I’LL JUST HAVE THE BILL PLEASE – Why All Women Should Give Prostitution A Try and How That Would Help Society
For every pound a man earns in this great country of ours, a woman earns 89p. That’s the latest official statistic. Despite years of feminist campaigning and reams of legislation, a glass barrier still divides our respective earnings. The women out there might well wonder when, if all efforts so far have failed, we might attain parity on the pay front. Well, I’ll tell you.
Financial equality will be achieved when, the very moment indeed, you stop charging us for sex. Not the moment the sex industry finally judders to a halt, because that moment is never going to arrive. No, the breakthrough will happen when our wives and girlfriends stop expecting us to stump up cash for the privilege of access to their nether regions.
When the expectation of drinks bought and romantic meals and little presents “just for being you” goes away then and only then ladies, will you earn the same. Probably considerably more in fact, because men’s needs are very simple, whereas women’s are not. But men do seem to have to shell out a hell of a big percentage of our hard earned to satisfy the most basic of them: fucking.
Tits For Tat
By the way, I’m not including casual encounters and recreational dating here. Drinks bought and meals paid for are perfectly fair under those circumstances. These are all just perfectly straight forward acts of prostitution, just examples of the simplest and most honest form of financial transaction there is. It even makes us chuckle when you make us wait until the third date to get to the real action, as if by then the whole thing is somehow some sort of relationship. Why yes, you are the love of our lives by that point, not just hookers on hire purchase.
Be truthful, prostitution isn’t bad, per se. If you’re all going to do it covertly anyway, why not make it compulsory. It should be. It used to be thousands of years ago, when we hadn’t been living in cities very long and therefore hadn’t had a chance to get so uptight about everything. In fact it was connected to gods and fertility and was regarded as a sacred duty.
Actually, Religion Used To Be Quite Progressive
Young women would be inducted into the temple harem and men would pay tribute to the deities via money and sexual congress. It kept the men happy and the crops successful. It was like a form of national service. Far from being ostracised, the women were respected and revered for their dedication to the good of the community. They left the temple brothels when their time was up and took up their places as wives and mothers without a stain on their character. In fact they were more highly sought after as potential spouses, for obvious reasons. This system should be brought back.
Think about the advantages. Any peccadilloes the husband might have in this brave new world are certainly not going to shock his wife. And when the husband wants lazy, pedestrian sex, that’s going to be fine and dandy with her too. She will have had quite enough sexual adventure thank you very much. Cosmo, and most other women’s magazines will go out of business of course, but that’s just an incidental positive benefit so let’s not pat ourselves on the back too heartily for it. Whatever traumas a woman may have suffered during her stint as a state registered working girl, these are not going to stop marital sex afterwards. Every job has its trials, and women will still want to breed; nature’s funny like that.
Oddly Enough, Stirrups Aren’t Always Sexy
The biggest con trick women have ever pulled is the entrenched idea that men want sex more than they do. This makes no sense if you apply logic to the situation. Babies, the inevitable result of physical coupling despite our scientific attempts to negate this consequence, can have a devastating effect on a woman. Loss of their figures, varicose veins, swollen ankles, haemorrhoids, violent mood swings, stretch marks, incontinence and, even in this day and age, an alarming number of deaths. If those were the potential side effects of a drug, the average woman wouldn’t touch it with a ten foot pole. In fact if childbirth were a drug, the FDA would never approve it. But women still have sex and still have children.
Nature tricks them into this by giving them a burning desire for both. The worst that can happen to a man in this bargain is that he runs off to the hills with a dose of the clap. So why on earth would men want to fuck more than women? There is an old Arab saying. No, not the one about women, boys and watermelons; the other one. “When Allah handed out sexual desire, he gave one tenth of it to men and the rest to women.”. And the Arabs practically invented modern mathematics, so there you go.
You Can’t Beat A Bit Of Bully
Just to briefly mention Cosmo again, the biggest con trick men have ever pulled on women is that we can’t find the clitoris. Look at your old man’s trophy cabinet ladies. Note in particular the darts trophies. He can throw pointy arrows from the oche and hit very small targets from a distance of several feet. Double top is top centre on a dartboard. He can hit that from across a noisy bar room with a bacon sandwich in one hand. You seriously think he can’t find top centre on your foo-foo when it’s millimetres from his nose? Truth is he doesn’t want to and can’t be bothered. The reason for this is not indifference. The reason is that the clitoris is the only organ in the human body devoted exclusively to pleasure, and that’s just not fucking fair.
