Sex and the single girl

I am beginning to think that we need a Code of Practice for young women who wish to get involved in any way with professional sportsmen. It could be inserted into major women’s magazines, all of which have helped foster the idea that uninhibited sexual expression is a woman’s primary function, goal, ambition, and lifestyle choice. (Some feminist academics can be relied upon to chime in on the women’s-magazine-side, but dressed up in fancier language because it’s harder to get a research grant entitled: ‘OUR TOP 10 HOT SEX SECRETS REVEALED!’) 

In the olden days, this Code of Practice was called ‘morality’, and was taught by parents to their children. Even though we have dispensed with this tedious nonsense, women who get drunk and do things they later regret, get hurt and feel bad about themselves. Feeling bad about oneself is the first sign of wrongdoing in present-day antipodean culture, and finding the culprit – who is invariably someone else – is the customary solution. 

Professional team sportsmen are not usually attracted to women who are intelligent; I can’t remember the last time I saw a Rhodes Scholar being squired to an awards night on the arm of a tuxedoed hulk. So with this in mind, I have tried to keep it to a simple three-point process. 

1. They aren’t interested in you. They’re interested in (a) what you look like, and (b) what you might do with them later on. If this is what you want, then by all means, go for it. If not, stop now. 

2. Having accepted Point 1, please understand that if you drink alcohol, you will be making yourself vulnerable and may put yourself in danger. 

If this is what you want, then by all means, go for it. If not, stop now. 

3. In the light of Point 2, please understand that if you go to a hotel room with one or more professional team sportsmen, you are: 

consenting to a range of activities with a range of men;

that these men believe that you are an object;

that, having consented to Points 1 and 2, you are now there for their gratification;

that they may videotape any and all activities on their mobile phones and circulate them to a wider audience;

that these men believe that gentlemanly conduct consists of being polite to you afterwards and paying for your taxi home.  

If this is what you want, then by all means, go for it. If not, stop now. This is your last chance. 

It seems rather brutal to put it in these terms, but young women seem to have been grossly misinformed about sex in general. I don’t mean sex in particular, about which they have usually been vividly informed, but rather the way in which sex operates in human society. They have absorbed a huge amount of misinformation about men, male sexuality, and their own best interests. But it is interesting to note that no amount of lying can kill off the inner voice that tells a woman who has degrading sex that she has been degraded. 

To tell such a woman that she knew what she was doing – that she’s got to get over it; that this is just the way things are – is brutal in the extreme. The thing is, she didn’t know what she was doing, because she had been lied to, and continues to be lied to. She seriously believed that what she was doing was meant to be fun, adventurous, sexy, wild, hot, outrageous, etc. And it was – for the blokes. 

I recently saw a documentary on that great meeting of minds, Miss Nude Australia. One candidate talked about how ‘powerful’ she felt when she was doing her routine on stage; how she had men in her total control. Admittedly, this lady would not have won any Nobel Prizes, but when one takes the feminist blinkers off for a moment, what do we see? A naked woman who, because of her limited intelligence dances around on a stage, and whose working life expectancy is limited accordingly; and a fully-dressed man with an income that doesn’t involve dancing naked, and a wallet full of money. 

Spot the winner in that situation. Actually, there are no winners there; just two very sad people. And that great, numbing sadness of modern Western women – a sadness that pushes open the door of the abortion clinic and pushes the prescription rate of antidepressants sky-high – can be traced to this kind of misinformation about sex. 

They don’t call them ‘the facts of life’ for nothing.