Sex Manipulation For Dummies+comment
After being dumped by a drummer boyfriend who lived rent-free in my apartment for 2 years, regularly spent my waitressing tips on booze and crashed my car, I took a hard look at myself and decided… no more. I told myself from now on I will manipulate men into doing whatever I want, besides I’m tired of taking out the trash and I need someone to do it for me. More to the point, I’m tired of watching all my girlfriends lounge around in their comfortable red sofas while their boyfriends do everything in the house. Cooking, cleaning, ironing… you name it, those guys do it all. My house is a mess and I’m tired of cleaning it myself.
I didn’t know the first thing about manipulative sex; I’m only a chick from France who just has sex for, well, orgasms mostly. I needed help. I reached out to my friend Ali whose hands were as soft as a feathers; she hadn’t touched a sponge in years. I felt so privileged when Ali agreed to take me as an understudy. Ali was my guru; according to her I shouldn’t have sex just for my own satisfaction anymore. I needed to have a goal every time I engaged in intercourse.
One morning, I placed a dirty towel on the floor. After my ‘friend’ Joshua and I had finished our sexual session, I asked him to pick up the towel.
He said, “No.”
And I said, “But you have to.”
And then he said, “No, you pick it up. “
I couldn’t believe it. I was gonna have to pick up my own dirty towel. I called Ali immediately, she said in her thick Long Island accent, “Ask him to pick up the towel and then you screw him, not the other way around.”
This was an important little piece of information I wished she had shared during our first meetings. Then Ali asked, “Did you have sex with him after that?”
Of course I did! Who did she think I was?
“Well, Clara, you can forget about him, he’s no good to you now.” Ali said. “He’ll never do anything for you. He’s like a wild animal that tasted human flesh; he’ll never go back to eating deer again.”
So, I went looking for a new piece of flesh. I set up an online profile on a dating site. In it, I wrote:
I love long walks on the beach, I’m looking for a soul mate who takes the trash out.
As soon as my profile page was up, my phone started ringing. It was Ali, cursing me out. Apparently I wasn’t supposed to write out my true intentions.
This was starting to get very complicated. I thought of calling Joshua to have sex in order to clear my head, but I didn’t. Like Ali said, “Instant gratification counts for nothing.”
I was lost. I begged Ali to meet with me. Ali was very clear, from now on, I had to follow her rules.
Rule number 1: no sex on the first date.
I agreed to it and Ali set me up on a date. The guy was charming and smart and strong.
On our first date he gave me flowers that he, himself, put in a vase.
On our second date, he offered to take out my kitchen trash when he saw how full it was.
The third time he picked me, up he vacuumed while I finished getting ready. Ali had told me that I could have sex with him on the third date, but the living room looked so nice all vacuumed, I was fulfilled; we didn’t have sex that night.
On our fourth date, he came to my house early and cleaned my windows, inside and out. This guy was one of a kind. He was funny, caring, he knew how to handle a broom, he knew the fridge was in the kitchen, how to open it and close it, and most importantly, he laughed at everything I said. He was interested in me, in how my day went, in what I served customers during their lunch, what they ate, what they drank. This guy was fantastic. He was the one.
After our fifth date, once he was done folding my laundry, I took him by the hand, walked to my bedroom, closed the door, dimmed the light and for the first time ever we had sex. I never heard from him again.
I called Ali and asked her what had gone wrong. I had followed all her rules. Ali, in her Long Island accent that was getting thicker by the minute, asked me, “Were you good in bed?”
“I don’t know. I guess…” I mumbled.
“Well, you probably weren’t good in bed, Clara, because if you were good in bed, he’d be scrubbing your bathroom floor right now.”
“But…” I tried to say, but she cut me off.
“Let me tell you something… some women, they have sex with men, the men go crazy and do all kinda stuff for these women, right?”
“Yes”, I agreed.
“You’re not one of these women. If you want men to do things for you, maybe you should consider not having sex with them. It might be where you stand-out the most.”
Even though Ali was probably right, I never spoke with her again.