Don’t Put Your Daughter On The Stage Mrs Worthington
Ah, but I’m diverting you via emotional subterfuge away from my stated opinions on prostitution, compulsory enforcement thereof. Would you like a daughter of yours to spend a stint as a whore, you might well ask? What about the dangers? Ok, aside from the question of whether me breeding or not might be a good idea, and it’s fairly likely you may have formed a fairly strong opinion on that already, let us consider the dangers. Every job has its perils, and most of those associated with prostitution are down to the fact we’ve made it illegal in the first place. Pimps and trafficking and the associated drug problems are all purely a danger because we as caring and moral individuals have decided that it’s not an acceptable profession and have driven it underground. Besides, there are several careers I wouldn’t like this putative daughter to embark on. I wouldn’t like her to be a police officer, for example.
Under the current mores and morays of society, the way policewomen and streetwalkers operate bear some rather alarming similarities. Both face jeopardy on a daily basis. Both have a uniform that is regarded as implicitly sexual. In the event that either actually tells you what they do for a living, then most people can’t quite meet their gaze in a social situation, though attractive courtesans tend to have a better time at parties than attractive wpc’s. I’d like to put that down to the fact that the wpc’s only get invited to parties by male coppers rather than pimps and drug dealers, but this simply isn’t the case.
Help With The Housework? Gladly, But You Won’t Like It
Short term stuff aside, it has to be admitted that the balance of payments is restored very slightly once cohabitation is involved. Once we move in together and share our lives and our space, there is no doubt that women still do the lion’s share of household work. Cooking, cleaning, childcare and the like. It’s usually maintained that once all this is taken into account, it all evens out in the end, more often than not in the favour of the chaps.
Ok, women do perform all this labour around the home and it does take up a hell of a lot of their time. But, as the saying goes “Whose fault’s that then?” Who creates all this work in the first place. Women, that’s who.
Knick Knack Paddywhack
The average man does not like occasional tables. He eschews knick-knacks and curtain pelmets. He rejects soft furnishings and cake rotundas. At least he would if he actually knew what any of these things were. In other words, he has a natural aversion to all the assorted crap that women accrue by stealth and that require the living room to be cleaned so often.
Happiness Is Warm X Box
Living room design, if left to men, would consist of the following. A large box in one corner of the room which is telly, computer, games console, DVD player etc all rolled into one. A chair in the other corner. Preferably no windows to have to put curtains in front of in the first place. No carpets and definitely no fucking cushions. Clever people, and Linda Barker, have designed sofas so you can sit on them without some sort of stuffed safety net. You won’t fall down the back. The cushions are not necessary. Anyway, the point is that with the male domestic set up, the total daily living room cleaning time is roughly forty seconds.
Moving on, the kitchen would have a kettle, two cups, a fridge and a microwave. Possibly a George Foreman grill, but only because it has a picture of a World Heavyweight Champion on the box. Again, total daily cleaning time about forty seconds, a minute tops. And that’s presuming we actually heat up or grill anything in there in the first place.
But When There’s Moonlight And Love And Romance
Then there’s clothes. Well, the only reason men have more than one set of clothes in the first place is to impress women; to get them to think there’s a possibility we can afford all the shit you feel you need to demand in return for sex. As an interesting aside the word “Romance” is actually Old French and roughly translated means “Monogamous Whoring”. So, one set of clothes for work and a set each for Saturday and Sunday respectively. Total of three light loads a week including socks and boxers.
The bathroom, you say? No man in a heterosexual state of cohabitation even considers cleaning the bathroom. This is because we couldn’t give a flying fuck what the bathroom looks like. It’s a room we spend about half an hour a week in, so why should we. You care, we don’t, so let’s drop that one from the agenda from the word go.
It’s All Down To Beach Volleyball At The End Of The Day
Now the biggie : childcare. Sorry, that’s disallowed too. No man actually wants children. I mean really, truly gnawing at the bone marrow WANTS them. Well, some do of course, but they’re strange men and they usually just look at other people’s on the internet or take protracted holidays in Thailand. No, it’s you who wanted the children. You’re the one who “accidentally” forgot to take the pill. For a year and a half. It was you who leapt on us clad head to toe in Agent Provocateur when we’d just finished watching the Women’s World Beach Volleyball Final. So take your lumps with the rest of us. It’s only 13p an hour for crying out loud. You’d slap your boss in the face if he offered you that as a raise at your annual performance review.
By the way, happy anniversary to my missus. The horse and carriage will be waiting to whisk you off for supper at the Savoy Grill. As usual.
© Copyright Michael Grimes 2013