This one is going to be a little strange, and very personal; but I think it strongly illustrates a point I want to explore....
I just woke up from a nap, wherein I had an odd dream:
I was someone else (extremely unusual in my dreams); a very rich, single man, throwing a party in a luxury hotel suite, for a number of friends and acquaintances from his old neighborhood; while on a trip back there for business.
In the course of this party, several people went off to rooms to have sex. I was tired, and went to MY room, telling everyone to continue enjoying the party; and some time later, an acquaintance who I knew to be a "player", came into my room with a beautiful pair of women, obviously sisters.
He suggested a foursome; and I pleaded tiredness, but the three climbed into bed with me anyway. I could tell on of the sisters was "up for anything", so to speak; but the other just seemed... resigned I suppose? While of course my Lothario friend was quite eager.
I took the reluctant one in my arms (I was on my back with her over me), and said "do you really want to do this?", she replied "they always want this.. I'm used to it, it's OK".
I continued to hold her, but I was struck by how sad, and empty that was. Presently, "the player" finished with her sister, and positioned himself behind the girl in my arms, and moved her hips to where he could penetrate her. I told her "Well, I don't want this. I want you to look me in the eyes, and kiss me".
She did, and while she was being taken roughly from behind, we looked in each other eyes, held, each other, and kissed. She soon achieved orgasm; which was clearly irrelevant to my "friend", excepting that it hastened his.
While he... finished his business, she just looked at me and said "thank you, that was wonderful. You're awfully good at this". Meanwhile "the player" ... well, it was clear to him that the woman didn't really exist, except as a receptacle for his penis. He was triumphantly strutting about, looking to fist bump and high five, hooting like a fratboy, while the women quietly dressed themselves, and slunk away.
I was never so disgusted to be a man in my life, as watching this little boy, with a grown up body, and a shrunken soul... nor was I more ashamed for women, watching these two accept... or even actively encourage... their own reduction to that objectified status.
I love sex. I think it is a beautiful, wonderful, amazing thing. I don't believe that sex must always be linked with love, or for that matter anything more than just good hard rocking sex... but it shouldn't be cheap. It shouldn't be hollow and empty.
Let me tell you something else... I watch an 18 year old girl, half naked (as what passes for street clothes these days), and obviously completely empty headed; strutting through a mall, and I feel... sad? Maybe that's not right.
A few years ago I might have said "I'm not interested, because she's WAAAAY too young (in mind, if not in body); but at least I can appreciate the equipment"... Today though I don't even have that level of interest.
Of course I am faithful to my wife; but we all know the old principle of "I'm married, not blind or dead". One would think I could enjoy the view so to speak. Honestly though, I don't think I could even get it up, without the mental and spiritual engagement. She'd open her mouth and vapid, stupid, immature idiocy would pour forth; and she could be as much a goddess as Bridgit Bardot in "and God created woman" and I'd be saying "why don't you go home little girl".
.. except that Bardot WASN'T a vapid empty headed little girl; or she wouldn't have been the goddess that she was...
I suppose people have been saying the same thing as they get older, since people first managed to break the age of 30; and the breed or die imperative first slowed enough to allow the appreciation of the finer points of each other. Certainly, I can remember hearing similar things said through the years by all sorts of folks... or the lamentations of women who noted its lack...
Honestly though, how can a man, a REAL MAN not an overgrown boy; look at one of the desperate, sad little girls; so convinced they have it all because they can wiggle their hips and make adolescent boys cry... how can he look at them, and feel anything other than disappointment, or pity, or shame for them?
How could he respect himself, if had sex with one of them; just because of her lovely body?
How is it that we cheapen ourselves so?
