I spoke about Eliot Spitzer in therapy yesterday. It was a weird conversation with Brenda. Usually, I walk into the office and we fiddle about until we fall into some sort of topic. Yesterday, I sat down and immediately said, “I think we should talk about sex today. Isn’t that what we are SUPPOSED to do in therapy?”
The conversation turned to the news about the governor of New York because, well, frankly, I’ve never been with a high class hooker. Or a moderately-price prostitute. Or cheated on my wife. Or even been to a Hooters. And THAT was on my mind.
Now before my female readers go, “Wow, what a wonderful fella,” DON’T. Who knows what would happen if I actually became governor of New York and had the opportunity to afford some high priced hookers. I’m sure Mr. Spitzer was a nice Jewish boy at one time also. Hell, now that I see what high priced hookers make, I might want to BECOME a call, uh… boy. Writing is slave labor compared to what they make! And they get free dinner, too!
Note: The following is a bit rambling and I may disagree what I say tomorrow, but I’m just spitting it out anyway.
Yesterday, on Twitter, I noticed some discussion about Eliot Spitzer. A woman was describing him in negative terms. She was saying that he was arrogant. She also made mentioned that a lot of high powered men feel the need to have sex on the side. After all, he wouldn’t be governor if he didn’t have big cojones. She was mocking him, but I have to admit, that to a guy like me, her negative portrayal almost made him sound cool, as if this super-powerful guy just has so much sperm building up in him that it had to go somewhere. Like he was a nerdy Superfly. Remember when I once wrote a post about some spam I got about some pill that could increase the amount of your semen so you could flood the entire neighborhood with your “seed” and impress your neighbors, as well as fertilize their lawn? Men are into that sort of stuff. I could even hear some guys talking about Spitzer in the locker room. “I bet you his wife wasn’t giving him enough p***y!” Even Spitzer himself only apologized to his wife for embarrassing her. He is more ashamed of getting caught than breaking his marriage vow. He probably thought it was a healthy release. Hey, he is a powerful man with powerful needs.
I’m no saint. And I don’t moralize. I enjoyed seeing your bras on my birthday. But, all in all, my sexual adventures are pretty tame. I pretty much went from hopeless nerd to being married. Why she married me is still a mystery. I never really had wild and crazy days, so that’s dangerous. Take that as a warning. Maybe I should go to a prostitute someday, just to see if I can do it. Almost like sex therapy. The idea of sleeping with some complete stranger that I’m paying for freaks me out and seems totally unappealing. But maybe it is good for a man to be able to just take some woman and be selfish about it. I bet you never get performance anxiety. You can come fast. You can come slow. She doesn’t have to have an orgasm. You can have sex standing on your head. You are paying for it! It’s sort of like going to therapy… but more interactive!
I am totally FOR legal prostitution. I feel that hookers are here to stay — who can refute thousands of years of history — so why not make it safe and get some tax dollars. Maybe we can let the Native-Americans run the prostitution rings? They do a pretty good job with the casinos. But don’t expect to see me with a prostitute soon. Not for any moral reasons. I just don’t think my personality fits the bill. And, in a way, that bothers me. Shouldn’t a man’s c**k go up just because a naked woman is in the room with him? I know… I know, it doesn’t work that way. But maybe I would be the governor of New York if I was more that type of personality.
I’m sure some of you have cheated on your spouses. In fact, I have spoken to a blogger who has cheated on her husband with a married man. Again, I don’t moralize. The woman was having some problems at home, and this was an outlet.
“How do you feel about the other wife?” I asked.
“Well, not too bad. She wasn’t satisfying him,” she answered.
It was another case of a man who just needed a lot of f**king — so what could he do?! He had no choice! It almost seemed to be part of his appeal!
Over the course of my life, whenever I wasn’t getting enough, I usually turned… well, myself.
My Penis: “Do we really have to talk about this…”
I’m just saying, as a dramatist, those exploits aren’t very dramatic. They are almost uncomfortable to talk about. I don’t go to my friends in the bar and say, “Hey Brad, John — you won’t believe how good my masturbation went this morning!”
But, they sure would be all ears if I told them that I just “did” a beautiful $3500 high-class hooker. Or I had an affair with the buxom brunette from the office.
OK, I’m going to stop this post now. Maybe I’ll finish it later. I’m losing my train of thought. Eliot Spitzer is probably resigning as I’m writing this. I’m sure there are thousands of blogs talking about him right now. I bet you that this is the only blog on Technorati that uses Elliot Spitzer as a segue into talking about masturbation.
Eh, this isn’t really about masturbation. It is about being a man and what his sexuality is all about. And how I somehow associate power and money and creative talent with the need to f**k a lot. Can you think of Picasso painting without visualizing him f**king all the time?