September 11, 2013

• Rant: My So-Called Life as a Bemused Eunuch in Sexyland

  So a few days ago, a mom posted a somewhat over-the-top missive to teenage girls about their selfies on the Internet. In it, the mother talked about how those sexy teen girl selfies were bad for her teen sons to see, and what a problem it was. Blogfriend Ali also weighed in on this in a blog titled "Maybe I don't care if you imagine me naked."

  By the way, I found her blog title a bit amusing because I tend to imagine Ali dancing in the kitchen while cooking. (This is because, of course, Ali has mentioned doing so on several occasions. No, I don't have a cooking fetish. Well, ok, I do, but only when it comes to Mediterranean foods. Oh dear, digging hole deeper, let's move on.)

  But! All that said. I think there is an untold story in all this. What happens to a guy when a platonic female friend starts posting sexier photos and acting more like a sexual being? And yes, believe it or not, many of us guys do NOT have secret feelings for every one of our female friends. Once in a while, we befriend a woman for purely friendship reasons. I'm also thinking specifically about the teen years, where some peers go through puberty much earlier than others. I was going to entertain you with tales from my monastic past, heh, but it'd be too awkward for words.

  Side note: obviously, sometimes I'm the friend of a woman who I think is quite attractive. In that case, her posting more sexual content is a much different dilemma than what I am about to describe. Jokes about fat man in a bakery go here.

  Honestly, it's a difficult situation. Let me ramp up the controversy; I've also been through this on Xanga a few times, heh. And each time, it's a lose lose situation. What are the options of a platonic friend (and by that, I mean you have no sexual interest in her) when your quiet, angsty writer friend suddenly becomes a video vixen? (or photographic pinup, if you prefer pictoral alliteration).

  When she posts a photo of her seductively posing in front of her bookcase, you're the one saying "Oh, I see you finally picked up the Twain book!" while everyone else is all "GURL DEM CURVES ARE CURVETACULAR." If you're lucky, you don't have some guy who doesn't know you calling you gay because you aren't hitting on her. You're the one asking her to post more pictures of her pet cat, while they're the ones asking her to post more pictures of her, uh, other cat.

  You fight to try to pretend that nothing has happened, but you're not allowed by others, let alone her. If you message her to talk about books the way you have for the last 6 weeks, she's suddenly guarded and weird. You wonder why, and then you realize she's had to put up with every last man she knows on Facebook emerging out of the shadows and relentlessly hitting on her due to her last few photos. You too are caught up in the wave of distrust, and your formerly eager, chill friend now is caught up in her new status.

  I've at times been the platonic friend or acquaintance of a beautiful woman, and what perhaps also annoyed me most was the reaction of men. Obviously all they wanted to talk about was how hot Susan was, or how envious they were that I knew her. It made me uncomfortable, because to me, Susan was just a friend, and as such I spent precious little time considering her curves. To try to change the conversation to Susan's non-sexual qualities was next to useless.
  Me: "Yeah, but Susan snores like a freight train."
  Them: "Wait, you've been around Susan when she was sleeping? THAT'S HOT BRO WHAT WAS SHE WEARING TELL ME."
  I just find myself nodding my head at their panting and trying to change the subject to sports or something.

  In the cruelest twist, I find myself in an impossible situation, friendwise. By the standards of platonic friendship, I was doing pretty well. I offered a reliable source of conversation, some intellectual banter, maybe a smile or two. But now, I get compared to the men who appear on the scene to flatter and seduce her. Bill over there just sent her a selfie of his six-pack; Hassan just wrote her a love poem comparing her eyes to the purest waters of the Arctic; and Joe is telling her to come for a ride in his convertible. Meanwhile, I'm the dork sending her a link to the latest news story on the Middle East, asking her what she thinks of the Arab Spring. Mind you, I get why I lose, but I don't have to like it.

  I never, ever mind losing to a boyfriend, someone who genuinely wants to build a complete future with her. But having to put up with 50 Shades of Pickup Artists burns me. And yet if I point out that Hassan stole half that poem from Tumblr, I'm now being jealous or what not. The competition creates feelings of resentment, as if my offer of platonic friendship was accepted merely out of her lack of being able to get anything better. I didn't sign up for the competition for her body, so why am I being included in the pack? I can't wait to hear your "You talk to me a lot, but you never hit on me like the other guys do, why is that?" speech. Because I've never ever heard that before, thanks. Go take your mirror you use for selfies and take a good look into your eyes and consider that maybe you're not as universally hot as you've been told by simpering sycophants.

  So what's a bemused eunuch to do in sexyland? Do I now have to show sexual interest in order to maintain a friendship? (Don't laugh, it's true!) Am I stuck abandoning my friends as they actualize their sexuality...thus leaving them at the mercy of the most hormonal of men, right when they perhaps need a friendly man the most in their lives? Must I grit my teeth as I read the poorest of pickup lines delivered by the simplest minds underneath each new photo? And heaven forbid that I suggest Susan may be making a mistake by tagging her Instagram photo #sexysingle; but you idiot, what kind of person do you think searches Instagram for those tags?

  To conclude, have you ever been around the type of men who troll the Internet for sexy ladies? Have you been to the forums where they post your pics, comment on them, and try to plan how to break you down, passing around your # and screen name? Ever walk on the basketball court while guys exchange information on your weaknesses and sexual history, turning you into an easy commodity to be passed from bored guy to bored guy until you lose all value to all but the weakest link of the pack? Bemused eunuchs have been there to watch the sausage get made. But hey, no one listens to the guy with no balls. So I'll remain the bemused friend of a bevy of beauties while watching the cycle endlessly repeat itself. Go on, enjoy the attention. I'm still reading the Twain book like a no-balls balla.

  • 4:23 pm
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