalize away the fact that you made a sacred promise that you broke.  

If you weren't planning on finishing the race, why bother to start?  Did you not understand the level of commitment involved?  Did you not comprehend what you were signing on for?  Did you give it any more thought, study, and consideration than you gave your cell-phone contract . . . or were you busy dealing with place settings and flower arrangements and sea-foam green bridesmaids dresses?

Your marriage failed.  It didn't 'transform', it died.  Regardless of any other circumstance, you and your husband chose not to honor the biggest voluntary commitment any human being can make to each other.  Therefore, your marriage failed.  You can try to blame it on society, on statistics, on the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.  You can try to trash the institution and point out that a high failure rate implies that the whole institution is poorly conceived.  You can try to blame the system, the economy, the fortunes of war, the pressures of modern life, or the whims of blessed Hera, Herself, but the undeniable fact is that YOUR MARRIAGE FAILED.  And since you were a part of that, as blameless as you might be, yes, YOU failed at being married.  You failed at being a wife.  Your ex failed at being a husband.  Fail, fail, #fail!

Are troubled, sick, dysfunctional marriages better than divorce?  Perhaps.  I'll agree that you cannot count such as 'successful' marriages.  But they aren't 'failed' marriages, they are fail-ing marriages.  Regardless of their condition or context, they are still in the present tense.  Divorce means your marriage is in the past tense . . . and that means it Failed.  A big fat F.  

I don't know if you just didn't do your due diligence on your mate and improperly vetted them, or if you decided you could do better, or you just didn't have the character to handle the challenges implicit in a functioning heterosexual dyad, but it doesn't matter.  Your marriage failed.  You may not want us to judge you for it, but the fact is that some people do, and always will.  It amazes me that people who would freak out over the idea of not paying their taxes or doing the volunteer work they signed up for or abandoning a puppy look at the commitment implied in marriage as one of those "it doesn't really count" promises.  

I know of at least one employer who will not hire someone who's divorced, if he finds out and learns the details.  And since he does a criminal background check and credit check on his potential employees, he almost always finds out.  But since he works in an industry where trust is their stock-in-trade, he is very, very cautious about the people he hires.  His employees are his reputation, and he understandably doesn't want to risk what he's built because one of them went flaky.  When every deal could mean millions of dollars, trust is a serious issue.

But he won't hire divorced people, except in rare cases, because he reasons that if the prospective employee doesn't take a commitment to creating a family -- and family is forever -- seriously enough to work through marital difficulties, then it doesn't matter what other accomplishments that individual has to their name, they are not considered trustworthy. They couldn't keep a sacred commitment, which undermines their credibility on everything else.   They are unacceptable risks.  

It's almost gotten him sued a couple of times, but being in a right-to-work state and having fewer than the Federal-reg-triggering 15 employees gives him all the legal ground he needs.  To him, the integrity of divorced people are suspect, at the very least, until the specifics are known.  That's not to say that married people are any more trustworthy, but they have at least one public vow or commitment that they are living up to.  

Ms. Larson, this is nothing more than you trying to wiggle out of the responsibilities of adult life.  Your marriage failed.  Deal with it -- preferably by 'moving on', and not reliving and celebrating your bitter 'victory' in public on the internet.  Divorce means your marriage failed.  You either did a poor job of mate selection or you didn't do what you needed to to maintain a working relationship, but a rejection of logic and reason as profound as "Divorce doesn't mean your marriage failed!" is not going to make that go away.  


You can move on.  You can rebuild.  You can "start over" (although any man who dated, let alone married, a woman who writes a 'divorce' column is either recklessly optimistic or addicted to drama).  You can remarry.  You can learn from your failure and try not to repeat your personal mistakes.  But you cannot call a divorce a successful outcome of a marriage any more than you can claim a miscarriage is a successful outcome of a pregnancy.  Not and be intellectually honest.

That's what the Rationalization Hamster is all about: allowing women to live their lives as they desire without accepting any blame, responsibility, or accountability for their actions.  A "woman's prerogative to change her mind" is well known -- but intellectual flakiness at this level, Ms. Larson, strains credulity.  You cannot define failure as success -- not really.  You can lie to yourself.  You can lie to your kids.  You can lie to society-at-large.   But no matter how hard your hamster spins, it cannot escape the cold, ruthless, uncomfortable objective fact that YOUR MARRIAGE FAILED.  And, by extension, YOU FAILED.

So deal with it.  Don't celebrate it.  It's not something to celebrate.  You screwed something important up big time, somehow, and while your attempt to rationalize it away as "not your fault" is understandable, it's also lame and pathetic and childish to try to escape responsibility for your failure.  That's not what adults do.  You're just embarrassing yourself.

Now, back to the show . . . 

UPDATE:  Also check out my collection of rum-derived Manosphere Inspirational Posters!

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