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There used to be a “sex positive” feminist who would comment here and offer up such breathtakingly backward Feminist Cunt Wave boilerplate on men and women that I started to appreciate her cuntributions for their usefulness as reminders of the self-medicating delusions that modren society inculcates in the sexual market losers of our age. Whatever she wrote, I would tell readers, take the opposite to be the truth.

She never posted a pic of herself from what I recall, but her comments were written in the unmistakable “aging, fading slut” style, filled with the caustic, slut pride snark which our current crop of pussyhatters think is funny, that belied a life nursing spiteful man-hate. Imagine a Nordic feminist-Jewish feminist recombination, with a touch of commercialist Anglo feminist, seasoned to a sarcastic spiciness by the rapid approach of the Wall, and twisted into a false braggadocio of her receding sexual ensnareline and her ability to manipulate men to do her bidding, and you have a good idea of this woman’s character. I could practically see her stringy blond hair with streaks of gray, and her manjaw strengthened from years of cock gobbling and chewing out pretty subordinates.

In sum, she was a “Swipe Left Broad”, from both sides of the swiping ledger. If Tinder was around then, (not sure if it was), she’d’ve bragged about swiping left on tons of thirsty guys while she herself was the recipient of numerous left swipes.

AnyHO, one time the topic was broached about what to say to a date (or potential mate) inquiring about your sexual history. I had written that men shouldn’t run away from a storied sexual past, because girls are attracted to men who are successful with girls (preselection is a powerful predictive evopsych theory). I also wrote that men should avoid openly bragging about their notches — it would strike any normal girl as try-hard desperation — but instead to couch their personal history of successful womanizing in ambiguous or teasing language. For example,

GIRL: You seem like a player. How many women have you been with?


After my advice, embroiled as it was in a deep understanding and easy acceptance of innate male-female psychosexual differences, landed in the combox, Swipe Left Broad chimed in, acrid spittle nearly flying off the screen, to inform the assembled that her go-to line when a man inquires about her sexual history was:

“I lost count.”

Of course, I was compelled to spear her with the Shiv of Sexual Realism for her steaming feminist dropping, lest innocent girlies ambling into the free fire zone think her hag-words would be helpful to them. Swipe Left Broad didn’t take kindly to my informing her that a skeleton key which opens a lot of locks is more valuable than a slutty lock that can be opened by many rusty keys. ARGLE BARGLE, she replied, paraphrasing. Collecting herself, “Men love an experienced woman!”

No, men don’t “love” an experienced woman. Men may want to fuck an experienced woman, figuring (rightly) that she’d be an easy lay who will put out with a quickness, but men don’t cherish sluts like they do chaste girls with eyes and gines for their cocks only.

The thought occurred to me in the recounting of this tête-á-termagant that the three words “I lost count” crystallize with pithy efficiency the essential, core difference between the sexes. What works spectacularly to increase a man’s perceived SMV — a smirky allusion to his sexual experience — works equally spectacularly to decrease a woman’s perceived SMV. And in the crucible of this rhetorical clarification we see the power of the female ego when confronted with undeniable sexual market truths about her romantic worth to feed at the trough of self-delusion. Giant, gulping swallows of delusion. Deep-throated delusions. Every delusional drop swallowed, and a pearl of delusion whisked from her chin as an apéritif.

The crucial detail — the one that often trips up those accustomed to years of quaffing ego-assuaging platitudes — is the one embodied in the deepest, truest desires of men and women. These desires aren’t the same, and at the critical mate assessment junctures can be said to be contradictory and competing:

Men desire sex, women desire commitment.

Commitment is a euphemism for resources and protection, and love is the feeling women lean on as assurance they have secured a man’s commitment.

Women desire sex and men desire commitment, too, but these are secondary to the primary impulses which guide each sex, and guide them at especially important times, when life-changing choices are carefully deliberated or acted upon impulsively.

Women want an experienced man, and they project this want of theirs onto men who, for their part, want women willing to go all the way right away regardless of experience or, if the woman under carnal consideration is of exceptional beauty and modesty, want her to have a relatively unsullied sexual history and to at least have the sense to avoid bragging about the numbers of past lovers to whom she lays claim. To a man, a woman’s discretion is the better part of her allure.

It’s a self-defeating assumption women make, which they find out the morning after as their latest “conquest” is scurrying out the door, never to call them again.

This is why a slut bragging about her cock count is repulsive to any man with options, and why a pussyhound alluding to his gash and churn past is intriguing to any woman with a working tingle spigot.


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